CASPAR HAUSER
 
 

 

 

CASPAR
HAUSER

By
JACOB WASSERMANN

Translated by Caroline Newton

Sm OOO——

A

New York
HORACE LIVERIGHT
1928

 

 
 

 

Copyrizhkr * 1928 * éy
HORACE LIVERIGHT: INC

 

Printed in the United States

 
PT 2647

92 C543
[92%

PAGE

INTRODUCTION TO THE ENGLISH EDITION OF “CASPAR
TIAUSERY 0 ash hen fh ix

CHAPTER

1. The STRavNGE YOUTH . i. vw edt 3

II. Caspar HAUser’s Story RECORDED BY
DAUMER. . via a AT

III. A~x OrrFicial. oF Hica Rank Looks BE-
HIND THE SCENES . . . 0... 1 iag
IV. Tux Mirror SPEARS  . | +. + 0 62
VV. Caspar Drwams .  .. . 0 ci ume,

VI. REericioN, HOMEOPATHY AND VISITORS FROM
Many Praces . io. 000 Ln EERO

VII. Daumer Puts METAPHYSICS TO THE TEST TIZ2

VIII. A Discuisep PeErsoN Makes His APPEAR-

ANCE wong Lo Te
1X. Tue Hearv ov toe Brackemn . . 0 (, 1s2
X. A Mzrssace vom Faw Away , . . 166
Xl. Tae Excrasw FEapry 0. 0, 0 Geta n8s

XII. Tur Secrer Mission AND Waar PrE-
vENTED Its ExpcuTioNn  . nu ioS

XIII. A CoNVERSATION BETWEEN ONE WHO RE-
MAINS MASKED AND ONE WHo DiscLosks
FlamsErr, . 0) 00 ta de any

XV. Nat Wir Comm... . 0 Lf ays
fv]

“4 MC 2 ap &
& nl A A
C3 54D Lat
CHAPTER

XV.
XVI.
XVII

XVIII

XIX.
XX.
XXL
XX
XXIII.
XXIV.
XXV.
XXVL

XXVIIL

CONTENTS

A CHAPTER IN LETTERS
WORSHIP OF THE SUN

SoME Points Aout Herr QUANDT As
WELL As ABourT A Lapy as Yer UN-
KNOWN

Josep AnD His BRETHREN

CasTLE FALKENHAUS .

QuanpT TREADS ON DELICATE GROUND
A Voice CaLLs

A Journey Is Decmep Uron

THE JoUrRNEY Is UNDERTAKEN .
SCHILDKNECHT

AN INTERRUPTED PERFORMANCE

QuanDT UNDERTAKES A LAST AssAauLT
UroN THE MYSTERY

AENIGMA Sul TEMPORIS .

{vi}

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425
CASPAR DHDAUSER
 
INTRODUCTION. TO THE ENGIISH EDITION OF
“CASPAR HAUSER”

IN the summer of 1928 it will be one hundred years
since Caspar Hauser appeared in Niirnberg, a boy of seven-
teen, who could neither walk nor speak, and was not able
to give any information as to where he had come from.
Though externally he was of normal growth and appear-
ance, his personality gave the impression of that of a child
between two and three years of age. It is superfluous to
go into details here; the tale itself recounts the peculiar
circumstances, and tells of the mysterious appearance of
this man-child, in close agreement with the historical record.
The literary narration has in no way deviated from the
actual facts as they occurred. Every phase of his devel-
opment, the tremendous sensation that was caused by the
extraordinary stranger, his life in Niirnberg and Ansbach,
his death at the hands of a murderer—for all this there is
documentary evidence. In fact, the literature concerning
Caspar Hauser has gradually grown into a voluminous li-
brary. In order to familiarize the American and English
public with the human, the historical and the psychological
foundations of the novel, I must still discharge a twofold
task; in the first place, I must state my position in the con-
troversy which to-day, as a hundred years ago, still wages
about this mysterious personality; secondly, it seems to me
not uninteresting to narrate certain experiences and occur-
rences connected with the publication of the novel. This
is the first time that I have ventured to take this step.

A hundred years ago there lived in Germany a famous
criminologist, Anselm von Feuerbach, the ancestor of a line
of distinguished men, the philosopher Feuerbach, the philolo-
gist Feuerbach—the forerunner of Nietzsche and of Rhodes

Lix]
 

 

INTRODUCTION TO THE ENGLISH EDITION

—and the painter Feuerbach. I have taken pains to con-
struct a faithful portrait of his personality and to record
the events of his life accurately; there is nothing more to
be said on this subject. No essential characteristic has been
invented. A few years after the appearance of Caspar
Hauser, Feuerbach published a paper called: “An Example
of a Crime Against the Soul of a Human Being,” written
in that exemplary German which was at that time the
matter-of-course equipment of any writer of importance,
and the beauty of which was surpassed only by its elegant
precision and incisive logic. With this very logic, and with
a fearlessness that extended to the point of self-sacrifice,
Feuerbach showed that Caspar Hauser was a legitimate
prince of the house of Baden, a brother of Queen Karoline
of Bavaria, a brother of the Duchess of Hamilton, a brother
of the Queen of Sweden, who had been removed from the
scene in early childhood.

The situation admitted of no other interpretation. An
ambitious woman, united in morganatic alliance with the
ruling prince, strives to secure power at any cost. The
rightful princess, Stefanie of Baden, a Beauharnais, a step-
‘daughter of Napoleon, has borne her husband, the archduke,
four daughters and four sons. The daughters live, the
sons die, shortly after their birth, ostensibly of illness,
(murdered, Feuerbach maintains). With one exception,
namely, the son who fifteen or sixteen years later appears
in Niirnberg—Caspar’s dreams forced men even at that
early date to assume that he still had memories of his early
childhood in a castle—and who has been kept alive, for the
sake of extortion, and in order to tie the hands of those
who issued the order. But only as a mute witness, as it
were, for since he has been allowed to grow up in an un-
derground dungeon, in darkness, sustained only by bread
and water, his mere existence constitutes a threat, for he
cannot himself give evidence; that has been taken care of.
A sinister and disgraceful court intrigue, in the style of the

Lx]
 

INTRODUCTION TO THE ENGLISH EDITION

 

eighteenth century, which was not yet long past, as daring
as it was irresponsible, as adventurous as it was inhuman,
but Feuerbach’s suppositions were—and are—so penetrat-
ingly lucid, so accurate in detail, they arouse such confidence
by their knowledge of conditions, they are so conscientious
in recounting the evidence and so unrelenting in deducing
the consequences, that even at the time of their publication
no intelligent and unbiased person could fail to be convinced
by their force. And Feuerbach knew what he was placing
at stake. He was simply risking his head. And he lost
his head in the game.

As one will readily imagine, the bold pamphlet roused
a perfect storm and called forth violent opposition. One did
not, of course, dare to attack the sincerity of a man who
stood in the envied favor of his king, and who occupied a
high official position—he was the President of the Upper
Appellate Court—but, as is so often the case, when a man
of ethical discernment and intellectual independence takes
up a cause unconditionally, and supports it unflinchingly,
here, too, the most convenient insinuations were resorted to:
the fearless prosecutor was reproached with being over-
credulous or outright superficial; he was reproached with
being a fanatic who, misled by the lies and the deceitful arts
of his protégé, was sacrificing his reputation and position
to a fixed idea. The newspapers raved; in those days they
were still subsidized by the governments, and the pettiest
prince’s court could not be criticized with impunity ; to take
the halo from a crown, as in this case, was a sacrilege.
Refutations poured forth, full of venom and hate, servile
pens bristled with indignation at the insult to a reigning
house. Feuerbach himself, already embittered by the per-
secutions of the clerical and court party, was no longer
fully equal to this broil. Thoroughly disgruntled, he with-
drew himself more and more from public affairs, and his
death, a few months before Caspar Hauser’s murder, was
only the external seal of his defeat, and it matters not in

[xi]
 

INTRODUCTION TO THE ENGLISH EDITION

 

this connection whether his death was the result of vio-
lence, as is indicated by all the circumstances, and as the
family tradition still maintains, or was due to natural causes,
which I myself believe as little as did his discriminating
contemporaries. Why, indeed should a man of such as-
tonishing strength and vitality suddenly die without warn-
ing, from an unexplained illness, just at a time when he
was on a journey from which he promised himself the most
important revelations about the Caspar Hauser mystery? It
is difficult to assume that fate should have done the op-
posing forces so good a turn as to produce about the same
effect as the report of a pistol on the stage. Let us not
forget that the most unimportant little princelings, in spite
of the geographical limitations of their countries, possessed
an unlimited power, and what could not be attained by a
blunt command or brute force, was carried out in silence
and by sinister means. Responsibility there was none. The
life of the individual citizen was disregarded, being prac-
tically unprotected. Before the famous, or notorious, Lord
Stanhope came to Niirnberg in order to entice Caspar
Hauser away, a murderous attack had already been made
on the foundling. Evidently the fame which had eagerly
attached itself to Caspar Hauser and spread far beyond
the borders of Germany had become more than annoying
to those behind the scenes and that not only because of the
effect of Feuerbach’s book. It seems plausible that the man
who had been Caspar’s jailer for so long, either out of pity,
or because he no longer regarded him as dangerous, or
because he had gotten tired of the inconvenient burden of
caring for the boy—those who had given the order being
no longer interested—that this man, who was the “Thee”
of the novel, simply. turned Caspar loose in the streets of
Niirnberg, in the hope that the boy would disappear with-
out any traces in the big city, for Niirnberg seemed a big
city to him. The letter which had been given the boy, with
the instruction to put him into the army, gives point to this

[xii
 

INTRODUCTION TO THE ENGLISH EDITION

 

assumption. However, the uneducated, probably simple-
minded peasant had not taken into account one circum-
stance, namely, the extraordinary condition of mind and
soul of the foundling, who gradually awoke to his own plight
and won the affection and sympathy of many persons, and
afforded interesting material in a series of curious psychic
phenomena which stamped him as a supersensitive, richly
gifted nature. The mode and fashion of the time favored
an enthusiasm for what could not be understood, and for
all these reasons Caspar Hauser became the “Child of Eu-
rope,” a popular national figure. This frightened beyond
measure the men who were pulling the wires behind the
scenes. They had to make up for the mishap of releasing
the boy, about which they had not known. Upon the un-
successful murderous attack followed the English lord.
Force was followed by cunning of extraordinary depth.
¥ Lord Stanhope, Earl of Chesterfield, dazzled the good citi-
zens of Niirnberg and Ansbach, by the celebrity of his
name and the splendor of his deportment; not only the
patrician Freiherr von Tucher was taken in by him, but
~ Feuerbach, too, was fooled for a time. As a matter of fact
he was a discredited adventurer, a vendor of tracts, who
had squandered his patrimony and who, in order to repair
his broken fortunes, offered his services as emissary to the
court of Baden. At least he was the employee of those ob-
scure intermediaries who acted as baleful shadows behind
the scenes, and among whom a certain Major Hennenhofer
played the chief role, a dangerous man of demoniac de-
cision, against whom later, during the rebellion in Baden,
the hatred of the rebellious population was directed. How-
ever all this may have been, Stanhope was able to win Caspar
Hauser’s love; he dazed the unsuspicious boy by promises,
and in spite of the protests of his Niirnberg patrons, as
well as the authorities, he abducted him to Ansbach, there
entrusting his supervision and education to the famous
teacher Meyer—the same who, for certain considerations
xiii : . i

S-P hel P Hern . sk Emnd oy Towahc ry Des ote

Lb Aatle An tee 0. 0h ,

ASA A”

PL ox anii
rman Ca NRZAENA
 

INTRODUCTION TO THE ENGLISH EDITION

 

which I was obliged to take into account, is called Quandt
in the book. Ansbach bears about the same relation to
Niirnberg that Albany does to New York; it is an out-of-

* the-way spot where the foundling was considered removed

from the eyes of the world. But this time, too, matters
turned out differently from the way in which those manipulat-
ing the affair had expected. The rumors did not die down.
The sensation did not cease. There was a constant flow
of pamphlets, books and newspaper articles about the mys-
terious young man. President Feuerbach did not show him-
self in the least minded to cease his investigations, and still
less to remove his protecting hand from Caspar Hauser, in
spite of all the calumnies reported to him about the young
man. Above all, and herein lay the great danger, Caspar
Hauser himself had awakened to a consciousness of his
situation, and was demanding whence he had come and where
fate was conducting him, and gradually set about doing
something himself. The teacher Meyer, a narrow-minded
little provincial, entirely fascinated by the name and per-
sonality of the English lord, became the slave-like organ
of the latter’s crafty machinations—the true nature of the
two-faced “friend” only revealed itself to Caspar Hauser
slowly and by premonition. Thus the brazen pedagogue
was inclined, owing to the wretched turn events had taken,
to watch the youth entrusted to him with constant distrust,
having lent his ear to the gendarmerie lieutenant Hickel
—one of the sinister figures of the tragedy—and to drive
the boy to desperation by his tyrannical regulations. Fur-
thermore Meyer, with his disgusting and charmless school-
master pedantry, maliciously denied everything unusual about
the entire soul-stirring destiny which was associated with
Caspar Hauser, and thus became the chief originator of the
stupid and malicious legend of the fraud and deceitfulness
practiced by Caspar Hauser, which then spread abroad
among the narrow-minded. While all this was going on,
while this sordid tragedy was being enacted, those behind °

[xiv]
 

INTRODUCTION TO THE ENGLISH EDITION

 

the scenes did not stand idly by; first Feuerbach was gotten
out of the way; a few months later Caspar Hauser himself
fell at the hands of an unknown murderer. A pitiful death,
and the sadness of it became doubly cruel in the light of
the accusation, which his hypocritical nurses and caretakers
spread abroad, namely, that he had taken his own life,
owing to his final realization that the world had lost faith
in him, and that the whole structure of lies was threatening
to break down. The absurdity of the accusation was as
great as its stupidity, not to speak of its psychological im-
possibility and its moral depravity. Its childishness is evi-
dent to any one, who has even a shred of sound common
sense in his brain, and who has curiosity enough to acquaint
himself ever so slightly with the facts concerning the fate
and figure of Caspar Hauser. Nevertheless, this legend was
believed, constantly believed again, and continued to exist
for years and generations, finding its most ardent supporters
among jurists and the professors who write history. I shall
have more to say on this point later on.

It was, of course, not my task to meddle in this quarrel.
The whole disturbance raised by the Caspar Hauser smate--
rial had only an indirect interest for me. I had grown
up, as it were, with the figure, the motive, the name of Caspar
Hauser constantly before my mind’s eye, since childhood.
My native city, Fiirth, an hour’s drive from Niirnberg, con-
nected with Niirnberg by a local railroad which has since
disappeared—the first railroad of Germany—could almost
be regarded as a suburb of Niirnberg. When we as chil-
dren were shown the Vestner Tower of the Castle, we knew
that these walls were those of Caspar Hauser’s first prison.
In 1885, when I was twelve years old, my grandfather, a
man of eighty, who had seen Caspar Hauser himself, told
me about him. Whoever spoke of him, particularly people
of the working classes, mentioned him with the expression
and emphasis with which one tells of a wonderful event.
I do not recollect a single case in which doubt, suspicion,

Lxv]
 

INTRODUCTION TO THE ENGLISH EDITION

 

or accusation were suggested. The memory of him was
always a memory of something romantic. As I said, this
was among simple people; others I scarcely knew. Such
first impressions go deep. The events were here for once
and for ever associated with the scene, and out of the two
the vision arises.

My first decision to write a Caspar Hauser narrative
goes back to my seventeenth year, but fifteen years were
to pass by before the plan was carried out. I had soon
grasped that this task would require intellectual maturity,
a knowledge of the world, and a complete mastery of the
craft. Morever, a certain financial freedom was necessary,
for such a work must not be endangered by fear as to the
writer’s daily bread. The preliminary studies alone, the
obtaining of the historical material, the documents and lit-
erature pertaining to the subject required years of labor.
A number of attempts and sketches busied me at intervals
throughout the preliminary stages of my literary career. In

the year 1904—the final draft of the book appeared in 1908
~ —an almost complete Caspar Hauser manuscript lay ready.
I felt obliged to throw it aside. Much of what I published
during this time may be regarded as a conscious preparation
for the Caspar Hauser novel, for example, the “Sisters”
(Die Schwestern), the Alexander novel (Alexander in
Babylon), and some little plays, which I regarded as studies
in dialogue. This is not the place to speak of the long
period of mental and moral suffering which the book cost
me. More than once I was on the point of giving up hope
and of letting the project fall. I could show the various
phases of despair, helplessness and a constantly returning
confidence by means of many passages in my diary. It was
clear to me from the beginning that this book must be in
the highest sense a work of confirmation and legitimation.
Therefore the effort and the struggle. Only about 1906,
when I found the idea which serves to weld together the
whole, spreading over it like the arch of heaven, was the

[xvi]
 

INTRODUCTION TO THE ENGLISH EDITION

 

harvest, so to speak, assured. This idea lies in the sub-
title: “The Unheeding World”—literally, the Slothfulness
of the Heart (Die Trigheit des Herzens). This, too, em-
phasized the contrast: Caspar Hauser versus the world.
One can thus see that the actual incidents had ceased to be
of primary importance; they could be brushed aside in order
to make place for what solely charmed me in the material:
the tragedy of the child, the general tragedy of the child,
or, differently stated, the repeated recurrence of an innocent
soul, unspotted by the world, and how the world stupidly
and uncomprehendingly ignores such a soul.

Naturally I was obliged to retain the historical frame.
The more I steeped myself in the actual psychological prob-
lem the more carefully was I obliged to narrate the actual
course of events, although artistically speaking they were
only a pretext.

When the book later appeared, I had a series of inter-
esting experiences. The actual soul of the book was at first
ignored. Not, of course, by certain friends, not by the un-
derstanding or those who were moved; but the public and
the general run of critics fixed their attention almost ex-
clusively on the plot of the book. The old controversy was
opened up again, the curious bitterness in certain circles
of professors and pedagogues, which had lasted through
three generations, as if the sons and grandsons of those in-
sulted and injured by the supposed deceptions of the
foundling felt that they must call upon posterity to judge.
For from their point of view Caspar Hauser was nothing but
a stray yokel who had exploited the romantic sentimentality
of his patrons, and had been able to convince a man so silly
and deficient in judgment as the criminologist Anselm von
Feuerbach of the truth of the scandalous story of his princely
origin. Probably the chief support of the outraged was a
book, which had appeared in the eighties, by Professor
Mittelstadt, a lawyer of some reputation, the typical dry
scholar, devoid of fantasy and full of argumentative “com-

[ xvii ]
 

INTRODUCTION TO THE ENGLISH EDITION

 

mon sense.” In this case, however, Mittelstadt was unable
to preserve his professional calm, but with the true furor
teutonicus proceeded not only to destroy the legend of the
dynasty and the tragic halo which had attached themselves
to the figure of Caspar Hauser, but, with the apodictic cer-
tainty of the appointed judge, he designated “the Child of
Europe” as an impudent impostor, charging his adherents
and both his contemporary and posthumous defenders with
frivolity if not with intentional deceit. I have often heard
the opinion expressed that Mittelstidt’s book had been
written under secret orders in order to silence permanently,
by means of a document of forensic thoroughness, the con-
stantly recurring voices of accusation. I cannot examine this
charge, nor is it my duty; the motives which actuated Mit-
telstidt will always be inscrutable; whether he acted in good
faith or not, filled with the pedantic doctrinaire spirit and
the lofty conceit so often found in men of his position, or
was merely the willing advocate of dark figures in the back-
ground, cannot be determined to-day. It is certain only that
his book was constantly held up to me as a reliable source,
historically irrefutable. In this respect we have really the
subservience of school children; when a professor speaks,
we authors must keep our mouths shut. There were other
* writings of the same tendency, old and new, which with an
eagerness which one can only assume sprang from a bad
conscience—for it cannot be explained by any other natural
or human instinct—occupied themselves, for decades after
his death, in slandering Caspar Hauser and putting him
upon the whipping-post. Moreover, the belief in the in-
tegrity and inviolability of crowned heads, with which Ger-
mans have been inculcated, was also involved. A crime in
the house of a monarch might tickle one’s secret curiosity,
and as it were arouse a private shudder; but on the open
market-place it could not be true. The time at which the
novel appeared was, moreover, the high-water mark of an
epoch of military obedience and timid subordination, in con-~
[ xviii ]]
 

INTRODUCTION TO THE ENGLISH EDITION

 

trast to which even the notorious twenties of the nineteenth
century were a period of freedom for the middle classes, for
in the latter case, then there was at least internal rebellion
and a consciousness of intellectual dignity.

I was obliged to defend myself. In addition .o the task
of the author, which seemed to me fulfilled, there remained
a human task still to be carried out. There was an unex-
piated crime. Those who raged and slandered did not know,
or did not want to know, that Bismarck, for example, in
his Memoirs, mentions the Caspar Hauser affair in such a
supremely casual manner as to permit no doubt that he re-
garded Hauser as a legitimate heir to the crown of Baden.
Nor did they know that Carmen Sylva, the Queen of Rou-
mania, shortly after the appearance of my book, had openly
expressed herself in favor of my opinion in a German news-
paper. Nor were they aware—and in their presumptuous
prejudice, and their belief in dynasty, they would probably
not have regarded it as evidence—that the entire aristocratic
society of Europe, in so far as it was familiar with the in-
ternal family history of the House of Baden or was related
or intermarried with the house—these relationships reach
very far and are extraordinarily complicated—did not in the
least doubt the legitimacy of Caspar Hauser as the son of
Stefanie Beauharnais. Not only was it not doubted, but
itt was regarded as an unquestioned and established fact,
so that a merely limited acceptance was regarded among
well informed persons almost as a sign of ignorance. Such
secret traditions and conventions within a set caste are
nothing unusual, particularly in Germany, where the official
history is written on a very different page from the unoffi-
cial. Any one wishing to acquaint himself, and in a rather
amusing way, with the facts of the case, needs only to glance
at the history of the German courts compiled by Vehse
(Geschichte der deutschen Hofe seit der Reformation),
which, although in part obsolete is very detailed and ex-
tremely rich in documents; here, too, he will find that

[ xix]
 

INTRODUCTION TO THE ENGLISH EDITION

 

Hauser’s descent from the house of Baden is simply re-
garded as proved. After the publication of my book com-
ments by Fiirst von Biilow, then the Imperial Chancellor,
reached my ear, which did not leave me uncertain for a
moment that he judged the matter in the same way as all
of the “initiated,” or those otherwise familiar with the case.
Such things, however, were not allowed to reach the public
ear. No one wanted to expose himself; no one dared to
speak. I myself did not wish to capitalize a sensation based
on an accidental understanding and incidental conversations;
in many cases I was bound to silence by considerations of
friendship; moreover I did not wish, as I have already said,
to nullify the weight of the composition by the counter-
weight of a web of intrigues after the manner of Gregor
Samarow. I received, for example, a letter from the pri-
vate study of the Grand-Duke Konstantin Michailowitsch—
I believe that I am not mistaken in the name; the letter has
unfortunately been lost. In it earnest thanks for the Caspar
Hauser book was expressed; I found out then that the
Grand-Duke, for what reason I can not quite recollect,
had been trying for many years to have Caspar Hauser’s
earthly remains transferred from the Ansbach cemetery to
the Pforzheim vault. It was evidently an idea of expiation,
perhaps a sort of attempt at poetic justice, for the Grand-
Duke was himself a poet. One of my friends, who was a
friend of the Crown Prince of Baden, told me one day -
smilingly that the mighty gentleman had expressed him-
self very derogatorily about my book; up to that time he
had esteemed me as an author, now he was obliged to real-
ize that I was misusing my fine talent for unworthy pur-
poses. A comprehensible viewpoint in one who feels the
pinch. The inconvenient affair had finally died down; grass
had grown over it and now a meddlesome novelist appeared
and brought the whole story most unnecessarily to light again.
It was known that the old Grand-Duke found every pub-
lication about Caspar Hauser on his desk; he had never

[xx]
 

INTRODUCTION TO THE ENGLISH EDITION

 

ordered this; who put them there could never be deter-
mined; they simply were there. It was known that the
Grand-Duchess, with a dreadful sensitiveness bordering
upon superstition, attributed every misfortune which oc-
curred in the family to a revenge which the shadow or ghost
of Caspar Hauser was wreaking upon the house. I would
not care to attach too much importance to such romantic
reports, but in any case they were corroborated to me by
the Fiirstin Erbach—now dead—who knew the Grand-
Duchess well. She gave me, shortly before her death, some
notes in which she, in a testament, as it were, had collected all
the points which placed Caspar Hauser’s descent from the
House of Baden beyond all doubt. As a sister of the Bat-
tenbergs, a niece of Queen Victoria of England, related to
the Hessian as well as the Zihringen Court, she knew the
circumstances as only a member of the family can know
them; moreover, she was liberal and open-minded, and had
neither approved nor understood the harmful and now quite
unnecessary secretiveness with regard to the whole affair.

Now matters stand thus. The illuminating legal docu-
ments which may place the case of Caspar Hauser out of
the realm of assumption and opinion and give the matter
legal certainty are now in the archives of a princely family
in Hungary. A Princess of Baden who was a sister of the
princes who had been gotten rid of had, as we have already
mentioned, married an Earl of Hamilton. The daughter of
this union was married to an Austrian Prince, and this lady
died only a few years before the war. I did not know her,
but I have often been told that she made no secret of her
relationship with Caspar Hauser ; moreover, she is said even
in her old age to have looked amazingly like the pictures
of Hauser which have been handed down.

About two years ago I had a long talk with a Viennese
lawyer, an intelligent and distinguished man who, after
reading my novel about Caspar Hauser had taken a certain
liking to me. Among his clients there were many aristo-

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INTRODUCTION TO THE ENGLISH EDITION

 

cratic families of the old monarchy, and in the course of
our conversation he went so far as to tell me that possibly
I might at some future time have access to the archives of
the family in question. The present head of the family
has resolutely resisted every attempt to get at the secret
which has been kept for so long; the younger man, however
—who moreover, whenever Caspar Hauser was spoken of,
calmly referred to him as his great-uncle—was more ac-
cessible in such matters.

This is the extent of my personal experiences, which I
am stating with all due care. I mention only in passing
that shortly after the publication of the book I almost be-
came involved in litigation with the Stanhope family, who
were angry because Lord Stanhope committed suicide in
my novel, whereas the real Stanhope, as can be proved,
died in his bed® I was obliged to sign a document to the
effect that the Lord Stanhope of my novel had nothing to
do with the real Lord Stanhope. I did this without any
scruple. That I received hundreds of communications,
some didactic, others of reprimand, threatening letters or
such in which those who notoriously knew better expressed
all their superiority—Iletters in which dry, matter-of-fact
people expressed their criticisms without being asked and
became excited merely about the crude fact, without even
an inkling of the blood and fire of the work—is a matter
of course. There was also recognition enough, enthusiasm,
love.

I had remarkable encounters, for example, one with a
young woman whose grandfather had been a gentleman in
waiting in the Baden Court and had become so involved
in the Caspar Hauser affair that he had taken his life in
consequence. I had a conversation with the granddaughter
of the remarkable Friedrich Daumer, and obtained details
of the murderous attack which was made so late as 1878
upon the eighty-year-old man, who had been Hauser’s first
protector fifty years before. The old man had shortly be-

[ xxii |

hl

*
 

INTRODUCTION TO THE ENGLISH EDITION

 

fore published an exemplary book on Caspar Hauser. I
was able to convince myself on many occasions that the
apparently long-forgotten incident dragged its living and
baleful traces far into the present. When a few years ago
the book of the German author Clara Hofer appeared, in
which she told of the finding of Caspar Hauser’s prison
below the ground, and thought that she had thus supplied
evidence for the truth of the foundling’s story, a storm of
opinion broke loose once more, all of the newspapers filled
their available columns with the long-past pros and contras.
Skepticism and a superior dismissal of the subject pre-
dominated, its advocates disposing of the matter with modest
shrugs; those really familiar with the matter did not show
any desire to discuss it; thus a century had not been able
to do anything for the truth.

I maintain that there is nothing new about all this because
no one touched on the actual gist of the matter. It was
avoided as if men feared the thrills of blood and thunder
in this penny-dreadful tale. There are two mental states
which cause people to deny the unusual, that of enlightened
rationalism and plain indolence of mind. The foundation
of both is a lack of imagination and the inability to see
things. I know people who disavow what is as clear as
daylight only because it would be banal to recognize it;
the fear of being banal is responsible for more mischief
among average minds than one would believe. Conjuring
away, by trickery, that which is perfectly obvious and
transparent, they merely disclose their weakness of vision
and the poverty of their hearts. And I know others who
reject with passion from the threshold of their consciousness
anything that resembles a miracle—at the same time creating
for themselves a mendacious conception of the miraculous.
closely akin to deceit and sorcery—only because they are
incapable of correcting their petrified counterfeit of the uni-
verse and have thus ceased to “wonder” at anything. A deep
word: “I wonder.” :

[ xxiii]
 

INTRODUCTION TO THE ENGLISH EDITION

 

Both types unite to form a frequent phenomenon in the
figure of the schoolmaster. As a matter of fact the school-
master, whatever else that is praiseworthy one may say of
him, was completely victorious, all along the line, in the life
and history of Caspar Hauser. Already Daumer, although
he was a poet and richly blessed in fantasy, was somewhat
the schoolmaster; as one may read in the novel, it was his
sole ambition to sacrifice the simple, the natural, the primi-
tive in Caspar Hauser to a conception of the young man
which he—Daumer—had created. He did not see the human
being, he only saw his idea of the human being. It is a
case of schooling, not merely of the schoolmaster: we all
associate with people according to our own ideas about them.

With Feuerbach the matter is similar; his idea was to
secure a victory for justice, and while doing “this he lost
sight of the human being. Freiherr von Tucher showed
himself to be the middle-class pedagogue of the purest
water, while the greatest triumph in respectability, school-
mastery and ossification of soul was realized in the Ansbach
teacher, Meyer. The man certainly had the best of inten-
tions, he was from the beginning imbued with his task of
education. Nevertheless he was so convinced that Caspar
Hauser was a swindler that even when the boy had dragged
himself home from the Court Garden with his death-wound
in his breast, Meyer went so far in his rare idiocy as to state
that Caspar Hauser had tried “to hurt himself a little”—a
story which he continued to tell for decades thereafter—
because the boy had lately noticed a diminution of public
interest in his person, and that the dagger had “inad-
vertently” gone a little too deep. Really, matter-of-fact in-
dividuals, when driven hard are more fantastic than any
visionaries. The thesis of the self-inflicted wound has main-
tained itself ; it is necessary as a corroboration of the main
thesis. All the Meyers have believed it for generations, and
since no Feuerbach has arisen again to scourge their criminal

[ xxiv]
 

INTRODUCTION TO THE ENGLISH EDITION

 

blindness, and brand them with their vulgar brutality, the
sad story has obtained a no less sad immortality. ;

The tale represents, as I have already said, an unexpiated i"
crime. For all the Meyers, alias Quandts—for all these
schoolmasters, who can neither be educated nor taught, the
formula “slothfulness of heart” holds good. The phrase
has passed into literature since it was coined.

Caspar Hauser, a swindler there is evidence which
loses its force and character when it is brought forth. That
which one desires to demonstrate is as fundamental as the
theorem in a geometrical problem. The purity of the phe-
nomenon is the hypothesis and the absolute in the case of
this young man. The innocence lies in his fate, reveals
itself in him and is actually a part of him. The tragedy
innate in a human soul, under certain circumstances of life,
is just as unmistakable as the chemical processes which take
place in a test-tube before our eyes. I can imagine that the
schoolmaster and the professor will deny this so long as
it is not generally recognized and cannot be read in the
text-books approved by the state; we have witnessed the
same thing in many border-line phenomena of science. In
conceiving the novel and fixing a vision of the Caspar Hauser
figure the historical foundations were, finally, as indifferent
to me, necessarily, as the results of the criminal and genea-
logical investigations. For even without the myth of the
dynasty, there was enough left: a human marvel, not more
and not less. And not more and not less was at stake:
the representation of the development of a human being
and the responsibility of the uncomprehending world for
the destruction of a human soul. I was able to transfer
this process almost in its original pragmatic form from
history into the novel; reality seldom puts such materials
into one’s hands, and modern psychological science has often
enough had occasion to point to the deep inner truth of the
psychic situation and the life-story of Caspar Hauser; I
mention only the significant book of Konstantin Brunner.

[xxv]

 
 

INTRODUCTION TO THE ENGLISH EDITION

 

I myself was only obliged to enter the arena when the
figure itself was rendered suspect as such, doubted and
negated—when the same means, the same calumnies, the
same baiting as formerly were again resorted to in order
to soil the memory of a martyr of fate, to turn the truth
of an existence into falsehood and to frustrate, for the sake
of notoriety, even the erection of a mental monument which
was calculated to maintain the Caspar Hauser figure in the
memory of the nation.
JakoB WASSERMANN.

[xxvi]
Still to our eyes the self-same sun
Smiles on the self-same earth!

Out of the self-same blood and slime
God, man and child have birth!
Naught remains, but naught is lost:
That which is old was young,

And that which is young was old:
Life and death are bound together
And the Symbol is the Form,
 
THE FIRST PART
 
I

IN the early summer of the year 1828, there. were carious, 13
rumors in Niirnberg concerning a person whdé- was kept in

custody in the Vestner tower of the castle, and who daily
afforded more food for wonderment to the authorities and
the townspeople.

He was a boy of about seventeen years. "No one knew
whence he came. He himself was not able to give any in-
formation, for he could not speak more than a two-year-
old child. Few were the words he could pronounce clearly
and he repeated these constantly, sometimes plaintively, then
again cheerfully, as though there were no meaning back of
them, and as though they were merely tokens of an anxiety
or a pleasure which he did not understand. His walk, too,
was that of a child which has just learned to take its first
steps. He did not place his heel on the ground first but
would put down his whole foot awkwardly and cautiously.

The citizens of Niirnberg are an inquisitive lot. Every
day hundreds of them climbed the Castle Hill and ascended
the ninety-two steps of the grim old tower to behold the
stranger. It was forbidden to enter the half-dark cell where
the prisoner was kept, and so in great crowds they stared
from the threshold at the remarkable human being that
cowered in the farthest corner of the room, generally play-
ing with a small white wooden horse. He had seen it ac-
cidentally in the possession of the children of the warden,
and, touched by his helpless stammering way of asking for
it, they had given it him. His eyes did not seem able to
comprehend the light; he was obviously afraid of the move-
ments of his own body, and when he lifted his groping hand
it seemed as if the air offered a mysterious resistance.

What a pitiful object, people said. Many thought that

[31]

@

» D8

THE STRANGE YOUTH , ..° 1" ; hse
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

a new species had been discovered, perhaps some kind of
- » cave dweller, and -among the curious reports not the least
strange was that the boy rejected with horror any form

50 nourishment except bread and water.

* Gradually thé circumstances surrounding the boy’s sudden
oi | appearance became”. public knowledge. On Whitmonday
¥% about five o'clock: in‘the afternoon he had suddenly appeared,
standing on the Unschlitt Square not far from the New
Gate ; he had looked about for a while in a disturbed fashion
and had then tottered into the arms of shoemaker Weik-
mann, who happened along at that moment. His trembling
fingers pointed to a letter bearing the address of Cavalry-
Captain Wessenig, and, several other people coming along, he
was dragged with some difficulty to the Captain’s house.
There he fell exhausted on the steps, blood trickling through
his torn shoes.

The captain did not come home until twilight and his
wife then told him of the starving creature, hardly a human
being, who was sleeping on the straw in the stable. She
also gave him the letter. The captain, after breaking the
seal, read it through several times with the greatest aston-
ishment; the communication, facetious in some ways, was
savagely explicit in others. He went to the stable and had
the stranger wakened, which was accomplished with great
effort. The military precision of the officer’s questions
elicited from the boy either no replies at all or mere mean-
ingless sounds and Herr von Wessenig quickly decided to
send the strange fellow to the police station.

This undertaking was difficult, for the stranger could now
scarcely walk. Blood-prints marked his path; he had to be
dragged through the streets like a balky calf, and the holi-
day makers returning from their outings enjoyed the spec-
tacle. “What's the matter?” asked those who were not so
near the unusual hubbub. “Oh, they're just helping a
drunken peasant walk,” was the answer.

At the police station the clerk tried in vain to examine the

[32]
¥ Ma 2

and
.
 

THE STRANGE YOUTH

prisoner. He constantly stammered the same half-idiotic
words, and abuse and threats were of no avail. When one
of the soldiers struck a light a curious incident occurred.
With his body, the boy made jumping gestures like a danc-
ing bear, his legs not joining in the motion, and snatched
at the candle flame with his hands, but when he felt the
burn he began to cry so bitterly that the observers shud-
dered to the very marrow.

Finally the clerk had the idea of offering him a piece of
paper and a pencil, and the strange boy snatched at them,
and with big childish letters slowly formed the words
Caspar Hauser. After this he staggered into a corner,
dropped heavily on the floor and fell into a deep sleep.

Because Caspar Hauser—for so the stranger was called
from now on—on his arrival had been dressed peasant-
fashion in an old frock coat from which the skirts had been
cut, a red tie and high leather boots, it was at first thought
that he must be the son of a nearby peasant who had been
neglected in some fashion, or stunted in his development.
The first one who emphatically contradicted this assumption
was the warden of the prison tower. “No peasant looks
like that,” said he, pointing to the wavy light brown hair
of his charge, which had the inexpressible sheen and luster of
the fur of animals that live in the dark. “And such fine white
hands, such velvety skin, and these delicate temples and
the blue veins showing in his neck, he really looks more like
a young lady of aristocratic birth than a peasant.”

“Not badly observed,” said the municipal-court doctor,
who in his deposition, duly entered on the blotter, stressed
not only these points, hut also the peculiar formation of the
knee and the absence of callous skin on the soles of his feet.
“One thing is evident,” his testimony concludes, “we are
dealing with a person who has no conception of his fellow
men, does not eat, does not drink, does not feel, does not
speak like others, does not know anything of yesterday or
to-morrow, does not grasp time, does not know he is alive.”

[33]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

The worthy police magistrates did not permit this judg-
ment to swerve them from the prescribed formalities in
examinations of this kind. They suspected that the police-
court doctor had been influenced and misled by his friend,
Professor Daumer, a teacher in the Gymnasium, to the point
of indulging in such vagaries. The prison warden, whose
name was Hill, was ordered to watch the stranger without
arousing his suspicion. Ile often peeked through a hidden
hole in the door when the boy had every reason to think he
was alone, but he always beheld a sober sadness in his fea-
tures, now impassive and indifferent, now contracted and dis-
torted with some invisible fear. It was also in vain that
the warden slipped up to the boy’s bed at night, when he
was asleep, and knelt to listen to his breathing or wait for
words betraying the sleeper’s inner thoughts. Ior people
who harbor evil thoughts frequently speak in their sleep,
also they prefer to sleep by day rather than by night when
they can work out their schemes and plots. But this boy

fell asleep as soon as the sun set and woke up when the first
rays of morning came through the closed shutters. It might

seem suspicious that he started every time the door of his
prison was opened, but probably this resulted not from a
bad conscience, but from an unusual irritability of his senses,
which suffered from the approach of any noise from outside.

“Our friends at the city hall will have to waste a lot more
paper if they want to get anywhere along these lines,” said
good old Hill one morning—it was the third day of Caspar
Hauser’s imprisonment—to Professor Daumer who came to
visit the boy. “I know all the tricks of rogues, but if this
boy is a pretender you may hang me.”

Hill unlocked the cell and Professor Daumer walked in.
As usual the prisoner was frightened, but when his visitor
was once in the room Caspar Hauser no longer seemed aware

of his presence and sat in a dull, unknowing torpor staring
straight ahead.

Then it happened that, when Hill had opened the shutters

L341
 

THE STRANGE YOUTH

 

of the windows, the boy, perhaps for the first time in his

life, raised his fettered eyes and turning from that silent

continuous fear which seemed to dwell in his breast, he

gazed out into the sunny open space where row upon row

of bright red-tiled roofs rose against a background of hazy

blue fields and woods. He stretched out his hand, an ex-

pression of surprise and joyless astonishment overspread

his face. Hesitatingly he stretched his arm out into the glows,
ing picture, as if he wanted to seize this array of brilliancy

with his fingers, but when he had convinced himself that.
it was nothing—something distant and intangible and de-

ceptive—his face darkened and he turned away annoyed and

disappointed.

The same afternoon Mayor Binder came to Daumer’s
house and, discussing the strange waif’s case, told Daumer
that the city magistrates were inclined to be hostile and
skeptical rather than kindly toward the young man.

“Skeptical ?”’ replied Daumer, puzzled. “Skeptical in r
gard to what?” -

“Well, they're inclined to think that the boy is hood-t
winking us,” rejoined the Mayor. 3:

Daumer shook his head. “What human being with sense
or ability would consent to live on bread and water for the
pleasure of deceiving others, and to reject with disgust
everything that is pleasing to the palate?” he asked. “And
for what advantage?”

“Nevertheless,” replied Binder hesitatingly, “it seems a
complicated story. Since no one can guess what he is driv-
ing at, it is all the more necessary to be careful, for careless
gullibility on our part will expose us to ridicule.”

“That almost sounds as though only those who doubt and
. deny could be called capable of judging,” remarked Daumer,
wrinkling his forehead. “Of that ilk we have, unfortu-
nately, plenty.”

The Mayor shrugged his shoulders and looked at the young
teacher with the gentle irony that is the armor of the ex-

or C351]

  
 

CASPAR HWAUSER

 

perienced in dealing with enthusiasts. “We have decided
upon a fresh examination by the court doctor,” he contin-
ued. “Magistrate Behold, Baron Tucher and you, my dear
Daumer, are to attend the examination as a commission.
The minutes will then be sent to the District Government
along with the police reports which we already have.”

“I understand: reports, reports,” said Daumer, smiling
sarcastically.

The Mayor placed his hand on the young man’s shoulder
and said good-naturedly: “Don’t be so superior, my worthy
friend, our world does taste of ink, and certainly you book-
worms are not without responsibility in the matter. More-
over,” he put his hand in his breast pocket and took out a
folded piece of paper, “as a member of the commission
you are duly requested to consider an important document.
This is the letter which our prisoner gave Captain Wessenig. .

Read it.”

The unsigned letter read as follows: “I am sending you a
boy, Captain, who wishes to become a soldier and serve his
king faithfully. The boy was brought to me in 1815; one
winter night he was suddenly found lying at my door. I
have children myself, am poor, I can hardly make both ends
meet; he’s a foundling and I have not been able to ascertain
his mother. I have never let him stir out of the house, no
one knows about him; he does not know the name of my
house, nor does he know the village. You may ask him but
he won’t be able to tell you for he’s not yet able to talk de-
cently. If he had parents—which he hasn’t—he might have
entered a decent calling; you need only show him anything
and he will be able to do it at once. I took him out of the
house in the middle of the night and he has no money about
him, so if you don’t want to keep him you will have to kill
him and hang him up the chimney.”

When Daumer had read the paper he returned it to the
Mayor, and walked up and down with a serious look.

“Well, what do you make of it?” inquired Binder. “Some

[36]
 

THE STRANGE YOUTH

 

of the gentlemen think the stranger might have written the
letter himself.”

Daumer stopped his walk with a sudden start, wrung his
hands and exclaimed, “Why, in heaven’s name?”

“Of course, there’s no reason,” hastily added the Mayor.
“It is evident that the writing of the letter was dictated by
some cunning plan to mislead, and to obstruct any investiga-
tion. There is a cynical indifference about the letter which
has led me from the beginning to suspect that the boy is the
blameless victim of a crime.”

The Mayor’s daring surmise found distinct support in
an incident which occurred shortly after the members of
the commission entered Caspar Hauser’s cell the next morn-
ing. While the warden was undressing the boy, a peasant
band suddenly began to play below on one of the Castle
Hill alleys, blaring loudly as the players passed along the
wall. Caspar’s body trembled in a way horrible to behold:
his face, even his hands, burst into perspiration, his eyes
rolled, every fiber of his body became tense from fright,
then he uttered an animal cry and fell to the ground, where
he lay shaking and sobbing.

#
The men turned white and stared at one another help- a

lessly. After a while Daumer walked up to the unfo

nate boy, laid his hand on his head and spoke to him con-

solingly. This had a soothing effect and he became quiet.
Nevertheless, the tremendous impression of the sounds he
had heard seemed to have wounded his body externally and
internally ; for days he continued to show evidences of the
shock he had experienced ; he lay in a fever on his sack of
straw, his skin of a citron hue. Kindly questioning gained
his deep sympathy, and he would try to find words to show
his appreciation, which caused his usually bright eyes to
grow dark and troubled. Particularly towards Professor
Daumer, who came to see him two or three times a day,
he showed a touching gratitude, now silent, now fumbling
for words.
Fal
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

On one of these visits Daumer was left alone with the
boy for the first time; the warden at his request had locked
the door downstairs. Ie sat close to the prisoner, talking,
questioning, probing. It was a vain expenditure of affec-
tion, patience and ingenuity. Finally he contented himself
with a close observation of the boy’s behavior and bearing.
Suddenly Caspar emitted the usual confused sounds; he
appeared to be asking for something and peered searchingly
around. Daumer soon guessed, and handed him the pitcher
filled with water which Hill had placed on the bench by the
stove. Caspar took the pitcher, put it to his lips and drank.
He drank in long gulps, with complete surrender, his eyes
shining with ecstasy, as though forgetting for the brief mo-
ment of pleasure that his demoniacal pursuers were pressing
in upon him from all sides.

Daumer {fell into a state of unusual excitement. When
he reached home he walked up and down his study for half
an hour with long strides. Towards eight o'clock there was
a knock at the door; his sister came in and called him to
supper.

“What do you think, Anna,” he called to her eagerly and
with significance, “twice two makes four, doesn’t it?”

“It appears to,” replied the young girl, laughing with sur-
prise, “every one says so. Have you discovered it to be
otherwise? It would be just like you, subversive wretch!”

“Not just that, but something of the sort,” said Daumer
gayly, placing his arm on his sister’s shoulder. “I am
going to lead our good Philistines a merry dance; yes, I'll
have them dancing with astonishment.”

“Has it something to do with the foundling? Are you
planning anything for him? Be careful, Friedrich, don’t
get into trouble, you're not popular as it is.”

“Certainly,” said he, quickly discouraged, “the multiplica-
tion table might come to harm.”

“Does one still know nothing about that rare bird ?”’ asked
Daumer’s mother, a gentle old lady, at dinner.

[38]
 

THE STRANGE YOUTH

 

Daumer shook his head. “For the present, one can only
conjecture; soon we shall know,” he replied, with his gaze
fixed on the ceiling.

The next day the Morgenpost had an article called “Who
is Caspar Hauser?” Although there was no reader who
could answer this question, the crowd of persons moved by
curiosity became so great that the Mayor was obliged to issue
strict regufations for visiting hours. At times people stood
packed close together in front of the open door, and on every
face appeared the same questions. ‘“What is the matter with
him? What kind of a person is he? Why can he not un-
derstand words and yet speak? How can he fail to recog-
nize objects and yet be able to see? He has hardly stopped
crying before he begins to laugh; he seems guileless and yet
he’s secretive. And perhaps there is some misdeed and dis-
grace back of those innocent bright eyes?”

The prisoner was no doubt painfully aware of the pruri-
ent curiosity with which people stared at him and perhaps
it was a desire to satisfy them which produced the first
glimmer of the mental dawn that slowly restored his own
past within him, so that he sought in his uneasy heart for

what had been. Seeking for a past, he perhaps first felt
it and connected it with the present, and filled with the deep-
est horror, he learned to measure time and the change it had
wrought in him; he tried to relate what he saw to what he
had seen. He grasped the demand in the question and be-
held the way in which he could satisfy the inquiring faces.

With hungry senses he sought the releasing word. His
supplicating glance dragged words from the mouths of men
capable of speech.

Here Daumer was in his element. He was able ultimately
to do what doctor, warden, mayor, and especially the clerks,
had entirely failed to accomplish, for it required care and
systematic patience. He became so occupied with the
foundling that he forgot his studies and his private obliga-
tions; he almost neglected his public duties; he seemed like

L391]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

a man whom fate has presented with an experience destined
for him alone, and offering a happy corroboration of his
whole life and thought. Among his notes on Caspar Hauser
there was one which read as follows:

“This trembling figure, helpless in a strange world, this
torpid glance, this expression stamped with fear, this noble
forehead, combined with a somewhat underdeveloped chin
and mouth, from which peace and purity radiate, are for me
evidences of an indomitable power of understanding. If the
conjectures which they suggest to me prove to be correct, if
I can dig up the roots of his being and make his branches
bloom, I shall show the jaded world a mirror of untainted
humanity ; then people will see that there are valid proofs for
the existence of the soul which all the idolaters of to-day
deny with base vehemence.”

The eager pedagogue had a difficult road to travel. In
the stage at which he was obliged to begin his labors, human
speech was a shadowy unreal thing; word after word had
first to have a meaning attached to it; memory had to be
awakened ; cause and effect had to be shown in their relations.
Between one question and the next there lay worlds of un-
derstanding; a yes or a no, often interpolated helplessly, was
of no avail where every conception had first to be evolved
out of darkness, and understanding halted from word to
word. And yet a light, as if from a far distant past, seemed
to give the boy’s spirit wings, so that he progressed far
more rapidly than even the hopeful Daumer himself had
dared to expect. It was astonishing with what ease and
force he retained what had once been said, and how he pro-
duced from a chaos of lifeless sounds, as if by magic, what
had living and plastic importance for him. It seemed to
Daumer as though he were merely lifting veils from the
eyes of his protégé, as though he were merely observing a
slowly resurrecting memory. He seemed to hold the boy's
body, while his spirit returned to the regions from which it
had come, bringing tidings which no ear had ever heard.

[40]
11
CASPAR HAUSER'S STORY RECORDED BY DAUMER

So far as Caspar could remember he had always been in
the same dark space, never anywhere else, always in the
same space. Never had he seen a man, never had he heard
his step, never had he heard his voice, never the song of a
bird, never the cry of an animal; he had never seen the rays
of the sun, nor the gleam of moonlight. He had never been
aware of anything except himself, and yet he had known
nothing of himself, never becoming conscious of loneliness.

The room must have been very narrow, for he thought
that he had once touched the opposite walls with his out-
stretched arms. Before this, it had seemed immeasurably
large; chained to his bed of straw without seeing his chain,
Caspar had never left the spot of ground on which he slept
and waked dreamlessly. Twilight and darkness were dif-
ferentiated, therefore he must have known day and night.
He did not know their names, but he did see darkness, for
when he woke up in the night the walls had disappeared.

He had no measure of time. He could not say when this
unfathomable loneliness had begun, and there was no time
at which he thought it might ever end. He did not feel
any change in his body, he did not wish that anything might
be different from what it was, nothing casual frightened
him, no hope of anything to come drew him on, and the past
had no words. The regulated hours of this scarcely con-
scious life passed silently, and his inner being was as silent
as the air which surrounded him.

When he awoke in the morning he found fresh bread
near his bed and the water pitcher filled. At times the water
did not taste the same; when he had drunk it, he lost his
liveliness and fell asleep. Then, when he woke up, he had

far]
 

CASPAR HAUSER :

 

to take the pitcher in his hand very often, he held it for a
long time to his mouth, but no water came out any more.
He constantly put it down and waited to see whether the
water would not come soon, because he did not know that
some one had to fetch it, for he had no conception that
any one existed beside himself. On these days he found’
clean straw on his bed, a fresh shirt on his body, his nails
cut, his hair shorter and his skin clean. All this had hap-
pened while he was asleep, without his having noticed it,
and it left no after thoughts to disturb his mind.

Caspar Hauser was not entirely alone; he had a comrade.
He possessed a little white wooden horse, a nameless, mo-
tionless thing which at the same time was something in which
his own being was darkly mirrored. Since he dimly con-
ceived that it was a living form, he regarded it as his equal,
and all the light of the outer world was centered in the dull
glance of its artificial pearl eyes. He did not play with it,
he did not even converse silently with it, and although it
stood on a little board with wheels he never thought of
pushing it about. But before he ate his bread he passed
every bite to the horse before putting it to his own mouth,
and before he fell asleep he stroked it with a caressing hand.

This was his sole occupation, for many days and for
many years.

Then it happened that once while he was awake the wall
opened and, from the never seen outside, there appeared a
huge figure, the first other person who uttered the word
“thee” and whom Caspar therefore called the Thee. The
ceiling of the room rested upon his shoulders, there was
something incomprehensibly buoyant and lithe in the move-
ments of his limbs, there was a noise about him which filled
the ear, sound after sound flowed rapidly from his lips;
the light in his eyes compelled breathless listening, and
about his clothes there was the overwhelming smell of the
beyond.

Of the many words which came out of the mouth of the

[42]
 

*HAUSER’S STORY RECORDED BY DAUMER

 

( 5 !
Thee, Caspar at first understood not .a one, but through ex-
cited attention he gradually comprehended that this ex-
. traordinary giant wantgd to take him away, that the thing
which had shared his solitude was called a horse, and that
he should have other horses and that he should learn.

“Learn,” repeated the Thee constantly, “learn, learn.”
And in order to make clear to Caspar what this meant, he
placed a bench with four round feet in front of him, put
a piece of paper on it and wrote the name “Caspar Hauser”

"twice, and then directed Caspar’s hand in rewriting it. This
pleased Caspar, for it was black and white.

Then the Thee placed a book on the stool and, pointing
to the tiny signs, he spoke the words. Caspar could repeat
them all without having in the least understood them. He
also babbled after him some other words and expressions
which the man told him; for example: “I should like to
become a horseman like my father.”

The Thee seemed satisfied. In any case, as a reward he
showed him that the wooden horse could be pushed along
the floor, and Caspar amused himself with this when he
awoke the next morning. He pushed the little horse up and
down in front of his bed and this made a noise which hurt
his ears; he therefore ceased and began to talk to the horse,
repeating the incomprehensible sounds which he had heard
out of the mouth of the Thee. It was a wonderful pleasure
for him to hear himself, and he lifted up his arms and filled
the room with his joyous babble.

Probably this irritated and disturbed his jailer, who no
doubt wished to silence him. Suddenly Caspar saw a stick
swing over his shoulder and simultaneously felt such a severe
pain in his arm that he fell forward from fright. In the
midst of his anxiety he made the astonishing discovery
that he was no longer chained to his bed. For a while he
remained quite still, then he tried to slide forwards, but
the touch of his bare feet on the cold earth made him shud-

[43]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

der. With difficulty he reached his bed and fell asleep at
once.

Night and day returned three times before the Thee re-
turned and tried to see whether Caspar could write his
name and read the words out of the book. He did not con-
ceal his astonishment when the boy was able to do this
with ease. He pointed to objects in the room and pro-
nounced their names; he spoke slowly to Caspar, looking
him steadily in the eye, and holding him by the shoulder; by
means of his glances, his gestures and the expression of
his features Caspar understood what he said and he shud-
dered while obeying the man, with a stammering tongue.

During the following night he was roused from his sleep.
He felt the attempts to wake him long and painfully, but
he could not quite wake up. When he finally opened his
eyes the wall was open and a purple-red light flooded the
room. The Thee was bending over him and speaking gently,
perhaps in order to calm his fears. He sat him up, dressed
him in trousers, a shirt and boots, then stood him on his
feet, leaned him against the wall and turned his back upon
him. He seized his legs, picked him up and Caspar clasped
his arms around his neck, and then they went up what seemed
to Caspar a steep hill; actually it was probably the steps of
the underground prison. The breathing of the man re-
sounded frighteningly, something cool and damp struck Cas-
par in the face and settled in his hair which began to move
of its own accord and stuck to his skin.

Suddenly the darkness gave way; it rustled to the ground,
everything became broad and soft and yet remained dark;
in the distant depths great strange things rose up, from above
a blue beam broke and was lost again; the slippery damp
blew the folds of their clothes and penetrating smells sur-
rounded them. Caspar began to cry and fell asleep on the
man’s back.

On waking up he lay on the ground, his face turned
towards the earth, and from beneath him the cold streamed

[44]
 

HAUSER'S STORY RECORDED BY DAUMER

 

into his body. The Thee sat him up. The air burned curi-
ously and an unbearable bright light flitted before his eyes.
The Thee made him understand that he must learn to walk,
and holding him under his arms from behind, he struck his
head against his breast, thus ordering him to look on the
ground. Caspar obeyed, swaying and trembling, the air
and the brightness burned his eyelids, the smells made him
dizzy and he lost his senses.

Again he slept, for how long he did not know; nor did
he know how often he had tried to walk before it again
became dark. At times he thought night had come on again,
whereas they were only in a woods. He did not take in
the road; he did not know whether they went up or down
hill. Whether there were trees or meadows or houses, he
did not know. At times everything seemed steeped in a
red glow, but when softness and darkness came earth and
air stretched ahead blue and green. Whether people passed
he could not say; he did not even see the face of the man.
Once water fell from above; he thought the Thee was pour-
ing water on him and complained, but the Thee replied that
he was not pouring water on him; he pointed to the air and
said: “Rain rain.”

How long he had been thus under way he did not know.
It seemed to him every time he lay down exhausted from
walking, a day had passed. Fear drove him on and mastered
his fatigue; it stretched his muscles and kept his head up,
whereas his eyes constantly moved over the ground. The
Thee gave him the same bread that he had eaten in his
prison and let him drink water out of a bottle. He sought
to conquer Caspar’s exhaustion and his anxiety when the
wind howled through the bushes, or when an animal
screamed, or when the grass rustled under his feet, by the
promise of beautiful horses, and when Caspar was able to
make a continuous effort at walking, he said they would
now soon be there. He pointed into the distance with his
arm and said: “Big city.” .

[45]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

Caspar did not see anything; he staggered on. After
a time the Thee tugged him by the arm as a sign to stand
still, gave him a letter and said, with his mouth close to
Caspar’s ear: “Get some one to show you where the letter
goes.”

Caspar walked on a few steps and when he looked around
the Thee had disappeared. Suddenly he felt stones under
his feet, he groped in every direction for a support, he saw
stone walls which glowed in the sunlight, but horror first
seized him when he became aware of people; first one per-
son, then two, then many. They came {rightfully near to
him, they surrounded him, they shouted at him, one took
hold of him and dragged him forward, all about him was
noise and confusion. He wanted to sleep, they did not
understand him; he spoke of his father, of the horses: they
laughed and did not understand him. He slept in the Cap-
tain’s stable, then other figures appeared again, only to
disappear with unaccountable dispatch. The air was heavy
and he could scarcely breathe; the monstrous things, for
such the houses seemed to him, pressed upon him, and in
the police station the wild countenances and gestures of
the people frightened him so that he took refuge in tears.

Again he slept for a long time, after which he was taken
to the tower. The man who led him up the big staircase
spoke to him in a loud voice and opened a door which echted
strangely. Scarcely had he lain down on the bag of straw,
when the tower clock began to strike, which filled him with
boundless astonishment. He listened tensely, but little by lit-
tle the sounds ceased, his alertness abated and he felt only
the burning of his feet. His eyes did not pain him, for it
was dark. He sat up, wanting to reach for the little pitcher
in order to quench his thirst. He saw no water and no
bread; instead he saw a floor. quite different from the one
where he had been previously. Now he wanted to reach
for his little horse in order to play with it, but it was not

[46]
 

HAUSER’S STORY RECORDED BY DAUMER

 

there, and he said: “I should like to become a rider like
my father.”

This was intended to mean: “Where is the water, and the

bread, and the little horse?”
He noticed the bag of straw on which he lay and observed
it with astonishment, and did not know what it was. Strik-
ing it with his finger he heard the same sound that had
always come from the straw of his bed. This quieted him
so that he fell asleep again and did not wake up until he
was awakened in the middle of the night by the repeated
pealing of the great bell. He listened for a long time, and
when the sounds had died away he saw the stove, which
was green in color and had luster—for Caspar was able
to differentiate colors even in the profoundest darkness. He
regarded it very intently and murmured again, “I should
like to become a rider like my father.”

This meant: “What is that thing and where am I?” It
also expressed his desire for the shining object.

In the morning the warden opened the shutters of the
windows and the bright daylight hurt Caspar’s eyes; he
began to cry and said, “Tell me where the letter belongs,”
by which he meant to say, “Why do my eyes hurt? Take
away what’s burning me and give me back the little horse
and don’t bother me.” For in his mind he conversed with
the Thee from whom he thought he might obtain aid. He
heard the clock strike again and this took away half his
pain; and while he was listening a man came and asked him
all sorts of questions, but Caspar did not answer because
his attention was fixed upon the last reverberations of the
sound. The man took him by the chin, raised his head and
spoke in a loud voice. Now Caspar heard him and repeated
all the words he had learned, but the man did not understand
him. He let go his head, sat down next to Caspar, and con-
tinued to question him. When the clock struck again Caspar
said, “I should like to become a rider like my father.”

% L471
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

This was intended to mean: “Give me the thing that sounds
so beautifully.”

The man did not understand him and continued to talk,
and Caspar began to cry and said, “Give the horse,” which
meant that the man was to please stop bothering him.

He sat alone for a long time. From a great distance
came the sound of a trumpet from the royal stables, and
when another man came in Caspar repeated the formula
about the letter, which meant: “Don’t you know what that
is?” The man brought the water pitcher and let Caspar
drink; this put him in good spirits and he said, “I want to
become a rider like my father.” This meant: “Now water,
you must not go away any more.” Soon the trumpet blew
again, and Caspar listened joyously. He thought that when
his little horse came he would tell him what he had heard.

But on this day the tormenting he was to endure from so
many persons began.

[48]
III
AN OFFICIAL OF HIGH RANK LOOKS BEHIND THE SCENES

OF course it took Professor Daumer many weeks to obtain
such complete insight into the boy’s past. To bring these
facts to light, to make them clear and tangible, had much
resembled the work of digging a well. What had at first
seemed like a delirious dream, now assumed traits of reality.

Daumer did not fail to present the situation to the authori-
ties in a conscientiously prepared paper. The result was
that the magistrate decided to give up the resort to formal
interviews and to begin a course of intimate association with
the unfortunate boy. The striking peculiarities of his per-
sonality were to be examined once again, was the suggestion
recorded in one of the legal comments. Hence doctors,
scholars, police officials, shrewd lawyers, in short, countless
persons who had interested themselves in his fate of their
own accord, were sent to see him in the tower. There was
an endless snooping and discussion, incredulity and astonish-
ment, but the various explanations all led to one conclusion,
and the naked eye could do no better than confirm Daumer’s
report.

A few days later, early in July, the Mayor published a
proclamation which roused great astonishment and uneasi-
ness all over the country. After describing Caspar Hauser’s
appearance, and after repeating with great detail the boy’s
own story, the writer described him himself. He spoke of
the gentleness and goodness of the boy which charmed all
who came in contact with him; how at first he had thought
affectionately of his oppressor and always been moved to
tears, and now was conscious only of being released, and of
how touching was his devotion to those who frequently
came near him, of his undoubted readiness for right con-

L491]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

duct, associated with some conception of evil; and further,
of his extraordinary desire for knowledge.

“All of these circumstances,” continued the eloquent de-
cree, “in the same measure that they corroborate the boy’s
memories, convince us that he is endowed with splendid
qualities of heart and mind, and justify the suspicion that
some great crime is connected with his former incarceration,
which deprived him of parents, freedom, fortune, perhaps
even of the advantages of high birth; in any case, of the
greatest pleasures of childhood and the chief blessings of
life,”

This was a bold and pregnant hypothesis, which did more
honor to the Lord Mayor’s kind heart and romantic spirit
than to the circumspection normally characteristic of his
high office.

“There are many indications,” the decree continued, “that
the crime was committed at a time when the boy had already
acquired the power of speech and the rudiments of a dis-
tinguished education, which shines in his character like a
beacon light in the darkness. The most earnest appeal is
therefore made to all legal, police, civil and military authori-
ties, and to every one who has a human heart in his breast,
to make known to the authorities even the slightest traces
and grounds of suspicion. And this not for the purpose of
getting rid of Caspar Hauser; for the municipality which
has taken him in loves him, and regards him as a gage of
love sent by Providence, and would not give him up to any
one without excellent evidence, but rather wishes to dis-
cover the crime, and to punish the criminal and those allied
with him.” :

Probably the authors hoped a great deal from this mani-
festo, but the matter took quite an unexpected tutn and
created some embarrassment for the gentlemen of Niirnberg.
At first a lot of silly and libelous accusations were received
concerning more than one noble family, and the intimate
lives of the aristocracy were exposed. Murders of children,

[501
 

AN OFFICIAL LOOKS BEHIND THE SCENES

 

kidnapings and substitutions of children, were, according to
the populace, crimes which people in high position indulged
in daily and for pleasure.

What was worse, the Mayor’s official notice came to the
ears of the Supreme Court of the Rezat District unofficially.
Some angry judge of this court at once wrote in great heat
to the court in Ansbach that, in the first place, the proclama-
tion of the Mayor of Niirnberg was against the law ; secondly,
it was characterized as quixotic, and furthermore, he com- ’
plained bitterly that the premature publication of these im-
portant facts would make a criminal investigation, if not
vain, at least very much more difficult. The angry judge,
therefore, urged the authorities to hold the Mayor strictly
to account and to send on the police records regarding the
case to him at once.

The authorities did not need a second admonition. They
addressed a rescript to the commissioner of the city of Niirn-
berg to say that the story of the life history of the foundling
was so grossly improbable that one could not help suspecting
some gross deception. At the same time the copies of the
Intelligenzblatt and of the Friedens und Kriegs-Kurier
which were still available, were confiscated. This was re-
ported to the appellate court in due course and the question
raised whether legal proceedings should be resorted to against
the prisoner.

The city authorities were struck dumb with fear. In great
haste they packed up the papers regarding the boy and sent
them to Ansbach by express post. Perhaps they thought the
matter was now adjusted, but the angry judge raised his
voice again. “The examination of the prisoner and of the
witnesses, according to the records submitted, is not above
reproach,” he stormed. “By no means all of the persons who
first came into contact with the boy have been examined by
the police. Furthermore, in order to provide a proper legal
basis for the publication of the city government's findings,

[51]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

the records of Professor Daumer’s conversations with the
foundling should have been included among the papers.”

The government, as its final admonition, warned the Mayor
against one-sided proceedings. Whereupon the Mayor, in an
attack of indignant rage, retorted that the measures which
they demanded involved a danger of retarding the progress
of the disclosures, and this complaint the high authorities
denied with hot emphasis. Make good your omissions, they
demanded ; register examinations and send documents, docu-
ments, nothing but documents.

Professor Daumer had followed the proceedings with con-
cealed rage. He denounced the proceedings of the Ansbach
authorities as a disgusting bureaucratic pettifogging, and
thought seriously of expressing his disgust in a defiant
letter to the government. His friends restrained him with
difficulty from doing this. “But something must be done!”
he answered them, horrified. “They are in the best way to
commit legal murder and shall I sit with my hands idle?”

“The wisest thing to do,” replied Freiherr von Tucher,
“would be to appeal personally to Staatsrat Feuerbach.”

“That would mean go to Ansbach?”

“Certainly.”

“Do you think that he, as president of the appellate court,
is already familiar with the doings of his subordinates and
perhaps disapproves of them?”

“However that may be, I think something would come of
a discussion face to face. I know Herr von Feuerbach, he
is the last person to close his ear to the demands of jus-
tice.”

The trip was agreed upon. The next day already found
Daumer and Herr von Tucher in Ansbach. Unfortunately,
President Feuerbach was off on a trip of inspection in the
district, but was expected back in five days, so that the two
men, in order to carry out their purpose, had to prolong
their stay in the old provincial capital beyond their expecta-

tions.
[52]
 

AN OFFICIAL 1LOORKS BEHIND THE SCENES

 

In the meantime the foundling had a bad time of it. The
tower in which he was imprisoned was the goal of all the
idlers and curiosity seekers in town. People hurried there
as to an exhibition of some strange amusing object, for the
Mayor’s proclamation had made the boy public property.
Those who had protected him up to now became a little
more reserved, for no one knew how the thing would end,
and whether some all-knowing appellate court would not
stamp him as a common swindler. The tower jailer did not
dare to interfere with the general amusement of the popu-
lace; the Mayor himself had rescinded his former regula-
tions, because it seemed worth while for as many people
as possible to see the stranger. He was often sorry for the
helpless boy, but on the other hand his vanity was flattered
at being the master of such a prodigy through whom, more-
over, quite a number of pennies found their way into the
public coffers.

When morning came and Caspar Hauser got up from his
bed curiously tired, with his eyes avoiding the light, he
would sit sadly and silently in a corner while Hill shook
up the bag of straw and brought water and bread. Even
at this early hour the first visitors began to appear, those
whose occupations made them perforce rise betimes, street
sweepers, servant girls, bakers’ boys, mechanics on their
way to work, boys who wished to punctuate pleasantly their
hard road to school; and even the disreputable sight of
shabby gentlemen who had spent the night in the gutter or
in a barn was not lacking.

As the day progressed the company became more refined ;
whole families came: the accountant with his wife and child,
the major, Schneidermeister Biigelfleiss, Graf Rotstrumpf
with his ladies, Herr von Uebel and Herr von Struebel, who
interrupted their morning walks for the purpose of gazing
at this curiosity.

It was a gay affair; they conversed, they whispered, they
laughed, they joked and exchanged opinions. They were

[53]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

generous and brought the boy all kinds of presents, which
he looked at just as a dog, who has not yet learned to fetch
and carry, looks at the stick which his master has thrown
for him. They put food in front of him to tempt his appe-
tite; for example, the wife of Kanzleirat Zahnlos—teeth-
less—brought a whole leg of ham, which it is true
disappeared before the next day: no one knew whither, al-
though certain important deductions were made.

Above all the cry was “Show us the wonder, show us the
wonder which has caused so much talk.” But when the
silent, gentle boy did not do any of the things which their
eager expectations had led them to imagine, they began
either to scold—as though they had paid an entrance fee
and been cheated—or they committed the most astonishing
stupidities. By worrying him constantly with questions as
to where he came from, what his name was, how old he was,
and so forth, they induced in themselves a superior feeling
of cleverness and sophistication. His supplicating shake of
the head, his senseless yes or no, which sounded simultane-
ously timid and merry, as from the mouth of a child, his
stammering and his credulous attentiveness, all contributed
to their sense of well-being. Some brought their faces
very close to his, and were very much amused when he was
obviously frightened at their staring gaze. They felt his
hair and his hands and his feet, forced him to walk about
the room, showed him pictures which they wanted him to
explain and acted with simulated affection toward him,
whereat they winked slyly at one another.

But these adventurous spirits soon became bored with
the pointlessness of these pranks. They wanted to make
sure that it was really true that the prisoner rejected all
nourishment but bread and water: they held meat or sau-
sage, honey or butter, milk or wine, in front of his face, and
were vastly amused when the boy went quite beside himself
with disgust. “What an actor!” they screeched; “he be-
haves as though he disdained our delicacies; probably got

[541]
 

AN OFFICIAL LOOKS BEHIND THE SCENES

 

indigestion in the kitchen of some distinguished gentleman.”

Especially amusing was the incident when two young mas-
ter goldsmiths brought some liqueur and determined to force
Hauser to take it. One held him, the other wanted to pour
the full glass into his mouth. But they were unable to carry
out their plan, for the very smell of the stuff in the glass
made their victim faint. They were somewhat taken aback
and did not know what to do with the unconscious boy ; for-
tunately they saw him breathe and had no further anxiety.
“Don’t believe his tricks,” said a foppishly dressed young
gentleman who had been standing by somewhat bored. “I
will bring him to all right.” Immediately he smilingly pulled
out a golden snuff-box and stuck a large pinch of snuff
under the nose of the supposed pretender, upon which Cas-
par’s face twitched convulsively, whereupon all three burst
out laughing. When the jailer came and took them severely
to task, they withdrew with much reviling and made way
for a fat old gentleman who poked Caspar—who was slowly
returning to life—on all sides, placed his finger on the boy’s
forehead, cleared his throat, shook his head, addressed him

a

first in French, then in Spanish, then in English, whispered

to the jailer; in brief, almost bursting with self-importance.
Caspar, however, only looked at him and said, in pitiful
tones, “Show me the way home.”

“Why do you not play with the little horse?” asked the
jailer as soon as this important personage had left. One
still communicated with Caspar more by means of gestures
than by words, and what words could not say, he would read
from eyes and hands.

He looked a long time at Hill and said, “Direct me home.”
“Direct me home,” replied the warden, divided between
irritation and pity, “where then, where’s home? Where is
your home, you poor wretch? In that hole underground?
Do you call that being at home?”

“I want the Thee to come,” said Caspar clearly, and dis-
tinctly, and slowly.

L551
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

“I'd like to see him try it,” replied Hill, smiling threaten-
ingly.

“The Thee is coming, the Thee is coming soon,” insisted
Caspar, and he looked with fervent intensity into the evening
sky, as though he were convinced that the Thee could walk
through the air. Then he got up in his painful fashion, took
his toy horse and tried to carry it, for of all the presents
which he had received this was the only one that he wanted
to take with him when the Thee came.

Hill understood his action. “No, Caspar,” he said, “now
you have to stay in the world. That you may not like it, I
understand well. I don’t like it either, but remain you must.”

Caspar, although he could not follow the words entirely,
nevertheless understood the adamant will of fate which lay
behind them. He began to tremble all over and threw him-
self on the floor, crying bitterly, and even later when the
dismayed Hill had succeeded in consoling him it seemed as
though he were eating his heart out with sorrow. The sad-
ness of his spirit clouded the childlike face as though with
a dark veil, and the next morning his eyelids were clotted
with the tears he had shed in his sleep.

For the first time he no longer wanted to play with his
horse, and crouched for hours in the same spot without
moving. He shook at every creak of the steps and shud-
dered when again and again new faces’ appeared on the
threshold. Tremblingly he looked at these people, the smell
of their breath was painful to him, and to be touched by
them unbearable. He was most afraid of their hands. First
he looked at these hands and noticed their various shapes and
colors, and before he felt them on his skin he was already

~ . afraid of them. They seemed to him independent creatures,

crawling, sticky, dangerous animals whose behavior from
moment to moment one could not foretell.

Only Daumer’s hand, the only one whose touch was pleas-
ing to him, had disappeared. Why, thought Caspar, why
was all this going on? Why this strange noise from morn-

[561 iP
 

AN OFFICIAL LOOKS BEHIND THE SCENES

 

ing till night? Where did these strange figures come from?
Why so many, and why were their mouths and eyes wicked ?

The fresh water no longer tasted good and he no longer
enjoyed the salted bread. In his fatigue he thought in the
middle of the day that night had come, and those hot shin-
ing things which he had been told were the rays of the sun
changed to purple dusk before his tired eyes. He was
afraid of the rustling of the wind, for he mistook it for the
voices of people. Ie longed for the loneliness of his prison.
To return home was his only thought.

It was Sunday. Late in the afternoon Daumer and Herr
von Tucher had returned from Ansbach, and Staatsrat von
Feuerbach was with them. He had determined to visit the
foundling himself, and if possible to clarify the fruitless
muddle of decrees and documents. After he had taken
lodgings in the Lamm Hotel, the President had the two gen-
tlemen conduct him at once to the tower in the Castle. Nine
o'clock had already struck when they arrived. Great was
their astonishment to find Caspar’s room empty. The wife
of the warden explained with embarrassment that her hus-
hand had gone with Caspar to the Krokodil Inn; Rittmeister
Wessenig had wanted to show the foundling to some friends
from out of town and had sent up to have Caspar brought
down.

Daumer turned pale; sensing evil he stared darkly at the
floor. Herr von Tucher was scarcely able to control his
irritation, and a half-mocking, half-contemptuous smile
played about the beardless lips of the President. His com-
manding bearing reminded one of a prince offended by an
omission of duty as he said sternly to the two men: “Take
me to the inn.”

Darkness had come; the moon shone wan over the city
hall. Silently the three men walked down the hill, and
scarcely had they left the maze of narrow streets when
Daumer stood still and whispered in excited tones: “There

he is.’
"ra
%
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

Then they saw Caspar, like one deathly sick, swaying on
Hill's arm as they left the gate of the Krokodil Inn. The
President and Herr von Tucher both stood still and now they
noticed that the boy suddenly stopped, shrank back, and
stared at the ground in astonishment, his eyes wide with
terror. The three men hurried up to him to find out what
was wrong : they saw nothing except the shadow of the boy
and his companion on the sidewalk.

Caspar did not dare to move any further because he saw
every movement of his body copied by this incomprehensible
thing. His lips were parted for a scream, his face snow-
white, and his knees trembled. It was as if all the horrible
and mysterious quality of the world into which chance had
thrown him had congealed itself into this curious figure
wriggling on the ground.

Daumer, Herr von Tucher and the warden tried to help
him; the President stood by silently. Daumer, when he
looked up, observing him secretly and intently, saw his stern
face unaffectedly moved.

Hill, who was the first to encounter the President’s anger,
came near being discharged that very night; only the cour-
ageous intervention of Herr von Tucher saved him and di-
rected the wrath of the old jurist against more responsible
persons, for the neglect which the boy had suffered was all
too evident. With his usual impetuosity the President at
once sought out Mayor Binder and reproached him hotly.
Herr Binder could not but agree pusillanimously with the
President; the decision with which the latter took up the
matter made a deep impression upon him, and he had to
admit having committed an almost irreparable fault. He
had only been tepid about the matter, the difficulties with
the government had annoyed him; now suddenly, when this
powerful man raised his voice in behalf of the foundling,
he became conscious of his willingness to do everything to
help Caspar Hauser, and at once declared himself willing
when Herr von Feuerbach asked that he should be removed

[581
 

AN OFFICIAL LOOKS BEHIND THE SCENES

 

from his present circumstances at once. “He must have
regular care,” said the President. “Professor Daumer has
offered of his own accord to take him into his house, and I
wish these steps taken without the slightest delay.”

Binder bowed. “I shall take the necessary measures early
to-morrow,” he answered.

“Not before I have spoken to the boy myself,” the Presi-
dent hastily replied. “I shall be at the tower at ten o’clock
and I should like to be alone for an hour with the prisoner.”

Daumer, too, had returned home rather excited. After
days of absence he scarcely had proper greetings for his
mother and sister. “The fine ladies and gentlemen must
have carried on high,” he growled, walking continually up
and down; “the boy is quite beside himself; that’s what I
call being human, that’s what I call having consideration.
They are barbarians and murderers, and it's among such
people that I am compelled to live.”

“Why don’t you tell them so yourself?” remarked Anna
Daumer dryly. “Scolding behind four walls is useless.”

“Tell me, Friedrich,” the old lady now addressed her
son, “are you really convinced that you are not throwing
your heart away upon a false idol ?”

“From your question it is evident that you have not seen
him,” replied Daumer almost pityingly.

“That’s certain; there was too much of a crowd.”

“Well, then. One can’t exaggerate in speaking of him,
because language is too poor to express his personality.
It is like a very old legend, this appearance of a fairy-like
creature; out of a dark nowhere, we suddenly hear the pure
voice of nature, a myth becomes a reality. His soul resem-
bles some precious jewel which no covetous hand has yet
touched; I shall seize it, for I am justified by a high purpose.
Or am I unworthy? Do you think that I am not worthy?”

“Your enthusiasm is running away with you,” said Anna,
after a long pause, almost unwillingly.

Daumer shrugged his shoulders and smiled. Then he

L591
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

walked up to the table and said, in a voice whose gentleness
seemed intended to defeat some already foreseen resistance:
“Caspar is moving into our house to-morrow. I have ap-
pealed to Excellency Feuerbach and he has granted my re-
quest. I hope, mother, that you won’t have any objection
and that you believe me when I assure you that it is a matter
of great importance to me I am on the track of important
discoveries.”

Mother and daughter looked at one another, frightened,
and remained silent.

Next day, at ten o’clock, Daumer, the Mayor, the city
commissioner, the municipal doctor and several other per-
sons met in the court in front of the prison tower and waited
an hour and a half for the President, who was inside with
the foundling. Daumer, who wanted to avoid talking to the
others, stood almost continually at the outer wall and looked
out at the picturesque maze of streets and roofs.

When the President finally appeared, those who had been
waiting pressed eagerly about him to hear the opinion of
so famous and redoubted a man. But the face of the Presi-
dent was so dark and serious that no one ventured to disturb
him by addressing him. His powerful eye was burning in-
wardly, his lips were tightly pressed together, his forehead
was furrowed with thought. His silence was interrupted by
the Mayor, who asked whether his Excellency would not
deign to take lunch with him. Feuerbach thanked him:
important business forced him to return immediately to
Ansbach, he said. Thereupon he turned to Daumer, shook
hands with him and said: “See that Hauser is moved at
once, the poor soul needs rest and care badly. You will hear
from me soon. Good afternoon, gentlemen.”

Then he walked away with small, loud, rapid steps, hur-
ried down the hill and disappeared at once in the direction
of the Church of St. Sebald. Since all were convinced of
the boundless perspicacity of this man, and that no eye but
his could see through the darkness which hung over crime

[60]
 

AN OFFICIAL 1.OOKS BEHIND THE SCENES

 

and sin, they were dismayed by his silence, which seemed to
them studied and purposeful.

That same evening Caspar found himself in Daumer’s
house,

Lor]
Iv
THE MIRROR SPEAKS

DauMER’s house adjoined the so-called Annengirtlein on
the Island of Schiitt. It was an old building with many
nooks and corners and half-dark rooms, but Caspar was
given a fairly large, well-furnished room overlooking the
river.

He had to be put to bed at once. The consequences of
his recent experiences suddenly became apparent. He was
again speechless and at times appeared to have no sensation
of life. He tossed feverishly about on his unaccustomed
pillow. How pitiful it was to see him shudder every time
a board creaked; and the patter of the rain on the windows
brought on a state of terrified commotion. He heard the
steps which resounded on the wide square in front of the
house; it disturbed him to hear the metallic strokes of a
distant forge. The sound of a voice produced a symptom of -
pain on his withered skin, and his features changed con-
stantly from an expression of exhaustion to painful alertness.

For three days Daumer scarcely left his bed. This sacri-
fice and devotion aroused the admiration of his family. “I
must get him to live,” said he, and Caspar began to live.
From the third day on his condition improved steadily and
quickly. When he awoke in the morning a pensive smile
played about his lips. Daumer was triumphant. “You be-
have as if you had escaped from prison yourself,” remarked
his sister, who could not help sharing his pleasure. “Yes,
and I have received the world as a gift,” he answered
eagerly; “just look at him! He's the springtime of youth.”

The next day Caspar was allowed to leave his bed. Dau-
mer led him into the garden. To prevent the bright day-
light from hurting his eyes he tied a green paper shield

£62]
 

THE MIRROR SPEAKS

 

around his forehead. Later he selected twilight, or times
when the sky was cloudy, for these outings.

They were indeed momentous journeys and there was
nothing uneventful or commonplace about them. What pains
it took to make him see and to find names for what he saw!
He had to learn to acquire confidence in objects, and before
he had learned to take their reality for granted, he became
dismayed by their unexpected nearness. When he finally
realized how high the sky was and the distance on the ground
from path to path, his steps became lighter and his bearing
more confident. It was all a question of courage, every-
thing lay in strengthening the self-confidence in him.

“That is air, Caspar; you cannot touch it, but there it is,
when it moves it becomes wind, but you need not fear the
wind. What lies behind the night is yesterday, what is be-
yond the next night is to-morrow. From yesterday to to-
morrow time passes, hours pass; hours are divided time.
This is a tree, this a bush, here is grass and here stones;
there are sand and leaves, there blossoms and fruit.”

Out of hollow sounds the word arose. A form came to
have a meaning because of the unforgettable word. Caspar
rolls a word on his tongue, it tastes bitter or sweet, it con-
tents him or it leaves him dissatisfied. Then too, many
words had faces, or they sounded like the chimes of a bell
out of the night, or they stood out like flames in a mist.

It was a far cry from thing to word. The word was
elusive and you had to run after it, and when it was finally
caught it was nothing and made you sad. Nevertheless the
same road brought one to persons; indeed it was as if one
stood behind a fence of words which made people’s features
strange and formidable. If, however, one broke down or
got behind this barrier then they were beautiful.

If it had seemed unaccustomed in the morning to say
“the flower,” by noon it was already familiar, by evening
it was already old: ‘““This heart and mind, destined to fruit-
fulness after long waiting, like arid soil which has finally

£631
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

been watered, now produces buds and blossoms and fruit
in one night,” noted the industrious Daumer. “What the
glance wearied by custom cannot perceive appears to this
eye as though fresh from the hand of God. And where the
world is an unsolved riddle, where its secrets begin, he
stands curiously pondering, and asks confidently why and
wherefore. Every sound and every sight calls forth this
doubting, wondering, hungry, irreverent questioning.”

It cannot be denied that Daumer was often frightened by
the feeling of his own inadequacy. “Is this pedagogy?” he
pondered; “can this still be called gardening when the wild
plant escapes, when the great organism runs riot and knows
no barriers? How will all this end? Undoubtedly I am
on the trail of an unusual phenomenon, and my precious
contemporaries will be forced to admit some belief in
miracles.”

Caspar still loved to imagine that some day he would be
allowed to return home. “First I'll learn, then I'll go
home,” he would say with an expression of indomitable
resolution. “But you are at home, you're at home here
with us,” Daumer would interpose. But Caspar shook his
head.

At times he would stand by the fence and look over into

the adjoining garden, where children were playing. He
would study their ways with amusing astonishment. “Such
little people,” he remarked to Daumer, who once surprised
him at this occupation. “Such little people.” His voice
sounded sad and greatly puzzled.
. Daumer suppressed a smile, and as they walked into the
house he tried to explain to the youth that every one had
once been so small, including Caspar himself. But Caspar
did not wish to concede this. “Oh, no, no,” he exclaimed,
“not Caspar; Caspar always always like now, Caspar never
had such short arms and legs, oh, no!”

Nevertheless this was so, Daumer assured him, not only
was he once small, but he was still growing daily, changing

[64]
 

THE MIRROR SPEAKS

 

constantly, quite different now already from the Caspar
Hauser of the tower, and after many years he would grow
old, his hair would turn white, his skin be filled with wrinkles.

At this Caspar turned pale with fear. He began to sob
and stammered that this was impossible; he did not want it
so and implored Daumer to see that it did not come to pass.

Daumer whispered something to his sister, who went into
the garden and soon brought back a rosebud, a full-blown
rose, and a faded flower. Caspar reached for the full-blown
rose, but at once turned away with disgust, for, much as he
preferred red above all colors, the strong smell of the flower
was distasteful to him. When Daumer tried to explain to
him the difference in age between bud and full bloom, Caspar
said, “But you have made it yourself. It's a dead thing,
with no eyes and no legs.”

“I didn’t make it myself,” his teacher replied, “it is alive,
it grew, every living thing has grown.”

“Every living thing has grown,” repeated Caspar almost
‘breathlessly, pausing after every word. Here there was an
obvious danger of mental disturbance.

The trees in the garden were also alive, he was told, and
he did not dare to approach them, for the rustling in the
tree tops disturbed him. He continued dubious and asked
who had cut out all these leaves and why, why so many?
“These, too, have grown,” was the answer.

But out on the lawn there was an old sandstone statue
and this was declared by Daumer to be dead, although it
looked like a human being. Caspar could not turn his eyes
away from it for hours. Bewilderment made him dumb.
“Why has it a face?” he finally asked, “why is it so white
and dirty? Why does it always stand and not get tired?”

When he had conquered his fear, he went up to it and
ventured to touch the figure, for, without touching things
he did not believe the evidence of his eyes. He wished
mightily to be allowed to take the thing apart in order to

[651
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

know what was in it. How much there was always inside
of things, how much there was always back of things.

An apple fell from a branch and rolled for some distance
down the steep path. Daumer picked it up and Caspar asked
whether the apple was tired for having run so quickly. He
turned away with a shudder when Daumer took a knife and
cut the fruit in two. Then a worm could be seen wriggling
its thin body against the light.

“It was confined in darkness up to now, as you were in
prison,” said Daumer.

The word “prison” made Caspar thoughtful; thoughtful
and distrustful. How many things of which he knew noth-
ing were imprisoned. Every inside was a prison. And in
a singular state of confusion the memory of the blow which
he had once received, after his Thee had taught him how one
could move the little horse freely, attached itself to these
thoughts. An impending blow lay hidden in all strange
things; danger lurked in everything unknown. In spite of
a peculiar radiant cheerfulness which little by little began
to pour from Caspar’s being, to the delight of all about him,
he was never free from the foreboding and apprehension
of fear. :

Once, after several hours of rain, on stepping out of the
gate with Daumer, Caspar perceived a rainbow in the sky.
He was struck motionless with joy. “Who made it?” he
finally stammered The sun. How did the sun do it?
Why! The sun was not a person! Daumer found the
material explanations of natural phenomena inadequate and
was obliged to attribute them to God. “God is the Creator
of living and inanimate matter,” he said.

Caspar remained silent. The name of God hod a strangely
gloomy sound to him. The image of God which he sought
was similar to his Thee, resembling it at the time when the
ceiling of the prison weighed down on his shoulders. It
was enveloped in uncanny mystery, like the Thee when it
dealt Caspar a blow for having spoken too loudly.

£66]
 

THE MIRROR SPEAKS

 

How mysterious was everything which took place between
morning and evening! The bustle and murmur of the uni-
verse, the water flowing in the river, the movements of
airy-faint objects high up in the air, which were called
clouds, the passage of inexplicable events which did not
recur, the fugitive movements of humans, their pained ges-
tures, their loud speech and their curious laughter. How
much there was to find out about, to learn!

Daumer’s heart contracted whenever he saw the boy buried
in profound thought. During these periods he seemed numb,
he cowered down with clenched fists and no longer heard
or felt what was going on about him.

Caspar, at these times, was really sunk in complete dark-
ness. Only after a sufficient period had been spent thus
inanimately, something like a spark leaped out of the depths
and out of his heart an indistinct murmuring voice began
to speak. When the spark died again, the outer world would
reassert itself, but a melancholy discontent had settled upon
the boy.

“We must go out to the country with him some time,”
said Anna Daumer one day, when she and her brother had
been discussing the situation. “He needs diversion.”

“He does need diversion,” Daumer smilingly admitted.
“He is too introspective, the whole universe still weighs
upon his heart.”

“Since it will be his first walk, it will be wise to undertake
it as quietly as possible, otherwise all the curious will be at
hand,” said old Frau Daumer. “They gossip enough about
him and us, as it is.”

Daumer nodded. He wanted no one but Herr von Tucher
to be of the party.

On the first Sunday in September the excursion took
place. It was already five o’clock in the afternoon when
they left the house, and as they had to be considerate of
Caspar’s slow gait, it was late when they got into the country.
The people they met stopped in order to stare at them and

[67]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

one often heard the surprised and sarcastic remark: “There’s
Caspar Hauser, look at the foundling; how high and mighty
he acts, how grand!” For Caspar wore a new little blue
swallow-tail coat, a fashionable vest, his legs were clad in
white silk stockings and his shoes had silver buckles.

He walked between the two women and observed the road
carefully, although it no longer swayed up and down before
his eyes. The men walked a certain distance behind. Sud-
denly Daumer raised his right arm forward and Caspar
immediately stood still and gazed about questioningly.

Delighted, Daumer called to him, with a tone of affection,
to go on. A few hundred feet further on, he lifted his arm
again, and Caspar immediately stood still and turned towards
him.

“What’s that; what does this mean?” asked Herr von
Tucher, astonished.

“There is no explanation,” answered Daumer, full of
silent triumph. “If you like I can show you something
much more remarkable.”

“Witchcraft will scarcely be resorted to, I hope,” re-
marked Herr von Tucher, a little ironically.

“Witchcraft? No, but as Hamlet says: There are more
things in Heaven and earth than—"

“So you have already reached the end of human under-
standing ©” Herr von Tucher interrupted, still ironically. “I
for my part side with the skeptics. Well, we shall see.“

“We shall see,” Daumer repeated, cheerfully.

After frequent short rests they stopped at the edge of a
field and all lay down on the grass. Caspar fell asleep at
once. Anna spread a cloth over his face, and then unpacked
a small basket of food which they had brought along. In
silence they all four began to eat. It was not a natural
silence ; the lovely day sinking to rest, the beautiful bloom
of summer should rather have conduced to merry talk, but
a spell lay about the sleeping boy. Every one felt his pres-
ence more strongly now than before, but only a few indif-

£681]
 

THE MIRROR SPEAKS

”
ferent words which sounded softer than his breathing were
spoken. Far and wide there was not a soul to be seen, for
they had purposely chosen a rarely frequented road.

The sun was sinking when Caspar awoke and, sitting up,
looked gratefully and somewhat shamefacedly at each of his
friends in turn. “Look over there, Caspar, at that red ball
of fire,” said Daumer, “have you ever seen the sun so big?”

Caspar looked. It was a beautiful sight. The purple
disk was descending as though it were cutting its way into
the earth along the border of the sky; a great trail of scarlet
streamed behind it, the whole air was aglow; there was a
profusion of red arteries to mark a forest in the distance,
and pink shadows slowly descended over the plain. Only a
few minutes more, and the dusk flushed through the soft
carmine mist in which the distant landscape was bathed;
for a moment the earth quivered, then the crystal green
bundles of rays shot over the western sky, converging on
the setting sun.

A ghostlike smile played over the faces of both men and
both women, as they saw Caspar with a gesture of mute fear
stretch his hand towards the horizon. Daumer approached
and seized his hand, which had become ice-cold. Caspar
turned his face towards him, trembling, full of questions
and fear, and finally his lips moved and he murmured shyly,
“Where does the sun go? Does it go away entirely ?”

Daumer was unable to answer at once. So may Adam,
he thought, have trembled as his first night broke in Para-
dise, and it was not without a shudder of awe, not without
a curious uncertainty, that he consoled the boy and assured
him that the sun would return.

“Is God there?” asked Caspar in a whisper, “is the sun
God ?”

Daumer pointed in general to all the surrounding scene
and answered, “Everything is God.”

This dictum of the pantheistic philosophy was, however,
a little too complicated for the boy’s powers of comprehen-

L691]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

sion. He shook his head skeptically and then said with an
expression of profoundly idolatrous veneration, “Caspar
loves the sun.”

On the way home he was quite silent; so were the others,
even Anna, who was always in good humor ; they were curi-
ously depressed, as though they had never before strolled
through an evening late in the summer, or as though they
already had a premonition of the scene which would make
these hours in which they had been together unforgettable.

Just in front of the city gate Anna stood still and called
the attention of all to the glorious starlit sky. Caspar, too,
looked up and was endlessly surprised. Short, swift, in-
coherent sounds of passionate delight came from his mouth.
“Stars, stars,” he stammered, taking the word he had heard
from Anna’s lips. He pressed his hands against his breast
and an indescribably happy smile beautified his features. He
could not look his fill and repeatedly resumed his gazing at
the splendor, and from his feeble and inarticulate words
they could understand that he could distinguish groups of
stars in the firmament and single stars that were particu-
larly bright. In a voice that showed him to be almost beside
himself he asked who had put so many beautiful lights up
there and who it was that lighted and extinguished them?

Daumer answered that they shone all the time, but could
not always be seen, whereupon he asked who had first put
them up there to make them burn all the time.

Suddenly he fell into deep thought. He stood a while
with bent head and saw and heard nothing. When he had
recovered himself again, his pleasure had turned into de-
pression, he fell down on the grass and broke into deep
sobs, which they could not quiet.

It was long after nine o'clock when they finally reached
home. While Caspar went upstairs with the women, Herr
von Tucher said good-by to Daumer at the garden gate.
“lI wonder what was going on in his mind,” he pondered.
And as Daumer said nothing in reply, Herr von Tucher

L701]
 

THE MIRROR SPEAKS

 

went on thoughtfully: “Perhaps he already {feels the ir-
revocable passage of time, perhaps the past already shows
him her true features.”

“Undoubtedly it was painfu: to mm to look up into the
shining vault of heaven,” answered Daumer, “he has never
been able before to lift his eyes to the sky at night. Nature
does not show him a friendly face and he has experienced
little of her so-called kindness.”

For a time they were silent, then Daumer said: “I have
invited a few friends and acquaintances to my house to-mor-
row afternoon. I want to tell them about a series of highly
interesting experiments and observations which I have made
with Caspar. I should be delighted if you would come,

too.”
~~ Herr von Tucher promised to come. To his surprise
when he arrived somewhat late the next day, he was led
into a completely darkened room. It seemed like a séance
already in progress. From one corner he heard the mo-
notonous voice of Caspar reading. “It’s a page of the Bible
which the City Librarian has turned to at random,” Daumer
whispered to Herr von Tucher. The darkness was so great
that the listeners could not see one another; nevertheless,
Caspar read without hesitating, as if his eyes were them-
selves a source of light.

Every one was amazed. The astonishment increased when
Caspar was able, still in total darkness, to differentiate vari-
ous objects, which first one person and then another—in
order to eliminate any suspicion of preparation or collusion
—held up for him at a distance of five or six feet.

“lI am now going to try him with wine,” said Daumer,
as he opened the blinds. Caspar pressed his hands to his
eyes and it was a long time before he could stand the light.
Some one brought wine in an opaque glass and Caspar not
only smelled it at once, but showed obvious symptoms of
a slight intoxication. His eyes rolled and his mouth
showed a wry distortion. Was all this being produced by

L711]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

honest means? Was such sensitiveness possible or conceiv-
able? They repeated the experiment a second and a third
time, and behold, the effect became stronger. For the fourth
experiment water was put into the glass, outside the room,
and now Caspar said he felt nothing.

But it was far more remarkable to observe his reaction
toward metals. While Caspar was out of the room a gen-
tleman concealed a piece of copper. Caspar was called back
and all eagerly watched how he seemed literally drawn to
the hiding place; it looked as though a dog were detecting
the presence of a piece of meat. He found it and they all
applauded. No one paid any attention to the fact that he
was white and covered with cold sweat. Only Herr von
Tucher observed it and disapproved of the whole business.

Of course, this one experiment was not permitted to be
the last. The thing was quickly noised about, and the house
was turned into a museum. Every one of any position or
influence in the city appeared, and Caspar had to be ready
all the time, had to do what he was bidden. When he was
tired he was allowed to sleep, but they examined whether
his sleep was profound and Daumer was overcome with joy
when Dr. Rehbein stated that he would never have believed
in the possibility of such petrified slumber.

Even pathological conditions of the boy’s body gave
Daumer an opportunity for demonstration, or at least for
study. He tried to influence him by hypnotic contacts and
mesmeric caresses, for he was an ardent advocate of the
then new theories which manipulated the soul of man as an
alchemist manipulates the contents of his test-tube. Or,
when these means failed, he would try the healing properties
“of remedies of a certain type. He experimented with arnica,
aconite and nux-vomica. He was always eager, constantly
filled with his mission, always taking notes and affording evi-
dence of an almost pathetic solicitude.

What a serious trifling all this! What eagerness there
was about proving and interpreting and making what was

L721
 

THE MIRROR SPEAKS

 

clear as day obscure, muddling what was simple. The pub-
lic honestly tried to believe, the apparent witchcraft was
heralded in all directions, but not to the advantage of Caspar
nor for his welfare, as was soon made apparent. For, un-
fortunately, the world is full of contemptible creatures whose
skepticism cannot be destroyed by any amount of proof.
Perhaps they expected to be shown something sensational
each time and placed their expectations too high. At any
rate they said that the wonder man only excelled in the tricks
he had studied for public exhibition and in these—according
to them—he had something of the readiness of a little trained
monkey.

The program became, in a word, a little monotonous;
only newcomers could find pleasure in it. The others re-
garded Daumer somewhat as one regards a circus director,
or an author who bores his friends by constantly re-reading
a mediocre poem, whereas they still found enough opportu-
nity to amuse them in Caspar himself.

Was it not amusing when, for example, he criticized the
dust on the coat collar of an officer of high rank or touched
the hair of a director of the Chamber of Commerce, saying
with pitying astonishment: “White hair, white hair”? Or
when, in the presence of some distinguished person in the
city, on observing him twiddling his cane with his fingers,
he wanted to do the same thing, or expressed his aversion
for Magistrate Behold’s black beard, or refused to kiss a
lady’s hand because, as he said, it wasn’t necessary to bite it?

The skeptics of Niirnberg felt themselves recompensed by
such little incidents. If they could laugh all was well. On
the other hand, these occurrences angered Daumer, who
tried to explain to Caspar the amenities of polite society.
“You always forget to greet newcomers,” said Daumer. As
a matter of fact, Caspar, when engrossed in a book or a
game, did not look up until he was called. When he per-
ceived a face which he knew or had come to love, he would
smile bewitchingly and impishly, and then begin to chat and

Los]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

ask questions without any introduction. No matter how im-
portant the people who were present, he never left his place
without carefully putting away all the things with which he
had been occupied and carefully brushing from the table,
with his little broom, all of the pieces of paper and the bread
crumbs. They had to wait until he was through.

He had no shyness. To him all people seemed good; he
considered them almost all beautiful. It seemed to him a
matter of course when some gentleman would place himself
before him and read to him an endless number of names and
figures from a slip of paper that had been previously pre-
pared. His memory never forsook him and he could repeat
name after name, number after number even if there were
a hundred, all in the proper order. He noticed, of course,
from the surprise of the audience, that he had done an as-
tonishing thing, but not a glimmer of vanity ever appeared
on his face; he only looked a little sad if the thing was re-
peated time and time again, if they never seemed satisfied.

He could not understand that what was so natural to
him might be wonderful for them. But no one cared about
things that to him were wonderful. And he was not able
to formulate these things, for they lay rooted in his deepest
feelings. It was a scarcely felt question; in the morning,
perhaps when he awoke, it was a steady, silent, desperate
seeking for which there existed no designation. It lay way
back; it was bound up with him, but he did not possess it.
Something had happened to him, sometime, somewhere, and
he did not know it. He felt of his body, but he scarcely
found himself. He said “Caspar” to himself, but that some-
thing in the distance did not answer to this name. There-
fore his expectations attached themselves to something ex-
ternal. When the clock in the next room struck, what a
curious surprise in each new stroke! It was as if a wall
were to dissolve and to disappear into space. The past night
had been full of imperceptible events. Had any one knocked
at the window? No. Had any one been there, had any one

[741]
 

THE MIRROR SPEAKS

 

spoken, called or threatened? No. Something had oc-
curred, but Caspar had not had anything to do with it.

An inscrutable sense of care. He must learn; perhaps
then it would be clear. He must learn of what things con-
sisted, learn what was hidden in the night, when one was
not alive and nevertheless felt things. He must learn the
unknown, seize what was in the distance, know what was
dark and hidden, learn to question people. He became pas-
sionately devoted to the reading of books. He began to
show impatience when he found himself disturbed by strange
visitors continuously and much to his annoyance, for now
people already came from beyond Niirnberg, since Caspar
Hauser was being spoken of and written of all over the
country. Daumer, too, could scarcely meet all the demands
which were made upon him. He was often weary and out
of humor, and regretted that he had exposed Caspar Hauser
to the world.

There were times, when he was alone with the boy, when
his nobler nature reasserted itself and he became more pro-
foundly attached to this lad whom he so curiously possessed,
body and soul, than was required by his original purpose.
There came an hour when Daumer saw a picture reminding
him of paradise: Caspar was seated on a bench in the garden
with a book in his hand, swallows circled about him and
doves pecked about his feet, a butterfly rested on his shoul-
der and the house-cat purred on his arm. In him we see
mankind free from sin, said Daumer to himself while ob-
serving this picture, and what more is there to do than to
maintain such a condition? What need to decipher or fore-
cast anything more?

Another day there suddenly arose a loud noise in the
neighbor’s garden. A vicious dog had broken his chain and
cavorted in savage leaps, foaming at the mouth. He
knocked over a child, bit a servant who was chasing him,
and sprang against the fence of the Daumer garden. A
board gave way, the animal slipped through and stared

L751
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

wildly with his bloodshot eyes at the little group seated
under the lime trees—Daumer, his mother, Mayor Binder
and Caspar. They all jumped up frightened, Binder lifted
his stick, the animal jumped about, suddenly stood still,
sniffed, trotted over to Caspar, who sat white and still, and
licked the boy’s hand, which depended from the arm of his
seat. Then he looked at him with an uncertain glowing eye,
full of humility almost, expecting a caress, beseeching for-
giveness. It was as if he were begging pardon for his of-
fense. Caspar’s eyes showed the same uncertain and hum-
ble expression; he was sorry for the dog and did not know
why.

It was said that after this scene Daumer had wept.

Two days later, it was a rainy October evening, Daumer
was sitting with his mother and Caspar in the living-room.
Anna had gone to an entertainment in the assembly hall,
the old lady sat knitting in an easy chair by the open win-
dow, for in spite of the fact that autumn was well under way,
the air was warm and full of the damp smell of decaying
plants. There was a knock at the door and the glazier
brought in a large mirror for the wall, which the maid had
broken the week before. Mrs. Daumer told him to lean the
mirror against the wall, which the man did before he left the
apartment.

He had scarcely gone when Daumer asked with aston-
ishment why she had not had it hung in its place and thus
have been saved the work the next day. The old lady an-
swered with an embarrassed smile that one should not hang
a mirror at night; that meant bad luck.

Daumer did not have humor enough for these half-serious
crotchets. He reproached his mother with being supersti-
tious, she contradicted him and he grew angry, which means
that he spoke in his gentlest tones through tightly closed
teeth.

Caspar, who could not bear to see Daumer with an un-
friendly expression on his face, laid his arm on his shoulder

L761]
 

THE MIRROR SPEAKS

and sought to soothe him with childlike coaxing. Daumer
cast his eyes down, was silent a while, and then thoroughly
ashamed said, “Go over to my mother, Caspar, and tell her
that I am in the wrong.”

~ Caspar nodded and without much thought stepped over
to Mrs. Daumer and said, “I am in the wrong.”

Thereupon Daumer laughed, “Not you, Caspar, I,” he
said and pointed to himself. “When Caspar is in the wrong
he should say ‘I.’ I address you as ‘you’ but you say ‘I’
to yourself. Understand?”

Caspar’s eyes became big and thoughtful. The little word
“I” suddenly penetrated through him like some strange-
tasting drink. Hundreds of figures suddenly approached:
him, a whole city full of people, full of men, women and
children, suddenly surrounded him. The animals on the
earth, the birds in the air, the flowers, the stones and the
very sun itself all came up to him and all together addressed
him as “you.” He, however, replied timidly “I.”

He spread his hands flat on his breast and then let them
slip down over his hips: his body was a wall between inside
and outside, between / and you.

At the same moment his own picture stood forth from the
mirror standing over across the room. “Ah,” thought he a
little troubled, “who is that?”

Naturally he had often walked by the mirror before, but
his glances, dazzled by the many sights of his own world,
had passed by without lingering, without thinking, and he
had become as accustomed to his mirrored reflection as to
his shadow on the ground. So casual an observation, af-
fording no impediment to his acts at the moment, could not
secure admission to his more serious consideration.

Now his eye had become mature enough for this appear-
ance. He looked into the mirror; “Caspar,” he murmured.
Inside of him the answer was “I.” There were Caspar’s
mouth and cheeks and the brown hair curling over his fore-
head and ears. Approaching he looked back of the mirror

[771
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

along the wall with playful and doubting curiosity; there
was nothing there. Then he placed himself before the
mirror again and it seemed to him as if behind his picture
the light divided itself and a long, long road ran backwards
and in the far distance there stood another Caspar, another
I, with closed eyes, who looked as if he knew something
which the Caspar who was here in the room did not know.

Daumer, who was in the habit of watching the boy’s be-
havior, was observing him with intense interest. Suddenly,
an unusual sound: something whirled through the air and
fell on the floor near the table. It was a piece of paper
which had flown in from outside. Frau Daumer picked it
up. It was folded together like a letter. Uncertainly she
turned it about and then handed it to her son.

He tore it open and read the following words written
in a large hand: “This is to warn the house; this is to warn
the master of the house, this is to warn the stranger.”

Frau Daumer got up and was reading over his raised
arm; a shiver passed over her. Daumer, as he stared
silently at the note, felt as if the blade of a sword had grown
out of the ground in front of his feet, its point menacingly
uppermost.

Caspar had not been aware of anything that had happened.
He left his place in front of the mirror and walked absent-
mindedly past both of them to the window. There he stood
sunk in contemplation, then he insensibly leaned out farther
and farther, entirely unconscious of himself, filled with the
will to seek, until his breast rested on the window-sill and
his brow protruded into the surrounding darkness.

L781
Y
CASPAR DREAMS

THE next morning Daumer turned over the mysterious
missive to the police. Investigations were set on foot, but
naturally resulted in nothing. The incident was also offi-
cially reported to the Appellate Court and after a while
Regierungsrat Hermann, who was a friend of Baron
Tucher, wrote him a personal letter, in which among other
things he expressed it as his opinion that Caspar Hauser
should continue to be observed and questioned closely. It
was possible that deep-rooted fear forced him to keep quiet
about a number of things concerning which he would other-
wise speak freely.

Herr von Tucher sought out Daumer and read him this
part of the letter. Daumer could not suppress a satirical
smile. “I am quite aware,” said he, somewhat unwillingly,
“that some mystery, woven by the hand of man, lies back
of everything connected with Caspar, quite aside from the
fact that President Feuerbach recently wrote me about the
matter, and in most peculiar terms, at that, which lead me
to infer the presence of some unusual condition. But what
do they mean by ‘questioning’ him, or ‘observing’ him? Has
not the utmost already been tried? Both medical prudence
and human feeling require that I take the greatest care of
him. I hardly dare to make the change from the simple
food to which he is accustomed, to the diet he now requires
by reason of the conditions in which he is now living.”
~ “Why do you not dare?” asked Herr von Tucher, quite
surprised. “We had agreed to accustom him to the use of
meat, or at least of other cooked dishes.”

Daumer hesitated to answer. “He already can stand milk

[70]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

and rice and warm soup quite nicely,” he then said, “but I
don’t want to encourage him to eat meat.”

“Why not?”

“I am afraid I may destroy forces which are perhaps
connected with the purity of his blood.”

“Destroy forces? What forces could be as important for *
him as the strength of his body and the freshness of his
mind? Would it not be far more advisable to lead him
away from what is unusual, from what must sooner or later
be disastrous to him? Is it well to apply a different yard-
stick to him from the one used in any natural education?
What, indeed, do you want, what are you planning to do
with him? Caspar is a child; we must not forget that.”

“He is a miracle,” retorted Daumer hastily, much moved.
Then in half-bitter, half-didactic tones which necessarily
sounded offensive to a man of the world like Tucher, he
continued: “Unfortunately we live in a time in which it is
an offense to gross common sense to call attention to any-
thing that is unfathomable. Otherwise every one would be
obliged to see and feel that in this boy we are surrounded on
all sides by the secret forces of nature in which our whole
being rests.”

Herr von Tucher remained silent for a time; then his
face assumed an expression of defensive pride as he said:
“It is better to seize reality completely, fully, and to satisfy
its demands completely, than to wander about {fruitlessly
in the mist of the supersensual.”

“Does not reality, upon which I can call to bear me out,
justify me?” interposed Daumer, whose voice became lower
and more caressing as he grew hotter over the conversation.
“Must I remind you of single instances? Are not the air
and the earth and the water still inhabited for this bay with
evil spirits with which he has living contacts?”

Baron Tucher’s face became gloomy. ‘The whole busi-
ness seems to me to be only the consequence of a harmful
over-sensitiveness,” said he briefly and sharply. “Those are

[8]
 

CASPAR DREAMS

not the sources from which life springs; a useful human
being cannot be developed from such conditions.”

Daumer bowed his head and in his eye there was impa-
tience and contempt, but he answered in yielding and friendly
tones. ‘“Who knows, Baron? The sources of life are un-
fathomable. My hopes aspire very high and I expect things
of our Caspar which will certainly alter your opinion.
Genius is made of such stuff.”

“One always wrongs a person when one attaches expecta-
tions to his future,” said Herr von Tucher with a sad smile.

“Maybe, maybe, nevertheless I put my faith in the future.
What lies back of him is not my affair and what I know of
his past shall serve me only to free him from it. That is the
wonderful and hopeful thing: we have here for once a being
without a past, the untrammeled creature without previous
responsibility, fresh from the first day of creation, all soul
and all instinct, endowed with glorious possibilities, not yet
seduced by the serpent of knowledge, a proof of the pres-
ence of hidden forces whose study is the task of the cen-
turies that are to come. It is possible that I am mistaken;
then, however, I shall have been mistaken in mankind and
shall have to declare my ideals to be lies.”

“Heaven save you from that,” answered Herr von Tucher
and quickly took his departure.

On the same day Daumer’s mother drew his attention
to the fact that Caspar’s sleep was no longer as quiet as
usual. When Caspar came to the table somewhat tired the
next morning, Daumer asked him whether he had slept
badly.

“No, I didn’t sleep badly,” replied Caspar, “but I woke
up once and then I was frightened.”

“What were you afraid of ?”” his teacher wanted to know.

“Of the dark,” answered Caspar, and thoughtfully he
added: “During the night the dark sits on the lamp and
howls.”

The next morning he came out of his bedroom into Dau-

C81]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

mer’s room half-dressed and told him anxiously that a man
had been there. At first Daumer was frightened, then it
became evident to him that Caspar had dreamed. He asked
what manner of a man it had been and Caspar replied it had
been a big, handsome man with a white cloak. Had the
man spoken to him? Caspar said no; he had not spoken;
he had carried a wreath, which he had laid on the table and
when Caspar had reached for it, the wreath had begun to
shine.

“You dreamed,” said Daumer.

Caspar wanted to know what that meant. “When the
body rests,” his teacher explained, “the soul stays awake
and during sleep makes a picture of what the body has felt
or experienced during the day. This picture we call a
dream.”

Then Caspar wanted to know what the soul was. Daumer
said, “The soul gives life to your body. Body and soul are
mingled together. Each alone is what it is, but they are
as completely mingled as water and wine when one pours
them one into the other.”

“Like water and wine,” asked Caspar with distaste. “But
that spoils the water.”

Daumer laughed and explained that he had only been mak-
ing use of a comparison. Later he perceived that Caspar’s
dreams were of a peculiar, unique type. Ordinarily dreams
are attached to some accidental incident, he said to himself.
They play, regardless of any law, with foreboding, wish
and fear, but in him they resemble a man lost in a dark
wood, feeling about, looking for the road. Something is
not right in his case; I must get to the bottom of it.

The striking part was that certain images gradually con-
densed into a single dream which from night to night became
more complete, assumed more definite form, and regularly
returned with constantly increasing distinctness. At first
Caspar could only tell it in parts, piecemeal, as the images
appeared to him. Then one day just as the painter draws

[82]
 

CASPAR DREAMS

 

aside the curtain that covers a finished picture, he was able
to give his guardian a detailed description.

He had slept longer than usual, and Daumer for this rea-
son had gone to his room. He had scarcely stepped up to
the bed when Caspar opened his eyes. His face was glowing,
his glance reflected an internal preoccupation, and his mouth
was impatient to speak. In a slow voice, full of emotion, he
began.

He was in a big house and was asleep. A woman came
in and woke him up. He notices that the bed is so small
that he does not know how he has found it large enough
to lie in. The woman dresses him and leads him into a
room, all around the walls of which are mirrors in golden
frames. Back of glass walls silver dishes are shining and
on a white table there are fine white, delicately painted por-
celain cups. He wants to remain and look about, but the
woman pulls him on. There is a room with many books
and from the middle of the curved ceiling a chandelier is
suspended. Caspar wants to look at the books but the lights
of the chandelier slowly go out, one after the other, and the
woman draws him on. She conducts him through a long
corridor and down an immense staircase ; they walk through
a gallery in the interior of the house. He sees paintings
on the walls, men in helmets, and women with golden jewelry.
He looks through the arch of the wall from the hall into
the court, where a fountain is splashing. The column of
water is silver white at the bottom and at the top red with
the sun. They come to a second staircase, the steps of
which mount upwards like golden clouds. An iron man is
standing by the stairs, a sword in his right hand, but his
face is black, no, he has no face at all. Caspar is afraid
of him and does not want to pass him, whereupon the woman
bends over and whispers something into his ear. He goes
by him and walks up to an immense door, where the woman
knocks. The door is not opened. She calls and no one
hears. She tries to open the door, but the door is locked.

£83]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

It seems to Caspar that something important is taking place
behind the door ; he himself begins to call, but at that moment
he wakes up.

Curious, thought Daumer, these are things which he can
never have seen before, like the man in armor without a
face. Curious! and his search for words, his helpless cir-
cumlocutions and at the same time such distinct power of
observation. Very odd.

“Who was the woman?” asked Caspar.

“Tt was a dream lady,” replied Daumer soothingly.

“And the books and the fountain and the door?” Caspar
insisted. ‘“Were they dream books? Was it a dream door?
Why did they not open the dream door >”

Daumer sighed and forgot to make reply. What was it
that was gaining power over his Caspar, his soul in a test-
tube? This dream was closely bound up with temporal and
material things.

Caspar dressed slowly. Suddenly he raised his head and
asked whether every one had a mother. And when Daumer
replied in the affirmative, he wanted to know whether every
one had a father? This question had also to be answered
affirmatively.

“Where is your father?” asked Caspar.

“He is dead,” answered Daumer.

“Dead,” Caspar whispered after him.

A breath of fright passed over his features. He relapsed
into a deep brooding; then he began again. “But where’s
my father?”

Daumer was silent. “Is it he with whom I was; the
Thee?” insisted Caspar.

“I don’t know,” answered Daumer, knowing that he was
displaying but little skill and superiority.

“Why not? You know everything? And have I a
mother, too?”

“Certainly.”

“Where is she then? Why does she not come?”

[84]
 

CASPAR DREAMS

“Perhaps she is also dead?”

“Really? Can mothers die, too?”

“Ah, Caspar,” exclaimed Daumer painfully.

“My mother is not dead,” said Caspar with remarkable
decision. Suddenly his face was aflame and he asked with
emotion, “Perhaps my mother was back of the door?”

“Back of what door, Caspar?”

“There! in the dream!”

“In the dream? Why, that’s not real,” Daumer replied,
timidly, resorting to his teaching manner. 3

“But you said that the soul is real and makes the dream?
Yes, she was back of the door, I know it. The next time
I shall open it.”

Daumer hoped that this dream world would gradually
fade away, but this was not the case. This one dream,
Caspar called it the dream of the big house, expanded con-
stantly, until it was interlaced and overgrown with all kinds
of blossoms and clinging branches, like a plant of fable.
Caspar always walked along a certain course, and the course
always ended in front of a high door which was never
opened. Once the earth trembled from steps which were
inside, the door seemed to swell like a garment, flames ap-
peared through a crack on the threshold, then he awoke and
was unable to forget the distress of the dream, which stayed
with him through all the subsequent hours of the day.

The persons changed. Sometimes it was a man that
came instead of the woman, a man who led him through the
arched hall. And as they were about to mount the steps
there came another man who, with a stern expression, handed
him something glittering, which was long and narrow and
which dissolved in his hand like rays of the sun when Caspar
tried to seize it.

To this main dream there were attached peculiar little
dreams, dreams of unknown words which he had never
heard when awake and which, when the dream was over, he
vainly sought to lay hold of. They had mostly a soft sound,

L851
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

but he felt that they never referred to him but to what went
on behind the closed door.

Dream messengers they were, like birds of the sea which
tirelessly carry objects from a half-sunken ship to the dis-
tant coast.

One night Daumer lay sleepless, when he heard a noise
of rather long duration in Caspar’s room. He got up, slipped
on his dressing gown, and went to the boy’s room. Caspar,
in his shirt, sat at the table, a sheet of paper in front of him,
and seemed to have been writing something. Pale moonlight
filled the room. Caspar fixed upon him a glance that was
profound to the point of self-intoxication and answered in
low tones: “I was in the big house. The woman led me to
the fountain in the court; she had me look up at a window;
up there stood the man in the cloak, very handsome to look
at, and he said something ; then I got up and wrote it down.”

Daumer made a light, took the paper, read it, threw it
down, took Caspar by both hands and exclaimed, half with
dismay, half with irritation: “Why, Caspar, that’s perfectly
incomprehensible stuff.”

Caspar stared at the paper, spelled murmuringly to him-
self, and said, “In the dream I understood it.”

Among these meaningless tokens, resembling the words of
an artificial language, there appeared at the end the word
“Dukatus.” Caspar pointed to the word and whispered:
“That’s what woke me up because it sounded so beautiful.”
Daumer felt himself bound to inform the Mayor of these
distresses of Caspar’s, as he called them. What he feared
happened. Herr Binder attached great importance to the
incident. “First it is imperative to write President Feuer-
bach as detailed an account as possible, for some definite
conclusions can certainly be drawn from these dreams,” he
said. “Then I suggest that some time you go up to the
Castle with Caspar.”

“To the Castle, why?”

“Well, it’s just an idea of mine. Since he constantly

£86]
 

 

CASPAR DREAMS f

 

dreams of castles, perhaps the sight of a real castle will rouse
him, and give us more definite clews.”

“Do you really think then that these dreams have a mean-
ing?”

“Most certainly. I am convinced that he really lived
up to his third or fourth year in surroundings of that sort
and that, with his new awakening to life and to consciousness,
the memories of his earlier existence are now returning to
him in the form and content of his dreams.”

“A very obvious and matter-of-fact explanation,” remarked
Daumer, bitterly. “So the background of his destiny is noth-
ing more than a plain wild west story.”

“A wild west story? I don’t mind if you wish to call it
so. I don’t know why you object to the word. Must we
believe that the boy has fallen out of the moon? Do you
not want to explain him as subject to the conditions of our
planet?”

“Oh, certainly, certainly,” sighed Daumer. Then he con-
tinued: “I had deluded myself with other hopes. I wanted
to save Caspar from this delving and seeking in the past.
It was his freedom, the fact that he was untrammeled and
without destiny, which moved me so strongly about him.
Unusual circumstances have endowed this boy with gifts
such as no other mortal can boast of, and all this is now to
be spoiled, to be directed into the channel of events which
may in themselves be tragic enough, but certainly are by no
means without a parallel.”

“I understand you don’t want to disturb his mystic halo,”
interrupted the mayor with somewhat pedantic contempt.
“But we have graver duties towards our fellow-men than
towards the unique phenomenon of Caspar Hauser. Let me
tell you that very seriously, my dear Professor. There are
no longer any angels in our days, and where wrong has taken
place there must be expiation.”

Daumer shrugged his shoulders. “Do you think that you
are thus toing anything for Caspar’s welfare?” he asked, in

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»
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

a tone of fanaticism which seemed ridiculous to the Mayor.
“You are only burdening him and defiling him by contact
with the world and the world’s vulgarity. Already there is
so much bickering going on about him that I am becoming
annoyed with having anything to do with his affairs. It’s
an ugly story we shall be dealing with.”

“But they should be unveiled; if they only do come out,”
replied Binder eagerly. “I say, let each man do his part.”

The next morning the Mayor appeared at Daumer’s house
and they went with Caspar to the castle. Herr Binder
knocked at the porter’s lodge and the porter appeared with
a big bunch of keys and led them to the entrance gate.

When they stood in front of the huge gate with its double
door, it was as though a veil suddenly dropped from Cas-
par’s face. He drew himself up, then bent forward and
stammered : “A door like that, just like that.”

“What do you mean, Caspar? What's on your mind?”
asked the Mayor affectionately.

Caspar did not reply. With his eyes on the floor and the
slowness of a sleep-walker, he walked through the hall. The
two men let him go ahead. After a few steps he would
always stop, reflecting. His agitation increased as he walked
up the broad stone steps. At the top he looked around and
sighed; his face was pale; his shoulders shook. Daumer
was sorry for him and wanted to break through this absorp-
tion, but when he began to speak, Caspar with a far-away
look murmured, “Dukatus, Dukatus,” and listened as if to
suck a secret meaning from the word.

He looked at the long row of pictures of the Burggraves
on the walls, he looked through the long suite of open rooms,
he stood in the gallery and closed his eyes, and finally, in
reply to a murmured question from the Mayor, he turned
around and said in a stifled voice that it seemed to him as
if he had once had such a house, and he did not know what
he should think of it.

The Mayor looked at Daumer in silence.

[88]
 

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In the afternoon they went to see Herr von Tucher, and
together with him they drew up their report to President
Feuerbach. The final draft was sent by mail the same day.

Strangely enough there was no answer, nor any sign at
all that the President had received the communication. The
letter must have gone astray or have been stolen. Baron
Tucher inquired in secret and personally of Herr von Feuer-
bach, and it was found that Feuerbach knew of nothing.
The three men were disturbed and dismayed. “Is there an
invisible arm at work here, as with the note that was thrown
in through the window?” Daumer wondered apprehensively.
Inquiries at the post-office were without result and so the
report was written a second time and handed to the President
personally by a reliable messenger.

Feuerbach answered in his categorical fashion that he
would bear the thing in mind and for obvious reasons refrain
from sending a written expression of opinion. “I judge
from the medical certificate of the municipal doctor, which
mentions Caspar’s paleness in spite of an otherwise satisfac-
tory physical condition, that he is in need of regular exercise
in the open air,’ he wrote. “This must be remedied. . Let
him ride. Von Rumpler has been recommended to me as a
riding master. Let Hauser take a riding lesson from him
three times a week, the expense to be charged to the City
Commissioner.”

Perhaps it was the dreams which made Caspar white.
Almost every night he found himself in the big house. The
arched walls were flooded with a silver light. He stood
before a closed door and waited and waited. Finally one
night the dim rooms of the big house stretched out silent and
empty and from the lowest passage a swaying figure ap-
peared. Caspar thought at first it was the man in the white
coat; but as the figure came nearer he perceived that it was
a woman. She was covered with white veils which hung
from her shoulders and blew about her in the breath of an
inaudible wind. Caspar stood as though rooted to the spot.

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His heart hurt him as though a fist had snatched at it and
seized it, for the countenance of the woman showed an ex-
pression of anxiety such as he had never noticed on a human
countenance before. The nearer she came, the tighter his
heart contracted; she walked by him, very serious; her lips
uttered his name, it was not the name of Caspar, and yet he
knew that it was his name, or at least that it was intended
for him alone. She did not cease to utter the same name,
and when she was already in the distance and the veils blew
like white wings from her shoulders, he still heard the name.
Then he knew that the woman was his mother.

He woke up bathed in tears, and when Daumer came he
rushed to him, crying: “I have seen her; I have seen my
mother. It was she; she has spoken to me.”

Daumer sat down at the table and rested his head in
his hand. “Look here, Caspar,” he said after a while. “You
must not give way credulously to such delusions. Honestly,
it worries me and has for some time. It is as if some one
were allowed to wander for pleasure in a flower garden
and instead of giving himself up to pleasurable enjoyment,
digs up the roots and burrows holes in the ground. Under-
stand me clearly, Caspar, I don’t want you to give up the
right to discover everything which relates to your past and
to the crime which has been committed against you. But
remember that men of great experience like President Feuer-
bach and Herr Binder are at work on the problem. You,
Caspar, must look forward, live in the light and not in dark-
ness. Your existence is in the realm of light; there is
happiness. Every man of good sense can do what he wishes
to. Do, for the love of me, turn away from your dreams.
Not for nothing do we say ‘Dreams foam.” ”

Caspar was dumfounded. This was the first time that the
idea had been suggested to him that his dreams might not
be true. But, for the first time also, his own conviction was
stronger on a subject than the opinion of his teacher. The
sensation, however, gave him regret rather than satisfaction.

[oo]
VI
. RELIGION, HOMEOPATHY AND VISITORS FROM MANY PLACES

TrUS December came, and one morning the first snow of
the belated winter began to fall.

Caspar never tired of watching the silent falling of the
snowflakes. He thought they were little winged animals
until he stretched his hand out of the window and they melted
on his warm skin. Gardens and streets, roofs and window
ledges glistened, and through the mass of snowflakes a light
mist glided like the breath pouring from a breathing mouth.

“What do you say to this, Caspar?” Frau Daumer called
to him. “Do you remember that you did not want to believe
me when I told you about the winter? Do you see how white
everything is?”

Caspar nodded without shifting his gaze from outside.
“White is age,” he murmured ; “white is old and cold.”

“Your riding lesson is at eleven, Caspar, don’t forget it,”
Daumer, who was on his way to school, warned him.

A superfluous worry; Caspar did not forget his riding.
He had become too fond of it in the short time since he had
begun.

He loved horses, for their shape was very familiar to him.
Sometimes evening shadows rushed by in the form of black
horses, halting at the edge of the sky and looking back at
him to invite him to follow them into the unknown distance.
Horses, too, rushed through the wind, and the clouds, too,
were horses, and in the rhythm of music he heard the meas-
ured beat of trotting hoofs, and when in some happy mood
he thought of anything that was noble and perfect, he would
first behold the image of a proud steed.

At his riding lessons he had from the very beginning
shown an aptness which had aroused the greatest astonish-

Cor]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

ment on the part of his teacher. “You ought to see how that
boy sits and holds his reins and understands the animal,”
said Herr von Rumpler. “I'll burn a hundred years in hell
if this thing has come about without foul play.” And all
who had any expertness in the matter spoke in the same tone.

How happy Caspar was, trotting and galloping! This
pulling and flying, this sensation of being lightly carried on-
ward and forward, this gentle motion up and down; this
being alive on something alive, how it all delighted him!

If only people weren't so bothersome. The first time he
went out with the riding master they were followed by a
large rabble, and even sedate citizens stood still and laughed
bitterly. “Ah, he knows his business,” they mocked; “he
has feathered his nest; that’s the way to begin to make your-
self comfortable.”

To-day, too, there was another such unpleasant scene.
The sky had cleared and the sun shone as they rode through
Engelhardt Street. A crowd of boys followed them, and
on all sides windows were thrown up. The riding master
spurred on his horse and urged Caspar’s horse with a whip.
“By heaven, it makes you feel like a circus rider,” he ex-
claimed angrily.

They cantered to the Jacob Gate. “Wo, whoa,” called a
voice, and Herr von Wessenig rode down a side street, also
on horseback. Rumpler greeted the officer, who joined Cas-
par. “Wonderful, wonderful, my dear Hauser# he ex-
claimed with exaggerated astonishment. “You ride like a
young Indian chief. And all this you have learned among
the good citizens of Niirnberg. It’s incredible.”

Caspar did not hear the incredulous undertone of sus-
picion in this speech. He felt flattered and glanced gratefully
at the officer.

“Only guess, Caspar, what I have received to-day,” con-
tinued the officer, for he was itching to tease Caspar. “I
have received something to-day which greatly concerns you.”

Caspar looked at him questioningly. Perhaps it was the -

[oz]

’
 

RELIGION, HOMEOPATHY AND VISITORS

 

noble calm in the expression of his features which made the A

officer hesitate. “Yes, I have received something,” he re-
peated obstinately. “I have received a little letter.” He
spoke in the ingenuous tones which adults assume when they
joke with children, and the watchful expression of his eyes
said, “We'll see whether he will be scared.”

“A little letter,” said Caspar. “What is in it?”

“Yes, I suppose you'd like to know, wouldn’t you?” said a
the officer, as he laughed loudly. ‘There are important 7

things in it, important things.”

“From whom is it, then?” asked Caspar, whose heart be-
gan to beat expectantly.

Herr von Wessenig showed his teeth and stood up in his
stirrups with pleasure. “Now guess,” said he; “we’ll see
whether you can guess. From whom can the letter be?”
He winked knowingly at Herr von Rumpler while Caspar’s
head sank.

Caspar’s senses were suddenly bathed in the air of dreams,
and a hope caressed him and cast out the wretched claims
of the day that was. The distressed lady of his dreams rose
out of her veils and floated on before the three horses.
Abruptly he looked up and said, hesitatingly: “Is the letter
perhaps from my mother?”

The officer frowned a little, doubting whether it were wise
to carry the joke so far, but quickly dismissed this serious
mood, slapped Caspar on the shoulder and exclaimed,
“You've _aessed it, you devil, you've guessed it. More I
won't say, my friend, otherwise I'll get into trouble.” And
with these words he settled himself in his saddle and rode off.

A quarter of an hour later Caspar came home breathless.
They looked at the boy eagerly and Anna unconsciously got
up when Caspar, his forehead drenched with perspiration,
walked up to her brother’s chair and exclaimed in a broken,
jubilant voice, “Herr Wessenig has received a letter from
my mother.”

Daumer shook his head. He tried to make Caspar under-

Lo31]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

stand that there must be some mistake or deception; his
mother and sister supported him as best they could. It was
in vain. Caspar folded his hands entreatingly, and begged
Daumer to go with him to Herr von Wessenig. Daumer
refused with decision, but as Caspar’s excitement grew he
declared himself ready to go to Herr von Wessenig alone.
He ate his lunch quickly, took his coat and hat and went out.

Caspar ran to the window and looked after him. He did
not want to sit down at the table until Daumer returned.
He twisted his handkerchief in his hand, and breathing hard
he looked up at the sky and thought: “Oh, sun, if I am to
love you, do make this come true.” Thus the time passed;
one o'clock came and Daumer returned. He had expostu-
lated with the officer and they had had a heated discussion.
Herr von Wessenig had at first taken the thing humorously,
but this attitude had roused Daumer, who was already angry
enough at the unpleasant remarks which were daily reported
to him. Only the day before he had been told that at a
party given by Mayor Binder’s wife, a much respected aris-
tocrat had made fun of him, calling him a master of somnam-
bulism, of magnetism and occult science, who was weaving
a magic carpet for Caspar Hauser to fly with, but instead
of disappearing into the void, as every one had been led to
expect, the good Caspar sat tight where he was and enjoyed
the good things of life.

These things rankled with Daumer, and he had told the
officer to his face that the sneering gossip of the idle world
was indifferent to him. “Even though I was more prepared
for help and approval than for justification and defense, I
know quite well that your frozen heart and the hearts of
your ilk will not beat more humanly for any consideration !”
he exclaimed. “But I have a right to demand that the boy
who is under my protection, as well as under that of the Herr
Staatsrat, shall at least be spared malevolent jokes.”

‘He spoke and went, but he did not leave a friend behind

him.
Lo41
 

RELIGION, HOMEOPATHY AND VISITORS

 

When he reached home, seeing Caspar’s silent pleading, he
said with a composure which he found it difficult to assume:
“He made a fool of you, Caspar. Of course there wasn’t a
word of truth in it. You must not believe such people.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Caspar full of pain; then he was silent.

Not until Daumer was leaving for school after the noon
rest did Caspar break through his silence to say, in a life-
less and changed voice: “So Herr von Wessenig did not tell
the truth?”

“No, he lied,” replied Daumer briefly.

“That’s wrong of him, very wrong,” said Caspar.

He was astonished in the first place at the fact of the lie,
and still more surprised that such a distinguished gentleman
should be guilty of lying to him. “Why did he tell me that
about the letter ?”” he pondered. He spent hours in repeat-
ing the officer’s words to himself, again and again, and in
recalling the appearance of the face in which, unknown to
him, the lie had dwelt.

Something was not right. He thought and thought and
reached no conclusion. To distract his thoughts he opened
his arithmetic and did his daily task. When this did not help
him he turned to his musical glasses, which a lady from
Bamberg had given him, and practiced for half an hour the
simple melodies which he had learned to play upon them.

; Suddenly he got up and stepped in front of a mirror. He
gazed steadily at his own face to see whether a lie dwelt in
it. In spite of the uneasiness which it caused him, he was
tempted to lie once just to see how his face would look after-
wards. Anxiously he looked around, then looked again into
the mirror, and said softly, “It’s snowing.” He thought this
was a lie, because the sun was shining.

There was no change in his face; one could therefore lie
without any one’s noticing it. He had thought that the sun
would grow dark or would hide, but it simply continued to
shine.

That evening Daumer came home with a fresh cause for

Cos]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

irritation. When his mother asked what was wrong again,
he drew a small newspaper out of his pocket and threw it
on the table. It was the Katholischer Wochenschatz. On
the first page there was an article about Caspar Hauser,
which began with the question, printed in large type: “Why
does the foundling of Niirnberg not enjoy the blessings of
religion?”

“Yes, indeed, why not?” said Anna, sarcastically. “And
one dares to print that in a Protestant city,” remarked Dau-
mer with an angry face, “if these gentlemen only knew how
dreadfully afraid the boy is of their priests. While he was
still in the tower four appeared there simultaneously. Do
you think perhaps that they addressed themselves to his heart
or attempted to awaken a religious spirit? Far from it.
They chattered about the anger of God, and of retribution
for sin, and as he looked increasingly frightened they began
to storm and to threaten as though the poor boy was to be
led to the gallows the next day. Accidentally I came in and
politely asked them to spare their pains.”

As Caspar entered the room just then, the conversation
was cut short.

But the cry raised by the Katholischer Wochenschatz
did not die down unheard. “You can’t fool with religion,”
said the gentlemen of the magistracy, and one of them even
expressed a doubt as to whether the boy had ever been chris-
tened. This was debated pro and contra for some time, but
finally the question was allowed to drop, since one was living
among Christians in a Christian land and the boy could not
very well have come from Tartary.

The question of the Catholic or Protestant denomination
was not so easily decided. Although the priests had little
power in the city, the unprotected soul had nevertheless to
be snatched from the hungry jaws of Rome; on the other
hand, they were too timid for a bold seizure, because sooner
or later some person of importance might produce claims
of a different nature.

[06]
 

RELIGION, HOMEOPATHY AND VISITORS

 

The Mayor appealed to Daumer, requesting that Caspar
should have religious instruction; he would leave it to Dau-
mer to find a reliable man. “What about Kandidat Regu-
~ lein?” asked Binder.

“I have no objection,” replied Daumer indifferently. The
probationer lived on the ground floor of Daumer’s house
and had the reputation of being a respectable and industrious
man.
“Although I am not of a pious turn of mind,” said the
Mayor, “yet the agnosticism which is so much the fashion
now is very distasteful to me, and I should not like our
Caspar to grow up in frivolous worldliness. And I am sure
you can have no such desire either!”

“Aha, a dig for me,” thought Daumer with silent anger.
“I am again being insulted and suspected; I make them un-
comfortable; very lovely, gentlemen; very lovely of you.”
Aloud, he merely said: “Certainly not. In my own way I
have not failed to influence him. And my method, whatever
else you may say of it, is no worse than any other. Un-
fortunately all sorts of people have constantly interfered in
a way that was quite uncalled for. In the beginning I had
finally succeeded after a lot of trouble in breaking his obsti-
nate attitude and imparting to him some idea of the mighty
urge to growth which pervades all nature. Then one day,
while Caspar was sitting in front of a flower-pot, watching
with innocent astonishment the sprouts which had blossomed
during the night, some woman or other comes along. ‘Well,
Caspar,’ she asks foolishly, ‘who is it that has caused all this
to grow? ‘It has grown of its own accord,” he answered
proudly. ‘Why, Caspar! she exclaims, ‘there must be
some one who has caused it to grow.” He did not deign to.
reply, but the well-meaning woman rushed about and told
every one Caspar was being made into an atheist. This
makes matters very difficult.”

“It’s a question in the last analysis of giving him some
idea of a higher obligation,” said Binder.

Lo71]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

“He has that, he has that, but his intelligence does not
recognize any limitation and wants to be entirely satisfied,”
Daumer went on passionately. “Yesterday he was visited by
two Protestant clergymen, one from Fiirth, the other from
Farnbach; one fat and one thin, both as eager as miniature
Pauls of Tarsus. First they sung all sorts of praise in
my honor. I let them see Caspar and before you could
count three they began a theological discussion with him.
Oh, it was funny, it was very funny. First they talked about
the creation of the world, and the fat one from Firth said
that God had created the world out of the void. And when
Caspar wanted to know how that had been done, they
cheated him out of his explanation by both of them wringing
their hands and talking to him as though he were an atheist
worshiping an idol. Finally they calmed down, and then
my good Caspar said, confidingly, if one wanted to make
something one had to have something out of which to make
it, would they please tell him how anything else was possible
in the case of God. They were silent for a while, then they
whispered to one another, and finally the thin one answered
that with God everything was possible, because He was a
spirit and not a man. Then Caspar smiled at me, for he
thought that they were making fun of him, and pretended to
believe them, as the best way of getting rid of them.”

The Mayor shook his head disapprovingly. He was en-
tirely displeased with Daumer’s sarcasm. “Don’t forget
that there is another view of God than the one which can
be so readily made fun of,” he replied quietly.

“A different view, certainly. Only don’t forget that it
entirely contradicts the common one. And if I try to make
him accept it I expose myself to reproaches and to being
misunderstood. Next year he is to go to public school, a
sufficiently difficult thing, under the best of circumstances,
for a boy of at least eighteen years, then my teachings would
be destroyed and the result for him would be confusion. I
am already beginning to be cowardly and to give him answers

Los]
 

RELIGION, HOMEOPATHY AND VISITORS

 

of expedience rather than of truth. Recently, because of
a weakness of his eyes, he could not work, and he asked
me whether he might ask God for something and whether
he would get it. I said that he could ask, but he must realize
that it depended upon the wisdom of God whether He would
grant his request or not. He replied that he wanted to ask
God to cure his eyes and God could not object to this, for
he needed the use of his eyes in order not to waste his time
in idle gossip and play. Whereupon I said that God had
at times inscrutable reasons for denying us something which
we believed to be good for us; He wished, perhaps, to test
us through suffering, to give us practice in patience and sub-
mission. Then he hung his head sadly. Certainly he
thought I was no better than the pious people whose reason-
ing seemed mere quibbling to him.”

“But what can be done?” asked the Mayor with a wor-
ried expression. ‘“Doubting and denying will of necessity
stunt his capacity for virtue.”

“It’s scarcely doubting and denial,” replied Daumer un-
willingly. “God does not dwell in heaven; he lives only in
our breasts. The rich spirit senses him in a wide range of
feelings; the poorer soul becomes aware of him through
the hardships of life and calls this faith, he might also call
it fear. The true God assumes his form in beauty and joy,
in creating. What you call doubt and denial is the honest
hesitation of a soul not yet certain of itself. If one gives
a plant as much sun as it needs, it possesses a God.”

“That is philosophy,” replied Binder, “and, moreover,
philosophy which must sound frivolous to an everyday man
like myself. Every peasant must reckon with storm and
bad weather for his harvest, and it can only occur to a very
conceited man that he amounts to anything by himself. But
enough of this. Have you ever actually taken Caspar to
church?”

“No, I have avoided it up to now.”

C99]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

“To-morrow is Sunday. Have you any objection to my
taking him with me to service in the Frauenkirche?”

“Not the slightest.”

“Fine, I'll call for him at nine o’clock.”

If Herr Binder had expected some unusual effect from
this visit he was very much disappointed. When Caspar
entered the church and heard the loud voice of the preacher,
he asked what the man was scolding about. The crucifix
made him shudder painfully, because he took the pictures
of Christ nailed on the cross to be living creatures suffer-
ing torment. He looked everywhere and he marveled end-
lessly ; the playing of the organ and the singing of the choir
deafened his sensitive ear to such an extent that he did not
perceive the harmony of the sounds, and the exhalations of
the crowd of people almost made him faint.

The Mayor saw his mistake, but he did not give up, insist-
ing upon regular attendance at church, although Caspar
struggled obstinately against it each time. When Kandidat
Regulein complained of his difficulties to Mayor Binder, the
latter replied, “Be patient, habit will force him to become
reverent.” “I don’t think so,” replied the licentiate with
discouragement. “He behaves as if he were going to his
death when I suggest going to church.” “No difference;
it’s your calling to break his resistance,” he was told.

Poor, good-natured, helpless Kandidat Regulein. A little
young man who had never been young, whose religious
knowledge was of as thin a consistency as his legs. He
trembled secretly at the lessons which he was obliged to give
. Caspar, and whenever a question put him in a dilemma,
which happened not infrequently, he postponed the answer
until the next lesson, promising himself to look up the an-
swer in certain books so as not to offend against theology.
Caspar waited innocently, but the following lesson brought
little or nothing. The Kandidat, who secretly hoped his
pupil had forgotten, became frightened and avoided the
issue. This did not help. The merciless questions of Cas-

[ 100]
 

RELIGION, HOMEOPATHY AND VISITORS

 

par drove him from one entrenchment into another until in

desperation the argument was brought forth that it was =

wrong to attempt to explore the mysterious questions of
| faith.

Caspar hurried to Daumer and complained that he was
not getting any explanations. Daumer asked what he had

wanted to know. He had asked why God no ‘longer carhé

down to man as in olden times in order to instruct people

about the many things which were incomorenensilile * ‘to, %

them.

“Yes, but look here, Caspar,” said Daumer, “there are
secrets which cannot be understood with the best will in
the world. In such cases one must have faith that some
day God will enlighten us about such matters. We all of
us do not know where you come from and who you are,
nevertheless we hope that the justice and wisdom of God will
some day vouchsafe us an explanation.”

“But certainly God had nothing to do with my having been
in prison,” replied Caspar gently; “man did that.” And in
perplexity he added, “It just is like that. One time the
licentiate says God gives people free will, the next time he
says that He punishes them for their evil deeds. It all makes
me feel like a fool.”

This discussion took place on a stormy afternoon toward
the end of March and put Daumer into such a sad mood that
he was unable to finish some writing which he had begun.
They are robbing me of him, they are breaking him to pieces,
he thought. Full of sadness, he took up a large copy book
which contained his notes on Caspar, and turned the pages.
He started with fright when his sister entered somewhat
brusquely with her coat and fur cap still on, just as she had
come in from the street. Her face betrayed excitement
and she turned to Daumer and exclaimed rapidly and ex-
citedly: “Do you know what is being said in the city ?”

“Well ?”

[ror]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

“People are saying that Caspar Hauser is of royal de-
scent, a prince who has been put out of the way.”

Daumer gave a forced laugh. “That is the last straw,”
said he disdainfully. “What more will there be?”

“You don’t believe it. I thought so at once. But where
would such rumors come from? There must be something

‘ii back of'them.” :

* “There need tot be anything back of them. They are

© gossiping.’ {| Lét them talk.”

© Half an ‘Hour later Herr Wurm, the director of archives
from Ansbach, called on Daumer. He was a small man,
somewhat crippled, who never smiled. It was said of him
that he was very intimate with Herr von Feuerbach, and
the right hand of Herr Mieg, the President of the Board of
Governors. He brought Daumer greetings from the former
and said that the President was soon coming to Niirnberg,
and he was going into the Caspar Hauser affair very thor-
oughly.

After a little brief and unimportant conversation, the
director suddenly put his hand in his coat pocket, produced
a small paper-bound book and silently handed it to Daumer.
The latter took it and read the title, “Casper Hauser, Not
Improbably a Swindler,” by Polizeirat Merker in Berlin.

Daumer looked at the book with hostile eyes and said
wearily: “That’s plain enough. What does the man want?
What's itching him?”

“It’s a nasty pamphlet, but sounds very plausible,” an-
swered the Director. “He has carefully and diligently col-
lected all grounds for suspecting the foundling, which have
been smoldering in skeptical spirits for some time. He
examines all of Caspar’s statements most suspiciously, and
offers illustrations from the past, in which similarly manu-
factured lies have later been exposed. You, dear professor,
and your friends here don’t get off any too well.”

“Naturally, I can imagine that,” murmured Daumer, and,
striking with his open hand upon the book, he exclaimed,

[102]
 

RELIGION, HOMEOPATHY AND VISITORS

 

“not 1mprobably an impostor, some slick smart man who
sits in Berlin and dares, dares!— Why, it cries to heaven.
Some one ought to confront him with this probable impostor,
~ he should be compelled to confront his angelic expression;
oh, it’s shameful. The only consolation is that no one
will read the trash.”

“You are mistaken,” replied the director quietly. “The
pamphlet has a tremendous sale.”

“Well, then I shall read it,” said Daumer. “I shall take
it to Pfisterle, the editor of the Morgenpost. He’s the right
person to reply to this distinguished policeman.”

The Director measured Daumer’s excitement with a quick
and indifferent glance. “I should not approve offhand of
such a measure,” he remarked diplomatically. “I think I may
speak in accordance with Herr von Feuerbach’s wishes in
advising you against such a step. What good would it do?
One must act, and act with care and silence, that’s the best
way.”

“With care and silence? What do you mean to say?”
asked Daumer anxiously and distrustfully.

The Director shrugged his shoulders and looked at the
floor. Then he got up, said he would return on the after-
noon of the following day to see Caspar, and shook hands
with Daumer. When he was already on the steps Daumer
hurried after him and asked whether it would disturb him
to meet strangers in the house on the following day, some
ladies and gentlemen who said that they would call. The
Director said he would not mind.

It was one of Daumer’s peculiarities that when he had
once made up his mind to a thing he persisted in it, going
to the length of openly harming himself. In spite of the
cautious Herr Wurm’s admonition, he had scarcely read
the book—which took less than an hour—before he went,
full of bitterness, to the editor of the Morgenpost. The
editor, Herr Pfisterle, was a hot-headed man. He seized
the opportunity, like a vulture snatching at carrion, to let

[103]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

loose the spleen and anger which he always had on tap. He
wanted to have material, and Daumer arranged to have
Pfisterle come to his house at noon on the following day.

That evening a curiously oppressive atmosphere domi-
nated the Daumers’ house. During supper there was little
conversation, and Caspar, who had no conception of what
was going on, was astonished at the scrutinizing glances, or
the mournful silence which followed some light-hearted ques-
tion on his part. He was accustomed to taking up a book
and reading before going to bed. He did this to-day, too,
and it happened that when he opened the book his glance
fell on a passage which caused him to applaud with delight
and to laugh in his hearty way. Daumer asked what was
the matter. Caspar pointed with his finger to the page and
said, “Just look, Professor.” For some time he had stopped
addressing Daumer as “Du” and quite of his own accord,
curiously enough almost on the same day on which he had
eaten meat for the first time and been sick afterwards.

Daumer looked at the book. The words which Caspar had
seized upon were, “The sun will bring it to daylight.”

“What is so surprising in that?” asked Anna, who was
looking at the page over her brother’s shoulder. “How beau-
tiful, how beautiful!” exclaimed Caspar, “the sun will bring
it to light, that’s very beautiful!”

The three others gazed at one another full of curious feel-
ings.

“It’s always beautiful when one reads the word sun,” Cas-
par continued; “it sounds so lovely.”

When he had said good-night, Frau Daumer said: “One
really has to love him. It does one good to watch how nicely
he occupies himself. He is like some little insect spinning
quietly. He is never bored, never a burden because of
caprices or whims.”

Pfisterle came the next day, as agreed upon, shortly after
lunch, but remained immoderately long and would not un-
derstand the impatient hints of Daumer, who would gladly

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RELIGION, HOMEOPATHY AND VISITORS

 

have gotten rid of him before the arrival of the expected
guests. When these arrived at three o'clock, he was still
sitting in the same place and he remained. Probably Dau-
mer had roused his curiosity by telling him the name of one
of the three guests, who was a popular author from the
North of the Empire. The others were a Holstein baroness
and a professor from Leipzig, who were traveling to Rome,
an undertaking which at that time, at least in Nirnberg,
gave a man the reputation of being a bold explorer.

Daumer greeted his guests very graciously, and after he
had sent for Caspar he lit the lamps, in spite of the early
hour, for the fog lay like heavy wool in front of the windows.
The Leipzig professor engaged Caspar in conversation, but
he spoke to him with an immense superiority. He kept
his gaze fastened upon him, and at times the yellow eyes
back of the round spectacles glittered unkindly. Meantime
Herr von Tucher and the director came in, and after they
had allowed themselves to be introduced, they sat down on
the sofa.

“So your prison was always dark?’ asked the traveler to
Rome, slowly stroking his beard.

Caspar answered patiently, “Dark, very dark.” The au-
thor laughed, whereupon the professor nodded at him sig-
nificantly.

“Have you heard this nonsense about his royal birth which
is being talked about here in the city ?”’ the Holstein baroness
was heard to say in a voice which sounded as if it had come
from the cellar.

The professor nodded: “Really, great demands are made
here on the credulity of the public.”

For a time they remained silent, as if frightened by a
revolver shot. Finally Daumer, in a husky voice, with the
politeness of a bad actor, asked, “What leads you to ques-
tion my honor?”

“What leads me?” shouted the choleric gentleman.
“These tricks are the reason. The fact that the whole coun-

[ 105]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

try is being deluged with nonsensical fairy stories. Must
the good German people always be the victim of adventures
a la Cagliostro? 1Itis a disgrace.”

Herr von Tucher had arisen and was rollin at the excited
man with such unfeigned contempt that the latter suddenly
became silent.

“We are naturally convinced, Professor,” interrupted the
author, a lean, thin gentleman, with a bald head, who was
trying to act as mediator, “that you are acting in all good
faith. You are a victim like the rest of us.”

Now Pfisterle, who was simply bursting with rage, could
no longer control himself. With clenched fists he jumped
up from his chair and exclaimed, “Why in the devil’s name
shall we put up with this? You come here, no one has
asked you, you come here in order to be able to say you
have been here, in order to be able to talk with the rest;
you have known better than we all along, and if you are as
blind as moles and can’t see, you proudly clap on your chests
and say: we don’t see anything, therefore there is nothing.
Why should it be nonsense, madame, that people are talking
about his birth? Why, please? Do you perhaps deny that
behind the walls where live the great, there happen things
which people don’t want brought to daylight? Do you deny
that the ties of blood are set at naught and the rights of
man trampled under foot if it is to the advantage of one
single person? Shall I present you with a few facts? You
can’t deny them. With us, at any rate, the few dozen men
have not been forgotten who carried their brave banner of
freedom through the land and with burning torches illu-
minated the dark nest of lies in palaces.”

“Enough, enough,” the professor interrupted the rabid
newspaper man. ‘Moderate yourself, sir!”

“A demagogue,” said the baroness and got up with fright-
ened eyes. The director fastened a cold and reproachful
gaze upon Daumer, who had sunk his head and obstinately
closed his lips. When he looked up his eyes rested on Cas-

[ 106]
 

RELIGION, HOMEOPATHY AND VISITORS

 

par, who stood there simply and guilelessly, letting his clear
smiling glance travel from one to the other, not as though
he were being talked about or participated in what was going
on, but as if it gave him pleasure merely to observe their
expressions and gestures. Actually he scarcely understood
what was being said.

The Leipzig professor had taken up his hat, and turned
~ once more talking to Daumer, ignoring Pfisterle. “What is
proven by these assumptions of stupid brains?” he asked
shrilly. “Nothing is proven. The only fact is that some
clod of a peasant from some God-forsaken village in the
Frankish woods has strayed into the city, that he can’t speak
properly, that all culture is unknown to him, that the new is
new, and the unfamiliar appears strange. And a lot of hon-
est but short-sighted men go out of their heads over this
and take the crude fabrications of this slick vagabond for
something genuine. It’s too queer for me.”

“Just like Polizeirat Merker,” the Director could not re-
frain from speaking. Pfisterle, too, wanted to interfere, but
was induced to keep silent by an energetic shake of the head
on the part of Herr von Tucher.

Suddenly the wheels of a carriage were heard outside in
the street. Director Wurm went to the window and as the
carriage stopped in front of the house he said, “The Staatsrat
is coming.”

“What?” said Daumer quickly, “Herr von Feuerbach?”

“Yes, Herr von Feuerbach.”

In his amazement Daumer forgot his duties as a host,
and when he had recovered sufficiently to receive the Presi-
dent, the latter was already on the threshold. With his
imperial glance he quickly took in all the faces in the room,
and when he perceived the Director of Archives, he ex-
claimed, “How lucky to find you, dear Wurm. I have
something to say to you.”

He was dressed like a simple civilian and wore no decora-
tions except the little cross of an order near his collar. The

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CASPAR HAUSER

 

extraordinarily proud bearing of his broad massive body
and the stiff, upright commanding military poise of his head,
which he carried thrown back always, aroused respect and
awe. His face, which at the first glance resembled that of
an irritable old coachman, was ennobled by the dark glowing
eyes, in which lay the restlessness of intellectual passions,
and by the tightly closed, boldly arched lips.

He did not make the impression of a man who had much
time. In spite of the dignity imparted to him by his position,
and which his personal qualities did not diminish, his man-
ner was somewhat vehement and his mode of greeting those
in the room was formal and stern. All those present were
therefore frightened when Caspar walked up to him with-
out nervousness and of his own accord stretched out his
hand to him, which Feuerbach took and even held for a
time in his own.

Caspar had felt wonderfully at ease since the President
had entered. He had often thought of him since he had
spoken to him in the prison tower, and since his first hand-
clasp he particularly loved the President’s hand. It was
a warm, hard, dry hand which closed tightly when he greeted
you, as if it made trustworthy promises, and his own hand
rested in it as safely as his tired body rested in bed at night.

Daumer conducted the President and Director Wurm into
his study, and then returned. The strange guests started to
leave; the arrival of Feuerbach had caused them to lose
some of their superiority. Caspar wanted to help the lady
into her coat, but she made a gesture of protest and quickly
followed “her companion. Herr von Tucher and Pfisterle
also left.

Caspar took his copybook out of the drawer and sat down
by the lamp to finish his Latin exercise, as the President
and Director Wurm came into the room again. Feuerbach
went up to Caspar and, laying his hand on his head, he
gently bent it backward so that the light of the lamp fell
full upon Caspar’s face. For a remarkably long time he

[ 108 7]
 

RELIGION, HOMEOPATHY AND VISITORS

 

looked with penetrating attention into Caspar’s face, who
met his glance steadily, and finally murmured, turning
towards Wurm and breathing deeply. ‘“There’s no mis-
take; they are the same features.”

The Director nodded silently.

“That and the dreams; two important proofs,” said the
President in the same tone of preoccupation. He walked to
the window with his hands on his back, and looked out for
a time. Then he turned to Daumer and asked suddenly
how matters stood with Caspar’s food.

Daumer replied that he had recently tried to accustom him
to meat. “At first he protested strongly against it, and it
does not look as if this altered diet agreed with him very
well. TI am even afraid that it essentially weakens his inner
strength. He is getting perceptibly duller.”

Feuerbach frowned and pointed at Caspar. Daumer un-
derstood the hint and suggested that Caspar join the ladies.
He did not wait until the boy had left the room, but con-
tinued with timid zeal: “On the same day on which Caspar
ate meat for the first time, our neighbor’s dog, who had
been devoted to him up to then, snapped at him and barked
angrily at him. That was a wonderful lesson to me.”

The President replied somberly, “Perhaps that may be;
but I disapprove of the numberless experiments that you are
trying with the young man. What is the point of it all?
Why magnetism and other cures? I am informed that you
are using homeopathic remedies for certain sick conditions.
Why? That can only irritate such a delicate organism. It is
youth which heals illness.”

“I am suprised that Your Excellency objects to this,” re-
plied Daumer, coldly and humbly. “The human body is
often seized ‘with temporary ailments which are best reached
by homeopathic remedies. Only last Monday a small dose
of silicon dioxide worked wonders, I can assure you. Does
Your Excellency not know the beautiful old proverb:

[109]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

.. The wise physician’s antidote is taken whence the ill:
Salinity is cured with salt, and fire with flames we kill.
So take ye, Nature's children, of all the arts a tittle,
Make little out of much to come, and much again of little./

Feuerbach could not refrain from smiling. “Maybe,
maybe,” he grumbled, “but that proves nothing, or if it
did it is beside the point.”

“But my case does not rest on that.”

“So much the better. Do not forget that a right has to
be enforced here, the right of a life. Is it necessary to be
clearer? I scarcely think so. Very soon I hope the dark-
ness which hangs over this perplexing person will be lifted
and the thanks which I and others, my dear Daumer, al-
ready owe you will not be lessened by the disapproval which
must be connected with your perhaps harmful mistakes.”
There was a solemn ring in these words.

“I am being lectured like a schoolboy,” thought Daumer
bitterly when the President and Director Wurm had made
their adieux. “Why did it enter my head to take up the
cause of the homeless foundling? If I had only remained
at my work, in my solitude!”

“All these fabrications about his destiny are no business
of mine,” he continued his vexatious meditations; “however,
the tone of the President leads one to infer some peculiar
condition. I wonder whether the talk about Caspar’s birth
has any real foundation? Be that as it may, why should it
concern me? Of what importance is it whether he be the
son of a peasant or of a prince? Of course, when some
high-standing gentleman crosses one’s path one acts like
an attentive servant; acknowledged rank and noble birth de-
mand the respect of the bourgeois. But life is one thing and
ideas are another, and it is one thing to humor the mighty
because it is useless to oppose them and another thing
to forget them, shut away, and proof against them, in the
golden halls of philosophy. Between these two lies the

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RELIGION, HOMEOPATHY AND VISITORS

path which separates the man made of dust only, from him
who has a soul. Has my optimism carried me too far in see-

ing in Caspar the being with a soul? It may be doubted
still.”

- These thoughts were not free from ominous sadness,

[111]
VII
DAUMER PUTS METAPHYSICS TO THE TEST

PreEsmDENT voN FEUERBACH remained in the city more
than a week. During this time he either came to Daumer’s
house to talk to Caspar, or he had the boy summoned to his
hotel. Feuerbach did not like to have any one present when
he was with Caspar. Since one of the first days when he
had walked through the streets with him—when the pre-
maturely aged man, with his imperious bearing unchanged,
however, walking next to the delicate slightly bowed boy,
had aroused much attention—and suddenly at one of the
corners which they were obliged to pass, a suspicious looking
man, who seemed to have grown out of the earth, slunk along
by their side, the President had ceased to show himself in
public with his protégé.

His conversations with Caspar, although at times planned
very cleverly to appear quite irrelevant, naturally pursued
a certain aim. Caspar, who noticed little of this, spoke to
his protector without shyness. Feuerbach’s heart was often
strangely moved by his innocent chatter, so that he who
had the gift of words and language in unusual degree found
himself not infrequently condemned to silence. And he even
lost some of his security of manner: “Caspar’s glance is
like the pure morning sky before the sun has risen,” he wrote
to an old and trusted friend. “Sometimes I feel when he
gazes at me as though the rushing onslaught of the wheels
of fate were pausing for the first time. The whole past
rises before me, wrongs suffered and laws circumvented,
humiliations inflicted by envy and many an act whose fruits
lie rotting and hideous along one’s path. Moreover, in
regard to his past I am on the trace of something which is
leading me, I very much fear, towards a dangerous abyss,

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DAUMER PUTS METAPHYSICS TO THE TEST

where one must trust to the gods, for it is a domain in which
human beings are no longer subject to any rules.”

On the last day of Feuerbach’s visit Caspar was prepar-
ing to go out rather early, as the President had asked him
to come to see him. He went into the living room to say
that he was going, and found Anna Daumer alone. She
was sitting at the window reading the pamphlet of Polizeirat
Merker: no sooner had Caspar opened the door than she
hid the book quickly, frightened, under her apron. “What
are you reading and why are you hiding it?” asked Caspar,
smiling.

Anna blushed and stammered something. Then she looked
up with damp eyes and said: “Ah, Caspar, people are really
too wicked !”

He did not reply, but continued to smile. This seemed
striking to Anna, but Caspar thought nothing further of it.
It was one of his peculiarities that he could never make up
his mind to take any feminine person quite seriously.
“Women can’t do anything except sit still and sew or knit
a little,” he used to say; “they eat and drink continuously
without any sensible plan, and that is why they are always
sick. They abuse other women, but when they are together
they act affectionately and well behaved.” Once when he
was talking thus Frau Daumer complained of his unfair-
ness, but he answered: “You are not-like a woman, you
are a mother.” Once it chanced that there was a parade
of tight-rope walkers, and the gay decorations and skillful
riding of one of the girls having aroused his attention, he fol-
lowed her through a few streets, and was very angry at him-
self, for he felt that he had now run after a woman, as he
had heard other men sometimes did.

He said that he would be home for supper, but Anna re-
plied that this would be too late, her mother had spoken of
spending the evening with Caspar at Magistrate Behold’s;
the Magistrate’s wife had already asked them several times;

F113]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

she was an influential person; and if Daumer did not want
to make an enemy of her he must go.

“The President comes first,” said Caspar with annoyance
and left.

It was mild weather, the snow had long since disappeared
and white clouds blew over the pointed gables of the roofs.
When Caspar entered the room occupied by the President,
he was sitting at his desk, with his body thrown back, gaz-
ing darkly into space. It was some time before he turned
to Caspar and addressed him, speaking from out of his dark
thoughts without any greeting. “I am returning to Ansbach
to-morrow, as you know, Caspar,” he began, covering his
eyes with his hands. “You will not see me for some weeks,
perhaps not for some months. I should like to have news
of you now and then, from you yourself, but I do not want
to ask you to write to me regularly, for I do not wish it to be
an irksome task for you. Now I thought I should like to
give you an opportunity to express yourself, which would
make you rely more on yourself than on other people. You
are not being ordered to give an account of yourself, but
record here what you would entrust to a friend, or to your
mother.”

Then he handed Caspar a copybook bound in blue. Cas-
par took it mechanically and read on a white, heart-shaped
label the words: “Diary : Book of Hours for Caspar Hauser.”
He opened it and perceived that a steel portrait of Feuerbach
was pasted on the front page and in the President’s hand-
writing the words: “Who loves the hours as they pass loves
God ; the corrupt soul flees from itself.”

Caspar looked at the President fearfully with big eyes.
He repeated to himself silently, with a visible motion of his
lips, the written words and then what the President had said
to him; everything melted into mist and then, because of
the solemnity of Feuerbach’s voice, into some perception of

danger.
There was a knock at the door and upon the President’s

[114]
 

DAUMER PUTS METAPHYSICS TO THE TEST

 

“Come in,” a messenger brought a letter marked “Urgent.”
Feuerbach had scarcely seen the seal when, without opening
the letter, he rang the bell and ordered the servant who
answered it to have his horses harnessed at once. “I must
be off to-night,” he said to Caspar.

Caspar remained waiting, as he stood, his ears intently
avid for more words. The postillion in the courtyard
cracked his whip. A breath of distant air seemed to fan
Caspar; he suddenly felt something of the bigness of the
world, and the clouds in the sky seemed like arms stretched
out to lift him up. When the President put out his hand to
say good-by, he said coaxingly, with a smile of entreaty:
“I should like to go with you.”

“What, Caspar!” exclaimed the President with feigned
surprise, and suddenly he returned to his former habit of
addressing him with the word “Du.” “Dost thou wish to
leave Nurnberg? Hast thou forgotten what thou owest
thy good foster-father? What would Herr Daumer say if
thou wouldst forsake him so thanklessly, and many other
good men who have taken an interest in thee? Thou sur-
prisest me, Caspar. Art thou not glad to be here?”

Caspar remained silent and lowered his eyes. It is every-
where the same, he thought. He longed to be away from
here; he reflected that he might be able to depart some time
at night ; one had only to open the door and could go without
knowing the road. Perhaps then some one would come and
ask, “Where are you going, Caspar?” And he would lead
him to a castle in front of which many people are assembled
and inside a voice calling Caspar’s name; the people make
way for him, and many arms point to the gate towards
which he walks.

“Speak!” said the President brusquely.

“They are all good to me,” whispered Caspar with quiver-
ing lips.

“Well, then!”

“It is only—"

Fs]
 

m—

CASPAR HAUSER

 

rm rmm——

“What, what is it? Come, let’s have the words.”

Caspar slowly raised his eyes, then with his arm he made
a sweeping gesture as if to include the whole of the globe in
the one word, and then he said, “My mother.”

Feuerbach turned away, walked to the window and stood
in silence.

A quarter of an hour later Caspar walked through the
narrow streets near the City Hall and into the Egydien-
Platz, which was deserted. It was already dark; in front
of the church an oil lamp was burning, and as he was turn-
ing to the left where the low bushes hemmed in a little
garden toward Laufer Street, he saw a man standing quietly,
with lowered head, and looking at him. Caspar went a
little more slowly, suddenly he saw the man lift his arm
and motion to him with his finger.

Caspar’s heart beat loudly. Something or other compelled
him to follow the silent invitation of the unknown man.
The latter continued to motion with his finger, and as if
suffering some outward compulsion Caspar took a few steps
towards him. Hereupon the man went farther into the
grove but did not cease beckoning. Caspar could not see his
face; it was hidden by his hat, which was placed low over his
forehead.

He followed the man, although every fiber in his body re-
sisted ; with horror he felt himself drawn on step by step,
his eyes were wide open, his face showed astonishment and
fright and his hands were stretched out before him with taut
fingers.

He was already so close to the stranger that he could see
his yellow teeth glisten between his lips, and who knows what
might have happened had not at that moment a group of
drunken boys been heard on the other side of the bushes.
The man emitted a low cooing growl and at once disappeared
under cover of the bushes.

Caspar, too, turned around and ran towards the church;
he ran right into the group of revelers, who tried to stop

w [116]
 

DAUMER PUTS METAPHYSICS TO THE TEST

 

him, and thus a new terror was added to the old. It was
only with difficulty that he tore himself away; some of the
boys followed him, yelling; he redoubled his haste, his hat
fell from his head, he let it lie and ran as fast as he could
through the Judengasse and straight on, and not until he
found himself on the bridge leading to the Island of Schiitt
did he go more slowly.

Daumer had already become uneasy and was waiting in
front of the door of the house. He listened with concern
to Caspar’s hasty and muddled account of what had hap-
pened, and after some reflection on the adventure, he said
he scarcely believed it. “Your ever lively fancy has played
you some foolish prank,” he said with unusual severity.
“No, it’s really true,” Caspar assured him. Then he com-
plained that he had lost his hat, and finally, suddenly be-
coming quite cheerful, he showed him the note-book which.
the President had given him, and which he had held tightly
clasped in his hand during the whole incident.

Distractedly, Daumer looked at it. “Didn’t Anna tell you
that we are going to see the Magistrate’s wife?” he asked
irritably. “It’s high time. Go at once and put on your
Sunday suit.”

Caspar gave him a side-long glance and went into the
house reluctantly. Daumer, who was already in evening
clothes, strolled twice to the banks of the Pegnitz and back
again; half an hour passed, and Caspar’s staying away so
long finally made him impatient. He hurried up the steps
and entered Caspar’s room, where a candle was burning.
He perceived with anger that Caspar was lying, dressed,
asleep on the bed. He shook him by the shoulder, suddenly
stopped, walked several times through the room without
overcoming his sense of irritation; then suddenly he ex-
claimed in anger, “What's the use? Let the curious be
cheated of their amusement.”

He walked through the dark corridor into his sister’s room,
where he found her sitting at the piano, playing. He put

Pay]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

the case before her and Anna at once agreed with him that
he should let Caspar stay at home. “Then some one must
go to the Councilor’s wife and present our excuses for not
coming,” said Daumer in a tone which implied that other-
wise their staying might be misinterpreted, and he feared
unpleasant consequences. Anna replied that the maid was
not at home, and after a moment’s thought she said she
would carry the message herself.

When she had gone, Daumer sat down to his books, ad-
justed the lamp and read. But his conscience was not clear
and he started at every sound. After a considerable time
he heard steps; Anna walked up to his chair and said hastily
that the Magistrate's wife had come with her to fetch Cas-
par. “That would be carrying things too far,” he murmured
indignantly. Anna put her hand over his mouth, for the
lady was already standing in the doorway, richly dressed in
a silk coat with a costly lace shawl on her head. She was a
very stately woman, no longer very young, uncommonly tall,
with an unusually small head. There was a not altogether
fortunate mixture of the fashionable French and the pro-
vincial Niirnberg in her manner, and when she wished to
display the former, the latter protruded like the train of a
badly concealed shabby garment under a tunic of velvet.

She rustled up to Daumer with the majesty of a billow
rolling on the beach, and the good man, awed by so much
splendor, forgot his resentment, and raised to his lips the
hand which she extended. “Must I myself remind you of
your promise?’ she exclaimed in a deep sonorous voice.
“What does this mean, Professor? What has happened!
Why this refusal? You see I have forsaken my guests to
make you redeem a promise which you are breaking so
lightly. No excuses, dear Daumer; Caspar must come with
me. Where is he?”

“He’s asleep,” Daumer timidly replied.

“He’s sleeping, nom de Dieu! To think of such a thing!
We will wake him. Hurry, lead the way.”

[1:18]
 

DAUMER PUTS METAPHYSICS TO THE TEST

 

Daumer did not have the courage to refuse: her manner
brushed all possible objections aside. He took up the lamp
and led the way. Anna, who remained behind, made an in-
dignant exclamation which in no way disturbed Frau Behold,
who merely shrugged her shoulders disdainfully.

Daumer stood by Caspar’s bed so lost in thought that he
forgot to set down the lamp. Actually it would be hard to
find anything more beautiful than the angelic peace, the rosy
bloom which radiated from the sleeper’s face. Frau Behold
involuntarily clasped her hands, and in the gesture there was
sincerity and feeling.

“Do you still insist upon waking him?” asked Daumer,
with the voice of a judge pronouncing the law; “sleep is
sacred ; the holy spirits will take their flight as soon as our
hand touches him.”

Frau Behold opened and shut her eyelids as if to dis-
perse her trace of feeling, as one drives out flies with a
feather duster. “Nicely put,” she jested, and her voice
hummed like the tiny wheel of a spindle. “But I insist upon
my agreement. I will give the boy a present for coming,
and so far as those sacred spirits of yours are concerned,
they will return again; there are nights enough for sleep-
ing.”

While Daumer lifted the sleeping boy by his shoulders and
sought with affectionate words to calm rather himself than
Caspar, Frau Behold’s little face showed remarkable excite-
ment. Her eyes blinked, her lower lip relaxed and showed a
firm row of determined teeth, like a rodent’s. “Pauvre
diable,” she murmured, “poor child,” and she seized Cas-
par’s hand.

This woke Caspar fully; he snatched away his hand and
shook himself. His dazed and tired look inquired what was
wanted of him, and Daumer explained, poured out a glass
of water and gave it to him to drink, took his best coat,
which was already at hand, and held it out for him to put on.

Caspar looked steadily and darkly at Frau Behold, and

[119]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

said obstinately, “I don’t want to go to that woman's house.”

“What, Caspar?” exclaimed Daumer, astonished and
hurt. For the first time he heard this, “I don’t want to”;
for the first time Caspar’s will was opposed to his. Caspar
was frightened himself, and his glance was already submis-
sive when Daumer continued in a serious tone: “But I want
you to. I also want you to beg the lady’s pardon. It is
not right that you should let a mood get the better of you.
If we were all relieved of being considerate towards one
another, we should all be as helpless as you were on the first
day.”

With eyes cast down, Caspar did as he was told. Frau
Behold took the incident lightly. She patted Caspar’s cheek
and thought the Professor rather amusing.

Half an hour later they were in Frau Behold’s festively
lighted rooms. Caspar, surrounded by people, was over-
whelmed with the usual flood of questions. Frau Behold
did not quit his side; she laughed at almost everything he
said, and he gradually became confused and uneasy. He felt
fear at their words; it seemed to him dangerous to speak,
as if words had a double meaning : one open, the other.con-
cealed ; and the people, too, like the words, seemed to have
a double meaning. Involuntarily his glance sought in each
person a second person concealed behind the first, and wink-
ing at him with fingers of seduction.

He could not understand what they wished of him; their
clothes, their gestures, their nodding and laughing and socia-
bility, were all incomprehensible to him, and he himself be-
gan to be equally incomprehensible to himself.

Meantime Daumer was having a bad hour of it. Frau
Behold, who was proud to be able to make her house a gath-
ering place for distinguished strangers, to-day had as one
of her guests a gentleman who was said to be traveling un-
der an assumed name, on an important diplomatic mission

to a small capital in the eastern part of the country. It
was also whispered about that the important stranger took

[1z0]
 

DAUMER PUTS METAPHYSICS TO THE TEST

 

great interest in the foundling Hauser, and that he had ex-
pressed himself, in the presence of many persons of note,
contemptuously and disapprovingly on the nonsensical stories
of Caspar’s origin. And it must be admitted that these
influential persons by no means closed their minds to the
weight of such an opinion, but the behavior of the distin-
guished man gave rise to some suspicion, and Editor Pfis-
terle, grumbling as usual, even asserted that in his opinion
the diplomatic gentleman was nothing other than a secret
Spy.

However that might be, Daumer in his obliviousness of
the world’s doings had heard nothing of all these new de-
velopments. The stranger joined him after a short time, a
conversation ensued between them, and it was easy for the
visitor to arrange that they should sit apart from the rest
of the guests. Daumer was intimidated by the manners and
the delicate ease of the imposing gentleman, whose breast
was covered with orders, and at first could scarcely answer
more than yes or no, like a schoolboy. Gradually he became
freer and told his listener much about Caspar, and happened
to mention his timid nature, and related, as he strove to
illustrate the boy’s behavior, how he had that very evening
come home in flight from an imaginary, doubtless an imagi-
nary, pursuer.

The stranger listened attentively. “Perhaps he was not
mistaken,” he replied in careful tones; “it may be that certain
things are going on under cover. I believe that you yourself,
dear Professor, received some sort of warning some time
ago. You must not be surprised if certain threats develop
into more serious incidents.”

Daumer was startled, but the stranger continued to chat
with apparent harmlessness, and evincing a most gratifying
candor. “You ought to accustom yourself to the idea that
there are forces at work which would not shrink from any-
thing in order to carry out their designs with vigor. These
disturbing rumors no doubt give rise to misgivings on our

[121] ;
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

part, perhaps they have something up their sleeves and wish
to avoid publicity. It may be that for the time being the
power which is working behind the scenes desires to set
matters right with as little fuss as possible, but it might
. also play an open game, it might quite calmly tie the hands
of the printed page, and that they will not fail to inflict pun-
ishment themselves by the pulling the wires behind the stage.”

Daumer was startled again; the words of the man who
sat facing him seemed to be pointing a definite allusion, but
the stranger did not give him any opportunity to consider
this; he continued in a clear, almost familiar tone: “I be-
lieve that they fear worse than anything else the dissemina-
tion of all this stupid gossip by the easy and obvious means
of the printed page, and that they will not fail to punish
any such step. People in high places do not like to expose
themselves, still less do they like to be exposed; and even
less to have their most intimate concerns made public; one can
understand that. The private citizen has liberty enough, let
him disport himself as he likes in his own domain; when
he rises above that he will find himself restricted.”

What was that? Daumer thought he understood what
the stranger was driving at. He resolved to obey this veiled
command ; in fact, he had already of his own accord antici-
pated what was being urged.

“May I permit myself a question, dear Professor,” the
stranger resumed, “are you really convinced that this stray
boy—in whom after my fashion, I admit, I take a certain
detached interest—deserves and justifies this uninterrupted
attention of serious men? Is it worth while to occupy the
whole world with the doubtful question of his status? What
remains for the important concerns of the nation, for science,
for art, for religion, for life as a whole, if a man like you
will waste the best powers of his mind on a strange senti-
mental freak of natural forces? People praise the foundling’s
unusual gifts. I have tried in vain to discover such gifts; I
make so bold as to maintain that in doing this I am only

[122]
 

DAUMER PUTS METAPHYSICS TO THE TEST

 

faintly approximating your own uncertainty. Let us allow
a little time to pass, and we shall no doubt attain distressing
certainty on this point. In our human society there are hun-
dreds of thousands of beings born with equally great or
greater qualities, who nevertheless have met with immeas-
urably worse fates. Genuine human feeling would require
that we take up the cudgels in their defense also, for in
theory there can be no limit to our compassion with human
distress in all its forms. But where would the man end who
would tear his heart into shreds and fritter it away on all
those deserving of his attention? He would stand empty-
handed when a really great object should demand a worthy
sacrifice of him. Think of what Caspar will be ten or twelve
years from now, when the supposed wonder will be exposed
to its very foundations and will have nothing more to give
you than the humiliating every-day matter of a perfectly
simple fact. At best there will remain a curiosity with which
to season the conversation over our dinners; a curiosity
and a little mystery, which seems so exciting to immature
intellects.”

Daumer’s face reflected a contradiction and a resistance;
his glance traveled in search of Caspar, but the only thing
he was able to say was: “It is not by words that the soul
can bear witness of itself.”

The stranger smiled bitterly. “The soul, the soul,” he
remarked sarcastically, “it cannot prove anything by words,
for it is only a word like any other. The eye sees, the finger
feels, every little hair lives in its own way, the blood runs
through its veins, every sense fills space with life and makes
death a thing which one feels; why do you scholars embellish
and furbish up an unreality into a special entity, by speaking
of the soul, as if a soul were an article of jewelry which a
vain woman shuts up in a casket and occasionally wears
upon her breast, in order to shine at a ball. Every one is
provided with a general stock of strength, and his surplus
is not a privilege, but merely a hope. Or may the eagle alone

L123]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

lay claim to the possession of a soul, merely because he flies
better than the gander? The soul! you gentlemen insult
the Creator, whether you deny the soul or write books to
prove its existence.” :

There was a pause. He speaks like Satan, thought
Daumer, but as he was starting to reply the stranger took
up the conversation with polite intensity. “I know that you
love Caspar,” he said in an altered voice, speaking seriously
and warmly. “You love him as a brother, and this instinct
does not spring from pity, but from the beautiful desire to
seek out constantly the God who lives in another’s breast, -
seeking only to recognize itself in his likeness. But you
are seeking an excuse for your affection, that’s it! Need I
tell you that there are no deeper wounds than the disappoint-
ments which spring from such conflicts? I advise you to
fly from the face and the society of one who will afford you
nothing other than disappointments.”

“Are we then too weak to retain our attitude towards an
experience which we thought we had when we were seek-
ing it?” exclaimed Daumer in despair.

The folds of experience in the stranger’s face expressed
a grimace of regret. A slight gesture showed that the con-
versation was for him at an end, and they joined the other
guests. Daumer, who was completely disconcerted, wanted
nothing so much as to leave the noisy group. He sought
Caspar and noticed him silent and pale among shining gowns
and brown and gray coats. Frau Behold sat on a low stool,
almost at his feet, and her face was hard and gloomy.

The good-bys were profuse. After they had walked
silently for some distance, Daumer threw his arm over Cas-
par’s shoulder and exclaimed: “Oh, Caspar, Caspar.” It
sounded like an entreaty.

Caspar, who was hungry for knowledge, and whose heart
was full of questions to the point of overflowing, sighed and
then smiled up into his teacher’s face with renewed con-
fidence. Whether it was the glance and the smile which

[124]
 

DAUMER PUTS METAPHYSICS TO THE TEST

 

penetrated into some portion of Daumer’s being, where he
felt uncertain and guilty, or whether it was the night, the
loneliness, the painful doubts, or the remarkable conversation
which he had just had which kindled his spirit to exaggerated
warmth, he stood suddenly still, clasped Caspar more warmly
and exclaimed with uplifted eyes: “Oh, man, man!”

The word penetrated to Caspar’s very marrow. It was as
if suddenly it had become clear to him what this creature
man meant. He saw a being tied down and chained, look-
ing up from depths far beneath him; strange, strange even
to himself, strange to the other who called the word “man”
to him and to whom he could answer nothing but this preg-
nant word : man.

His ear retained the sound, which because of Daumer’s
emotion had acquired a measure of solemnity for him. The
next morning he took up his diary and the first entry which
he made was the three words, “Man, oh, man!”—in any
one else’s eyes of course a meaningless hieroglyph, but for
him a token pregnant with meaning, almost a secret re-
vealed, a motto and a magic word for avoiding danger. It
was charactefistic of his childlike nature that from that hour
on he regarded the diary as something sacred to which he
turned only in times of meditation and self-communion,
and in one of those sad yearning moods which often over-
came him, he made the curious and momentous decision
that no other being but his mother should ever look into
this book or should ever read what he would set down in it.
He was quite capable of clinging with the greatest tenacity
to decisions of this kind.

A few days later, when the Princesses of Kurland, friends
of Feuerbach, who took the greatest interest in Caspar, came
to Daumer’s house, it happened in the course of the con-
versation that the gift which the President had made to his
protégé was mentioned. Daumer said that the diary con-
tained an excellent steel engraving of Feuerbach, and the
ladies wanted to see it. To the astonishment of every one,

L125]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

Caspar refused to show it. Daumer, who was frightened,
reproached him for his rudeness, but he remained obstinate.
The ladies did not insist further, indeed they even turned
the conversation tactfully to other matters; but when they
had left Daumer took the boy to task and asked him the
reason for his refusal. Caspar remained silent. “And if I
asked you, would you refuse to show me the book?” asked
Daumer. Caspar looked at him with big eyes and answered
innocently, “I am sure you won't ask it, please.”

Daumer, very much hurt, walked away in silence.

Towards evening Herr von Tucher came, and asked to
speak to Daumer alone, whereupon he said without further
ceremony : “Unfortunately, I must tell you that I have caught
Caspar lying twice.”

Daumer silently clasped his hands. That was more than
he could stand, he thought.

Lying, caught lying twice! Good heavens! how did that
happen?

The thing had transpired in the following manner: On
Sunday he had gone into Caspar’s room with the Mayor,
Herr von Tucher explained, and had asked the boy to ac-
company him to his house. Hereupon Caspar, who was
sitting at his books, replied that he could not go, Daumer
had forbidden him to leave the house. This had at once
seemed suspicious to the Mayor, particularly as Caspar had
scarcely dared look at him, and he had quietly asked Daumer,
as Daumer would doubtless recall, and found his suspicions
justified. The next day they had both, Herr Binder and
Herr von Tucher, while Daumer was away, visited Caspar
and upbraided him with his untruthfulness. Turning red
and then pale, he had confessed his fault, but like a fright-
ened rabbit driven into a corner, and seeking the first way
out, he had stupidly invented a tale of a lady who had
visited him and promised him a present and for whom he
had stayed at home.

“We were more dismayed than severe in our questions,

[126]
 

DAUMER PUTS METAPHYSICS TO THE TEST

 

and after some persuasion he admitted that he was guilty of
this lie also,” continued Herr von Tucher with great earnest-
ness. “He admitted that he only wanted to be let alone to
study and that he had thought of no other way of getting
rid of these annoying disturbances. He begged us earnestly
not to tell you of his offense, he would never resort to it
again. I have considered the matter and reached the con-
clusion that it is better that you should know all. There
is perhaps still time to fight the evil successfully. We can’t
look into his heart, but I still believe in his fundamental in-
nocence, although I am convinced that only the greatest care
and the sternest measures will save us from serious disap-
pointments.”

Daumer looked completely annihilated. “And this from
a person on whose sacred love of truth I would have taken
an oath,” he murmured. “If it were not you who had told
me this I should have laughed. Up to an hour ago I should
have regarded as a knave any one who said that Caspar
was capable of lying.”

“It has touched me closely, too,” replied Herr von Tucher,
“but we must be patient. Observe him, keep your eyes open,
wait until you have a clear case to deal with, and then take
him in hand, and firmly, too!”

A lie; no, two at once! Poor Daumer, he did not know
what to think. He sat down and considered the matter.
Herr von Tucher takes the whole thing too seriously, he
said to himself. He is a very just man, but certainly a man
of many prejudices, which lead him to add to a little lie all
the incriminating circumstances of depravity. Herr von
Tucher does not know every-day life, which teaches us to
differentiate between lies that are wrong and what the force
of circumstances demands of even the most righteous, ordi-
nary white lies, you might call them. But what have I to do
with Herr von Tucher? My concern is with Caspar Hauser.
I thought once that I could ask of him what one cannot
demand of any one. Was it mere madness, was it pre-

[127]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

sumptuous on my part? We shall see: I must now find out
whether his will is still capable of responding to the call
of a voice which men cannot hear. If his ear is already
closed to the breath and sound of that spirit, then his lie
is a lie like any other, but if I can still rouse the supersensual
powers of understanding in him, then I shall scorn the
Philistines who are only too eager to resort to the school-
master’s rod.

It took Daumer a whole sleepless night before he matured
his plan, which involved a sort of ordeal of God. Caspar’s
refusal to show his diary gave the final impetus. I want
to force him to show me the book of his own accord, Daumer
calculated. I will establish something like a metaphysical
communication between him and me; without speaking a
word, I shall strive to infuse him with my spiritual longing,
and I will fix an hour within which he is to carry out my
unsaid wish. If he can obey me all is well; if not, then
farewell to my faith in miracles, and the glib-tongued ma-
terialist who sought to argue away the soul will have things
his own way.

The next morning, toward nine o’clock, Anna came to her
brother and said she did not like Caspar’s condition at all;
he had gotten up as early as five o'clock and was restless
in a way he had never been before; at breakfast he had
constantly looked anxiously around and not eaten a bite.

Daumer smiled. Does he already sense what I am plan-
ning to do with him, he wondered, and his mood became
gentle and confident.

A suitable excuse was easily found to get the women out
of the house. Frau Daumer was obliged to go to market
and Anna was persuaded to make some calls. At eleven
o'clock, Caspar settled down to his lessons, Daumer went
into the adjoining room, but left the door open. He seated
himself on a little chair, slightly back of the threshold, his
face turned to where Caspar was sitting, and he at once
succeeded in concentrating all his thoughts with astonishing

[128]
 

DAUMEPR PUTS METAPHYSICS TO THE TEST

energy on his one goal, in making them converge on one
point. The house was very still, no sound disturbed his curi-
ous undertaking.

He sat there white and strained and observed that Caspar
frequently got up and walked to the window. Once he
would open the window, only to shut it again the next mo-
ment. Then he walked to the door and seemed to consider
whether he should go out. His eye was unsteady and his
mouth painfully contracted. Aha, he’s feeling it, rejoiced
Daumer; and every time that Caspar approached the little
closet in which the blue copy book probably lay, the heart
of the unhappy sorcerer beat high with expectation.

How far removed was Caspar from even an inkling of
what was going on in Daumer, of suspecting that at this
moment his character and destiny were being placed on trial!

He was immensely afraid to-day. He was so afraid that
several times he had the distinct foreboding that some dis-
aster would overtake him. He could not free himself from
the feeling that some one who would harm him was ap-
proaching. The air in the room was stifling; the clouds
in the sky hung threateningly, the swallow flying along
the eaves in front of the window looked like a black hand
shooting through the air with the swiftness of an arrow;
the ceiling pressed in upon him, and there was an uncanny
creaking behind the panels of the wall.

Caspar could endure this no longer. His glance fell, a
cold shower of fear ran through his veins, his chest con-
tracted, and something drove him forth, out—suddenly he left
the room, a youth fleeing from harm.

Daumer remained quietly sitting, gazing ahead like one
waking from a dream. He was ashamed both of his mis-
taken attempt and of his defeat, for he was an intelligent
man and was sensible enough to realize that the plan which
had just miscarried was not a serious scientific test, but a
gambling with destiny.

Nevertheless, he was seized with a fit of the most gloomy

[129]
 

CASPAR HAUSER 3
indifference. Any thought of the hopes which until recently
were attached to Caspar’s person left a bad taste in his mouth.
He firmly determined that in the future he would dedicate
his life as heretofore to his profession, to solitude, to study,
and to sacrifice the faculties of his mind only where every
gift is visibly repaid by the pleasures of knowledge and the
search for knowledge.

[130]
VIII
A DISGUISED PERSON MAKES HIS APPEARANCE

Caspar had gone into the garden’ He ran across the
damp grass as far as the fence and looked across towards
the river. A leaden mist hung over the towers and the
confusion of the city’s roofs, and only the gayly colored
tiles of the roof of the Lorenzkirche shone brightly; but the
whole scene was more like a picture mirrored in water than
a tangible reality.

Caspar shivered although it was warm. He turned toward
the house. Opening the little gate, he paused in dismay at
the empty vestibule. A broad streak of sunlight which ran
along the stone flagging and trembled up the white steps of
the winding stairway strengthened the impression of loneli-
ness. From behind one of the doors of the corridor where
Kandidat Regulein lived, there came the sounds of a violin;
the Kandidat was practicing. With one foot already on the
steps, Caspar stood still and listened.

There, there it was! There he came! First a shadow,
then a form, then a voice. What did the voice say, that
deep voice?

A loud voice back of him uttered these words: “Caspar,
you must die.”

Die! thought Caspar astonished, and his arms stiffened
like sticks of wood.

He saw a man standing before him, his face partly covered
by a long black silk cloth which was moving slightly in the
wind. He wore brown shoes, brown stockings and a brown
suit. There were gloves on his hands, and in his right hand
there shone something bright, a metallic brightness that
flashed quickly and died away. He struck the boy with

[13r]

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Y Ms AA exch Shand eo Tie Pry VY ya lp Cova, Baollap i ww
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

the object. As Caspar forced his paralyzed glance to look
upward he felt a terrific pain in his head.

Suddenly Kandidat Regulein ceased to play the violin.
Steps were heard, which died away again, but probably
the disguised man had been made to hesitate and was pre-
vented by fright from striking a second time. When Caspar
opened his eyes, something wet and burning was running
down from the middle of his forehead; the man had dis-
appeared. S10

Oh, if only he had not worn gloves, I should have rec-
ognized his hand among a thousand, thought Caspar as he
reeled over sideways. He found nothing to hold on to on
the narrow side of the vestibule. He tried to clamber up the
steps, but the streak of sunlight was like an impeding barrier
of fire. He slipped back again and clung to the stone
newel-post, sitting there silently for half a minute until he
was seized by the fear that the disguised man might return.
With might and main he clung to his fast-receding con-
sciousness, sat up and stumbled forward, feeling his way
along the wall as if to find a hole into which he could creep.

When he reached the cellar door, which was standing ajar,
it gave way before the pressure of his hand so that he almost
fell down headlong. Scarcely able to see, and without re-
flection, he felt his way down the dark steps as quickly as
possible, for he thought he heard the steps of the masked
man behind him. When he got down to the cellar, water
spurted up from under his footsteps; it was rain-water
which formed puddles down here in bad weather. Finally
he found a dry corner, and as he was lying down, collapsing
into a shapeless ball with fright and horror, the tower clock
struck twelve; after that he saw and felt nothing more.

At quarter past twelve Frau Daumer and Anna returned.
Anna, who preceded her mother into the hall, perceived the
big pool of blood and screamed. At the same moment
Kandidat Regulein came out of his rooms and exclaimed:
“Well, what's the matter now?’ The old woman, who

[132]
 

A DISGUISED PERSON MAKES HIS APPEARANCE

 

had no idea of anything wrong, said that probably some
one had had a nose-bleed. Anna, however, more and more
concerned, pointed to the bloody finger marks which were
visible as far as the cellar door. She sprang forward:
Caspar was her first thought, she looked into all the rooms
and said to her brother, “Downstairs everything is covered
with blood.” Daumer rose from his desk with an exclama-
tion of anxiety and hurried down.

Meantime Regulein had followed the bloody tracks down
into the cellar. In a hoarse voice he called for light and
added in shriller tones, “He’s down here, Hauser’s lying
down here. Help, help, quickly!”

The Daumers, all three of them, rushed to the cellar.
Anna came panting up again to get a candle; the others
tried to raise Caspar’s cowering body, and then the three
carried him upstairs. “The doctor, get the doctor,” Frau
Daumer screamed to Anna, who was running towards her.
Anna put out the light, threw the candle on the floor and
rushed away.

When Caspar was finally gotten to bed they washed the
clotted blood from his face, revealing a serious cut in the
middle of his forehead. Daumer walked up and down
wringing his hands and moaning continually, “That this
should happen in my house! I've always said it, I've always
known it.”

The square in front of the house was already filled with
people when Anna returned with the doctor. Policemen
and city officials were in the hallway. A few minutes later
the municipal-court doctor appeared. Both physicians as-
sured them that the wound was not dangerous, but whether
the boy’s mind had received a dangerous shock or not, they
would not undertake to say.

An official report could not be made, for Caspar was only
conscious during far intervals; he then stammered a few
words which, to be sure, revealed as in a sudden flash of
lightning what had happened to him. He spoke of the

[1331
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

disguised man, of his shining boots and yellow gloves, but
then relapsed into vague hallucinations and a delirious
fever. On examining the premises, it was discovered how
the unknown man had entered; underneath the steps, there
was a little door communicating with Baumann’s garden
and the padlock on this door had been forced.

To cross-question Daumer was useless: emotion made it
impossible for him to speak. Towards evening Herr von
Tucher arrived and told him that an express messenger had
been sent to President Feuerbach.

The Mayor had at once set elaborate investigations on
foot. The guards at all of the major and minor gates of
the city were ordered to be particularly vigilant. The inns
and hotels, where people of the lower orders generally
stopped, were carefully searched and the police forces in
the neighboring counties were ordered to be exceptionally
alert. An official notice was posted on the bulletin board
of the City Hall, and two clerks and half of the police force
were entrusted with the pursuit of the criminal.

The crime occurred on Monday; his duties in connection
with a case he was trying unfortunately kept the President
from coming to Niirnberg at once; not until Thursday did
he reach the city by an express diligence. He went at once
to the City Hall. He had the chief magistrate inform him
of the measures that the police had taken, as well as the
results of these measures, but he showed such dissatisfaction
with everything, and was so enraged when told of several
ineffectual efforts, that all of the officials lost their heads.
He made sarcastic remarks about the reports and the tes-
timony of the witnesses: the wife of a watchman had seen
a well-dressed man on the Schiessgraben washing his hands
in a basin in front of the principal hospital; there was an
old woman selling fruit who had met a stranger in Saint
John’s who had asked her who had charge of inspections
at the Tiergartner Gate and whether one could get into the
city without being stopped; suspicious journeymen and

[134]
 

A DISGUISED PERSON MAKES HIS APPEARANCE

 

homeless vagrants had heen arrested; some one had ob-
served two fellows who had met on the Fleischbriicke and
made signs to one another.

“Too late, too late,” grumbled the President. “Why did
you not check up all the registers of all the inns for names
of strangers arriving and leaving?” he thundered at the
trembling clerk.

“The clews would lead in many directions,” the unfortu-
nate man replied timidly.

“Certainly, incompetence has many excuses,” remarked the
President bitingly. “By God, man, listen: the criminal we
are pursuing does not wash his hands in the street, he does
not converse with fruit vendors, and does not need to fear
the sentry at the Gate. You sought too low, much too low.”

He took a secretary with him, to make a personal in-
spection of Daumer’s house once more. Magistrate Behold
accompanied him and made himself obnoxious by his in-
cessant babbling. Among other things Behold said that he
had heard that Professor Daumer did not want to keep
Caspar any more, and he offered to take the boy into his
house. Feuerbach took this for mere conversation and got
rid of the man by sending him to Herr von Tucher with a
message.

But when he talked to Daumer, the latter’s perturbation
surprised him. In order not to disturb him further, Feuer-
bach conducted the hearing so that it seemed more like a
friendly conversation. Daumer remembered the secret meet-
ing that Caspar had had in front of the Egydien Church
and told the story.

“And of this we now hear for the first time?” exclaimed
the President. “And was there no direct sequel to the af-
fair? Did you not observe anything suspicious ?”’

“No,” stammered Daumer, frightened by the President's
glance which penetrated him like an edge of steel. “That
is to say, something does occur to me. That same evening

[13357]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

at Frau Behold’s I met a gentleman who gave me the most
curious hints or warnings, I cannot make out which!”

“What kind of a man? What was his name?”

“He was said to be a diplomat who was traveling; I don’t
remember his name. Oh, yes, but 1 do: Herr von
Schlotheim-Lavancourt; but he was said to be here under
an assumed name.”

“What did he look like?”

“Fat, big, slightly pock-marked, well on in the fifties.”

“Describe your conversation with him.”

Daumer repeated as well as he could the contents of the
conversation. Feuerbach sank into deep thought, then he
made some notes in his little note book. “Let us go to
Caspar,” he said, getting up.

Caspar’s forehead was still bound up, his face was almost
as white as the bandage, and he received the President with
a wan smile. He had already suffered three examinations;
at the first one he had told everything worth telling: this
did not prevent the worthy officials from going over the
ground again in strange circumlocutions, in an endeavor to
catch their victim in some contradiction. One can work
with contradictions; if a person always says the same thing
the matter becomes hopeless for the police. The President
refrained from questions. He found Caspar a changed per-
son; there was an air of anxiety about him, his glance was
less unconstrained, it was no longer so profoundly radiant
and free from guile, it was more closely fettered to mundane
things.

While the women were declaring themselves satisfied with
Caspar’s condition, the doctor came and readily confirmed
their impression that the boy was now entirely out of dan-
ger. In a tone that expressed a command rather than a
mere wish, the President said that he hoped that all strange
visitors should be kept out for the next few days, without
exception. Daumer replied that this would, of course, be
done. Only this morning he had turned away a lackey in

L136]
ey
 

A DISGUISED PERSON MAKES HIS APPEARANCE

 

uniform, who had asked to let his master see the young man.’

“He was the servant of a distinguished Englishman who
is living in the Hotel Adler,” added Frau Daumer, “more-
over, he returned in an hour in order to inquire in detail
about Caspar’s condition.”

There was a knock at the door, Herr von Tucher came
in and after a little while made an astonishing communica-
tion: the same Englishman, apparently a rich count or lord,
had called on the Mayor and given him one hundred ducats
as a reward for the person who should succeed in discovering
the criminal who had attacked Caspar.

There was a surprised silence which the President in-
terrupted by asking whether any one knew what the stranger
was doing in Nirnberg. Herr von Tucher replied in the
negative. “We only know that he arrived night before
last,” he replied, “a wheel of his carriage broke near Burg-
farrnbach and he is waiting here for the damage to be re-
paired.” The President frowned, distrust clouded his
glance; thus the hunting dog becomes suspicious when a
new track crosses the confusing mass of footprints. “What's
the man’s name?’ he asked with apparent indifference.

“The name has escaped me,” replied Baron Tucher, “but
he is said actually to be a gentleman of high rank; Mayor
Binder praises his affability most highly.”

“Distinguished gentlemen are called affable if they tread
on your foot and then apologize politely,” Anna, who was
sitting by Caspar’s bed, was heard to remark pertly. Daumer
threw her a reproachful look, but the President broke out
into a loud laugh which infected all the others; for several
minutes he kept chuckling to himself and his eyes twinkling
with pleasure.

Caspar alone did not join in this merry little episode;
his glance looked reflectively into the open; he wanted to
see the man who had come from far away and given so
much money that the person who had struck him might
be found. From far away! It was this that appealed to

C37]

af
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

him. Only from far away could that for which Caspar was
yearning come, from the distant sea, from unknown lands.
The President, too, had come from far away, but not so
far that his brow was colored with the radiance of the un-
known, that a sweet smelling wind still clung to his clothes,
or that his eyes were like stars, free from reproach and with-
out their perpetual questions. He who would come from a
distance, perhaps arrayed in shining silver, and with many
horses, would not need to question, he would know every-
thing without needing to ask; the others, all those who were
near, who were always present, who constantly went in and
out, they never looked as if they came fresh from their
foaming steeds, their breath was as acrid as the air in a
cellar, their hands fatigued, like a horseman’s hand. Their
countenances were masked, not masked in black like the face
of the man who had struck him and who had been closer
to him than any one else, but vaguely veiled: that was why
they spoke in indistinct voices, in simulated tones, and that
was why Caspar was now obliged to dissemble, unable to
look them straight in the eye or say what he might have
said. He found it more cozy and sadder to remain silent
than to speak, particularly when they were expecting him
to speak. Yes, he liked to be somewhat sad, to have many
secret dreams and thoughts, and to bring those about him
to the realization that they could not approach him after all.

Daumer was too preoccupied with himself and too much
oppressed by the idea of soon carrying out the unalterable
decision he had made, namely, to observe whether Caspar
responded to him in the same open childlike way as here-
tofore. Herr von Tucher was the first who pointed out
certain peculiarities in Caspar’s behavior and dropped some
hints on the subject to the President as they left Daumer’s
house together.

The President shrugged his shoulders and remained silent.
He asked the Baron to accompany him to the Adler Inn;
there they inquired whether the English gentleman was at

L138]

Bl
 

 

A DISGUISED PERSON MAKES HIS APPEARANCE

home, but found that His Grace Lord Stanhope—so the
waiter expressed himself—had left just an hour before. The
President was disagreeably surprised and asked whether they
knew in what direction his coach had gone They did not
know exactly, was the answer, but since it had left by Jacob's
Gate it was to be assumed that it had gone south, perhaps
toward Miinchen.

“Too late, everywhere too late,” murmured the Presi-
dent, “I should have been glad to know what moved His
Grace to bring so many ducats to the City Hall.” Feuer-
bach’s face was so lined with thought and care, so strained
with constant vigilance, as well as with the ardor of a con-
suming temperament, that it resembled that of a sick man,
or one possessed.

And thus it had been for months. The clerks under him
were afraid of him, the smallest neglect of duty, even the
slightest contradiction, made him rave. His outbreaks of
temper had always been things to be feared, and now they
trembled the more before them since the slightest provocation
would call forth such a storm. Then his voice would re-
sound through the halls and corridors of the appellate court,
and the peasants below in the market place would stand still
and say with solicitous regret, “His Excellency has been
crossed again,” and from the Regierungsrat down to the low-
est clerk they all sat on their chairs pale and dutiful.

Perhaps they would have borne this yoke the more will-
ingly if they had known what pain it caused the man him-
self, how much, when conquered by his anger, he suffered
from shame and remorse, and how as if to redeem himself
by some outward action he would toss a coin to the first
beggar he met on the street. They had, of course, no idea
that these ugly vapors of ill-humor screened a sharp struggle
between duty and honor and that this man’s great intellect
was busily at work, seeking, in the midst of outward bustle
and restlessness to piece together a marvelous bit of mental
construction and, with the true penetration of a seer, to

[1391]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

see his way clear through a veritable inferno of wickedness
and crime.

With a magician’s hand he had succeeded in constructing
a connected web out of the dark threads which attached
Caspar’s fate to an unknown past, and suddenly there stood
revealed in letters of flame the thing that time, as well as
a curious combination of circumstances, had hidden in
darkness.

He faced his own creation, terrified, for the foundations
of his existence were trembling under him. For him there
was no longer any doubt. But did he dare to come forth
with the frightful truth and to brush aside the considerations
which his position and the confidence of his king demanded
of him? Would it not be better to continue to play the part
of a spy in secret in order finally, with crafty cunning, to
attack these treacherous forces from behind at the right op-
portunity? There was nothing to gain, not even gratitude,
but there was everything to lose.

Oh, what a torture! he often thought during a sleepless
night, what a rare torture, to be obliged to watch this god-
less behavior with a powerless hand, to measure great crimes
and small sins by the standards of inadequate laws, to adhere
blindly to the letter while life runs on in its accustomed way,
producing and destroying one form after another, and never
to be a master of real deeds, always to be the bloodhound
of the evildoers themselves, and never to know what things
to nip in the bud and what things to prosper.

He would not have been the man that he was if he had
not found a middle path between public action and cowardly
silence which sufficed for his self-respect. He drew up a
detailed memorandum to the king, wherein he presented in
a neat logical enumeration all the features of the case,
frankly and boldly, from beginning to end; every sentence
was a hammer-stroke.

The document began with the declaration that Caspar
Hauser must be a legitimate, and not an illegitimate, child.

[ 140]
 

A DISGUISED PERSON MAKES HIS APPEARANCE

 

If he had been an illegitimate child, it went on to say, less
dangerous and cruel methods would have been used to cover
up his antecedents than the monstrous crime of keeping him
imprisoned many years and then finally turning him loose.
The more distinguished either of his parents was, the more
easily could the child be gotten away, and people of slight
position and no great means would have had even less cause
to resort to such expensive and unsafe measures; the bread
and water which Caspar was obliged to eat in secrecy would
in such a case be offered to him openly, without any secrecy.
If one assumes Caspar to be an illegitimate child, whether of
high or low standing, whether rich or poor, the means used
would in none of these cases be commensurate with the pur-
pose pursued. And who would, without some real reason,
undertake the burden of so serious a crime, especially when
it imposes upon the criminal the frightful torment of having
to repeat his crime day after day for an unending period?
From all this it seems evident, the merciless prosecutor con-
tinued, that very powerful and very wealthy persons are
participants in the crime, persons who can easily surmount
common obstacles, and who, either through fear, or through
the extraordinary advantages and brilliant hopes which they
have to offer, can find willing tools; they are persons who
can leash tongues and padlock more than one mouth with
gold. Could one explain in any other way how Caspar could
be exposed in a city like Niirnberg, in broad daylight, while
the perpetrator disappears without a trace, and why the tire-
less zeal of months of investigation has discovered no
circumstances that ean be properly connected with the affair,
which might point to a definite place or a definite person,
why even great rewards have not led to one satisfactory
piece of intelligence ?

Therefore Caspar must be a person of such importance
that widely ramified interests are connected with the matter
of his life or death, continued Feuerbach. Neither revenge
nor hate could have been the motives of his incarceration,

Fr]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

but he was gotten out of the way in order to insure to others
advantages that belonged to him alone. It was necessary
for him to disappear that others might take his place, that
others might assume his estate. He must be of high birth;
certain remarkable dreams which he has had show this,
dreams which are nothing but reawakened memories of early
youth; the whole course of his imprisonment and the in-
ferences to be drawn from it indicate his lofty origin. Of
course, he was kept in prison and sparsely nourished, but
there are examples of persons who are incarcerated with a
friendly rather than a hostile purpose, not in order to de-
stroy them, but to protect them from those who are seeking
their lives. Perhaps his mere existence made it possible to
bring pressure to ‘bear on some one who had participated
in the affair with a hesitating conscience, and yet had not
dared protest. Caspar had been treated kindly and with
care. Why? Why had not this mysterious person killed
him? Why did he not put one more drop of opium into
the water which was used at times to daze his senses? The
dungeon-keep designed for the living prisoner would have
been twice as safe for the dead one. :

Now if, in any family of high station or only of dis-
tinction, or let us say even only of respectable standing, a
child who is now Caspar had ever disappeared, without any-
thing being known about its life, or death, or how it had
disappeared, the family in which this misfortune had oc-
curred must long ago have become known. Since Caspar’s
fate has been for years a much discussed event, and been
disregarded, and not the slightest thing has been said about
such a family incident, Caspar must be sought among the
dead. That is to say, a child has been declared to be dead,
and is still regarded as dead, while in fact it is alive in the
person of Caspar. This means that a child who was the
nearest heir or the last surviving male of his family was
put out of the way, never to appear again. Perhaps this
child happened to be sick and a dying or dead child was put

[142]
 

A DISGUISED PERSON MAKES HIS APPEARANCE

 

in its place, which substituted child was exhibited in its
coffin and duly buried, and Caspar thus enumerated with the
dead. If the doctor was in the game, and had been ordered
to kill the child, and from motives either of kindness or
wisdom had pretended to obey but actually spared the child,
the pious deception could the more easily be carried out.
Here every one was acting on instructions from above, but
where was the mouth that had ordered the deed? Where
was the master mind which was ready to assume such a
burden of responsibility to the end of time? In what
dynasty had this unheard-of crime occurred?

At this passage in his report, the President’s hand fal-
tered—for days, for weeks. Not out of weakness and in-
decision, but with the painful hesitation of a general who is
certain of ruin and disaster, however the battle may go.
To snatch a crown from the head of a prince, and to point
with the finger of scorn at a tarnished diadem, was not this
to offend against the majesty of even his own king and
ruler? Did this not mean trampling sacred traditions under
foot, and rousing the opposition of immature and irre-
sponsible demagogy? Yet, he felt, as he had never felt
before, the convincing force of words and how truth springs
from truth and urges action.

He gave the name of the dynasty. He pointed out that
the old line had suddenly and most unaccountably, against
all human probability, become extinct in the male line, yield-
ing place to a younger branch, the issue of a morganatic
marriage. This extinction had not resulted from a child-
less marriage, but had fallen upon a union blessed with many
children, and it was only the sons that died; the daughters
lived on. The mother had been a true Niobe; yet though
Apollo’s mortal dart had stricken sons and daughters alike;
here, the angel of death had spared the daughters, slay-
ing only the sons. And it was not merely a striking fact,
but one that was almost a miracle, that the angel appeared
while the boys were still babes in their cradles, snatching

[143]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

them away from a surrounding bevy of blooming sisters.
How shall we explain, asked Feuerbach, a mother’s bearing
the same husband three healthy daughters and no sons that
were fit to live? There is not mere accident in this, he
courageously insisted, there is a method in it, otherwise one
would have to believe that Providence had for once inter-
fered with the usual course of nature, and performed an
extraordinary feat in order to carry out a political coup.
Not long after Caspar’s appearance in Nirnberg the report
had spread that he was a prince of that family who had been
considered dead, and these dark rumors had continued to
arise repeatedly; there was even a report of an alleged ap-
pearance of a ghost which, as was declared in the public
prints, had ventured to assert that the present rulers had
usurped the throne while a rightful prince was still alive.
Rumors, of course, are merely rumors, but they often spring
from proper sources. In the case of secret crimes they
often arise from the fact that one of the accomplices may
gossip or make too free with his confidences, or perhaps from
some carelessness, or some one may wish to ease his con-
science, or undertake to avenge some disappointed hope,
or some one may even have sought to bring about the dis-
covery of the truth without being obliged to play the role
of the betrayer.

The President did not merely mention the dynasty by
name, and the land which was their inheritance; he named
the prince whose sudden death more than ten years ago had
aroused suspicion, he named the princess of high rank, who
grieved in the solitude she had chosen over her inscrutable
fate. He named those who had thus passed to the throne
over corpses, and next to the picture of a weak, but am-
bitious man, there appeared the figure of a woman, a dia-
bolical figure, the master mind of the frightful enterprise.

There was something of the bitterness of a personal ex-
perience in the unembellished reasoning of the President.
For he knew the courtly world, where malice and cunning

[L144]

 
 

A DISGUISED PERSON MAKES HIS APPEARANCE

 

are steeped in sweet smelling incense and duplicity dazes
its victim with hypocritical favors. He had breathed that
air, and later from those tables he had absorbed their poison,
he had wasted his life and strength in their service, and his
purest devotion had been rewarded with scorn and per-
secution. He knew their creatures and their minions, he
knew the men for whom history meant nothing more than
the enumeration of an ancestral tree, religion the songs of
a priest, philosophy a disgusting Jacobinism, politics a blind
man’s buff of documents and reports, the budget an arith-
metical problem that does not need to check up, the rights
of human beings a game of forfeits, the monarch a mirror
of their own greatness, their country a tenure of land, and
freedom the criminal folly of audacious madmen. The
years which were gone forever sounded loudly through his
written words, the disdain he had endured, which had dark-
ened his life. He did not wish to think of himself, but his
words revealed his sorrow, though not for the eye of the
king, who was only to read what was written.

The report was sent off and the most meticulous care
was used to prevent its falling into any other hands than
the ruler’s, but the President waited week after week for
a reply, for some decision or sign of life. Then came the
news of the attempted murder of Caspar. Feuerbach went
to Nurnberg; his own investigations were as fruitless as
those of the police. On the tenth day of his stay he re-
ceived a letter from the King’s Private Chancellory. His
communication was acknowledged and received with due
thanks, and his perfectly astonishing cleverness in unraveling
a complicated situation was appropriately admired, but in
all essentials the letter showed an inflexible reserve; one
would investigate, one would consider, one would wait and
see; important considerations had to be taken into account;
personal relations that would be readily grasped might im-
pose unsavory obligations. The nature of this incredible
story, according to the missive, was rather an invitation

[145]

 
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

to astonishment and horror than to precipitate action; still
one would promise, yes, one would promise. But above all
silence was recommended, complete silence; it would mean
the loss of all the royal favor if such material should reach
the outside world as the authentic utterance of a high of-
ficial of state; on this point discretion and saliaiasion were
expected.

The effect of this secret communication, simultaneously a
menace and a caress, which resembled a kindly outstretched
hand in which a sharp dagger gleamed, was all the stronger
for having been long surmised and dreaded. Feuerbach
foamed at the mouth. He crushed the epistle under his
heels, his breast heaving, he strode about the room ceaselessly,
his fists clenched against his temples; then he sank upon
the bed; the beating of his pulses frightened him, and he
relieved himself with mad peals of a laughter that was full
of anger and rage.

Then he lay still for hours, unable to think of anything
but the single word: silence, silence, silence.

That same afternoon Mayor Binder had come to the hotel
several times and had wanted to speak to the President.
The waiter had always returned with the information that
he had knocked in vain; the President was either asleep or
did not wish to be disturbed. Towards evening, Binder
came again, and was finally admitted. He found the Presi-
dent absorbed in some documents and his apologies were
brushed aside with the brusque, humiliating request that he
come to the point.

The Mayor was offended; stepping back, he stated with
dignity that he was not aware that he had given any cause
for His Excellency’s displeasure, but, however that might
be, he must decline to submit to such treatment. Then
Feuerbach rose and replied, “For heaven's sake, man, drop
that tone! When one is being burned at the stake, one has
some ground to neglect the rules of politeness.”
~ Binder dropped his head and was silent with astonish-

[146]

 
 

A DISGUISED PERSON MAKES HIS APPEARANCE

 

ment. Then he explained the purpose of his visit. The
President was probably aware that Daumer did not intend
to keep Caspar in his house any longer. Since the boy
had recovered so far, Daumer had decided not to wait any
longer, but to send him as soon as possible to the Beholds,
who would be very glad to have him. All this had been
thoroughly gone over and it was desired only to inform the
President and ask his approval.

“Yes, I know that Daumer is tired of this business,”
said the President irritably, “I don’t blame him. No one
wants his house to be the cynosure of murderers’ eyes, al-
though precautions can and will be taken to prevent repe-
titions of this incident. From to-day on Caspar shall be
placed under strict police surveillance; the city is responsible
to me for him. But why is Daumer in such a hurry? And
why 1s Caspar to go to the Behold family? Why not to
Herr von Tucher, or to you?”

“Herr von Tucher is obliged to be away on business for
some months, in Augsburg, and I,—"” the Mayor hesitated
and his face grew pale for a moment, “as for me there is
no peace in my home.”

The President looked up quickly, then he walked over
to Binder and silently shook him by the hand

“And what about these Beholds? What kind of people
are they?” he asked, changing the conversation

“Oh, they are good people,” answered the Mayor some-
what uncertainly. “The man is certainly a respectable mer-
chant. As to the lady there are differences of opinion. She
spends a lot on her clothes and things, in fact, she squanders
a lot of money. One can’t say anything bad of her. Since,
as we have agreed, it will now be for Caspar’s good to send
him to a public school, mere supervision among decent peo-
ple will suffice for him.”

“Have they any children?”

“A girl of thirteen.” The Mayor, who knew as well as
Never one else that Frau Behold treated this child badly,

C1471]
 

CASPAR HAUSER.

 

wanted to add something in order to ease his conscience, but
at this moment Magistrate Behold and Daumer were an-
nounced. The President had them shown in. The grin-
ning, friendly face of the councilor appeared at once; his
aggressive black beard was an amusing contrast to the hair
on his head, which was already gray and hung in moist
strands, redolent of pomade, over his forehead.

Bowing profusely, he advanced toward Feuerbach, who
only vouchsafed him a brief greeting and at once turned
to Daumer. The latter scarcely dared to meet Feuerbach’s
penetrating eyes, and when asked whether one could subject
Caspar to the mental and physical strain of such a revo-
lutionary change, he replied by an embarrassed silence.
When Herr Behold joined in the conversation and assured
them that Caspar would be treated in his house as if he were
his own son, the Mayor interrupted him with words pro-
nounced almost against his will, to the effect that that meant
nothing, as one could see by the example of Caspar himself
how some people could neglect their own children.

The couneilor looked embarrassed; he rubbed his thin
finger along the edge of the chair and stammered that he
could say nothing more, he would do his best.

The President, who had been made suspicious by the
implications of these remarks, looked at the two men in
turn. Then he went close up to Daumer, placed his hand
on his shoulder and said earnestly, “Must it really be?”

Daumer sighed and replied with emotion: “Excellency,
God knows how hard my decision is.”

“God may know,” answered the President grumblingly,
and his short heavy figure seemed suddenly to grow and
threaten, “but will He therefore approve? If one rubs stone
and flint together one gets sparks; beware, however, when
only dirt and crumbs fly from the stone. Then there is no
permanence or soundness in all the realm of nature.”

He is dismissing me again like a schoolboy, thought
Daumer, and a blush of irritation rose to his face. “I have

Faas
 

A DISGUISED PERSON MAKES HIS APPEARANCE

 

done all I could,” he said hastily and obstinately. “I am not
closing my house to Caspar; and certainly not my heart.
But, in the first place, I can no longer guarantee his safety
and I believe that no one can. How can any one sow in a
field under which a pernicious fire smolders, consuming every
seed that is sown? And furthermore I am disappointed,
I admit that I am disappointed. I shall never forget what
Caspar has been to me, who indeed could forget it? But
the bloom has left the peach; time has destroyed it.”

“Over, yes, over,” murmured Feuerbach gloomily.
“Sooner or later the word had to be spoken. Our eyes be-
come dulled from gazing into the light. Our sons are cast
forth when they demand an over-measure of our affection.
But we give the beggar the soup he begs for. My worthy
gentlemen,” he continued loudly and formally, “in any case
remember that you are responsible to me for Caspar’s wel-
fare.”

When Daumer got out into the street he was still angry
at the President’s tone and words. At the same time he
could not hide the fact that he was dissatisfied. with himself.
In one of the deserted streets near the castle he met Ritt-
meister Wessenig. Daumer was glad to have some one to
talk to, and accompanied the man to the barracks. From
the beginning, Herr Wessenig turned the conversation upon
Caspar and Daumer did not notice, or did not want to no-
tice, that the Captain’s loquacity was flavored with scorn.

“A curious affair, this business with the marked man,”
said Wessenig, suddenly becoming more open. “Does any
one really believe it? In clear daylight a fellow, some chap
with gloves on, if you please, enters an inhabited house, hangs
a veil over his face and takes an ax out of his pocket? Or
is he supposed to have carried the ax through the open
streets? And with gloves. By holy St. Thomas, that’s a
bold tale of adventure.”

As Daumer did not reply, Captain Wessenig continued
eagerly, “Let us suppose that the funny man with the mask

[149]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

really intended to kill the boy? Why, then, this slight
wound? He would only have had to strike a little harder
and everything would have been at an end, the mouth which
would betray him would have been silenced. One really
has to believe that the gloved murderer wanted merely to
fondle his victim a bit for the time being. Well, in truth,
it’s a ticklish story. All of my acquaintances, parole
d’honneur, my dear professor, are amazed at the spirit of
credulity which can be deceived by such childish clap-trap.”

Daumer felt it beneath his honor to show either anger
or indignation. He pretended that he was not disinclined
to agree with the Captain, and, as if to seek information,
asked what one was to think of the whole affair. Herr
Wessenig shrugged his shoulders significantly. He had
probably expected a heated denial and a sharp reprimand,
and since this did not come he put aside his restrained hos-
tility, retaining astuteness enough, however, to express him-
self in general terms only. “Perhaps our good Caspar was
drunk and fell down the steps and then cooked up this tale
of an assassin in order to make himself interesting. That
would still be a comparatively innocent matter. Others have
a much blacker version: they think the scamp wanted to
make trouble for his protector by a neatly devised escapade.”

Daumer was no longer able to contain himself. He stood
still and stretched his hands out as if the remarks of his
companion were besetting him like so many venomous in-
sects, and without a word of good-by he hurried away.

So that is the world, those are its voices, he thought
with dismay; it’s possible to think such a thing and any
mouth may utter it. And you, poor Caspar, are to be swal-
lowed up in this welter of folly and malice. Even if you
are not the messenger from heaven for whom I took you,
you nevertheless soar above them as an eagle over a race of
pygmies. Of course, they will clip your wings. In vain
will your innocence radiate from your soul, they will not
see it. You will laugh or cry before them in vain; you will

[150]
 

A DISGUISED PERSON MAKES HIS APPEARANCE

seize their hands and shudder with cold, you will look at
them and they will remain dumb. Your soul will anxiously
seek a path to theirs and treachery will guide you along the
most dangerous path of all. . . .

One is a prophet and one has a heart that feels pity; one
knows people ; one knows that fire burns, that a needle pricks
and that the hare, when it is shot, falls into the grass and
dies; one knows the consequences of the things one does,
doesn’t one, Herr Daumer? But is this a reason for op-
posing the course of things, which is an enemy with sword
already raised, and to intercept the arm that impels the de-
scending blow? No, it is no reason. Or is it a reason for
changing one’s mind about a little resolution once made?
No, it’s no reason. In this respect the idealists and students
of the soul are in no way superior to thieves and usurers.

One goes home, one walks home philosophizing and goes
to bed, and the next morning the world looks far more
acceptable than on the previous evening, which had much
to make it a depressing one,

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THE HEART OF THE BLACKBIRD

TWENTY-FOUR hours later a carriage stops in front of
Daumer’s house and Frau Behold comes to fetch Caspar
herself. Really Frau Behold has not been a niggard: she
sports a shining black coach and a pair of horses and a
servant with gold buttons on the box.

Caspar is accompanied to the door by Daumer and the
two women, and Kandidat Regulein, too, leaves his bachelor
cell to see him off. Anna cannot hold back her tears;
Daumer gazes darkly ahead of him; Frau Behold makes a
sign to the coachman; the horses snort; the wheels whirl
round ; and those left behind stare silently into the darkness
which swallows up the carriage.

This was his farewell, and it seemed to Caspar as if he
were going far away. But he was really going only from
a house on the Schiitt to a house on the Market Place. It
was a tall, narrow house, so tucked in between two others
that it looked as if it could not draw a breath. It had a
tinned gable which slanted steeply like the shoulders of a
hungry chancery clerk; the windows did not have a frank
and open look, but seemed to be blinking; the front door
seemed to be hiding, and inside, a dark staircase wound
deviously through the various stories as if pursuing evasive
courses; the old treads creaked and groaned at every step,
and whenever the doors were opened, only a dim light shone
from the rooms.

Caspar lived in a room overlooking the square court in-
side the structure; outside the windows there ran a wooden
gallery with an ornamented balustrade, at each side there
were glass doors with green hangings, and down in the yard
stood an iron fountain that yielded no water.

The curious part of it was that there was the Market

[152]
 

THE HEART OF THE BLACKBIRD

Square outside, where many persons talked loudly, where
the tradespeople had their little shops and tents, filled from
morning till night with chattering women, screaming chil-
dren, neighing horses, cackling chickens, and yet one had
only to close the door behind one in order to be as quiet
as in a tomb.

This amused Caspar at first. It resembled a game of
hide and seek and he found fun in hiding, sometimes taking
it upon himself to assume a different face from the one
corresponding with his mood, or to say other things than
were expected of him. On one of the first days Frau Be-
hold lost a little silver chain; Caspar said that he had seen
it outside the house, although he had not seen it.

He was forbidden to leave the house without permission.
He asked who had given the order and was told it was Frau
Behold, but when he inquired of her she said that the mag-
istrate had forbidden it; however, when he applied to him
he was told that the President had forbidden it. Such was
the extent to which everything in this house was compli-
cated and mysterious!

Once Frau Behold tried to enter his room. She found
it locked and bolted from the inside. “Why do you lock
yourself in, in broad daylight?” she asked, poking about
on the table where his books and school work lay. “Are
you perhaps afraid 7’ she went on loquaciously, “in my house
you need not be afraid, there aren’t any masked rogues.”
He admitted that he was afraid and this flattered Frau
Behold ; she assumed a fierce air of protection, and smiled
provocatively.

Every morning when he returned from school—he now
went for two hours a day into the third class of the gym-
nasium—Frau Behold asked him how things had gone. He
would answer sadly, “Things went badly” and actually he
got little pleasure out of it. The teachers complained that
his presence made the other pupils inattentive; the fact that
a policeman constantly followed him in the street and that

[133]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

the police watched the house in which he lived day and
night, seemed extraordinarily exciting to the boys and they,
tormented him with the silliest questions. His silence was
of course misinterpreted, and if he began to address them
frankly in his way, they either drew back shyly or made
fun of him, for he was in their eyes nothing but a great
big fool who was twice as old as they and not yet beyond
the merest rudiments of knowledge. It often happened that
during the lesson he would get up and ask one of his child-
like questions, and then the whole class would burst out
laughing and the teacher would laugh, too. Once during a
tremendous windstorm which howled outside, he left his
seat and took refuge in a corner near the stove; the amuse-
ment of the boys knew no bounds, and when the fat teacher
pulled him out and shoved him to his seat on the bench
they accompanied the process with veritable cat calls.

The most curious thing of all was to observe him on the
way home walking amid a crowd of boys, reserved and wor-
ried among the noisy carefree groups, a man among half
grown children, and constantly at his side the minion of
the law.

Very frequently Daumer asked his colleagues for informa-
tion about Caspar. “Ah,” they said, “of course he has the
best intentions but only middling intelligence. He shows
that he’s clever, but he does not retain very much. We
can’t complain of him, but neither can we praise him.”

Daumer was hurt. You can’t complain of him, yet you
do complain, he thought; it is easy to damn with faint
praise, particularly when you praise the person you complain
of as he deserves. He appealed to the Magistrate and tried
to persuade him to speak well of Caspar, but Herr Behold
was no lover of candid opinions. He was a man who led
a one-sided life, spending his days in a gloomy office on
the Zwinger and any one who wanted an opinion of him
generally met with the reply, “You must ask my wife about
that.” .

[1541
 

THE HEART OF THE BLACKPBIRD

 

Daumer now seemed almost like an unsuccessful lover in
the way in which he followed the doings of his former
protégé with care and anxiety, at the same time gladly avoid-
ing a meeting or a conversation with Caspar. He secretly
followed the doings of Frau Behold with the greatest dis-
trust, racking his brain as to why she had been so eager
to get the boy to her house.

“What are you puzzled about?” said Anna, who had as
much excellent common sense as her brother fantastic pes-
simism, “it’s quite clear that she wants a toy doll, an amuse-
ment for her salon.”

“A toy, why, she has a child and she neglects even that,
so people say.”

“Of course! but there’s nothing unusual in having a child
like every one else. It must be something that’s talked about,
something interesting, something that gives one an oppor-
tunity to play the grand lady and occasionally read one’s
name in the newspapers. Then, too, one is called a bene-
factress, one’s husband may get an important decoration,
and above all one dispels one’s boredom. I know the woman
as I know myself. I pity Caspar.”

Frau Behold was always going about and was in fact only
at home when she had company. She had to see people
constantly, she liked well-dressed, genial people, men with
titles and women of rank; she loved parties and jewelry and
elaborate clothes. She might have been called gay if her
ambition had not made her so restless. She would at times
have appeared a complacent person, even friendly and agree-
able, if she had not been a victim of a vain curiosity which
penetrated into her very soul and did not leave her even
during sleep. She had read a huge number of French nov-
els, which made her irritable and eager for adventure, and
the phlegmatic indolence which was a part of her tempera-
ment served to conceal these other qualities. The person
who accepted her for what she appeared to be was deceived
at the very outset.

[135]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

As regards Caspar, she at first took him humorously,
particularly when he was sad and thoughtful. “What an
amusing thing he has said again,” was her perpetual remark.
It often appeared as if she had taken a little court jester into
her service. “Now, my dear little moon calf, do say some-
thing,” she would ask him in the presence of her guests.
When she would see him eagerly memorizing Latin words
she would laugh aloud. “How scholarly, how scholarly,”
she would exclaim, running her hand through his wavy hair.

“Let it go, let it go,” she would say consolingly if he
complained of a difficult problem in arithmetic, “you won't
get anywhere with it; it is as if I should take up tight-rope
dancing.”

, Meantime he soon aroused a strange curiosity in her in
another way. One morning she came in while he was stand-
ing in the kitchen, watching the butcher’s boy take the raw
meat, still bloody, out of the basket and place it on the side-
board. Caspar’s face showed tremendous pity, he drew back
trembling, unable to make a sound, and then fled in distress.
Frau Behold was amazed and did not want to admit her
emotion. What's that, she thought; he must be pretending;
what is the blood of an animal to him?

In order to please him she did more for him than her own
sense of convenience would usually have permitted. Never-
theless he did not seem to feel at home in her house. ‘“Both-
eration, what has crossed you again?” she flew at him at
once, noticing his sad face. “If you don’t get livelier I'll
take you to the slaughter house and make you watch them
cutting off the calves’ heads,” she once threatened him, and
burst out laughing over the horror painted in his face.

No, Caspar did not feel in the least at home. Frau Behold
was utterly incomprehensible to him; her glance, her speech,
her manner, all repelled him greatly. It cost him much
thought and artifice not to show his dislike, although he was
sick and miserable when he had spent only an hour in her
company. All interest in work forsook him and he stopped

+ [156] ‘
 

THE HEART OF THE BI ACKEBIRD

 

going to school altogether, which he hated anyway. The
teachers complained to the Magistrate; Herr von Tucher,
who was living in the city again and had legally been ap-
pointed Caspar’s guardian, took him to task. Caspar did not
want to speak, an attitude which Herr von Tucher inter-
preted as obstinacy and which caused him much anxiety.

And there was something else which made Caspar thought-
ful. Sometimes on the steps, or in the hall, or in one of the
remote rooms, he met Frau Behold’s daughter, a half-grown
girl with a white face. Her eyes rested upon him with hos-
tility. When he tried to speak to her she ran away. Once
when he was looking from the gallery into the courtyard he
saw her standing by the well behind the iron pipe, upon
which a board had been displaced, so that one could look
into the bottom. The girl stood silently, gazing for at least
a quarter of an hour into the black hole. Caspar silently
left the gallery and slipped downstairs, but no sooner did
he enter the court than the girl ran past him with an angry
face. While Caspar was hesitatingly following her, he met
the Magistrate and eagerly told him what he had seen. Herr
Behold frowned and said soothingly, “Yes, yes, certainly the
child is not well. Don’t bother about her, Caspar, don’t
bother.”

But Caspar did bother. He asked the maids what was the
matter with the child, and one of them replied cuttingly:
“She doesn’t get anything to eat; the foundling eats all her
food.” Whereupon Caspar hurried post haste to Frau Be-
hold and repeated what the maid had said and asked whether
this was true. Frau Behold flew into a rage and dismissed
the maid on the spot. When, however, Caspar nevertheless
in his tactless and precocious way reprimanded her, saying
that she should pay more attention to her daughter than to
him, otherwise he would go away, she cut him short with the
sharp reproof: “How can you go away? Where will you
go? Where's your home if one may ask?”

Frau Behold now reached the conclusion that Caspar was

> [1571]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

in love with her daughter. She set to work to question him
on the point. However, he answered her questions so child-
ishly that she was almost ashamed of her suspicions. “Grand
Dieu,” she said aloud to herself, “it seems to me that the
simpleton does not even know what love is.” Indeed, more
than this, she felt that he had never given the least thought
to the matter. This was very curious to the good lady, for
her own desires and passions always played about in the
cloudy waters of semi-fictitious, semi-lubricous passions,
however virtuous she was obliged to appear before her fellow
citizens.

He certainly is made of flesh and blood, she reflected, and
even though that foolish Daumer raves so about his angelic
innocence, a grown-up man cannot fail to know what goes
on between the rooster and his hens. He is pretending, he’s
fooling me; wait and see, boy; I'll make him smart.

On the market place to the right in front of the Beholds’
house stood the so-called “Beautiful Fountain,” a master-
work of medieval Niirnberg art. From time immemorial
the children were told that the stork fetched the babies from
the depths of the fountain. Frau Behold asked Caspar
whether he had heard this, and when he said no, looked at
him with a sly wink and wanted to know whether he believed
this. “I don’t see how the stork could fly down,” he replied
innocently ; “it’s all closed in with iron netting.”

Frau Behold was astonished. “Oh, you simpleton!” she
exclaimed ; “look me straight in the face.”

He looked at her. Then she was obliged to drop her eyes.
And suddenly she got up, hurried to the sideboard, brusquely
opened a drawer, poured herself out a glass of wine and
emptied it at one gulp. Then she went to the window, folded
her hands, and with a dull expression murmured: “Jesus
Christ, save me from sin and lead me not into temptation.”

One need hardly mention that she was otherwise a most
advanced lady who was not seen in church once a year.

It was already the middle of August and very hot. One

[158]
 

THE HEART OF: THE BI. ACKBIRD

 

Sunday the Mayor organized a picnic in Schmausenbuk.
Caspar had ridden that morning with Herr Rumpler and
some boys as far as Buch, and was so tired that he fell asleep
in his room after lunch. Frau Behold wakened him herself
and told him to get dressed as the carriage was waiting to
take him to the picnic ground. To Caspar’s question whether
any one else was going along, she replied that two boys were
going to drive out with them, the sons of General Hartung.
Caspar was disappointed and said that he wished Frau Be-
hold would allow her daughter to go with them, for she would
be disappointed if she had to stay at home. Frau Behold
was startled and almost lost her temper, but she controlled
herself. She leaned forward, seized a handful of Caspar’s
curls, and said maliciously, “I'll cut your hair off if you
begin with that again.”

Caspar pulled away. “Don’t come so near,” he begged
with staring eyes, “and please don’t cut it.”

“I've got you,” threatened Frau Behold with forced merri-
ment. “Now I've got you, you timid little boy. Cross me
once again and I'll get the scissors.”

During the drive Caspar remained silent. The two boys,
who were fourteen and fifteen years old, teased him and
tried to get something out of him, for they had always heard
him spoken of as a curious animal. Like typical schoolboys
they began to speak boastfully, as if there were no cleverer
or more sharp-sighted people alive than they. Some distance
along the road one of them exclaimed that he already heard
the music from the woods, whereupon Caspar, annoyed at
the exhibition that they were making of themselves, said
that surprised him, for he did not hear anything, but he did
see a little flag flying on a high pole over the trees. “Oh,
the flag,” said the boy disparagingly; “we have seen that
for a long time.” This, too, surprised Caspar, for he had
only just that moment perceived it, a narrow ribbon, visible
only when the wind blew.

“Good,” said he; “when it blows again I'll ask you whether

L159]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

you see it.” He waited awhile and then, while the flag was
at rest, asked the misleading question, “Well, is it blowing
or not?”

“It’s blowing,” replied the boys in one voice, but Caspar
replied quietly, “I now perceive that you don’t see any-
thing.”

“Ah,” cried they, “then you're lying.”

“Then tell me,” Caspar went on unconcerned, “what color
it is.”

The boys were silent and looked ; then one of them said
rather timidly, “Red”; the other somewhat more boldly,
“Blue.” Caspar shook his head and repeated, “I see that
you don’t see anything; it’s white and green.”

It was difficult to cavil about this, for a quarter of an hour
later they could all convince themselves of the truth. But
“the boys gazed hatefully at Caspar; they would gladly have
shone before Brau Behold, who had listened in silence to
the whole affair.

Caspar’s presence at the festival drew a crowd of gapers
as usual ; among them there were some acquaintances, young
men who thought that they ought to pay some attention to
him and who snatched him away from Frau Behold in spite
of her protests. It was at first only a small group, which
gradually grew, however, and as one spurred the other on,
they indulged in wild antics. They knocked over tables and
chairs, frightened the girls, bought out the shopkeepers’
stalls, uttered deafening screams, and behaved in all this as
if Caspar were their leader and responsible for all this tur-
moil. Their behavior became more and more unruly. When
evening came they tore the Chinese lanterns from the trees
and compelled a few musicians to precede them in order to
accompany the racket with their trumpets. Two young sales-
men lifted Caspar on their shoulders and he, who could
scarcely see or hear any longer, crouched on his living throne
with the unhappiest face in the world.

Amid laughter and songs the wild group reached the plat-

[ 160]
 

THE HEART OF THE BLACKBIRD

form, where the dancing had begun; they could get no
further; the assembled crowd kept them from going either
forward or sideways. Suddenly Caspar saw quite close at
hand the two boys who had driven out with him in Frau
Behold’s carriage; they stood on the steps leading to the
platform where the dancing was going on and carried a long
branch of a tree with a white piece of cardboard on the end
of it, on which was painted in big letters the words: “Here
one can see His Majesty, little Caspar, the King of Swindle-
dom.” They held the placard so that the inscription was
turned toward Caspar, and all of the people standing about
at once perceived it and every one burst out laughing. The
trumpeters gave a toot and the whole train started past the
inn toward the illuminated grove.

Caspar shouted to be let down, but no one paid any atten-
tion to him. Then he pulled the ear of one of the boys who
was carrying him and the hair of the second. “What are
you pinching me for?” screamed the one. “Why are you
pulling at me?” yelled the other. Furious, they both stepped
aside and Caspar slipped down. The two boys who carried
the placard stood before him, smiling scornfully. “We have
a little flag for you, too,” said the other; “just see whether it
waves or not.” At that moment they started, for a com-
manding voice uttered their names threateningly. It was
the father of the boys, the general, who, with another gentle-
man, was sitting not far away at a table to one side. They
all arose, for the sky was covered with black clouds and the
roll of thunder could already be heard.

Frau Behold received Caspar with the words, “What
stupid pranks you are up to! Aren't you ashamed of your-
self? Allons! We're going home.” In a loud manner she
bade the gentlemen good-by and hurried to the gate where
she screamed for her coachman. ‘Sit down,” she ordered
Caspar when they had gotten the carriage. She herself got
up on the box with the coachman and seized the reins. Now
a mad drive began, first through the woods, then over the

[161]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

dust-whirling road. She drove the animals on so that they
fairly galloped along, and sparks flew from their hoofs as
they struck the stones. There was not a star in the sky;
the landscape stretched out dark before them; there were
frequent flashes of lightning, and the thunder sounded
nearer.

In little more than half an hour they were in the city,
and as the horses stopped on the Market Square, sweat
steamed from their flanks. Frau Behold opened the door
of the house and let Caspar go ahead. He felt his way in the
darkness to the door of his room, but the woman snatched
his arm, drew him along and took him into the so-called green
drawing room, a big apartment whose windows were shut
and the air of which was musty. Frau Behold lit a candle,
threw her coat and hat upon the sofa, and sat down in a
leather chair. She was humming gently to herself. Sud-
denly she ceased and said, continuing her singing, “Come
here to me, you innocent sinner.”

Caspar obeyed.

“Kneel down!” ordered the woman.

Hesitatingly he knelt down on the floor and looked at
Frau Behold anxiously.

As she had done in the afternoon, she again put her face
close to his. Her narrow long chin trembled a little, and her
eyes laughed curiously.

“Why are you resisting?” she cooed as he bent his head
backwards. “Ma foi, the boy does struggle! Haven't you
ever smelled living flesh? Oh you rascal, who believes you?
Why, you devil, are you really afraid? Haven't I had the
most delicate food served to you? Didn’t I give you a beau-
tiful blackbird yesterday? I have a good heart. Caspar,
there, listen to how it beats and pulses—"

With great force she pressed his head against her breast.
He thought she was going to injure him and screamed,
whereupon she pressed her lips upon his mouth. He turned
cold with fear, his body collapsed as if the joints were dis-

[162]
 

THE HEART OF THE BI ACKBIRD

 

solved from his bones, and when Frau Behold realized this
sudden collapse she became frightened and jumped up. Her
hair had become undone and a thick braid lay like a snake
over her shoulder. Caspar crouched on the floor; his left
hand clasped the back of the chair convulsively. Frau
Behold bent over him once more and sniffed curiously, for
she loved the smell of his body, which reminded her of
honey. But no sooner did Caspar sense her repulsive prox-
imity than he struggled up and flew to the other end of the
room. He remained standing with his side pressed against
the door, his head bent forward, and his arms half out-
stretched.

A remote perception of some monstrous thing began to
dawn in him; no word that he had ever heard gave any hint,
nevertheless he divined something as one concludes that there
is a raging fire burning behind the hills from the redness of
the sky. He was ashamed of himself, secretly he felt about,
to see whether he was wearing clothes on his body, and then
he looked at his hands to see whether they were dirty. He
was ashamed, he was ashamed before the walls and the
chairs, he was ashamed before the light of the candle, and
he wished that the door might open of itself so that he might
silently disappear.

A rosy blaze of lightning which shot through the room
seemed like frightfully flashing eyes; the clap of thunder
which followed seemed a tremendous scream. Caspar
pressed his shoulders together and began to tremble.

Meantime, Frau Behold strode up and down like a man,
and laughed harshly to herself several times; suddenly she
seized the candle and walked up to Caspar: “You beast,
you corrupted beast, what did you think?” she said bitterly.
“Do you think that I care anything about you? Yes, as
much as for a worn-out shoe! Get out of here, and if you
dare to talk I'll murder you.”

She laughed as though at bottom the incident were a joke,
but to Caspar she seemed immense, her black shadow filled

[163]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

the whole room; beside himself with fear, he ran out, the
woman behind him; he rushed down the steps to the door
and rattled at the knob, but the door was locked. He heard
the rain on the pavement outside, at the same time he was
aware of quick tripping steps; a key turned in the lock and
the Magistrate appeared on the threshold. The constant
flashes of lightning illuminated Caspar’s quaking figure, and
the roll of the thunder drowned out the surprised man’s
questions.

Up on the staircase stood Frau Behold, the proximity of
the candlelight furrowed her face with wild gleams and her
voice resounded above the thunder, as she called to her hus-
band, “The fellow’s drunk; they made him drunk at Schmau-
senbuk. Don’t you show yourself again to-day. Be off and
get to bed.”

The Magistrate shut the door and closed his dripping um-
brella. “Come, come,” he said, “it’s probably not as bad
as that.”

Frau Behold did not reply. She slammed a door and there
was darkness and silence.

“Come with me, Caspar,” said the councilor. “We'll
make a light and see what's the matter. Give me your arm.”
He led Caspar to his room, made a light and repeatedly mur-
mured short soothing phrases. Then he smelled Caspar’s
breath to see whether he had been drinking, shook his head
and said with surprise, “Nothing of the sort. Frau Behold
is mistaken. But forget it all, Caspar. Confide the matter
to the Lord and it will all end well. Good-night.”

When Caspar was alone his timid gaze wandered from
flash to flash of lightning. Each time the lightning flamed
he had a pain under his eyelids as if needles pricked him;
at each thunder clap his whole body seemed to crumble.
His hands and feet were as cold as ice. He did not dare
to go to bed, but remained as if rooted where he stood. He
remembered with horror the first storm he had experienced
in the tower of the castle. He had crawled into a hole in

[ 164]
 

THE HEART OF THE BLACKBIRD

 

the wall, and the wife of the jailer had come to comfort
him. She said, “You mustn't go out, there is a big man
outside who is scolding.” Always when the thunder pealed
he leaned quite over to the ground and the woman said,
“Don’t be afraid, Caspar, I'll stay with you.”

Now, too, it seemed to him as if there were a big man
outside scolding, but there was no one there to comfort him.
The blackbird which sat in a cage near the window with
drooping head at times made little piping sounds. He would
have set it free long ago, for he pitied the animal, but he
feared Frau Behold’s scorn.

When the storm abated he quickly threw off his clothes,
crept into bed and covered himself up to his forehead, in
order not to need to see the lightning. In his hurry he even
forgot to lock the door, and this circumstance had a curious
sequel.

On the next morning when he woke up he noticed a pene-
trating smell. Yes, there was the smell of blood in the room.
Shuddering, he looked about, and the first thing he noticed
was that the bird cage by the window was empty. Caspar
looked for the little animal and perceived that the blackbird
lay dead on the table, its wings spread out in a pool of
blood. And next to it on a white plate lay the little bleeding
heart.

What could this mean? Caspar made a face and his mouth
trembled like that of a child before it cries. He dressed to
go to the kitchen to question the servants, but as he left the
room he suddenly became frightened, for Frau Behold stood
in the corridor next to the door. She had a broom in her
hand and was decidedly untidy in appearance. Caspar looked
at her sallow face and continued to look at her for a time,
with almost the same dismay and feeling with which he had
looked at the dead bird.

[657
X
A MESSAGE FROM FAR AWAY

Frou this time on life with Frau Behold was unendurable.
Probably the terrible mental trouble which was later to end
her life so disastrously was already beginning to show
traces in her at this time. Every one avoided having any-
thing to do with her. No sooner had she sat down than she
jumped up again; at five o'clock in the morning she was
already awake, moving noisily in the rooms and on the stair-
cases, waking Caspar out of his sleep and making such a
racket that he woke with an aching head and was not fit for
work for an entire day. At the table he was not allowed to
speak, and if he ever contradicted her she threatened to
make him eat with the servants in the kitchen. If a stranger
came and Caspar was called, she delivered herself of biting
remarks. “I wonder whether you can get anything out of
the dunce?” she would say. “No doubt you have been told
that you will find him uniquely intelligent. Just convince
yourself. See whether he says one sensible word.” This
embarrassed the guest, whoever he was, and Caspar stood
there, not knowing where to look.

As formerly, people had to come to fill the rooms of the
house ; laughter must be made to echo along the dilapidated
staircase and resounding steps brush away the dust of
decades. But the days were as different from the nights, as
an illuminated ballroom is changed when the guests have
left, and the doorkeeper has turned out the lights, and mice
flit over the spotted carpets. In such an existence guilt
flourishes like a weed in a neglected field. A great guilt
may have a cleansing effect through repentance or the suf-
fering it engenders; but small omissions and nameless iniqui-

[ 166]
 

A MESSAGE FROM FAR AWAY

 

ties, extending over many hours and days, destroy the soul
and consume the backbone of life.

Certainly Frau Behold was a very moral nature; she
- showed this in her inability to forgive the person who had
jeopardized her virtue, if only for one sultry hour before
a storm. But was it only that? Was it not rather that her
whole world had been turned upside down by the unexpected
image of innocence that the boy had presented? She could
not bear to live in such a topsy-turvy world. She had been
robbed and she demanded vengeance.

The change of conditions in the Beholds’ house did not
remain unknown to Caspar’s friends. Mayor Binder was
the first to declare emphatically that Caspar could not stay
there any longer. Daumer emphatically supported this point
of view, and Editor Pfisterle, hot-headed and troublesome
as usual, reviled the Magistrate in his newspaper and ex-
pressed a suspicion that an attempt was being made to make
the foundling harmless and to silence those voices which
had tried to enforce the rights of his mysterious birth.
“There the puzzling boy, on whose forehead glitters an in-
visible diadem, lives like a solitary beast, and only ventures
a few shy leaps into the daylight, skipping across the field
with odd motions of his head and tail which amuse his
enemies, looking anxiously about only to creep back again
into the first hole at hand.”

Thus wrote the excited knight of the pen. Hereupon the
city fathers, after some consultation, determined to set aside
a sum, as they had done before, for the maintenance and
education of the boy at the expense of the city, and as no-
body seemed so well suited to offer the fatherless boy a home
as Herr von Tucher, they laid the matter before him in the
most moving terms, appealing to his generosity and to the
extraordinary position of his family, whose name alone
would be sufficient to protect the boy from any ordinary
pursuers.

Herr von Tucher had some hesitation. The sudden at-

[167]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

tacks upon the Beholds annoyed him. “First you were glad
to find a shelter for the young man, and suddenly you resort
to Star Chamber proceedings,” he said. “Why should I as-
sume that matters will go better with me? I don’t want to
run the danger of having my private affairs pried into; I
don’t care to have every idle cock disturbing my peace by
crowing in my front yard.”

The family, too, raised objections, particularly Herr von
Tucher’s mother warned him against getting into such an
adventure. It was even said that the old lady had made an
unpleasant scene and had said that if he took Hauser into
the house he would have to defray his expenses out of com-
munity funds; she would not contribute a penny.

But Herr von Tucher had a sense of duty. He thought
it was his duty to take Caspar in. Since he regarded him
as a half-lost soul, he thought that by taking him in he might
be able to lead back the wandering boy to a proper attitude
towards life. “Perhaps Caspar only needs a strong masculine
hand,” he said to himself ; “the tomfoolery of the miraculous
and the supernatural, this business of being constantly stared
at and admired, was harmful to him; simplicity, order, well-
placed severity, in brief, the principles of wholesome train-
ing will cure him. Let's try it.”

Herr von Tucher had set himself a task in this matter and
that was all important. He said: “I am prepared to take
charge of the foundling, on condition that I shall be allowed
to do as I like in all things and that no one, no matter who,
shall venture to interfere with my plans, or to come between
Caspar and myself for any purpose whatsoever.”

Naturally, this was agreed to and promised.

No sooner had Frau Behold heard what was going on
behind her back than she resolved to steal a march on the
course of events. She waited for an afternoon when Caspar
was away from home, had all of his possessions, clothes,
underwear, books and other objects thrown into a box with-
out a lid and the box carried into the street. Then she locked

[1687]
 

A MESSAGE FROM FAR AWAY

 

the door herself, and smiling with satisfaction, sat down at
a balcony window on the first floor to watch for Caspar’s
return, and to enjoy the amazement of the assembled crowd.

Carpar soon came; he was informed by his body guard
of what had happened, and while the man hurried off to the
City Hall to report what had occurred, as was his duty,
Caspar leaned against his box, now and again looking up in
amazement at Frau Behold. It took two full hours before
they could decide at the City Hall what should be done, and
before Herr von Tucher was notified. Meanwhile it began
to rain, and if a good-natured market woman had not brought
a bag with which she covered the box, all Caspar’s posses-
sions would have been wet through. Finally the policeman
reappeared with one of Herr von Tucher’s servants; they
brought a little hand-cart and dragged the box along. . . .
Thus they proceeded, and a silly crowd followed them, gos-
siping until they reached the Tucher House in the Hirschel-
gasse.

Now an entirely new life began again for Caspar. Above
all, he ceased going to school, instead of which there came to
the house twice a day a young teacher, a student named
Schmidt. Then the door was locked to all uninvited stran-
gers. Furthermore, he was no longer allowed to ride. “Such
exercise is for the aristocracy and for wealthy people, but
not for a person who has to be brought up to the bourgeois
business of earning his bread, and will certainly some time
be dependent upon supporting himself by the work of his
own hands,” said Herr von Tucher.

From this it was obvious that he did not attribute the
slightest importance to the talk about the boy’s distinguished
birth, which had in no way died down with time. “Things
are bad enough as they are,” Herr von Tucher would reply
when some one pointed to a possibility of this sorf. “I am
not in the least inclined to sacrifice my principles to such a
phantom.”

Severity seeined important to him; he showed a stern face

[169]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

to Caspar. His chief maxim was not to let himself be
moved. This accomplished, it was easy to express apprecia-
tion of a duty properly performed. The hours from morning
till night were apportioned in detail. In the morning there
were lessons, then a walk under the supervision of a servant
or policeman; during the afternoon Caspar occupied him-
self alone. Next to his room there was a small chamber
which had been fitted up as a workshop, and when he had
finished his lessons he did all kinds of joinery and cardboard
work, in which he was very skillful. The taking apart and
putting together of clocks also gave him pleasure. His be-
havior satisfied Herr von Tucher completely. He could not
help admiring the iron industry of the boy, and his tremen-
dous eagerness for learning and culture. There was no
contradiction or resistance; Caspar never did less than was
asked of him. “It is evident that I have been falsely in-
formed,” thought Herr von Tucher. “The people who have
taken care of him up to now have not known how to handle
him; for the first time he is experiencing the blessings of
a systematic guidance.”

Principles triumphed.

Being alone frequently and for a long time was at first
agreeable to Caspar, but in the course of time he began to
feel that there was compulsion in this, and he ceased to shun
the opportunities which promised distraction and amuse-
ment. When there was a noise on the generally quiet
Hirschelgasse, he tore the window open and leaned out over
the sill until everything was quiet again. If two old women
merely stood still to gossip, our friend Caspar was at once
at his post listening. He knew at exactly what time in the
morning the bakers’ boys came from the Webersplatz, and
he enjoyed their whistling. As soon as the postillion at the
Laufertor blew his horn, Caspar stopped his work and his
eyes shone. Every sound from the interior of the rambling
house surprised him, and not infrequently he ran to the door,
opened it ajar and listened excitedly when he heard an un-

L170]
 

A MESSAGE FROM FAR AWAY

 

known voice. The servants began to notice this; they said
that he was an eavesdropper and took it upon themselves
to tell the baron so.

For the house itself Caspar had a vague sort of respect;
he walked along the halls almost on his toes, just as one
speaks in low tones before some distinguished gentleman.
The structure stood in proud exclusiveness apart from the
bustle of life; any one who sought to enter had to permit
himself to be eyed and questioned by a long-bearded porter.
The walls were sunk so deeply into the earth; facade, roof
and gables were so majestically fashioned and wrought to-
gether that it seemed as if ancient vested rights had con-
tributed more to their prestige than the art of the builder.
Caspar liked to look at night at the turret in the courtyard,
with its winding staircase, when the delicately sinuous forms
were covered with a bluish light and seemed to leap into
a confused animation of their own.

At times he saw back of a closed window a parchment-
colored face with iron gray hair parted over the forehead.
It was the old baroness, who never showed herself in any
other fashion. He was told that she was delicate and timidly
clung to her room. This remaining a stranger within ad-
joining walls made him thoughtful. Gradually it became
clear to him that he was surrounded by strangers, eating the
bread of charity. One person took him and fed him, then a
carriage came and he was taken away. Another house; one
fine day his things are thrown on the street; again he goes
elsewhere.

How could this happen? Other people lived constantly
in one place; they slept in the same bed from childhood on;
no one could snatch them away; they had rights. That was
it: they had powerful established rights. There were poor
people who worked for money, who lay at the feet of those
who were called rich, but even these had their roots some-
where in the world; they did their work, they received pay
for their work; and they could go and buy their own bread.

Cini]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

The one made coats, another shoes, the third built houses,
the fourth was a soldier, and thus one was a protection and
a help to another, and they received food and drink from
one another. Why could they not be torn away from the
place where they lived ?

Because they were the children of a father and mother:
that was the reason, that was why. This held for every one.
Father and mother brought one into the community, and
showed one where one came from and what one was in-
tended to be.

That was it. ‘Caspar did not know where he came from.
For some undiscovered reason he was all alone, fatherless
and motherless. And he had to find out why. He must try
to find out who his father and mother were, and above all
he must go and make a place for himself from which he could
not be driven away.

One winter evening Herr von Tucher entered Caspar’s
room and found him deeply absorbed in himself. Two or
three times a week, after the day’s work was over, Herr von
Tucher was in the habit of visiting his protégé in order to
talk to him a little. This was a part of his plan for the boy’s
education. His principles, however, demanded of Herr von
Tucher that he remain dignified and distant; his principles
demanded that he renounce the pleasures of natural inter-
course. And although it was sometimes difficult for him to
practice such self-control, either because of his own need of
expressing himself, or because a silent searching look of
Caspar’s penetrated his heart, there must be no hesitation,
he clung grimly to the principle of not overstepping the limits
of reserve more than utility demanded, like a cruel old
Mexican god.

When, however, he perceived Caspar sunk in deep thought,
the sight did affect him, and against his will his voice became
milder as he asked the boy what was the subject of his medi-
tation. ;

Caspar considered whether he might reveal his thoughts.

L172]
 

A MESSAGE FROM FAR AWAY

 

As always, when he was moved, the left side of his face
twitched convulsively. Then, with a charming and inimi-
table gesture which was characteristic of him, he pushed
back his hair from one of his cheeks, towards the ear, and
asked in a tone of deepest emotion, “What am I to be in
fife?”

Herr von Tucher was at once reassured by these words.
His face took on an expression which seemed to say: the
plan is bearing fruit. He had already thought of that, he
replied ; Casper should tell him what he most wanted to do.

Caspar remained silent and gazed undecidedly ahead of
him.

“What about gardening?” continued Herr von Tucher
benevolently. “Or how would you like to become a carpen-
ter or a bookbinder? Your cardboard work is most excel-
lent and you could learn bookbinding very quickly.”

“Could I read all the books which I had to bind?” asked
Caspar, sunk in thought, who was sitting with his head so
low that his chin touched the top of the table.

Herr von Tucher wrinkled his forehead. “That would
mean neglecting your work,” he replied.

“I might become a clockmaker, too,” said Caspar, who at
that moment had a fairly exalted conception of a clock-
maker. He thought of him as a man who stood inside of
high towers and ordered the bells to ring; a man who fitted
gold wheels into one another, one who made time invisible by
means of a magic spell and shut it up in a tiny little house.
Indeed, such names of callings were difficult to him. It was
not a question of will, but an inconceivably complicated pic-
ture of life. Herr von Tucher, suspecting that there was
no real seriousness in Caspar’s behavior, got up and said
coldly that he would consider the matter.

The next evening Caspar was summoned into Herr von
Tucher’s room. “With regard to our conversation of yes-
terday I have come to the following conclusion,” said the
Baron: “During the spring and summer you are to remain

Liy3l
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

in my house. If you are industrious, your education in the
elementary branches can be completed by September; Herr
Schmidt assures me of this. In order that the day may be
entirely at your disposal, you will no longer lunch with me,
but take all your meals in your room. I shall soon talk with
some reputable master bookbinder, then we shall know where
we are at. Does this satisfy you, Caspar? Or have you
other wishes? Come, speak out frankly, you can still
choose.”

A brief shudder ran down Caspar’s spine. He shook
himself a little, sat down and was silent. Herr von Tucher
did not want to urge him further; he wished to grant him
time. He walked up and down for a while, then he sat
down in front of the piano and played a slow movement
from a sonata. This was not the result of a chance mood.
On Tuesday and Friday from six to seven in the evening,
Herr von Tucher played the piano, and since the cuckoo of
the Black Forest clock had just screeched six times, any
omission would have been greatly against the rules.

It was rather melancholy music. For Caspar it was a tor-
ment. Much as he liked marches, waltzes and gay songs—
Anna Daumer, she can play, he always said—he was always
uncomfortable during such music as Tucher now played.
When Herr von Tucher had finished the final chords and
turned around on the stool and looked at Caspar question-
ingly, the latter thought he was asked to state how he had
liked the music, and said: “That's nothing; I can be sad
alone; I don’t need music for that.”

Herr von Tucher lifted his eyebrows with surprise.
“What are you assuming?” he asked calmly. “I did not
ask for any musical opinion from you and haven't the ambi-
tion to cultivate your taste in this respect. Moreover, go to
your room.”

Caspar was very glad not to have to eat with the Baron
any more. The stiffness of their bearing at table always
seemed a dreadful nuisance to him. Much delighted him

L174]
 

A MESSAGE FROM FAR AWAY

 

in this man, particularly his calm and deliberate speech,
the exceeding cleanliness of his body, his porcelain white
teeth, and above all the pink arched finger-nails of his long
hands. He knew many people with white nails and was
always distrustful of them; white nails always awoke a
notion of jealousy and cruelty in him.

Nevertheless, Caspar always had the feeling that Herr
von Tucher had in some way or other received bad reports
of him and was being misled by them. He sometimes felt
as if he should shout to him: “Why, none of all this is
true!” But what, what was untrue? Caspar could not say.

In his loneliness he felt as if people were tired of him
and were thinking of getting rid of him. He was full of
forebodings, full of unrest. On nights when the moon was
in the sky, he would extinguish the lamp earlier than usual,
sit down at the window and follow the course of the stars
with rigid eyes. When the moon was full he was frequently
unwell, his whole body shivered, and only the sight of the
moon itself relieved the pressure in his breast. He knew
from which roof, or between what gables the clear orb would
rise; he conjured it forth as if with his own hands from the
depth of the sky, and when there were clouds he trembled
lest they touch the moon, because he thought that the radiant
disc would be sullied.

His ear at this time seemed sometimes bent upon catching
sounds from a world of spirits. One morning he got up
suddenly during his lessons, went to the window and leaned
out. Herr Schmidt, the student, did not interfere with him,
but when he stayed too long at the window he called him
back. Caspar straightened up and closed the window; his
face was so pale that his teacher asked with concern what
was wrong with Caspar. ;

“It seemed to me as if some one were coming,” replied
Caspar.

“As if some one were coming? Why, who?”

“As if some one were calling to me from below.”

[175]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

¥ ... Tes dA Rn OV on Hoe Plame, Maso

This seemed remarkable to the young tutor. He thought
it over for a while and would gladly have asked a question.
There had again been much talk in the city of late about a
curious story concerning Caspar, or suggesting a connection
with Caspar, and which had been worn threadbare by all the
newspapers all over the country. But as Herr von Tucher
had strictly forbidden the tutor ever to talk of such mat-
ters with Caspar, he controlled himself and remained silent.

Now Caspar had for months been in the habit of reading
through carefully all the newspapers he could get hold of,
and some of which he secretly procured, for Herr von
Tucher feared their effect upon him, and rightly so. It hap-
pened that he now and again saw some news or information
about himself, and although he had never found anything of
importance, his heart beat whenever he as much as saw his
name in print. A short time after this little digression with
his teacher, it happened that he got hold of a copy of the
Morgenpost, which was already several days old, and on
reading it he found the following curious story:

More than ten years ago a fisher near Breisach had found

_ a bottle floating in the Rhine, and on pulling it out had found

a sheet of paper on which were written the words, “I am
buried in an underground prison® He who occupies my
throne does not know of my prison. I am subjected to cruel
supervision. | No one knows me, no one misses me, no one
rescues me, no one mentions me” ¥ Then came a name half
illegible and half distorted, all of the distinguishable letters
of which were also contained in the name Caspar Hauser.

All this had already been reported by several papers, but
owing to the absence of any further clew had of course been
again forgotten. Then, four weeks ago, some unknown
busy-body had brought the occurrence to light again from
some old number of the Magdeburger Zeitung. Other papers
seized the opportunity and finally the thing had raised a
great hubbub. Suddenly it was proved that a Piarist monk
had been accused by a certain dynasty of having thrown the

L176]

0 } ad i 3} 4H AA

 

) Nn
tet WER GS TD 41 Re an a ip
 

A MESSAGE FROM FAR AWAY

 

bottle into the Rhine. It was furthermore discovered that
the same monk had suddenly disappeared, and one fine day
he had been found murdered in Alsace in one of the Vosges
forests. The murderer had never been discovered.

“If this track does not result in lifting the veil of mys-
tery which surrounds the foundling,” exclaimed the queru-
lous contributor to the Morgenpost, after he had recounted
the story in detail, “then I don’t give a penny for our whole
judicial system.”

Caspar read and read. He spent two hours in reading the
strange tale over again from the beginning, weighing almost
every word. The student surprised him at this; he felt cer-
tain that it was the same matter about which Caspar had not
wanted to speak the other day, and said hastily: “Oh, Caspar,
what are you about? What do you think of it, anyway?
Most people consider it rubbish; nevertheless it is an un-
deniable fact that the matter was printed in the Magdeburger
Zeitung. What do you make of it, Caspar?”

Caspar scarcely heard him. When the man repeated his
question, he lifted his head, cast a moist glance at heaven,
and said gently, “I did not write that story about the
prison.”

“About the prison and the throne,” added the student with
a curious greedy smile. “That you did not write it, I readily
believe ; why, you never could write till you came to us.”

“But who can have written it?”

“Who? That's just the question. Perhaps some one
who wanted to help, perhaps some hidden friend.”

“About the prison and the throne,” murmured Caspar
with involuntary lips. He went off into a corner by the
stove, huddled down on a chair and sank into deep thought.
Neither calls, warns or commands could rouse him, and his
teacher, feeling guilty, remained seated for the whole hour,
in order not to draw attention to himself, and then left

silently.
That same evening there was a party at the Tuchers’; all
a7]
; { A iL &
A ado rect Ce $ Octar N .
Mad “ 1) ”m, ac

   
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

of the friends of the family were invited and for half an
hour the carriage wheels rumbled outside the house. When
the first notes of the dance music resounded from the ball-
room, Caspar went into the hallway and listened. He was
no longer allowed to attend such parties.

While he was still standing, leaning against the banisters,
his head bent forward, feeling himself much unwanted, a
hand touched his shoulder. It was a butler bringing him
some sweets on a silver tray. Caspar shook his head and
said, “I don’t care for sweets” ; whereupon the servant looked
at him sullenly and made ready to leave him.

Then there was a footfall on the second stairway, which
was not illuminated, and unexpectedly’ the old baroness, in
a gray silk dress and silk head-cloth, stood in front of them.
Gazing with her blue eyes severely into the boy's, she said,
with haughty displeasure, “You do not care for sweets?
Why do you not care for sweets?”

She came from downstairs. Caspar could smell the odor
of human bodies from her clothes. It was her habit to
retire early. Every evening before she went to bed she went
through the whole house to make sure that there was no
fire and that no thief had found his way in.

Her severe words made Caspar bend his head. Probably
his imagination was unusually active that evening. Sud-
denly he felt a paralyzing fear. Things went black before
his eyes. It seemed to him as if he heard the voice of the
disguised man, and stretching out his arms he called implor-
ingly, “Don’t strike, don’t strike.”

The old lady, who had not intended to be so harsh, looked
at him with surprise and fright. Meantime Caspar’s loud
scream had attracted the attention of some of the guests,
who were walking up and down in the corridor below. They
appealed to Herr von Tucher, and the latter hurried up the
stairs, followed by some of the gentlemen. A report that
something had happened spread among the guests in the
ballroom, and as it was known that Caspar was living in

[178]
 

A MESSAGE FROM FAR AWAY

 

the house, every one thought of an occurrence similar to the
one at Daumer’s. There ensued a silence, the dance music
ceased, many people hurried out; the young ladies were par-
ticularly excited; and a number of them mounted the stairs
and remained standing and looking.

Herr von Tucher, to whom all this was most painful, as
any unnecessary excitement was an abomination to him, pro-
ceeded to take Caspar to task, but was frightened by the
boy’s stony gaze, as well as taken aback by his own mother’s
dismay.

An immense experience was taking place in Caspar. It
seemed to him as if he had already gone through the same
thing once before. It was as if a tidal wave had carried
him back and time seemed to hold its breath. There was
the old woman regally dressed, majestic to behold; did she
not resemble a woman who had entered into a room while he
was in it and had not her presence struck every one dumb?
Had there not been some one lying on the bed, his head
buried in the pillows? There was a servant who held a
silver tray in his hands; was that not the old experience,
too? Had not some one stood there formerly, too, bringing
presents or sweetmeats or valuables? There were impos-
ingly dressed men who seemed to be waiting for an order,
for some one to come, even more imposingly dressed than
themselves, before whom they had to bow. And those slen-
der white girls in white veils, whose glances had depths and
apprehensions? And the twilight up here which gradually
faded downward over countless white marble steps, into the
light below? Caspar would have liked to shout with exulta-
tion, for he seemed strange to himself and at the same time
worshiped by every one; they bent their heads and recog-
nized the prince in him. Now he perceived who he was and
whence he came; he felt what those words about the prison
and the throne meant; a ghostlike smile played about his
lips.

Herr von Tucher terminated the unpleasant incident with

L179]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

as little fuss as possible. He led Caspar to his room, told
him to go to bed and waited until he did so, then put out
the light himself and left, saying as he went, in sharp tones,
that he would call him to account the next day for his un-
seemly behavior.

This did not disturb Caspar much. Nor was a great deal
made of the threatened reckoning. Herr von Tucher real-
ized that actually there had been but a slight infraction of his
fundamental principles. His cook confided to him in hollow
prophetic tones that Caspar was moon-struck and would
certainly some time climb upon the roof and fall down.
Herr von Tucher could not do away with the moon; since
the boy was a victim of a pathological state, one could not
very well hold him responsible for certain lapses. Whether
Caspar was to become a carpenter or bookbinder was still
undecided; President Feuerbach’s opinion on this subject
had to be asked. Herr von Tucher resolved to go to Ans-
bach in April and to talk to him.

Caspar was full of expectation. He was waiting for some
one that was to come, for one who somewhere went about
among people seeking a way to him, and so profound was his
belief in the coming of this person that every morning he
thought: to-day, and every night he thought: to-morrow.
He lived in a constant state of inward alertness and his fore-
boding of joy was like a dream state. But just as the peacock
spreads his tail when he perceives his own ugly feet, so did
his own voice and his own tread make him hesitate, and how
much more was he disheartened by the sight of other people,
who daily disappointed his expectations.

His whole behavior at this time was unusual, and the
tense attention with which he listened into empty space had
something of distraction about it. Naturally, when consid-
ered in the light of the course of events, the matter presented
a different aspect and would have given a man like Daumer
remarkable material for his ideas.

Much that was strange and hostile beset Caspar’s paths,

[180]
 

A MESSAGE FROM FAR AWAY

 

and cold shivers ran down his spine when on a cloudy day
a drop of water would fall from a gutter-spout. Timid
premonitions accompanied him even to his sleep, and be-
cause he often woke up and was troubled by the dark he
asked to have an oil lamp put next to his bed. This was
done.

One night, although he was still asleep, he felt a curious
tugging at his face as if a cool breath were fanning him from
above. Abruptly he sat up, looked about his bed and the
wall, and perceived a large spider hanging by a thread near
his head. Horrified, he sprang out of bed, and, unable to
move, he watched the animal get down on his pillow and
creep across the white sheet, trailing a shining thread be-
hind it.

Caspar’s whole body was covered as with a new, shivering,
icy skin. He clasped his hands together and whispered
anxiously and with a curious wheedling, “Spider, oh spider,
what are you spinning 7”

The spider ducked its yellow body. “What are you spin-
ning, spider ?”’ he repeated entreatingly.

The animal climbed over the bedpost and reached the wall.
“Where are you going now, spider?” whispered Caspar.
“Why so fast? Are you looking for something? I won't
hurt you.”

The spider was already up on the ceiling. Caspar sat
down on a chair where his clothes lay. “Spider, spider,”
he murmured tonelessly. Four o'clock struck, and he had!
not yet gone back to bed. Then, before he lay down, he
eagerly wiped his pillow and the wall with a handkerchief.

He caught a cold during the hour that he had sat up un-
dressed, which kept him in bed several days. He became
sad ; he was already tired of waiting. And then, even when
there was no longer anything wrong with him, he had no
desire to leave his room. Herr von Tucher took his condition
for a temporary hypochondria, but when he had convinced
himself that both his continued indifference as well as his

[181]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

kindly interest was fruitless and that the boy was a prey to
real dejection of mind, he became anxious.

Now it happened that one day an unexpected messenger
presented himself at the house who asked to see Caspar in
order to deliver a letter to him. Herr von Tucher refused
permission for this. After some hesitation the man gave
him the letter and withdrew. Herr von Tucher considered
himself justified in opening the letter. It was couched in
enigmatical terms, and made even more puzzling by the fact
that it contained a valuable diamond ring as a present for
Caspar. Herr von Tucher was undecided as to what he
ought to do. To hand over the letter and the ring to the
police, or to President Feuerbach, seemed the wisest plan.
But this somehow contradicted his ideas of right. A fleet-
ing mood of softness towards Caspar made him forget this
plan entirely; he hoped to bring the boy out of his state of
low spirits, and this purpose he fulfilled completely. He
produced the ring and the letter.

Caspar read: “You who rightfully are what many deny
you to be, have trust in the friend who is working for you
at a distance. He will soon stand before you; he will soon
embrace you. Meantime take this ring as a token of his de-
votion and pray for his happiness as he entreats God for
yours.”

When Caspar had read this he pressed his face against
his arm and wept silently to himself. Herr von Tucher sat
at the table and thoughtfully permitted the sunlight to play
over the beautiful ring.

[1827]
XI
THE ENGLISH EARL

In the afternoon of a day late in April a handsome
traveling coach drove up in front of the entrance to the
Hotel “Wilder Mann.” A tall gentleman got out and greeted
the host most affably, who had rushed out to meet him, for
he was unaccustomed to such guests, most of his patrons
being tradesmen and traveling salesmen. The stranger or-
dered the best rooms, without inquiring the price, and walked
through the gaping crowd into the wide-arched door. The
valet and coachman carried the trunks, suit-case and the rest
of the luggage into the hall. The stranger asked for the
registry book of his own accord and soon every one could
read with awe his boldly written entry: “Henry, Lord Stan-
hope, Earl of Chesterfield, Peer of England.” The news-
papers of Niirnberg at once recorded the arrival of an Eng-
lish peer.

The event created such excitement that late into the eve-
ning people stood in the streets staring up at the lighted
windows of the rooms occupied by the distinguished gentle-
man. The next morning Lord Stanhope left his cards at
the house of the Mayor, and at the residences of several of
the distinguished men of the city, and a few hours later
received visits from them. The first to call was Binder,
who of course distinctly remembered Lord Stanhope’s pre-
vious visit.

Without any circumlocution, during the rather long con-
versation between the two, Lord Stanhope admitted that his
present visit, like his previous one, was connected with
Caspar Hauser. He felt the greatest interest in the found-
ling, he said, and hinted to Binder that he was determined
to take a decisive step in the young man’s behalf.

L183]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

The Mayor replied that he would give His Grace complete
freedom as far as the regulations permitted.

“What regulations?” asked the lord quickly.

Binder replied that Herr von Tucher was the boy’s guar-
dian, that he had far-reaching rights and would not be
friendly to the intervention of a stranger; furthermore they
could not, without the knowledge of President Feuerbach,
propose any change in Caspar Hauser’s mode of life.

Lord Stanhope looked anxious. “Then I shall have my
difficulties,” he remarked. Then he inquired whether they
had obtained any clew to the attack in Daumer’s house and
whether any recipient for the reward which he had offered
at that time had been found. Binder was obliged to reply in
the negative. He said that the sum which had been so
generously offered still lay untouched at the City Hall, and
that his lordship could have it back whenever he pleased,
since any possibility of discovering the criminal was now a
thing of the past.

The next few days were spent by Lord Stanhope exclu-
sively in the fulfillment of his social obligations. At lunch-
eon, at tea time and in the evening he was invited out, or
gave small but distinguished dinner parties in his hotel, for
which specific purpose he engaged a French cook. If it was
his secret object to make friends and win admirers in this
way there certainly remained nothing further to be wished.
If his purpose was to become acquainted with these good
people and their opinions it was not a particularly difficult
task; they expressed themselves without reserve, for they
felt themselves honored by his presence and they admired his
very slightest action.

He seized every opportunity to talk about Caspar Hauser;
he wanted to know, he wanted constantly to hear something
new, he rejoiced in the touching details which they were
able to give him, but he did not consider it necessary—an
omission which was regarded as extraordinary—to call upon

[1841
 

THE ENGLISH EARI.

 

Professor Daumer, contenting himself with having Warden
Hill come to see him, and asking him questions.

Hill, whose head was somewhat turned by being distin-
guished thus, pictured most movingly—and in a way that
was most astonishing for a man who had grown gray among
criminals—the charming and forlorn manner in which Cas-
par had carried himself in the tower and the moving way in
which he had been prostrated. Finally, glowing with eager-
ness, he exclaimed that so far as he was concerned, he would
bear witness to the boy’s innocence, even if God himself
maintained the contrary. Count Stanhope was visibly moved.
He smiled and said there was no question of any guilt and
sent the man away with a princely reward.

Now finally he resolved to meet Herr von Tucher, and
also Caspar, face to face. When people had asked him in
astonishment why he had delayed this so long he had replied
that this step required his complete composure and strength
of mind, for he was afraid of the moment when he would see
Caspar for the first time, a happy fear, like that of a child
on Christmas Eve.

Herr von Tucher was in his study when the Englishman's
card was brought to him. As a matter of course, he was
aware of Stanhope’s presence in the city, and knew how
Stanhope had been spending his time. Since, in any event,
he regarded him as some one who would disturb his peace, he
was not predisposed in the man’s favor.

From all the descriptions, he had expected to find in him an
agreeable and winning personality, nevertheless he was sur-
prised when he saw his distinguished guest coming towards
him, and the dislike raised by his own vague forebodings, as
well as what he had heard about the man, at once disappeared.

There was certainly something dangerous about the man;
Herr von Tucher felt this at the first glance; but his person
also radiated a winning charm, a combination of worldliness
and intellectual grace. His proud bearing prevented the
delicacy of his slender figure from seeming effeminate;

[185]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

his features, which were all strikingly English, were finely
chiseled and made one forget the grayish tone of his skin.
The changing fire of his transparent eyes reminded one first
of a gentle gazelle, then of the repose of a tiger; in brief,
Herr von Tucher was placed in a condition of pleasant ex-
pectation which was not in the least disturbed by the con-
versation, which was not slow to open.

Lord Stanhope’s simple questions about Caspar’s physical
and mental condition showed him to be a man of keen insight
and knowledge of life, and what he said readily obtained his
listener’s approval.

He began of his own accord to talk of his motives in being
here. What he said was indeed quite vague. He was evi-
dently a master in the art of veiling his real purposes, but it
could not occur to Herr von Tucher to be suspicious. The
name of Stanhope was a sufficient warranty. What could
prevent a Lord Stanhope from speaking plainly? If it was
not delicacy and inborn tact, then it was a silence which
implied an obligation to clear up everything in the proper
manner, and at the proper moment. Herr von Tucher found
himself rather restrained than surprised by this silence ; with-
out waiting for Lord Stanhope to express a desire to that
effect, he asked politely whether he would care to see Caspar.
While he was smilingly awaiting an assurance of his guest's
gratitude, he rang and gave the order to fetch the boy.

There was now a silence; Herr von Tucher stood, watch-
ing involuntarily, at the door, and Stanhope sat with crossed
legs, his head resting on his gloved left hand, his face turned
toward the open window. It was a sunny Sunday after-
noon; the bright blue sky rested upon the red-tiled roofs
and twittering swallows flew along the gray house-fronts.
As Caspar entered the room Stanhope slowly changed the
direction of his gaze and, without actually looking at the
boy, he seemed to grasp the whole picture. While Caspar,
informed by Herr von Tucher in a few brief words about
the illustrious man, was walking towards the Count, the

[1867]
 

THE ENGLISH EARI

 

latter got up and said with surprising excitement, evidently
much moved: “Caspar, at last, what a blessed hour!” Then
he opened his arms to him, and Caspar surrendered himself
to their clasp, as if entering into a gate which has been
opened after long yearning and waiting; a radiant beaming
pleasure suffused him, and he could neither speak nor move.

This was he who came from far away. From him had
come the ring and the message. Already upstairs, when the
carriage had stopped in front of the door, a numbness had
seized Caspar’s limbs and when the butler called him it was
as if the morning sun had flooded the house. When he
reached the threshold of the door Caspar saw only him, the
stranger, the trusted stranger, and as if half of his heart
had been lacking up to now, he suddenly felt himself grown
whole and round and new; with damp eyes he saw himself,
created for a purpose. Gently the clock struck the hour;
and the light of the afternoon was like honey, and sweet
to the taste.

Caspar’s remarkable emotion apparently had a great effect
upon Lord Stanhope. For several seconds his face showed
profound emotion and his eyes became clouded with painful
astonishment. He was undoubtedly upset, and his usual
command of words forsook him so that, when he first ad-
dressed the boy affectionately, his usually soft and gentle
voice sounded harsh. He stroked Caspar’s hair with his
hand, pressed the boy’s face against his breast and an ab-
sorbed glance encountered Herr von Tucher, standing to one
side and observing the unusual scene with astonishment.
Stanhope then asked him, since the veiled scene demanded
an explanation, whether he might take Caspar with him for
a few hours, a request which Herr von Tucher could not
deny.

Soon after, Caspar was sitting next to Lord Stanhope in
the carriage; the policeman, of course, had to go along and
sit outside. While the carriage rolled out of the gate toward
. the Maxfeld Gardens a conversation slowly began.

[1871
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

Caspar complained; for the first time he could complain.
But the moment the evil which had occurred was recognized
as such and understood, he was already reconciled. The
world had seemed bad until this day; now the heavens
opened and an arm of destiny had reached out for him.

But it was not so much a question of recent events; here
was some one who must know. Casper asked. Boldly and
passionately he asked: “Who am I, who was I; what am I
to be? Where is my father, where my mother?” And the
Count’s answer? Embarrassment, an embrace. “Patience,
Caspar, only be patient until to-morrow ; that cannot be an-
swered in one breath! there is too much to be said. Tell
me, rather, how you have lived; tell me your dreams. I
understand that you have had wonderful dreams; tell me!”

Caspar did not need much urging. The essential contents
of the picture amazed the listener; he clasped Caspar more
tightly and thus hid his face from him. When the boy de-
scribed the appearance of his mother, Stanhope started as if
from fright and then tried to divert the conversation; he
wanted to hear details about Caspar’s life at the Daumers
and at the Beholds; these subjects were not dangerous.
Stanhope found himself amused at Caspar’s original and
apt expressions, his curious use of proverbs and Niirnberg
forms of speech. On the way back he asked Caspar where
the ring was which he had sent him. “I did not dare to
wear it on my finger,” replied Caspar.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know why.”

“Wasn’t it beautiful enough for you?”

“Oh no, quite the contrary. It was much too beautiful
for me. My heart always beat when I looked at it.”

“But now you'll wear it?”

“Yes, now I'll wear it. Now I know that it really belongs
to me.”

The carriage stopped in front of the gate. Stanhope took
an affectionate farewell of Caspar and told him to come to

[188]
 

THE ENGLISH EARL,

 

his hotel the next morning. “Good-by, darling,” he even
called to him.

Caspar stood much oppressed. Now time hung heavily
again. Every step took him further from the charmed circle
of the man; his hand and his eye now rested on nothing but
what was old and dead.

Already at ten o'clock the next morning he was at the
“Wilder Mann.” He simply ran away from his lessons. If
any one had attempted to stop him he would have climbed
out of the window by a rope.

Lord Stanhope came to meet him in the upper hall; he
kissed him on the forehead in full view of every one, and
led him into the reception room where there were presents
laid out for Caspar on the table; a gold watch, gold cuff
links, silver shoe buckles and fine white linen. Caspar could
not believe his eyes; the exuberance of his gratitude choked
him ; he could do nothing but hold the generous hand of the
giver in his own.

Lord Stanhope accepted this silent gesture with an emo-
tion which he did not utter. But after they had walked a
few times through the room together, arm in arm, and Cas-
par was evidently struggling to express his gratitude, Stan-
hope gently suggested that he omit all expressions of thanks.
“These things are only slight expressions of my affection
for you,” he said. “The real thing, the big thing which I
want to do, remains for the future. Meantime remain just
as you are, my Caspar, for so you are just right, not full of
noisy words, but dependable in heart. Dependable and faith-
ful to me you must remain, a son, a comrade, a friend.”

Caspar sighed. This was too much happiness. He had
never supposed that the mouth of man could speak so. He
was incapable of making any professions, only his eyes ex-
pressed his feelings in a look of ecstasy.

Stanhope opened the door and conducted the boy to a little
~ breakfast table which was set just for two in the adjoining
.room. They sat down and he filled the glasses with wine and
[189]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

smiled peculiarly when Caspar declared that he never drank
wine. “How will it be, Caspar, when we travel in the south
together? There are vineyards glowing on all the hills and
the air is full of it. Why do you look at me so? Don’t you
believe me?”

“Really? Shall we really travel together?” asked Caspar
jubilantly.

“Certainly we shall. Do you think that I want to be
separated from you? Or do you think that I shall leave you
in this city, where so much evil has befallen you?”

“Away then, really away? Away, a great distance!”
exclaimed Caspar, and, as if beside himself, he pressed his
two hands in front of his mouth and pushed his shoulders up
to his ears in joyful excitement. “But what will Herr von
Tucher say, and the Mayor and President Feuerbach?” he
added, babbling away in his haste, while his face expressed
the dismay which he felt at the idea that these men might
disapprove of the Count’s plans, or prevent him from carry-
ing them out.

“They will not prevent it; they will no longer have any
power over you; your way will lead you up above them,”
answered Stanhope, earnestly, at the same time giving Cas-
par a sharp penetrating glance.

Caspar turned pale, overcome by immense emotion.
While desire and doubt were struggling dimly within him,
absorbing all the vigor of his soul, the picture of the woman
of the dream castle rose more brilliantly than ever before
his eyes. . . . With a touching gesture of entreaty he turned
to Stanhope and asked: “Count, are you going to take me
to my mother?”

Stanhope put down his knife and fork and leaned his head
upon his hand. “There are dreadful secrets, Caspar,” he
murmured in hollow tones. “I shall and must speak, but
you must remain silent; you must not trust any one except
myself. Give me your hand, Caspar, and your promise.
Friend of my heart! You unfortunate, fortunate boy; yes, I

[ 190]
 

THE ENGLISH EARI

 

shall take you to your mother. Providence has chosen me
to assist you.”

Caspar sank down! His legs could not support him any
longer; his head fell on the Count’s knee. His pulses
throbbed, and sobs relieved the tremendous tension of his
breast. “How shall I address thee?” he asked with bold
exuberance, for the ordinary formulas of speech seemed odd
to him; they were insufficient to express his grateful affec-
tion.

Lord Stanhope lifted him up gently and said affectionately :
“Just so shall you address me; the thee of trust shall be used
between us; you must call me Henry, as if you were my
brother.”

The waiter who came in to announce the Mayor and the
City Commissioner found them in this intimate proximity.
Through the open door Lord Stanhope asked them to come
in. It looked as if he wished the two men to witness his
affectionate treatment of Caspar. He seemed unable to
part with him; when the visitors had greeted him respect-
fully, and seated themselves, he continued to walk up and
down with his arm over Caspar’s shoulder, talking to him in
low tones, then he accompanied him to the stairway, hurried
back, went to the window, leaned out, looked towards Caspar
and waved to him with his handkerchief. Although he no-
ticed the surprise of his guests, he did not moderate himself ;
on the contrary, he behaved like a lover who expresses his
emotion without any embarrassment.

Lord Stanhope’s presents were brought to the Tucher
house a few hours later. Herr von Tucher’s surprise at the
sight of the valuable gifts was great. “I shall take these
things and put them away for you,” he said to Caspar after
a little thought; “it is not suitable for a bookbinder’s appren-
tice to indulge in such luxury.”

Then one should have seen Caspar! “Oh, no,” he ex-

claimed, “that belongs to me. That’s mine and I want it, and

[101]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

no one shall take it away from me.” His bearing became
threatening. His eyes blazed.

Herr von Tucher’s face became quite white; without one
word of reply he left the room. So, he’s an ingrate, he
thought bitterly, an ingrate; one who selfishly makes use of
his opportunities and denies one benefactor when another
offers him more.

His fundamental principles no longer triumphed. They
were crushed and retired in sack-cloth and ashes.

To give way in such a case would be an unworthy weak-
ness, of which I should have to be ashamed, said Herr von
Tucher to himself. But what shall I do? Shall T use force?
Force is immoral. He appealed to Lord Stanhope and told
him of the affair. The Count listened to him kindly; he
took pains to explain Caspar’s misdemeanor as childish rest-
lessness and promised to induce him to entrust his guardian
with the presents of his own accord.

Herr von Tucher was delighted with his lordship’s affabil-
ity, and left him full of confidence. But he waited in vain
for the obedience promised on Caspar’s behalf. Doubtless
his lordship’s trouble had been fruitless; doubtless Caspar
knew how to get the better of the good man. No doubt this
boy was a slippery customer, a cunning, underhanded charac-
ter. Much too proud to let any other person know of his
humiliating experiences, Herr von Tucher contented him-
self for the time being with quietly watching events with
the indignation of a man who feels he has been deceived.
That Caspar should not once feel impelled to speak of his
relation to Lord Stanhope, or about the subject of their
conversations, hurt him deeply ; the last thing he would have
expected was such a lack of confidence.

At first Lord Stanhope had limited himself to visiting
Caspar at the Tucher house, or at most to taking him for a
drive, after formally asking the Baron’s permission. Grad-
ually this changed, and he asked the boy to meet him at
strange places, where Caspar’s inevitable bodyguard was

[192]
 

THE ENGLISH EARL

 

obliged to keep fifty feet away from him. Herr von Tucher
complained to the Mayor; he insisted that his lordship was
violating his own express promise. But what could Herr
Binder do? Could he take the distinguished gentleman to
task? He once ventured a mild hint. His lordship jestingly
quieted him; in order not to appear to disclaim responsibility
for their promise, it was easy to attribute the offense to
Caspar’s heedlessness.

Thus one saw the two striking figures often walking
through the streets of an evening. They walked arm in arm,
engrossed in eager speech, heedless of the glances which
followed them. Mostly they walked across the Stadtgraben
and then to the Castle; here Caspar could give vent to his
sad memories. The dark tower concealed the greatest ter-
rors of his life, and when he looked down upon the city,
where twinkling lights illuminated the dark maze of the
streets, it was with very altered feelings that he heard the
striking of the clock; now time united and interwove the
strokes together; they were no longer separated by great
gulfs of horror.

Lord Stanhope was never tired of talking. He spoke of
his travels. He knew how to picture events and things in
simple words. Caspar heard of the Alps, and that there are
mountains covered with perpetual snow, and happy valleys
where free people live. He saw Italy—the word in itself
was an ecstasy—jeweled churches, enormous palaces, gar-
dens with wonderful statues, full of roses and laurel and
orange trees, a marvelous azure sky and the most beautiful
women. He saw the sea and ships with white sails upon
the water. His longing was so great that he sometimes sud-
denly burst out laughing. Really to be permitted to go to
these lands of sun and of unknown fruits, to be allowed to
be there, and soon at that, such hopes made his heart stand
still! It was a joy which gave pain.

One rainy evening they were both at the hotel. His lord-
ship opened a chest and showed some of the treasures which

[193]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

he had collected on his travels. There were rare coins and
stones; copper engravings, statues, gems, cameos, pearls and
antique jewelry, a rosary which had been blessed in the Holy
Land, a silver goblet with artistically carved figures, a Bible
with the most beautiful initials and illuminations; a Dama-
scene blade with a handle of gold, a pope’s seal ring, an Indian
silk coat embroidered with stars, a Pompeian lamp and old
French porcelain vases, and many other things. Everything
was curious and unusual; it all suggested the great world
and marvelous adventures.

“I got this from the Elector of Mainz,” said Lord Stan-
hope; “this is a present from the Prince of Savoy; this
beautiful miniature I bought from a dealer in Barcelona and
this clay figure comes from Syracuse. That is a talisman
which Sheik Abderrahman honored me with, and my aunt
sent me these Oriental materials from Syria. She is a re-
markable person; she travels around in the desert with Arabs
and Bedouins, sleeps in tents and practices alchemy and
astrology.”

What sounds and what distances! It was evidently a
pleasure to the count to kindle the fire of longing in Caspar.
Perhaps he was serious in his promises, perhaps it merely
gave him pleasure to arouse desires and- wishes, perhaps
it was merely a conversational trifling. Perhaps, however,
it was the frightful pleasure of so often describing a flight
through the golden atmosphere to the bird destined to be
perpetually imprisoned in his cage, that finally a joyous
song of freedom breaks from his throat.

How he could talk, and how he used his words! A smile
played about his lips like a tricky little animal and his white
teeth glistened. He was not uniformly cheerful. A cloud
passed frequently over his face. At times he was in the
habit of getting up and walking to the door like an eaves-
dropper. His demonstrations of affection were not infre-
quently full of melancholy, and at times he would sit in
silence and his searching glance would mournfully avoid

C1941
 

THE ENGLISH EARL

 

the boy. One day Caspar took courage and asked: “Are
you really happy, Henry?”

“Happy, Caspar? Oh, no. Happy, what are you talking
about? Have you ever heard of Ahasver, the Wandering
Jew, the perpetual wanderer? He is considered the un-
happiest of human beings. Ah, I should like to unfold my
life to you, for it is full of dark, sorrowful pages. But
I may not and I cannot. Perhaps later on, when your own
fate will have been settled, when you go home with me.”

“Is that possible? When will that be?”

Lord Stanhope suddenly shuddered; it was as if he were
throwing off a cloak, or as if he were seeking to withdraw
from some invisible pressure. A convulsive animation took
possession of him, he began to speak of Caspar’s future
greatness, but as always in secretive terms, and with cere-
monious warnings about keeping silent. He spoke of Cas-
par’s domains, of his subjects, doing this for the first time,
as if giving way to some compulsion, shuddering and trem-
bling himself, constantly repeating his emphasis of Caspar’s
solemn promise of silence, as if carried away by a phantom
and forgetful of all danger. “I will guide you; I will crush
your enemies. You are worth ten thousand times more
than any single one of them. We will first go south in
order to mislead them, then we will fly to my home, lay an
ambush at the place where we must meet our pursuers,
where we can collect our forces for the decisive blow.”

Again he went to the door, again he listened, again he
looked for some listener in hiding. Then anxiously, in
order to divert Caspar, the count drew a picture of his
home, the peacefulness of an English country manor, the
lordly independence of an inherited castle, its deep woods
and clear streams, the balmy air, the sweetness pervading
all things, spring, autumn, and winter spent in a round of
innocent pleasures.

In these descriptions there was something of the sadness
- of a penitent conscience, and of the pain of one repudiated

[195]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

forever. There was, however, something also of that
modish sensitiveness, which under certain circumstances per-
mits even the most hardened conscience to indulge in vain
dreams of calming its self-created restlessness on the bosom
of nature. Then he even consented to speak of his life.
He chose to represent himself as a man who, although much
envied, and weighed down with honors and official appoint-
ments and the tangible evidences of good fortune, was never-
theless the victim of hostile powers. Fate appeared, ro-
mantically garbed to drive forth the son of an accursed house
to wander aimlessly from land to land. His father and
mother were dead, former friends had conspired against
the noble scion of the house of Stanhope and he, a man
of fifty, was homeless without wife or child! Ahasver!

Such confidences opened Caspar’s heart to friendship as
nothing else could have done. For here finally was some
one who gave himself, who opened his heart, who threw
away all disguise. It was a bitter-sweet pleasure to see the
adored figure descended from the pedestal upon which it
was enshrined for every one else.

As for himself, Caspar had at that time the appearance
of a man at peace, at peace externally and internally. He
looked like a man who has cast off his chains; his glance
and gesture were free, his bearing upright, his forehead
clear and his lips constantly smiling.

He became aware of his youth. He began to expand and
it seemed to him as if he were a tree and his hands like
branches full of blossoms. It was as if his blood gave forth
a sweet smell. The air called to him, the land called to him,
everything was full of him and everything uttered his name.

He sometimes had the habit of speaking aloud to himself,
and when he was found doing this he would laugh. People
who came into contact with him were fascinated. They
never ceased to eulogize his lovable personality, in which
childhood and youth were so touchingly interwoven. Young
women wrote him tender letters and Herr von Tucher was

[196]
 

THE ENGLISH EARI.

frequently importuned with the request to have his picture
painted.

The evil talk about him suddenly seemed blown away.
No one admitted ever having spoken badly of him, his in-
veterate antagonists bowed their heads, the whole city sud-
denly arose as his protector. Many persons declared, with
increasing boldness and definiteness, that he must be pro-
tected from the intrigues of the English count.

One day Stanhope was forced to realize to his dismay
that he was being closely watched and observed on all sides.
He had to decide to act.

[107]
XII
THE SECRET MISSION AND WHAT PREVENTED ITS EXECUTION

For some time people at tavern tables had been saying
that Lord Stanhope wanted to adopt Caspar Hauser as his
son. Actually, in the middle of June, Stanhope made a
formal request to the Town Council, to be allowed to take
charge of the boy; he wanted to provide for his future.
The Town Council, through the Mayor, replied that in the
matter of taking charge of the boy he would have to hand
in a regular application in due form; so far as providing
for him was concerned he would have in the first place to
furnish evidence of the possession of adequate means, so
that the city would have a certain guarantee for the welfare
of its protégé.

Stanhope accepted this answer very ungraciously. He
went to the Mayor, showed him his decorations, the cre-
dentials of various courts, even confidential letters from
princes of high rank. Herr Binder regretted that in spite
of his respect for Lord Stanhope he could not act contrary
to the unanimous decision of the council.

The count was careless enough to express his contempt at
the pedantry and presumption of this middle class riff-raff
at a party to which he was invited. This was noised about,
and although he hastened to apologize for his behavior in
a letter to the Board of Directors of the Town Council,
attributing it to a pardonable irritation due to wine, the
matter nevertheless made bad blood. Suspicion was aroused
once and for all. It was asserted that he frequently re-
ceived suspicious looking people in his hotel with whom he
had lengthy interviews behind closed doors. And why,
moreover, people wondered, did so supposedly wealthy and
distinguished a gentleman reside in a second rate inn? Is

[198]
 

THE SECRET MISSION

 

it perhaps the real reason that he is afraid of being seen
by his own compatriots, if he were to live like them at the
“Adler” or at the “Bayrischer Hof”? This seemed plausible,
if one believed an untraceable rumor which some one one
day spread abroad, according to which Lord Stanhope had
formerly wandered about Saxony selling tracts in the service
of the Jesuits.

Stanhope made haste tc leave. He paid a farewll visit to
the Mayor at his office and spoke of urgent business which
called him away. On his return he would bring the evi-
dences to establish the solvency of his fortune which were
required. At the same time he deposited unimpeachable
bank notes aggregating five hundred florins, which sum
was to be spent exclusively for the minor needs and pleas-
ures of his favorite. The Mayor interposed that as a mat-
ter of fact Herr von: Tucher should assume the adminis-
tration of this money, but Lord Stanhope shook his. head
and said that Herr von Tucher had too much of determined
severity about him, that he acted according to an artificially
devised ideal of virtue and that such a delicate plant could
only be brought up with the most affectionate leniency.
“Let us remember that fate must indemnify Caspar for a
past crime and that it is unkind to attempt to prune and
suppress constantly where nature herself has created such a
magnificent product, even in spite of the ill will of mankind.”

The seriousness of these words, and Lord Stanhope’s im-
perious manner, made a great impression upon the Mayor.
He again expressed his regret that the desires of the Count
could not be realized at once and assured him that the city
would always regard it as an honor to receive such a guest
within its walls.

From here Lord Stanhope went at once to Herr von
Tucher. He was told that the Baron had gone out hunting
with some acquaintances, and that Caspar, too, had gone
out, but that he must return soon; would he be kind enough

to wait?

[199]
 

A CASPAR HAUSER

 

“Impatiently he strode up and down the drawing room.
He took out his dispatch case, counted his money, jotted
down some figures on a piece of paper, at the same time
gnashing his teeth, while his delicate white neck slowly
became dark red, like that of a drunkard. He stamped on
the ground, his face was consumed with rage and his eyes
glittered: “God damned beasts,” he murmured, and his
narrow lips expressed unbridled contempt.

There was no longer about him anything of the reserve
or dignity of a nobleman. Oh, Count, must the curtain of
public appearances fall for only a quarter of an hour in
order that the actor, tired of his well learnt role, shall
transform his mask into the frightful reality? What a pity
that no mirror hung in the room, for perhaps it would have
brought his lordship back to his senses and to his guard,
for it was necessary only for a door to open quickly, to
have the play begin again. But did not this circumstance
bear witness in favor of the count? Would not more self-
control have been a proof of greater art? The real comedian
plays his part before empty benches and makes spectators
of the walls themselves. In this breast, however, there were
still the voices of betrayal, in its depths there was still a
storm; it yet harbored dark subterranean creatures, still
had eyes to feel the blessed rays of changing life.

Apparently his lordship was a bad arithmetician, for the
figures which he jotted down could not be made to yield the
necessary sum, so that he constantly reéxamined the cor-
rectness of the various items, frowning as he did so.

“Certainly too little for the purpose of popularity,” he
said sullenly. The thoughtlessness of the remark was tem-
pered by its being made in English. Then some curious
words followed, sinister to listen to—words which seemed
to come not from a well-wrought play, but straight from
melodrama. “If I catch sight of the old gray dog again I'll
pull his leg; he’s taken swag enough for it. Crowns are
not every-day commodities; he’s got to divide more fairly!”

[200]
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Poor Lord Stanhope! Solitude, too, has its sounds. The
wind penetrates through a badly closed window pane, and
it resembles a human voice, or, the wood of some century-
old piece of furniture contracts, making a sound like the
report of a pistol, or like a miniature thunder-storm. In
such matters Lord Stanhope was superstitious. The crackling
of the plaster under the wall paper reminded him of death;
if he entered a room with his left foot foremost he became
sick with fear and uncertainty. This had happened here
again; he controlled himself and became silent, the more
since he heard Caspar’s clear voice from the hall below. He
reassumed his role, his eyes regained their gazelle-like ex-
pression, he fetched a volume of Rousseau from a book-
case in the corner, sat down in an arm chair and began to
read with an expression of thoughtfulness.

Nevertheless, when Caspar entered, when his face, beam-
ing with pleasure, appeared through the twilight, the pain
which Lord Stanhope felt spread over his features, and a
sudden consternation robbed him of speech. He even be-
came confused ; he looked off sideways and only when Cas-
par, struck by this strange behavior, addressed him in low
tones, did he break his silence. It was natural to attribute
his depression to the trip he was about to undertake, but
this condition of inner recoil and sudden vacillation at such
moments was not unknown to his lordship, although he felt |
it more strongly than usual to-day. It seemed to him at
such times as if the sight of the boy prostrated a decision
which he had reached, as if plans forged by great toil were
breaking down as if assailed by a hurricane, so that the .
work would have to be begun again from the beginning,
when he was alone and had recovered himself. At such
times he resembled Penelope who at night ripped into
threads again the skillful handiwork she had fashioned dur-
ing the day.

Caspar’s sad lamenting at the unexpected news was not

silenced by the information that his own welfare required

[201]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

this parting, nor by Stanhope’s assurance that he would
return as soon as possible, perhaps in the course of a month.
Caspar shook his head and said in a stifled voice that the
world was too big; he clung to his friend and implored to
be taken with him, the count should dismiss his servant,
Caspar would be his servant; he needed no bed and no
wages; he would live again on bread and water. “Oh,
please do it, Heinrich,” he exclaimed with tears. “What
am I to do here without you?”

Lord Stanhope got up and gently freed himself from the
boy’s arms. The consolation which he could give saved
him from himself and gave his words greater weight. “That
you should be so faint-hearted, Caspar, proves that you have
little confidence in me,” he said. “How can you even think
that God, who has finally united us, should tear us apart
again? That would mean questioning his wisdom and good-
ness. The world is a structure full of great harmony and
man finds his way to man by a very special law. Hold fast
to your determination, and time and space will carry you
to the goal, and whether I remain away an hour or several
weeks is a matter of indifference in the face of certain
fulfillment. Some people wait until death for their de-
livery, and do not become impatient. And you must learn
to control yourself, Caspar. The sons of princes do not
cry.”

It had become dark during this conversation. Lord Stan-
hope led Caspar to the open window and said with emotion:
“Look up at the sky, Caspar ; see how the stars break through
the sky! Let us take these as a symbol of our friendship.”

Stanhope noticed with satisfaction that Caspar became
thoughtful and solemn. He was ashamed of an unbridled
despair which would not take into account any necessity
for alteration, and would not exchange the happy present
for any future. It was as if Caspar {felt the higher fatality
of life, which intensifies its vicissitudes and binds people
secretly to one another; perhaps his amazed eyes, gazing

[202]
 

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about the world, awoke in this hour to understanding;
perhaps the dam which had hemmed the tide of his yearn-
ings was now transformed into a prop to his spirit; the
conquering of his passion raised the boy to a man. “Princes’
sons do not cry,” a strong expression; the gentle breeze
which swayed the curtains repeated it.

Stanhope looked at his watch and explained that he was
in a hurry; on account of the heat he would drive during
the night. Downstairs, in front of the carriage, he said
good-by and gave Caspar a little bag full of gold pieces; he
told him to do with it as he liked, and not to brook any
interference.

These thoughtless, or perhaps slyly calculated instructions,
were the cause of a serious dispute between Caspar and his
tutor. Herr von Tucher heard of the repeated presents
of the Count and demanded that Caspar give up the gold
to him. Caspar again refused. Herr von Tucher insisted
with the whole weight of his authority and he would have
used force if Caspar, rendered timid by threats as well as
the feeling that his powerful friend was absent, had not
yielded. However, he persisted in silent rebellion, and this
drove Herr von Tucher beside himself. “I shall put you
out of the house,” he exclaimed, no longer able to control
himself. “I shall expose your disgrace to the world. Peo-
ple shall finally learn to know you, you rascal.”

Caspar, distressed and excited, thought that he should
threaten in turn. “Oh, if the Count knew this how he
would open his eyes,” he said bitterly and with naive im-
plication, as if it lay in the count’s power to adjust all the
ills of this world.

“The Count? Why, you are guilty of ingratitude to him,
too,” replied Herr von Tucher. “How often has he assured
me that he has urged you to be obedient and loyal and has
implored you by all that was holy not to give your bene-
factor any cause for complaint. But you disregard his
commands and are entirely unworthy of his generous love.”

[203]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

Caspar was astonished. He knew of no such advice of
the Count’s, rather the contrary, and he therefore contra-
dicted Lord Stanhope’s ever having said anything of the
sort. Hereupon Herr von Tucher called him a liar with
calm contempt, from which one may see that his judiciously
devised system of education did not have the power of
checking outbreaks of angry passion and wounded self-
esteem, even in its founder.

The fundamental principles had been put to ultimate flight.
Herr von Tucher was tired of this unedifying struggle;
although he had decided not to keep Caspar any longer, he
put off the execution of this determination until the Count’s
return. In order that the sight of Caspar should not ex-
pose him to the constant pain of disappointment, Herr von
Tucher accepted an invitation from a cousin to go to his
country estate near Hersbruck for the rest of the summer.
His mother had already been there for three months. Since
it was vacation time, and the teacher moreover was no longer
coming to the house, he did not need to make any arrange-
ments for Caspar’s instruction. He recommended to him
to study diligently by himself, made arrangements for his
daily needs, gave him four silver dollars for pocket money,
and left him, after a cold farewell, to the care of the police
and an old household servant.

Caspar counted the days and crossed out each one with
red chalk on the calendar as it went by. The silent house
and the deserted street with the sun brooding over it made
him conscious always of his solitude. He had no society.
Strangers, who still came in large numbers, all the more
because the passionate sympathy of a Lord Chesterfield
enveloped him as with a halo, were not admitted, and he
had no desire to seek out his former acquaintances.

In the evening he sometimes took up his diary and wrote;
then his friend seemed nearer to him; it was like a conver-
sation with him across the distance which separated them.
Without forgetting the promise of silence on what Stan-

[204]
 

THE SECRET MISSION

hope had confided to him, its pages came in this way to be
privy to these mysterious indications. But from his method
of writing it was very evident that he could not adjust him-
self in the least to them. It was a fairy tale. He could
not understand the construction, could not grasp the inter-
twined labyrinthine texture of human society. The castle
with its wide halls was still a dream, brooding in its solemn
mystery of unknown stars. To go home was his only wish,
this word had meaning and force. Woe to the day when
he would awake to comprehension. It is only when dark-
ness has lifted that the lost wanderer can determine how
far he has been driven off his course.

In the beginning of September Caspar received his first
brief news of the Count, announcing also his impending
return. His joy was great, but it was mingled with a
foreboding of pain, as if his relation to his friend could not
again become what it had been, as if time had altered its
countenance. At every sound of a carriage, at every noise
at the gate, his heart expanded, ready to burst. ‘When the
one longed-for finally appeared Caspar was not able to utter
a sound ; he swayed and stretched out his hand as if doubt-
ful of the reality of his appearance. Stanhope changed his
bearing and expression, he looked as if he were postponing
for a later moment a calculated change of front; the ex-
pectancy of his glance yielded to the gentler impulse which
the boy always aroused in him, perhaps the only person
whom he was forced to admit to have power over his inner
feelings and whose fate he at the same time dragged about
with him as a hunter drags his slain victim.

He thought that Caspar looked ill, and asked him whether
he had had enough to eat. The report about the quarrels
with Herr von Tucher merely brought forth sarcasms, but

he did not seem further irritated by it. “Did you think of
. me sometimes, Caspar?” he inquired, and Caspar answered
- with the expression of a faithful dog: “Much, constantly,”
' then he added, “I even wrote to you, Heinrich!” “Wrote

[205]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

3

to me,” repeated the lord with surprise, “you did not know
where I was!”

Caspar clasped his hands and smiled. “I wrote it in my
book,” he said.

The Count became nervous, but he assumed a confidential
attitude. “In what book? And what did you write? May
I not read it?’

Caspar shook his head.

“Secrets then, Caspar?”

“No, no secrets, but I can’t show it to you.”

Stanhope broke off the conversation, but determined to get
to the bottom of the matter.

He was living at the “Wilder Mann” again, but he lived
differently from before. He ordered champagne and ex-
pensive wines at every meal, and spent money lavishly, as
if he wished to show his wealth. He brought his own car-
riage with him, the wheels of which were gilded and the
door resplendent with a crown and coat of arms. As serv-
ants he had a footman and two butlers, gold-braided em-
ployees who aroused the astonishment of the inhabitants of
Niirnberg.

He did not fail to renew his request to have Caspar
Hauser entrusted to him. As evidence of his favorable
financial circumstances he referred, as if incidentally only,
to the letter of credit which he had since his return de-
posited with Simon Merkel, the bank director. There was
a gesture of boastfulness in this, as if such small sums were
not worth mentioning; as a matter of fact the sums placed
at his disposal by German banking houses in Frankfurt and
Karlsruhe were quite considerable.

The magistrate saw himself robbed of every valid objec-
tion to his lordship’s wishes. The question was raised in
a meeting of the city fathers. What does he really want
Hauser for? Hereupon Mayor Binder read with particular
emphasis a part of the Count’s letter wherein he said: “The
undersigned feels himself all the more called upon to espouse

[206]
 

THE SECRET MISSION

 

the cause of the unfortunate foundling, since after long as-
sociation with him he has found this childlike spirit so affec-
tionately attached and grateful to him that it would be pleas-
. ing even to the heart of a father.”

“Let us ask Caspar himself,” they said, “he must know
whether he wants to go with the Count.”

Caspar was called before the council. With profound
emotion he declared that he was convinced that the Count
took the profoundest interest in his fate and said that he
wished to go wherever the Count would take him.

In spite of all this the formal permission was delayed,
at first on account of an intangible circumstance, which how-
ever gradually took on the proportions of a decided re-
sistance, and finally grew into one single voice which no
one dared to gainsay.

His lordship’s undue haste in attempting to secure pos-
session of Caspar’s person again and again afforded a new
lease of life to the mutterings of subterranean suspicion.
His pompous appearance was displeasing to the bourgeois,
who felt greater confidence in a more modest mode of life,
even among those in high places, than in a mania for ex-
travagance, which only served to stir up the evil instincts
of the crowd. People grew bitter when the Count drove by
in his ostentatious carriage, and purposely choosing the most
frequented streets, tossed copper coins right and left among
the people, who then, devoid of any dignity, groveled in
the mud before the stranger enthroned in indolent affability.

It was said that Stanhope had borrowed heavily on his
letters of credit from bank president Merkel. Merkel, al-
though he seemed secure, was warned to be careful; it was
said that his lordship could not realize on the papers, or
only up to a prescribed limit.

Meanwhile Herr von Tucher had returned from the coun-
try. He was familiar with the development of the situation;
he wished for his part to bring the matter to a definite con-
~ clusion. He addressed a fairly circumstantial letter to Lord

[207]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

Stanhope in which he concluded by giving him the choice,
either of taking entire care of the boy himself and thereby
relieving him, the Baron, of all responsibility, or of paying
a yearly sum which would make it possible to entrust Caspar
entirely to some intelligent and cultivated person. In the
latter case, however, his grace must have the goodness to
give up all communications with Caspar, either verbal or
written, for a period of several years; he, for his part, would
obligate himself to give Lord Stanhope regular accounts
of Caspar’s progress and performances.

The rest of the letter was permeated with the appropri-
ate respect. “I must express to your much respected grace
my warmest thanks for the countless evidences of kindness
with which you have showered me during the few weeks of
your stay here,” he wrote among other things. “From the
bottom of my heart I wish to express the unfeigned admira-
tion which I am compelled to feel for your kindness of heart
and your unusual nobility of spirit. From these feelings
there arises the duty of that confidence which you have so
often urged upon me, and so, your noble lordship, I must
now state my position openly and frankly, trusting that you
will listen to my words with well-disposed ears. Caspar
is not the person for whom you appear to take him. How
indeed could you become fully acquainted with this remark-
able hybrid who, in his intercourse with you, to whom he
owes everything and from whom he expects everything
which his heart desires, is called upon by every circumstance
to appear in his best light? Your grace, you showed him
such friendship as one offers only to one’s equals. In view
of the measureless vanity with which nature has disfigured
his soul—along with the other rich gifts with which she
has endowed him—and which silly people here have culti-
vated, you have innocently added to his already sick char-
acter a poison which no doctor of souls, even the most ex-
pert, will ever be able to eliminate. There is nothing from
which I am further removed than any wish to reproach you

[[ 208]
 

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with this and I beg you most earnestly not to regard what
I have said in this light. You are free from all blame. But
I must assert that during the entire time that Caspar was
in my house there was no reason for being dissatisfied with
him, whereas—since your stay here, I say this with reluctance
and a bleeding heart, and with the affection and the respect
due to so superior a man—the boy has been like one trans-
formed and perverted.”

Such language must flatter even the most pampered ear.
Nevertheless, Lord Stanhope assumed the appearance of
being provoked and offended by the Baron's letter and spoke
about it in society everywhere. In a petition to the district
court in Ansbach, which was found to be necessary, and
wherein he declared his willingness to assume responsibility
for the care of Caspar Hauser, not only during his life-
time, but also to provide for the boy in the case of his—
Stanhope’s—own death, he mentioned that matters had taken
place between him and Herr von Tucher which made any
association between them impossible for the present and the
future; it was therefore important that Caspar should be
placed in other surroundings at the earliest possible op-
portunity.

Hofrat Hofmann in Ansbach hastened to inform Herr von
Tucher of Lord Stanhope’s veiled accusation. Herr von
Tucher was beside himself. He informed the municipal
authorities verbally of the letter he had written Stanhope,
painted again in dark colors the unfavorable influence which
the Count had had upon Caspar’s character and demanded
his speedy discharge from a guardianship which, as he ex-
pressed it, had been a care, an annoyance and a burden, and
had finally brought him ingratitude and a misunderstanding
of his honorable intentions. Since the authorities of Ansbach
had asked an opinion concerning Lord Stanhope he wrote
back that he had come to regard the count as an unusual
man with extraordinary qualities. The report was that he
was very rich; Stanhope himself stated that he had a yearly

[209]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

income of twenty thousand pounds sterling, that is three
hundred thousand florins, which income, however, since
he was an earl and an hereditary British peer, by no means
placed him among the wealthy nobility of his country.
“Presuming that the very estimable board of guardians re-
ceives sufficient guarantees [he closed his long letter] and
explanations regarding certain suspicious conjunctures in
England, I, as the tutor of Caspar Hauser, have no objec-
tion, particularly on the financial side, to Lord Stanhope’s
adopting him.”

A circumstantial procedure, an endless series of appeals!
Stanhope tossed about with anger and impatience. Never-
theless, in spite of all the busy gossip and the clash of opin-
ions on the subject, every obstacle seemed overcome and he
saw himself near the goal which he had from the beginning
aimed at with slow persistence, when suddenly everything
was again overturned. For President Feuerbach forbade
Caspar’s removal from Niirnberg. He sent a private
courier to Mayor Binder, informing him that he had just
returned from his cure in Karlsbad, and that all these doings
were entirely new to him. He forbade any decision before
he should have examined the case, which seemed to him in-
volved and suspicious, and before he should have approved
the necessary steps.

The Mayor felt himself bound to inform Lord Stanhope
at once of this new state of affairs. Stanhope received
and read Binder’s note in his hotel while he was being
shaved. He pushed the barber -aside, jumped up, and ran
excitedly about the room with the soap suds still on his
face. It took considerable time before he remembered his
toilet; he tore the note which Binder had sent him into a
hundred little pieces and again sat in the chair with a face
so full of hatred and rage that the barber began to tremble
and, having finished his work, hurried, in short order, out
of the room. i

Too late the Count recollected that he had forgotten him-

[ 210]
 

THE SECRET MISSION

 

self. But how severe must have been the blow which struck
him, if it could shake the inflexible calm and reserve of a
person so adamant in the pursuit of his purpose.

He quickly wrote a few lines, folded and sealed the letter,
sent for his footman, told him to saddle a horse, and or-
dered him to deliver the communication to the address in
the course of forty-eight hours, let it cost what it might.

The man went away in silence. He knew his master. He
knew that his master did not occupy himself with trifles,
love affairs and paltry intrigues. He was familiar with this
expression on his lordship’s face, this tension as if faced
with a frightful decision, this look of straining in a race,
this convulsive control of the gambler. He had often un-
dertaken similar rides by day and by night; one had to keep
one’s mouth shut in order to be able to keep the unpleasant
elements of such a task hidden from a curious world, for
it not infrequently looked as if one were the mediator of
shady transactions. Speed was always ordered; he did
always get there on time, but the words “let it cost what
it may” were partly mere swank. He did not always get his
wages and often had to wait for weeks and secretly snatch
at crumbs which fell from his lordship’s table. His ex-
cellency did not have funds at the moment, he was expect-
ing money from England and France, or, sometimes the mes-
senger was even sent to some distinguished gentleman, and
it was striking that the Count’s request did not meet with an
altogether eager response. The speech of the distinguished
gentleman savored rather of contempt than of respect for
his lordship.

What was the reason of all this? How was it that the
threads of this man’s destiny, raised so high above the
crowd, attached themselves somewhere to common want?
Why was the noble scion of a noble house spending his days
wretchedly in low taverns, why was one of the proudest
names of a proud kingdom dependent on the greasy friend-
liness of an innkeeper, condemned to trample the essence

[211]

iE
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

and marrow of his life into the mud with his own feet,
to sacrifice the austere memory of inviolable ancestors?
What was the reason for all this?

Every hour of the present was a ruin of the past, every
day the sad vestige of golden days gone by, of days when
the name of Stanhope still played a réle in the capitals of
Europe which seemed to its bearer to-day a mere legend
of the past, when the youthful lord was the delight of the
salons of Paris and Vienna, when he had been rich and
had used his riches to satisfy his insatiable youth and to
offer to his peers the spectacle of an unparalleled extrava-
gance. His festivals and dinners had been famous. He
had traveled from country to country with a staff of cooks,
secretaries, butlers, mechanics and entertainers. In a per-
gola in Madrid he had had twenty-five thousand pounds’
worth of flowers distributed among the women. During
the Congress of Vienna he had entertained kings and princes,
had organized horse races which in themselves had con-
sumed a fortune, and had had oratorios and operas given
at his own cost. His luxurious whims had held society
breathless ; he gave villas and estates to his friends and pearl
necklaces to his mistresses. He had been for years the
Timon of the continent, surrounded by an army of eager
parasites, all of whom made profit at his expense, and sat-
isfied their debauched instincts to his cost. His generosity
and kindliness had become proverbial, his manner of con-
stantly distributing handfuls of gold about him, regardless
of whether it fell into the gutter or on elegant carpets,

- seemed like a mania or a mad test of human covetousness.

Then the crash: the failure and suicide of a banker
hastened the inevitable collapse. One evening in the Palais
Bourbon, there had been playing for high stakes; Stanhope
lost many thousands but his easy chatter and the fire and
grace of his spirit had been all the more attractive. The
ambassador, Lord Castlereigh, walked up to him and whis-
pered some hasty news. He was seen to grow pale, a pe-

[212]
 

THE SECRET MISSION

 

culiarly melancholy smile froze on his delicate features, and
the next day he left. He thought that at home he could
lead the life of a retired country gentleman, but in this he
was unsuccessful. The estates were in debt, creditors
pressed from all sides, besides which he dreaded the loneli-
ness and hated a depopulated countryside. He fled. He
was obliged to borrow on the splendor of past days for a
ragged existence which gradually was undermined from
within by anxiety for his daily bread. Things had become
silent about him; his wanderings were a pursuit of former
friends and companions, but suddenly there was none who
had not known everything beforehand and predicted ruin
from his safe entrenchment, had “told him so,” as it were.
Exhausted, in despair, entirely hopeless in a hotel in Rome,
he took strychnine. A young Sicilian girl nursed him back
to life. The poison which left his body seemed to seize
upon his soul. He struggled with the demon that had
bowled him over; he became wild and cold. His contempt
for mankind, which bordered on the sublime, made it the
easier for him to make use of the weaknesses of those sur-
rounding him. He became the employee of gentlemen of
rank, and studied the filthy mysteries of their antechambers
and back stairs. He became the emissary of the pope and
the paid agent of Metternich. Soon his name was stricken
from the list of the blameless and immaculate, and placed
among those adventurers who play the dreaded role of ma-
rauders on the fringes of society. His extraordinary tal-
ents made no task difficult, his constant compulsion to act
and the diversity of his relations smothered the reproaches
of his conscience and the sense of deep dishonor. Outlawed
in the upper circles, he was avoided in spite of his useful-
ness, but among the lower classes he was still a distinguished
man. He became a practiced hunter of men and ensnarer
of souls. At first a result of the pressure of misfortune,
th's practice now became a trade with him; his irresistible
_geatle smile, his noble manners and chivalrous carriage, his

L213]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

winning conversation and remarkable culture, all was now
his stock in trade; every movement of his eyelashes, every
bow was trade—everything had consequences, everything
reasons—a careless word might mean the failure of a task,
and yet how full of privations was such a life, how pitiful
the recompense! And all the time he was thus descending
lower and lower into smaller circumstances, as if the chain
he was dragging of its own accord, and without loosening,
was dropping link after link in order to dash him into an
abyss.

One day, “Caspar Hauser” became his slogan. The order
was clear, its source was evident, the circumstances sinister
beyond all precedent. It said: “You are the right man;
the undertaking is difficult, but remunerative; it seems of
slight importance, but big things hang in the balance.” The
transactions were not conducted face to face, everything was
hidden, every messenger brought commands from a name-
less person. This game of specters appealed to his fantasy,
the abyss began to beckon. The working out of the plan
was in some ways pleasurable, the strange bird had to be
stalked in masterly fashion.

Yes, the command was clear; there was substance to it.
You must remove the foundling from the territory in which
he is beginning to be a menace to us—ran the order.—Take
him with you, take him to a country where no one knows
anything about him, let him disappear. Throw him into
the sea or into a precipice or hire the knife of a ruffian,
or if you know anything of quackery, let him become ill
with some fatal malady, but do the job thoroughly, other-
wise it will be of no use to us. You are assured of our
gratitude, we quote it at such and such a sum deposited with
the firm of Israel Blaustein, in X.

What was there to consider? All his distress might now
be over. Mere hesitation alone made him an accomplice.
For these people it was a necessity that they rid themselves
of one who knew and remained inactive ; there was no choice.

[2141]
 

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The beginning of the undertaking lay far back; when the
murderer had been sent into Daumer’s house Stanhope had
already had orders to intervene, in case the attack, in which
he himself was not involved, should be unsuccessful. The
rudeness and infamy of the means employed had frightened
him, had offended his good taste and roused his better feel-
ings. He fled and concealed himself. Misery and threat-
ening hunger ensnared him again and so he came “from a
great distance” in order to delude his victim.

But even their first meeting and the time they spent to-
gether was extraordinary. What a voice, what an eye!
What was it that unstrung the undoer and charmed him so?
This bird could sing; the ensnarer had not thought of that.
Suddenly he saw himself loved; not as women love, that
he had experienced, that can be appreciated and forgotten,
too; it is a part of the flow of life; accident and instinct
have an equal share in this.—IHe saw himself loved not as
men love, or parents or brothers and sisters, or the way a
child loves; law and propinquity, necessity and will bind
the creature to his fellow-creatures, but in the profound
depths of all these there is rivalry, struggle and hostility.
This, however, was different, in an unconceived of and
wonderful manner the beauty of a soul touched this inac-
cessible heart.

There is a legend of a land where no dew and no rain
fell and therefore there was dryness in the land, and a
dearth of water, because there was only one well which con-
tained water in its lowest depths. When the people began
to perish of thirst a youth came to the well who played a
lute and produced such sweet melodies that the water rose
to the surface of the well and overflowed the land.

With Lord Stanhope it was as with the well, when the
boy Caspar was near him and played the sweet melodies of
his nature. His spirit rose from the depths, a despairing
glance flew back into time, shame kindled his throbbing

soul, it seemed easy to make evil undone again, he found

[215]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

himself again, he saw the picture of his own unspotted
youth in the boy’s face, and saw himself as he might have
been, accepted, trusted, glorified, all that might have been
if fate had not crushed all that was noblest in him. And
so truly, so richly, so unfathomably generous was the boy
that the most atrocious miser and scoundrel would have
ransacked his chests for treasures in order to free himself
from any burden of guilt towards him.

But he gave—nothing. He could not give himself, for
his person was already underwritten: his life was paid for
by those whom he served, his nights and days were paid for,
his regrets, his dissatisfaction and his evil conscience. He
was planning the execution of a deed which marked every
lineament of his countenance with a lie, but at times he really
thought of fleeing together with Caspar. But whither should
they go? Where was there a resting place for the outlaw
of a continent? When he spent these quiet hours with
Caspar and the boy’s face—in which the pure radiance
of human nature shone—inclined towards his, he felt
that he, too, was still a human being and grieved over
himself with measureless melancholy. Then he forgot his
purpose and mission and revenged himself upon those whose
guilty victim he was by exposing what he knew of their
secrets and committing a double act of treason. He filled
Caspar with expectations of power and greatness; this was
his return, the gift of the miser. It was fortunate for him
that the charm lost its strength when he was away from the
boy, and he no longer felt the questioning glance resting upon
him which made him feel as if a messenger of God were near
him. In the midst of these sinister considerations and while
following out these frightful plans he nevertheless wrote
short passionate notes to his ensnared victim, such as: “In
the first week when I came to know you I became your
slave. If you ever feel for a woman what you feel for me
I shall be lost”; or, “If you should ever notice that I am
cold, do not attribute it to heartlessness but to an expression

[216]
 

A

THE SECRET MISSION

 

of the pain which I must conceal within me unto my grave.
My past is a graveyard, when I found you I had half lost
my God, it was you who tolled the bell that meant eternity
to me.” These expressions were in the taste of the time,
influenced by the fashionable poets of the hour, but they
nevertheless showed the perplexity of a profoundly dis-
turbed mind. j

So, torn in two directions, Stanhope himself impeded the
progress of his undertaking. He let matters proceed as
they would, and surrendered to the impact of events, for they
were stronger than his resolutions. He knew that he would
be obliged to carry out his shameful task and that he would
do so, but he temporized and his procrastination gave him
time to pity his own fate. He tried to find an excuse for
himself before heaven, by prayer, and before the judge in
his own breast, by making a fatality of his existence. He
suppressed his consciousness of the fact that his very ex-
istence depended on enjoyment and good living, by means of
the sophism that necessity was greater than love and pity,
and he conjured away the image of the inevitable end with
the cheap notion: it won't be so bad after all!

Meanwhile, his situation, after his hasty dispatching of
the footman, became constantly more precarious, the expense
of his stay constantly increased, his letters of credit were of
little use; they were, for the present, mere decoys; necessity
compelled him to act, and he decided to go to Ansbach and
deal in person with President Feuerbach.

One Saturday towards the end of November he ordered
his traveling carriage to be made ready quickly and sent
word to the Tucher house that Caspar should come to him
at once. However, after he had given an order to have
Caspar wait until his return, he took a road on which there
was no danger of meeting the boy, to the Baron’s house,
had himself conducted to Caspar’s room under the pretext
of wanting to wait for him, and when he was alone he rum-

maged in great haste through the boy’s drawers, books and

[217]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

papers. He wanted to find a letter which he had himself
written Caspar a few weeks before, in which extremely in-
discreet remarks about Caspar’s future had escaped him,
and which he wished to destroy at all costs, for he had
already been warned; the dark figures behind the curtain
had already threatened.

His search was fruitless.

Suddenly a door opened and Herr von Tucher stood upon
the threshold. In his timid haste his lordship had not heard
the approaching footsteps. Herr von Tucher looked im-
mensely big, for his forehead touched the upper beam of
the door; his bearing showed a pained astonishment and
after a long pause he remarked in hoarse tones: “Count,
it cannot be that you are acting the part of a spy?”

Stanhope winced. “An insinuation of this nature you
will allow me to pass over in silence,” he replied with calm
pride.

“But what does this mean,” continued Herr von Tucher,
“how shall I interpret what I have seen? It seems to me,
Count, an inner voice tells me, that not everything is quite
right here.”

Lord Stanhope grew disturbed. He pressed one hand
to his forehead and said in tones of entreaty: “I need more
pity and clemency than you think, Baron.” He pulled a
handkerchief out of his pocket, pressed it before his eyes,
and began suddenly to weep real unfeigned tears. Herr von
Tucher was speechless. His first impulse was one of dark
mistrust and the suspicion that all the nebulous hidden gossip
about Caspar’s fate must really have some serious foundation.

Stanhope, as if he suspected what was going on in the
mind of his clear-eyed adversary, quickly mastered himself
and said: “Do have pity on my vacillating heart. I am
fumbling in the dark. Yes, it must be put into words: I
doubt Caspar! I cannot exonerate him from deceitful acts
and a certain lack of truthfulness.”

[218]

’
 

THE SECRET MISSION

 

“So you, too!” Herr von Tucher could not keep from ex-
claiming.

“And I am searching for evidence.”

“And you seek this evidence in bureau-drawers and clos-
ets?’

“It is a question of secret writings which he conceals from
me.”

“What secret writings? I know nothing of any such
things.”

“Nevertheless they exist.”

“Perhaps all that you mean is the diary which he received
from the President.”

Stanhope snatched with pleasure at this thought which
half-way saved him from an unpleasant situation. “Yes,
just that, unquestionably the same,” he quickly declared,
remembering at the same time certain compromising hints
of Caspar’s about the diary.

“I don’t know where he keeps it,” said Herr von Tucher,
“and I should object to giving it to you in his absence.
Moreover, I happen to know accidentally that some time ago
he cut out the picture of the President which was on the
first page and substituted yours, Count.” Whereupon Herr
von Tucher reached after a writing pad which lay upon the
desk, pulled out its contents and handed it to Stanhope. It
was the steel engraving of Feuerbach.

Lord Stanhope looked at it for a time, and as he gazed
at these Jove-like features, a fear which he had never known
before seized him. “So that is the famous man,” he mur-
mured. “I am on my way to seek him out. I expect a
great deal from his incorruptible insight.” But everything
which he planned, the journey thither, the necessity of
meeting the tremendous gaze of these eyes roused in him
a state of nervousness which he was unable to master.

“His excellency will doubtless be delighted to make your
acquaintance,” said Baron Tucher politely, and as Stanhope

[219]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

started to go he asked him to convey to the President his
respectful greetings.

Two hours later his lordship’s carriage was speeding along
the road. There was a bad storm. The dust rose in waves
and spirals, Lord Stanhope wrapped in rugs crouched in a
corner of the carriage and gazed incessantly upon the gloomy
autumn landscape. But the sickly brilliance of his eye took
in neither fields nor woods, but seemed rather to search the
plain for hidden dangers. It was the eye of one possessed,
or fleeing from danger. When, just before reaching the
little city of Heilsbronn, the whining melody of a barrel-
organ became audible, he pressed his hands to his ears and
turned away, and, burying himself in the silken pillow,
groaned at the lonely torment to which he was condemned.
After this he sat up again, cold and hard as steel, a sor-
cerer’s smile on his thin lips.

[220]
XIII

A CONVERSATION BETWEEN ONE WHO REMAINS MASKED
AND ONE WHO DISCLOSES HIMSELF

It was raining in torrents when late at night Lord Stan-
hope’s coach thundered over the Ansbach Schlossplatz.
Moreover, the horses shied suddenly at a dog trotting across
the road and the Alsatian coachman cursed so loudly, in
his abominable dialect, that a few white night caps showed
themselves behind the dark window panes of the hostelry.
The rooms in the inn “Zum Stern” were already ordered,
the hotel keeper was dancing up and down in front of the
gate with an umbrella, and greeted the stranger with count-
less profound bows, scrapings and polite assurances.

Stanhope walked by him to the steps, when suddenly a
gentleman in the uniform of a police officer, his coat drip-
ping with the rain, stepped toward him and introduced him-
self as Police-Lieutenant Hickel, who had had the honor of
meeting his lordship a few weeks before, “all too briefly,”
at Rittmeister Wessenig’s in Niirnberg. He took the liberty
to offer his services to his lordship in this strange city,
and begged his pardon for accosting him in a manner which
seemed almost an incursion, but he assumed that his lordship
would have little time and much to attend to, wherefore he
wished to inquire at the first moment.

Stanhope looked at the man with surprise and consid-
erable superciliousness. He saw a fresh round face with
curiously impertinent and at the same time affectionately
humble eyes. Starting back involuntarily, Stanhope felt that
here was a person offering himself as instrument for any
purpose, whatever it might be. There was nothing new to
him about the covetous importunity of such glances. He
thought he already knew his man inside out. But how did

[[2217}
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

the officious fellow know of anything; who had given him
the scent? He might at any rate be credited with a keen
nose. Lord Stanhope thanked him briefly, and asked him to
call at a certain time, whereupon the lieutenant gave a mili-
tary salute and hurried out into the rain as quickly as he
had come.

Stanhope occupied the whole first floor of the hotel;
he had candles lighted everywhere at once, for he hated dark
rooms. While the butler was preparing tea he took a little
morocco bound book of devotions out of his traveling bag
and began to read it. Or rather he made a pretense of
reading ; actually he was preoccupied with a hundred differ-
ent thoughts. The quiet of the little country town was more
dismal to him than the quiet of a cemetery. After he had
taken some refreshment, he sent for the landlord and asked
him this and that about conditions in the town, about the
local aristocracy and bureaucracy. The landlord showed
himself thoroughly disgusted with the new tendencies. He
had lived during the happy period of the margrave, and on
the day when courtiers and court ladies had taken flight
from their pretty little rococo palaces, on account of the
approaching wars, which had ended all the splendor of the
world, it had become a stinking rats’ nest, a second rate
storehouse of documents, with the high-sounding name of
appellate court, a miserable ink-stained den of legal scribes.

Ah, formerly, in those days people had known how to
trifle. How gayly they had lived! People chatted and
played and danced. And the fat man began before Lord
Stanhope’s eyes to execute some grave minuet poses, and
pas de deux, at the same time trilling a long forgotten mel-
ody and jestingly lifting the tails of his coat with two fingers
of each hand.

His lordship remained perfectly serious. He asked
casually whether Herr von Feuerbach were in the city; but
at these words the fat man made a sour face. “His ex-
cellency,” he grumbled. “Yes, he is here. It would be

[222]
 

A CONVERSATION

 

better for us if he weren't. He watches us like a grumpy
old bear and snarls at us if we whistle a tune. He meddles
with everything, whether the streets are clean or whether
the milk is watered, he is back of everything, but he has no
gallantry in his soul. There is only one thing that he thor-
oughly understands, he is keen about food and for mercy’s
sake, your lordship, if you have anything to do with him
you must praise everything which appears on his table.”

Stanhope dismissed the gossip affably, then he showed the
valet what clothes to prepare for the next morning and went
to bed. The next day he arose late and sent the servant
to Feuerbach’s residence to ask for an interview. The man
returned with the message that Feuerbach could not con-
veniently receive his lordship to-day or for several days to
come; he requested him therefore to communicate his de-
sires to him in writing. Stanhope was furious. He real-
ized that he had overreached himself and drove at once
to Hofrat Hofmann, to whom he had an introduction.

Meantime the news of his presence had spread, and at
the end of twenty-four hours a veritable cycle of legends
was already twined about his person. It was said that half
a dozen sacks of gold guineas had been strapped onto the
stranger’s traveling carriage, that he intended to buy the
margrave’s castle; that he traveled about with a bed made
of swan’s down and embroidered linen; that he was the
cousin of the King of England and Caspar Hauser his nat-
ural son. ‘Stanhope, profoundly cool, saw that he had be-
come the center of small-town gossip and was satisfied.

The Hofrat had been unable to give him any explanation
for the President’s behavior. In order to obtain official
advice they sought out the archive director, Herr Wurm,
who enjoyed Feuerbach’s confidence. Stanhope felt that the
matter was being approached with considerable circumspec-
tion; these official gentlemen could not boast of any free in-
tercourse with a man whose hand rested upon them with the
weight of iron. ~ \ :

[223]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

That evening Stanhope accepted an invitation to a family
party. Here, when he turned the conversation upon the
President, a series of anecdotes was told, some of which
were ridiculous, while others were bizarre. Or people, as
if to hide their lack of affection and real understanding, told
of circumstances which demanded pity, of the misfortune
which Feuerbach had experienced with his sons, of a shat-
tered marriage, of the solitude and hatred of mankind in
which the old man dwelt and which was also looked upon
as a secret expiation. “He is a fanatic,” said a bald-headed
office superintendent, “like Horatius he would deliver his
own children to the hangman.”

“He never forgives an enemy,” said another complain-
ingly, “and that does not betoken a Christian spirit.”

“All that would not be so bad if he did not see a kind
of criminal in every man,” said the hostess, “and at every
little harmless act set the whole of the punitive law in action.
The other day at twilight I went walking with my daughter
along the Triesdorf Road, and we were thoughtless enough
to pick a few apples from the trees; suddenly his excellency
appears before us, swings his stick in the air and screams at
us in a frightful screeching voice: ‘Oho, my lady, that is
stealing from the city property.” Now I ask you, stealing!
What does it mean?”

“But you must say, too, Mama,” added the daughter,
“that he smiled slyly and could hardly keep from laughing
when we, trembling with fright, threw the apples into the
ditch.”

The very name of the man was like a stone boulder in
a stream, impeding the flow of the water and causing it to
rebound in spurts. Stanhope made no secret of his admira-
tion for the President. He delivered quotations from his
writings, seemed to know even his dryest legal works, and
praised the abolition of the torture as a deed which would
stand through the centuries. It was simply one of his ways
of dazzling men’s minds.

[224]
,

A CONVERSATION

In all the streets and all the drawing rooms there was
thereupon only one subject of conversation and that was
Lord Stanhope. Lord Stanhope the hero, the asylum of
persecuted innocence, Lord Stanhope the height of elegance,
Lord. Stanhope the freethinker, Lord Stanhope the favorite
of fortune and fashion, Lord Stanhope the melancholy, the
strictly religious. So many days, so many faces; to-day
Lord Stanhope is cold ; to-morrow he is passionate; if here
he appears to be gay and free, elsewhere he will be pro-
found and deferential; scholarship and idle trifling, the
voice of feeling as well as the imperative of morality—it
is only a question of what register the skillful organist re-
quires. How interesting is his superstition, when at a gath-
ering at Frau von Imhoff’s he admits his fear of ghosts and
describes that he was present when a compatriot went to
hell in the crater of Vesuvius. How enchanting the irony
with which on other occasions he could recite the godless
poems of Byron!

The elements are mixed; one scarcely knows how. It is
a pleasure to beat the waves into foam, to glide through the
little provincial bog in a gilded boat.

On the fifth day the butler returned. He brought in-
creased powers which Stanhope had partly anticipated by
his trip to Ansbach; something like fear of Feuerbach’s
regulations was clearly evident. He was ordered in any case
to submit to the President, since resistance would have
aroused suspicion. The utmost was to be attempted, but
he was to submit and dig new pits if the old had become
useless. A dangerous document was mentioned which in
the meantime must be gotten rid of, or rendered harm-
less, a copy of which was to be made in any case, however.

The present communication was to be destroyed and
burned in the presence of the butler. This was done. Above
all the boy brought money, wonderful, real money. Stan-
hope heaved a sigh of relief.

The next evening he invited some of the most distin-

[225]
=

 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

guished families of the city to a sociable party in the rooms
of the casino. It was whispered about that he had had the
dishes prepared according to special recipes and had him-
self gone through the music with the director of the or-
chestra. At the beginning of the dance each lady received
a favor, as ingenious as it was costly, a little gold shield
on which was embossed the motto “Dieu et le cceur.” After
that Lord Stanhope took his glass and requested his guests
to join him in drinking the health of a person who was so
dear to him that he could not pronounce his name before
so many people, although every one knew whom he meant:
that wonderful créature who seemed placed by fate as if
on an observatory of time. “Dieu et le cceur,” this referred
to him, the motherless boy whom mothers who had borne
children should think of, as well as virgins dedicated to
love.

People were touched; people were extraordinarily moved.
Some white handkerchiefs fluttered in delicate hands and
a bass voice murmured with emotion: “remarkable man.”
The remarkable man, as if he could not master his emotion
otherwise, went out upon the adjoining balcony and looked
thoughtfully down upon the people, some of whom stood
in respectful whispering groups, others walking up and
down in the darkness. Many had pressed against the op-
posite wall listening to the music, and a whole row of sallow
faces gleamed in the light shining out of the window.

Then Stanhope suddenly perceived the man in uniform
who had introduced himself on his arrival in the city. Stan-
hope had completely forgotten him; the man had been in
the hotel at the appointed hour, but Stanhope had not kept
the appointment and the visitor had merely left his card.

Now he stood a few steps away under the lamp post and

his face looked strikingly angry.

A feeling of discomfort seized upon Stanhope. He bowed
politely in the direction where the man stood motionless.
The latter had only waited for this; he came nearer, close

[2267
 

A CONVERSATION

 

to the balcony, so that his face was on a level with Stan-
hope’s chest.

“Police-officer Hickel, if I am not mistaken,” said Stan-
hope, stretching out his hand: “I had the misfortune to miss
your visit, please excuse me.”

The policeman beamed with devotion and fastened defer-
ential eyes on Lord Stanhope’s mouth. “A pity,” he re-
plied, “otherwise I should certainly have enjoyed the ad-
vantage of spending the present evening in your lordship’s
society. My insignificant person is reckoned among the
upper ten thousand; ha, ha!”

Stanhope moved his head scarcely perceptibly. What an
unpleasant creature, he thought.

“Was your grace already at Staatsrat Feuerbach’s ?” con-
tinued the lieutenant. “I mean to-day. His excellency was
obstinate until now and wanted to deal with your grace in
writing only. I have finally succeeded in bringing the ob-
stinate man to a different point of view.”

All this was expressed in the most straightforward man-
ner, but Stanhope showed an unconvinced face. “What do
you mean?” he asked with hesitancy.

“Well, I can accomplish some things with the good Presi-
dent which other people might break their teeth upon in
vain,” replied Hickel with an amused and complacent ex-
pression. “Such hot-heads can be wound about one’s finger
if one only knows how to take them. Ha, ha, that’s amus-
ing, hot-heads wound about one’s finger, ha, ha!”

Stanhope remained icy. He felt a dislike for the man,
bordering on disgust. The police-lieutenant did not permit
himself to be led astray. “Your lordship should in no case
hesitate long,” said he, “even though the matter may not be
particularly pressing at the moment; you will find the
Staatsrat in a condition of indecision, it seems to me, which
should be made use of. And in regard to the dangerous
document,” he hesitated and paused.

Stanhope felt that he turned pale to his throat. “The

i! [227]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

document, what document are you talking about?” he mur-
mured hastily.

“You will understand me fully, your Lordship, if you
will only give me half an hour’s hearing,” replied Hickel
with a subservience which bordered almost upon mockery.
“What we have to say to one another is not unimportant,
but need in no case be said to-day. I am at your conven-
ience at any time that you like.”

In spite of his uneasiness Stanhope thought that he ought
to show indifference. Although a cue had been given which
he could not overlook, he entrenched himself in haughty
reserve. “I shall certainly appeal to you if I need you,
sir,” he said briefly and turned away frowning.

Hickel bit his lips and stared with some astonishment at
the Count, who had disappeared through the open hall door,
and then walked along the street whistling gently. Sud-
denly he turned around, bowed sarcastically, and said with
affected courtesy, as if Stanhope were still standing in front
of him. “Your Grace is in error, even Your Grace must
cook with water.”

When Stanhope returned again to his guests he drew the
General Commissioner von Stichaner into conversation. In
the course of their talk he said that he had decided to call
upon the President the next day, and that, if Feuerbach
should still insist on remaining so strangely obdurate, he
would regard it as an intentional affront and would leave
town. He said this in such a loud voice that some ladies
and gentlemen standing next to them could not help hearing
him. Among these was Frau von Imhoff, who was an
intimate friend of Feuerbach. Obviously Stanhope had
wished to address himself to her. Frau von Imhoff had be-
come attentive ; she looked over and said with some surprise:
“If I am not mistaken, my lord, his excellency has called
upon you. I met him late this afternoon in his garden just
as he was about to start for the ‘Stern’ You were prob-
ably not at home.”

[ 228°]
 

A CONVERSATION

 

“I left my hotel at eight o'clock,” replied Stanhope.

An hour later many of the guests started to leave. Lord
Stanhope offered to take Frau Imhoff, whose husband was
away, home in his carriage. Since they were passing the
“Stern,” Stanhope ordered the carriage to stop and inquired
whether any one had called in his absence. As a matter
of fact, Feuerbach had left his card.

The next morning at eleven o'clock the Count’s carriage
stopped in Heiligenkreuz Street in front of Feuerbach’s
garden. With aristocratic restrained steps, his elastic figure
stretched to its full height, Stanhope approached the build-
ing, which looked like a country seat, keeping accurately to
the middle of the lane of leafless trees. His suit showed
the most painstaking care, in the button hole of his brown
morning-coat shone the red ribbon of an order, his cravat
was held in place by a diamond pin and a tired smile played
about his clean shaven lips like an intellectual jewel. When
he had gone about two-thirds of the way he heard a voice
screaming from the house and simultaneously a cat ran over
the gravel in front of him. A bad omen, he thought; he
turned white, remained standing and looked back uncon-
‘sciously. It was so foggy that he could no longer see his
carriage.

He pulled the bell of the gate and waited a considerable
time without its being opened; meantime the screaming in-
side continued ; it was a man’s voice in a wild rage. Stan-
hope finally turned the handle of the door, found the door
unlocked and entered the hall. He saw no one and hesi-
tated to go further. Suddenly a door was torn open, a
woman rushed out, apparently a maid, and behind her a
thick-set figure with a tremendous head, in which Stanhope
- at once recognized the President. But he was so frightened
at the face, convulsed with anger, the disarranged hair, and
the penetrating voice, that he remained as if rooted to the
floor.

What had happened? Had some accident occurred, some

[229]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

crime been brought to light? Not any of these. A vile
odor had merely passed along the corridor because a pan
of milk had overflowed in the kitchen. The woman had re-
mained gossiping when she had gone to fetch the water,
and it was most undignified to see how the frantic old man
thrashed about with his arms, and raved anew every time
the berated woman ventured a whine in reply, how he
gnashed his teeth, stamped with his feet and yelled with
impetuous rage. :

A funny little man, thought Stanhope, full of contempt,
and it is for this little provincial tyrant and police philistine
that I have trembled!

Clearing his throat discreetly, he walked up the three steps
which separated him from this absurd theater of war when
Feuerbach turned around with the speed of lightning. His
lordship bowed deeply, gave his name and, smiling indul-
gently, asked to be excused if his visit was inopportune.

A quick flash spread over Feuerbach’s face. He cast a
rapid, almost biting, glance upon the Count, then a convulsive
movement spread over his mouth and nose, and suddenly he
burst into a laugh which contained embarrassment, self-irony
and some sort of pleasant assurance; in brief, it had a relax-
ing, beneficent and Olympic sound.

With a wave of his hand he asked his guest to enter; they
went into a large, well-kept room which showed extraordi-
nary neatness in every detail. Feuerbach began at once to
speak of his attitude towards Lord Stanhope up to the pres-
ent, and, without assigning any reason, he said that the neces-
sity which had determined him was stronger than any social
duty. At the same time he had realized that he could not
offend a man of such rank and reputation, also esteemed
friends had told him so many pleasant things concerning His
Lordship that he had finally decided to call on His Lordship
yesterday.

Stanhope bowed again, regretted that he had not been able
to receive His Excellency, and added modestly that he must

[230]
 

A CONVERSATION

 

regard this hour as one of the greatest of his life, since it
afforded him the acquaintance of a man whose name and
fame were unique, and had penetrated through the barriers
of speech and of nationality.

Again that quick, sharp glance of the President’s, an em-
barrassed satirical smile on the weather-beaten face, and
back of it an almost touching beam of naive gratitude and
pleasure. Lofd Stanhope for his part represented com-
pletely a man of the world, embarrassed for perhaps the first
time.

They seated themselves, the President indulging in his
professional habit of turning his back to the window in order
to have the light on his guest. He said that one of his rea-
sons for wishing to speak to Stanhope was that a letter had
arrived yesterday from Herr von Tucher, urging him to
take Caspar into his house. This sudden change of mind
had seemed remarkable to him, since he knew that Herr von
Tucher had been favorably inclined toward the Count’s de-
sires; he had lost the thread of the matter, the whole story
had gotten tangled up; now he wanted to see and to hear.

In tones of the greatest surprise Stanhope replied that he
could not in the least understand Herr von Tucher’s behavior.
“One need only to turn one’s back upon people and they
change their faces,” said he contemptuously.

“That is true,” replied the President dryly. “Moreover,
I don’t want to keep you in suspense, Count, as I have al-
ready informed Mayor Binder that in no case can Caspar
Hauser be entrusted to you. I must refuse entirely to con-
sider such a request.”

Stanhope remained silent. His features showed careless
annoyance. He looked fixedly at the President’s face and,
as if it required some self-mastery on his part to speak at all,
he finally said: “Let me explain to Your Excellency that
Caspar’s position in Niirnberg is untenable. There is ex-
traordinary hostility to him and he is not understood by one
of those who call themselves his protectors. He is burdened

[231]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

with a debt of gratitude, which fate itself is responsible for,
and which he will never be able to discharge, otherwise every
day and every experience would be a usurious tax, and he,
young growing boy that he is, must waste his life away,
exposed and defenseless. In addition to this the city, as I
was expressly assured, will only provide for him until next
summer and then apprentice him to some master tradesman
to learn a trade. That, Excellency, seems to me a pity.”
Here Lord Stanhope raised his voice a little and his face
with its downcast eyes took on an expression of suppressed
arrogance. “It would seem to me a pity to allow that rare
flower to be set out in a field tramped over by Tom, Dick
and Harry.”

The President had listened attentively. “Certainly, I
know all that,” he replied. “A rare plant, certainly. His
first appearance was such that one thought one beheld an
inhabitant of another planet straying about this world by a
miracle, or the man mentioned in Plato, who had grown up
in regions under the earth and had not ascended to the upper
world and the light of heaven until his: maturity.”

Stanhope nodded. “My attachment to him, which has been
universally condemned as exaggerated, developed when I first
heard about him. There is, too, a certain atavistic justifica-
tion for it in the history of my family,” he continued in cool
conversational tones. “One of my ancestors was pro-
scribed under Cromwell and fled into the vault of a tomb.
His own daughter kept him hidden and fed him with stolen.
bits of food until he succeeded in fleeing with difficulty.
Since then, perhaps, a certain pleasure in the grave hovers
about his descendants. I am the last of my race. I am
childless. Only a dream, or, if you prefer, a fixed idea, at-
taches me to life.”

Feuerbach threw his head back. His mouth shot into a
straight line like a bow when its string is broken. Suddenly
there was greatness in his gesture. “An inner responsibility
prevents me from complying with your wishes, Count,” he

[232]
 

A CONVERSATION

said. “Here such tremendous things are at stake that any
token of favor or sacrifice of affection cannot, in comparison,
even be taken into account. Here justice has to be snatched
from demons of evil lurking in the background, and some
evidence, if not trophy, given to the anxious eyes of the world
that there is such a thing as retribution, even where crimes
are covered over with a purple mantle.”

His lordship bowed again, but quite mechanically. In-
wardly he had grown numb. For he had become embar-
rassed in the presence of the elemental strength which ad-
dressed him from the breast of this man, and which subor-
dinated even the rhetorical flourishes which had at first made
him uncomfortable and put him in an ironic mood. He felt
that to struggle against this will, which broke forth like a
storm, would be a fruitless task, and though it was a higher
power which had absorbed him, almost without his coopera-
tion, into a labyrinth of dark intrigues, it seemed suddenly
important to him to save an appearance of honor and virtue
from the chaos of his internal being. He bent forward and
asked gently: “And is the justice which you wish to snatch
from these persons worth the suffering of him who has to
bear it?”

“Yes, even though it should mean his death.”

“And what if he perish without your reaching your goal ?”’

“Retribution will issue forth from his grave.”

“I warn you to be careful for your own sake, Your Excel-
lency,” whispered Stanhope, while his glance slowly traveled
from the window to the door.

Feuerbach looked surprised. There was something of
betrayal in this expression, betrayal in some sense or other.
But his lordship’s blue eyes looked as transparent as sap-
phires, and there was a feminine sorrow in the bowed narrow
head. The President felt himself drawn to the man and un-
consciously his voice became mild, almost affectionate, as he
said: “You, too, you speak of caution? My speech sounds
bold to you; it is. I am tired of serving on a ship which

[233]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

founders disgracefully through the madness of its own offi-
cers; but I can imagine that it is incomprehensible to a citizen
of free England that a man must give up his peace and the
security of his existence in order to awaken the conscience
of the state to the most primitive requirements of society.
It is superfluous to warn me to be careful, my lord. I
would say this in the hearing even of one who would admit
to being willing to betray my confidence. I fear nothing,
because I have nothing to hope.”

Stanhope let a few seconds pass before he collectedly re-
plied: “My cry of warning will astonish you less if I admit
that I am not uninitiated in the circumstances you are allud-
ing to. I am not the tool of chance. I did not seek out the
foundling without an external impulse. It is as the messen-
ger of a woman, the most unhappy of all women, that I re-
gard myself.” :

The President jumped up as if lightning had struck the
room. “Count,” he exclaimed beside himself, “so you
know.”

“I know,” replied Stanhope quietly. After he had ob-
served with a gloomy expression how the President had con-
vulsively seized the arms of his chair so that his arms visibly
trembled, and how the big face was convulsed and furrowed
with emotion, he continued in a monotonous voice and with
a wan and curiously sweet smile: “You will ask: why the
circumlocutions : what do I want the boy for? My answer
is: I want to conduct him to safety; I want to take him to
another country; I want to hide him; I want to remove him
from the weapon which is suspended over him all the time.
Can one be clearer? Do you want more? Excellency, I
know of things which freeze my blood, even when I wake
up at night and think of them in an interval of waking, as
one thinks in a fever. Spare me from going into details.
Considerations more binding than oaths paralyze my tongue.
You, too, seem, I am puzzled to know how, to have gathered
some insight into this horrible abyss of shame, murder and

[234]
 

A CONVERSATION

 

suffering, therefore I may say to you, that I, who have looked
carefully and close at hand at the kings and lords of crea-
tion, have never seen a face on which birth and intelligence
have bestowed such aristocracy, and pain a more touching
power, than the face of that woman. I became her slave in
the first moment, when the image of this tragic figure visited
my spirit. It became the idea of my life to serve her and
to assuage the wounds which fate had dealt her. I will re-
main silent as to how I obtained certainty about the condition
of this martyred soul, wasting away upon the edge of death,
and how slowly one layer after another of this web of suf-
fering was uncovered, which had been slowly spun for
decades about an unfortunate and unprotected person. The
head of Medusa cannot be more horrible. Enough that I
had to suppress my true nature and pretend to be stupid. I
had to lie, to flatter, to sneak, to meet intrigue with intrigue ;
I have disguised myself and undertaken deceitful tasks. In
doing so, anger burned into my very marrow and I asked
myself how it was possible to continue to live with such
knowledge in one’s breast. But that is just it, one goes on
living, one eats, one drinks, one sleeps, one goes to the tailor,
one goes walking, one has one’s hair cut and day after day
goes by as if nothing had happened. And it is just the same
with those people of whom one thinks that their evil con-
sciences must destroy their senses and corrode their arteries:
they eat, drink, sleep, laugh and amuse themselves, and their
deeds run off them like water off of a duck’s back.”

“Very true, that’s it, that’s how it is,” exclaimed Feuer-
bach, moved to passion. He hurried several times up and
down the room, then he remained standing in front of Stan-
hope and asked sternly: “And does the woman know every-
thing—? Does she know about him? What does she know ?
What does she expect and what does she hope?”

“I can’t tell you anything from personal observation,” re-
plied Lord Stanhope in that same sad, tired voice as before.
“Recently it was said at Countess Bodmer’s that she had cried

C235]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

out loud when the name of Caspar Hauser was mentioned
to her. Maybe the report is not entirely trustworthy; on the
other hand I know of another incident which seems to indi-
cate an almost supersensual relationship. One morning two
years ago the princess was alone in the chapel of the castle
and was saying her prayers; as she was finishing, and was
about to get up, she suddenly saw above the altar the picture
of a beautiful boy whose face expressed endless sorrow. She
called out ‘Stephan,’ the name of her son, her first born;
then she fell in a faint. Later she recounted her vision to a
lady whom she trusted and the latter, who had seen Caspar
himself in Niirnberg, was deeply moved by the resemblance.
And the remarkable thing was that the apparition appeared
on the very day and at the very hour of the murderous at-
tack in Daumer’s house. One thing is clear, that on both
sides there is a secret yearning for a reunion. Furthermore it
is evident, Your Excellency, that every delay means danger,
and the trivial wasting of a good opportunity. I am calling to
you in direst distress. It may be that we shall be called
to give an account of our omissions before a chair of judg-
ment where no repentance will make up for what has hap-
pened.”

His lordship got up and walked to the window. His eye-
lids had become red and his glance somber. Whom did he
really betray? To whom was he lying? The people in
whose service he was? The boy whom he had attached to
himself? The President; himself? He did not know. He
was profoundly moved by his own words, for they seemed
true to him. How remarkable; all this seemed really true
to him as if he were a helper in need. He loved himself for
these few minutes and nursed his finer feelings. Dark for-
getfulness came over him, and so far as he was able to recog-
nize fatigue and disgust, they referred only to the bodiless
phantom which had sat in his place, acted and talked in his
place. He wiped twenty years of the past from the tablets

[236]
 

A CONVERSATION

 

of his memory, and stood there cleansed through a hallucina-
tion of kindness and pity.

Feuerbach had seated himself in front of his desk. His
head resting in his hand, he looked thoughtfully into space.
“We are the servants of our deeds, my lord,” he began after
a long pause and the ordinarily obstreperous or shrill voice
had a soft and solemn sound. “To tremble before a bad
ending would mean to give up every battle before it was
waged. Frankness for frankness, Count. Think, I am here
in a lost corner of the country. My life was intended for
something different than to be terminated in the obscurity
of a small provincial town, at least once I thought so. I
was able to perform services for my king which were appre-
ciated and which have perhaps contributed to lend the proud
attribute of ‘the just’ to his name. I wanted to serve him
further, to elevate his people, to make the crown a symbol
of humanity. This having failed, I was pushed aside. Of
course, I was rewarded, but not otherwise than servants are
rewarded.”

He stopped, rubbed his chin with the back of his hand and
ground his teeth. Then he continued: “From my earliest
youth I have devoted myself to the law. I have scorned the
letter in order to honor the spirit. The human being was
more important to me than the paragraph. My attempt was
to find the rule which separates instinct from responsibility.
I have studied vice the way a botanist studies a plant. The
criminal was for me an object of solicitous attention. I
calculated which of the sins of his sick mind resulted from
the mistakes of the state and of society. I made myself a
pupil of the masters of law and the apostles of humanity. I
wanted to snatch this age from an outlived barbarism and
construct paths for the future. It is superfluous to assert;
my writings, my books, my proclamations, my whole past,
that is to say, a chain of fretful days and nights of work,
are witnesses. I did not live for myself; I scarcely lived for
my family. I have foregone the pleasures of sociability, of

[237]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

friendship and of love. I derived no profit from the favor
I had won; no success gave me peace of mind or any manifest
advantage; I was poor, poor I remained, tolerated by those
above me and slandered by those below, ill used by the
strong, outwitted by the weak. My opponents were stronger,
their opinions were more convenient and their methods un-
scrupulous ; they were numerous, I was alone. I was hunted
about like a mangy cur. Slanderers and back-biters dragged
my good cause in the mud. There was a time when I could
not go through the streets of the capital without having to
fear the grossest insults of the mob. When I was forced
by the most disgusting intrigues and hostilities to give up my
professorship in Landshut, and when the riff-raff of the
students had been so incited against me that I fled to my
home city, deserting wife and child, paid stool pigeons sought
my life. It was the time of the great war; all order was
destroyed ; the Austrian party gave out that I was in league
with the French party, which was paving the way for Em-
peror Napoleon to build an occidental empire and to depose
the reigning princes. The French, on the other hand, threw
suspicion on my relations with Austria. There was a man, a
professional and departmental associate of mine, a scholar,
renowned and respected,—oh, a shameless coward; in time
his name will be one of the stains on the escutcheon of this
century—who had the effrontery to openly report me as a spy
and who made my Protestant faith a pretext to render me sus-
picious in the eyes of the king. I did not succumb. There
came an end to these troubles. My prince took me back again
into grace, of course, only into grace. A new ruler ascended
the throne; I remained in favor. To-day I am an old man; I
sit here in tranquillity, still in favor; my enemies, too, are
pacified, or pretend to be; they also enjoy the royal favor; but
what it means to see a life dedicated to big purposes and the
general welfare destroyed before the last fiber of the intellect
which bore it and supported it has been consumed, this they
do not feel; I alone know that.”

[238]
 

A CONVERSATION

 

Feuerbach stood up and breathed deeply. After that he
seized his snuff-box, took a pinch of snuff, and under the
rough eyebrows there gleamed a touchingly anxious and
grateful glance as he said: “Count, I am not quite clear what
it is that moves me to speak to you so. I am astonished
myself. You are the first who have heard what so desper-
ately resembles the complaint of one who has suffered the
insolence of office, but it is only intended as an explanation
for an inimitable resolution. I am not concerned, in Cas-
par’s predicament, with the specific facts or persons of the
case, and the personality involved is not the factor that
strengthens my resolve. I am impelled by the direst stress
with which a man of gray hair can be faced, and am forced
to ask of fate whether all the sacrifice and labor has been
in vain, whether the only result it has shown to me and to
others laboring in the same domain, is weakness here and
indifference there. I must make the test, I must see it
through, come what will; I must know whether I have talked
for the empty air and written in the sand; I must know
whether the promises with which the bitterness of my exile
was sweetened were only cheap pretenses. I must and will
know whether I and my cause are taken seriously. I have
proof=, Count; there is frightful evidence before me; I can
strike; I hold the thunderbolt and can call forth the light-
nings; I have set down the whole business and formulated
it in a special document. They know about it; matters will
not be pushed to the limit; for I am determined to go to
any length in order to preserve that precious possession
whose guardian I have been appointed to be before God and
man. Nevertheless I shall wait; great things require much
patience. But Caspar may not be removed. He is the living
weapon and the living proof which I need and he must be
constantly accessible. If I lost him the foundation of my
last work would be gone—for it is my last work, I feel that
clearly—and every claim to a serious hearing would be with-
out foundation. And you, noble sir, what would you lose?

[239]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

Do you wish to perform a deed of kindness or of love and
not consider justice? That would be to discard gold for
chaff.”

Stanhope’s face had gradually turned as pale as if no blood
were flowing under the skin. He had seated himself, and
bent over as if he wished to creep into a hole. Several
times glances like wild animals that have destroyed their
cages had flashed from his eyes, then he had called them
back again, and nursed them within himself; he held his
breath; he sat huddled with his fingers on the chain of his
lorgnette, and when the President had finished he stood up
with a passionate gesture. He had difficulty in recovering
himself ; it was hard to find words; his mouth was convulsed
with rapid movements as though he wished to laugh or to
suppress some bodily pain, and when he seized the Presi-
dent’s hand he turned ice cold; his second self stood by his
side, this shadowy personification of his life, his commissions
and omissions; it whispered the word of treason into his
ear, but his eyes were damp when he said: “I understand;
all that I can reply, Your Excellency, 1s, take me as your
friend; regard me as your helper; your confidence seems
to me a message from above. But what guarantee have you,
what evidence that you have not opened your heart to some
one who is unworthy, who only knows how to pretend better
than all the rest? I could have abducted Caspar; I could
still do so—"

“If this face with which you are standing before me lies,
my lord, I for my part will declare it a chimera to seek truth
upon this earth,” Feuerbach interrupted with animation.
“Abduct, abduct Caspar,” he continued smiling genially.
“You are joking; I for my part would advise any one against
it who still attaches value to walking in the sun.”

Stanhope sank for a while into motionless thought, then
he asked hastily: “What is to happen? It is our duty to act
quickly. Where is Caspar to go?”

[L240]

®
 

A CONVERSATION

 

“He is to come here to Ansbach,” replied Feuerbach cate-
gorically.

“Here, to you?’

“To me, no. That is unfortunately impossible ; impossible
for many reasons. I must be alone a great deal; I have
much work to do; I am away on trips a great deal; my
health is broken, my character badly adapted for the role
which I should have to play, and moreover the situation for-
bids me to form too strong a personal tie.”

Stanhope breathed a sigh of relief. “Where will he go
then?” he insisted.

“I shall inquire about for a family where he will have good
care, and intellectual as well as moral support,” said the
President. “I shall talk to Frau von Imhoff this very day.
She knows the people here. Be assured of this, my lord,
that I shall watch over the boy as over my own child. The
Niirnberg horseplay will not be repeated. That I give you
complete freedom of intercourse with Caspar need scarcely
be mentioned. Count, my house is yours. Believe me: un-
der the cover of the official and the judge there beats a heart
that is susceptible to friendship. In this country of petty
spirits one is not pampered by much association with men.”

After they had briefly discussed what reports were to be
sent to Herr von Tucher and the Niirnberg City Council,
Stanhope took his departure.

The President walked up and down for a long time, sunk
in deep thought. From minute to minute his face became
darker and more restless. A curious gnawing distrust, which
was not to be waved aside, rose in his breast. With the
flight of time after the Count’s leaving the room, this painful
~ sensation grew apace. He was too skilled in his knowledge
of men to pass over certain indications which roused his
suspicions. Suddenly he struck his head with his hand, went
to his desk and wrote three letters in great haste: one to
Paris to a friend in high position, another to the Bavarian
Minister in London, a third to the Minister of Justice, Dr.

[241]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

von Kleinschrodt, in Minchen. In the first two letters he
asked for accurate information about Lord Stanhope’s per-
son, in the third he announced that he would soon arrive
in the capital and asked for a furlough for the purpose of
traveling.

He had all three letters sent off at once by express post.

[242]
XIV
NIGHT WILL COME

StanuOPE had ordered the coachman to drive on ahead.
He walked through the deserted streets in which his steps
resounded as in a church. He was disturbed and broken,
and unable to come to any sensible decision. When he
reached the hotel he shut himself in and practiced fencing
for half an hour with his small sword.

He did not stop until he heard a voice outside arguing
with the butler, who had orders not to admit any one.
Stanhope listened, he recognized the voice, nodded indiffer-
ently, and with the sword still in his hand opened the door.
It was Hickel, who at once entered and greeted the Count,
who looked at him in silence, with some embarrassment.

When asked what he wanted, he cleared his throat and
stammered a few disconnected flowery phrases from which
it was evident that he knew of Stanhope’s visit to Feuerbach.
His behavior, in spite of something which affected one like
cringing, betrayed an intangible, impertinent familiarity.

Stanhope looked steadily at the excited man in the hand-
some uniform. “What is the real meaning of your offering
me your assistance in bringing about a meeting with the
President?” he asked icily.

“But your lordship permitted me to be of assistance,” re-
plied Hickel. “Who knows whether the President would
have been accessible without me; he knows how to make
himself inaccessible. Your lordship will not condescend to
recognize that. Ah, well,” he added, shrugging his shoul-
ders, “great men will have their moods.”

“How do you come to offer yourself as an intermediary
at all?” @

C243]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

“Intermediary? Your lordship attaches too much im-
portance to my innocent offer of help.”

“You have made it important yourself. You preferred
to express yourself unclearly. You permitted yourself sev-
eral expressions about which I politely request to be enlight-
ened.” Stanhope continued to conceal under an exterior of
frigid dignity the insecurity which he felt with this man.

“I am entirely at your lordship’s service,” replied Hickel.
“May I, for my part, inquire how far your lordship intends
to disclose himself ?”’

“To disclose myself? To disclose myself to whom? To
you? I have nothing to disclose.”

“Your lordship may regard me as a man of complete dis-
cretion.”

“What does that mean?” exclaimed Stanhope with irrita-
tion. “Are you presenting me with charades to solve?”

“Before your lordship’s arrival they were looking for a
responsible person,” said Hickel suddenly, with icy calm.
“My many years of association with his excellency, the Presi-
dent, recommended me more than some of my modest capa-
bilities.”

Stanhope grew pale and looked at the floor. “So you
have direct orders?” he murmured.

The policeman bowed. “Orders, no,” he replied hesi-
tatingly. “They made sure of my good will, and I was told
to place myself at your lordship’s service.”

It seemed to Stanhope as if he had already once that day
died a death of penitence and had arisen to life again, and
were now finally and definitely handed over to his destiny.

He wanted to appear at five o'clock at tea at Frau von
Imhoff’s and asked the lieutenant whether he cared to drive
a part of the way with him. Although from the sound of
the question the desire for a refusal was evident, Hickel,
who wanted to be seen in public together with Lord Stan-
hope, accepted gratefully.

The streets were somewhat more alive than at the noon

[244]
 

NIGHT WILL COME

 

hour; old civil servants and pensioners took their daily walk
along the promenade at this hour. Many remained standing
and bowed toward the interior of the distinguished carriage.

Now it happened that at one of the street corners the man
on the box suddenly broke into his usual loud jabbering,
for there stood on the corner a dreamy, sky-gazing gentle-
man who seemed to take no notice of the approaching ducal
carriage. Greatly frightened, this man jumped when the
Alsatian coachman began to swear, but not so quickly but
that his clothes were spattered with the mud which splashed
from the hoofs of the horses and the wheels of the carriage.

Hickel leaned his head out of the window and grinned,
for the bespattered creature stood with a disconcerted and
unhappy expression, holding his arms out from his body and
looking at the mess he was in.

“Who is the awkward wretch?” asked Stanhope, annoyed
at the policeman’s gloating mien.

“He? That's the teacher, Quandt, my lord.”

A curious coincidence. Half an hour later the same name
was mentioned at Frau von Imhoff’s. The President and
his friend, after long consultation, had agreed to put Caspar
under the care of Quandt. :

“He is an enlightened and cultivated man and enjoys
general respect, both as a citizen and as a man,” said Frau
von Imhoff.

“And is he inclined to accept so responsible an under-
taking 7” asked Stanhope absent-mindedly. But Frau von
Imhoff was not able to give any reply.

The next morning, when Stanhope had himself announced
at the President’s, he met Herr Quandt himself there. Evi-
dently they had already reached an agreement, for Feuerbach
seemed very cheerful, and when Lord Stanhope apologized
to Quandt for the incident of the day before with the car-
riage, the President was amused at the teacher’s embarrass-
ment, which he even increased by harmless jests about absent-
minded thinkers and so forth. His laughter produced anx-

[245]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

ious perspiration on Quandt’s forehead, he bowed before
Stanhope like a Mussulman before the Kalif and it looked
as if he must feel flattered that the mud of the count’s car-
riage had felt his unimportant person worthy of any notice.

“Now Quandt, don’t put on such airs,” the President
warned him jovially. “I bet your wife scolded you thor-
oughly, and took a lot of trouble to get your jacket clean
again.”

“It was only my overcoat, Your Excellency,” replied
Quandt smiling and blissful over all this generous affability.
Stanhope remained dignified. This time they were in the
President’s state reception room and three high windows
looked out on the garden. The room was comfortably fur-
nished and here, too, everything was extremely orderly. In
a kind of deep niche there hung a good oil painting of
Napoleon Bonaparte in his coronation robes. Stanhope stud-
ied it with pretended interest; actually he was carefully
observing the personality and demeanor of the teacher.

Quandt was of medium size and lean. Over his high
forehead his hair, of the yellow of tobacco, was brushed
back to a ridiculous sleekness with the help of pomade. His
eyes were shy, almost sorrowful, and blinked at times, his
hooked nose protruded a little boastfully, his mouth hidden
under an humble and stubby beard, had a bitter expression
which betrayed the professional habit of much nagging.

Stanhope did not seem dissatisfied with the result of his
observation. He asked the President whether the negotia-
tions had been successfully concluded, and when the latter
replied in the affirmative he turned to Quandt and stretched
out his right hand to him in silent gratitude and said that
he would call upon him in the afternoon. Stupefied at so
much graciousness the teacher again bowed deeply, bowed
low to the President, and left.

Stanhope, too, went away soon, as Feuerbach was obliged
to attend a session of his court. On arriving back at the
hotel, Stanhope spent two hours in writing a letter, and

[246]
 

NIGHT WILL COME

 

when it was finished sent the butler off with it. At halfpast
one the police lieutenant arrived by appointment; they
lunched together and then went to call on Quandt.

The teacher’s little house, which was near the upper gate
at Kronacher Buck, had been polished spick and span. Frau
Quandt, a fresh, pleasing young woman dressed in a brown
silk dress, as if for a wedding, stood curtseying at the en-
trance; in the best room a table was laden with pastry-
baker’s cakes and the fine porcelain service gleamed invit-
ingly on the snow-white table-cloth.

His lordship was paternally friendly toward the teacher’s
wife. She was pregnant and he accordingly congratulated
her, a pressure of his hand strengthened his warm expres-
sion of interest. He asked whether it was the first time; the
young woman turned scarlet, shook her head and said that
she had already a three-year-old boy. When the coffee was
served Quandt gave her a hint and she quietly left the room,
leaving the three men alone.

Stanhope said that he could not yet reconcile himself with
the idea of a separation from Caspar, but that he was en-
chanted with this peaceful and orderly domesticity and was
much relieved to know his favorite would be taken care of
here. So one might at least hope that the unfortunate boy
who had been exposed to so many bungling hands and had
suffered in body and soul had at last reached a harbor of
safety.

Quandt placed his hand over his breast to indicate his
pledge.

“Yes,” interrupted Hickel, swallowing his last bite of
cake and wiping his beard and lips with the back of his
hand, “that’s so, and now at last we shall have light on this
child of darkness.”

His lordship frowned, a sign of displeasure which Hickel
did not fail to perceive; he smiled vacantly, however, and
assumed a threatening mien.

“Unfortunately there is cause for suspicion,” continued

[247]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

Stanhope, and his voice was toneless and cold. “Wherever
one turns and however one looks at it, everywhere there is
suspicion and doubt. So it is no wonder that one’s’ original
affection is steeped in bitterness. Though I feel ready to
yield to my affectionate impulses, voices nevertheless make
themselves heard, whose judgment or weight it would be
senseless to suspect and the slumbering spark of suspicion
has not been extinguished.”

“So, then,” Hickel broke in again, “I am right after all.
We must make a clean sweep of things. The deceitful fel-
low must finally be made to behave himself. His tricks must
finally be driven out of him.”

Stanhope turned white; gazing past Hickel he said cut-
tingly: “Lieutenant, I must protest against such a tone.
Whatever evidence there may be against the boy, he can only
be regarded as the misguided victim of an unknown crim-
inal.”

Hickel bent his head and again a vacant smile passed
over his face. “Excuse me, your lordship,” he replied
quickly, considerably frightened, “but that is the opinion of
the whole world, at least of the enlightened and intelligent
public. Only yesterday I was present when Baron von
Lang and Pastor Fuhrmann gave their opinion about the
foundling and the nonsense of the Niirnbergers. Your
lordship should have heard that. We also know here, it
has become known through judicial channels, what Herr
von Tucher has written to you about the foundling’s ingrati-
tude and moral corruption. Just show Herr Quandt the
Baron’s letter and he will be convinced himself that I have
only said what every decent and unprejudiced man thinks
about the matter.” And Hickel gazed curiously and pene-
tratingly at the Count. §

“That is not quite true,” replied Stanhope curtly, mechan-
ically sipping his coffee. “Herr von Tucher in his letter only
speaks of some bad habits of Caspar’s. I have eyes, too.
A loving heart is never blind; even though one does not

[248]

’
 

NIGHT WILL COME

 

know how to measure, one does possess the gift of percep-
tion. Moreover, let us not anticipate our worthy host. It
will be his task to judge. What has grown crooked he can
straighten out, and if he cleans the ugly spots from my treas-
ure I shall thank him royally.”

Hickel drew a wry face and remained silent. Quandt
had followed the conversation with intense attention. Why
such a discussion, he thought, as if it weren't the easiest
thing in the world to recognize whether he is a rascal or
not. One must keep one’s eyes open, that’s all. A good
person is good, a bad one bad; where's the difficulty? To
eradicate an evil, if it’s not too deep, is only a question of
energy and circumspection. But it seems to me, it does seem
to me, the teacher continued to meditate silently within
himself, as though there were some quite different things
hidden here; the gentlemen are not speaking their minds.

And in this reflection he had probably hit upon the truth,
as was soon apparent. He began to develop for the benefit
of the politely listening lord his attitude toward morality,
toward intercourse in human society, how to deal with pupils,
the necessity for attention, the worth of censure, all diffusely
and with circumlocution, but everything simple, astonish-
ingly simple; only his worried expression gave him an ap-
pearance of difficulty and philosophy. Lord Stanhope nodded
his head several times while Hickel gave decided signs of
impatience. Then, as they were leaving, while Stanhope
was saying good-by to Quandt’s wife, Hickel drew the teacher
aside and whispered to him: “Don’t let yourself be intimi-
dated by the Count’s speeches, my dear Quandt. The good
Count is deceiving himself and would like not to recognize
what is as clear as day. This devilish story affects him
curiously. You will do him a great service if you expose
the swindler.”

That was the catchword- and the keynote. It contained the
kernel of the plot. Now Caspar, you are to go into a small
town, into a small house; you are to live hidden away, and

C249]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

the walls of the world are to press in upon you until they
again become a prison. Force and cunning have joined; the
judge will pronounce a sentence upon what he sees and will
not know what he feels. You are to become insignificant in
order that your friends may change into foes, and your
loneliness may make you the more easily fall a victim to
the pursuer. Blood is to bear witness against itself, light
will fail, fruit will cease to grow, the voice of heaven will
become silent and the night—for night will come—shall
have no morrow.

[250]
XV
A CHAPTER IN LETTERS
Freiherr von Tucher to Lord Stanhope

For a considerable time I have been without news of Your
Excellency. The uncertain situation in which I find myself
toward Caspar causes me to intrude myself more upon you,
Gracious Sir, than you may care to have me, in order to beg
you to put a speedy end to the suspense with regard to his
affairs. All the more, since my interest in the foundling is
not what it formerly was, and he himself must regard his
forced residence in my house more in the light of an im-
prisonment than as a guest and member of the household.
A definite status would be most desirable for the boy, for
his excited hopes prevent his mind from being in any way
at rest, and from day to day he glows with such feverish
expectation that continuous study cannot be thought of, and
even the stupidest eye could not fail to perceive the state of
unrest he is in. He spends his evenings in useless scribbling
and his chief pleasure is to trace with a lead pencil on a large
map the roads which he soon hopes to travel with Your
Lordship, certainly a practical, though perhaps one-sided
way of learning geography. He speaks, thinks and dreams
of nothing but the trips which he is about to take with you,
‘my lord, and if you retain the slightest interest in the wel-
fare of the unfortunate boy I can make no stronger appeal
to your kindness than to beg you to end this intense and
fruitless disquiet as quickly as possible. You are the only
person in the world whose word still has weight in his ears,
and his measureless trust in you must move the heart even
of one who, on account of the moods, the unreliability and

C251]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

the hybrid nature of this puzzling personality has been robbed
of his former pronounced attachment.

Dauwmer to President Feuerbach

Your Excellency has paid me the honor to ask me for
information as to Caspar’s present condition. I must confess
that this has to a certain extent embarrassed me. In the
last year and a half I have purposely avoided approaching
the boy, who has been so carefully segregated, since here
in this part of the world every one is anxious to preserve
his smallest privilege from the intervention of strangers,
and thus an interest which concerns humanity, and must call
forth pity from every free spirit, is inadvertently made a
party cause. May Your Excellency pardon this insinuation
and regard it solely as a proof of my inalterable interest in
the fate of the foundling, which now gives his friends less
reason than ever for exaggerated hopes. Your Excellency’s
confidential letter has conquered my scruples; I have recently
visited Caspar at the Tucher house and he has also been at
my house for the first time in a long while, and I will give
you some information about him which, although of a general
nature, will reveal the peculiarities of his present situation.

Caspar has become a tall young man who now makes the
general impression of a boy of twenty-two. If he, who must
now be counted among those accustomed to human society
and manners, were to enter unknown among a group of peo-
ple he would certainly cause surprise by his strange appear-
ance: his walk has something of the anxious hesitation and
carefulness of a cat’s, his features are neither masculine nor
childlike, neither young nor old (they are old and young at
the same time); and particularly on his forehead a few
slight wrinkles betray a premature ageing. A light down
grows on his lips; this often seems to embarrass him, nor
does it accord with the gentle girlishness of his face and the
brown curls which still hang down to his shoulders. His

[252]
 

A CHAPTER IN LETTERS

 

friendliness is most winning, his seriousness deliberate, and
over both there hangs a constant veil of melancholy. His
behavior is precocious, but it has, however, a distinguished
and quite spontaneous gravity. Some of his gestures are
still clumsy and awkward, and his speech, too, is harsh, as he
does not always find the right word. He enjoys looking
serious, saying things presumptuously which would sound
nonsensical if some one else said them, but which coming
from him compel a pained and pitying smile. For example,
it is highly absurd to hear him talk of his plans for the
future, of the way in which he will establish himself when
he has really learned something and how he will live with his
wife. He regards a wife as a necessary article of furniture,
as a sort of superior maid whom one keeps so long as she
is useful and sends away if she puts too much salt in the
soup or does not mend one’s shirts properly.

The constant calm quiet of his spirits resembles the peace
of a lake, smooth as a mirror in the moonlight. He is in-
capable of offending ; he cannot hurt any animal ; he is tender-
hearted toward the very worm, which he fears to tread upon.
He loves mankind, the face of every human is to him the
countenance of a god and he seeks all of heaven in it. There
is no longer anything extraordinary about him except his
extraordinary fate. He is now a mature boy who had no
childhood, who lost his first youth without knowing how;
a young man without a country, without a home, without
parents, without relations, without contemporaries, without
friends: the only creature of his kind, as it were. Every
moment reminds him of his loneliness in the midst of the
throng swarming around him, of his helplessness and his
dependence on the pleasure and displeasure of others. And
so his whole behavior is only a defense, defense his gift of
observation, defense the circumspect clear-sightedness with
which he sees every peculiarity and weakness of other peo-
ple, defense the intelligence with which he executes his de-
sires and knows how to utilize the good will of his patrons.

L253]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

Yes, Your Excellency, he is without friends. For we
who wish him well, who have saved him from experiencing
crass want, we are only the observers of the monstrous mys-
tery of his existence. And that much talked of man, Lord
Stanhope, can he really be called Caspar’s friend? What
shall we think? Where is there any fact to allay our well-
grounded suspicion? I anticipate terrible things when I
think of the boy’s expectations with regard to the Count,
who would have to be a saint without a peer, if all of the
promises were to be fulfilled which his appearance connoted
for Caspar. And if they be not fulfilled, or if only a one-
hundredth part of them be not fulfilled, I prophesy a bad
end; for such a heart, lifted from the depths into the life
of the world, which has been exposed after the most com-
plete serenity to the most extravagant enticements, wants
everything and demands the whole measure of happiness or,
if cheated only of a little, must succumb to a measureless
desolation.

I confess that my pessimistic temperament leads me to such
bold considerations rather than the talk of the people here,
which is becoming very frank indeed; how dare I express
my distrust toward a man so highly situated? But to-day
people are beginning to say that Caspar is to go to a tutor in
Ansbach. Frau Behold, Caspar’s old enemy, is spreading
the rumor abroad, and announces everywhere with malicious
pleasure that nothing has come of the English trip and of
the Count’s air castles. My sister tells me that the Magis-
trate’s wife has had indirect news from Quandt’s wife; the
two women are childhood friends and grew up in the same
house. God forbid that Caspar should discover this gossip.
I should be most grateful to Your Excellency if you would
have direct information sent me, so that I can contradict
this absurd gossip, in accordance with the best interests of
our protégé.

[254]
 

A CHAPTER IN LETTERS

 

Feuerbach to Herr von Tucher

In response to Your Honor’s request, as well as to the
necessity of the situation, I hereby inform you that you are
from to-day relieved of your position as tutor to Caspar
Hauser. The local and city judiciary will simultaneously in-
form you of this officially, as well as of the fact that Caspar
Hauser is to be given over to Lord Stanhope, of course, only
as a matter of form, for the time being, for, until the present
complicated and difficult conditions may admit a change, Cas-
par is to be taken care of in the house of Quandt, the teacher.
Lord Stanhope will, during this time, provide for his regular
education and care, while I myself, in the absence of his
foster-father, will watch over the boy’s welfare. On the
seventh of this month, Police Lieutenant Hickel, an ener-
getic officer, who has been appointed by a decree in council
as special guardian for the period of Caspar’s transfer to
Ansbach, will appear at your house. His Grace, Lord Stan-
hope, at the last moment decided to absent himself from
this formal step which in the eyes of the public is to
have a completely official character, and his determination
has my complete approval. I see no difficulty in informing
Caspar of the changed condition of affairs and regard the
anxiety concerning this as exaggerated. I myself expect
within the next few days to make a long-planned visit to
the capital. I hope during my stay to take the opportunity to
bring about a definite and favorable change in Caspar’s
condition of life.

Baron Tucher to President Feuerbach

I most humbly beg to inform Your Excellency that the
sudden death of my uncle compels me to leave the city and
to go to Ansbach. I have left the responsibility for Caspar,
. since he is still in my home, to Mayor Binder and Professor
. Daumer, leaving it to their discretion to have Caspar remain

[2551]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

here or to take him to one of their homes. I have not yet
communicated, nor even hinted to the boy what is to take
place, and I must frankly confess that a certain unconquer-
able fear holds me back. Caspar still believes firmly and
obstinately that he is to go either to England or to Italy
with his distinguished patron, and an even temporary separa-
tion from the Count seems to him an utter impossibility. The
person who would bring him such information would have
to have godlike powers of persuasion to reconcile him with
these new circumstances. With all due deference, it seems
to me a mistake to put the boy back again into humble cir-
cumstances which will never satisfy him nor quench his
thirst for life and activity. The trend of his ideas has be-
come disastrously pretentious, he has grown away from the
circle of peaceful bourgeois life, his interest in his studies in
the last months has been equal to zero; all his thoughts and
strivings were fixed upon Lord Stanhope, and if the latter
leaves him now I am sure the boy will be left unhappy, use-
less and pitiful, a member of human society that has been
severed from every social connection. If it were the essential
characteristic of the children of princes to be useless and
helpless in private life, certainly Caspar would be an elect
among princes. Perhaps, however, fate is still molding him
and he will become a man able to win a crown, even though
it may not be a royal one. For me the Caspar Hauser inci-
dent is now at an end, and whatever the bitterness and dis-
appointment I may have gotten out of it, it has given me an
insight into human affairs and human delusions which for
the sake of my later years I should not like to have missed.
Thus every one has to pay in his own manner.

Daumer to President Feuerbach

I feel myself obligated to give Your Excellency an honest
picture of the events of the last few days in so far as truth
may be drawn from the evidence of one pair of eyes. Per-

[256]

 

3
3
]
i

SS es
 

A CHAPTER IN 1ETTERS

 

haps much of what I have to report sounds so unusual that
I must ask myself whether a man who has the bad reputa-
tion of not being entirely dispassionate is the most suitable
person to describe such occurrences. But I have no fear of
Your Excellency’s severe scrutiny; if I am objective the
cause will speak for itself, and my only task is to state the
facts in their proper sequence, which, of course, may not
always be quite easy.

Four days ago Herr von Tucher called upon me and told
me that he was obliged to leave town on account of a death
in his family. He had previously asked Herr Binder and
myself to assume the supervision of Caspar for as long as
the boy would still have to remain in Nirnberg. Since this
seemed curious to me, Herr von Tucher allowed me to per-
ceive that the customary disregarding of his official station
by those in high places imperatively obliged him to resort
to this course. He meant the letter of Your Excellency
through which I was, half against my will, moved to seek
out Caspar again and to interest myself in him once more.
This, Herr von Tucher had taken very badly. I did not
give myself the trouble to alter the proud man’s point of
view; also I am inclined to think to his honor that his be-
havior was prompted by more serious and human impulses,
for when I asked him whether he had given Caspar any hint
to expect the arrival of Police Lieutenant Hickel he with-
drew into his shell, replying quickly that he wanted to leave
this to me since I had a more persuasive manner and Caspar
had more confidence in me.

That afternoon I decided to visit Caspar. When I en-
tered his room he was reading the Christian devotions of
the day. He looked up cheerfully from his book, gazed
into my face and—nothing more curious can be imagined—
in an instant his face turned deathly white. I felt a weight
on my chest, sat down on a chair and remained silent and
anxious. I entirely forgot the role I had assumed, I only
felt with him, for I perceived that he had read from my

[2571]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

eyes everything that I had to say and why I had come.
The unconscious fear must have been slumbering in him,
for I cannot explain it in any other natural way; I felt that
suddenly the roots of his heart were torn open. He got
up and staggered; I tried to hold him up; he was scarcely
aware of my presence; he seemed completely stunned. I
followed him over to the bed, he threw himself on it, doubled
his body up, and began to cry in such a way that it froze
the marrow of my bones.

Nothing had yet happened ; everything could still go right,
so at least I imagined, and uttered a lot of consolations. His
weeping lasted for about half an hour. Then he got up,
crept into a corner, cowered down and covered his face with
his hands. I talked to him incessantly; I don’t know any
more exactly all I said. Toward six o’clock in the evening
I left him and, although up to then he had not once opened
his mouth, I thought that he would get over the thing. I
told the servant to look after Caspar occasionally and made
a tacit resolve to return a few hours later, but it was im-
possible; my professional work kept me occupied far into
the night. When I had left Caspar he was sitting on a
bench between the stove and the closet; the next morning I
entered his room again at half-past eight, and who can
describe my painful astonishment when I saw him in just the
same place, in an unchanged position, his hands still pressed
against his face, just as I had left him fourteen hours be-
fore. The bed was still in the same condition, somewhat
disordered from the way he had sunk down upon it; no
object had been touched ; on the table stood his porridge cov-
ered with a thick skin of milk, his evening meal, and next
to it a cold cup of breakfast coffee. The atmosphere of the
room was sticky and heavy. The servant came and answered
my silent inquiry with a shrug of the shoulders. I turned
to Caspar himself, I shook him by the shoulder, I seized his
ice-cold hands—nothing, no answer, no sound—he contin-
ued lifeless, his eyes hardly moved. Another quarter of an

[258]
 

A CHAPTER IN LETTERS

 

hour passed, then, the situation becoming uncanny, I re-
solved to send for the doctor, perhaps I even murmured
something about doing so, in any case Caspar understood
what I intended to do, for now he moved, lifted his head as
if out of an excavation and looked at me. Oh, what a
glance! If I grow as old as Abraham I shall never forget
it. He was a different person. Unfortunately, it is not my
nature to seize the whole meaning of a situation in a mo-
ment. Instead of remaining silent, I began again with my
attempts at consolation, but I felt at once that it would be
better not to evoke a last glow of hope for this stricken
soul. My excuse is that I scarcely knew clearly myself
what was going on, and that the crushing effect of something
entirely unspoken, which I was the witness of, was more
paralyzing and shocking than the knowledge of it. But I
will not confuse Your Excellency by observations and shall
tell everything correctly in its sequence.

I had already lost too much time. I had to go. After a
great deal of trouble I had succeeded in persuading Caspar
to lie down a little and he had promised to eat luncheon with
us. That was more than I had dared to hope, so, some-
what reassured, I went about my business and got home as
usual about half past twelve; we waited some time but Cas-
par did not come. I supposed that he had fallen asleep,
for I had seen that he had not closed his eyes the whole night,
and without thinking anything was wrong I returned to the
gymnasium at two o'clock, intending to look in at the Hir-
schelgasse on my way home. I did this; it was halfpast four
and beginning to get dark, when I got to the Tucher House,
but how did I feel when the porter told me that Caspar had
left the house at twelve o’clock and said he was going to
my house. I felt as though I had been struck on the head.
In addition to all the responsibility I felt the most well-
founded alarm for the boy. I ran home; Caspar had not
been seen; I sent my sister to the Mayor, even my old
mother went out to inquire among some of the neighbors.

[259]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

During this time I consulted Kandidat Regulein and, as my
sister Anna came back quickly and we saw at once from
her face that she had not found out anything, it seemed that
we should at once inform the police, who in the case of an
accident, were also responsible, since they had shown strik-
ing negligence in watching the boy of late. I hastily gave
a few more instructions and was getting ready to leave when
the door opened and Caspar stood on the threshold.

But was it really he? We thought that we beheld a
ghost. I am not guilty of exaggeration when I assure you
that we were all nearly in tears. Without looking about,
without speaking, and with a curious slowness he walked
through the room to the table, seated himself on a wooden
bench, leaned his chin in his hand and gazed steadfastly and
silently into the light of the lamp. We were all three as if
bewitched, and my sister as well as the Kandidat confessed
to me later that they felt chilled to the heart. Meantime
my mother returned; she was the first to walk up to the
table and to ask Caspar where he had been. He gave no
answer. My sister Anna thought that she could more likely
get him to speak; she took his hat from his head, stroked his
hair with her hand, and tried in a low voice to draw him
out of his brooding. It was all in vain; he gazed constantly
at the light, right into the light, his hands spread across his
cheek, his chin over his thumb. I approached him quietly
and looked at him more closely, but his face betrayed noth-
ing but an immovable, not even painful, but a numb, almost
stupid seriousness. My mother continued to urge him to
tell us where he had been and how he had come. Then he
looked at us all in turn, shook his head and folded his hands
imploringly.

We decided among ourselves that Caspar should remain
in our house and spend the night there. In order to quiet
the excitement about Caspar’s disappearance, we at once
sent the maid back to the Mayor and to the other peopie
whom we had already disturbed, and my mother went into

[260]
 

A CHAPTER IN 1ETTERS

 

the kitchen to see about supper, when the Tuchers’ servant
appeared to inquire whether Caspar was with us, and when
we replied in the affirmative, he said that Caspar must go
home at once, as Policeman Hickel had come from Ansbach
and Caspar must leave with him that night. Such a message
was not unexpected, but I was to a certain extent upset that
it should come so quickly, and I was thoughtless enough to
give the man a sharp answer. If I remember correctly I sent
word to the Police Lieutenant to wait a bit; he was not trans-
porting a sack of potatoes, which one could load helter-skelter.
My excitement must be comprehensible to any one who
gives fair consideration to the preceding events; but when
I thought it over I was angry at my heedlessness and asked
Kandidat Regulein to go to the Tucher house and talk to the
gentleman from Ansbach and explain matters as diplomati-
cally as possible. That would have been all right, only fate
would have it that the Kandidat, who is rather fond of talk-
ing and who was glad to have anything with which to enter-
tain the stranger, made haste to tell the Lieutenant the story
of Caspar’s disappearance, which was the cause later on
of a most painful scene.

It was already seven o'clock when supper was placed on
the table; the Kandidat had not yet come back; we all took
our seats and were once again, as we had been formerly,
quite alone with Caspar. But how different were the cir-
cumstances and how changed was Caspar! I could not keep
my eyes from the boy as he sat there with downcast eyes
and toyed listlessly with his porridge. His glance was rest-
less and at times a shudder passed over his frame. I could
not spend much time in these considerations, for about quar-
ter past seven the doorbell was pulled with peculiar violence.
Anna ran down to open the door and there at once appeared
an officer in policeman’s uniform, and before he could utter
his name I knew who it was. Caspar had been much star-
tled at the loud sound of the bell. T must add that the
above mentioned discussion with the servant, as well as the

[261]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

conversation with the Kandidat, had taken place in front of
the stairs in the hall and that Caspar had not heard any of
it. He got up now and gave a penetrating glance toward
the door, and when the police lieutenant came into sight his
cheeks again become as deathly pale as on the day before
when I had entered his room. When I consider the facts in
their connection one with another, I can think of no other
explanation than that Caspar from within himself, as if
from some inner vision, had guessed what had been going
on for the last twenty-four hours and needed no evidence
from external events, for he fell into a state of such absorp-
tion that I can compare it only with the frightful calm of a
sleep-walker. I was by this time so much affected that I
am afraid I received Herr Hickel with unfriendly coldness.
Fortunately the latter seemed to take no notice of this, and
after he had bowed to the ladies, he turned to Caspar and
said in a tone of surprise, which, of course, did not sound
quite straightforward, “So this is Hauser. Why, he is quite
a grown-up person, who can be talked to sensibly.” Caspar
stared at the man with a dark penetrating glance in which
there was not the least trace of melancholy or complaint.
There was now a general silence. I considered how I could
arrange to have Caspar remain in my house for the night,
for to entrust him to a stranger in such a condition seemed
inadvisable. I explained the situation frankly to Herr Hic-
kel, he listened quietly, but said that he had definite orders
to take Caspar with him at once, there was no time to be
lost, his things must be packed, the carriage was already
waiting. My sister Anna, who is very impulsive, exclaimed
that I should not pay any attention to the man and simul-
taneously walked up to Caspar as if to protect him. Herr
Hickel smiled and said that if we cared so much about post-
poning matters and we still had something to say to Caspar
—and his voice at this point became so insinuating that I
became suspicious—that he did not want to be a killjoy but
I must promise to bring Caspar to Baron Tucher’s house

[ 2627
 

A CHAPTER IN LETTERS

 

promptly at nine o'clock. Now I lost control of myself and
asked whether in heaven’s name the matter were so urgent
that he must travel at night. Herr Hickel shrugged his
shoulders, looked at his watch and answered coldly that I
must decide. Now Caspar began to speak, and, in a voice
whose clearness and decision were quite new to me, he said
that he wished to go at once. We all saw, however, that he
trembled with exhaustion and that his legs could scarcely
support him. My mother and sister implored him to remain,
Herr Hickel, who had smiled at Caspar’s words—oh, I
know that smile, how often has it caused me to turn scarlet
with shame |—turned to me and said: “Well, then, Professor,
at nine o'clock,” and turning to Caspar he shook his finger at
him and said with a jesting threat: “See that you are prompt,
Hauser! And I must know where you loafed about this
afternoon. And whatever you do, don’t think of lying to
me or there will be trouble. I won’t stand any nonsense.”
Hickel bowed and went out, leaving us in a condition of
indignation, doubt and anxiety. The whole thing now
looked much worse than our worst fears had led us to
anticipate. The last words of the Lieutenant particularly
had frightened me and my family. What could we think of
Caspar’s future, what could we hope for his happiness if
threats of such a brutal nature could be made openly? My
heart had grown heavy. But there was no time for brood-
ing. I determined to go to the Mayor and consult him.
Anna had quickly prepared a bed on the sofa, she led Caspar
to it, he sank down; his head had hardly touched the pillow
before he was asleep. While I was getting ready to go the
bell rang and Herr Binder himself came. I quickly told
him what had happened; he was greatly astonished at the
procedure of the gentleman from Ansbach, and felt it ad-
visable to speak to him himself, for which purpose he asked
me to accompany him. We left Caspar in charge of the
women and went to the Hirschelgasse. In spite of the late
hour a number of people, principally of the lower classes,

[263]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

who had heard, I don’t know how, of Caspar’s impending
departure, had gathered in front of the Tucher House and
expressed their disapproval, some in murmurs, others aloud.

When we opened the door of Caspar’s room a remark-
able sight met our eyes. The drawers and closets had been
completely emptied: underwear, clothes, books, papers, and
toys, everything was lying in disorder on the floor and chairs,
and Herr Hickel ordered the servant, who had begun to
pack, to get the things in any order into a little traveling
trunk and chest. When he saw us and read the displeasure
in our glances he said smilingly, as if to say something flat-
tering to us, that from now on a new régime would begin for
the foundling; now everything would come to light. With
a frowning face Herr Binder asked him what he meant,
what actually was to come to light, at the same time inform-
ing him who he was. Herr Hickel became embarrassed ; he
uttered some meaningless words to evade making a reply;
he said that he was fond of Caspar, that he only cared about
saving the young man from false illusions. This made me
very angry and I asked who had created and nourished
such illusions, if it were not a certain gentleman, who seemed
now to be making himself scarce, and who had first dressed
up the unsuspecting lad in festive clothes, and when he dared
to walk about in them, regarded his action as a dangerous
presumption. Take it as one would, such a game was
damnable. That was hasty and careless, I admit, but I must
add that the policeman’s ironic calm irritated me. All the
more was I astonished when he agreed with me in every point,
but declined to enter into any further discussion and turned
again to the servant, urging him to hurry, since he did not
want to leave too late at night. Hereupon Herr Binder
remarked that the departure might well be postponed until
the next day, as Caspar needed rest, and he was prepared
to assume the responsibility. Herr Hickel replied that this
was impossible; he had strict orders and must insist on his
request. We were helpless.

[264]
 

A CHAPTER IN LETTERS

The lieutenant had seated himself on the edge of the table
and looked at us in silent sarcastic expectation. Then we
heard steps, and when we turned around—the door was
open—there stood Caspar and back of him my sister. Anna
whispered to me that Caspar had awakened shortly after
our departure and had declared that he would go with the
strange man and could not be deterred by any objection;
so she had accompanied him.

Caspar looked penetratingly about and then, turning to
Herr Hickel, he said: “Take me with you, officer; I know
where you mean to take me, and I am not afraid.” There
was in these words, although they were in themselves not
peculiar, a remarkable spontaneity and that which one calls
“bearing”; and I cannot conceal that they moved me pro-
foundly. I would have given a great deal if I could have
had Caspar alone to myself for an hour. The lieutenant did
not refrain from showing his pleasure at the unexpected
change and answered laughingly: “Come, come, afraid,
Hauser, why be afraid! We are not going to Siberia!”
Then he walked up to the boy, laid both hands on his shoul-
ders and said: “Now be frank with me, Caspar, and tell me
honestly where you kept yourself this afternoon?” Caspar
remained silent, then collected himself and replied dully:
“I can’t tell you” “Why, what does this mean? Come,
out with it!” exclaimed the lieutenant, whereupon Caspar
said: “I was looking for something!” “Why, what were
you looking for?” “A road.” “Damn it,” exclaimed Hickel,
“no play-acting with me and don’t try any of your hum-
bugging, or I'll show you where you're at. We, in Ansbach,
are not going to be taken in by any of your monkey-shines,
let me tell you that.”

Herr Binder and I were naturally much incensed at
this provocative language. But Herr Hickel did not show
any desire to justify himself; he briefly ordered Caspar
to get ready, as he was to leave in half an hour. Meantime
Baron Scheuer], Herr Enderlin and other acquaintances of

[265]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

Caspar’s, who had heard of his departure, had come to bid
him farewell; I had no opportunity to say even three words
to him; in a short time we were all gathered in the down-
stairs hall of the house. The crowd in the street had in-
creased ; in the darkness it looked as if all of Niirnberg were
assembled. Those standing near uttered threats, and Herr
Hickel demanded of the Mayor that he call out the guards,
but the latter declared such a procedure to be unnecessary,
and, as a matter of fact, his mere appearance was sufficient
to restore order.

When Caspar walked up to the steps of the carriage every
one crowded around him, every one wanted to see him once
more. The windows of the houses opposite were illuminated
and women waved their handkerchiefs. The luggage was
strapped on, the coachman cracked his whip—and he was
gone.

Convinced that Your Excellency is one of the boy’s few
honest well-wishers, I felt constrained to inform you accu-
rately of these incidents. It is only a few hours since these
events occurred; it is far past midnight; my pen is about
to fall from my hand; but I did not dare to allow any time
to elapse before writing, in order not to be guilty of mis-
representation owing to an error of memory. Where slan-
der is so tirelessly at work, well disposed persons must net
shun night vigils if they fear that even slumber may cheat
them of so much as a single trait in the accuracy of their
narrations of their own observations. Perhaps Your Excel-
lency may think that I interpret matters incorrectly, or over-
estimate their importance. It may be so, but I have in any
case discharged my duty and am not conscious of any omis-
sion. I am deeply concerned about Caspar, without being
able to say exactly why, but I have always been one who
sees ghosts and spirits, and my eye perceives the shadows be-
fore it takes in the light.

I must not forget to tell you in closing that Herr Tucher,
on his last visit, gave me the hundred gold florins which

[ 266]
 

A CHAPTER IN LETTERS

 

Caspar received as a present from Count Stanhope. I shall
send the money to Your Excellency by the next post.

Frau Behold to Frau Quandt

Excuse me, dear madame, for addressing you in writing,
which may seem un peu extraordinaire to you, since I am
quite a stranger to you, although you spent your childhood
in my parents’ house. It is a great étonnement to me to hear
that Caspar Hauser is to live in your house from now on,
and I feel myself impelled to tell you something about the
curious fellow. You know of course that Hauser was the
wonder child of Niirnberg. Spoiling and coddling came
within a hair of making a fool of the boy, for the people
here are simply crazy. In this misguided state we took him
into our home, out of pure Christian charity, and I swear
that this was our sole motive. The rest of the people were
still crazy enough to be afraid of the masked man with the
ax; we, however, were not afraid, and Caspar was loved
and regarded as our own child in our house. We were
badly repaid; no gratitude from Hauser and, moreover, the
unpleasant talk of his champions. No one has a word to
say about the many hours of irritation, and all the trouble
which his horrible lying made for us. Afterwards, of course,
he would at times promise to improve, and we would take
him to our hearts again, but all in vain; the spirit of lying
would not be vanquished, and he sank lower and lower into
his horrible vice. There has been much talk about his purity
of mind and his innocence in all such matters. About this,
too, I have something to tell, for I witnessed with my own
eyes at the time, how he approached my thirteen-year-old
daughter—she is now in Switzerland, in a boarding school—
in an improper manner, which could not be misunderstood.
When he was taken to task he would not admit it; and in
revenge he killed the poor blackbird which I had given him.
God grant that you may not have similar experiences with

[2671
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

him; he is chuck full of vanity, my dear, full of vanity, and
when he pretends to be kind-hearted, the knave is in hiding;
and if one crosses him there is an end to his cat-like friendli-
ness. No matter how much ingratitude and calumny we
had to bear because of his detestable behavior, no word of
complaint passed our lips, and what would have been the
use, you could not have believed him then, even if he had told
the truth; and he is not a liar, only a poor devil, a poor,
miserable devil. I believe that I am doing you and your hus-
band a favor if I lift the cover under which he carries on
his mischief. Count Stanhope, who is so kindly disposed
towards him, will soon make the discovery that he has nour-
ished a viper on his bosom. If only the Count had come to
me, this however that sly boots Hauser prevented and with
good reason. Be thoroughly on the alert, my good woman;
he has all kinds of ways of being secretive, first here, then
there, he hides something in a corner, which does not point
to anything good. And now won't you or your husband
after a time send me news of how your pupil gets on and
what you think of him, for, in spite of all that has happened,
he has a little bit of my heart and I only wish that he would
work diligently at self-improvement before he enters the
great world where he will need far more endurance and
strength than in our little world.

Of myself I can’t send good news: I am ill, one doctor
says it is a growth on the spleen, another calls it maladie
du coeur. The high cost of living is not calculated to im-
prove one’s humor either ; however, business is on the whole,
good.

Hickel Reports His Execution of the Order of the Trans-
portation of Caspar Hauser

I arrived, as instructed, in Nirnberg on the seventh and
went at once to Baron Tucher’s house, but di” not find the
ward at home, being told to my astonishment that he had

[268]
 

A CHAPTER IN'LETTERS

 

-

wandered around the whole afternoon, no one knew where
and why, which is, of course, against the rules. At that
time he was at Professor Daumer’s, probably intending
thereby to delay his departure and obtain the aid of his
friends in this effort. For when I spoke to Herr Daumer
all kinds of excuses were advanced with this purpose in
view. Hauser, too, indulged in some idiotic but quite trans- -
parent attempts to flimflam me, which did not prevent me,
however, from adhering to the letter of my instructions.
A vigorous inquiry as to where he had spent the afternoon
remained fruitless; the boy gave the silliest answers in the
world. My decisive behavior resulted in their ceasing to
talk of a delay; at nine o'clock the carriage was at the
house ; there was great commotion in the streets, the peo-
ple, probably secretly instigated, showed signs of insub-
ordination, but were quickly subdued by my threats of call-
ing out the militia. I ordered the coachman to hurry and
in a quarter of an hour we were out of the precincts of the
city. For three hours, until we reached the village of Gross-
haslach, my ward did not utter a syllable, but stared un-
interruptedly out into the dark. Certainly he may have
been in low spirits, since he must have realized that the
end of his illusions of grandeur was at hand. I had or-
dered the sergeant to meet us in Grosshaslach and while the
horses were being fed and watered we went into the room
of the post-inn. Hauser lay down at once on the bench by
the fire and fell asleep. I could not, however, free myself
from the suspicion that he was only pretending to sleep in
order to deceive the sergeant and me, and to overhear our
conversation. This suspicion was strengthened by the trem-
bling of his eyelids every time I mentioned something not
exactly complimentary about his person. In order to get
to the bottom of things and to find out the truth with regard
to the generally circulated fairy tale about his petrified
sleep I resorted to a little ruse. After a while, I gave the
sergeant a hint and we got up gently, as if about to leave,

[269 ]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

and behold '—hardly had we touched the door-handle, than
my friend Hauser hurried after us as if stung by a taran-
tula, behaved as if he were a little confused and disturbed
and followed us; we could hardly keep from laughing. In
the carriage, Hauser suddenly asked me whether the Count
was still in Ansbach; I answered in the affirmative, but
added that his lordship would travel into France in a few
, days, whereupon Hauser uttered a deep sigh. He leaned
back, closed his eyes and now really fell asleep, as I could
perceive from his deep breathing. The rest of the journey
was without noteworthy incident; it was quarter past three
and a driving snow when we reached the Star-Inn. This
time I had a great deal of trouble in rousing Caspar out of
his sleep, and it was only after some energetic shouting on
my part that he decided to get out of the carriage. Since
only the porter was up, and I did not want to have the
Count wakened, we accommodated the young man in a room
under the roof. I ordered him to go to bed, and for the
sake of safety locked the door from the outside and told
my sergeant to remain on guard till the break of day. If,
in conclusion, I should give my opinion about the personal-
ity and behavior of the ward, I must admit that the young
man called forth but little sympathy or pity in me. His
reserved, obstinate and secretive personality indicates if not
a perverse at least a lazy and obnoxious character. I did
not observe any remarkable characteristics about him, except
his really remarkable gift of acting, which is putting it
mildly. I fear that he will cause some disappointments here-
abouts.

Binder to Feuerbach

In order to anticipate all the superfluous gossip and
theories which may already have reached Your Excellency
on this subject, I am writing to inform you that I already
have sufficient disclosures concerning Caspar Hauser’s puz-

[2701]
 

A CHAPTER IN LETTERS

 

zling absence for four or five hours on the last afternoon
of his stay in this city. Of course this is not really a dis-
closure, for the various incidents of his behavior, as already
known to me, explain the boy’s actions just as little as what
he was willing to tell us.

I will state matters briefly. On the morning after Cas-
par’s departure, Hill, the prison warden, came to me and
said that Hauser had appeared yesterday afternoon, after
one o'clock, and had asked to be shown the room where he
had once been imprisoned. It happened that there was no
prisoner that day on the Luginsland, and Hill, after some
surprised questions and interrogations, had allowed Caspar
to enter. After he had stood there sunk in thought for a
time, he went into the self-same corner in which his straw-
bed had once stood and cowered down on the floor and
brooded silently. This seemed strange to Hill and since
all his attempts to raise the boy from his lethargy were
fruitless he returned to his house and told his wife what
had happened. She was just considering what to do, when
Caspar himself came down the steps and into the little room
which was also well known to him from former days, but
which he nevertheless scrutinized with a penetrating, thought-
ful glance just as he had done above in the cell. Hill and
his wife thought that the poor soul had nothing less than
lost his wits. The latter approached him and asked him
some questions, but did not receive any reply. Then his
roving glance fell upon the warden’s two children, who were
playing together on a step by the window, and suddenly
he smiled curiously, approached them, and sat down on the
window-step which protruded over the floor.

Hill did the most sensible thing he could have done, he
let him be, and waited to see what would happen. After
Caspar had seated himself thus he began to stare at the
two children in such a way as if he had never seen children
in all his life. He bent forward, he literally studied their
fingers and their lips; his hungry glance devoured, as it

[271]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

were, their every gesture. The woman became anxious and
afraid; it was with difficulty that Hill prevented her from
interfering, for he did not fear any harm from the lad.
“Why, I know how gentle Caspar is,” was how he put it
to me. Suddenly Caspar jumped up, stretched out his arms
in the air, groaned, stared straight ahead as if he beheld
a ghost, then he turned around and ran with surprising
quickness to the door and down the steps and out into the
square. Hill followed him promptly for he concluded cor-
rectly that Caspar was in a dangerous state and should not
be left to himself. As he ran down Castle Hill toward
Fall Street, Hill managed to catch sight of him, and could
keep his eye on him.

Caspar now hurried quite senselessly through several
streets which ran this way and that, then over the glacis
towards the suburb of St. John’s on the other side. Hill
followed at a distance of about fifty yards and closely
watched every one of Caspar’s movements. Although the
boy’s course appeared to be purposeless, his steps were as
quick, indeed as impatient, as if he were snatching at some-
thing that was eluding him. He now went through the
Miihlgasse ; at the end of this street there is a flat field and
the street changes into a path running along the wall of
St. John’s Cemetery to the Pegnitz and leading to the woods.
At the wall of the cemetery, which is so low that a medium-
sized person can easily look over the top, Caspar suddenly
stood still, snatched his hat from his head and pressed his
hand against his forehead. Your Excellency will know that
once before it was observed that approaching a graveyard
had an extraordinary effect upon him. He seemed to trem-
ble, he breathed with his mouth open, his features expressed
horror, his skin turned white, it looked as if he could not
tear himself away; suddenly, however, he dashed ahead so
quickly that his observer had difficulty in keeping up with
him, also Hill thought that Caspar must fall into the water,

[2721
 

A CHAPTER IN LETTERS

 

for on the bank of the river he began to stagger in an
alarming manner.

Fortunately, he then turned towards the woods, which
were near at hand, and at once disappeared among the
branches. Hill was afraid that he might get away; he no-
ticed some workmen who were shoveling sand in a pit and
asked them to help him; three or four joined in the hunt
and they went separately into the woods, but it was Hill
himself, who, after searching for a long time, and having
already begun to fear the worst, first caught sight of him
again. He perceived him kneeling at the foot of a huge
oak, and saw him raise his hands, and heard him exclaim
in a voice of passionate entreaty: “Oh, tree, oh, you tree!”
Nothing besides these words, but uttered with the feeling
with which one says a prayer when one’s soul is in direst
need. Hill said that he could not bring himself to call to
him; altogether the simple man showed a humanity and a
delicacy of feeling during the whole procedure to which I
feel bound to pay tribute. The workmen whom he had
taken with him called to him; he made a sign and they came
up; Caspar meantime had started, frightened, he looked at
- the men one after the other and did not seem to recognize
Hill. The latter thanked the men and gave them to under-
stand that he no longer needed them. Hill put his arm
around Caspar, who allowed himself to be led out of the
woods without resistance, and in contrast to his former
behavior he showed complete composure. Hill asked him
where he wanted to go and he replied that he must go to
lunch at Herr Daumer’s. Hill laughed and reminded him
that lunch was over long ago. When they reached the city
walls it was already getting dark; Caspar now walked with
extraordinary slowness, and although Hill should have been
at the police station at four o’clock, he accompanied the boy
to Professor Daumer’s house and did not leave the spot
until the door had closed behind his protégé.

This, Your Excellency, is an accurate record of what the

C2731]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

man told me. There is no cause to suspect the trustworthi-
ness of his account, and I have had it entered on the rec-
ords. As I have said, I don’t know what to make of the
events themselves, but it is not for me to anticipate Your
Excellency’s conclusions. Yesterday I had Hill take me to
the place where he found Caspar kneeling, for I thought
that perhaps there might have been something peculiar about
it. It is unusual to find so peaceful a place so near the
city; the forest is thick and the silence and loneliness are
conducive to a contemplative mood. Hill recognized the
place with certainty and as evidence showed the footprints
and the moss which had been trodden upon. Beyond this
I remarked nothing noteworthy.

The police-soldier whose carelessness in guarding Caspar
is responsible for all this has been duly punished.

Lord Stanhope to the Gray One

I am still here in this remote nest, although I wanted to
be in Paris at Christmas. I long for free conversation,
masked balls, Italian operas and a walk along the boulevards.
Here all eyes are fixed upon me; every one wants to as-
sociate with me. It is said of a certain councilor’s family,
who are not in the best of circumstances, that they pawned
a golden clock, a handsome heirloom, in order to give a
soirée in honor of the lord. A lady, Frau von Imhoff—
of the old patrician aristocracy—is suspected of intimate
relations with me, perhaps only because the poor woman
is unhappily married, a situation about which gossip has
been thriving for years. Stupid nonsense! I regret to say
the lady is perfectly chaste. The rest of the people are
scarcely worth talking about. The good Germans are
servile to the point of nausea. The portly bureau-heads,
who take off their hats to me with slavish respect, would
gladly polish my boots if I should order them to do so.
Nothing prevents me from playing a kind of Caligula here.

C274]
 

A CHAPTER IN LETTERS

 

To come to business. There is no longer any external
reason for my staying here. I have executed that part of
my task which has been prescribed up to now. What more
is required of me? Of what further acts am I still con-
sidered capable? If Your Lordship, or your superior offi-
cers, still have confidential wishes, it would be well to ex-
press them soon, for the humble writer is “full up.” The
repast has stuffed him to the gorge, and now he must con-
sider his digestion. I am considering becoming a prelate
in Rome, or locking myself up behind the walls of a mon-
astery; I must, however, collect the necessary sum before-
hand for an indulgence. If the pope will not hear me, I
shall return to the bosom of the Puritan Church, and will
at least be saved the trouble and disgust of having to let
my beard grow. There are masks in my country, too, and
certainly a more dignified costume. Has the retired min-
ister H. in S. been informed of all this and protected against
a sudden attack? At what bank can I get my next stipend?
Thirty pieces of silver; how often may I multiply the sum?
Multiplication, you see, is my law of life. Herr von F.
went to Nirnberg a few days ago; for your information.
A conscientious raven has fastened his eye upon the docu-
ment as on a rancid piece of flesh, but it is still inaccessible
for the present. How high is the price set and if, in case
of war, bolder measures should become necessary, what is
to be the emolument of him who would enrich hell with a new
vassal? I must know this, for at present even the most
puny servants of Satan make their demands. If Herr
von F. goes so far as to take up matters with the Queen,
as he intends, a suitable representative must be found to
put out the fire which he would kindle; of course, in that
case the rancid piece of meat would begin to spread its
stench. A propos of this, a penetrating passage of Your
Honour in your last letter occurs to me; how does it go?
“You are beginning, my dear Count, to assign too much
worth to what is corrupt and infamous, as soon as it offers

[2751
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

even the slightest promise of utility and expediency.” Re-
moving unnecessary embellishments, I read as follows: “It
is incredible what a rascal you are.” Do you know the
pretty reply of old Prince M. when the American ambassa-
dor called him a liar to his face? “My dear friend,” re-
plied the prince, “you simply can not learn to be moderate
in your expressions.” Yes, let us be moderate, if not in
action then at least in speech. Why such funny language?
A scamp is born just as much as a nobleman. Any one
who has the arrogance to meddle in the life and fate of
another is a philistine or a fool, or both. Who knows me?
Who can judge or shape my character? Does not every
breath betray me? Related stars shone over your cradle
and mine. You are a faithful servant. That’s a very fine
excuse. Throw away everything which binds you and fly
in solitude to the sea, to the desert, to the North Pole, or
to another planet and find out whether you are still able
to enjoy the splendor of the sky and the sun’s light, and, if
that is the case, we will discuss the subject further. Let
us take refuge in the night like wolves and collect our
strength, for our victim might become able to defend himself.

The person we are ordered to watch has recently given
me some cause for anxiety, and I must admit that it is he
who still keeps me in this god-forsaken spot. Of course,
this is without his knowing it, and he seems quite suspicious
to me now; and I seem to myself at times like a deaf mu-
sician who is obliged to play on a stopped flute. However,
not only this holds me, but something else besides, with
which I do not want to importune your ear, which is not
well-disposed toward sentimentality of any sort. In any
case, and this is in all seriousness, dismiss me from the arena:
I am dazed, I am tired, my nerves no longer obey me, I am
becoming old, I am beginning to lose my taste for battles.
My opposition is aroused when the frightened rabbit runs
of his own accord into the teeth of the fiercest dog; I am
too fastidious to find this sort of thing amusing and I could

[276]
 

A CHAPTER IN LETTERS

 

hardly undertake not to cut a breach in the chain of drivers
at the last moment, which might help the hunted creature to
escape. Then a remarkable metamorphosis might take place,
the hare might become a lion and turn on his pursuers, and the
blood-thirsty pack would have to retire trembling to their
ambush. But do not be afraid, these are the last convulsive
twitches and vagaries of a senile conscience. I, too, am a
faithful servant—of myself. My job is my master. Our
passions are the constables of our souls. Only the thief
who has no philosophy in his carcass deserves to be hanged.
In my youth I found tears when I looked at the boy play-
ing the guitar in Carpaccio’s picture, in Venice; now I should
be unmoved to see a baby snatched from its mother’s breast
and its skull smashed against the curb-stone. This is what
philosophy does for one; if it paid better, I'might be happier.
I must take this opportunity to tell you an amusing dream
which I had recently, a real Gorgon of a dream. Both of
us, you and I, were bargaining for a certain article, when
suddenly you interrupted me with the words: “Take what
I offer you, for when you wake up you won't get anything” ;
this seemed to me a divine argument and so impossible to
oppose that, as a matter of fact, I woke up in terror, cov-
ered with perspiration.

Enough, more than enough. My game-keeper will bring
you this letter, which will annoy you by its lack of content.
The enclosed draft, which I am asking you to sign, will
conciliate you even less. I have paid the teacher a half-
year in advance. He is a man who can be used, as uncor-
ruptible as Brutus and as docile as a gentle horse. Like
all Germans, he has principles, which nurse his self-con-
fidence. Greetings to you; night demands its sleep.

C277]
 
THE SECOND PART
 
CHAPTER XVI
WORSHIP OF THE SUN

ON the morning after Caspar’s arrival Stanhope remained
in his room longer than usual. He still put off sending for
Caspar, taking his daily walk first. When he returned,
Caspar was walking up and down outside the drawing-room,
he seemed to ignore Stanhope’s gesture proffering embrace;
he looked stiffly at the floor. They went into the room, 1s
lordship took off his snow-covered fur-coat and asked as
nonchalant questions as possible, how Caspar had been, his
parting with his friends, and how the trip had proceeded, and
more of the same sort. Caspar answered readily, although
without going into detail; he was friendly, and not at all
oppressed or reproachful. This made Stanhope thoughtful
and it required a certain amount of concentration on his part
to continue this curiously cold conversation. He could not
even suppress a slight terror when he saw that Caspar now
observed him constantly, like a stranger, with his wine-
coloured eyes.

It was a relief when the police-lieutenant was announced.
Stanhope received him in the adjoining room; they talked
there together in low tones for more than half an hour.
After the count had gone out Caspar walked up to the
writing-table, took the diamond ring off his finger and laid
it with a deliberate gesture on a letter which had been begun;
the letter was in English. Then he walked to the window
and looked out into the snow.

Stanhope came back alone. He asked whether Caspar
knew where he was going to live. Caspar replied that he did.

“We had better go at once to the teacher’s in order to look
over your future lodgings,” said the lord.

Caspar nodded and repeated : “Yes, it will be best.”

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“The distance is not great,” said Stanhope. “We can go
on foot. But if you prefer, and if you fear the importuni-
ties of the people, which you must expect, I can order a
carriage.”

“No,” replied Caspar in friendly tones, “I should rather
walk. The people will console themselves when they see
that I walk on two legs.”

Then Stanhope’s glance fell on the ring. Astonished he
picked it up, looked at Caspar, looked at the ring again,
thought a moment with contracted brows, smiled a quick,
savage smile, then he silently put the jewel in a drawer,
which he locked. As if nothing had happened, he put on his
coat and said: “I am ready.”

The commotion in the streets was not very troublesome;
everything went off peacefully, the people here were good-
natured and shy.

Over the gate of Quandt’s house there was a wreath of
evergreen, in the middle of which, on a piece of cardboard,
was painted the word “Welcome.” Quandt came to meet his
guests in a roast-brown coat, in Sunday attire; his wife had
hung a Scotch plaid shawl over her shoulders in order that
her physical condition might be less noticeable.

First they looked at Caspar’s little room which was in the
upper story. There was an oblique mansard roof on one
side, otherwise it looked nice. Over the old fashioned, bright-
colored sofa there hung a print framed in black. The pic-
ture represented an indescribably beautiful girl stretching her
arms out with an expression of grief towards some one
disappearing into the bushes, whose legs and coat-tails were
still visible. On the other wall hung two little covers, on
which mottoes were embroidered; on one were the words:
“Get up early, go to bed late, what you've lost will be yours
again,” on the other “Hope is the staff of life from the
cradle to the grave.” On the window-ledge there were pots
with winter plants and the glance traveling over the low
roofs could enjoy the sight of a peaceful shut-in landscape,

[2827]
 

WORSHIP OF THE SUN

 

snow-white hills not too far away marking the beginning of
the valley.

Caspar, as he looked about, felt very sorrowful. He
thought of all his former anticipations now dead and gone,
a journey with a far-away goal: the road stretches gayly
ahead, clouds part as one nears them, hills move obligingly
aside, the air is rich with the songs of foreign parts, woods,
meadows, villages and cities glide by in a sun-warmed mist,
and beneath the encircling frame of heaven world after world
comes forth.

But of all this there was nothing left.

Below, in the living-room, the freshly washed floor-tiles
still steamed with dampness. Quandt explained to his lord-
ship the important points of his program. At times he looked
at Caspar and his glance was penetrating like that of a marks-
man who sizes up his target before taking aim.

Stanhope said that he considered himself fortunate in that
Caspar was now at last to be given a systematic education;
everything up to now had been arbitrary and uncertain. If
Herr Feuerbach had not insisted with such determination
that Caspar should stay in Ansbach—this was evidently
meant as an explanation to the silently listening boy—they
would doubtless be in England already, or on the way
there. “But since I know him to be in good hands, I am
nevertheless glad; one can see from this that even a thing
one is compelled to do against one’s wishes often has the
most fortunate consequences.”

His words were dry; it was as if his hat or his stick were
talking. The compliment they contained was commonplace,
and trite as dishwater. But for Quandt they were heart-
warming. He became visibly animated and said eagerly it
would be best for Caspar to come that very day. Stanhope
looked at Caspar questioningly; the latter sunk his head,
whereupon his lordship forced himself to smile indulgently.
“We won't rush things,” he said. “I’ll have the luggage sent
over to-morrow morning. I’ll still keep him with me to-day.”

[2831
 

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It had become dark when they both left the house. Quandt
accompanied them to the street. When he came back he
closed the door very quietly and slowly, as he always did,
then he stood in the middle of the room, laid both hands flat
against his breast and shook his head at least a quarter of a
minute in silent astonishment.

“Why are you shaking your head so?” asked Frau Quandt.

“I don’t understand, I don’t understand,” answered the
teacher anxiously and wandering about as if he were looking
for something on the floor.

“What don’t you understand?” asked his wife, with irrita-
tion.

Quandt pulled up his chair and sat down next to his wife
and looked at her steadily out of his pale eyes before he con-
tinued : “Did you perhaps notice anything remarkable about
that person? Tell me frankly, dear Jette, did you notice
anything, anything in the least extraordinary, anything which
at all differentiates him from other people?”

Frau Quandt laughed. “I only noticed that he was not
particularly polite and that he wears silk stockings like a
marquis,” she replied lightly.

“Yes, just so, not particularly polite and silk stockings,
quite right,” said Quandt with peculiar haste as if he were
on the track of a discovery. “Well, we'll break him of
the silk stockings and that smart little vest too. Such things
are not appropriate in our modest home. But I ask you:
do you understand people? do you understand the world?
For years we have been hearing of him as such a wonder as
has never been seen before. This is what intellectual men,
men of taste, men of the world, scholars, have been getting
excited about! Is it comprehensible? Isn’t there any one
who can see with the eyes God has given us to see with?
Can it be understood ?”

Meantime Caspar and Stanhope had returned to the inn.
Stanhope was not exactly in good spirits. The silence of his

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companion angered him; he felt as if a pistol were being
aimed at him from behind a curtain.

He was troubled; he felt driven into a corner. There is
a point where individual destinies meet on a narrow plank
spanning an abyss and where a settlement must be made;
then words suddenly break forth, the demons wake from
their slumber.

Stanhope rang for the butler, ordered the candles lit and
wood put-on the fire. Immediately afterwards, Hofrat
Hofmann was announced; his lordship said that he could
not receive him and gave orders that no one was to be ad-
mitted. He began to straighten his papers and while doing
so asked Caspar: “How did you like the teacher and his
wife?”

Caspar did not quite know and gave an uncertain answer.
As a matter of fact he no longer knew what Herr Quandt
and his wife looked like. He only remembered that Frau
Quandt had drunk her coffee from a saucer and had bitten
off her sugar, which had seemed stupid to him.

Suddenly Stanhope turned around and asked with the
manner of a person who is becoming impatient: “Well, what
about the ring? What did you mean by that?”

Caspar did not reply ; with disconsolate obstinacy he stared
into vacant space. Stanhope walked up to him, put a
finger on his shoulder and said sharply: “Speak, or you'll be
sorry!”

“I am sorry enough as it is,” replied Caspar monotonously ;
and his glance descended from the figure of the Count, as
from some slippery object, to the dark red carpet upon which
the fire in the chimney was painting shadows.

What could he have said? For his feeling was almost un-
changed towards him who had shown him the way, who had
for the first time talked to him like a human being. Should he
tell of the frightful night in the Tucher House, when he had
sat with his fists against his breast, his heart torn, lonely and
robbed of a world? How he had begun to look and look, how

[285]
 

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he had dug up time, as one digs up earth in a garden, how day
had come and he had slipped away, how he had seen children,
how he had seen the river, and had knelt down before a tree,
everything as it had never been before, everything different,
himself changed, having new eyes, freed from uncertainty—
Impossible to tell such things; there were no words for them.

He continued to stare into space while Stanhope, his
hands on his back, walked up and down and began to talk
hastily, against his will, in sudden gusts. “Do you perhaps
wish to complain? Shall I justify myself? God damn it,
I have fought for you like my own flesh and blood, pawned
my fortune and my honor, have shunned no humiliation,
struggled with pedants and the common herd, what more?
Any one who asks the impossible of me is not my friend.
There are still many days to come; the thread has not yet
run out. I am still ready to do my share, but I cannot allow
you to take me by the letter of the law like an underwriter
of a bill of exchange and place my happy generosity under
moral pressure. If you make demands upon me instead of
being grateful for what has been done, then we must part.”

What a lot he is talking, thought Caspar, who was scarcely
able to follow.

Stanhope’s next thought was that Caspar had perhaps
some secret connection whence he had received information
and encouragement, for he saw clearly and recognized with
anxiety that the boy before him was no longer the former
creature, devoid of any will power. But Caspar met his
roughly uttered question with such an astonished face that
he dropped his suspicion at once. Caspar pressed his hands
flat together and said, with an attempt to be clear, that he
had not wanted to offend Stanhope in any way, not with
the ring either, only something had happened in regard to
all these stories; he had always been told stories, stories
of himself; he had listened, but he had never clearly under-
stood. It had been as in the case of the wooden horse, with
which he had played in his prison, and which nevertheless

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WORSHIP OF THE SUN

had not been alive. “But now,” he added hesitatingly, “now
the little wooden horse has become alive.”

Stanhope threw back his head. “How? What do you
mean?” he asked quickly and fearfully; “speak plainly.”
He took his lorgnette and looked frowningly at Caspar
through his glasses, a gesture intended to express haughti-
ness, but which was really only embarrassment.

“Yes, the little wooden horse has become alive,” repeated
Caspar portentously.

Doubtless he thought with this childlike symbol that he
had explained all that the unveiling of the past had revealed
to him. Perhaps he had a dim foreboding of the forces
which had shaped his destiny; in any case he understood
the reality, the reality of his long imprisonment with its
dark and heavy causes, which had placed him outside the
pale, which had condemned him to remain half an animal
till well into his youth. Perhaps it had become clear to him
that it was a question of something which had in the eyes
of the world a higher, indeed the highest, value, that his
claim to this something continued unimpaired and that if he
only went and showed that he was alive and said that he
knew, all resistance and choice would be at an end and he
might possess that of which he had been criminally deprived.

That was approximately the situation, but there was some-
thing more. And it was fitting that his lordship, anxious
for himself and for those under whose orders he stood,
anxious for the future and for the whole structure which
he had helped to erect, and which if it collapsed would
necessarily plunge him, perhaps with broken limbs, into
a deep abyss, that he himself should find and utter the words
which would illuminate this other, greater, unutterable thing
for Caspar, fearfully, and with malignant magic.

Stanhope almost felt himself undone; he had little desire
left to struggle against a power which seemed to have grown
out of nothing and which like Ifrid emerging from Solo-
mon’s magic flask overcast the whole sky. I was too gen-

[287]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

erous, thought he, I was too half-hearted. One pays for
indecision with one’s own skin; if one lets dreamers grow
up they snatch at the reins and frighten the horses; sweets
no longer taste good, now I must put salt into the porridge.

He sat down at the table opposite Caspar and, speaking
through scarcely opened teeth, with a somber and vacant
smile, he said: “I think I understand you. One cannot take
it amiss if you drew certain inferences from the stories
which I told you, I confess, somewhat indiscreetly. I shall
now, however, go further and not leave you anything more
to desire in point of clearness. I will put the bit and bridle
on the wooden horse which has become alive, and if you
like, so far as I am concerned, you may ride it. I did not
deceive you: by right of inheritance you are the equal of
the mightiest princes; you are the victim of the most in-
fernal plot which Satan’s deviltry ever conceived. If you
had no other judgment to fear but that of virtue and moral
right, you would not be sitting here and I would not be
forced to warn you as I am doing. Just in the same measure
as your demands and hopes are well founded, just so dan-
gerous must they become if you take the slightest step toward
the goal in question. The first act, the first word seals your
death irrevocably. You will be destroyed before you have
stretched out your finger to take what belongs to you. Per-
haps a time will come, to-morrow, or in a month, or in a
year, when you may doubt the honesty of what I am saying
to you, but I beseech you, believe me. Let your lips be
seven times sealed. Fear the air and fear sleep lest they
betray you. It is possible that a day may come when you
may be that which you are, but until then keep still, if life
is dear to you, and keep your little wooden horse in its
stable.”

Caspar had slowly gotten up. An overpowering fright
thundered about him like the bellowing of a waterfall. In
order to distract his thoughts he stared with an attention
bordering upon insanity at lifeless objects—the table, the

[288] :
 

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closet, the chairs, the chandelier, the plaster figures on the
chimney, the crooked poker. Was all this new to him or
only unexpected? Not at all. Like an atmosphere enven-
omed it had been circulating around him for a long time.
But it was one thing to suspect and sense a thing, and an-
other to know with grinding certainty.

Stanhope, too, had gotten up. He walked up close to
Caspar and continued with a curious nasal voice: “There
is no help for it; you were born under this star, your mother
bore you under this star. It is in the blood. It judges you
and justifies you; it is your guide and your seducer.”

And after a while he said: “Now let us go to bed; it is
late. To-morrow morning we will go to church and pray.
Perhaps God will send us some light.”

Caspar seemed not to hear. Blood! That was the word.
That was the strength which penetrated all the pores of his
being. Did not his blood cry out and was not the cry
answered from afar? Blood was the foundation of all
creation, hidden as it was in veins and in rocks, in leaves
and in the light. Did he not love himself in his blood, was
he not aware of his own soul as a mirror of blood in which
he could rest and contemplate himself? How many people
in the world so near to one another, so rich in movement,
so strange and silent and all wandering through a stream
of blood, and yet his own blood sounding differently, a pe-
culiar thing, flowing in a lonely channel, full of secrets and
full of an unknown destiny?

When he turned his eyes again towards the count it
seemed as if the latter were walking in blood, a conception
which was of course favored, or perhaps caused, by the
scarlet color of the rug. When the candles are put out,
thought Caspar, everything will be dead, blood and words,
he and I; I shall not sleep to-night, not die. Yes, Caspar
would gladly have swallowed again the words his mouth
had uttered, he would gladly have locked them again in
the prison of his body which enjoined silence. To be

[289]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

obedient, to be uncertain, to be unhappy, to bear shame and
opprobrium, to stifle the voice of his blood, only not to have
to die, to live, live, live! Oh, he will be afraid, he will
be as cowardly as a mouse, he will bolt doors and windows,
he will forget his dreams, he will forget his friend, he will
become insignificant, and bury the wooden horse, but only
live, live, live—

His lordship wanted Caspar to sleep downstairs instead
of in his mansard room in the teacher’s house. He ordered
the attendant to make a bed on the sofa. While Caspar
was undressing he went out, but came back after a time,
convinced himself that the boy was quiet and put out the
lights. He left the door communicating with his room
open.
~ Heedless of his resolution Caspar quickly fell asleep with
all of his stirred up emotions. After he had slept four or
five hours his leaden rest changed into a restless tossing
about. Suddenly he woke up with a deep sigh, and stared
into the darkness with burning eyes. There was a crackling
and a fumbling at the window-pane which proceeded from
the snow beating against it, and which resembled the light
tapping of a hand. From the next room he heard Stanhope
breathing evenly in his sleep; the breathing of another per-
son in the night sounded most strange, like a threatening
whisper : take care, take care!

He could no longer bear to lie in bed. He felt as if his
body were bound with a thousand threads, and when he got
up it was only to assure himself that he could still move
freely. He wrapped the woolen blanket around his shoul-
ders, and walked barefoot to the window.

The whole great world was full of the words which had
been spoken, and which hung like red berries in the dark.
Everywhere danger; merely to think was dangerous.

He began to tremble, his knees were loose in their sockets;
he felt simultaneously light and oppressed. His thinking
had another and closer consequence; all other objects were

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nearer, and the whole of the earth, and of heaven, clouds
and wind and night, had lost something, something incom-
prehensibly temporary and changeable. Caspar holds the
broken bits of a beautiful vase in his hand, and his fantasy
will not even recreate the beautiful form as it once was.

Below, in the street, the night-watchman walks silently.
The moving shimmer of his lantern gilds the snow. Cas-
par’s glances follow him, for it seems as if the man was
in some incomprehensible way connected with his destiny.
They wander together over the snow-covered fields. The
former asks Caspar whether he is cold and throws a part
of his coat over his shoulders, so that they both are walking
under the same covering. Suddenly Caspar is aware that
it is not the face of a man which is turned towards his
with such a mild and pitying expression, but the beautiful
sad face of a woman. This sadness and this beauty have
an articulate quality, and that they should walk thus under
the same coat has the very deepest significance, something
that is at once joy and pain, and which springs from the
beginning of things.

Then the tremendous words of the count sounded in the
night with a new meaning. “Under this star your mother
bore you.”

Bore you! What a sound! What was not contained in
that word! Caspar placed his two hands over his face. He
was dizzy.

Then he heard the sound of steps. He turned around;
suddenly, as if emerging from dark waters, the count stood
before him in a dressing gown. Probably Caspar’s being
awake had roused him, for he was a light sleeper.

“What are you doing?” asked Stanhope irritably.

Caspar came a step nearer to him and said urgently, breath-
lessly, at the same time threatening and entreating: “Take
me to her, Heinrich! Let me see my mother once, not now,
perhaps later; once, only once, only let me see her once.”

C201]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

Stanhope drew back. This cry had something unearthly
in it. “Patience,” he murmured, “patience.”

“Patience? How much longer? I have been patient a
long time.”

“I promise you"

“You promise, but shall I believe you! i

“Let us set the period of a year.’

“A year is long.”

“Long and short. One little, short year and then—"

Then?’

“Then I will return—"

“And fetch me?”

“And fetch you.”

“Do you swear to?” Caspar fastened a searching glance
like a slowly dying fire on the count. The reflection of the
snow illuminated the night so that each could see the other’s
features clearly.

“I swear it.”

“You swear it, but how can I know?”

Stanhope became peculiarly embarrassed. This face-to-
face discussion at such an hour, the constantly increasingly
masterful and violent questioning of the boy worked upon
his imagination like ghastly apparitions. “Cast me out of
your heart if I don’t come,” he murmured in hollow tones;
at this moment he was suddenly forced to think of the man
who was thrown alive by the devil into the fiery crater of
Vesuvius.

And Caspar hereupon: “How can that help me? Tell me
the name, tell me her name, tell me my name.”

“No, never, never, but only believe me. There is a God
who watches over you, Caspar. Nothing can be denied to
you, for you have paid the purchase-money for your hap-
piness in advance, which we others are obliged to pay piece-
meal day by day. And we must pay, pay for everything;
that is the meaning of life.”

“So you promise to be back in a year?”

[292]
 

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“In a year.”

Caspar dug his fingers into Stanhope’s hand and fixed a
deep, extraordinarily soulful, extraordinarily proud glance
on Stanhope, who slowly lowered his eyes, while his face
looked old and stonelike. When he returned to his room he
suddenly began to repeat the Lord’s prayer in low tones.

It was morning before he fell asleep again. When he
got up at noon, Caspar had been up a long time; he was
sitting at the window, apparently studying the frost-flowers.

At one o'clock he left the hotel with him. Arm in arm,
a spectacle for the inhabitants, they walked through the
deep snow, through the Herrieder Gate to the market place.
There was a big gathering of peasants and traders. Before
the entrance to the Gumbertus Church, Stanhope stopped
and suggested to Caspar that they go in. The latter hesi-
tated, but nevertheless followed the count into the high,
plain building with its dark raftered ceiling.

With quick steps Stanhope hurried to the altar, threw
himself upon his knees on the stone steps, bent his head and
remained so, completely motionless.

Caspar, painfully moved, looked involuntarily around to
see whether there was any witness to this abject behavior.
But the church was empty. Why does he crouch together
so, he thought, much upset, God cannot be in the floor.
Gradually he became fearful; the silence of the immense
room penetrated into his breast. And as he looked up, he
saw the sun through an open vaulted window, trying hard
to conquer the wintry fogs. Then his pale face blushed with
timid joy and the silence in his heart changed into an up-
lifting worship.

“Oh, Sun,” he said half aloud, and with innocent intensity,
“do see that everything shall not be as it is. Make things
different, Sun. You know how things are; you know who
I am. Do shine constantly, Sun, so that I may see you all
the time, my eyes want to see you always.”

[2931]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

While he was talking thus a golden wave of light streamed
over the chalk-white flagging, and Caspar was content, for
he thought that the sun had thus answered him in its own
way.

[294]
XVII

SOME POINTS AROUT HERR QUANDT AS WELL AS ABOUT A
LADY AS YET UNKNOWN

CasPAR’s removal to the teacher’s house was effected with-
out incident.

“Well now, Hauser,” said Quandt, during their first meal
together, while the soup was being served, “a new life is
beginning for you. I hope it will be an industrious one and
full of the fear of God. If we occupy ourselves worthily
and think of our Saviour at all times, our earthly endeavors
will always be crowned with success.”

After lunch Quandt was obliged to go to school, and
when he returned at four o'clock he inquired eagerly what
Caspar had done in the meantime. His wife could only
give him an insufficient reply, and he scolded her for this.
“We must be watchful, dear Jette, we must keep our eyes
open.”

And actually Quandt did keep his eyes open. Like an
indefatigable bookkeeper he established an account in his
memory in which he noted every word and action of his
pupil. In this assiduous business it soon became evident
that debit and credit did not balance and that the scale of
indebtedness gradually outweighed the credit scale to an
alarming extent. This honestly distressed the teacher, but
there was a secret little corner in his heart where he re-
joiced.

For this man was so constituted that he lived a peculiar
double existence. One part of him was for the public: the
citizen who paid his taxes, the colleague, the head of a fam-
ily, the patriot; the other part was, as it were, Quandt him-
self. The former was a pattern of virtue, an exhibition

[295]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

gallery of all the finer qualities; the latter lay in hiding in
a quiet corner and watched God’s beautiful world slyly. The
public person, the citizen, the patriot took a warm interest
in matters concerning the general welfare, whereas Quandt
himself rubbed his hands with pleasure when something
went wrong somewhere: whether it were an unexpected
death, or a broken leg, or the compromising of a worthy
employee, or some theft from a society’s funds, the damaged
wheel of a post-carriage, some small fire on the property
of any rich farmer, or the scandalous marriage of Countess
Blank with her stable-boy. No matter how scrupulously
the taxpayer, the head of the family, the colleague per-
formed his duties, Quandt himself had something of the revo-
lutionary about him, and was always on the spot to pick
flaws in the way the world was run, and always careful
that no one should obtain more honor than an accurate bal-
ancing of his merits and shortcomings, his virtues and his
vices, could demand. The citizen Quandt seemed content
with his lot; the man Quandt felt himself constantly im-
posed upon, offended, slapped in the face, deprived of his
inviolable rights.

One would suppose that it would be difficult to keep house
with two such different lodgers under the same roof. Never-
theless the two Quandts got along excellently together. Of
course, jealousy is a dangerous animal, and it sometimes
penetrated the wall separating the two souls. Just as some-
times the strongest dam is not sufficient to prevent a devas-
tating flood, so envy at times broke into the orderly and
well-cultivated fields of the God-fearing, philanthropic
Quandt.

And what a lot there was in the world for the sly mon-
ster to batten upon! Now some one had received a decora-
tion who all his life had sat loafing by the fire, then some
one inherited ten thousand thalers who could afford to eat
- patties and drink Moselle twice a week without this new

bequest ; again some one was praised in the newspapers with-

[206]
 

SOME POINTS ABOUT HERR QUANDT

 

out any one’s being able to ascertain why he should deserve
such recognition. Or some one or other had made a dis-
covery which one could easily have made oneself if one had
merely happened to interest oneself in the same subject. Why
he? Why not I? brooded Quandt in secret revolt. There
was a constant and invisible struggle with fate, the slogan
of which was: Why he, why not I?

Perhaps poor Quandt suffered from his heredity; his
father had been a clergyman, on his mother’s side he sprang
from peasants. He had in him much of the peasant and
much of the clergyman. His thoroughly earthy desires were
steeped in theology. At the same time the peasant was con-
stantly troubling the clergyman, for where had one ever
heard of a religious and peaceful disposition which was re-
vengeful, envious and ambitious? Quandt loved truth
above all things, he stated so, he protested that it was so
and so indeed so it was. Evidently nothing was sufficient for
him ; the account was never correct; the sums never tallied ;
everywhere people had added falsely or altered the tense.
He said and maintained that he had never in his life lied.
A thing to be marveled at; and actually it was a fact which
could be proved that he had quarreled for good with an
intimate friend, the only one he had ever had, a young school
teacher in Tauberbischofsheim, because he had caught him
in a lie.

How helpless must Caspar be in the face of such a com-
bination of extraordinary and excellent qualities as the
better nature of the teacher presented! For us, for the
reader and me, it is an easy game and we cannot be deceived,
for us the raiment has been cast aside and the skin over
the heart is transparent; we are on a watch-tower, we are
observers and humorists. We follow Herr Quandt when
he enters a grocery-store and with polite gravity orders
half a pound of cheese, at the same time observing and
jotting down in his memory the purchases of his fellow
human beings with eager restless eye, whether they be cooks

C2971
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

or generals. We hear him talking with Herr Kakelberg,
the inspector of schools, and expressing regret over the
increasing demoralization of the school children; we see
him every Sunday morning washed, brushed and combed,
hurrying to church and modestly opening his prayer-book;
we know that he is respectful towards his superiors, and
severe towards his inferiors, for his consciousness of what
is due to both suffers from no doubts. But we know, too,
that every night before retiring he sits in his shirt on the
edge of his bed, remembering with somber mien that Hofrat
Hermann greeted him very casually to-day, and with regret
we recognize the fact that he punishes his pupils severely
—of course, only the lazy and obstinate ones—with a care-
fully dried Spanish rattan. Unfortunately, too, we must
add that he does not always treat his good-natured wife with
the same consideration and delicacy which he shows to stran-
ers who, according to their observations, are forthwith of
the opinion that this marriage is a shining example of an ex-
cellent understanding between man and wife.

So for Caspar, who has naturally not the advantage of
our omniscience and omnipresence, Herr Quandt was a dark
and joyless, but nevertheless a thoroughly imposing figure.
He did feel a little overpowered every time that Quandt
spoke to him in remarkably searching tones, with his eyes
constantly upon him. At first he felt oppressed in this
narrow domesticity, in which one could scarcely be alone with
one’s own thoughts, and the only consolation was that the
count, who should have left early in December, was still
in the city. Stanhope stated that he had to wait for im-
portant letters; as a matter of fact he was waiting for Presi-
dent Feuerbach’s return, for he was as anxious about the
man’s doings, and the reasons for his absence, as a traveler
about a threatening storm.

Caspar, too, kept him, and that in his own way. He was
in the habit of calling for the boy every afternoon and of
taking him to walk for an hour or an hour and a half; they

[2081
 

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usually went along the road to the Schlossberg, and towards
the Bernadotte Valley, which lay in fair seclusion like a
beautiful portal to the surrounding dark and far-reaching
woods. Caspar derived much benefit from the exercise in
the cold, usually clear and frosty air.

Their conversations always turned from some irrelevant
personal matter to more general topics, where speech was
without danger; and nevertheless both the didactic and the
narrative elements had the charm of gracious intimacy. This
seemed to be the result of an agreement, a declaration of
peace with regard to a dimly felt change which would
necessarily destroy the past beauty of their relationship en-
tirely. So they walked along, viewing matters like friends
in a region which was unfamiliar to their destinies, honestly
attached to one another, compensating for the difference in
their years by the willingness of one to give and the equal
readiness of the other to receive.

Lord Stanhope found himself greatly attracted, indeed
literally captivated, by this form of intercourse. He could
feel himself once again at ease, without any yoke, not urged
on to a preconcerted goal; he could rest within himself,
watching and seeing, not without sorrow, how life had lodged
within his breast and what had been left of it for the random
play of the spirit, which is the true quality by which man
recognizes man. He passed over the depths of his being as
over a frail bridge which the slightest puff of wind may
hurl into the abyss below.

He liked best to talk about human destiny and human
affairs; he told how one person had begun life and how
another had ended it, what had made trouble for one man
and had helped another to recognition, how he had seen
one person at the height of his fortunes, feasting at a king’s
board, and how two years later the same man had died mis-
erably in an attic. Conditions on this earth were uneven;
flowers bloomed on heights difficult to scale, nothing was
certain, nothing dependable. Certain rules which the in-

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dividual had to comply with in his acts must not go unob-
served. Stanhope mentioned the book of Lord Chesterfield,
an ancestor and distant connection, who had given excellent
advice in his famous letters to his son. He could repeat
whole pages of these by heart. The same Chesterfield, in
order to deride the pride of ancestry, had hung two pictures
in his castle, a naked man and a naked woman, and had
written underneath them: Adam Stanhope, Eva Stanhope.

The count often expressed great surprise at discovering
how clever Caspar was, in spite of his silence and sim-
plicity; his replies were always to the point, and worldly
in spirit; his questions and answers were always at first
hand; he readily grasped opposing details and united them
with delicate imagination.

A change came suddenly. An unimportant incident
brought it about.

One day, on their return towards the city, Stanhope was
calling attention to the great profit that might accrue to a
man’s inner development if he did not permit events to
flow by lightly, but tried to utilize them for his moral train-
ing by enriching his memory as he set them down in writing
or stated them verbally. Caspar asked just what he meant.
Instead of an answer the count, who had long been uneasy
on this subject, replied with the watchful counter-question
of whether Caspar still kept a diary.

Caspar replied in the affirmative.

“And will you not some time read me some of it?”

Caspar became frightened, thought for a moment, and
answered hesitatingly that he would do so.

“Well, let us take advantage of the hour and set about it
at once,” said Stanhope. “I only want a general idea and
am curious how you go about such a thing.”

When they reached the house, Stanhope accompanied
Caspar to his room and, expecting that the promise would
be carried out, seated himself on the sofa. The fire was
crackling in the stove, outside there had been a strong wind

[300]
 

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since noon, dusk was falling, the hills were covered with
purple.

Caspar busied himself with his books, but minute after
minute passed without his showing any sign of doing what
Stanhope expected.

“Well, Caspar,” the count finally exclaimed with impa-
tience, “I am ready.”

Then Caspar shook himself and said he could not do it.

Stanhope stared at him; Caspar’s eyes dropped. His diary
was hidden among a lot of other things; it was inconvenient
to get at it, he murmured hesitatingly !

“Ah, so,” replied the lord and laughed almost soundlessly
through his nose. “How quick you are in finding excuses,
I should not have thought that you were so quick in find-
ing—pretexts. What a shame!”

At this moment there was a knocking and scraping at the
door, the count answered and Quandt’s figure sidled slowly
into the room. He behaved as if he were astonished to find
the count still there and asked whether he would care for
some light refreshment. His lordship silently declined and
kept his eyes on Caspar.

Quandt noticed at once that something was going on.
He inquired whether his grace had reason to be dissatisfied
with Caspar. Stanhope replied that he certainly had cause
to be angry and in a few words he told the teacher what
it was all about. Then he turned to Caspar saying loudly
and pointedly: “If you did not intend from the beginning to
take me into your confidence you should not have promised
to do so. And if you regretted your promise you might
properly have asked to be released from it. But instead of
. that to take refuge in such a”’—after an eloquent little pause
—“subterfuge, that seems to me to be unworthy of both of
us.”

He got up and left the room. Quandt followed him;
downstairs in the hall he remained standing and asked the
teacher brusquely whether in the time that had elapsed he

[301]

4
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

had been able to form an opinion of Caspar’s abilities and
good will.

“I was most respectfully just about to request your lord-
ship to grant me a quarter of an hour to discuss this ques-
tion,” replied Quandt. He took a little oil lamp from a nail,
and bowed his lordship into his study. While Stanhope
seated himself in a leather chair, with one leg crossed over the
other, gazing boredly into space, Quandt collected his note
books and said that from the first day he had gone about
matters thoroughly with Caspar; he had dictated to him,
he had had him read and do arithmetic, had asked him many
questions in German and Latin grammar, in the most cur-
sory manner, just for the sake of getting a general im-
pression.

“And the result?” asked Stanhope, his nostrils expanding
with ennui.

“The result? Unfortunately pretty unfavorable, unfor-
tunately.”

It must have been painful for Herr Quandt, for this
“unfortunately” was uttered with deep feeling. It must
have been painful to him that Caspar’s handwriting left so
much to be desired: “There is nothing free and flowing in
his handwriting, and with spelling he is not on the best of
terms,” he said. It must have been painful for Herr Quandt
that a person should not in all cases know the dative from the
accusative: “He has not the slightest conception of the func-
tional significance of the subjunctive,” said Quandt, and he
continued: “He is not unskillful in the use of language, in-
deed in this point he surpasses his general level of education.
He is sufficiently familiar with sentences and sentence struc-
ture to know how to use the period, the colon, quotation
marks, question and exclamation points correctly, and he
even is sometimes right in his usage of the semicolon, which
linguistic specialists use so diversely.”

Certainly a ray of light! On the other hand, arithmetic,
woe is me: He had not yet fully mastered the four funda-

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mental operations with ordinary integers. “A zero now and
again becomes for him an unconquerable obstacle,” said
Quandt. “The theory of fractions and the rule of three, as
well as simple and compound proportions, are a hopeless mud-
dle. Curiously enough he works hardest at just these things,”
said Quandt.

“How do you explain that?” asked his lordship with the
curiosity of a sleeper whose feet are being tickled.

“I explain it thus: every example represents for him a
unit by itself. He always enjoys and wishes to create such
a unit, and it gives him pleasure to see it in finished form.
What takes a long time, however, arouses his dislike and
can even drive him to all sorts of untruthful excuses. He
also shows irritation to the point of fury if he has calculated
wrong in a simple example and cannot find the errors due to
his own carelessness.”

On and on: History, geography, painting, drawing. So
far as history is concerned, Quandt has never seen such
a degree of indifference in any person, either in regard to
the history of his own country, or towards the facts of
general history, towards monarchs, towards statesmen,
towards battles, revolutions, heroes and explorers. “Only
an anecdote charms him, a little story, and you can win
him. Sad! Geography! He does not feel at all at home
on this globe,” said Quandt. “He is often wool gathering.
He does not pay attention. The Niirnberg euthusiasm about
his marvelous memory is a puzzle to me, my lord, a com-
plete puzzle.”

My lord had had enough. About painting and drawing
my lord did not care to hear. He interrupted the teacher,
who wanted to show him some specimens, remarking that
instruction in these subsidiary branches seemed to him de-
sirable indeed, but that he did not attach great importance
to it.

“Desirable, certainly,” replied Quandt, “and the desirable
should certainly be cultivated. The soul of a man is like a

[303]
 

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cultivated garden in which the beautiful and the useful may
flourish side by side. I believe the strongest spur for
Hauser is his vanity. If one knows how to satisfy his van-
ity one can induce him to do anything. One more question,
my lord, have you any particular wishes about his religious
instruction? I have already talked to the clergyman, Herr
Fuhrmann, who has offered to give Caspar a lesson twice
a week. I have already started going through the Bible
with him.”

Stanhope had no objection, he wanted to get away; but
stammering with embarrassment, Quandt now brought up
the question of the cost of Caspar’s maintenance; his wife
was worrying him about the increasing cost of living. Stan-
hope, like a grand seigneur, briefly granted an increase; it
was agreed that Caspar should have lunch for twelve and
supper for eight cents.

In order to erase the unpleasant impression of this dis-
cussion, which shamed and humiliated him, Quandt ex-
pressed the wish to send his lordship, after his departure,
periodic reports on Caspar’s progress. Stanhope, already
completely submissive, left this to Quandt’s discretion. “It
would be advisable,” suggested Quandt, “to regard Caspar’s
letters to you also in the light of exercises in style. I could
without changing the thought correct the chief mistakes and
write my criticisms underneath in red ink. In this way
you would constantly have a picture of what he was doing
at the time.”

This idea seemed incomparable to Stanhope. They walked
into the hall ; Quandt again preceded, with the oil lamp. Sud-
denly he stepped back and lifted the lamp high. On the
staircase stood a dark figure. It was Caspar.

Aha, he has been listening to us, went through Quandt’s
head. He turned around and looked meaningly at Stanhope.

Caspar walked up to Stanhope and in a voice full of
emotion asked him to come up to his room again. The count
answered coldly that he had little time, Caspar should ex-

[3047]
 

SOME POINTS ABOUT HERR QUANDT

 

press his request here. Caspar shook his head. Stanhope
thought that Caspar had changed his mind for the better,
he pretended that it cost him some overcoming of himself
to grant Caspar’s wish; then he went up the staircase with
small steps as if counting them. Quandt, without being
asked, followed and remained standing, a silent witness, at
the door.

Caspar said that he would gladly show Stanhope his diary,
but he would please promise not to read any of it.

His lordship folded his arms across his chest. This was
becoming too much for him. But he answered with the calm
of complete self-control. “You will certainly believe that
I will not interfere with your private affairs without your
permission.”

Caspar opened the drawer of a bureau and lifted the cor-
ner of a silk cloth under which the blue copybook lay. The
count approached and looked in silent astonishment first at
the book, then at Caspar. “What a childish ceremony,” he
said gloomily. “I had not expressed the slightest desire to
see your paper treasure. I understood that you wanted to
read to me from it. Please spare me any fooling.”

Quandt too had walked up and measured the mysterious
book with doubtful glances. Caspar meanwhile, while his
lordship silently left the room, looked straight ahead with
a wry, thoughtful Chinese glance, a look of absorption and of
something beyond this world, like certain heads on very old
pictures.

“If I may with due deference express my opinion,” said
Quandt, who had accompanied the count to the gate, “I
must admit that I do not believe in the diary. I don’t think
that a character like Hauser would find the inspiration within
himself to write a diary. I can’t help it, my lord, I don’t
believe in it.”

“You think that he was showing us blank paper?” replied
Stanhope brusquely.

“Not that, but—"

[3051]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

“What then?”

“Why, one must look into the matter, one must pay
some attention to it, one must see what is behind it.”

Stanhope shrugged his shoulders and left. He had hoped
to hear something about himself from the boy’s writing.
This was enticing ; he knew that there he stood on a high pin-
nacle, and that he had been adored. It is a fine feeling to be
adored, no matter how little resemblance to a god one may
have, and even though the picture of god-head had fallen
from its pedestal, a charming romance might still cling to the
fragments. This was enticing. With regard to what might
betray him in the book he did not think, he did not care to
think ; let the constables settle that.

Nevertheless the next afternoon he called at the teacher’s
house, went up to Caspar’s room and briefly and sharply told
the boy to give him the letters which he had written to him
at Niirnberg during their separation. Caspar obeyed with-
out questioning. There were only three letters, one being the
dangerous, gossiping one which the count had reason to be
afraid of; they lay in gold paper in a case of their own.
Stanhope counted them, put them into his breast-pocket and
then said in a somewhat gentler voice: “Call for me this
evening at eight at the hotel. We are invited to Frau von
Imhoff’s pavilion. Dress well.”

Caspar nodded.

Stanhope walked to the door. His hand on the handle of
the door, he turned around once more. “I leave to-morrow.”
In the twitching of his mouth there was satiety and disgust.
He was suddenly disgusted with this city, disgusted at its
people, disgusted at something which seemed to him like a
hostile demoniacal face which he saw hanging above him in
the air and which he hoped to escape from by the speed of
his horses. He had given up waiting for the President, for
Feuerbach had written his acting substitute that he would not
come until after New Year’s Day.

“To-morrow already,” murmured Caspar sadly; and after

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a pause he added shyly: “but what we have agreed upon
holds ?”

“What we have agreed upon holds.”

The party at the Imhoffs’ was at the same time a party in
honor of the count’s departure. The guests were President
Mieg, Hofrat Hofmann, Director Wurm, General-Kommis-
sionar Stichaner with his wife and daughters, and several
other society notables; all came in gala array. There was
great interest in Caspar’s first appearance in their society.

His bearing did not disappoint them. He was féted and
surrounded. They paid him compliments, the most ridicu-
lous compliments, praised his small ears and narrow hands,
were of the opinion that the scar on his forehead, from the
wound the masked man had inflicted, made his face interest-
ing. They expressed astonishment at his conversation and
at his silence, and thought that all this would delight Stanhope
who did not feel himself bound to observe more than a cold
politeness and met the extreme enthusiasm of the ladies with
his most sarcastic compliments.

After supper was over, Stanhope’s valet appeared and
brought a package containing about a dozen copies of a
copper-print portrait of his lordship in the court dress of
an English peer with an earl’s coronet. He distributed
these pictures among “his dear Ansbach friends,” as he said
with a bewitching smile.

The work of art was loudly praised, both in regard to re-
semblance and execution; after every one had expressed his
thanks, the talk turned upon pictures in general and differ-
ences of opinion were expressed as to whether one could
tell the characteristics of a person from a picture. Hofrat
Hofmann, as the negative spirit which he generally was,
disputed this with great eagerness and with a quantity of
objections. Every picture, he said, gave really only the
essence of the best, or most flattering, or the most accessible
qualities of a person; the painter or the engraver cared only
about exaggerating a particular trait for the sake of his

[3071]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

art, so that very little was left of the real nature of the
individual in question. This was hotly denied: it depended
above all on the genius of the artist, was the retort; and
Lord Stanhope, who, of course, felt these remarks of the
Hofrat’s as a lack of delicacy, much against his usual habits,
was eager in expressing the contrary. He, for his part, was
confident that he could guess the mental make-up of any
one portrayed in any picture, no matter whom it represented
and from whose hand it proceeded.

At these words the hostess smiled with a peculiar mean-
ing. She disappeared into an adjoining room and returned
at once with an oval oil-painting in a gold frame, which, still
smiling, she placed upright on the table near the count. The
guests pressed around and from almost all their lips there
was an exclamation of admiration.

It was an extremely lively and naturally painted picture
representing a young woman of astonishing beauty: a face
white as alabaster, flushed with pale pink, clear, regular
features, an expression which was rendered somewhat
poetical and shy by an obvious myopia, and the whole face
illuminated with heavenly warmth.

“Well, my lord?” asked Frau von Imhoff teasingly.

Stanhope assumed an expression of extreme wisdom and
uttered his estimate of the painter’s subject:

“Really, this being combines an oriental warmth with the
grace of Andalusia.”

Frau von Imhoff nodded as if she thought what had been
said was excellent. “Very good, my lord,” she remarked,
“but we want to hear something about the lady’s character.”

“Oh, you are trying to catch me,” said Stanhope gayly.
“Very well. I think that she is a woman who can bear tribu-
lations of any kind with extraordinary long-suffering. She is
gentle, she is God-fearing, she loves the idyllic peace of
country life, her tastes are all for the fine arts.”

Frau von Imhoff could not contain herself any longer and
broke into merry laughter. “I am certain, count, that you

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have only interpreted her so falsely in order to tease me,”
she said.

Herr Hofmann looked his scorn, and Stanhope blushed.
“If I am mistaken, please correct me, madam,” he replied
gallantly.

“To do that would require more patience on your part than
is desirable,” replied Frau von Imhoff, suddenly serious. “I
should have to tell you of the extraordinary fate of this
woman, who is my best friend, and I should have to risk
disturbing the good humor you are all in.”

But no one was satisfied with this and Frau von Imhoff
was finally obliged to yield to the general pressure.

“My friend arrived as a girl of eighteen at the court of
a capital in central Germany,” she began with a charming
embarrassment. “She had neither father nor mother and
was entirely dependent upon her brother. This brother,
whom for the sake of brevity I will call the Baronet, in spite
of his youth—he was only ten years older than his beautiful
sister—was regarded as a man of extraordinary talents.
The Prince, although weak and dissolute, thoroughly ap-
preciated his abilities and gave him one of the highest posi-
tions in the country, overwhelming him with honors and
favors. However, the Baronet only took part in the pleas-
ures of the court on the occasions when he introduced his
sister into the drawing-rooms and gatherings of the aris-
tocracy, and he had the satisfaction of seeing her the center
of every circle in which she appeared, not only on account
of her beauty, but also on account of her intellect, her
charm and her natural vivacity.

“One day the quiet life of these two people was disturbed
in a horrible manner. Almost accidentally, the Baronet dis-
covered that tremendous embezzlements of the state funds
had taken place; it was a question of many hundreds of
thousands of thalers; and that the prince himself, in diffi-
culties on account of his ill-considered concessions to mis-
tresses and favorites, was involved in this fraudulent busi-

[309]
 

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ness at the expense of his people. The Baron did not know
what to do. He confided the matter to his sister. The lat-
ter said: ‘In such a matter there cannot be any indecision;
go to the Prince and tell him frankly of what a crime he
is making himself guilty.” He did so. The Prince became
furious, he showed the young man the door and told him
to get out. When the Baronet told his sister of the un-
expected result of his undertaking she urged him to tell
the story to an assembly of the delegates of the cities. This
also the Baronet declared himself prepared to do, but be-
forehand he confided the matter to a friend who seemed to
approve of his decision. The same friend wrote him a
little note the next evening in which he urged him strongly
to come at once, for an important consultation, to a little
country-seat near the city. Without hesitation the Baron
accepted, although it was already late and dark, ordered a
horse to be saddled, and rode off.

“That was the last that was seen of him. Several people
asserted that towards midnight they had heard shots in the
vicinity of the pavilion, but whatever may have happened
the Baron disappeared and what became of him remained
an unsolved mystery. One can easily imagine his sister’s
grief. But from the first day she disdained to give way
to it and developed the most astonishing activity. Since she
was gradually forced to believe in her brother’s death, her
one endeavor became at least to find his body. She em-
ployed workmen, who for weeks dug up the earth around
the pavilion. With kindness, with cunning and with threats
she implored the assumed friend of her brother to tell what
he knew of the affair. It was in vain, the man maintained
that he knew nothing. No one would admit knowing any-
thing. She threw herself at the feet of the Prince, who,
listening graciously and apparently moved, promised to do
everything in order to trace the mysterious disappearance.
It was in vain. A few days later she became ill, without
doubt poisoned. The attempt was repeated. Suddenly,

[ 3re0]
 

SOME POINTS ABOUT HERR QUANDT

 

however, the Prince died of a stroke; she could no longer
remain in this terrible spot. She began to travel and tried
in all the courts of Germany, big and little, and later on
even in London and Paris, to interest ministers, monarchs,
and men in public life in the task of securing retribution
or at least enlightenment. Think of the life,” Frau von
Imhoff continued, “that my friend thus led for more than
three years, constantly traveling, constantly in haste, con-
stantly struggling with vexations. Her fruitless efforts were
gradually bringing about the loss of a considerable part of
her fortune. When she was finally obliged to realize that
her work would lead her nowhere, that the collusion between
the wicked and the indifferent was too strong, she gave up
all further attempts with the same resoluteness which she
had shown up to this time, retired to a small university town
and threw herself with remarkable zeal into the study of
politics, law and economy. Not as if she were thus shutting
out the world, on the contrary: she had exchanged her pri-
vate affairs for a public cause. Her glowing soul, enflamed
with a desire for freedom and human rights, sought occu-
pation. Two years ago she married an unimportant man,
whom she did not love. She did so because this man, whom
she had once before refused, had attempted to commit sui-
cide in his bath out of passion for her; he was saved and
she accepted him. However, the marriage was dissolved
peacefully a few months later ; the man went to America and
became a farmer. My friend recommenced her remarkable
life of wandering. I have letters from her now from Russia,
then from Vienna, or from Athens. For several months
now she has been in Hungary. She studies the situation
of the peasants and the needs of the working people every-
where, not merely superficially and emotionally, but with
scientific thoroughness. Her profundity, her knowledge of
law, of national constitutions and public administration has
compelled the admiration of many a learned man. She is
to-day twenty-five years old and still looks almost as she

[aun]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

did in that picture, which was painted six years ago. After
all this, my lord, you will readily believe that one can’t well
speak of her oriental softness and gentleness of spirit. Yes,
gentle she is, but gentle in quite a different way from the
usual conception. Her gentleness has something joyous and
active about it, for she has a keen mind and a lofty confi-
dence in everything that is human. The present is always
the most important thing for her.”

A profound silence convinced Frau von Imhoff of the
deep impression she had produced. What a splendid and
interesting sensation and how pleasantly gruesome to listen
to such tales in a well-heated, brilliantly illuminated room!
The man in front of the fireplace rubs his hands comfortably
when the weather storms and rages outside. It gives him
a pleasant prickling sensation to realize that outside there
are people walking about without gloves or overcoats. He,
seated in front of his chimney, is even able to express the
liveliest sympathy with such unfortunates.

When Frau von Imhoff had begun to speak, Caspar had
been seated somewhat outside of the circle of listeners, then
he had gotten up slowly and had come nearer until he stood
at her side looking, as if enchanted, at her mouth while she
spoke. Now that she had finished, he suddenly laughed.
His features in motion became extraordinarily attractive.
Frau von Imhoff confessed later that she had never before
seen such an expression of childlike joy; it did indeed re-
semble the laughter of a little child, only there was a higher,
clearer strength of consciousness in it and it pictured clearly
his inner feelings. Those sitting about were curious as to
what he would say, but he only asked timidly: “What is
the woman’s name?”

Frau von Imhoff put an arm on his shoulder and an-
swered, smiling in a kindly manner, that she was unable
to betray that at present; perhaps later on he would find out.
For him, too, the unknown lady felt the deepest sympathy.

He remained thoughtful. Even when the party became

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more noisy again, and the youngest Fraulein von Stichaner
sang some songs at the piano, he retained his distrait thought-
ful expression. The vividly described fate of the unknown
woman caused him to project his feelings curiously into the
outer world, and, as if in response to a signal from an in-
visible spirit, for the first time his heart opened to the suf-
fering of another I, of another existence. “Women can’t
be the way I thought they were,” he reflected.

This gave him food for thought. At a certain point
the structure of the universal was beginning to tremble,
and its creatures showed him a double face, one to which he
was well accustomed and which he did not love, the other,
as intangible as a shadow, distant as the moon, almost re-
lated to the mother he had never seen.

Life moves over the bridge between evening and evening;
what it gives to-day becomes a possession to-morrow. Ex-
cept for this hour an incident of the following night, which
he briefly witnessed almost without being noticed, would
not have weighed so tremendously on his imagination that
for days thereafter he was in a state of the most painful
disturbance.

F337
XVIII
JOSEPH AND HIS BRETHREN

As a parting gift Caspar received from Stanhope two
pairs of shoes, a box with some Brussels lace and six yards
of fine stuff for a suit. After he had already spent the
whole morning with him, Stanhope came to Quandt’s house
after lunch to bid Caspar farewell. At half past three the
carriage drove up. Caspar accompanied the count into the
street. He was white even to his eyes; three times he em-
braced the departing man, gritting his teeth in order not to
cry out, for it was a piece of his innermost self which was
being cruelly wrenched from him—for ever. This he felt
to be the case, whether he should ever again see the man
who had become so dear to him or not. In him he was
bidding farewell to the innocence of blissful confidence and
the sweetness of beautiful longings and illusions.

His lordship, too, was moved to tears. It was charac-
teristic of his sensitive nature to permit himself to be pro-
foundly touched and moved on such occasions. His last
word sounded like a defense against self-reproach, as if he
wished to interpose a last obstacle to the wheels of fate
and turn them back; the carriage was already in motion
when with eyebrows solemnly raised he called to Quandt
and Police-Lieutenant Hickel, who were standing at the
gate: “Preserve my son.”

Quandt pressed his hand protectingly against his breast.
The carriage rolled off towards Krailsheimer Street.

Five minutes later, Herr von Imhoff and Hofrat Hof-
mann appeared; they were grieved to find that they had
come too late. To console Caspar, they invited him to walk
with them in the court garden, a proposal which the teacher

[314]
 

JOSEPH AND HIS BRETHREN

eagerly accepted. Heckel asked to be allowed to join them.

Scarcely had these four turned the nearest corner, when
Quandt hurried back into the house. He beckoned to his
wife, who followed him without asking into the upper hall
—for the matter had been prearranged—and took her place
as a sentinel. Quandt for his part now set to work to look
for the diary. For this purpose he had had a second pair
of keys made, with which he could open the bureaus and
closets. He found nothing in the drawers. The blue copy
book was no longer there. He also rummaged through the
closet in vain, as well as through the clothes, the books, the
sofa. He searched fruitlessly in every nook and cranny
but he found nothing.

Exhausted, he dried the perspiration from his forehead
and called to his wife through the open door: “Now, Jette,
haven't I always said so! That boy is a sly fox.”

“Yes, yes, he’s as false as can be,” replied his wife, “and
puts us to a lot of trouble.” She only scolded to please her
husband, for as a matter of fact she liked the boy, for no
one had ever treated her so nicely and politely before.

Quandt remained depressed for the rest of the day, like
one who has been cheated of some noble accomplish-
ment. And was it not indeed so? Was it not his mission
on earth to separate the bran from the chaff and as an
alchemist of souls to show his fellow human beings the
pure unalloyed elements of good and evil? He could not
be calm or forbearing so long as the breath of a lie ex-
isted.

Moved by such considerations, he gave his wife a long
talk that same evening, in which he expressed himself as
follows: “Now consider, Jette, hasn’t his straight and up-
right posture at the table struck you? Can one believe that
such a person vegetated for years in a hole under the ground?
Can one think such a thing if one has possession of one’s
five senses? I frankly confess I can’t discover anything
of his famous childishness and innocence. He is good-

[315]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

natured, yes, but what does that prove? And how he fawns
and cringes before fine people like the excellent hypocrite
that he is! As to that, your friend Frau Behold has hit the
nail on the head. And then think, often when I enter his
room unexpectedly—I naturally make a point of surprising
him—there he is, hunched up on the floor; it is an extraor-
dinary sight. I don’t know whether his thoughts are wan-
dering, or whether he is only pretending, but as soon as he
sees me, like lightning his face assumes that hypocritical
grimace of friendliness which unfortunately disarms one.
Once I found him in broad daylight with the window shades
down. What does that mean? There is something back
of that.”

“What could there be back of it?” asked his wife.

Quandt shrugged his shoulders and sighed. “Heaven
knows,” said he. “For all that I like him,” he continued
with an anxious expression. “He is a keen and responsive
boy. But I must find out what is back of it. There is
something uncanny about him.”

Frau Quandt, who was combing her hair for the night,
was tired of this chatter. Her pretty face had the expres-
sion of a stupid sleepy bird and her eyes, which were strik-
ingly close together, glanced dully into the light of the candle.
Suddenly she put down the comb and said : “Listen, Quandt.”

Quandt remained still and listened. Caspar’s room was
above the couple’s bedroom and in the silence which now
reigned they heard their puzzling household companion walk-
ing incessantly up and down the room.

“I wonder what he’s up to,” said the wife, puzzled.

“Yes, I wonder what he’s doing,” repeated Quandt, star-
ing darkly at the ceiling. “I don’t know, I was always told
that he went to sleep with the chickens; I haven't noticed
it. There you see, how’s one to know? In any case I'll
break him of the habit of walking at night.” Quandt gently
opened the door and slipped out cautiously in his slippers.
Carefully he moved up the stairs and when he reached Cas-

[316]
 

JOSEPH AND HIS BRETHREN

 

par’s door he tried to peek through the keyhole, but when
he found that he could see nothing, in the same bent posture
he placed his ear against the lock. Yes, there he was, walk-
ing up and down, the inscrutable creature, walking and shap-
ing his dark plans.

Quandt pressed the door handle. The door was locked.
Then he raised his voice and energetically demanded quiet.
At once everything inside was as still as a mouse.

When the teacher returned to his wife he found that her
difficult hour had come with unexpected suddenness. She
already lay moaning on the bed and asked for the midwife.
Quandt wanted to send the maid but his wife said, “No,
that won't do; she is stupid and will lose her way.” Whether
he liked it or not, Quandt had to decide to go, unpleasant
as the errand was, for in the first place he had been looking
forward to his bed, also he was a little afraid of walking
through the dark streets, for only last Lent a tax assessor
had been attacked and half murdered back of St. Charles’
Church.

With irritation he put on his clothes; then he summoned
the maid from her feather bed and ordered her to call a
friendly neighbor in case of need; he slipped in again and
ransacked the chest for his pistols, in doing which he threw
over the night table which disturbed him so that he seized
his head in his hands and cursed his unlucky stars. His
wife, whose pains had already disturbed her faculties, took
courage from her condition and hurled at his head all man-
ner of reproach, which she generally kept to herself from
cowardice, with regard to himself and to men in general.
This had the best effect, and after he had carried his little
boy, who slept in the adjoining room and who had awakened
from the noise, into the maid’s room, he finally set out.

Caspar, as he was getting into bed, suddenly heard with
a shudder the agonized voice of the woman beneath. The
sounds became constantly more frightful, they penetrated
with increasing loudness. Then there was silence for a

F317]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

time, then the house door creaked, steps came and went and
now the screaming began worse than ever. Caspar theught
some great misfortune must have occurred; his first instinct
was to save himself. He ran to the door, unlocked it, and
hurried down the steps. The door of the living room was
open and an over-heated atmosphere proceeded from it. The
maid and the neighbor stood busily at work over Frau
Quandt’s bed; the latter was screaming for her husband,
calling to God, and writhing in agony.

Ah, what did Caspar see? What were his sensations!
He saw a tiny little head, a little white body, a tiny little
human being now raised aloft, which had correspondingly
tiny hands. Caspar’s whole body began to tremble; he
turned around, without having been seen by any one, and
fleeing up the stairs sank down breathless on the top step,
where he remained sitting.

Again the front door sounded; Quandt appeared with the
midwife, but already the neighbor rushed to greet him ex-
ultingly! “A little daughter, Herr Quandt.”

“Well, think of that,” exclaimed Quandt in a voice of
pride, as if he had made a contribution worth mentioning.

A piping little cry corroborated the presence of a new
citizen in the world. After a time the maid came out hum-
ming, and Caspar saw that she carried a dish full of blood.

In all probably not more than an hour had passed before
Caspar finally got up and stumbled back into his room. As
if drunk, he undressed, tumbled into bed and dug his face
into the bedclothes.

He could see nothing before ae eyes but this: out of the
darkness like a purple disk there appeared a dish full of
blood.

He could see nothing but this; out of a bleeding gap
young animals crept forth and were called human beings.
Naked and tiny, lonely and helpless, while their mothers
suffered unspeakable torments, they crept painfully forth

[318]
 

JOSEPH AND HIS BRETHREN

out of an incomparable prison and were born, yes, born, as
his mother had given birth to him.

So that’s it, thought Caspar: He felt the tie, he grasped
the connection, he felt his roots deep in the bloody earth,
life hitherto motionless began to quiver, the secret was re-
vealed, the meaning evident.

But pity and revulsion, yearning and fear were now one,
life and death were fused in one name. He wanted not
to sleep, yet he did fall asleep, but the nearer sleep came
the more distressing became the fear of death, so that he
yielded reluctantly; it was a fearsome little death in life.

When he did not appear at the usual hour next morning,
Quandt wondered why, went upstairs and knocked at his
door. Although he knew that the room had been locked
the night before, he pressed the handle and found to his
surprise that the door was unlocked. Walking up to Cas-
par’s bed, he shook him and said angrily: “Well, Hauser,
are you becoming one of the seven sleepers? What's the
matter ?”’

Caspar sat up and the teacher saw that his pillow was
quite wet; he pointed to it and asked what that meant. Cas-
par thought a moment and said it came from crying; he
had cried in his sleep.

What, cried! thought Quandt suspiciously, why did he
cry and how does he know so quickly that he has been crying
in his sleep, and why did he wait until I should have decided
to call him?

There is some trick back of that, thought Quandt, he
wants to put me in a good-natured mood. He looked around
keenly and his glance fell upon the glass of water which stood
on the night table. He took the glass, lifted it up observ-
ingly; it was half empty. “Did you drink any water,
Hauser ?” he asked severely.

Caspar looked at him without understanding. The glance
of the teacher—extending from the glass to the pillow—
became reproachful. “Did you not accidentally spill the

[319]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

water ?” he further inquired. “I said accidentally and don’t
mean anything else; you can speak to me quite openly,
Hauser.”

Caspar slowly shook his head. He did not understand
what the man was driving at.

Obdurate, obdurate, thought Quandt, giving up his in-
quiry.

When Caspar came into the living-room for his lesson,
Quandt informed him with suitable dignity that a little
daughter had been given to him.

“How given?” asked Caspar naively.

Quandt frowned. The indifference with which the boy
accepted such an event irritated him greatly. His bearing
was cold and formal when he said, “We will begin as usual
with the Bible. Read your lesson.”

It was the story of Joseph.

There is an old man who has many sons, but he loves
the youngest of them best and gives him a coat of many
colors in order to distinguish him. For this reason his
brothers hate him and do not wish to speak pleasantly to
him any longer. And Joseph tells them the dream of the
sheaves. “Think, we were binding sheaves in the field,”
said he, “and my sheaf stood up and remained standing
whereas your sheaves, which were roundabout, bent down
before my sheaf.” Then the brothers answer: “Do you
wish to become a king over us, do you wish to rule us?”
And they hate him the more because of his dreams. But
Joseph is quite unsuspecting; the reason for their dislike
does not seem to dawn upon him and he soon tells them a
second dream, namely, how the sun and the moon and eleven
stars bent down before him. A dream easy to interpret,
for eleven is the number of the brothers. Even his father
scolds him because of this dream. “What are you thinking
of, Joseph?” he says reproachfully, “shall your mother and
I and your brothers come and bow down before you?” And
soon after this the brothers, who are all shepherds, go out

[320]
 

JOSEPH AND HIS BRETHREN

 

into the fields to tend the sheep and Joseph is sent to them
by his father. And when the brothers see him from afar
they talk to one another, saying: “Look, the dreamer is com-
ing!” And they decide that they will strangle him and that
they will throw him into a pit and pretend that a wild ani-
mal has devoured him. “Then we'll see what becomes of
his dreams,” said they jeeringly. But there is one of the
brothers who is merciful and warns the others. He advises
. them to throw him into the pit but not to kill him. And
this they do; they take off his coat, his coat of many colors,
which he wears, and they throw the boy into the pit. And
when all this has been accomplished, there appears a caravan
of merchants from a distant country, and the brothers agree
to sell Joseph, and they sell him for money. Then they
take Joseph's coat, dip it in the blood of a slaughtered ani-
mal and say to their father: “We have found this bloody
coat, see if it is not the coat of your youngest son.” The
old man rends his clothes and exclaims: “In mourning I will
descend into the lower world to my son.”

When Caspar had gotten so far his voice failed him. He
got up, put his book aside and his breast heaved with sighs.
He pressed his hand before his mouth and with difficulty
choked down the rising sobs.

Quandt was suspicious. He looked at the hoy closely. His.
glance was a sidelong one, like that of a goat tied to a post.
“Listen to me, Hauser,” he said finally. “You can’t pretend
that you are so moved by this simple story, which moreover
you must know very well. To my knowledge you already
went through this part of the Old Testament at Professor
Daumer’s. You must therefore be aware that Joseph later
fared very well, for he was a pure and good man. Save
yourself the trouble, I beg you. If you are conscientious,
honest and obedient, you will get ten times more from me
than by an untimely exhibition of such far-fetched emotions.
I simply don’t believe in your tears; I think that I have al-
ready clearly enough indicated as much this very day. By

[321]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

this means you are only obtaining the contrary of what you
may be aiming at. For I don’t like outbreaks of emotion,
not in general, and particularly not such ill-founded ones.
It is high time for you to become accustomed to the serious-
ness of life. And since we are already talking so frankly
with one another I should like to warn you seriously against
regarding all the people you come into contact with as stupid.
That is a mistake of yours which may lead to the most un-
fortunate consequences. I am well disposed towards you,
Hauser, I really mean well by you, perhaps you have no
better friend than myself, which, of course, you will only
recognize too late. But beware of deceiving me. And now
let us continue. I am ready to regard this incident as not
having happened.”

In the course of this impressive speech, the teacher’s voice
had become soft and kindly, and it almost looked as if he
wanted to take Caspar and press him to his breast. But
Caspar stood there in front of him with a silly face, smiling
helplessly. What's the matter, he thought, what does the
man mean?

Afterwards, when he thought the matter over, it was not in
the least clear to him what the teacher was driving at, and
he came to the conclusion that Quandt was the most puzzling
person who had ever crossed his path.

[322]
XIX
CASTLE FALKENHAUS

THuE President did not get back to the city until Epiphany,
after an absence of almost four weeks. Persons closely asso-
ciated with him thought that they noticed a great change
in his behavior; he seemed somber and silent, and his par-
ticipation in his professional duties seemed at times in-
different.

It was striking that he let several days go by without in-
quiring about Caspar. When Hofrat Hofmann, as they were
walking home together, frankly asked him whether he had
already seen the boy, Feuerbach did not answer. The next
day the Police-Lieutenant came to see him. Hickel ap-
peared to be worried about Hauser’s safety and was of the
opinion that a guard should be set; the President did not
go into the matter; he merely said that he would consider
it. The same afternoon he sent for the teacher and ques-
tioned him about the boy’s behavior and condition. Quandt
said this and said that, it was neither black nor white. In
the end he pulled a letter out of his pocket; it was what
Frau Behold had written; he had decided to give it to the
President.

Feuerbach read the letter and a cloud of displeasure gath-
ered on his brow. “You must not pay any attention to such
stuff, my dear Quandt,” he said sharply. “What would
become of us if we listened to the gossip of such a fool?
Caspar’s past is no concern of yours; that’s not your busi-
ness. I have employed you to make a useful man of him.
If you have any complaint to make in this connection I will
gladly listen, but as for other matters, please spare me.”

One can well imagine how deeply such a sharp snub of-
fended the teacher’s sensitiveness. He went home full of

L323]
Ln
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

bitterness, and although the President had told him to send
Caspar to see him on Sunday morning he did not tell the
boy of this until Saturday night, two days later.

When Caspar arrived at Feuerbach’s house at the hour set,
he was obliged to wait in the hall for a considerable time,
then Henriette, the President’s daughter, appeared and led
him into the living room. “I don’t know whether father will
receive you to-day,” she said, and proceeded to tell him of a
robbery which had taken place the night before in the Presi-
dent’s work-room. The unknown perpetrators had had
duplicate keys and had ransacked all the papers in the desk.
It was assumed that the criminals had been looking par-
ticularly for certain letters and documents, for they had
stolen nothing, nor had they gotten hold of their booty,
since her father kept his most important papers carefully
concealed ; their presence had been shown by the tremendous
disorder and the broken window only.

While relating this, the young lady had walked up and
down in masculine fashion, her arms crossed over her breast,
anger and rancor in voice and expression. She said that
her father was of course beside himself over the incident;
while she spoke, the door opened and the President, ac-
companied by a rather slender man of perhaps thirty, stood
on the threshold. “Ah, that’s Caspar Hauser, Anselm,”
said the president. The person addressed stopped short and
looked thoughtfully and absent-mindedly into Caspar’s face.
Caspar was struck by the extraordinary beauty of the man;
as he found out later, he was Feuerbach’s second son, who,
pursued by a malign fate, had fled to the paternal house for
a few days in order to get help and advice from his father.
Caspar loved beautiful faces, especially when they were full
of soul and melancholy, particularly in men; but this was
only a brief apparition, he never saw Anselm again.

The President showed Caspar into the large reception-room
and only came back after a considerable lapse of time. Cas-
par’s eye at once fell upon the picture of Napoleon on the

[324]
 

CASTLE FALKENHAUS

 

wall. How wonderful it was; such a resemblance, between
the expression of haughty majesty and the dark sorrow
about the gracefully curved lips, to the man he had just seen.
There were, moreover, the gorgeous insignia, the crown, the
jewels and the purple mantle. Caspar was moved, a higher
world opened up before him. He would have liked to go
and seize in his hands what seemed to him embodied in the
picture, in order to transfer that which addressed him so
majestically, into a spoken dialogue. Unintentionally he
drew himself up as if the royal presence compelled him to
imitation ; he took a few steps up and down the room and
was pleasantly frightened at realizing that the eyes followed
him, glowing darkly.

Occupied thus, the President found him and remained
standing in surprise at the door. Was it accident, or was it
one of the inexplicable links in which this unusual destiny
revealed itself? Feuerbach saw in the almost enchanted
relationship between the picture and the boy something like
an ordeal, a corroboration from above. For Caspar’s mother
—in so far as the whole structure of frightful assumptions
and half-certainties had any validity at all in the light of
reality—was connected by the bonds of relationship with the
great Napoleon.

“Do you know who that is, Caspar?” asked Feuerbach in
a loud voice.

Caspar shook his head.

“Then I will tell you. That is a man who convinced the
world that a strong will can accomplish everything. Have
you never heard anything of the Emperor Napoleon? I
knew him, Caspar, I saw him, I spoke to him. I was the
intermediary between him and our King Max. It was a great
era, and there is not much left of it.”

With a melancholy, thoughtful glance Feuerbach broke
off. He felt the weight of years, he had struggled long
enough in their claws. His eye glided almost with fear over
the figure of the still silently standing boy, as if the latter

[3251
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

expected him to deliver that judgment, which Feuerbach’s
impotence—which he could no longer conceal—must soon
announce to the world. His recent experiences in consulta-
tion with the powerful ones down there filled his heart with
shame; a flame of resentment and hatred towards all man-
kind suddenly blazed within him, and grinding his teeth he
ran up and down between the door and the windows half a
dozen times, and only the sight of Caspar, who had turned
white with fear, recalled him in some measure to himself,
and he sullenly asked the boy whether he got enough to eat
at Quandt’s.

“On that point there is no ground for complaint,” replied
Caspar.

Feuerbach seemed not to hear the equivocal tone. “And
what about Lord Stanhope?” he inquired further, with a
rigid and threatening glance. “Have you news of him?
Have you yourself written to him?”

“I write to him once a week,” replied Caspar.

“Where is he?”

“He intends to go to Spain.”

“To Spain; well, well, to Spain. That’s far away, my
dear boy.”

“Yes, it appears to be far.”

This monotonous conversation was interrupted by the
entrance of a police official who brought a written report on
the nocturnal burglary. Caspar said good-by.

“Where have you been all this time?” were the angry
words with which Quandt received him.

“I was with the President. You know that,” replied
Caspar.

“Very good; but it does not betoken much knowledge of
how to behave if you can’t cut a visit short when supper is
waiting for you at home.”

Indeed eating was an important affair at the Quandts’.
The teacher always sat down to his meals with a certain emo-
tion, and his penetrating glance seemed to examine all of the

[326]
 

CASTLE FALKENHAUS

 

participants of the meal as to the degree of their respect.
When Frau Quandt announced what good things were to be
expected the teacher accompanied her recitation either with
a nod of the head or a questioning frown. If a dish pleased
him his good humor grew, if it did not meet with his ap-
proval he ate every bite with the ironical expression of a man
who is superior to the world. For certain things he had a
particular predilection as, for example, sour pickles, or
warmed-up potato salad; and while he was enjoying these
he seldom ceased emphasizing the simplicity of his wants.
Frau Quandt was a good cook, and when she had been
successful with a favorite dish of her husband’s she was not
unsusceptible to his praise, although it was sometimes ex-
pressed in too learned a form. Thus, Quandt used to say
jokingly that if he had not taken her to wife the deceased
Trimalchio would have risen from the dead to marry her.
After supper came the comfortable hour with slippers,
dressing-gown, arm-chair and the perusal of the papers.
Into restaurants Quandt almost never went, partly on ac-
count of the expense and then because he found no one to
talk to. He preferred the comfortable corner by the stove.

But since Caspar had been with them, this idyllic evening
mood had lost its charm. Quandt was worried and some-
times he did not know exactly why. Let us think of a dog,
an intelligent, nervous, alert dog; suppose this dog in ferret-
ing about in a district familiar to him has somewhere picked
up a bit of poison and that he carries about this destructive
poison in his body, unconsciously seeking darkness, running,
panting, into every damp corner, leaping after a shadow,
growling at a fly, attributing everything around him and
about him to this one mad urge, regarding the whole world as
poisoned, whereas it is only his own poor stomach, and you
will have a true picture of the condition of the unfortunate
teacher. His demon chained him to the boy; beyond every-
thing else it was important to him “to get back of things”;
he would have given several years of his life if in this way

[327]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

he could quickly have come to the knowledge of what was
“behind the affair.”

At eight o'clock the Police-Lieutenant came for a visit, he
was in a bad humor, for he had played faro in the Casino
the night before, and had lost twenty-five florins, which he
still owed. Towards Caspar he was strikingly friendly; he
asked him what he had talked to the President about, but
he received the boy’s literal report with suspicion, as it
seemed too unimportant.

“Yes, our good friend is very reserved,” complained
Quandt. “I did not know anything of the robbery at the
President’s, and it was with difficulty that I got him to talk
about it at all. Do you know anything about it, lieutenant?
Have they any traces?”

Hickel replied indifferently that a suspicious tramp had
been arrested near Altenmuhr.

“What things do happen!” exclaimed Quandt. “What im-
pertinence it takes to make the head of the government the
victim of such an attack.” Secretly, however, he reasoned:
that’s right, that will strike at his excellency’s delusion of
inviolability ; big men can now and again learn something
useful from rogues.

“It would not surprise me,” said Hickel, keeping his lips
closed in a distinguished manner, a finesse which he had
copied from Lord Stanhope, “if this story were not again in
some way connected with our friend Hauser.”

Quandt stared, then he looked slantingly at Caspar, whose
frightened glance avoided his.

“I have grounds for such an assumption,” continued
Hickel, staring at the cleanly scoured nails of his red
peasant hands. These hands always filled Caspar with a
nameless disgust. “I have grounds, and perhaps I shall come
forth with them in due time. The President himself has
sense enough to know that the clock has struck. But he
does not want to talk about it. He does not feel quite right

about it.”
[328]

’
 

CASTLE FALKENHAUS

 

“Not quite right? You don’t say so!” replied Quandt,
and a pleasant thrill ran down his back. Frau Quandt too
stopped darning her stockings, and gazed curiously from
one to the other.

“Yes, indeed,” continued Hickel, smiling through his
yellow teeth, “they gave it to him hot and heavy down there
in Miinchen, and he carries his head considerably less high.
Don’t you think so too, Hauser?” he asked looking first at
Quandt and then at his wife.

“I think it is not proper that you should speak so of the
President,” replied Caspar boldly.

Hickel turned white and bit his lips. “Just think of that,
just think of it!” he remarked gloomily. “Did you hear that,
Herr Quandt? The toads are croaking ; spring is coming.”

“A very unsuitable remark, Hauser,” Quandt exclaimed
angrily. “You ought to be respectful and modest towards
the lieutenant as well as towards me. Towards Baron Im-
hoff or the General Commissioner you would not dare to be-
have so, I am certain of that. And double-faced is false-
faced, it is said. I shall write that to the count.”

“Don’t get excited, Herr Quandt,” interrupted Hickel.
“It’s not worth while ; we must ascribe it to his lack of under-
standing. Moreover, I had a letter from the count yester-
day.” He put his hand in his breast pocket and pulled out a
folded paper. “You would like to know what he writes,
Hauser? Well, it is not exactly complimentary to you. The
good count is worried, as usual, and recommends us to use
great severity in case you don’t obey.”

Caspar looked incredulous. “He wrote that?” he asked
hesitatingly.

Hickel nodded.

“He was very angry too, that time, at your secrecy about
the diary,” said Quandt.

“I shall explain all that to him when he returns,” replied
Caspar.

Hickel rubbed his back against a corner of the stove and

[329]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

laughed. “When he returns! When! But who knows
whether he will return? It seems to me that he has no great
desire to return. Do you think, you silly boy, that such a
man has nothing better to do than to pass away the time
here?”

“He will return, lieutenant,” replied Caspar with a trium-
phant smile.

“Oh, ho,” exclaimed Hickel. “That certainly sounds final.
How does one know that so exactly ?”

“Because he promised,” replied Caspar with steadfast
honesty. “He gave me a sacred promise to return in a year.
He promised on the eighth of December, so there are ten
months and sixteen days up to that time.”

Hickel looked at Quandt, Quandt looked at his wife and
all three broke out laughing. “He seems well versed in
arithmetic,” remarked Hickel dryly. Then he put his hand
on Caspar’s head and asked, “Who cut off his beautiful
curls?”

Quandt replied that Caspar had wished it done himself
since he had imagined that it was not suitable for a grown
up man to go about with such a quantity of hair. “You may
go to bed, Caspar,” he then said.

Caspar shook hands with every one and left. When he
had gone, Quandt opened the door softly and listened.
“Look here, lieutenant,” he whispered anxiously to Hickel,
“if he knows, or assumes, that any one is listening to him
he walks upstairs slowly and thoughtfully, but if he thinks
he’s unobserved he can jump like a hare, three steps at a
time. Isn’t it so, wife?”

His wife corroborated the remark, and how much trouble
he gave! She added irritably that he had now been in the
house for six weeks and had had fourteen shirts in the
laundry; he always had to be dressed up like a doll, and at
the crack of dawn was already brushing his clothes.

She placed a glass of brandy in front of the lieutenant,

[3301]
 

CASTLE FALKENHAUS

and went into the next room to nurse the baby who was
crying.

“Yes, it’s the very devil with him,” Quandt continued his
wife’s lamentations. “The other day I was reading from the
Bavarian Chamber of Deputies. Hauser walked up back of
me and when I had finished he read the title half aloud to
himself as if the name astonished him. Now, the Bavarian
Chamber of Deputies is read in every decent house, is it not?
Besides, he has had the opportunity day after day to see the
paper on our table and the name could not possibly be new
to him. So I asked him whether he did not know what a
chamber of deputies was. Whereupon he replied with his
most innocent expression that it was probably a room in
which one locked people up. Now I ask you if that doesn’t
beat the Dutch? An angel would have to come down from
heaven for me to believe, and be taken in by such nonsense,
and even then I think I should doubt whether it were a real
angel or only an assumed one.”

“What do you expect, it’s all a swindle,” answered the
Police-Lieutenant. “The whole thing is a swindle.” And as
he swayed affectedly to and fro an indefinable dull hatred
glowed in his eyes.

Everything a swindle. This was a judgment relating not
only to the anecdote just narrated, but to all of the activities
of mankind, to which he was indifferent to the verge of
nausea, in so far as they were unrelated to his own well-
being. Let them hack off each other’s heads, let them quarrel
about heaven and hell, king and country, build their houses,
bear their children, let them murder and steal and rob,
betray and cheat or labor honestly and perform noble deeds,
everything to him in the final analysis was a swindle, except
the underwriting of a carefree existence, which society in his
own eyes owed him.

Baron von Lang, who liked Hickel because of his flattering
ways, enjoyed telling how Hickel had met the baron’s son, a
young doctor of philosophy, walking over the Landstrasse

[331]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

one evening, and how the young man pointing towards the
stars in the sky had begun to speak of the countless worlds
up above, whereupon Hickel, with his most sarcastic expres-
sion, had said: “Do you really, seriously believe, Doctor, that
those pretty little lights up there are anything but . . .
lights ?”

This was not merely ignorance, but the expression of that
superiority which culminated in the words: “everything
a swindle.”

It was known all over town that Hickel lived above his
means. It was his ideal to be a cavalier, his passion to be
elegant, and he had a tremendous flair for the genuineness
and legitimacy of everything connected with these desires.
Some time ago when his application for membership in a
distinguished club for officials had been under discussion
there had been a long period of hesitation, for he was not
at all popular and was, moreover, of low birth, his parents
being humble cottagers in Dombiihl. Finally he had been
able to put through his wishes by frightening certain persons
with the disclosure of family secrets. Hofrat Hofmann
expressed the predominant feeling in regard to him when he
said: “He does not reveal himself, this Hickel, he does not
reveal himself.” As a matter of fact it always seemed as
if Hickel were lying in ambush with something dangerous
up his sleeve.

He understood excellently what role to play with the Presi-
dent. He could even permit himself to express certain
truths to the otherwise so unapproachable man, which
sounded friendly or interested, but which, as a matter of
fact, were nothing but sugar-coated malice. He had a cer-
tain undeniable skill in telling amusing little stories and bits
of current city gossip. This amused Feuerbach and made
him lenient towards many other things. “Curious,” said
people, “that the President should be so fond of this fellow
Hickel.” In any case, the lieutenant always found a ready
listener in Feuerbach and slyly took pleasure when the Presi-

[332]
 

CASTLE FALKENHAUS

 

dent would attack him in his bearlike manner, censuring his
frivolous mode of life and exposing his bad instincts at their
very root with astonishing keenness. Is it not likely that
precisely this thing misled and attracted the President? Per-
haps he had perceived too clearly the emptiness and sullen-
ness of Hickel’s soul and had become too familiar with it to
be able to cast him aside.

Hickel finally managed to convince the President that
Caspar should not be allowed to go about as freely as hereto-
fore, and a guard was appointed, an old veteran, with a
wooden leg and one arm. This good man took his new
obligations very conscientiously, and followed Caspar’s every
step, accompanied by the laughter of the street urchins. The
policeman had speculated correctly, if the regulation, which
looked as if it were the outgrowth of a great solicitude, was
intended to restrict the boy’s freedom as much as possible.
There was complaint after complaint now from Quandt,
then from Caspar, again from the invalid, whom Caspar not
infrequently outwitted by stealing away secretly.

He complained of his troubles to Herr Fuhrmann, the
clergyman, who gave him religious instruction; the latter,
who was well disposed toward him, urged him to be patient.
“Of what use is patience,” exclaimed Caspar obstinately,
“things get worse all the time!”

“Of what use,” replied the clergyman mildly, “what use
is it to God to watch our senseless behavior! By patience he
directs us towards good. Patience brings roses.”

Nevertheless the clergyman appealed to the President who
promised help without, for the time, doing anything. His
annual visit of inspection through the circuit took him away
from the city for three weeks; when he returned he sent
one day for Hickel to come to his study. “Listen to me,
Hickel,” he said, “you know this neighborhood pretty well?
Good. Have you ever heard of the Falkenhaus?”

“Certainly, Your Excellency,” replied Hickel. “The so-

[333]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

called Falkenhaus is a very old hunting castle of our mar-
graves in the Triesdorf Forest.”

“That’s it. It has interested me for some time. I have
made inquiries and I have discovered the following. The
Falkenhaus until about four years ago served as a ranger’s
lodge, and the last ranger lived there entirely alone for many
years. The man never associated with any one, was never
seen at any inn, and made his purchases in the neighboring
villages himself. One day he was suddenly found to have
disappeared, and a discharged policeman is said to have
seen him in Suabia as the proprietor or the manager of an
estate farm. I followed these traces and it appears not only
that they are correct, but that in October, 1830, the man was
found one night murdered in his bed.”

“Of that I know nothing. I only know that the Falken-
haus is old and uninhabited, and that all kinds of spooky
stories are told about the uncanny hermitage.”

“In any case put your mind on the matter,” said the Presi-
dent. “You had better send some one familiar with the
place to make a careful investigation.”

“Your orders will be carried out, Your Excellency. May
I ask what case is in question?”

“It’s connected with Caspar Hauser and his imprison-
ment.”

“Ah,” Hickel cleared his throat and made a bow, heaven
knows why. :

“I believe that I can assume with certainty that Falken-
haus was the place of his cruel imprisonment. From Cas-
par’s first stories about his mode of travel with the unknown
man I was certain that the place itself must be sought in
Franconia, not too far from Niirnberg or Ansbach; now
the traces have led me to the Falkenhaus.”

“Probably Your Excellency needs this evidence for your
monograph on Caspar Hauser,” remarked Hickel flatteringly.

“Yes, that's it.”

“And will the work still appear this year? Your Excel

[3341
 

CASTLE FALKENHAUS

lency will forgive the question, but I am deeply interested
in the affair.”

“You ask too much, Hickel. Never mind. There is a
note for Hofrat Hofmann, give it to some one outside to be
delivered. I want to drive with the Hofrat and Caspar to
the Falkenhaus to-morrow. Inform Caspar to be ready, but
on no account mention the purpose of the trip.”

Caspar arrived at the appointed hour and soon found
himself to his astonishment seated opposite the President and
Herr Hofmann in the former’s comfortable carriage. They
drove in silence, which was seldom interrupted, through the
sunny spring landscape.

They arrived. A walk through the deserted forest lodge
and a thorough examination of its surroundings did not
reveal anything. If a room underground had formerly
existed and been used for this frightful purpose the former
inhabitant had certainly filled it up, and time had covered
all traces. :

Then the eye of the President, looking sharply about in
the open, discovered in a tract to the right of the building
a curiously formed earth-pit. The trace seemed to indicate
that formerly a wooden shed of some sort had been built
over it, for all around there still lay rotting boards and beams
and torn shingles. Seven steps, hewn in the soil and al-
ready decayed, led down into the cavern where the curiously
smooth earth was covered with yellow moss.

On seeing this Feuerbach turned white. After standing a
long time sunk in thought he descended the steps, touched
several spots on the walls and in one corner bent down on to
the ground, all the while somber and silent. When he came
up again he looked penetratingly at Caspar, who stood quietly
there, and let his unconscious glance sink into the depths of
the forest. Does he not divine anything, thought Feuerbach,
has he no foreboding of where his feet are resting? Does
no breath from the past stir within him? Do the trees not
speak to him? Does the air not reveal anything? And since

[3351]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

it does not appear so, may I venture to terminate the ending
of this horrible uncertainty with a definite yes or no?

The carriage remained standing on the Heerstrasse out-
side. On their way back through the woods, Caspar, who had
suddenly been seized by an unconquerable fit of depression,
which compelled him to walk slowly, remained quite a dis-
tance behind the two men.

Hofrat Hofmann seized this opportunity to communicate
a few of his rational doubts to the President. “There is only
one thing I should like to know,” he said with a face full of
doubt, “I should like to know why, if the boy languished
so long in prison, he was suddenly set free; and not only
that, but also why he was brought to a big city, where he
would create the greatest excitement and necessarily betray
his tormentor? Such logic is incomprehensible to me.”

“Ah, well, one could think of several explanations,” re-
plied the President, quietly, “either one was tired of him;
to keep him longer meant difficulties, even danger; or his
jailor may have been ordered to kill him, but seized by some
comprehensible emotion of pity or affection or fear decided
to have him disappear in a different manner, and where could
this be accomplished with greater hopes of success than just
in a big city? They reflected thus: Herr Wessenig would,
in accordance with the letter, put him into the army. There
there are lots of illiterates and half-idiots and he won’t be
noticeable, thought the criminal, with an optimism which, of
course, merely proves his own want of knowledge. When,
however, affairs turned out differently, he was seized with
fear and told, was obliged to tell, those people who held the
thread of the matter in their hands from the beginning, and
these were obliged to search for a means of rendering harm-
less this most fearful witness to their guilt who, now pro-
tected by the world, appeared to them like one resurrected.”

“Very clever, very clever,” murmured Herr Hofmann ap-
provingly, without permitting the President to notice that
he was still unconvinced.

[3361]
 

CASTLE FALKENHAUS

 

Late that afternoon they got back to the city. Caspar
separated himself from the gentlemen and went homeward.
On his walk he met Frau von Imhoff. She greeted him and
asked him why he had not been to see her for so long.

“Haven't any time, have lots of work,” replied Caspar,
but with such an embarrassed face that the intelligent woman
noticed that this could not be the real reason. She did not
pursue the matter, however, and changing the subject, asked
whether he was thoroughly enjoying the spring.

Caspar looked up into the sky and at the tops of the elms,
as if he had overlooked the spring up to then, and shook his
head. Gladly he would have said much, his heart was full to
overflowing, but his tongue seemed weighted with lead;
furthermore, he did not have the feeling that this woman,
however friendly she might appear, was really interested in
him. And what would be the use? he thought.

“I am to deliver greetings to you,” she said as she was
leaving after having invited him to dinner on Sunday. “Do
you still remember the story of my friend which I told the
evening that Lord Stanhope was at the house? She sends
her greetings. And greetings from her mean a great deal.”

“What is the woman’s name?” asked Caspar, as he had
asked it the time of the incident, only not smiling and happy,
but rather detachedly.

Frau von Imhoff smiled. This curiosity about names
seemed funny to her. “Kannawurf is her name, Clara
von Kannawurf,” she answered kindly.

Very nice of her to send greetings, thought Caspar as he
continued on his way, but what is the use? How can it be of
any use to me?

[337]
XX
QUANDT TREADS ON DELICATE GROUND

CAsPAR had scarcely gotten back to the house and entered
the living room before he noticed that something unusual
was afoot. Quandt sat at the table correcting copy books
with a somber face, his wife was rocking the baby on her
knees and, following the example of her husband, did not
return Caspar’s greeting. The lamp was not yet lighted,
a scarlet evening sky flamed through the window, and when
Caspar had hung up his hat he went out again into the yard.
There the teacher’s four-year-old boy was playing with
marbles, Caspar sat down next to him on the stone bench;
after a while Quandt appeared and he had scarcely seen
the two side by side than he hurried over, seized the boy
by the hand, and quickly led him away as if from the prox-
imity of some one suffering from a contagious illness.

Caspar at once followed the teacher into the house. But
Quandt was not in the room and he found the wife alone.
“What is the matter here, Frau Quandt?” he asked.

“Why, don’t you know?” replied the woman with em-
barrassment. “Haven't you heard that Frau Behold has
thrown herself out of the window? It’s in the newspaper
to-day.”

“Threw herself out of the window!” whispered Caspar
with excitement.

“Yes, she threw herself from the garret into the court
and crushed her skull. For some time already she is said
to have been behaving like a crazy woman.”

Caspar did not know what to say, his eyes grew large
and he sighed.

“It doesn’t seem to touch you greatly, Hauser,” Quandt,

[338]
 

QUANDT TREADS ON DELICATE GROUND

 

who had come in silently when he heard the two talking,
said suddenly.

Caspar turned around and said sadly: “She was a bad
woman, Herr Quandt.”

Quandt walked up to him and exclaimed cuttingly: “Un-
fortunate boy, to have the effrontery to desecrate the mem-
ory of a dead woman. You will never be forgiven for that.
Now you have revealed your black soul. Shame, shame,
and shame upon you! Get out of my sight! Does it not
stir your soul that the departed may perhaps have been
driven to such a deed by worry over your ingratitude? Does
that not dawn upon you? Of course, a self-seeking boy
like you does not worry about the sufferings of other peo-
ple, only his own welfare is important to him.”

“Husband, husband, calm yourself,” the wife broke in
after casting a shy glance at Caspar, who had turned deathly
pale, and stood with his eyes completely closed, pressing
the finger tips of his hands against one another!

“You are right, wife,” replied Quandt, “I am wasting my
indignation upon deaf ears. How can one hope to improve
a person who has no humility and veneration in the face of
death itself? It’s simply throwing away time and trouble.”

When Caspar reached his room the last rays of the set-
ting sun were still glowing over the hills. He sat down
by the window, took up a flower-pot, and looked down at
it. The stem of the calix shook and it seemed to him as
if he heard distant sounds. He wished to have the coun-
tenance of a flower in order not to have to return the glance
of a human eye. Or he wished at least to hide himself in
a flower until the year from whose ending he hoped so
much was over. There one could be still and wait.

During the following days no mention of Frau Behold
was made, and Quandt carefully avoided her name. He was
all the more surprised when Caspar returned to the subject
of his own accord. On Saturday at lunch he suddenly said

[339]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

that he regretted what he had said of the dead woman, he
realized it was wrong to complain of a dead woman.

Quandt at once became attention. Aha, thought he, his
conscience is beginning to stir, but he did not reply at all
and only looked askance as if he wanted to say: let that
drop, I know what I know. But his spleen was stirred and,
while they were all three silently eating their soup, he could
not refrain from saying: “You ought to be ashamed down
to the very ground, Hauser, when you think of your be-
havior towards Frau Behold’s innocent daughter.”

“Why?” replied Caspar, surprised. “What in the world
did I do?”

“Oh, now you want to play the little lamb,” replied the
teacher, contemptuously. “Thank heaven, I have everything
in Frau Behold’s own handwriting, so denial won’t help
you.”

Caspar looked uneasy and puzzled. He questioned once
more, then Quandt went to his desk and took Frau Behold’s
letter out of a drawer and standing beside Caspar read in
a low voice: “There is much talk about his chastity and
innocence in all such matters. About this, too, I have some-
thing to tell, for I witnessed with my own eyes at the time,
how he approached my thirteen-year-old daughter. . . .”

Gradually Caspar understood. Slowly he laid down his
spoon and his bread; his food stuck in his throat. His eyes
grew very dark, he got up and exclaimed in a voice full of
misery, “Oh, these people, these people!” and dashed out
of the room.

The couple looked at one another. The wife put her hand
flat down on the table cloth and said firmly: “No, Quandt,
I can’t believe it. Mrs. Behold must have been mistaken.
He does not even know what a woman is.”

Quandt, too, was touched. “That remains to be seen,
that would have to be proved,” he said, shaking his head.
“You are very credulous, my dear. I remember at the birth
of our daughter that to my surprise he talked of the matter

[ 340]
 

QUANDT TREADS ON DELICATE GROUND

 

like a mature man. That seemed very suspicious to me at
once. Nevertheless, I admit that Frau Behold may have
gone too far in the letter, and that consequently I may have
been premature in my judgment. But I must get behind
the matter and find out how far his knowledge goes, for
as to his childishness, you know, I simply don’t believe in
it.’

“You must conciliate him, Quandt, this thing was a little
too strong!” said his wife.

Quandt looked thoughtful. “Conciliate him, yes, indeed,
T’ll do it gladly. But then he’s always so clinging and af-
fectionate that I find him hard to resist, and thus my objective
opinion is colored. To-morrow I'll talk to the clergyman
about the matter.”

No sooner said than done. Unfortunately Quandt on this
occasion showed the fussiness of an old maid, and was as
full of circumlocutions and flowery figures of speech as if
the relations between men and women were only of an
ethereal nature, which were at times sullied and defiled by
offensive incidents which could not be eradicated.

The clergyman could not but smile. After some surprise
and reflection he replied that he had never observed anything
in the least objectionable in Hauser’s character in this re-
gard; Caspar seemed to him, as far as the relations between
the sexes were concerned, to be a complete child as yet.
As a proof of this he told the teacher how, about a month
ago, when he was explaining to Caspar as well as he could
a passage in the Bible which had struck him, the boy with
charming hesitation had spoken of certain recurring periods
of uneasiness, a condition which had certainly often oppressed
him and for the interpretation of which he had never found
any one to confide in. The old man assured him that he
could never forget the way in which Caspar had brought
up the matter, it had sounded like an unsuspecting reproach
against nature, which was doing things to him against which
he could not defend himself.

[341]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

No word of this escaped Quandt. He saw the matter with
different eyes. He looked upon this as the indication of a
perverted fantasy. However he did not say anything in the
presence of the clergyman, but went home with his silent
premeditation, and lay in ambush eagerly awaiting his op-
portunity.

The next day Caspar was to lunch at the Imhoffs’, but
came back again, for the Baroness was sick in bed. At
supper the conversation turned upon this, and when Quandt
expressed his regret Caspar said: “Ah, perhaps she will
never get quite well again.”

“What are you saying, Caspar?” the teacher’s wife broke
in, “such a young woman, so rich and so beautiful.”

“Ah,” replied Caspar sadly, “riches and beauty don’t help.
She has already worn herself out too much with grief.”

“Has she perhaps confided her grief in you?” inquired
Quandt incredulously.

Caspar did not reply to this question and continued, as
if speaking to himself: “There is nothing in the world the
matter with her, except that her husband is not as he ought
to be; he prefers other women. Why? Otherwise he is
so intelligent. But even if the woman grieves herself to
death, it won’t help matters. And people take back every-
thing to her. I told her that those are not your friends
who tell you such rubbish, they are not real friends.”

“Hm,” remarked Quandt and looked down at his plate
smiling curiously. He overcame his feeling of shame and
asked with forced lightness whether Herr von Imhoff had
recently given his wife fresh cause for worry; to his knowl-
edge a reconciliation had taken place only in March.

“Why, of course, he has given her cause,” replied Caspar
simply. “He has again become the father of a child!”

Quandt was frightened. Now, we've got it, he thought.
And hard as it was for him, he decided to get to the bottom
of the matter at once. He exchanged a glance of compre-
hension with his wife and told her she should see what the

[342]
 

QUANDT TREADS ON DELICATE GROUND

children were about. When she had left the room the
teacher, white and excited by the difficulty of his undertak-
ing, turned to Caspar and asked him whether he had as
yet had anything to do with a woman; various conjectures
had been advanced, and Caspar was to speak only to him, as
to a father.

Caspar was grateful for these words. He regarded them
as a sign of sympathy, although he did not understand their
meaning or purpose, but only had a timorous foreboding
of the murky element from which they emanated.

He considered. “With a woman, what do you mean?”
he murmured.

“My question is clear, Hauser, don’t pretend to be so
childish.”

“Yes, I understand,” replied Caspar quickly, in order not
to dissipate the teacher’s good humor, “and there has been
something.”

“Well, come out with it! Take courage!”

And harmlessly Caspar began to narrate: “About six
weeks ago I took my Sunday suit to the cleaner’s in
Uzensgasse. You know, Herr Quandt, it is the little house
next to the baker's. When I got there the store was locked
and I knocked at the door. A young girl opened and was
in her night-gown, that was all that she had on her body,
one could see her whole breast, it was horrible. She took
the things from me and said that she would tell the cleaner.
I was still in front of the door. ‘Just come in,” she said.
Then I went in and asked her what she wanted. Then she
began to dance about in front of me, laughed and talked a
lot of rot, and asked me whether I wanted to be her bride-
groom and finally—" he hesitated, smilingly.

“Finally, what finally?” asked Quandt, bending his head
forward.

“Finally she asked me to give her a kiss.”

© “Well, and?”
L343]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

“I told her to look for some one else, I did not care about
smacking lips.”

“And further?”

“And further, further there was nothing. I went away
and she looked out of the window after me.”

“How could you notice that?”

“Because I turned around.”

“Ah, so; you turned around. What’s the woman’s name ?”’

“I don’t know it.”

“Youdon't know it. Hm... . And. ... Were you there
a second time?”

Caspar said “No.”

“A fine tale,” murmured Quandt, getting up and casting
his eyes towards heaven.

He made careful inquiries. He found out that a woman
of doubtful reputation really did lodge at the cleaner’s. Con-
sideration for his reputation prevented him from going to
the root of the matter, and anyway he had gotten the im-
pression that the boy could not be as innocent in the whole
affair as he pretended to be. For, so he argued, only a per-
son whose brow bears the stamp of a certain moral deficiency
could offer the opportunity for such low behavior as that
of this female creature.

Yes, if he did not lie, thought Quandt, then everything
would be different, but he lies, that’s the frightful thing,
he lies. Had he not said that the Archduchess of Kurland
gave him a dozen embroidered handkerchiefs? No word
of truth in it. Had he not stated that he knew the minister,
Herr von Spiess, and had spoken to him at the theater?
Lies. Had he not given himself the air with the musician
Schiiler of having read the Gessner Idylls, and when the
latter asked him about them had he not been unable to say
a word about them? He did not even know what an idyll
was. Does he not always pretend to have pressing errands
© first with the President, then with the Hofrat, and later it
turns out that he has merely loafed about in order to go

L344]
 

QUANDT TREADS ON DELICATE GROUND

 

walking in a new cravat? Is not all this a fact, or am I
so stupid and so unjust that I put an interpretation on these
matters which would not occur to any one else?

Quandt went to Herr Fuhrmann and presented to him
these damnable transgressions point by point.

“Do you not see, my dear Quandt,” replied the clergy-
man, “that these are a lot of pitiful little lies which hardly
deserve such a name? It is more a desire to win favor, or
an attempt, pitiful because of its inadequacy, to break bonds,
or perhaps it is only a harmless pleasure in words, a form
of speech. Perhaps he is merely playing with words, as
other people play with them, only much more awkwardly.”

“So,” replied Quandt eagerly, “then I will tell your rev-
erence a story which affords decisive evidence to the con-
trary. Just listen. Last week our maid one morning found
the handle of his candle-stick broken; she showed it to my
wife, who brought the matter to my attention, and I found
that the handle was not broken but melted off; the hollow
part was burned black right down to the bottom from the
heat of the candle, and the outside a reddish blue from the
flame; in the saucer one could clearly see how high the
melted wax had reached, and how in several spots it was
scratched away. There was no trace left of the whole can-
dle which Hauser had received the night before. Now you
must know that I had strictly forbidden him to read or to
study by candle-light; nevertheless I wanted to spare him
and only had my wife warn him. But then he suddenly de-
nied everything, assured her that he had neither knowingly
let the candle burn, nor fallen asleep with it burning, and
finally was bold enough to state that it was not his candle-
stick at all but that of the maid, for both looked alike. What
do you say to that?”

The clergyman shrugged his shoulders. “We must not
forget in spite of everything that he is a curiously consti-
tuted being,” he replied thoughtfully. “I have convinced
myself of it. I own a little electrical machine with which I

[345]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

sometimes experiment. Recently I took the thing out while
Caspar was present, produced some sparks and charged the
Leyden jar. Whereupon the poor soul turned white and
whiter before my eyes, commenced to tremble, spread his
fingers out stiffly in front of him, his body quivering like a
live pike thrown on the sand. I was greatly frightened and
put away my apparatus, whereupon he returned to his usual
state. However, his head ached for days later, as he con-
fessed to me, when he was in bed he had cold sweats and
the things which he touched pricked him as if with tiny
needles. Characteristically enough, he declared that during
storms it was always the same; his blood burned and tickled
so that he constantly wanted to scream.

“And you believe in that?” exclaimed Quandt, striking
his hands one upon the other.

“Yes, why indeed not?”

“Well, if you believe in that I find myself at a great disad-
vantage among other people, that I must admit,” said Quandt.
“That 1 must admit,” he repeated miserably.

It’s always so, thought the teacher on his way home. First
things are excused and embellished and when one brings
cogent reasons people shrug their shoulders and present you
with little stories which are highfalutin and improbable,
and no iota of which can be proved. What a Satan there is
in that boy that everywhere, wherever he goes, he knows
how to call forth liking and sympathy. Curious that no one
wants to see his faults, that perfect strangers are bent upon
meeting him and express the shallowest enthusiasm as if they
were bewitched, or as if he had given them a love potion.

This embittered Quandt. He said to himself: let us as-
sume that I suddenly should appear among people who did
not know me and give out that I was the Holy Ghost or his
Apostle or pretended to be able to work miracles and it hap-
pened that this or that person demanded a real miracle, and
I should then confess to complete dissimulation—what would
happen? I should either be shut up in an asylum or given a

[ 346]
 

QUANDT TREADS ON DELICATE GROUND

flogging. Yes, they would do that to me, even if I assumed
an angel’s face, that’s what they would do and they would
do right; people would not load me down with presents and
regard me as a saint and admire my beautiful eyes and
white hands, and cut off locks of my hair as a souvenir as
I have, I confess to God, been obliged to witness misguided
people about me doing.

From self-communion of this sort one can clearly see that
his association with his pupil was a source of worry and of
serious internal conflicts for the teacher.

And what about the boy’s past? Quandt racked his brains.
Where does he really come from? One ought to be able to
get to the bottom of that. How has he devised all these
combinations with which he fools the esoteric? Yes, that’s
just the secret, the obscurants say. Secret? There is no
secret; I repudiate secrets. The world from top to bottom
is a clear structure and when the sun shines owls hide. If
only God would give me some hint on how to cope with this
diabolically artful deception. One ought sometime to see
what this diary business means and what there is back of
that. The diary seems to exist, that seems to be a real fact,
in spite of all the nagging ; perhaps it is a kind of confessional
for him; one must get to the bottom of this.

Events helped Quandt to get to the bottom of it more
quickly than he had hoped.

[3471
XXI
A VOICE CALLS

ONE afternoon in the middle of the summer Hickel ap-
peared and gave Caspar a letter addressed to him, the lieu-
tenant, but intended as a matter of fact for Caspar. It was
from Count Stanhope and specifically directed the young man
to hand over his diary to Hickel.

Caspar read the writing through three times before he
finally found any words, then he refused to obey.

“Then, my good boy,” said Hickel, “if kindly means won’t
do, I shall have to resort to force.”

Caspar recollected himself, then he said sadly that the only
person to whom he could give the diary was the President,
and he would take it to him to-morrow morning if it was
insisted upon.

“All right,” replied the lieutenant, “I'll call for you to-
morrow morning and then we will go to the President with
the diary.”

Hickel wanted to gain time. He had naturally no desire
to have the diary get into Feuerbach’s hands; it was just
this that he had orders to prevent and he pondered what he
should do. As regards Caspar, toward noon be stole out of
the house and ran to the President’s residence in order to
complain. Feuerbach was in the Senate. Caspar confided
his trouble to the President’s daughter and she promised to
tell her father.

In the afternoon the bell rang at the Quandts’ and the
President entered the room. Meantime Caspar, in order not
to be obliged to hand over his cherished treasure even to
this man whom he revered, had thought of an excuse, and
when the President in Quandt’s presence asked for the diary

[348]
 

A VOICE CALLS

 

and whether it was true that he did not want to show it,
Caspar replied that he had burned it.

Then the teacher gave a start and could not restrain an
exclamation of anger.

“When did you burn it?” asked Feuerbach quietly.

“To-day.”

“And why?”

“In order not to be obliged to give it up.”

“Why do you not want to give it up?”

Caspar remained silent and stared at the ground.

“That's a lie, he has not burned it, Your Excellency,”
cried Quandt, shaking with anger. “And even if he did keep
a diary he must have done away with it long ago. Since
Christmas I have been looking for it everywhere, I have
searched in every corner of his room and never anywhere
have I found a trace of it.”

The President, silent and astonished, looked at Quandt
with large eyes; it was a glance that contained fatigue and
grief.

“Where was the diary kept, Caspar?” he then continued to
inquire.

Caspar replied hesitatingly he had hidden it first here, then
there, now among his books, then in a closet, finally on a
nail on the back of his writing desk. Quandt meantime shook
his head constantly and smiled an evil smile. “Did you put
in the nail yourself ?”’ he inquired.

“Yes.

“Who gave you permission?”

“Go now, Caspar,” the President commandingly inter-
rupted the conversation between the two. “I do not under-
stand,” he turned to the teacher when Caspar had left, “why
Lord Stanhope suddenly places such importance upon the
diary. He probably overestimates the doubtless innocent
records. Moreover, with kindness and persuasion one would
have gotten on better than by a categorical order.”

“Kindness, persuasion?’ replied Quandt, wringing his

[349]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

hands. “Then Your Excellency has a poor understanding of
this person. Through kindness one only unleashes his self-
seeking, and persuasion increases his obstinacy. Yes, he
already regards himself as a somebody, gets up on his hind
legs, opposes one and is capable of giving me an answer
which leaves me standing as if slapped in the face. I beg
Your Excellency’s pardon, but I am of the opinion that
even you will not make any progress with him through kind-
ness and persuasion.”

“Come now,” said the President, and walking to the win-
dow, he looked gloomily at the dripping branches of the
pear-tree which grew by the wall of the yard.

“I venture to assure Your Excellency with certainty that
he has not burned the diary,” Quandt finished, with an im-
ploring voice.

The President did not reply. How repulsive it was to
him to be obliged to put up with all these petty squabbles
which they brought to him. He longed for peace. The one
piece of work, that must be completed—then . . . . peace.

Feuerbach had scarcely left when Quandt hurried to
Caspar’s room, pushed the writing desk away from the wall
and looked to see whether there was a nail there. Actually
a nail had been hammered into the wall. Quandt called the
maid up. “Has Hauser had a hammer recently and have
you heard him hammering?” he asked. The maid replied,
yes; last week he had fetched a hammer and nails from
the kitchen and she had heard him knocking.

Suddenly Quandt had an inspiration. It is summer, he
thought, and if he has really burned the diary, the ashes
must still be in the stove. He went to the stove, knelt down
and with greedy hands emptied all the charred and burned
contents of the cavernous opening out upon the floor.

The ashes of much paper came out. Quandt took care
that the big pieces should not break, for one can read writing
even upon ashes. He pushed the fragments apart with care.
He feared to touch this or that piece with his fingers and

[3501]
 

A VOICE CALLS

 

blew it aside with the breath of his mouth; when there was
writing upon it he tried to read the words, but could not
make out any connection.

Then steps approached and Caspar entered, not a little
astonished at the posture in which he saw the teacher, whose
hands and face were black with soot while the sweat poured
down from his forehead.

Quandt did not permit himself to be deterred. “Such a
quantity of ashes cannot possibly come from your diary
alone,” he said.

“I burned old letters and papers with it,” replied Caspar.

The cool, matter-of-fact answer made Quandt’s face turn
red with rage. He got up hastily, murmured something
through his teeth and left the room, banging the door after
him. “You shall not come with us to the Dance this eve-
ning,” he screamed on the steps.

In the Ressource there was a garden party, organized by
the Rifle Club. Quandt as a matter of fact had no desire to
go; such things always cost money. But his wife wanted
amusement like other people for once, was sick of this tire-
some hanging about at home. She had already made herself
a chintz dress for this purpose a week before, and so the
teacher was obliged to yield, and “pay his tribute to folly,”
as he put it, especially since the weather had become fine
toward evening.

Caspar remained sitting at the open window until night-
fall and enjoyed the silence. Then he struck a light and a
smile played about his lips as he went to the wall, took down
the steel engraving over the sofa, loosened the wooden board
that backed the frame, and drew forth the diary which was
hidden under it. He sat down with it at the table, thought-
fully turned some of the pages of the book and read through
several passages.

Here a whole generation, the entire period of development
of a human being, had been condensed into the course of not
more than four years, one stage pressing upon another with

L351]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

weird rapidity. That which it contained scarcely uttered or
pictured the innocent outpouring of early pleasures and
griefs: the first fearful understanding of the world, boyish
philosophy and obstinate struggles with mundane and super-
mundane nature, which he ominously felt to be hostile, all
this would have bitterly disappointed these huntsmen intent
on their prey. But it was not meant for them, it was meant
for his mother ; to her it was dedicated once and for all, and
with the eccentricity so characteristic of him the thought that
any other eye than hers should even rest upon these pages
was quite inconceivable to Caspar. It may also have been that
gradually in his imagination this copy-book had become his
only real possession, the only thing that fully belonged to
him and which possessed his whole confidence.

On one of the first pages stood: “Recently I sowed my
name with garden cresses, it grew very nicely and gave me
great pleasure. Some one came into the garden and stole
pears and trod on my name and then I cried. Herr Daumer
told me I should make it again and I did make it again and
the next day the cats trod on it.”

‘Then followed in the same helpless style some attempts to
describe his imprisonment somewhat as follows: “The Story
of Caspar Hauser: 1 want to tell, myself, how badly things
went with me. But then when I was locked up in prison it
seemed all right to me, because I knew nothing of the world,
and never saw a human being.”

In this tone it continued ; later on there were some attempts
at fine writing, one of which began with the sentence: “What
adult would not think with sorrowful emotion of the un-
deserved imprisonment in which I spent the most blooming
period of my life; and at a time when many youths live in
golden pleasures my nature was not yet in the least awake.”

Dreams, hopes, images of longing, reports of little out-
ings, of conversations with strangers, here and there an en-
couraging word found in a book or scratched down out of
a wilderness of talk without content, and gradually sentences

[352]
 

A VOICE CALLS

 

which contained something like a personal polish and a curi-
ous concealed melancholy in their style. A grief was never
expressed plainly, or a judgment or an opinion stated; he
was, as Quandt described this characteristic, sly as a fox.
Of an important day he frequently noted only the date and
next to that a little star; sometimes an event was only indi-
cated by shy circumlocutions, nor was his spirit lacking in
laconicisms ; of the attempted murder in Daumer’s house he
stated briefly: “The harvest moon was almost the moon of
my death.”

Little incidents of daily life: “Yesterday a bee stung me,
Fraulein von Stichaner sucked the wound, she said ‘1 hom-
ever a bee stings is lucky.’” Or: “Yesterday there was a
raging fire, the woods at Dautenwinden burned; I sat half
the night through at the window, and thought the world was
coming to an end.”

The delicacy of his senses was incisively expressed: “Herr
Quandt smells like stale air, his wife like wool, the Hofrat
like paper, the President like tobacco, the lieutenant like oil,
the clergyman like a wardrobe. Almost every one smells.
badly, only the count smelled like a body which consisted of
nothing but fair air.”

Several pages were dedicated to the count; here the tone
became poetical and not infrequently entreating, after the
manner of a prayer. Stanhope and the sun became pictures
of related forces. Since his departure from Niirnberg this
had ceased, his lordship’s name was no longer mentioned;
only the solemn promise of the eighth of December was
written down.

In the last few days a drawing had been made which filled
half of a whole page; it was the outline of a masculine head
sketched with a strikingly skillful hand. It was a strange
face, not like any mortal’s, rather resembling that of a
statue—as if snatched from some frightful vision and pain-
fully rigid. Underneath was written:

[3331
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

Oh! Great One! Say! What wouldst thou have of me?
Thou followest me, and followest a blind track.
Beneath thy gaze my aspect is transformed:

The dungeon doors are opened, and the child

That lay there long imprisoned issues forth.

Gone are the mantle and the sword and crown:

And riderless the white horse rides afield.

The drawing had been made one night; starting up from
a dream Caspar had seen the face before him; he had jumped
out of bed and had drawn it by moonlight. The verses he
had found ready on his lips when he awoke the next morning.
He had not puzzled himself further about their meaning;
only now he became perplexed and whispered them to him-
self several times.

Meantime darkness had come, Caspar was just about to
get up from the table when he heard the front door creak,
quick steps approached, there was a knock at the door and
Quandt’s voice ordered him to open it. Frightened, Caspar
blew out the light. In the darkness he felt his way to the
sofa, put the diary back in its hiding place, and while Quandt
knocked louder and louder he succeeded in hanging the pic-
ture back on its nail.

Quandt, walking along the Spitalweg, had already noticed
at a distance the light in Caspar’s room. He seized his wife
by the arm and exclaimed: “Look, wife, just look.”

“What’s the matter again?” complained his wife, who was
angry because Quandt had spoiled the whole evening for her
with his ill-humor.

“Now you have proof that he’s sitting up by candlelight,”
said Quandt.

The house also had an entrance in the rear, through a
little garden-gate. Quandt chose this and as he stood in the
yard with his wife he wondered whether he could not eaves-
drop in some way and see what the boy was doing. The
pear tree along the wall was just the thing for the purpose.
Quandt was strong and athletic; without trouble he climbed

[3541
 

A VOICE CALLS

 

the wall and then reached a broad branch, whence he could
look into Caspar’s room. What he saw was sufficient. After
a short time he came down much excited, rushed to his wife
and said: “I have caught him, Jette,” and rushed into the
house and up the steps.

When no stirring inside resulted from his knocking he fell
into a rage. He began to pound on the door, first with his
fists, then with his heels and when this did not help the
pitiful man decided in his rage to get a hammer and to break
in the door. But he first ran down quickly into the yard
again and saw that meanwhile Caspar’s room had become
dark, a circumstance which only increased his rage.

The children and the maid had awakened from the noise,
his wife met him with a wail of lamentation when he ran
out from the kitchen with an ax. He pushed her aside, froth-
ing, “I'll just show him,” and rushed up again.

At the first stroke of the ax the door opened and Caspar
in his shirt stood on the threshold. The sight of his calm
figure was so unexpected and sobering in its effect on the
teacher that he simply collapsed and was not able to say or do
anything but grind his teeth curiously. “Make a light,” he
murmured after a long pause. But his wife had already come
up the stairs with a light, crying quietly. Caspar saw the
ax in the teacher’s relaxed hand and began to tremble vio-
lently. At this sign of fear, Quandt completely lost his self-
possession. He became ashamed of himself, and sighing
deeply, he said : “Hauser, you worry me very much.” Here-
upon he turned around and went slowly down the steps.

Caspar did not fall asleep until the day broke. At break-
fast, before the usual hour for his lessons, he found out that
Quandt had already gone out. Noon came and during lunch-
eon the teacher was completely silent; at the last bite he got
up and said : “Be in your room at five o’clock, Hauser. The
lieutenant wishes to speak to you.”

Caspar lay down upstairs on the sofa. It was a hot
August afternoon, swallows flew by the open windows with

[3551
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

a frightened chirping; the hot, heavy air buzzed and sang
in the narrow room. Still tired from the night Caspar soon
dozed and only woke when his shoulder was strongly shaken.
Hickel and the teacher stood by him; he sat up, rubbed his
eyes and looked silently at the two men. Hickel, with a
vocational gesture, buttoned his uniform tightly and said:
“I hereby order you, Hauser, to give me your diary.”

Caspar got up breathing deeply and answered with a de-
cision proceeding more from inner compulsion than from
courage: “Lieutenant, I shall not give you my diary.”

Quandt struck his hands together and exclaimed complain-
ingly: “Hauser, Hauser, you are carrying your unfilial obsti-
nacy too far.”

Caspar looked about despairingly and replied with a trem-
bling mouth: “Am I another man’s chattel? Am I like an
animal? What do you still want? Haven't I already said
that I have burned the book ?”’

“Do you perhaps wish to deny, Hauser, that last night you
wrote by candlelight?” asked Quandt pressingly. “You did
not have any letters to write and you were through with
your exercises.”

Caspar remained silent, he could not find his way in nor
out.

“A virtuous man needs not to object at all to having his
diary seen,” continued Quandt, “on the contrary he must
wish it, since his stainless record is thus shown. You, least
of any one, my dear Hauser, have reason to keep a secret
diary.”

“How much longer are you going to keep us waiting ?”
asked Hickel with cold politeness.

“I would rather die than bear all this,” exclaimed Caspar,
raising his arm in order to hide his face in it.

“Come, come,” said Quandt, who was uncomfortable, “we
mean well with you; the lieutenant, too, only wants what is
best for you.”

“Of course,” corroborated Hickel dryly, “moreover, I can

[3561
 

A VOICE CALLS

 

tell you that to die just now would not be an especially good
idea for you. One might under certain circumstances read
upon your gravestone: Here lies the deceiver, Caspar
Hauser.”

“Quite aside from the fact that such an exclamation ex-
presses a sentiment that is highly reprehensible,” added
Quandt reproachfully, “it is a cowardly and immoral idea.”

“I don’t care about life if I am always to be plagued with
such matters and people don’t believe,” replied Caspar sadly.
“I did not live formerly either, and did not know for a long
time that I was alive.”

Meantime, Hickel went along the wall, tapping with his
knuckles, as if in play, at certain places on the wall; suddenly
his attention seemed to turn toward the picture over the sofa.
He took it down smilingly, looked at it on all sides and finally
opened the hinge in order to remove the board.

Caspar turned chalk-white and shook like an aspen.

But when Hickel, simpering with satisfaction, took the
blue copy-book in his hand, a curious transformation came
over Caspar. He looked as if he were suddenly growing and
had become a head taller. With two long strides he stood
close in front of the lieutenant. His face was fairly quiver-
ing. In his expression there was an exalted resolution. His
glance glowed with a passionate and commanding force.
Hickel, with the dull sense of being torn to pieces and trodden
under foot, stepped back slowly against the door, fascinated.
Cold sweat broke out over his skin as Caspar followed him
slowly step by step, stretched out his arm, snatched the book
from his fingers, tore it through the middle, then tore it
again and again, until finally the whole thing lay in tatters
on the ground.

Who knows what more would have happened if the en-
trance of a fourth person at this instant had not altered the
situation? It was the clergyman, Herr Fuhrmann, who as
he went by had wished to call on Caspar to ask him why he
had stayed away from his lesson to-day. As he entered,

[357]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

some perception of what had occurred must have forced
itself upon him; he glanced silently from one to the other.
Quandt, who had followed the whole process with horrified
eyes, only regained his composure with difficulty and said in
an embarrassed voice: “What a lot of scraps you have made
there, Hauser.”

Hickel walked through the room with a few long strides,
then he gave the clergyman a military salute and left with a
cold and sinister face. At the door he turned around, pointed
to the heap of papers and made an imperative motion of the
head toward Quandt. The latter understood. He bent down
in order to collect the scraps of paper. Caspar, however,
perceived his intention, placed both feet on the pile and said:
“That goes into the fire, Herr Quandt.”

He knelt down, collected the scraps with both his hands,
carried them to the stove, opened the little door with his foot
and threw everything into it. Then he struck a fire and a
minute later the whole heap was blazing brightly.

Herr Fuhrmann was merely a silent witness of the scene,
Hickel had left and the teacher, with a reiterated slight
cough, walked up and down in front of the stove with the
regular tread of a policeman, while Caspar tremblingly
watched until the last spark had burned out; then he took
the poker and beat the ashes into dust.

The clergyman later had a conversation with Caspar, which
in spite of the boy’s depressed mood and a really sick dis-
taste for talking, nevertheless led to some disclosures which
moved the clerical gentleman to write to President Feuerbach
on the subject of this occurrence.

“It is curious that this teacher,” he said, in the course of
his communications to Feuerbach, “an otherwise so excellent
man, should seem veritably bewitched in all matters concern-
ing Hauser. The calm of Hauser makes him irritable, his
gentleness rough, his silence talkative, his melancholy sar-
castic; and the boy’s awkwardness seems the most crafty
cunning. From everything that Hauser does and says he

[358]
 

A VOICE CALLS

quietly deduces the contrary, even the multiplication table
seems a lie in Caspar’s mouth. I really believe he would
prefer to cut open the boy’s breast to determine what goes on
within it. That is, God knows, no charitable thought of
mine, but I cannot help seeing how he regards everything
with suspicion. He is suspicious if something seems new to
Caspar, and suspicious if he already knows it; suspicious if
he sleeps long, suspicious if he gets up early. That he loves
the theater and does not care for music is suspicious, sus-
picious that he swallows things without resistance when he is
scolded ; however, that he tries to settle quarrels between
others, between Quandt and his wife, for example, is sus-
picious. Everything is suspicious. How is this to end!”

But as the pertinent saying goes: one word led to another
and in the end nothing came of it.

The President, curiously distrait, promised to take Lieu-
tenant Hickel to task. He sent for Hickel and screamed at
him as soon as he came in so that the disconcerted man was
dumfounded. Unfortunately, the scolding served the purpose
badly, for when the President’s anger had evaporated
Hickel’s superior calm and calculated submissiveness carried
the day. Nothing came of the matter. Everything remained
as it was. Only, the lieutenant, whose vanity had been deeply
wounded, went his way twice as calmly and coldly.

“One must certainly regard our efforts to arrange a pleas-
ant existence for Hauser as unsuccessful,” said Feuerbach
one day to his daughter. “The boy suffers in his present
surroundings and the way in which he is treated seems to
be against all sense and justice.”

“Perhaps, but how can we change it?” replied Henriette,
shrugging her shoulders.

“I am only relieved because a decision must be given when
once the report is published,” said the President aloud to
himself.

“How will it hurt the young man if the waves of life do
clash together over his head!” continued Henriette. “Per-

[359.1
 

CASPAR TAUSER

 

haps it will teach him to swim. It is not your place, father,
to be his tutor.”

“Perhaps he will thus learn to swim. Excellently ex-
pressed, my daughter. Later he may think with gratitude of
the trials he has undergone. A crowned head who has under-
gone such a fate, who has risen from the lowest depths to
the most exalted eminence—that would give one hopes. If
the great ones of this earth were not lacking in a knowledge
of life, the broad masses would mean something more and
something different to them than a milch cow. Let us allow
the steel to temper so that it may remain hard. Have any
proof-sheets come to-day?”

Henriette said no, and left the room sighing.

There is an inner voice which speaks more strongly than
all the wisdom of maxims; Feuerbach constantly felt the
strength of this voice anew whenever he found himself face
to face with Caspar. He was not capable of finding subter-
fuges to deny the appeal of a higher instance than reason
and experience. Age had not chilled but rather consolidated
a frank sense of responsibility which he felt toward his own
heart; he had to confess that what troubled him was simply
his own bad conscience.

What a dilemma for such a man! On the one hand, he
had fulfilled his intellectual mission to the point of extreme
self-denial ; on the other hand, there was the reproachful eye
of him whom the mission concerned and to whom he could
not and dare not give himself, for fear of too much partisan-
ship, for fear of beclouding his judgment, for apprehension
lest the angel of justice would have to fly from his chosen
path if inclination, consideration and affectionate sympathy
should enter into the matter.

The President sent Stanhope, who was at that time in
Rome, as well as his own closest friends, advance-sheets of
his book on Caspar Hauser. The count did not thank him,
nor send as much as a word in reply.

Feuerbach did not need a worse sign. How had the great

[360]
 

A VOICE CALLS

 

words sounded which formerly, in a living hour, he had
addressed to that man. “If this face lies, my lord, with
which you stand before me, then—" :

Yes, then, what then? Childish arrogance! Would the
world go under because a Feuerbach had made a mistake?
How many-sided is man, how many faces, how many words
he finds for his pitiful advantage! For a bite of bread every
beggar becomes a prince of words, and what carriages of
state, what peerages, what gracious manners and persuasive
feelings if he, to whom the word is only a pretense, thus
saves his own leprous skin. For this, then, had he dissected
hearts, burrowed in the depths of souls, measured justice and
crime according to the needs of mankind, with legal science
and humane feeling, in order that a foppish scamp should
come from England to play a sardonic game with him, and
smilingly reduce everything to the absurd.

The old man was disgusted, but his conception of the
power and strength of the enemies with whom he had become
engaged in an unequal struggle gradually became tremendous,
and, although his conduct was not in the least influenced and
he did not waver even for an instant, a dark unrest never-
theless took possession of him. Since the nocturnal raid,
whose perpetrators remained undiscovered in spite of ali
efforts, his sleep had not been sound. At times he got out
of bed and wandered with a light through the rooms, down
the steps and along the corridors; he shook the windows and
tried the soundness of the locks and not infrequently became
frightened at his own shadow. It was a shocking spectacle
for his children to see a man of such passionate and deep-
rooted courage enmeshed in such a world of apparitions.
Once, in the early morning, on the outer side of the house-
door, the following words were found written in chalk:

Anslem of Feuerbach, Knight, beware!
Quench the fire in your own lair!
False is the friend who sits beside thee!
Hew him in twain, or woe betide thee!

[361]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

One evening toward the end of October, Quandt came and
asked to speak to the President. Feuerbach bade him come
in and observed at once that he was embarrassed and dis-
concerted ; the teacher did not present his usual cifcumlocu-
tions, but came to the point at once. He stated that Caspar
had received a letter from the count the day before yesterday,
since when he had been completely chariged, could His Ex-
cellency not spare an hour to talk to the boy, he himself
could not get a word out of him.

The President asked wherein the change consisted.

“It is as if he had become deaf and dumb,” replied Quandt.
“At the table he leaves the dishes untouched; at his lessons
he is excessively inattentive; indeed, his mind wanders, he
does not prepare his work, he does not answer questions,
and he wanders about like one deathly sick, staring into
space. Last night my wife and I listened and we heard him
whimpering to himself for a long time, then suddenly he
uttered a dreadful scream.”

“Do you perhaps know the contents of the count’s letter ?”
inquired the President.

“Oh, yes, of course,” replied the teacher naively, “it is my
habit to open all letters before he gets them.”

Feuerbach looked up sharply and stared at the teacher with
dark curiosity. “Well, what?” he asked.

“I can’t reconcile the contents of the letter with such an
effect in the least,” replied Quandt suspiciously.

The President stamped impatiently with his foot. “All
right, all right,” he exclaimed abruptly, “but what was in
the letter, since you already know it?”

Quandt was scared. “The letter said that the count could
not come to Ansbach again this year, unexpected events
having compelled him to postpone this plan indefinitely.
Now, of course, I know that Hauser counted greatly upon his
lordship’s coming; he even spoke of a definite date and re-
garded it as a sacrilege if one tried to dissuade him from it.
He actually seemed to regard it as the count’s duty, for in

[362]
 

A VOICE CALLS
his childish head he still believed that the count would take
him to England to his castle and he has no idea that the
count has long since ceased to care for him.”

“How do you know that, man?” the President roared, as
he jumped up with such violence that the chair back of him
fell over.

“I beg Your Excellency’s pardon,” stammered Quandt,
frightened, “but that is as clear as day.” He went over,
picked the chair up with a polite grimace, and while the
President walked up and down with his short stiff steps, he
said shyly: “In spite of everything, the effect of this refusal,
which is couched in the most urbane forms, is to me in-
explicable and worries me. There must be something back
of it, perhaps Your Excellency will be able to find out what.”

“I shall look into the matter,” the President interrupted
curtly. Quandt made his bow and retired. He did not go
home, but turned toward the Herrieder suburbs, for he
wanted to call for his wife at her mother’s house. There
was a heavy storm, leaves and branches whirled through the
air, Quandt’s coat was blown up about him and he was
obliged to hold the rim of his slouch hat with both hands.

Caspar had secretly left the house shortly after the teacher
without any real object. When he was on the street it
occurred to him that he might go to see Frau von Imhoff,
and regardless of the darkness and the bad weather, and
although the Imhoffs’ little summer-house was a quarter of
an hour’s walk out of the city, he decided to go. But when
he had gotten there, and stood at the gate looking up at
the lighted windows, all his desire disappeared and he was
afraid of the illuminated rooms. He already saw himself
upstairs, he already heard the words which were nothing to
him and meant nothing, he knew them all and could have
repeated them by heart on the threshold. Yes, he was now
familiar with people’s words, he learned nothing new from
them, they fell into the immeasurable ocean of his sadness

[363]

 
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

like dismal little drops whose sound was quickly consumed
in the depths.

A shadow glided by the windows, another followed. So
they dwelt in their houses, silently and diligently, and lighted
their lamps and did not know who stood outside at the
gate.

In the midst of the roaring of the wind, Caspar heard
tones which seemed to proceed from a stringed instrument
hanging up under the clouds. There was an @olian harp
on the roof of the summer-house, but Caspar did not know
this and regarded it as a ghostly music. As he turned back
the organlike chords continued to sound in his ears from
time to time.

He still did not wish to go home. The same dull urge
which had driven him to the Imhoffs’ pavilion led him on
to the general commissioner’s house, then to the residence
of the Regierungsprisident, then to the Feuerbachs’, and
finally in front of an unoccupied building whose closed shut-
ters, moss-covered ledges, and high arched door, over which
an eye was carved in the stone, and above this the words
“The Eye of God” had already stirred his curiosity long
ago. At the time of the Margraves a jeweler was said to
have lived there.

He felt as if he had been a guest in all these houses, as
if he had walked about unseen among all their inhabitants
or had wandered through their empty rooms, and as though
he had thus acquired a remarkable knowledge of the past and
present lives of these people.

Fairly tired, and at the same time profoundly excited, he
got to the teacher’s house. Quandt and his wife were not
yet home, the children were asleep, the maid was nowhere
to be seen, a tremendous silence reigned; only the wind
howled about the walls, and the little lamp in the hall flickered
as if from fear. Then, as Caspar walked to the steps, he
heard a long-drawn delicate voice, like the chirping of a
cricket, and the voice called:

[364]
 

A VOICE CALLS

 

“Stephan!”

Puzzled, he remained standing and looked about. Since
everything was silent, he thought that he was mistaken and
that it was a voice outside on the street. But hardly had he
taken three steps than the voice sounded again, only incom-
parably louder, as if very near by:

“Stephan!”

There was something endlessly moving in the tone; it
sounded like some one who calls from the water, fearing that
he will drown. Unmistakably it was a masculine voice which
now for the third time, as if strangled with sobs, called:

“Stephan!”

There was no doubt that the call was for him, Caspar.
He stretched out his arms and asked, “Where, where are
you; where are you?”

Then he saw above the door a face, illuminated with a livid
glow, floating without a body. It was Stanhope’s face; the
eyes staring open, the mouth wide open, as if in a state of
the utmost terror; the whole was ugly, incredibly ugly.

Caspar stood as if nailed to the spot, his limbs, his eyes
even, seemed turned to stone. When he looked a second
time the head had disappeared and the voice, too, could no
longer be heard. There were lights on corridor and steps;

all the doors were shut; no one was visible; no sound could
be heard.

[ 3651
XXII
A JOURNEY IS DECIDED UPON

ONE afternoon in December the surprised neighbors saw
Herr Quandt storm out of his house like one possessed and
run towards the more modern part of the city, where the
police-lieutenant lived. He walked into the room, and with-
out giving himself time to take his hat off, he put his hand
in his coat pocket and silently handed a small pamphlet to
Hickel.

It was Feuerbach’s brochure on Caspar Hauser, which
had just recently appeared. Quandt had just gotten the
little book to-day and had read it through in great haste.

Hickel took the book, looked it over, and said calmly:
“Well, what about it? Do you think that’s anything new
for me? You are not getting excited about it? The old boy
writes because it’s his natural weakness. You can more
readily break a hen of laying eggs than a born scribbler of
writing.”

Quandt breathed deeply. “Writing, well and good, I admit
all that,” he replied, “but this thing nevertheless goes too
far. Permit me,” he seized the pamphlet, opened to the
title page and read aloud, Caspar Hauser: An Example of
a Crime Against the Soul of a Human Being. That sounds
like something,” he remarked bitterly. “It throws sand in
people’s eyes from the very beginning. But the whole thing
is a romance and not even one of the best sort.”

He turned the pages and pointed with his finger to a pas-
sage, simultaneously reading aloud with ironic intonations:
“Caspar Hauser, a rare specimen of mankind !—I am at the
end of my wits. I feel as if the notoriously worst among
my pupils were declared to be great scholars before a large
assembly of people. A rare specimen! In this regard I

[ 366]
 

A JOURNEY 15 DECIDED UPON

 

know more, I am thankful to say, than Your Excellency.
On this score I could open the eyes of the respected public
in quite a different way! A rare specimen indeed, but one
must read the alphabet from the beginning and not from the
end. So this is the great criminologist, the omniscient one
whom all admire. That’s what fame is like when looked at
close at hand. And, then, that whole back-stairs romance of
dynastic intrigue. It would be laughable if it were not so
sad. Dear God, what times and what a world!”

The lieutenant listened to the teacher’s outbreak with a
scarcely noticeable smile. When Quandt had finished, he
said indifferently: “What would you have? As faithful
servants we cannot help it that we are condemned to watch
the silly pranks of our superiors. Moreover, I can reassure
you in one respect—the President himself is not overjoyed
with his book. He complains of lapses of memory which
mar it, and that it has cost him more work than a whole
Corpus juris. And now he must submit to being hard put
to it in the hands of other German officials. They say that
the Federal Commission in Frankfort will confiscate the
pamphlet.”

“That would be well,” exclaimed Quandt. “And the
princes, too, should do something against it.”

“Just leave that to the princes,” replied Hickel, whose
face had suddenly grown angry and worried. “Hang it all,
my dear Quandt, you are getting as excited as if your neck
were at stake. I'd love to know if you would show as much
courage if his Excellency were here in the room.”

Quandt looked distrustfully about. Then he shrugged his
shoulders and replied: “You are fond of joking, lieutenant.
It’s bad enough that we must keep our real opinions under
cover. We have all forgotten how a man should carry his
head. We have all learned thoroughly how to lick boots.
But I don’t want to lick boots any longer.”

“Hush,” interrupted Hickel peevishly. “Drop that! It

[3671
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

sounds like demagogery. Tell me, my friend, does Hauser
know of the pamphlet?”

“Not so far as I know,” replied Quandt. “But it will
not be possible to prevent his hearing of it. There are enough
senseless people who will take pleasure in seeing that he
does. Haven't you also heard, lieutenant, of the book of a
certain Garnier ?”

At the mention of this name Hickel started and looked
darkly at the teacher. It took quite some time before he
decided to answer. “Garnier? Yes, that’s the fellow who
has fled the country. In his pamphlet he brings forward
the same nonsensical stuff as the President, but embroidered
with the silliest court gossip. The asinine book is not
worth mentioning.”

“How shall I behave if Hauser somehow comes into pos-
session of either of these products?” asked Quandt.

Hickel walked up and down with his long strides and bit
at his underlip nervously with his teeth.

“Take care,” he replied coldly. “Don’t let him out of your
sight. However, the matter does not concern me; it’s all the
same to me. The young man will be told how to behave!”

Quandt sighed and was oppressed. “Lieutenant,” he said,
“I can’t tell you how I feel. I would give the half of my
salvation if it were granted me to move that boy to a frank
admission.”

“You may pay less than that,” replied Hickel darkly.

“Do you know the latest ?”’ continued Quandt. “The Presi-
dent wants to employ Hauser as a clerk in the Appellate
Court. He is to start work to-morrow.”

“And what will the count say to that?”

“He wanted to write it to him, but does not know where
he is. In the last month only one letter came from the count
and Hauser didn’t even look at it. From my point of view,
the count ought to be glad of this measure. For a trade, in
the narrower sense of the word, Hauser is useless; un-
fortunately he has enjoyed the association of the more culti-

[368]
 

A JOURNEY 1S DECIDED UPON

 

vated and higher classes too long not to become rebellious
if he were obliged to exchange it suddenly for the surround-
ings of a workshop. ‘On the other hand, he is not suited
either for any calling requiring a more thorough instruction,
for he has neither the understanding nor the concentration
for serious study. The President has accordingly found the
best solution and one which also frees me from a part of
my responsibility. By means of this activity, Hauser can
not only fit himself for a clerkship in the lower service, but
if he is industrious he can get a position in the registry or
accounting department.”

Hickel scarcely listened to these long-winded remarks.
They left together; in front of the Court Drug Store, Hickel
took his leave, in order, as he said, to get a powder for sleep-
lessness.

On the way home Quandt was greeted very cordially by
Hofrat Hofmann, a fact which was sufficient to raise his
depressed spirits considerably. At lunch there was roast
veal and ox tongue salad, and he even became gay and con-
descended to joke with his wife. But as is apt to be the
case with serious natures, his joviality was rather heavy.
Among other things, he seized a knife and waved it violently
just in front of her nose, laughing all the time. Caspar
turned white, got up and said, “For God’s sake, Herr Quandt,
do put that knife away; I can’t stand it!”

Quandt, at once out of humor again, grumbled: “Come,
now, Caspar, such behavior smacks strongly of affectation.”

“You're a fine Jack,” said Frau Quandt. “What will you
do if there is a war some time? Then one must die like
a man.”

“Die? No thanks! I don’t care to die,” replied Caspar
hastily.

“And yet that time in the presence of the lieutenant you
expressed yourself in a most objectionable way about the
same point,” came from Quandt.

“Oh, such a coward,” continued the teacher’s wife. “You

[ 369 1
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

were just as cowardly, too, with Cadet Hugenpoet of the
dragoons last summer.”

“What was that about?” inquired Quandt. “I don’t know
anything about it.”

“He was often together with the cadet. The latter con-
stantly raved to Hauser about becoming a soldier; in a few
years he would easily become an officer. Would not be such
a bad idea; cadets have an easy time of it and get on quickly.
Our Hauser was enthusiastic about the idea, but suddenly
the friendship was over.”

“Ah, and for what reason?”

“Tt was thus: One evening in September he went walking
with the cadet along the banks of the Rezat and they came
to a place where many boys and young men were bathing,
for it was frightfully hot that day. The cadet says, ‘Let’s
do that, too,” gets undressed and wants to persuade Caspar
to bathe also. He, however, was scared to death at the sug-
gestion and said that he would not go into the water. The
others heard this, they got out of the water, surrounded him,
jeered at him and wanted to force him into the water.
‘Whereupon he breaks loose, before any one is aware of it,
and in his devilish fear, runs off over the fields with the
naked boys jeering after him. This was too much for the
cadet and he hasn’t been to see Hauser any more since then.
Is that true or not, Caspar?”

Caspar nodded. The teacher shook with laughter.

A few days later Frau von Imhoff and Fraulein von
Stichaner came to see Caspar. The teacher’s wife, proud at
having such distinguished guests, did not move from the
spot. For the sake of entertainment, and because nothing
more sensible occurred to her, she again told, in Caspar’s
presence, the story of the cadet and the boy’s refusal to
bathe ; however, this time the tale was received less favorably
than by her husband. The two ladies listened in silence.

“Such cowardice really isn’t nice,” remarked Fraulein von
Stichaner later, in the street, to Frau von Imhoff.

[370]
 

A JOURNEY IS DECIDED UPON

“One can’t really call it cowardice,” replied the latter; “he
loves life too dearly, that’s it. He loves life like a madman,
the way an animal loves it, the way a miser loves gold. He
confessed to me himself that every time before going to
sleep he was afraid that his sleep might turn into death
without his knowing it, and he prayed to God not to fail to
have him wake up again the next morning. No, it is not
cowardice, it is perhaps the foreboding of a great danger,
and the instinct to make up for much that he has lost. One
ought to see at times how pleased he can be, even over some
trifle which every one else passes over with indifference. His
pleasure has something magnificent about it, something aloof
from the world, just as his fear and sadness have a certain
weird quality.”

At home, Frau von Imhoff was surprised by a letter from
her friend Frau von Kannawurf, surprised in a doubly
agreeable way, since Frau von Kannawurf wrote—she was
at that time in Vienna—that she wanted to come to Ansbach
in March. In the letter there was, besides this, much talk
of Caspar Hauser: “I have recently read Feuerbach’s book,”
she wrote among other things, “and must confess to you that
no book has ever before stirred me to the depths to such an
extent. I can’t think of anything else since then and I can-
not sleep. Does Caspar Hauser himself know of the book,
and what is his attitude towards it? What does he say
about it?”

Frau von Imhoff failed to reply to this; it was difficult to
ask Caspar. If he has not read the book, she thought, it
is painful and strange to see him ignorant of it; it is still
more painful and curious if he has read it; painful and
curious his remaining here, his copying at the court, all
of his pursuits; and how is it possible to bring the subject
up for discussion? Any frank remark might be irremediable.

Nevertheless Frau von Imhoff undertook to sound Caspar
out carefully to learn whether he knew anything at all
about the matter, or whether he had heard it spoken of.

C3]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

And he did know about it. He did not, however, have the
slightest wish to find out anything clearly concerning what
was written. Firstly from fear: fear made him recoil from
any change in his situation, from anything which might turn
his thoughts away from the present, to which he clung
tenaciously; and besides, because he probably assumed that
the President’s book dealt only with the groundless gossip
which he already knew inside out and which, as he used to
put it, merely gave him a headache and heartache and stupid
afterthoughts. He had experienced all this so often that
from sheer irritation he had finally become so little curious
that a single hint in the course of a conversation was sufficient
to cover his face with an expression of insipid boredom.

It was a curious turn of affairs that finally brought him
to the knowledge of the work which had been written for
him and for his sake.

It was on a rough March morning when suddenly the
news spread through the Appellate Court Building, and soon
after through the whole city, that the President had fallen
in a swoon from his chair in the big court room, while he
was conducting the hearings of a case. All the clerks at
once ran out of their rooms and stood about on the steps
and in the halls. Caspar, too, had left his desk and joined
the rest. He, however, crept away purposely in order not to
be obliged to witness the President being carried down from
the upper story.

When he returned to the room in which he wrote every
morning from eight to twelve, in the company of an old
clerk, a certain Dillmann, his companion had not yet returned.
Caspar, very sad and frightened, went to the window and,
as he was in painful thoughts, painted the name of Feuerbach
with his finger on the misty coating of the window-pane.

Meantime Dillmann came back and took his place, wring-
ing his hands.

Up to this day the old clerk—and Caspar had now been in
the office for nine weeks—had not yet exchanged a dozen

[L372]
 

A JOURNEY 1S DECIDED UPON

 

superfluous words with his new colleague; he had not paid
the slightest attention to him and had shown a peevish indif-
ference to him. During the course of the thirty years during
which this man had been copying documents, decrees, ordi-
nances and judgments, he had attained a peculiar skill in
sleeping, and it was amusing to see, when he had rested the
quill of his pen on the paper, snoring gently while taking
his siesta, how his hand at once resumed its calligraphic
progress if the step of one of his superiors was heard out-
side, for he had studied the walk of every man and carried
it, so to speak, in his head.

Caspar was therefore all the more surprised when Dill-
mann walked up to him and said in trembling voice: “The
incomparable man! If only something does not happen to
him! If only some human ill does not overtake him!”

Caspar turned around, but did not reply.

“And for you, Hauser, it would be an irreparable loss,”
continued the old man in a curiously chiding and disapprov-
ing voice; “where in this wretched old world does one find
a person who so takes up another person’s cause? It would
not surprise me if the thing came to a bad end. Yes, it will
end badly, it will turn out badly.”

Caspar listened silently. His eyes glistened.

“Such a man!” exclaimed Dillmann. “I have, since I have
been here, Hauser, accompanied seven presidents and twenty-
two members of the board of council to the grave, but there
was not one like him among them. A titan, Hauser, a titan!
He could snatch the stars from the sky for the sake of jus-
tice. One has only to look at him—have you ever looked at
him carefully >—that arch over his nose: that indicates genius,
it is said ; and that brow of Jupiter. And that book, Hauser,
that he wrote for you! That is a book! It is his own
funeral pyre! One must grind one’s teeth and clench one’s
fists when one reads it!”

Caspar looked sullen. “I haven't read it,” he said briefly.

The old man gave a start. His mouth opened and snapped.

F373]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

“Not read it?” he stammered. ‘“You—not read it? How
is that possible? May the devil take me alive!” Hurriedly
he tripped to his table, pulled open a drawer, looked about
in it and pulled forth the pamphlet. He reached it over to
Caspar, actually stuck it into his hand and snarled: “The
devil take you; now go and read it!”

Caspar behaved almost as Hickel had toward Quandt. He
turned the book over and looked undecided. Then he finally
opened the book and read the title, turning visibly pale.
However, even this was not enough to make him curious or
impatient. He put the book in his pocket and said dryly: “I
will read it at home.”

At the stroke of twelve he left the office as usual, sat down
at the table at home as if nothing had happened and listened
silently to the conversation, which turned solely upon the
incident which had befallen the President.

“Last Sunday before church,” the teacher’s wife chattered,
“I saw the President just as he met four corpse-washer-
women. The President was quite frightened and remained
standing, looking after them. I thought at once that that
can’t mean anything good.”

“If only you women would not presume to peek into the
Almighty’s cards every now and then,” remarked Quandt
peevishly. “One preaches and preaches the whole live-long
year and thinks how wonderful it is to walk on the pinnacles
of enlightenment, and then one’s own family are the worst
marplots of all.”

Caspar laughed at these words, which caused the teacher’s
wife to glance at him angrily.

Then he went to his room.

At two o'clock he was to come for his lesson, as he did
not have to be back at the office until four. When ten min-
utes past the hour had gone by Quandt walked into the hall
and called. There was no answer. He went up and con-
vinced himself that Caspar was not there. His displeasure

[374]
 

A JOURNEY 1S DECIDED UPON

changed into fright when his spying glances encountered
Feuerbach’s pamphlet lying on Caspar’s table.

“So he’s got it, anyway,” he murmured bitterly.

He took the book and went in search of his wife down-
stairs and said in a toneless voice: “Jette, I have made a
frightful discovery. Hauser had the President’s pamphlet
upstairs in his room. Oh, what unscrupulous people. I
wonder who is responsible for this new trick!”

Frau Quandt showed little understanding for the incident.
“Let him alone,” or “tell him so,” or “just give it to him,”
was mostly all that she was able to reply when Quandt was
angry at Caspar.

“When did Hauser go away?” Quandt inquired of the
maid. She did not know anything about it. Then Caspar
came into the room and excused himself politely.

“Where have you been?” inquired the teacher.

“I went to the Feuerbachs’ to inquire after the President’s
health.”

Quandt swallowed his displeasure and contented himself
with reproaching Caspar for having gone away without per-
mission. When he was alone with the boy he wandered up
and down for a time perplexed. Finally he began: “I was in
your room just now, Hauser. While there I made a discovery
which filled me with anxiety, to put it mildly. I don’t want
to express myself at length about the President’s pamphlet,
although all sensible people are of the same opinion about it.
I don’t consider myself entitled to belittle so distinguished
a man in your eyes. Nor do I wish to ascertain who put the
book into your hands, since I should thereby only incur the
danger of your lying to me. But it has disturbed me that
you think you must be secretive even in such a matter. Why
don’t you come to me, as is proper, and talk the matter out?
Do you think that I would have robbed you of the pleasure.
of reading a pretty fable written by a once great and famous
man, though he is now sick and mentally fatigued? Don’t
I know also how you must feel inwardly when some one

[3751]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

improvises such a fairy tale about your past? A past which
is probably better known to you than to the poor Presi-
dent? But why, for heaven's sake, this perpetual hide-and-
seek? Have I deserved this of you? Have I not been
like a father to you? You live in my house, you eat at my
table, you enjoy my confidence, you share our weal and our
woe; can nothing in the world move you, you secretive boy,
to be open and unreserved for once?”

And then how strange! The teacher’s eyes filled with
tears. He pulled the President’s pamphlet out of his pocket,
went to the table, and laid the little book with emotion before
Caspar.

Caspar looked at the teacher as if he were far away.
There was something vacant in his glance and his thoughts
were completely absent. His brow seemed wrapped in ghost-
like clouds and his lips were open and trembled.

How angry he looks, thought Quandt, and commenced to
be afraid. “Do say something,” he screamed at him hoarsely.

Caspar slowly shook his head. “One must have patience,”
he said as if in a dream. “Something will happen, Herr
Quandt; just wait and see. Believe me, something will
happen soon!” Unintentionally he stretched out his hand
towards the teacher.

Quandt turned away with disgust. “Spare me your usual
rubbish,” he said coldly. “You are an incorrigible actor.”

With this the conversation was at an end, and Quandt left
the room.

Through the director of archives, Herr Wurm, Quandt
found out that Caspar had as a matter of fact been at Feuer-
bach’s house at noon, but that he had not only inquired about
the President’s condition but had asked with striking urgency
to speak to him. Naturally they had not been able to permit
this. He had remained standing half an hour longer im-
movably at the gate and had walked around the whole house,
looking up at the windows while his face appeared quite
different from usual, wild and disturbed.

[3761
 

A JOURNEY IS DECIDED UPON

 

However, he came again the next day and again on the
third and fourth day, each time with the same urgent request,
and each time he was refused. He was told that the Presi-
dent needed rest; his condition, which in the beginning had
given cause for anxiety, was improving constantly.

Director Wurm finally told the President about it. Feuer-
bach ordered Caspar to be brought to him the next time he
came and insisted on having his way in spite of Henriette’s
persuasion to the contrary. A whole week passed, however,
before Caspar was seen again.

He appeared one afternoon fairly late and was received by
Henriette, not very graciously, who conducted him to her
father’s room. The President sat in an easy chair and had
a little mountain of documents piled up before him. He
looked much older; a white stubble dotted his chin and
cheeks, his eyes glanced quietly, but had an anxious gleam,
like those of one who has been nearer a much feared death
than he is ready to admit.

“Well, what do you want of me, Hauser?” he said, turn-
ing to Caspar, who remained standing near the door.

Caspar walked up to him, stumbled over a stool, fell sud-
denly on his knee and bent his head with the devout humility
of a page. His arms, too, depended limply and he remained
with an humble and overcast expression in the same position.

Feuerbach lost his color. He seized Caspar by the hair
and bent his head back, but Caspar’s eyes remained closed.
“What's the matter, young man?” exclaimed the President
harshly.

Now Caspar raised his eloquent eyes. “I have read it,”
he said.

The President bit his lips and his eyes disappeared beneath
his eyebrows. A long silence ensued.

“Get up,” the President finally ordered Caspar, who
obeyed.

The President seized him by his wrist and said half
threateningly, half imploringly: “Don’t let on, Hauser, don’t

[377]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

let on! Keep still, keep silent. Wait. For the present there
is nothing more to be done.”

Caspar’s face, in silent commotion, like that of a fever
patient, became tenser.

“You shudder, of course,” continued the President, “and
I shudder, too, and there the matter must rest. Our arm
cannot reach to all heights and all distances. We have
neither Joshua’s battle trumpet nor Oberon’s horn. The
great and mighty are armed with flails and their blows fall
as thick as hail, so that no ray of light can force its way be-
tween stroke and stroke. Patience, Caspar, and don’t make
a sound ; don’t make a sound! One can’t promise anything,
but nevertheless some hope remains; but for that I need
health. Enough for now.”

He made a gesture of good-by.

Caspar looked at the old man for the first time clearly
and steadily. His firm glance surprised the President. The
deuce take it, thought he, the boy has blood in him and not
sugar-water. As he was already leaving, Caspar turned
around once again and said: “Excellency, I have a great
favor to ask.”

“A request? Out with it!”

“It is such a nuisance to have to wait for the invalid every
time I go out. He often comes so late that it’s no longer
worth going away. I certainly can go alone to the Court,
and to my acquaintances, too.”

“H’m,” said Feuerbach, “I will consider it; I will ar-
range it.”

As Caspar left the room, a female figure slipped along
the corridor like an eavesdropper caught listening. It was
Henriette who, in perpetual anxiety about her father, feared
nothing so much as the danger which threatened him from
his passionate interest in Caspar’s fate. A letter which she
wrote her brother Anselm, who was living in the Palatinate,
showed this and suggested in every single line the ominous
atmosphere that weighed on the President’s environment.

L378]
 

A JOURNEY 1S DECIDED UPON

 

“Father’s condition,” thus the letter began, “has, thank
God, changed for the better. He is able to walk in his room
leaning on a cane, and again enjoys a good roast, although
his appetite is not what it used to he, and he now and again
complains of pains in his stomach. As for his mood in
general, however, it is worse than ever; and this chiefly be-
cause of the unfortunate Caspar Hauser pamphlet. You
know what a tremendous sensation the brochure has caused
all over the country. Thousands of voices were raised for
and against it, but it seems that gradually those against it
have gained the upper hand. The newspapers that are most
widely read printed articles which were strikingly similar
and which dismissed the work sarcastically as the product of
an overheated brain. That back of this there is spite work,
all proceeding from one and the same source, cannot be con-
cealed; and I could bite my lips raw when I think of the
times we are compelled to live in, when even such a man as
our father cannot find a willing ear, let alone active help, for
a cause which cries to heaven. Certainly human beings are
lazy, dull, stupid animals, or there would be more indigna-
tion in the world. Now just think of father, his bitter de-
pression, his pain, his contempt, and all kept back, all locked
up in his breast. What did he not feel when even from his
most intimate friends there was no sign of approval, of
gratitude, or of love. Certainly persons in high places did
not conceal their anger, and here in this horrid provincial
hole little attention was paid to the whole story, compre-
hensibly enough, for Christ may win Rome, but in Jerusalem
He will remain a dirty rabbi. I am in great anxiety about
father. I know him well enough to realize that his present
external calm only conceals an inner storm. Sometimes he
sits for hours and stares at a single spot on the wall, and if
you disturb him he looks at you with big eyes and laughs
silently and painfully. Recently he said to me quite sud-
denly, with a gloomy expression: “The right thing would be
for a man to give himself entirely to such a cause; he ought

[3791]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

to sacrifice his skin, and the hair of his head, as in the olden
days, and not hide behind a wall of printed paper.” He is
turning over plans in his mind; the news that a revolution
has broken out in Baden has stirred him greatly, and, as a
matter of fact, this catastrophe seems to be closely con-
nected with the Caspar Hauser affair. He believes that he
has reason to regard a pensioned minister, living somewhere
on the Main, as one of the chief instigators of the crime
committed against the foundling and—my pen will scarcely
write the words—he intends to look up the man and to com-
pel him to confess. Police Lieutenant Hickel, that sinister
fellow whom I don’t trust across the street, comes daily to
the house, and has long conferences with father and, as far
as I have been able to make out from father’s hints up to
now, Hickel is to accompany him on his trip in a few weeks.
If I could only prevent just this! He will give up the last
peace of his old age on account of this miserable story, and
he will not accomplish anything, nothing, nothing, not if he
were an Isaiah in persuasion, a Sampson in strength or a
Maccabeus in courage. Ah, we Feuerbachs are a marked
race! Cain’s mark of restlessness is stamped on our brow.
We play havoc with our strength and our fortune, and if
we have just enough left to reach the grave we are fortunate.
We are not able to take a harmless walk; we must always
have an immediate goal before our eyes; we cannot breathe
without recalling an important mission, and in the expecta-
tion of the next day we lose sight of every beauty in the
present. He is so, you are so, I am so, we are all so. I
have never yet smelled a rose without grieving that to-morrow
it would be faded, never yet seen a beautiful child begging
without meditating about the inequalities of human fate.
Farewell, brother; heaven grant that my pessimistic fore-
bodings be wrong.”

Thus was the letter. The mistrust expressed in it towards
Lieutenant Hickel finally assumed such dimensions that
Henriette exerted herself in every way to separate her

[380]
 

A JOURNEY IS DECIDED UPON

 

father from Hickel. It was of no avail, but Hickel scented
danger and at once showed an inscrutable, sweet and gra-
cious attitude towards the President's daughter. When
Quandt came to him and complained bitterly that the Presi-
dent had allowed himself to be won over by Hauser, and
had permitted him to go about unwatched and unhindered
in the city, Hickel said that that did not suit him; he would
put other ideas into the President’s head.

He had himself announced at Feuerbach’s and told him
of his doubts about this undesirable measure. “Your Excel-
lency has probably not considered what a responsibility you
are thus putting upon me,” he said. “If I have no control
over where the boy spends his time how can I guarantee
his safety?”

“Stuff and nonsense,” growled Feuerbach; “I can’t lock up
a grown person in order that you may spend your after-
noons in the Casino with a quiet conscience.”

Hickel cast an evil glance at his hands, but answered, with
not ill-assumed ingenuousness: “I am conscious of the fault
which Your Excellency condemns so severely. Nevertheless
a man must have one spot where he can warm himself,
particularly if he is a confirmed old bachelor. If you were
in my place, Excellency, and I in yours, I should be milder
towards a poor harassed officer.”

Feuerbach laughed. “What has gotten hold of you?” he
asked good naturedly. “Have you love-troubles?” He re-
garded the lieutenant as a great masher.

“In that regard, Your Excellency, I am unfortunately too
hard-boiled,” replied Hickel, “although a cause for interest
does exist; our city has had for several days the honor of
harboring a great beauty.”

“So?” asked the President curiously. “Tell me about it.”
He had, it could not be denied, a little naive weakness for
the ladies.

“The lady is visiting Frau von Imhoff.”

L381]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

“Yes, just so; the Baroness mentioned it,” interrupted
Feuerbach.

“At first she lived at the Stern,” continued Hickel. “I
went past a few times and saw her sitting thoughtfully at
the window, her glance raised to heaven like a saint; I al-
ways stood still and looked up, but she scarcely noticed me
before she stepped back frightened.”

“Now that’s excellent; that’s good observation,” the Presi-
dent teased him; “so there’s already a sort of understand-
ing between you.”

“No, unfortunately, Your Excellency, frankly, the times
are too serious for gallant adventures.”

“I should say so,” corroborated Feuerbach, and the smile
died from his face. He got up and said energetically : “But
the time, too, is ripe. I intend to leave on the twenty-eighth
of April. You will get leave of absence from your duties and
place yourself at my disposal.”

Hickel bowed. He looked at the President expectingly
and the latter understood the glance. “I must confess, to
be sure, that there is something unsuitable about leaving
Hauser entirely to himself. On the other hand, it’s not easy
to shut off the entire world before his nose. He has had
enough of that. The restriction of free activity is just as
hard on a person’s will to live as chains and handcuffs.” He
could not become at peace with himself, as always, when he
found himself opposed to the lieutenant, he found himself
checked in his resolves; there was an impact of strength,
youth, coldness and unscrupulousness which always defeated
him.

“But Your Excellency knows the dangers—” Hickel
put in.

“So long as I have my eyes on this city no one will dare
to touch a hair of his head, you may be sure of that.”

Hickel raised his eyebrows and stared again at the out-
stretched fingers of his hand. “And if some day he makes
off altogether?” he asked darkly. “He is capable of a good

[382]
 

A JOURNEY 1S DECIDED UPON

deal. T suggest that he should be watched at least at night
and on his walks. On errands in the city he can, if neces-
sary, go alone. We can get rid of the old invalid and I will
put my boy in his place. He will appear at the teacher’s
house every afternoon at five o’clock.”

“That would be a solution,” said Feuerbach; “is the man
reliable ?”’

“As true as steel.”

“What's his name?”

“Schildknecht, the son of a Baden baker.”

“Settled ; let it go at that.”

When Hickel was already at the door the President called
him back and emphatically told him he must keep entirely
quiet about the trip which they were about to take together.
Hickel replied that he did not need such a warning.

“I could in no case undertake the journey alone,” said
the President. “I need the help of a circumspect man. The
opportunity must be carefully sought out. Care must be
taken. Never forget that I am giving you a great proof of
confidence in this matter.”

He looked penetratingly at the lieutenant. Hickel nodded
mechanically. A cloud of foreboding anxiety settled sud-
denly on Feuerbach’s brow. “You may go,” he ordered
curtly,

[383]
XXIII
THE JOURNEY IS UNDERTAKEN

THAT same evening Hickel called on the teacher and told
him that from now on the soldier Schildknecht was to have
charge of Hauser. Caspar was not at home and when ques-
tioned about him Quandt replied that he had gone to the
theater.

“At the theater again,” exclaimed Hickel. “That’s the
third time in two weeks, if I am not mistaken.”

“He has acquired a great love for it,” replied Quandt;
“he spends almost all his pocket money buying tickets.”

“His pocket money is not going to be quite so liberal, inci-
dentally,” said the lieutenant. “The count has only sent me
half of the prearranged sum this month. Obviously, the
. thing is getting too expensive for him.”

Stanhope from the beginning had sent Hickel the money
which was to be used for Caspar.

“Expensive? for a lord? A peer of the British crown!
Such a trifle, expensive?” Quandt opened his eyes with
astonishment.

“You had better not tell that to any one else, or people will
think you are making fun of the count,” said Frau Quandt.
She looked curiously and penetratingly at the lieutenant.
This smooth, slippery, smartly dressed man had always
seemed unusual and attractive to her. He stimulated her
scant patrimony of imagination.

“Can’t help it,” Hickel closed the conversation peevishly;
“so it is. The post-office money order is at your service for
inspection. The count knows what he’s about.”

When Caspar came home, Quandt asked him how he had
enjoyed himself. “Not at all; there was so much about love

[384]
 

THE JOURNEY IS UNDERTAKEN

 

in the play,” he answered with irritation. “I simply can’t
stand that sort of stuff. They talk and complain until one
loses one’s wits, and what's the end of it? They marry. I
would rather give my money to a beggar.”

“The lieutenant was here just now and told us that the
count has considerably diminished your allowance,” said
Quandt. “You will therefore have to cut down all your
expenses and give up going to the theater entirely, I fear.”

Caspar sat down at the table and ate his supper; for a long
time he said nothing. “That’s a pity,” he said finally; “week
after next they are giving Schiller’s Don Carlos. That is
said to be a magnificent play; I should like still to see that.”

“Who told you that it was a magnificent play?” asked
Quandt with the indulgent, superior expression of the spe-
cialist.

“I met Frau von Imhoff and Frau von Kannawurf in the
theater,” explained Caspar; “they both said so.”

The teacher’s wife raised her head: “Frau von Kanna-
wurf? Now who is that, pray tell me?”

“A friend of Frau von Imhoff,” replied Caspar.

Quandt discussed with his wife until midnight how they
might adjust themselves to the count’s financial innovations.
It was agreed that Caspar should from now on have lunch
for ten and supper for eight cents. “If it’s as the lieutenant
says, I must in any case bear a slight loss,” was Frau
Quandt’s opinion.

“We must not forget that in matters of food and drink
Hauser is really extraordinarily moderate,” replied Quandt,
whose honesty struggled against an unjust niggardliness.

“That doesn’t matter,” insisted the wife. “It will oblige
me to supply so much in the kitchen as will feed one more
mouth. And no one gives it to me.”

The next afternoon Hickel brought the money for the
month. He and Quandt had just entered the hall when Cas-
par came down from his room ready to leave the house.
When the teacher asked him where he was going he an-

[3851]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

swered with embarrassment that he wanted to go to the
watchmaker, his watch was not in order and he wanted to
have it repaired. Quandt asked to see the watch, Caspar
handed it to him, the teacher held it to his ear, tapped the
case, tried to wind it and finally said: “There is not the least
thing wrong with the watch.”

Caspar blushed and said that he had only wanted to have
his. name engraved in the lid, but he would have had to be
a much more skillful pretender to free his words from the
stamp of dissimulation. Quandt and Hickel looked at each
other. “If you have a particle of honesty about you now,
confess openly where you meant to go,” said Quandt, ear-
nestly.

Caspar considered and then said hesitatingly that he had
had the intention of going to the orange-grove.

“To the orange-grove? Why, for what purpose?”

“On account of the flowers. There are such beautiful
flowers there in the spring.”

Hickel cleared his throat significantly. He glanced sharply
at Caspar and said ironically: “A poet. Among flowers—
let me sigh.” Then he assumed a military expression and
stated curtly that he had persuaded the President to retract
the permission which he had thoughtlessly given him to go
out alone. A, boy would arrive daily at five o’clock; Caspar
could do as he pleased in his company.

Caspar looked silently out into the street where the spring
sun shone. “It seems,” he murmured, hesitated however, and
looked humbly down.

“What seems?” asked the teacher. “Come, out with it.
Half-said things burn one’s tongue.”

Caspar fixed his eyes penetratingly upon him. “It seems,”
he finished his sentence, “that the person who comes last is
the person the President agrees with.” When he saw the
effect of these bitter words, he would have been glad if
he could have recalled them. The teacher shook his head

with horror and Hickel whistled through his pursed lips.

[3861]
 

THE JOURNEY 1S UNDERTAKEN

 

Then he took out his notebook which was stuck between two
buttons of his coat and wrote something down. Caspar
watched him with a shy glance; there was a flash as of
lightning over his brow.

“Naturally, I shall tell the President of your improper re-
mark,” said Hickel, in professional tones.

When the lieutenant had left, Caspar asked the teacher to
let him go out to-day, as an exception, because the weather
was so fine.

“I am sorry,’
instructions.”

Hickel’s boy did not appear until half-past five. Caspar
then went with him along the road to the court garden, but
when they got to the orange-grove it was already shut.
Schildknecht suggested walking along the Omnolzbach, but
Caspar shook his head. He stationed himself at one of the
open windows of the greenhouses and looked in.

“Are you looking for some one?” asked Schildknecht.

“Yes, a woman was to have met me here,” replied Caspar.
“It does not matter; let’s go home again.”

They turned around; when they came to the Schlossplatz,
Caspar saw Frau von Kannawurf standing in the middle of
the square scattering bread crumbs to a lot of sparrows.
Caspar remained standing outside of the group of spar-
rows; he watched and entirely forgot to say how do you do.
The feeding was soon over, Frau von Kannawurf put her hat
on again, which she had hung on a ribbon over her arm, and
said she had waited an hour and a half in the greenhouse.

“I am not a free agent and can’t do as I promise,” replied
Caspar.

They went along the Promenade and then to the left,
towards the gardens in the suburbs. Schildknecht walked
back of them; the red-cheeked little man in the green uni-
form had a comic look. The biggest of the three was Cas-
par, for Frau von Kannawurf, too, had a child-like figure.

After they had walked silently next to one another for

[3871]

* said Quandt; “I must act according to my
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

a long time, the young woman said: “It was really on your
account that I came to this city, Hauser.” Her voice, which
had a slight sing-song, had also a strange accent, and while
she spoke she was in the habit of blinking her eyelids occa-
sionally, as do those whose eyes are tired.

“Yes, and what do you wish of me?” replied Caspar, more
helplessly than roughly. “You already told me yesterday
in the theater that you had come on my account.”

“That’s not new to you, you're thinking. But I don’t want
anything from you, on the contrary. But it is hard to talk
about it while walking. Let us sit down up there in the
grass.”

They climbed up the side of the hill and sat in front of
a hedge on the grass. Opposite them the sun sank into the
treetops of the Swabian hills. Caspar gazed meditatively;
Frau von Kannawurf leaned her elbow in the grass and
looked into the violet air. Schildknecht, as if he understood
that his presence was not desired, had seated himself far
beneath them, on a fallen tree.

“I own a little place in Switzerland,” began Frau von
Kannawurf. “I bought it two years ago in order to have a
refuge and a place of rest in a free country. I propose that
you go there with me. You can live there entirely accord-
ing to your wishes, without danger or annoyance. Not even
myself will disturb you, for I cannot stay anywhere; some-
thing constantly drives me to other places. The house is
completely isolated in a valley between high hills and on
a lake. You cannot conceive of anything grander than the
view of perpetual snow that one may enjoy seated in the
garden under the apple-trees. Since it would be very diffi-
cult and take much time if I wanted to carry out my pur-
pose and take you there in the eyes of all the world, I think
the best thing would be for you to flee with me. You have
only to say ‘yes’ and everything is ready.”

She had moved so that her face turned straight on Caspar,
who shifted his somewhat dazed glance from the red sun-

[383]
 

THE JOURNEY IS UNDERTAKEN

 

disc and looked at her. He would have had to be of wood
to remain insensible towards this beautiful countenance, and
quite of his own accord, as if he had not listened to her at
all, the words, “But you are very beautiful,” fell from his
amazed lips.

Frau von Kannawurf blushed. She did not succeed in
concealing an expression of pain behind her ironic smile.
Her mouth, which had something childishly sweet about it,
trembled constantly when she was silent. Caspar became
embarrassed at her surprised glance and looked again at
the sun.

“You are not answering me?’ asked Frau von Kannawurf
gently and with disappointment.

Caspar shook his head. “It is impossible for me to do
what you want me to,” he said.

“Impossible? Why?” Frau von Kannawurf sat up sud-
denly.

“Because I do not belong there,” said Caspar firmly.

The young woman looked at him. Her face had the ex-
pression of an attentive child and became gradually as white
as the sky above them. “Do you wish to sacrifice yourself ?”
she asked, stunned.

“Because I must go there where I belong,” continued
Caspar unswervingly, as he gazed steadily at the spot where
the sun had now sunk.

It is vain to try to convert him to my plan, thought Frau
von Kannawurf at once. Good heavens, how true, how
simple everything seems to him—yes, no—beautiful, ugly;
he looks at things only from above. And how his face
unites a boundless goodness with a naive and delicate sad-
ness; one is confounded with astonishment when one looks
at him.

“But what do you want to do?” she asked hesitatingly.

“I don’t yet know,” he replied as if in a dream, and with
his eyes followed a cloud which had the shape of a dog

running.
[3891

2”
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

So what I was told is wrong, thought the young woman ; he
is not at all afraid. She got up, walked impetuously ahead
down the hill, past Schildknecht, who seemed asleep. One
must protect him, she thought further; he is capable of
action and of running into his ruin. Naturally he does not
know what he will do; he is probably not capable of making
a plan, but he will act. He is brooding over some plan and
will not be daunted by anything any more. It is not
difficult to read him, although he looks like silence itself.

She remained standing and waited for Caspar. “How well
you can run,” he said admiringly when he had reached her
side.

“The fresh air makes me a little wild,” she replied, and
breathed deeply.

As Frau von Kannawurf and Caspar walked through the
gate of the Herrieder Tower, they suddenly saw the police
lieutenant near an empty guard-house. And both involun-
tarily stood still, for his aspect was somehow terrifying.
Hickel was leaning with his shoulders against the booth and
looked as if he had been turned into a statue. In spite of the
darkness they could see that his face was an ashen gray, and
a leaden gloom lay over his features. Back of him stood his
dog, a large gray mastiff. The animal was as motionless as
his master and gazed steadily up at him.

Caspar removed his hat to greet him; Hickel did not
notice this. Frau von Kannawurf looked back again and
whispered shiveringly: “How terrible; what a man he is.
I wonder what’s worrying him?”

Was it conceivable that the lieutenant, rendered desperate
by some new loss at cards, could so far forget himself that
even though protected by the darkness and a corner in the
wall, he should present the spectacle of a man overcome
by a convulsion? That is generally not a characteristic of
gamblers; they sleep off their depression and again sur-
render themselves coolly to the clutches of inconstant for-
tune, But gamblers are generally unscrupulous; when their

[390]
 

THE JOURNEY IS UNDERTAKEN

 

money is not staked on cards they put it on souls, and thus
it may well happen that the devil presents them with a
frightful reckoning, which they must sign with their blood.

When Hickel had reached home that afternoon an un-
known man had walked up to him in front of the door, handed
him a sealed letter and disappeared without having spoken.
The lieutenant’s experienced glance could not fail to detect
that the man wore false hair and a false beard. The letter,
which Hickel at once opened, was in cipher, and although he
was familiar with the key, it took the rest of the afternoon
to read the letter. The contents were connected with the
trip which Hickel was to take in the President’s company.
Hickel read and read, and read again. He had already under-
stood the first time, but he read in order not to be obliged to
think.

Promptly at seven o'clock he got up from his desk and
walked for ten minutes up and down the room, whistling.
Then he opened a little glass cupboard, took out a bottle of
whiskey which he had received as a present from Lord
Stanhope, filled a nice little silver goblet and drank it down
in a single gulp. Then he snatched at a whisk broom,
brushed his coat off and at half-past seven left his flat with
his dog. He seemed in a good humor, for he whistled and
hummed, and sometimes snapped his fingers. But under
the arch of the Herrieder Tower he suddenly stood still and
looked earnestly at the ground. A handcart going by struck
him on the hip and therefore he walked a few steps further
to the guard-house around the corner. There the pair on
their way home saw him.

The assumption that this depression of the lieutenant’s
spirits lasted longer than a temporary lack of blood in the
head generally does would indicate an insufficient insight
into his character. At eight o'clock he was already eating
fish with several colleagues at the “Golden Fork” and at
nine he was at the Casino. In case this accurate indication
of time should be in any way annoying, let us add that from

[391]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

nine till four he was no longer aware of the stroke of a
bell, but solely of the monotonous flutter of cards over the
gambling table. He won. On the way home, through the
gray dawn, it was worthy of note that he stopped in the
middle of the street in front of the Star Inn, pressed his
sword against his leg and cast a long absorbed glance towards
the window back of which he had once seen the beautiful
stranger.

The next morning he slept late and when the boy came
to make his report he scarcely listened. It was Schild-
knecht’s duty to report every morning where he had been
with Caspar the day before. From now on almost every
day it was: We called for Frau von Kannawurf, or Frau
von Kannawurf met us and we went walking, or, in rainy
weather: We sat in the summer-house in the Imhoffs’ gar-
den. This “we” in Schildknecht’s mouth sounded very mod-
est; he always spoke of Caspar with respectful reserve.
Since he perceived that his master was restless at the report
on Caspar’s and Frau von Kannawurf’s being together so
regularly, he knew how to put some assurance of harmless-
ness into his tone; for example, he would add: “They talked
a lot about the weather,” or, “They talked a lot about intel-
lectual matters.” He invented these details, for actually he
kept at a tactful distance from the two.

Hickel began to distrust the young man.

One evening he caught him sitting in a corner of the
kitchen with a candle in front of him with his finger spelling
out the words of a book. When he saw himself disturbed
he seemed devitalized; his red cheeks had lost their color.
Hickel took the book and his face™urned as black as night
when he saw that it was Feuerbach’s pamphlet. “Where did
you get that?” he screamed at Schildknecht. The boy re-
plied that he had found it on the lieutenant’s bookcase. “It
was an illegal act to take it and I will have you disciplined
and fired if such a thing ever happens again, just note that,”
thundered Hickel.

[392]
 

THE JOURNEY IS UNDERTAKEN

 

Probably the first pirate’s yarn that he got hold of would
have exalted the lout’s curiosity equally, said Hickel to him-
self later on, and judged his outburst to have been unneces-
sary. Nevertheless he sensed danger; the boy was not to
his taste, and he decided to get rid of him. An occasion soon
presented itself.

When Schildknecht called for Caspar the next day he no-
ticed that the latter was depressed. He tried to cheer him up
by telling him some amusing stories of his life in the bar-
racks. Caspar became interested in the conversation; he
asked the confiding boy about his home and his parents, and
Schildknecht tried to tell about these as good-humoredly as
he could, although it was a sad chapter for him. He had had
a step-mother, his father had placed him among strangers;
scarcely was he away from the house when a lover of the
woman had killed the father in a fight. Now the lover and
the woman were in prison and his brothers had gone through
all the money.

Schildknecht ventured to ask why Caspar was not meeting
his friend that day.

“She is going to the theater,” replied Caspar.

Why did he not go, Schildknecht npleed further.

He had no money.

“No money? How much is needed ?”’

“Six cents.”

“I have just that with me,” said Schildknecht. “I’ll lend
it to you.”

Caspar accepted the offer with pleasure. Don Carlos was
just being given; he had looked forward to it for a long
time.

The play, with the exception of the crazy woman who
tries to seduce the prince, aroused his delight. And what
were his sensations when the marquis said to the king:

In vain
Your bitter war with Nature, and in vain
The royal life you sacrificed to further

[3931]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

Destruction’s irresponsible designs.

Man is a creature greater than you thought:
The {fetters of long slumber he will break,
And vindicate his hallowed right again.

He got up from his seat, stared eagerly with speaking eyes
at the stage and only kept back a loud scream with difficulty.
Fortunately the disturbance was not much noticed in the
darkness ; his neighbor, an ill-natured old bureaucrat, pulled
him back to his seat.

His staying away during the evening at once caused the
teacher to inquire where he had been. He confessed that he
had been at the Court Theater. “Where did you get the
money ?”’ asked Quandt. Caspar replied that the ticket had
been given to him. “By whom?” Thoughtlessly, still en-
thralled by the poetry, Caspar gave the first name which oc-
curred to him. Quandt inquired the next day and found
out, of course, that Caspar had lied to him and took him to
task. Driven into a corner, Caspar confessed the truth and
Quandt told the lieutenant.

At five o'clock in the afternoon the well-known whistle,
two melodious thrills, with which Schildknecht was in the
habit of announcing his arrival, were heard in the yard. Cas-
par went down.

“It’s over between us two,” Schildknecht said to him; “the
lieutenant has discharged me because I lent you the money.
I shall have to do barracks service again.”

Caspar nodded sadly. “That’s how it always goes with
me,” he murmured; “they can’t stand it when any one is
kind to me.” He shook hands with Schildknecht in fare-
well.

“Listen, Hauser,” said Schildknecht eagerly, “two or three
times a week, in fact whenever I am free, I'll come into the
yard and whistle. Perhaps you will need me some time.
Why not, it’s quite possible?”

There lay a depth of kindness beyond all measure in these
words. Caspar fastened an attentive glance upon Schild-

[394]
 

THE JOURNEY IS UNDERTAKEN

knecht’s friendly, smiling face and replied slowly and
thoughtfully : “It is possible, that is true.”

“Fine, that’s settled,” exclaimed Schildknecht.

They went through the corridor into the street. In front
of the gate stood an official messenger. When he saw Cas-
par, he said he had been looking for him, the President had
sent him, Caspar was to come to him at once. Caspar asked
what was doing. “The President is leaving this evening
at six o'clock with the police lieutenant and wishes to speak
to you before going,” the man answered.

Caspar set out at once. A few hundred feet from the
teacher’s house he could get no further. The axle of a
wheel had broken, upsetting a load of bricks in front of the -
gate, thus blocking the street. Caspar waited a while and
was then obliged to go over Wiirzburger Strasse and through
the fields. As a result he came too late. When he got to
the Feuerbachs’ garden the President had already left.
Henriette and Hofrat Hofmann stood at the garden gate
and received Caspar’s well-grounded excuses silently. Hen-
riette’s eyes showed that she had been crying. For a long
time she looked down the street where the carriage had dis-
appeared, then she turned silently and walked towards the
house.

[3951]
XX1v
SCHILDKNECHT

May brought much rain. When the weather made it at
all possible Caspar and Frau von Imhoff wandered for whole
afternoons through the surrounding countryside. Caspar
suddenly neglected his office work. When he was taken to
task he replied: “I am tired of that silly writing.” This the
people concerned took very ill.

The new servant whom Hickel had engaged and with
whom he left strict instructions for the period of his ab-
sence was at once so unpleasant that Frau von Kannawurf
complained about him to Hofrat Hofmann. Less through
real understanding than a desire to be obliging to the beauti-
ful woman, the Hofrat permitted Caspar to go walking with
her alone. “I hope you won't run away with Caspar,” he
said with a sly professional smile to the speechless woman.

Quandt, however, again made difficulties. “I insist upon
keeping to my instructions,” was his iron motto. One morn-
ing, therefore, Frau von Kannawurf appeared in the teach-
er’s study and boldly took him to task. Quandt could not
look her in the face. He was completely bewildered, and
became red and white by turns. “I am entirely at your
service, madame,” he said with the expression of a person
who on the rack decides in favor of whatever is wanted of
him.

Frau von Kannawurf looked with calm curiosity about
the room. “What is your real attitude towards Caspar,”
she suddenly asked him. “Do you love him?”

Quandt sighed. “I wish I could love him as his worthy
friends believe that he deserves to be loved,” he concluded
with a masterly flourish.

Frau von Kannawurf started up. “How am I to under-

[3961]
 

SCHILDKNECHT

 

stand that?” she broke out passionately; “how can one not
love him, how can one not do everything for him?” Her face
glowed, she walked up close to the frightened teacher and
looked at him threateningly and sadly.

But she calmed herself quickly, and spoke of other mat-
ters in order the better to fathom this to her so astonishing
creature. Every human being was a wonder to her and
almost everything which they did was wonderful. For this
reason she scarcely ever attained the goal which she sought.
She forgot herself and overreached the bounds imposed by
superficial intercourse.

Quandt was thoroughly angry afterwards at his indulgent
attitude. I wonder what’s back of that? he puzzled. When-
ever little notes came for Caspar from Frau von Kannawurf
he opened and read them before he gave them to the boy.
He never made anything out of them; the contents were too
innocent. Probably they communicate in some secret lan-
guage, thought Quandt, and put certain recurring phrases
together in the hope of thus finding the key. Caspar pro-
tested against this meddling, whereupon Quandt, with un-
usual loquaciousness, demonstrated to him the right of the
tutor to peruse his pupil’s correspondence.

Finally Caspar asked his friend not to write to him any
more. The teacher, had he been able to listen unseen to
their conversations, would have found them equally innocent.
Sometimes they walked for hours side by side without
speaking. “Isn’t it beautiful in the woods?” the young
woman would then ask in the heartfelt tones of her sweet
~ voice and a little twittering bird-like laugh. Or she would
pluck a flower from the edge of a field and ask: “Is that not
beautiful ?”

“It is beautiful,” Caspar would reply.

“So dry, so serious?”

“It is not for long that I have known it to be beautiful,”
remarked Caspar profoundly; “the beautiful comes last.”

This time the spring made him happy. With every breath

C3971]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

he felt himself favored to an unusual degree. The teeming
world wound itself round him like a garland. So long as the
sun stood high in the blue sky his eyes shone with surprised
happiness. “He is like a child whom one takes into the
garden for the first time after a long lilness,” said Frau von
Kannawurf. Her kindly heart beat quickly at the thought
that perhaps she was not without some share in this mood of
his. Sometimes she would twine young forest leaves in his
hat, which always made him look very proud. But he con-
tinued to be quite reserved, and with an abstraction that
seemed to denote an inner struggle with some great decision.

One day they agreed that they should call each other Clara
and Caspar. She was amused at the business-like precision
with which he, on his side, observed their agreement. In
fact, he often entertained her, particularly when he gave her
little moral talks, or when he complained with irritation at
something which he called womanish. He warned her, too,
not to run about so much and to take care of her health.
Indeed, it sometimes really looked as if she were trying to
fatigue or exhaust herself. One of her passions was to
climb towers. On the tower of St. John’s Church there was
an old watchman, a wise man after his fashion, who had be-
come gentle and passive through long isolation. She did
not shun the exertion of several hundred steps to be climbed,
and often ran up twice a day, chatted with him as with a
friend, or leaned over the iron railing of the narrow platform
and gazed over the landscape into the distance. The watch-
man, too, had become so attached to her that at set hours
in the evening he sent preconcerted signals with his lantern
in the direction of the Imhoffs’ summer-house.

Every day she made new plans for traveling, for she did
not like the little city. Caspar asked what it was that was
driving her away, but she really was not able to say. “I
can’t take root,” she had said; “I become unhappy if I am
contented. I must go constantly on voyages of discovery; I

[398]
 

SCHILDKENECHT

 

must seek people.” She looked at Caspar affectionately, while
her little mouth trembled incessantly.

Once, and that was the only time that there was any talk
of it at all, she mentioned Feuerbach’s pamphlet. Caspar
snatched her hand, which he pressed with a peculiar force,
as if he were trying thus to strangle the word which he had
heard. Frau von Kannawurf uttered a low scream.

It was already evening. They still walked along as far
as the street crossing where they generally separated. Then
Frau von Kannawurf said quickly and incisively, standing
close to him and staring at his forehead: “So you are ready
to assume the burden?”

“What?” he replied, visibly ill at ease.

“Everything— 1”

“Yes, everything,” he said dully; “but I don’t know, for I
am quite alone.”

“Naturally alone, but you don’t wish for anything else.
Alone, as when you were in prison, only no longer below
ground, but above——" She could speak no further; he
placed one hand on her mouth and the other on his, while his
eyes gleamed almost with hate. Suddenly he wondered with
a kind of joyful confusion whether his mother was like this
woman? He had a thirsty burning sensation on his lips and
at the same time he was aware of something in himself
which was repellent to him. “I am going home now,” he
spurted forth, curiously vexed, and hurried away quickly.

Frau von Kannawurf looked after him, and long after the
darkness had swallowed his figure she still fixed her big
childlike eyes in the direction he had taken. She had a
frightful sensation of fear about her heart. He is certainly
the bravest of humans, she thought; he does not even con-
ceive of how much courage he has. What is it that moves me
so, whether I talk with him or am silent? Why am I so
afraid when I know that he is left to himself ?

She went homeward and took more than half an hour for

C3991
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

a walk of a little more than a thousand steps. In the west,
lightning shone like fiery veins.

Caspar had gone to bed early. It may have been four
o'clock in the morning when he was wakened by a loud call.
It was from the street outside the yard, and the voice called
“Quandt, Quandt!”

Caspar, still half asleep, thought that he recognized Hic-
kel’s voice. Somewhere a window was opened, the person
on the street said something which Caspar could not under-
stand, and soon afterwards a door in the house was banged.
Then there was silence for a time. Caspar was turning over
on his side to continue sleeping when there was a knock
at his door.

“What is it?” asked Caspar.

“Open the door, Hauser,” answered Quandt’s voice.

Caspar sprang out of bed and pushed the bolt back.
Quandt stood, completely dressed, on the threshold. His face
looked a greenish white in the gray dawn.

“The President is dead,” he said.

Overcome with dizziness, Caspar sat down on the edge of
the bed.

“I am going there now. If you wish to go with me, hurry,”
Quandt continued in a mumble.

Caspar slipped into his clothes; he was as if drunk.

Ten minutes later he was walking next to Quandt on the
way to Heiligenkreuz Street. In the garden in front of
Feuerbach’s house there stood groups of people looking half
sleepy, half dumfounded. A baker’s boy sat on the steps,
weeping into his white apron. “Do you think one may go
up?” Quandt asked the clerk, Dillmann, who strode up and
down with a wrathful face, with his hat deep down on his
forehead. “The corpse is not yet in the city,” said an old
artillery officer, in whose beard raindrops were hanging.

“I know that,” replied Quandt, and somewhat anxiously
followed Caspar who had gone into the house. In the lower
story all the doors were open. In the kitchen, two maids

[ 400]
 

SCHILDKNECHT

 

sat in front of a pile of wood which had been cut into logs.
They seemed to listen fearfully. Caspar and Quandt became
aware of the approach of a penetrating voice. At once they
saw a female figure with arms flung up running through the
rooms. She screamed to herself as if demented.

“The unhappy woman,” said Quandt, disturbed.

It was Henriette. Her screams continued uninterruptedly
until several ladies appeared, among them Frau von Stic-
haner. Quandt went with Caspar to the threshold of the
state reception room. The women tried to soothe Henriette
who, however, repulsed them with her fists. “I knew it,”
she screamed ; “I knew it, they have poisoned him, they have
poisoned him!” Her eyes were bloodshot and their glance
was red. She stormed into another room, her loose night-
gown fluttering back of her, and her screams sounding more
and more piercingly: “They have poisoned him, poisoned
him, poisoned him!”

Caspar could find no other place to rest his eyes than the
picture of Napoleon opposite which he stood. It seemed to
him that the emperor must already be tired of his immutable
majestic turn of the head.

“Let us go, Hauser,” said Quandt, “here there is too much
grief.”

In the hall stood Regierungsprisident Mieg, in conversa-
tion with Hickel. The lieutenant was recounting the details
of the catastrophe. In Ochsenfurt-on-the-Main His Excel-
lency had complained of being unwell and had gone to bed;
during the night he had had a fever, the physician who was
called had opened a vein and had said that the illness was
unimportant. The next morning the end had suddenly come.

“And to what reason did the physician ascribe his death ?”
inquired Herr von Mieg, bowing at the same time, as Frau
von Imhoff and Frau von Kannawurf walked up to him.
Frau von Imhoff was crying.

Hickel shrugged his shoulders. “He thought his heart
was weak,” he replied.

[401]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

Regardless of the early hour, the whole city was already
up. Over the roof of the Appellate Court two black flags
were flying.

Caspar remained all day in his room. No one disturbed
him. He lay on the sofa, his hands under his head, staring
in the air. Late in the afternoon he became hungry and
went into the living room. Quandt was not there. His wife
said : “The corpse arrived at four o’clock; you should really
go, Hauser, and see him once again, before he is buried.”

Caspar choked over a piece of bread and nodded.

“Do you see how right I was that time about the corpse-
washerwomen ?” continued the teacher’s wife, talkatively,
“But you men always think that everything goes as you have
calculated.”

The foyer of Feuerbach’s house was filled with people.
Caspar pressed his way into a corner and stood for a while
unobserved. He shook from head to foot. The peculiar
smell which pervaded the house stunned his senses. Then
he felt his hand seized. Looking up, he recognized Frau
von Imhoff. Signaling to him to follow her, she conducted
him to a large room in the middle of which the corpse was
laid out. Feuerbach’s three sons sat at their father’s head,
Henriette lay motionless, stretched across the corpse. At
the window stood Hofrat Hofmann and the Archive Director
Wurm. There was no one else in the room.

The face of the dead man was as yellow as a lemon. Great
knots of muscles had formed at the corners of the sharp,
incisive mouth. The slate-gray hair resembled an animal’s
closely cropped coat. There was no longer anything of
greatness in these features, only grinding pain and inhuman
icy fear.

Caspar had never yet seen a corpse. His face assumed a
tortured and curious expression, his eyes turned in their
sockets and he clasped his mouth and chin with his ten
fingers. His whole heart dissolved in tears.

Henriette Feuerbach lifted her head from the bier; per-

[402]
 

SCHITL.DRNECHT

 

ceiving the boy her features became frightfully convulsed.
“It is on your account that he had to die,” she screamed in
a voice which made them all quiver.

Caspar opened his lips. Bending far forward he stared
at the half-crazed woman. Twice he struck his breast with
his hand—he seemed to laugh—suddenly he emitted a mean-
ingless sound and fell senseless to the floor.

They were all dumfounded. The President’s sons had
gotten up and looked with anxiety at the boy lying on the
floor. Director Wurm, when he had recovered himself, went
to the door, probably to summon a physician. The cool-
headed Hofrat held him back saying that one should not
create any unnecessary excitement. Frau von Imhoff knelt
by Caspar and moistened his temples with her eau de cologne.
He recovered himself slowly, but it was a quarter of an hour
before he was able to get up and walk. Frau von Imhoff
accompanied him out. In order not to have to press their
way through the crowd of visitors, she led him down the
back-stairs into the garden and offered to accompany him
home, “No,” he said in unnaturally low tones, “I want to go
alone.” He stuck his nose into the air and sniffed uncon-
sciously. His pulse beat so quickly that the veins in his neck
seemed actually to be racing.

He turned away from the young woman’s affectionate
encouragement and went with heavy steps through the main
walk of the garden. In front of the gate he ran into the
lieutenant. “Well, Hauser ?”” Hickel said to him.

Caspar stood still.

“You certainly have well-founded cause for grief,” said
Hickel in a dolorous voice. “Who will replace the precious
support of a Feuerbach?”

Caspar did not reply, he seemed to look straight through
the lieutenant as if he were made of glass.

“Good evening,” said a bell-like voice which moved Caspar
strangely. Frau von Kannawurf walked up to him. Hickel’s
face grew a shade paler. “Most gracious lady,” he said with

[403]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

a gallantry which appeared forced, “may I take this oppor-
tunity to lay my unmeasured admiration at your feet?”

Frau von Kannawurf tnveluntarily took a step backwards
and looked frightened.

The lieutenant had the expression of a person who is plung-
ing into deep water. He bowed down and before Frau von
Kannawurf could prevent it he seized her hand and pressed
a kiss on it with his naked teeth; when he stood up his lips
were still parted. Without uttering a syllable more he hur-
ried away.

With wide eyes Frau von Kannawurf looked after him.
“That man makes me shudder,” she whispered. Caspar
remained completely indifferent. Frau von Kannawurf ac-
companied him home in silence.

When he had reached his room his eyes assumed a weird
expression and flamed in the darkness like two glow-worms.
He placed himself in the middle of the room and, trembling
from head to foot, he said the following in imploring tones:

“If I know you, thus I call to you. If you are my mother
then hear me. I am going to you. I must come to you.
If you are my mother, then I ask you: why wait so long? I
have no longer any fear and the need is great. Caspar
Hauser is what they call me, but you call me differently. To
you I must go into the castle. The messenger is true: God
will guide him and the sun will light his way. Speak to
him, send me word through him.”

Suddenly a curious peace came over him. He sat down
at the table, took a sheet of paper and wrote down the same
words unimpeded by the darkness. Then he folded the
paper up and since he did not have any sealing wax he lit
the candle, dropped some tallow on the paper and pressed
upon it a seal representing a horse with the motto: Proud
but gentle.

Half an hour passed. He sat silently with closed eyes.
At times it seemed as if he were praying, for his lips moved

[404]
 

SCHILDKNFECHT

 

seekingly. He thought of Schildknecht, and wished for him
with the whole strength of his soul.

And as if this wish had contained the power to create
reality the pleasant trill sounded suddenly in the yard.
Caspar went to the window and opened it. It was Schild-
knecht. “I am coming down,” Caspar called to him.

Downstairs, he seized Schildknecht by the sleeve of his
coat and pulled him through the little gate into the lonely
street. Then he silently ordered him to follow along further.
They went by the house of the tax collector until they
reached a field. On the edge stood a peasant’s cart. Caspar
sat down on the shaft and pulled Schildknecht down next
to him. He approached his mouth to the soldier’s ear and
said: “Now, I need you.”

Schildknecht nodded.

“Everything is at stake,” Caspar continued.

Schildknecht nodded again.

“Here is a letter,” said Caspar, “it must reach my mother.”

Schildknecht nodded again, this time full of respect. “I
know,” he answered, “the Princess Stephanie—" Ys,

“How do you know?” whispered Caspar, amazed.

“I have read it, read it in the President’s book.”

“And you know, too, where you must go, Schildknecht?”

“I know, it’s in our country.”

“And you will deliver the letter?”

“Tl do it!”

“And you'll swear by your salvation that you'll give her
the letter yourself? That you'll go to the castle? To the
church, if she’s there? Stop her carriage if she’s driving
along the street?”

“Swearing is not necessary. I'll do it and let onions rain!”

“If I should try to do it, Schildknecht, I should not get
to the next village. They would catch me and lock me up.”

“I know that.”

“How will you do it?”

[ 405]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

“Put on peasant’s clothes, sleep in the woods by day,
travel by night.”

“And where will you hide the letter?”

“Under my sole, in my stocking.”

“And when can you leave?”

“Whenever you like. To-morrow, to-day, at once, when-
ever you like. It’s desertion of the colors, of course, but that
does not matter.”

“If you succeed, it doesn’t matter. Have you money?”

“Not a dollar, but that does not matter.”

“No, money is necessary. You need lots of money. Come
with me, I'll get money.”

Caspar jumped up and walked ahead in the direction of
the Imhoffs’ castle. At the gate he told the soldier to wait.
He went in and said to the watchman that he must speak to
Frau von Kannawurf. There was something in his appear-
ance which made the old servant hurry. Frau von Kanna-
wurf soon came toward him. She led him up the steps into
a little room, which was not lighted. A mirror as tall as the
wall glistened in the moonlight.

“Don’t ask me anything,” Caspar said with flying breath
to his friend, who was unable to utter a word, “I need ten
ducats, give me ten ducats.”

She looked at him anxiously. “Wait,” she answered and
went out silently.

It seemed an eternity to Caspar before she came back.
He stood at the window, constantly rubbing one hand over
his cheek. Silently as she had left, Frau von Kannawurf,
came back and handed him a small roll. He took her hand
and stammered something. Her face twitched again and
again; her eyes swam as in a mist. Did she understand him?
She must have had some conception, but she did not ask.
A wan smile passed over her lips as she led Caspar to the
door. At this moment she was strikingly beautiful.

: : 5 > > |

Schildknecht was leaning against a pillar of the city gate
and staring earnestly at the moon. They walked toward the

[406]
 

SCHILDKNECHT

 

city together; after a few hundred steps Caspar stood still
and gave Schildknecht the letter and the money. Schild-
knecht did not utter a syllable. He puffed out his cheeks a
little and looked harmless.

In front of Kronacher Buck, Schildknecht said it would
be best for them not to be seen together. Then Schildknecht
turned round once again and called, apparently cheerful:
“Good-by !”

Caspar remained much longer, on the same spot, as if be-
witched. He wanted to throw himself into the grass, and to
dig his arms in the earth for which he felt a sudden
gratitude.

He got home late, but fortunately was not questioned, for
Quandt had been ordered to call on Hofrat Hofmann on
account of urgent business. He brought back news with
him. “Just listen, Jette,” he said, “the President during his
last days, while he was with the policeman, entirely gave up
the Caspar Hauser matter. He is even said to have thought
of openly retracting his monograph as a mistake.”

“Who said that?” asked his wife.

“The lieutenant. And it is so reported everywhere. The
Hofrat is of the same opinion.”

“It is also being reported everywhere that the President
was poisoned !”

“Oh, what rot!” exclaimed Quandt hotly. “Just be careful
not to say anything of the sort. The lieutenant has threat-
ened to arrest people who spread such dangerous talk and to
make them answer for it without mercy. What's Hauser
about ?”’

“I believe he has gone to bed. This afternoon he was in
the kitchen and complained at the number of flies in his
room.”

“So, he has no other worries at present? Just like him.”

“Yes. I told him to chase them out, but he replied that
twenty more at once came in.”

[407]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

“Twenty?” said Quandt with displeasure. “Why twenty?
That’s an arbitrary number.”

They went to bed.

On the day of Feuerbach’s funeral, Daumer and Herr von
Tucher arrived from Niirnberg and went to the Star Inn.
Daumer at once sought out Caspar. Caspar was frank and
open toward his first protector, nevertheless Daumer was
tormented by the impression that Caspar did not see or hear
him at all. He found him pale and grown, silent as always,
and curiously joyous, yes, quite preoccupied and enmeshed
in this curious gayety, which threw strange, dark shadows
about him.

In a letter to his sister, Daumer wrote among other things:
“I should have to lie if I said that it gave me pleasure to
see the boy. No, it is painful for me to see him and if you
ask me why, I am obliged to reply like a stupid schoolboy:
‘I don’t know.” Moreover, he lives here quite at peace and
will probably, sad as it is to state, figure all his days as an
obscure clerk or something of the sort.”

Whereas Herr von Tucher left again on the same after-
noon, and without having troubled himself gbout Caspar,
Daumer remained in the city for three days, as he had
business with the government. At the President’s funeral
he did not see Caspar; he discovered later that Frau von
Imhoff had been able to prevent his presence. He soon
made the painful discovery that Caspar was purposely avoid-
ing him. An hour before his departure he spoke to Quandt
about it.

“Can a man of your insight be at a loss to find an expla-
nation for this behavior ?” asked Quandt with astonishment.
“It is quite obvious that now, when he sees a constantly
greater indifference growing up toward him and must feel the
consequences of this fact daily, he must be embarrassed by
the sight of his Niirnberg friends. For there he was in full
fettle and thought what wonderful plums he might draw
forth from his cake. We, however, respected professor, are

[408]
 

SCHULDKNECHT

 

close on his tracks; it won't be long before you will hear
remarkable news.”

Quandt looked worried, and his words had a fanatical
sound. Whether Daumer could thereupon set forth on his
journey homewards with high hopes may be doubted. He
was tempted to shout as he had shouted the complaint over
the summer fields in that silent night when he pressed
Caspar in the spirit, and in the flesh, against his breast:
“Man, oh man!” But that was not all. A grinding remorse
seized upon the distraught man; his brain seethed like an evil
conscience, and, slowly awakening the resolution to action
and atonement—to action and atonement which came too
late—produced the first dawning of the truth.

[4097]
XXV
AN INTERRUPTED PERFORMANCE

Ix the course of the following weeks there were all sorts
of rumors in the drawing-rooms and burgher households of
the city. Without assuming any definite form, gossip had
it that the sudden death of the President was the fruit of a
mysterious plot, and this was believed even by those only
distantly concerned. This, of course, was not tangibly ex-
pressed ; the whispers were careful. Very much in secret,
they also murmured that Lord Stanhope was a party to this
conspiracy, and gradually the definite rumor arose that Lord
Stanhope had had a share in the plot and that his lordship
was attempting to bring criminal action against Caspar
Hauser and had already secured the assistance of a dis-
tinguished councillor-at-law. Suddenly, no one admitted
having ever felt any enthusiasm for the count, the dashing
impression that he had left behind him had been wiped out
and in several influential families, where he had been re-
garded as a demi-god, his name was uttered only with timid
concern.

Caspar’s friends became anxious. Frau von Imhoff called
on the lieutenant one day and asked what one was to think
of all this mysterious talk. With cool regret, Hickel replied
that public opinion was not mistaken in this point. “Times
have changed,” said he; “his lordship now sees in Caspar
Hauser only a common swindler.”

Whereupon Frau von Imhoff left the lieutenant without a
word of reply, and without saying good-by.

“Ah, the gentle souls,” thought Hickel sarcastically to
himself, “they are beginning to shudder.”

Hickel had rented a new flat on the promenade and lived
like a fine gentleman. Where can he have gotten the means,

[410]
 

AN INTERRUPTED PERFORMANCE

 

people asked? He has had luck at cards, said some; others
declared, on the contrary, that he constantly lost large sums.

But this did not exhaust the subjects for gossip. Another
curious incident: during the summer a soldier had disap-
peared from the infantry barracks in an unexplained manner.
At other times such an event would perhaps have passed
unnoticed. Now all kinds of fables attached themselves to
the incident. It was said that the soldier who had guarded
Caspar Hauser had obtained knowledge of certain secrets
and had been done away with. People became afraid; they
locked their front doors carefully at night. All was no
longer easy in the quiet good city. Whoever was a stranger
was regarded with suspicion.

Even Frau von Kannawurf was now looked at askance,
although there was something inviolable about her which
robbed the slanderous words of their strength. Nevertheless
it resulted in her withdrawing from intercourse with her
equals and in her frequently associating instead with persons
of the lower classes. She spent many hours in insipid talk
with peasant women and working women, ascended to her
sexton in the church-spire, or joined the children coming
home from school. Then, tp the tremendous astonishment
of the citizens whom they met, she often collected a noisy
swarm of boys and girls about her and wandered through
the streets, laughing in their midst.

Probably she is a demagogue, they said. Parents of sound
principles forbade their children to take part in these scan-
dalous parades. Doubtless the authorities, too, found these
doings objectionable, for one evening it was noticed that
the police-lieutenant took up his post in front of the Imhoffs’
summer-house; for two hours he had stood immovable in
the darkness underneath a tree.

Frau von Kannawurf{, it is true, was a striking person and
behaved strikingly. But her curious actions had an appear-
ance of lightness, even of carelessness. She had a way of
smiling in which a self-forgetful devotion to something

[411]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

thought, or felt, was touchingly mixed with a despair of her
own inadequacy. She lived in everything, she took part in
everything and soared into supermundane space in every new
pleasure.

One evening in August she entered her friend’s room,
breathless with running, threw herself on the sofa and was
unable to speak for a long time.

“What have you been doing again, Clara?” said Frau von
Imhoff reproachfully; “that’s not living, that’s burning up.”

“Nothing is any use,” murmured the young woman ex-
haustedly, “I must travel.”

Frau von Imhoff shook her head in affectionate reproach.
She had heard these words often during the last three
months. “You will stay at least until our family party,
Clara,” she replied affectionately.

“How much strength of will it does sometimes take in
order not to carry out a resolution,” said Clara von Kanna-
wurf to herself, and after a silent pause she turned her face
to her friend and said: “Why, Bettine, can’t you take Caspar
here into your house? He may not and must not stay at
Quandt’s any longer. It is impossible for me to enter that
house. His situation is frightful, Bettine. Why do I tell
you this? You know why, all of you know it, but not one
ever moves a finger. No one, no one has the courage to do
what he will wish to have done when that which he silently
fears will have happened.”

Frau von Imhoff looked down with embarrassment at her
embroidery. “I am not happy enough and not unhappy
enough to sacrifice myself for the fate of a stranger,” she
replied at last.

Clara leaned her head in her hand. “You read a beautiful
book, you see something moving on the stage and you are
profoundly stirred by this merely imagined suffering,” she
continued with emphasis and emotion. “A sad song can
move you to tears, Bettine, do you remember how you cried
recently when Friulein von Stichaner sang Schubert’s 7 an-

[412]
 

AN INTERRUPTED PERFORMANCE

 

derer? At the words: There, where you are not, there is
happiness, you cried. You could not sleep a whole night
when you heard that a mother had let her own child starve
over there in the vineyards. Why is it always on the unreal
or the far-away that you waste your pity? Why always
believe only the word, the sound, the picture, and not the
living human being whose need is so tangible? I don’t
understand it; I don’t understand it, it torments me, yes, it
burns me up.”

The low melodious voice ended in a sigh. Frau von Imhoff
leaned her head in her hand and was silent a long time.
Then she got up, seated herself by Clara and ‘stroked her
friend’s forehead and said: “Talk to him about it. He shall
come to us. I will see that it is done.”

Clara threw both arms about her friend and kissed her
gratefully. But Frau von Imhoff had not come to this
resolution with a free heart, and she drew an extraordinary
sigh of relief when, the next day, Frau von Kannawurf an-
nounced to her that Caspar had with incomprehensible obsti-
nacy fought the suggestion that he leave the teacher’s house.
At first he had not wished to give any reason for his refusal,
but on realizing Clara’s dismay, he had said: “There I was
put and there I shall stay. I don’t want it said that things
at Quandt’s were not good enough for him and therefore
the Imhoffs took him out of pity. I have my bread and my
bed, more I don’t need, and the bed is the best thing that I
have come to know in this world. Everything else is bad.”

No further talk was of any avail. “Of course, you can
do with me as you like,” he added, “but I shall not consent
to go willingly. And wherefore? It can’t last much longer.”

Thus the word had escaped him. Was that the reason for
the deep gleam in his eyes? Was that why he glanced along
the streets with silent tension when he went to the Appellate
Court in the morning? Was that why he leaned out of the
window for hours, staring at the highway? Why he listened
eagerly whenever he saw two people talking quietly together

[ar3]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

anywhere? Was that why he had to be present daily when
the mail coach arrived, and why he asked the postman
whether he had anything for him?

Time did not alter this puzzling behavior. Frau von
Kannawurf was eager to free him from this tension, which
was bound to keep him from any intimate relations with
the surrounding world and made any pleasant activity a hard
compulsion. She was constantly thinking of some amuse-
ment for him, and the family festival which her friend Bettine
had spoken of offered an opportunity of again dragging
Caspar out of his own thoughts and surrounding him once
more with a circle of sympathetic friends.

The celebration was planned by Herr von Imhoff in honor
of the golden wedding of his parents, and was to take place
on the twelfth of September. Young Dr. Lang, a friend
of the family, had composed a clever little drama in verse
which was to be performed by several ladies and gentlemen
of the party. At the rehearsals, which took place in an
upper room of the summer-house, it became evident that one
of the young men, who was cast for the role of a silent
shepherd, was unable, on account of his awkwardness, to
produce the desired effect in the part. Then it occurred to
Frau von Kannawurf, who was one of the actors, to offer
the role to Caspar. The suggestion was approved.

Caspar agreed. Since he was to represent a person who
did not have to speak he considered himself quite adequate
for the task, which appealed to his old love for the theater.
He went diligently to the rehearsals, and although the play
was too grandiloquent and rhetorical to please him, he never-
theless enjoyed the rapid succession of incidents in a trans-
action of fixed outline.

The innocent drama had an intentional, and, for the audi-
ence, a readily perceived relation to a far distant event in
the Imhoff family. One of the brothers of the Baron, at
the beginning of the eighteen-twenties, had taken part in the
subversive activities of the Burschenschaft, and pursued by

L414]
 

AN INTERRUPTED PERFORMANCE

 

his father’s solemn curse, as well as by the political authori-
ties, had fled to America. After an amnesty had been
granted, he had returned home, had renounced all ideas of a
freer life, in the presence of the head of the family, and
from that time on the paternal good will had again beamed
upon him.

This somewhat philistine incident had inspired the family
poet in his composition. A king offers a meal to a friend
and confrére in arms who is visiting him. A second Poly-
crates, he boasts on this occasion of his power, the peace-
fulness of his country, and the virtues of his subjects. The
courtiers at the table strengthen his delusions of happiness
with eager flattery, only his guest and friend ventures boldly
to remark that he sees a spot on the royal purple. The king
feels the truth of this, and berates his friend and prevents
him from speaking further, since his queen shows signs of
great emotional suffering. Meantime lads and lasses fresh
from the fields fill the courtyard, laughter, gay talk and music
accompany the harvest celebration. Suddenly there is a si-
lence—the bagpipes, the gay voices and the laughter cease—
and upon the king’s asking the reason, he is told that the
Black Shepherd who has not been seen in the country within
the memory of man, has again appeared among the people.
The friend inquires about this shepherd and is told that the
remarkable man possesses the gift, by his mere glance, of
recalling to people the memory of their greatest wrong-
doings, and of permitting the innocent to view the object of
their dearest desire. As a corroboration of this, sounds of
weeping and lamentation are heard to proceed from the
midst of the people. The king orders the stranger to depart,
but the queen, supported by the entreaties of their guest and
the courtiers, implores her husband to let him enter into their
presence. The king yields and the silent shepherd appears
upon the scene. He looks at the king, who hides his face;
he looks at the queen, and she, overcome with grief, breaks
into a long soliloquy from which it is evident that her eldest

[415]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

son had been cast out by his father on account of a con-
spiracy in which he had engaged in thoughtless frivolity,
and had since disappeared. With outstretched arms, drawn
irresistibly to him, she walks up to the shepherd, who turns
out to be the contrite prince, who has returned. He is
recognized, he is embraced, the ice of the king’s heart melts,
and there is a general merrymaking and jubilation.

Caspar did not play badly. In the course of the rehearsals
he acquired as lively and spontaneous an interest in the role
and felt his part as deeply as if he had become entirely
detached from his everyday life. Frau von Kannawurf, who
played the queen, was similarly affected; she, too, took her
task with a seriousness which lent unseemly depth to the
playful side of the episode and made the roles of her fellow-
actors appear merely subsidiary.

It was a warm September day; toward six in the evening
the invited guests appeared, altogether about fifty persons,
the women in gala array dressed in their gayest, the men in
frock coats and embroidered uniforms. The stage for the
comedy occupied the whole of the narrow side of the room,
movable scenes, properties and supernumeraries had been
supplied by the director of the Court Theater. The table had
been spread in an adjoining room, where the music was also
accommodated, for there was to be dancing after the
refreshments.

At seven o'clock a bell sounded and all took their places.
The curtain went up, and the king began his haughty tirade.
The friend, acted by the author himself, made a respectful
answer, then came the gay scene in the courtyard and the
course of the action proceeded without mishap. Now Caspar
appeared. The black suit became him well and intensified the
whiteness of his face. His appearance on the stage had an
immediate effect. The coughing and clearing of throats
stopped ; a deathlike silence ensued. The way in which he
looked at the king and queen, the way he walked toward
them, and his dreamlike smile—all were touching. Several

[416]
 

AN INTERRUPTED PERFORMANCE

people saw him tremble and observed that his fingers closed
convulsively into his hands. Now the monologue of the
queen—this, too, did not have the customary sound of an
actor’s delivery. She walks up to the boy, she places her arm
around his neck

At this moment a man hurried forward from the back of
the room to the footlights and called out loudly: “Halt!”
The actors on the stage started with fright, the spectators
arose, and a general commotion ensued. “Who is that?
Who dares do that? What's the matter?” was exclaimed
all at once. People pressed forward, women screamed with
fright, chairs were thrown over and the host only succeeded
in preventing a dangerous panic with great difficulty.

Meantime the originator of all this commotion still stood
silently in front of the platform. It was Hickel. Pale and
hostile, he stared at the stage and seemed to perceive only
Caspar and Frau von Kannawurf, who, having moved close
to each other, looked fearfully into the darkened room. The
first who turned to Hickel was young Dr. Lang. In his
fantastic “Friend’s” costume he walked to the edge of the
balcony and inquired furiously what was the reason for such
irresponsible behavior.

The lieutenant breathed deeply and said, in a voice with a
glassy sound: “I must beg the distinguished guests’ pardon
a thousand times, and since I am myself one of the invited
you will believe me, I hope, when I assure you that this step
was not easy for me. But I cannot permit Hauser to continue
to take part in a childish trifling at a moment when I have had
news of a terrible misfortune, which strikes him as it strikes
no one else, and will be fraught with heavy consequences for
his future career.”

Angry, curious and disapproving eyes stared at the lieu-
tenant. Dr. Lang replied angrily: “Nonsense, pure boorish-
ness, that’s all it amounts to. Whatever may have happened,
neither I nor any of those present can admit your right to
such a gross piece of despotism. If what you have to say

L417]

 
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

is bad news, all the more reason for waiting; our play was
over, as it was. It is a piece of folly, an abuse of hos-
pitality.”

“Yes, the doctor is right,” several voices exclaimed.

Hickel bowed his head and placed his hand over his
forehead.

“May I know what is the matter ?”” Herr von Imhoff now
interrupted.

Hickel pulled himself together and replied dully: “Count
Stanhope has taken his own life.”

There ensued a long silence. Almost every one looked at
Caspar, who leaned against the panel of a door and slowly
closed his eyes.

“Did he shoot himself ?” asked Herr von Imhoff.

“No,” replied Hickel, “he hanged himself.”

Rustling sounds of panic terror were heard. Herr von
Imhoff bit his lips. “Is anything further known?” he con-
tinued to ask.

“No. That is to say, I have only the general information
from his huntsman. He was visiting a friend, Count de
Bellegarde, on the Norman coast. On the morning of the
fourth of September he was found in the tower room of the
castle, a corpse, hanging from a silken cord.”

Herr von Imhoff looked down on the floor. “We are all
heartily sorry. I believe that there is no one in this room
who will not retain a living memory of the unfortunate man.
Nevertheless, lieutenant, I shall call you to account for your
extraordinary procedure.”

Hickel bowed in silence.

The hostess and several other ladies sought to calm the
assembly, but while the servant was lighting the candles of
the big candelabrum, Frau von Imhoff received word that
her mother-in-law, in whose honor the party was being held,
was indisposed as a result of the agitation and had been
obliged to retire to her room. She followed her at once.
This was the signal for a general breaking up. The Regie-

[418]
 

AN INTERRUPTED PERFORMANCE

 

rungsprasident and the General Commissioner with their
wives left the room first, and finally there remained only a
few intimate friends who surrounded the Baron and, in an
oppressed mood, seated themselves at the long banquet table.

“I always felt that the good Lord would some time give us
some horrible surprise,” said Herr von Imhoff.

“What will now become of poor Hauser?” asked one of
the company.

All kinds of assumptions were expressed; conversation
became animated, and, as is often the case, an unfortunate
incident served to stimulate the fantasy of those who are
only remotely concerned. A lively conversation ensued until
after midnight.

Caspar during the quick departure of the guests had hidden
himself in the little dressing-room of the actors. The young
people eagerly laid aside their costumes and disappeared.
After a while the servant came to put out the lights and he
discovered Caspar. When Caspar went towards the stairs
he heard footsteps behind him and Frau von Kannawurf
walked up to him. She asked him whether he wanted to go
home, and he said “Yes.” “It’s raining,” said she, down
by the entrance, as she held out her hand into the open air.
She waited a little for the rain to pass, but it turned into
a heavy downpour and the water spurted noisily upon the
trees and the parched ground. A cold wet current of air
encountered them and Frau von Kannawurf invited Caspar
to go into her room with her; it might last too long. He
followed silently.

Upstairs she struck a light; then she stood and looked
thoughtfully into the flame. Her shoulders shook with cold.
Caspar had seated himself upon the sofa. Gradually, he felt
such a sensation of fatigue that it actually doubled him up
and he was obliged to lie upon his back. Then Clara walked
up to him and seized his hand which he, however, snatched
away hastily. He closed his eyes, and for a moment his face
was completely lifeless. Frau von Kannawurf uttered a dull

L419]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

cry of anxiety and fell upon her knees next to him. Then she
called her maid and asked for water. She poured out a
glass and handed it to him to drink. He drank a few gulps.
“What is the matter with thee, Caspar?” she said, address-
ing him as “du” for the first time. He smiled gratefully.
“Thou art like a sister,” said he shyly, and with his fingers
touched the hair of the head which she bent over him. This
word “sister” in his mouth had a sound of its own; it was
that of a word never uttered before.

Clara pressed against his side; she felt as if she had to
warm him; he, however, moved anxiously away; then she
wanted to get up again, but he slid his hand along her arm
and looked at her with an imploring expression of grief and
love. “Clara,” he said, and she felt as if she must pass
away, or wake up in another world, for the shy entreaty with
which he uttered her name had something about it that was
beyond this world.

And so it came that hour after hour passed and they con-
tinued to lie next to one another, silent, quite silent, and mo-
tionless, and both of them trembling all over. She stretched
out her hand to him and the breath of his mouth melted into
the air along with hers.

When the castle clock struck twelve Clara started. She
got up and said with solemn protestation, aloud to herself:
“Never, never, never!” Then she walked to the window
and opened it. The rain had long since ceased, the sky was
clear, the whole starry sky gleamed above her. Her over-
laden breast was drawn to the unknown worlds, for she was
tired of this world in which she lived.

She told Caspar that he might spend the night in the castle,
but he replied that he did not wish to. Then she went out to
see whether Frau von Imhoff was still awake. She walked
past the dining-room where the gentlemen still sat over their
wine, talking. The Baroness had not yet retired either.
Clara told her that Caspar had been with her until then.
Frau von Imhoff nodded, but looked at her friend with some

[420]
 

AN INTERRUPTED PERFORMANCE

 

surprise and embarrassment. “I shall pack my trunks and
leave to-morrow morning,” said Clara in low tones, and with
an expression of irrevocable determination, which some-
times was her wont, and made her child-like features look
curiously hard and pained. Frau von Imhoff got up sur-
prised and walked close up to her friend. Suddenly they fell
into one another’s arms and Clara sobbed.

They understood one another; speech was not necessary.

When Clara tore herself away, she said that she would
accompany Caspar into the city on this last night. “You
can’t possibly do that,” objected Frau von Imhoff, “or at
least I will send a servant with you.”

“Please don’t,” replied Clara, smiling. “You know that I
have no fear. It irritates me, too, if any one is anxious on
my account. The night air does me good and I look forward
to the lonely walk back.”

A quarter of an hour later she was walking with Caspar
over the still damp street towards the city. They did not
speak now, either, and before the teacher’s house they shook
hands. “Now you will probably go away from me, Clara,”
said Caspar suddenly, and looked at her with a veiled look.

She was as much astonished as moved over these words,
for they betrayed a profound presentiment. How beautiful
his eyes are, she thought; they are light brown like those
of a deer; he resembles a deer in other respects, too, stand-
ing sad and surprised in a wood.

“Yes, I am going,” she finally replied.

“And why? I liked being with you.”

“I shall come again,” she assured him with forced hearti-
ness—behind which an exclamation was stifled. “I shall
return. We will write one another. And at Christmas I'll
come back.”

“T’ll come again! I have heard that before,” said Caspar
bitterly. “It’s a long time till Christmas. And I don’t like
to write. What does one get from writing? It’s only paper.
All right, go then. Farewell.”

[421]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

“It can’t be otherwise,” whispered Clara, and her glance
sought the stars. “Look, Caspar, up there is the eternal;
we won't forget it as all the others forget. We won't forget
anything. Ah, forgetting, forgetting, therein lies all the
evil of the world. The stars belong to us, Caspar, and when
you look up at them I am near you.”

Caspar shook his head. “Farewell,” he said dully.

In the basement a window was opened and the teacher’s
head, crowned with a nightcap, became visible, disappearing
again at once. It was a silent admonition.

I will ask Bettine to visit him daily, reflected Clara while
walking alone through the deserted streets. I shall bring dis-
aster upon him if I stay; an abyss yawns in front of me as
frightful as anything one could conceive of. Sister! How I
felt when he called me sister. Heavenly bliss knocked at
my heart. Thus I should have found a lost brother, and
still more: but just God, more may not be! To touch him.
To disturb his sleep. Oh, criminal lips, for which a kiss
has no meaning. Had I done it I should have been his mur-
deress. What, can I do better than fly? A good genius will
protect him. Presumptuous of me to think of protecting
him by my poor presence. Such a noble creature cannot
go under because two eyes turn away from him.

This disturbed and excited chain of thoughts reveals hope-
lessly entangled emotions which, in their exaltation, decide
upon a sacrifice; dazed by the sight of so much tragedy, and
in their sadness choosing the wrong path at the crossways
of love.

Her glance fixed steadily on the heavens; gazing upon
the beautiful constellation of Orion, shining like a jagged
flash of lightning in the deep blue sky, Clara did not notice
that some one was leaning against the gate of the castle.
She only jumped back when the nocturnal figure barred the
way. Oh God, that gruesome man, she thought.

Hickel, for it was he, bowed towards the dismayed woman.
“Forgiveness, madame, forgiveness,” he murmured, “and not

[422]
 

AN INTERRUPTED PERFORMANCE

only for this assault, but also for the other. You are too
beautiful, madame. If you would have the goodness to
realize that your sublime beauty has turned my poor head
the way a playful boy lashes his top, if you would consider
that even in acting a comedy a point is reached where the
fantasy runs wild and sullies the object of its wishes, and
jealousy regards as a reality what is merely being enacted,
you would perhaps favor your abject servant with a word of
comfort.”

All this sounded silly, unstrung, affected, ironical and
desperate. He seemed to be lacerating the words between his
teeth, and one could see that it was difficult for him to remain
straight and calm.

Clara took a step backwards, crossed her arms and, press-
ing them tightly across her breast, said imperiously: “Let
me pass.”

“Madame, much depends upon your mouth at this hour,”
continued Hickel, as he lifted his arm with the stiff motion
of a wax figure. “I have never been a beggar. I stand here
now, begging. Do not disavow your face, which permits
one to believe in angels!”

He stepped to one side, Clara went by silently. She rang,
and the watchman—who had been waiting for her return
—opened the door at once. When she was inside she felt
a horrible nausea. She felt as though something had been
torn apart in her head. On the stairs she hesitated ; it seemed
to her as if she must turn around and say something once
more to this dreadful man.

When Caspar arrived at the Imhoffs’ the next afternoon
he was told that Frau von Kannawurf had already left. He
asked Frau von Imhoff to show him Clara’s picture, which he
had not seen since the evening of the first party he had
attended in the castle. The Baroness conducted him to an
alcove where the portrait hung on the wall between two
ancestral pictures.

[423]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

He sat down in front of it and gazed at it a long time
with silent attention. When he left, Frau von Imhoff
promised to have a copy of the picture drawn for him. He
was so absorbed that he did not even thank her.

[424]
XXVI
QUANDT UNDERTAKES A LAST ASSAULT UPON THE MYSTERY

ALTHOUGH there was some talk for a time about Hickel’s
being punished, nothing came of it and the affair finally was
covered with oblivion. Doubtless there were all kinds of
secret influences at work to assure the lieutenant’s safety.
“They can’t get at the fellow,” said the initiated, “he is too
dangerous and knows too much.” Of course, Hickel was
useful in the service and greatly feared by those under him.
At the same time, his way of living became more and more
inscrutable. Except in the Casino and in the police station
he spoke to no one. He sat half the night in the police
station, but only in order to torment his subordinates.

Even Quandt had learned to fear him. One afternoon in
October the teacher with his wife and Caspar were drinking
coffee when Hickel walked into the room rattling his sword,
and without any greeting walked up to Caspar and asked
imperiously : “Tell me, Caspar, do you perhaps know any-
thing about the whereabouts of the soldier Schildknecht ?”

Caspar turned an ashen gray. The lieutenant fixed him
with a glistening eye and thundered, impatient at his long
silence: “Do you know anything, or don’t you? Speak man,
or by God I'll put you into prison at once!”

Caspar got up. A button of his jacket caught in the
fringes of the tablecloth, and as he stepped back the coffee-
pot fell over and the black liquid spread over the linen.

The teacher’s wife screamed: Quandt, however, looked
angry, for the lieutenant’s overbearing manner irritated him;
also he was all the more surprised at it because Hickel had
observed a stiff and sinister reserve toward Caspar for several
months. “What can he have to do with that deserter?” he
asked unwillingly.

[425]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

“Let that be my business,” Hickel roared.

“Oho, lieutenant, let me request you to be politer to me in
my own house,” replied Quandt.

“Oh, come now, you're a weakling, Herr Quandt. What
doesn’t grow on your own dung-hill you don’t see! More-
over, what’s doing? For two years the boy has been living
here and we know just as little as before. If this was all you
were good for, I don’t care a damn for your results.”

The blow struck home. Quandt swallowed his anger in
silence.

“But there will be an end to this business now,” continued
Hickel, “I shall talk to Herr Hofmann, and Hauser will come
and live with me.”

“That will only be doing me a favor,’
he left the room, much excited.

Frau Quandt remained sitting with her eyes downcast.
Hickel walked up and down, drying his forehead with his
sleeve. “How I do feel, how I do feel,” he murmured al-
most distracted. Then he turned towards Caspar, abusively :
“You miserable boy, you damned miserable wretch! What
the devil has got into you? Moreover,” he walked up to
Caspar and added in a low tone, “the soldier-servant has
been caught and will be extradited. He will do time in
Plassenburg, the rascal.”

“That’s not true,” said Caspar, in equally low tones, drawl-
ing in a somewhat sing-song tone. He smiled, and then
laughed and laughed again, while his face turned very white.

Hickel became suspicious. He bit his lips and looked
darkly into the air. Suddenly he snatched his hat, gave a
quick angry glance at Caspar and left.

Quandt was not disposed to swallow the lieutenants re-
proaches. He complained to Hofrat Hofmann; the latter,
however, did not seem much inclined to interfere. The
teacher took the opportunity to bring up another matter for
discussion.

Since Feuerbach’s death the Hofrat had had the supervi-

£4260]

’

replied Quandt as
 

QUANDT’S LAST ASSAULT UPON MYSTERY

sion of Caspar’s tutelage. One could no longer depend on
such help as Count Stanhope’s; Mayor Enders and the city
authorities had been asked for support, but no decision had
been reached. Meanwhile Caspar received a slight increase
in wages from the court for his clerkship; this money he
handed over promptly to the teacher. These limited funds
did not permit him the slightest freedom in his expenditures.
In the beginning of October he had been confirmed, and he
was eagerly looking forward to the so-called “bounty al-
lowance,” which would be provided for him by the city on
this occasion. Impatient at the delay, he appealed to Herr
Fuhrmann ; the latter advised him to ask the teacher to go to
the office of the municipality in order to hasten the payment.

“I won’t do such a thing, Herr Hofmann, I won't be a
petitioner, my pride won't permit it,” replied Quandt.

Herr Hofmann shrugged his shoulders. “Then give him
these few dollars out of your own pocket in the meantime,”
he said, “you will certainly get them back soon.”

“In regard to Hauser, you never can tell,” replied Quandt,
“I have expenses enough as it is and don’t know whether I
can provide for him much longer.”

The Hofrat considered. “But he has well-to-do and rich
friends,” he then said, “they can help.”

“Oh, heavens yes,” replied Quandt, “but he is much too
interesting to them for them to think of his little wants.”

“I shall come here to-morrow morning to ask Hauser why
he should need money so urgently,” said the Hofrat in con-
clusion.

Late that evening Caspar again came to Quandt’s room
and begged him with uplifted hands not to send him out of
the house, he would do whatever was asked of him, “Only
don’t send me to the lieutenant’s, anything, only not that,” he
said.

The teacher calmed him as best he could and said there
could be no question of that at present, the lieutenant had

[427]
 

{CASPAR HAUSER

 

only wanted to frighten him. “No,” replied Caspar, “the
clerk Maier spoke of it in court to-day too.”

“Now, Hauser, you are behaving like a little boy and after
all you are a grown man,” said Quandt complainingly. “I
can’t take that quite seriously; you love to exaggerate and
behave childishly. The lieutenant would not bite off your
head either, although I admit that at times his manners are
somewhat coarse. But you have now become a Christian in
the full meaning of the word and doubtless you have heard
the saying: ‘Do good to your enemy and thus you will heap
coals of fire on his head.” ”

Caspar nodded: “There is a maxim about it in Dittmar’s
Grains of Wheat,” he replied.

“Just so, we went through it together,” continued Quandt
eagerly. “I'll tell you what, in order that you may remember
the beautiful saying well, I suggest that you write down your
own thoughts about it. I will, if you like, regard it as a set
task, and you may take the whole of to-mor-ow afternoon
for it.”

Caspar seemed to agree.

The Hofrat did not come as he had promised the next day,
but only the second day after that. As he came into the
room the teacher was just talking to Caspar with angry ges-
tures. Upon Herr Hofmann’s asking what Caspar had done,
Quandt replied: “I do have to get angry with him too often.
The day before yesterday I gave him a theme for his Ger-
man composition; he promised to do it and had the whole
of yesterday afternoon for it. Just now I asked for his
copybook and here—just convince yourself, Herr Hofmann
—not a single line has been written. Such laziness cries to
heaven.”

Quandt handed the Hofrat the open copybook; at the top
of the page there stood: “Do good to your enemy and thus
you will heap coals of fire on his head.” Then, however,
there was nothing more; the page was empty. “Why did
you not write it?” asked the Hofrat coldly.

[428]

’
 

QUANDT’S LAST ASSAULT UPON MYSTERY

 

33

“I can't,” replied Caspar.

“You must be able to,” exclaimed Quandt. “The day be-
fore yesterday you told me that the subject was treated in
your reader; to find some thoughts about it could not have
been difficult for you, if you had gone on from there.”

“Do try it again, Hauser,” the Hofrat interrupted, to
smooth matters. “I will go to the adjoining room with Herr
Quandt, and when we come back you must show us some-
thing in order to prove that at least you have good inten-
tions.”

Quandt nodded and went out with the Hofrat. When they
were in the living-room, Herr Hofmann gave the teacher
two golden ducats and said that they were from Frau von
Imhoff. He had pictured Caspar’s embarrassment to her,
the good lady had even excused herself that it was so little,
but she had so little money at her own disposal. “By the
way, Caspar came to see me yesterday,” continued the Hofrat,
“he came to beg me to prevent his going to live with the
police-lieutenant.”

“It’s the very devil; he bothers everybody with his child-
ish miseries,” complained Quandt. “He has approached me
on the same subject already.”

“He seems to be in a blue funk over Hickel.”

“Yes, the lieutenant is very strict with him.”

“I said to him that I, for my part, had no intention of the
sort; if he only did the right thing, no one would trouble
him.”

“Very true.”

“Then we talked over his money difficulties, but he would
not make a clean breast of things. I promised to give him
five thalers on his birthday and asked him when that was.
Thereupon he replied sadly that he did not know, and there
was something about him that touched me. But otherwise
he seemed to me too fawning, and his pleasant batting and
blinking was distasteful to me.”

“Yes, unfortunately, he is fawning, you're right there,

[ 429]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

Herr Hofmann; particularly when he wants to put through
some plan of te own.’

After this exchange of opinions they returned to Caspar.
He sat at the table, his head resting on his hand. “Well,
what have you accomplished?” asked the Hofrat jovially.
He took the copybook and was taken aback to find only one
sentence written, and read aloud. “ ‘If they have done harm
to your body, do good to them for it.” That is all, Hauser?”

“Curious,” murmured Quandt.

The Hofrat placed himself before Caspar, turned Caspar’s
head in his hands and began directly: “Tell me, Hauser, of
all the people you have known up to now, whom have you
learned to love the best?” His face looked crafty; from his
occupation as a lawyer he had retained the manner of ex-
pressing even harmless matters with a sour irony.

“Do stand up when the Hofrat speaks to you,” the teacher
whispered to Caspar.

Caspar got up; he stared straight ahead much perplexed.
He sensed a trap behind the question. Then he suddenly
thought : Probably the teacher is so angry because he thinks
I did not do the composition because I regard him as my
enemy. He looked over towards Quandt and said conciliat-
ingly : “I love my teacher best.”

The Hofrat exchanged a glance of understanding with
Quandt, and cleared his throat meaningly.

Aha, thought Quandt, he’s trying to bribe me, and was
proud at not being at all edified at the boy’s answer.

Caspar’s life now became constantly more monotonous and
withdrawn from the world. He had no one with whom he
could carry on any confidential intercourse. Frau von
Kannawurf, too, did not write and this galled him, although
he had told her that he did not care anything about letters.
Moreover, where was she? Was she still alive? Often he
did not care to go out, he hated all the walks, he was luke-
warm towards every occupation. Furthermore, the weather
was constantly bad, November brought bad storms, so that

[430]
 

QUANDT’S LAST ASSAULT UPON MYSTERY

 

during his leisure hours he would sit in his room, his glance
passing over the hills, or anxiously scanning the sky, brood-
ing constantly. He waited and waited. Once he went to the
barracks and inquired cautiously whether anything was
known there about Schildknecht. They could not give him
any information. This nourished the dying flame of hope,
but during the following days he felt ill and could scarcely
decide to get up in the morning. Strangers still sometimes
came to see him; his deportment was obstinate and silent.
When he was invited to go to social gatherings, he would say
bitterly : “Oh, what use is all their talking to me?” One
evening, when he was walking over the Schlossplatz and
looked up at the great facade with the constantly closed
windows he thought that he saw, in rooms which he had con-
sidered unoccupied, gigantic figures observing him inimically.
They all seemed dressed in purple with gold chains about
their necks. A tremendous prostrating grief bore down
upon him and he felt tempted to throw himself down on the
pavement and whine like a dog.

He felt so cold and so sad. One night he dreamed that he
saw a boulder of green stone with a gold dish upon it on
which there lay five curiously steaming hearts, not of a
natural form, but shaped as pastry-cooks bake them. He
stood in front of them and said aloud: “That is my father’s
heart, that is my mother’s heart, that is my brother’s heart,
that is my sister’s heart, that is my own heart.” His own
lay on top and had two sad, living eyes.

Not infrequently he had a definite sensation of the effect
upon him of a dearly beloved person, operating from far
away. This person acted, spoke and suffered for him, but a
world lay between them and nothing that she undertook could
lessen the distance between him and her. He felt these weird
processes so clearly that he often stood listening as if to a
conversation behind a thin wall. Then he would fold his
hands under his chin and smile a timid smile.

The teacher would have had to be blind not to notice any

[431]
vu

CASPAR HAUSER

 

of this. He gathered all his observations under one head,
as it were, and this heading ran: a struggle against an evil
conscience. “I have no more kindness in me for that crea-
ture,” declared Quandt, “I have no more kindness towards
him since seeing how indifferent he was toward Lord Stan-
hope’s sad end. I myself felt as if I had lost a brother, and
he did not even try to pretend to assume an appearance of
sorrow. He has a heart of stone and shows the most vulgar
ingratitude.”

We see the teacher hidden, as it were, behind a hedge;
we see him lying in wait and bringing together the informa-
tion gathered about Caspar in former years: facts and cir-
cumstances which he ferrets out with the sagacity of a prose-
cuting attorney, which he interprets, and exposes to the lime-
light, and silently keeps ready for his purposes. We see him
burning with hate towards the ever obstinate, obdurate boy,
and we cannot avoid thinking that he resembles some one
who has been so long provoked and lured on by a will o’ the
wisp that he finally succumbs to a state of raving intoxication.

In the beginning of December, it was a Thursday evening
after supper, Quandt asked Caspar whether he had already
finished his translation for the next day. Caspar in a serious
mood but with insincere friendliness (as it seemed to Quandt)
said yes, he was through with it. Quandt took the book,
showed him how long the task was and asked him again
whether he had really translated as far as all that.

Caspar said, “Yes, I even got one exercise further.”

Quandt did not believe him; it seemed improbable, the
lesson contained some constructions which Caspar could not
have gotten through alone, and for which he would un-
doubtedly have been obliged to seek some assistance. How-
ever, he thought it best not to say anything further in the
presence of his wife, but let the boy go quietly to his room.

About five minutes later, Quandt seized the Latin primer
and followed Caspar upstairs. Caspar had already locked
the door and before he opened it he asked the teacher whether

[432]
 

QUANDT’S LAST ASSAULT UPON MYSTERY

 

he wished anything from him before retiring. “Open the
door,” ordered Quandt curtly. When he was inside he
selected several sentences aloud at random and asked Caspar
how he had translated them. Caspar was silent for a time,
then he replied that he had only prepared the work, he was
about to do the translation now. Quandt looked at him
quietly, then said meaningly, “So!” wished him goodnight
and left.

Downstairs he told his wife what had occurred and they
agreed that there was a perverted obstinacy back of it, noth-
ing further. The next day he told the Hofrat about it and
the latter wrote Caspar a little note which he gave the
teacher to take with him. Caspar read the letter in Quandt’s
presence and when he had finished he handed it to the teacher,
visibly depressed. In the letter the Hofrat warned him tact-
fully against qualities which only vulgar natures gave way
to, but which “unfortunately are not unknown to our
Hauser.”

The same evening, again after supper Quandt, produced
a copybook of Caspar’s and said: “A page has been cut out
of this book, Hauser. You know that I have already for-
bidden you to do that countless times.”

“I made a spot on the page and I did not want to have that
in my exercise,” replied Caspar.

Instead of any answer Quandt ordered the boy to come
with him to his study. He asked his wife to light the
candles, took the lamp and walked ahead. When he had
reached the other room he carefully closed both doors, told
Caspar to be seated and began.

“You don’t really expect me to take your excuse for the
truth, do you?”

“What excuse?” asked Caspar dully.

“Why, that tale of an ink spot. I don’t believe in that
spot.”

“Why don’t you want to believe me?”

“You know the proverb, ‘Who lies once is not believed,

C433]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

no matter when the truth he tells.” You, my dear friend,
have lied more than once.”

“I don’t lie,” replied Caspar in equally dull and lifeless
tones.”

“You dare to say that to my face?”

“I don’t know that I lie.”

“You wretched quibbler!” exclaimed Quandt bitterly.
“That I don’t discuss your frequent lies every time is be-
cause I have gradually come to think that I cannot cure you
of the evil. Why should I distress myself in vain? You
are in the habit of saying no, until you have been found
guilty so flagrantly that you cannot say no any longer, and
even then you don’t say yes.”

“Shall I say yes when it is no? Prove to me that I have
lied.” Caspar looked at the teacher with one of the glances
which the former was accustomed to call crafty.

“Ah, Hauser, how it pains me to see your attitude to-
wards me,” replied Quandt; “I am not at a loss for proofs
and have so many that I don’t know where to begin. Don’t
you remember the story about the candlestick? You stated
that the handle was broken and it was irrefutably proved
that it was melted off.”

“It was as I said.”

“TI won't let myself be put off with that. You may more-
over be assured that I have noted these incidents carefully,
indeed in writing, so as to be able in case of need to give a
complete account of you.”

Caspar looked exceedingly confused and was silent.

“And furthermore, let us look at a recent case,” continued
Quandt. “It was all the same whether you had finished the
exercise the day before yesterday or whether you wished to
do it later in your room. Since you had been busy all day
you were entitled to do the work at night. Why did you
say that you had finished it when you had not done any
of it?”

“I thought that you had asked whether I had prepared it.”

C4341 :
 

QUANDT’S LAST ASSAULT UPON MYSTERY

 

“Nonsense. This is not the first time you have had the im-
pertinence to twist my words about. I asked clearly: Have
you finished your translation? My wife was present and
witnessed it.”

“When you spoke, I simply understood differently.”

“The usual excuses. You had not even prepared it. You
can palm that off on some one who does not know you so
well as I. I wish I had never known you, in the end you will
deprive me of the reputation of being an honest man. But
you are being seen through, not only by me, but also by
other people. There are only a few families left who regard
you as honest and friendly. Most of them realize that you
have a vulgar conceit and a low kind of pride, that you are
indifferent and presumptuous towards simpler people when
you have the entrée to more distinguished houses. And as
regards your lying I am ready to tell you to your face, in
every single instance, whether you stuck by the truth, what
things are included in and what things lie beyond your
horizon, and what can hold your attention and what not. I
can give you a good example from the recent past. At lunch
there was some talk about Regierungsrat Fliessen. My wife
thought that it was unpleasant for the good old man that
he could not be with his people in Worms. Whereupon I
remarked that Herr Fliessen had many relations in the Rhine
district and had so and so many grandchildren. Upon that
you said: He has eleven grandchildren; I heard so at the
General Commissioner’s. I replied that I had heard of nine-
teen; you assured me, however, that there were eleven. I
was not able to contradict that, but I was sure that you had
only snatched hastily at the number in order to impress us,
and in order to speak of the General Commissioner, and to
show us that you are familiar with the relations of people
who visit at that house. Your hand upon your heart, isn’t
that so?”

“Some one at the table spoke of eleven, I am quite certain.”

“I don’t believe it.”

[4351
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

“Yes, they did.”

“Shame upon you, Hauser, to stick to a lie in such a
serious moment. It’s a miserable, not to say contemptible,
thing to do. The matter itself is not so important, but your
obstinate unabashed statement permits one to see far. It
shows that you never want to take a fault upon yourself,
that you never want to confess a weakness, and that you will
go to the very limit. At the first leisure moment I shall ask
Herr Fliessen how many grandchildren he has. If there
are really eleven I shall give you full satisfaction, if it is
not the case I shall humiliate you so that you'll think of me!”

Caspar bowed his head humbly.

“But the thing I really want to remonstrate with you about
is still coming, my dear friend,” began Quandt after a pause,
during which the wind could be heard beating against the
windows and howling down the chimney. “It is now time
that you should finally tell the truth to a man like myself
who has a genuine sympathy with your misfortune. You
still seem to be of the opinion that the whole world believes
in the fancy tale of your secret imprisonment or even that
of your noble descent. You are frightfully mistaken, dear
Hauser. At first, I grant, people were intrigued with it,
as with an enigmatical situation, but gradually all sensible
people have come to perceive that they have been victimized
by activities which I do not like to designate by name. I
can readily believe, Hauser, that at first you did not want to
carry the trick so far. Last winter when the President’s
pamphlet appeared you showed that you were frightened at
the results of your deed, and you reminded me of a child that
has played a little with fire and unexpectedly set the whole
house in flames. You were afraid of losing the meal ticket
which you had obtained by your craftiness and you feared
discovery and a well deserved punishment, just there where
your infatuated friends looked for your happiness. Just
examine yourself carefully and see whether I am not right.”

Caspar looked the teacher in the face with a lifeless glance.

[436]
 

" QUANDT’S LAST ASSAULT UPON MYSTERY

 

“All right! I won’t compel you to answer,” continued

Quandt with somber satisfaction. “Now you have not so
many friends, Hauser. They have become curiously silent.
People don’t seem to take a very hearty interest in you any
more. Things had quieted down similarly that time just
before the alleged attack of the murderer in Professor
Daumer’s house. No one among all the thousands of people
who live in Niirnberg observed any one at the critical time,
or later on, who could in the slightest degree be suspected of
any connection with such a horrible deed. Your friends
nevertheless believed in the masked monster just as they
believed in the fantastic jailor, who was said to have taught
you to read and write. Nevertheless Professor Daumer
soon put you out of the house. He must certainly have
known why. And to-day matters stand so that you must
make a decision. Your most powerful protectors, President
Feuerbach, Lord Stanhope and Frau Behold have all de-
parted from this earth. Do you not regard this as a hint
from heaven? There is no longer any reason for you to
maintain the fiction. You are a man now and you want to
become a useful member of human society. Speak to me,
Hauser, open yourself to me! Speak with an honest mouth
out of a true heart.”

“Yes, but what shall I say?” asked Caspar dully and
slowly, while his figure shrunk like that of an old man and
his face too became worn like an old man’s.

The teacher walked up to him and seized his stone-cold
heavy hand. “The truth, speak the truth,” he exclaimed im-
ploringly. “Oh, Hauser, it is painful to see your bad con-
science peeping like a phantom out of your every glance.
Your spirit is oppressed. Open your tormented breast,
Hauser! Let the sun finally shine in! Courage, courage,
have confidence! The truth, the truth!” He seized Caspar
by the collar of his coat as if he wished to snatch the secret
away from him with his hands.

L437]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

What now, what now, thought Caspar his glance wavering
painfully.

“I will meet you half-way,” said Quandt. “When you
came to Niirnberg you produced a letter. You had several
books in the pocket of your ill-cut coat, they were old monks’
books, among them one with the title: The Art of Making
up for the Lost Years. Who wrote the letter? Who gave
you the books?”

“Who? The person with whom I was.”

“Yes, that’s clear,” replied Quandt with an excited smile.
“But you are to tell me the name of this person with whom
you lived. You won’t think me so stupid as to believe that
you don’t know. It was doubtless your father, or your
uncle or your brother, or at least some playmate! Hauser!
Assume that you were in the presence of God, and God
should ask you: Where do you come from, where is your
home, where the place where you were born? Who gave you
your false name and what is your real name, which you re-
ceived in your cradle? Who was your teacher and who
taught you to deceive people? What would you in your
agony of soul answer, what would you answer to almighty
God if he demanded a justification, an atonement, for the
deceit which you have practiced ?”

Caspar stared breathlessly at the teacher. His blood stood
still. The whole world seemed to turn upside down.

“What would you answer?” repeated Quandt in a tone
between hope and fear; it seemed to him that he was on the
point of penetrating into the closed citadel.

Caspar got up heavily and said with a quivering mouth:
“I would answer, you are not God if you demand that of me.”

Quandt jumped back and struck his hands together. “You
blasphemer !”” he exclaimed with a penetrating voice. Then
he stretched out his right arm and exclaimed: “Get out of
my way, you lecher, you cursed liar! Get out, you infamous
boy! Don’t sully the air here any longer!”

Caspar turned around, and while he was feeling for the

[438]
 

QUANDT’'S LAST ASSAULT UPON MYSTERY

 

door handle, the clock on the wall back of him hammered
out ten strokes into the noise of the storm.

Sighing and sleepless Quandt tossed all night on his
pillow. He probably regretted his impetuosity, for in the
course of the next day he tried to make an approach to
Caspar. The boy, however, remained cold and withdrawn.
In the evening, Quandt began to talk about Herr Fliessen;
he said that he had inquired and called out jokingly to Cas-
par: “Eighteen grandchildren, Caspar; there are eighteen.
Now, do you see that I was right?”

Caspar remained silent.

“But, Hauser, you don’t eat any more,” said Frau Quandt
with concern.

“I have no appetite,” replied Caspar, “I have no sooner
begun to eat before I already have enough.”

On Wednesday, the eleventh of December, Quandt came
home to lunch late and much excited. On the way home from
school he had had an angry dispute with a driver who had
shamefully beaten a horse in the steep Pfarrgasse, because
it could not pull the heavily laden wagon up to the market.
Quandt had reproached the rough churl and called several
citizens to witness his inhuman brutality. For this the
driver had gone at him with uplifted whip and had yelled to
him to go to the devil and not to meddle in matters which
did not concern him. “Thank God I remember the man’s
name, I shall report him to the police-lieutenant,” concluded
Quandt. He did not grow tired of describing how the poor
jade had constantly strained in vain at the traces of the cart
and how the dark blood had oozed from under his ribs.
“The rascal,” he said, “I’ll teach him to abuse an animal
thus.”

Later on, after Caspar had left, his wife asked whether it
had not struck him that Caspar had not uttered a word about
this incident.

“Yes, he was quite silent, I noticed it,” corroborated
Quandt.

[439]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

Half an hour later he went into Caspar’s room and asked
him to take the written complaint against the cart driver to
Hickel’s lodgings. At three o’clock Caspar returned with the
news that the lieutenant had taken a vacation of several
days and had left on a trip.

[440]
XXVII
AENIGMA SUI TEMPORIS

It happened two days later, on Friday, as Caspar was
about to leave the court, shortly after twelve, that he was
addressed by a stranger in the hall in front of the lower stairs.
The gentleman, apparently a very distinguished man, tall
and slender, wearing a dark beard over his cheeks and chin,
asked Caspar to grant him a few minutes’ interview.

Caspar was startled, for the voice was one of great urgency
and very respectful.

They went a few steps to one side of the staircase, where
no one could come upon them. The stranger smiled en-
couragingly when he noticed Caspar’s shy manner, and be-
gan at once in the same urgent and respectful way: “So you
are Caspar Hauser? You have been he until to-day. To-
morrow you will lay aside this name. How the first glance
at your face told me and moved me. Prince! My Prince!
Allow me to kiss your hand.”

He bent down quickly and respectfully kissed Caspar’s
hand.

Caspar had no words. He looked like some one whose
heart had suddenly stood still.

“I come from the court, I come as the envoy of your
mother, I have come to take you away,” continued the
stranger, not less quickly, not less respectfully. “I assume
that you have been ready for this for a long time. Neverthe-
less we must be on our guard. We have great obstacles to
circumvent. You must fly with me. Everything is ready.
The question is only whether you are willing to trust your-
self to me without reserve and whether I may depend upon
your absolute silence ?”’

How could Caspar be in a condition to make any reply to

[441]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

this? He looked into the man’s face, which seemed to him
unusual, indeed romantic in every respect, and with stupid
attention he fastened his gaze upon the countless little pock-
marks which showed upon the stranger’s nose and cheeks.

“Your silence is eloquent for me,” said the stranger with
a quick bow. “The plan is this: you are to be in the Court
Garden to-morrow at four o’clock, next to the poplar grove
when one comes from the Freiberg house. From there you
will be conducted to a carriage which will be waiting. The
oncoming darkness will favor our flight. Come without a
coat just as you are; you will find clothes suitable to your
position. At the first halt for rest, at the boundary—which
we shall reach in three hours—you will change your clothes.
I am unknown to you. You should not give your faith and
trust to an unknown person. Before you get into the car-
riage I shall give you a token by which you will recognize
with certainty that I have been given full power by your
mother to execute this plan.”

Caspar did not budge. But his whole body swayed a little
as if he had become numb, and the wind was threatening to
bowl! him over.

“May I regard it all as settled?” inquired the stranger.

He was obliged to repeat the question. Then Caspar nodded
—seriously, heavily—and suddenly he felt as if his throat
were burning.

“Will you be at the set place at the set hour, my Prince?”

My Prince! Caspar turned pale as a corpse. He looked
again at the pock-marks, with devouring attention. Then he
nodded again with a gesture which had the appearance of
coldness or of sleepiness.

The stranger lifted his hat with a gesture of humble polite-
ness and then left, disappearing in the direction of the
Schwanengasse.

During the whole incident, which had lasted eight or ten
minutes, not a single word had passed Caspar’s lips.

Was it joy that Caspar felt? Was joy of such a con-

[442]
 

AENIGMA SUI TEMPORIS

 

sistency that it froze one to the very marrow, that a constant
shudder ran down one’s back like cold water?

He walked only half a dozen steps at a time and then stood
still because he felt the earth sinking under his feet. People,
get out of my way, he thought; snow, don’t blow upon me;
wind, don’t be so wild. He looked at his hand, and with the
tip of his finger touched the place which the stranger had
kissed, staring thoughtfully.

Why are the shoemakers still at work, it’s noon, he thought,
as he walked by a store. Shudders ran constantly down his
spine from the nape of his neck.

It was fine to know that with every step, with every glance,
with every thought time passed. That's the only thing which
matters now—that time should pass.

When he got home he told the maid that he did not care
to eat anything, and locked himself in his room. He went to
the window and with the tears pouring down his cheeks he
thought : “Ducatus has come.”

His thoughts had something of the nocturnal flight of a
wild bird. Up to to-day I was Caspar Hauser, he thought, to-
morrow I shall be some one else, what am I now? Yester-
day I was still a little scrivener and to-morrow I shall per-
haps wear a blue coat with gold braid; and Ducatus shall
bring me a sword also, long and narrow, and straight as a
reed. But is it all true? Can it all be true? Certainly it
can be, for it must.

Not until it was completely dark did Caspar make a light.
The teacher’s wife sent up to ask whether he did not want
to eat something. He asked for a piece of bread and a glass
of milk. This was brought. Then he began to clear out his
drawers; he threw a whole bundle of papers and letters into
the fire, his copybooks and library he put in punctilious
order. He opened a chest, and from under a lot of odds
and ends he pulled forth the little wooden horse, which he
still retained from his imprisonment in the Vestner tower.
He looked at it a long time: it was white lacquer with black

[443]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

spots, and had a tail which came down to the board on which
it stood. Oh, little horse, he thought, you have accompanied
me many years; what shall I do with you now? I will come
back and get you and I will build you a silver stable. Then
he placed the toy carefully on a little corner table near the
window.

It may well surprise one that such a spirit as his—so en-
dowed with presentiment, so filled with many experiences—
should from the first instant of a supposed change in his
fate have fallen into such blind confidence, that no spark of
distrust, of fear, of doubt or even of surprised astonishment
glimmered in him. A procedure so far removed from tan-
gible reality, so adventurous in its suddenness, so simple
and stark that a schoolboy, a child, an insane person would
have found difficulty in accepting it—and he who had seen
so many people’s faces undisguised or with the mask re-
moved by crime, he to whom the world was nothing but the
nest disturbed by a boy’s hand to which the swallow returns
from the south, he with unflinching confidence seized the
unknown hand stretched out to him from the unknown dark-
ness, the stiff, cold, silent hand.

But he no longer had any other hope. Or, indeed, it was
not a question of hope at all. Here was the matter-of-course
ending, the future certainty, the unquestioned which no word
of human speech, not even a thought, a conception, a vision
could approach and which fulfills itself in the same prede-
termined way as the rising of the sun when day breaks.
Oh, you weary driven limbs, you fetters on these limbs, you
slothful minutes, you silent hours! The plaster still crackles
in the wall, the dog still barks in the distance, the storm still
blows the snow against the window, the light of the candle
still flickers and all this is full of malice, because it seems so
permanent and passes so slowly.

At nine o'clock he went to bed. He slept soundly; later
in the night he heard the church clock strike every quarter
of an hour. At times he raised himself and looked anxiously

[444]
 

AENIGMA SUI TEMPORIS

 

into the dark. Then came a dream, in which sleep and wak-
ing melted imperceptibly into one another. And he dreamed
that he was standing in front of a mirror and he thought:
how curious, I have such a certain sensation of the smooth
surface of the mirror, and yet I am merely dreaming. He
awoke, or thought that he awoke, left his bed, or thought
that he did so, occupied himself in the room, lay down again,
fell asleep, awoke once more and wondered: did I merely
dream that about the mirror? Now he walked up to the
mirror, saw his reflected picture, thought that there was
something strange about it, which repelled him, and covered
the mirror with a cloth which had blue and gold edges.
When he had lain down and really awakened after a while he
realized that it had all been a dream, for the mirror was in
no way covered over.
It was a long night.

The next morning he went as usual to the court. He per- V¢

formed his task of copying, as if with veiled eyes. At eleven
o'clock he shut up the ink well, put everything neatly in
order, here too, and left silently.

~
Ca UN

Quandt was away at noon on account of a teachers’ con-

ference. Caspar sat down at the table with Frau Quandt.
She talked constantly of the weather. “The storm blew the
chimney from the roof,” she said, “and tailor Wiist next
door was almost killed by the falling bricks.”

Caspar looked out silently. He could hardly see the build-
ing opposite. Rain and snow, mixed, whirled through the
darkened street.

Caspar ate only his soup; when the meat came, he got up
and went into his room.

Promptly at three he came down again, wearing only his
old brown suit and without an overcoat.

“Where are you going, Hauser?” called the teacher’s wife
from the kitchen.

“I must go to the General Commissioner’s to call for
something,” he replied calmly.

[445]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

“Without an overcoat? In such cold weather?” asked the
woman with surprise, as she came to the threshold.

He looked at her absent-mindedly and then said : “Good-by,
Frau Quandt,” and left.

Before he closed the front door he threw a farewell glance
into the hall, upon the curved balustrade of the steps, at
the old brown cupboard with the brass hinges standing be-
tween the kitchen and the living-room, upon the ash-barrel in
the corner which was filled with potato peelings, cheese rinds,
bones, chips of wood and bits of broken glass, and at the
cat, which constantly glided about here in search of tit-bits.
In spite of the lightning-like speed with which he looked at
these things it seemed to Caspar that he had never seen them
more clearly and never so singularly before.

When the latch had caught on the closing door the quite
unbearable pressure which had constricted his breast relaxed
a little, and his lips moved in a shallow smile.

I will write to the teacher, he thought, or no, it will be
better to come myself. When the winter is over, I will come
and drive up in front of the house in the carriage; I'll ar-
range it for the afternoon when he is at home. When he
walks up to the gate, I will not reach out my hand to him;
in my handsome clothes he will, of course, not know me!
He will make a deep bow. “Will Your Grace be so kind as
to enter?” he will say. When I am in the room I'll place
myself in front of him and ask: “Do you know me now?”
He will fall on his knees, but I will give him my hand and
say: “Do you realize now that you were unjust to me?” He
will realize it. “There now,” say I, “show me your children
and send for the police-lieutenant.” I will bring presents to
the children and when the lieutenant comes to him I shan’t
speak, only stare at him, just stare.

In front of the Gumbertus Church the clock struck half-
past three. It was still much too early. On the lower market
place Caspar walked all around the houses. In front of the
rectory he remained standing thoughtfully a while. In conse-

[446]
 

AENIGMA SUI TEMPORIS

 

quence of his internal heat he scarcely felt the cold. He saw
only a few people who passed quickly by, as if driven by
the wind.

When in front of the Court Drug Store he turned to the
right towards the passageway by the Castle; the clock struck
quarter of four. Then some one called; he looked up, the
stranger of yesterday stood next to him. He wore a coat
with several collars and over these again a fur collar. He
bowed and said a few polite words. Caspar did not under-
stand him, for the wind was so strong that one would have
had to scream in order to be heard. Therefore the stranger
merely made a gesture, by which he begged Caspar to be
allowed to go with him. Obviously he too was on his way
to the appointed tryst.

It was only a few steps to the Court Garden. The stranger
opened the little gate and allowed Caspar to pass first. Cas-
par walked ahead as if it must be thus. A mixture of in-
genuous humility and quiet pride showed in his face, only
to change with curious suddenness into an expression of
horror, for the moment was too strong; he could not bear
the force of it. In the space of time which he needed to walk
from the little gate over the densely snow-covered square of
the Orange Grove to the first lane of trees, he lived through,
within himself, a series of quite unrelated scenes out of the
distant past, a phenomenon which students of the psychic
life can trace back to the same roots as the fact that some
one falling from a tower, during the duration of his fall, sees
his whole past glide by before him. He saw, for example,
the blackbird with its wings spread out, lying on the table;
then he saw with uncommon clearness the water-pitcher
from which he had drunk in his dungeon; then he saw a
beautiful gold chain which Stanhope had shown him among
his treasures, and with this was connected the pleasant sensa-
tion which Stanhope’s fine white hands had excited in him;
then he saw himself in the hall of the Castle of Niirnberg,
where Daumer had taken him; and his eye rested on the soft

[447]
Kasai LON Tr LA a AML < haa \ Belrsian

 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

line of a curved Gothic window with a delight which he had
certainly not felt at the time.

They came to a cross-road where the stranger hurried
ahead, and with his arm raised made some kind of sign.
Caspar saw two other persons behind the bushes, whose faces
were completely hidden by their upturned coat collars.

“Who are they?” he asked, and hesitated, because he as-
sumed that this was the place which had been agreed upon.

His glance sought the carriage. The snow storm, how-
ever, prevented his seeing more than ten yards ahead. :

“Where is the carriage?” he asked. As the stranger did
not answer either question, he looked helplessly over toward
the two men back of the bushes. They came nearer, or at
least it seemed so. They called something toward the pock-
marked man, first the one, then the other. Then they both
drew back again and stood on the other side of the road.

The stranger turned around, felt in the pocket of his coat,
brought forth a little lavender-colored bag and said in a
hoarse voice : “Open that; inside of it you will find the token
which your mother gave us.”

Caspar took the little bag. While he was trying to untie
the thread by which it was bound, the stranger lifted a long
shining object in his clenched hand and struck with it against
Caspar’s breast. ¥

What is that, thought Caspar, dismayed. He felt some-
thing ice cold gliding deep into his flesh. Oh, God, that cuts,
he thought, and at the same time swayed. He let the bag
fall.

Oh, monstrous, monstrous consternation! He snatched
toward the branch of a tree and attempted to scream, but he
could not. Suddenly his knees gave way. Everything turned
black before his eyes. He wanted to ask the stranger to help
him, but the man’s feet, which a second before he could still
see, had disappeared. The blackness before his eyes left him
again and he looked around; there was no longer any one

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AENIGMA SUI TEMPORIS

 

there, the two men behind the bush were no longer there
either.

He crept along the shrubbery a little, on all fours, bending
his head down in order to protect his face from the wet snow
which the wind drove against him. He made a few motions
with his body as if seeking a hole in the ground into which
he could slip, but then could go no further and remained
sitting. It seemed to him that something was gurgling inside
of his body. He was now miserably cold.

I'd like to see what’s in the bag, he thought, while his teeth
were chattering. Oh, monstrous fright, which kept him from
looking toward the place where the stranger had stood!

If I only knew a word which would make me feel easier,
he thought, like a person accustomed to protect himself by
magic formulas. And he said twice: “Ducatus.”

What a miracle. Suddenly he felt well. He thought that
he could get up and go home. He got up. He saw that he
could walk. After he had taken a few stumbling steps he
began to run. It seemed to him as if his body were without
weight, it seemed to him as if he were flying. He ran, ran,
ran. To the gate of the garden, across the Schlossplatz, over
the market-place, past the church, to Kronacher Buck, to the
hall of Quandt’s house, ran, ran, ran.

Bathed in sweat he dashed into the hall. Further he could
not go; gasping, he leaned against the wall. The maid was
the first to see him. Horrified over his appearance, she
uttered a piercing scream. Thereupon Quandt came out of
the room, his wife followed him.

Caspar gazed toward him, but did not speak; he merely
pointed to his breast!

“What has happened?” asked Quandt roughly and curtly.

“Court Garden—stabbed,” stammered Caspar.

And Quandt, we see him simper. Nothing else: we see
him simper. And where the ages, festively arrayed in purple,
as the angels of God, walk up to us face to face and implore

[ 449]

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Lax BLE | AA GAT Cuneo.
J : §
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

us not to distort facts there is nothing to reply—but that
Quandt simpered, simpered curiously.

“Where were you stabbed, my dear fellow?” he drawled.

Caspar again pointed to his breast.

Quandt opened his coat, vest and shirt to look at the
wound. Certainly there was a stab, but not bigger than a
hazel-nut. But not the slightest trace of blood could be
noticed. A wound without blood does not happen, that’s
like a statement without a proof.

“So, stabbed,” said Quandt. “Let us turn around at once
and you will show me the place in the Court Garden where
you say this occurred,” he added energetically. “What did
you have to do at this hour and in this weather in the Court
Garden? Come along, now. The matter must be cleared up
without delay.”

Caspar did not contradict. He dragged himself on to the
street again by the teacher’s side. Quandt seized hold of
him, Caspar slid along like a cripple.

After a long silence, Quandt said in a restrained voice:
“This time you have played your stupidest trick, Hauser.
This time the matter won’t end so well as at Professor
Daumer’s, that I can give you in writing.”

Caspar stood still, cast a quick glance toward Heaven and
said: “God—knows.”

“Spare me your tricks,” stormed Quandt, “I know what
I know. No matter how much you may call upon God, that
won't help you with me, for you are a godless creature from
the bottom up. I can only advise you no longer to play the
mute of Portici, but rather to confess at once. You want
to frighten people a little, want to create a little unpleasant
excitement. Stabbed? Who would have stabbed you? Per-
haps to have taken a few pitiful coppers out of your pocket.
Such nonsense! Don’t walk so slowly, Hauser, my time is
short.”

“The bag—I want to get it,” stammered Caspar in low
tones.

[450]
 

AENIGMA SUI TEMPORIS

 

“What kind of a bag?”

“The man—gave me.”

“What man?”

“The man who stabbed me.”

“But, Hauser, Hauser, the thing cries to heaven! Do you
suppose that I in the least believe in this man? As little as
I believe in Black Peter! Do you imagine that I am for a
moment in doubt as to the real perpetrator? Do confess!
Confess that you stabbed yourself a little. I will be silent
about the matter once more; I will be lenient instead of
just.”

Caspar was crying.

Just before the Court Garden he suddenly collapsed.
Quandt was perplexed. Some men came along the road, and
he asked them to take the boy home, he himself would go to
the police station. The men had to wait a considerable time
before Caspar had recovered a little, and even then it was
difficult to persuade him to walk.

The doctors later said that it was incomprehensible that
Caspar, with the frightful wound in his breast, had been able
to traverse the path from the Court Garden to the teacher’s
house, then from the teacher’s house to the Schlossplatz and
finally from the Schlossplatz back to the house again, the first
time running, the second time on Quandt’s arm, the third
time half dragged by the men, in all more than sixteen hun-
dred paces. .

When Quandt started for the town hall it had become
dark. The man on duty explained that without a special
order from the Mayor, who was at the Bath Restaurant, the
report could not be accepted officially. The teacher gossiped
with him for a while, then unwillingly and irritably he went
to the Kleinschrott Bath House, which lay a quarter of an
hour outside of the city, where he found the Mayor drinking
beer with his cronies. Quandt presented the case. They were
astonished, they doubted, they discussed, they went through
much red tape, after which the formal report was allowed

[451]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

to be made. At six o’clock the interesting legal report was
given over by the light of candles and lanterns to the city
judiciary for further investigation.

Quandt returned home. In the street in front of his house
he found many people, persons of every condition, who had
turned out in spite of the bad weather and remained silent
in a way that startled Quandt. He went at once to Caspar’s
room; he had been put to bed. Dr. Horlacher was there.
He had already examined the wound.

“How is it ?”” asked Quandt.

The doctor replied that there was no ground for serious
anxiety.

“That’s what I thought,” replied Quandt.

Now Hofrat Hofmann appeared. A military policeman
had given him the lavender-colored bag, which had been found
at the spot of the crime.

“Do you know this bag?” asked the Hofrat.

With eyes shining with fever, Caspar looked at the bag
which the Hofrat opened. There was a slip of paper in it
which appeared at first to be covered with hieroglyphics.

Frau Quandt stood near and shook her head. She pulled
her husband aside and said: “That is curious, Caspar always
folds his letters just the way that paper in the bag is folded.”

Quandt nodded, then he walked up to the Hofrat, who first
looked carefully at the note and then asked for a hand-
mirror.

“It is probably mirror-writing,” said Quandt, smilingly.

“Yes,” replied the Hofrat, “a curious piece of childish-
ness.”

He placed the mirror and the writing opposite one another
and read aloud. “Caspar Hauser will be able to tell you
exactly what I look like and who I am. In order to save
Hauser the trouble,[for he might be unable to discuss the

~~
matter) I will tell you myself where I come from. I have
come from the Bavarian frontier, by the river. I will even
betray my name to you. M.L.O.”

[452]
 

AENIGMA SUI TEMPORIS

 

“That sounds almost contemptuous,” said the Hofrat after
a surprised silence.

Quandt nodded bitterly.

When Caspar heard these words read aloud, his head fell
heavily into his pillow and boundless despair pictured itself
in his features. He closed his mouth with an expression as
though he never wanted to speak again. And that he could
have spoken, a fact which this “M.L.0.” obviously had not
calculated on, he regarded as a painful triumph well into his
fever.

Quandt, with the note which the Hofrat had given him in
his hands, wandered up and down excitedly. ‘These are
pretty tricks,” he exclaimed, “pretty tricks you are playing
in vain for the pity of your generation, Hauser. You de-
serve a whipping, that’s what you deserve.”

The Hofrat frowned. “Calm yourself, Herr Quandt,
that’s enough,” he said with an unusually serious voice.
Before he left he promised to send the circuit doctor the
next morning, from which it was evident that he thought
there was no immediate danger.

Meantime the doctor—urged by Frau von Imhoff—came
that same evening. It was Dr. Albert, the Medizinalrat. He
examined Caspar with great care and looked grave when he
had finished. Quandt, curiously irritated by this, said almost
challengingly : “No blood is flowing from the wound.”

“The blood is flowing on the inside,” replied the Medi-
zinalrat, casting a glance at the teacher. He placed a mustard
plaster on the heart and recommended the greatest possible
quiet.

Quandt struck his forehead. “Is it possible that the boy
in his thoughtlessness should have injured himself seri-
ously ?”” he said to his wife.

Frau Quandt remained silent.

“I doubt it, I must doubt it,” continued Quandt. “Just see
yourself, the boy generally so given to complaining, doesn’t
utter a word about any pain.”

[4531
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

“He does not answer if he’s asked either,” continued his
wife.

At nine o’clock Caspar began to be delirious. Quandt
was determined not to believe in this delirium. When Caspar
wanted to jump out of bed he screamed at him: “Don’t be
such a repulsive impostor, Hauser! Get back into bed,
quickly!”

Pfarrer Fuhrmann was just coming into the room and
heard this. “Why, Quandt, Quandt!” he said, horrified.
“Show some gentleness, Quandt, in the name of our
religion !”’

“Oh,” replied Quandt, shaking his head, “gentleness is
wasted here. In Niirnberg, where he played the same
wretched comedy, he behaved the same way, and they tell
me it took two men to hold him. As far as I am concerned,
I won’t put up with such a comedy.”

Frau von Imhoff had sent a nurse from the hospital, who
watched by Caspar’s bed during the night. He dozed from
two to three hours. :

Early the next morning the legal authorities appeared:
Caspar was clearly conscious. Upon the question of the
investigating attorney he said that a strange gentleman had
told him to meet him in the Court Garden by the artesian
well.

“For what purpose?”

“I don’t know.”

“Didn’t he say anything about it ?”

“Yes, he said one could see the kinds of mineral in the
well.”

“And that was enough to make you go with him? What
did he look like?”

Caspar gave a short, rough mumbling description and told
how the stranger had stabbed him. That was all that could
be gotten out of him.

They endeavored to find witnesses. Witnesses appeared.

C4541]
 

AENIGMA SUI TEMPORIS

 

Too late to pursue the perpetrator. The first declaration had
already been irresponsibly delayed by Quandt’s complicity.
When they wanted to examine the traces of blood on the
spot of the crime, it turned out that too many people had
been there in the meantime, and had tramped on the snow.
So they had from the beginning to give up any hope of
gaining anything from this important evidence.

There were witnesses enough. The landlady of the Zirkel
in the Rosengasse said that about two o'clock a man had
come to her house and inquired at what time there was a
return coach to Nordlingen. The man was about thirty-four
years old, of medium size, with a brown skin and pock-
marked.

He had worn a blue coat with a fur collar, a round black
hat, green trousers and boots with yellow screw spurs. He
had carried a riding crop in his hand. He had only stayed
five minutes and had spoken little; it was striking that he
did not want to say where he was lodging.

Assessor Donner described in the same way a man whom
he had seen in the Court Garden next to the lane of poplars
at three o’clock and in the company of two other men whom
the assessor had not observed.

A glazier named Leich, a little before four o'clock, went
from his home along the New Road through the Poststrasse
to the Promenade and from there across the Schlossplatz.
From the Castle he saw two men leave the bridle-path on
the left, and go to the Court Garden. He recognized Caspar
Hauser as one of them. When the two came to the lantern
post at the corner of the bridle-path, Caspar Hauser turned
around, and looked up toward the Schlossplatz, so that the
observer was able to see him once more clearly. At the
fence the stranger stood still and permitted Hauser to go
ahead with a polite gesture. The workman thought to him-
self : how can the gentlemen go walking in such a storm and
Snow.

“Three-quarters of an hour later,” the man continued,

[4551
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

“when I came back from an errand at Cooper Pfaffen-
berger’s, a lot of people were standing on the Schlossplatz,
who were lamenting and saying that Hauser had been stabbed
in the Court Garden.” :

And so on. A gardener’s assistant, busy in the orange
house, hears voices towards four o’clock. He looks out and
sees a man in an overcoat running by. The man is running
at a brisk gait. The voices are perhaps a rifle shot distant
from the hothouse, not so far away as the Uz Monument.
There were two voices, a bass and a high voice.

Next to the Willow Mill there lived a seamstress. Her
window opens upon the Court Garden, she can see as far as
the two lanes which lead to the wooden temple. As dusk
is beginning to fall she sees the man with the coat; he walks
out of the new wrought-iron gate and descends the ravine
toward the Rezat meadow. He is dismayed when he finds
himself faced by a swollen stream. He turns around and
goes toward the bridge along the Eiberstrasse and disap-
pears. Of his face the woman was only able to discern the
black crooked beard.

The clerk Dillmann, too, had something to say. It was an
unalterable habit of the old clerk, no matter what the weather
was, to walk every afternoon for two hours in the Court
Garden. He saw Caspar and the stranger. He was certain,
however, that Caspar had not preceded the stranger, but
had walked behind him. “He followed him as a calf follows
the butcher to the slaughter-house,” he said.

Too late, too late was this zeal. Too late the publication
of warrants, as well as descents by the police. It was no
longer any use, even if they should have changed the course
of the river Rezat in order that they might perhaps discover
the murderous instrument which the unknown perpetrator
might have thrown away in his flight.

What did the witnesses matter? What did the cross-
examination matter? What did the evidence matter by which
a dilatory justice sought to cover over its inefficiency with

[456]
 

AENIGMA SUI TEMPORIS

 

gestures of efficiency. It was said that the investigations
were conducted planlessly and brainlessly. It was said that
a mysterious hand was at work whose machinations culmi-
nated in gradually and intentionally obliterating the real
traces, and purposely misleading the attention of the authori-
ties. Who it was that said this, one could naturally not find
out, for public opinion—a thing as cowardly as it is in-
tangible—only expresses itself in enigmas from behind safe
intrenchments! And in this case it soon became silent ; here
where calumny, malice, lying, stupidity and hypocrisy ground
a beautiful picture of humanity between mill-wheels, until
nothing remained of it but a pitiful fairy-tale with which
the inhabitants of this neighborhood entertain themselves
before the fire on cold winter evenings.

On Sunday afternoon Quandt met young Feuerbach, the
philosopher, on the street.

“How’s Hauser ?”’ he asked the teacher.

“Oh, he’s quite out of danger, thank you for asking,
doctor,” answered Quandt, talkatively. “Jaundice has set in,
but that is said to be the usual sequel to any great excite-
ment. I am convinced that he will be able to leave his bed
in a few days.”

They talked a little while of other matters, principally of
the recently planned steam railroad between Niirnberg and
Fiirth, an undertaking against which Quandt uttered a volley
of skepticism ; then he bade good-by to the silent young man,
with the gratitude of a gossip who has had an opportunity to
talk, and hurried home, smiling constantly to himself. He
was in a very benign frame of mind, in a frame of mind in
which one is ready to be charitable to one’s bitterest enemies.
Why? The gods may know. Was it on account of the
beautiful day? One must not forget that in Quandt, too,
there was a kind of poet; or was it the approach of Christ-
mas, which promises every good Christian a species of
renewal of his soul? Or was it, after all, the fact that at

[4571]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

present so many distinguished and unusual people visited his
modest home, and that he, in his unpretentious surroundings,
occupied a position of undreamed-of importance? Enough
said, however, all that might be ; he was content with himself,
and consequently his smile proceeded from the very purest
source.

In front of his house he met the police lieutenant. “Ah,
you're back from your vacation.” Thus he greeted him, with
thoughtless friendliness. Immediately afterwards he said:
“I still have a bone to pick with you.”

Hickel pressed his eyes together and looked as if he wanted
to laugh.

They went upstairs together.

Caspar was sitting up in bed, with the upper part of his
body naked, and leaning against a mound of pillows, stiff as
a clay figure, his face as gray as pumice stone, the skin of
his body as radiantly white as a magnesium flame. The
doctor had just taken off the bandage and was washing the
wound. Besides him there was a court clerk present. He
had seated himself at the table; a registry blank lay before
him, on which were written the laconic words: “The wounded
man persists in the deposition which he has made hitherto.”
One could not have expressed oneself better, or more ele-
gantly, about a street thief who had been arrested.

Caspar had scarcely seen Hickel enter, than he raised his
head, which had fallen to one side, like the broken calix of
a flower, and with wide-open eyes, in which an unspeakable
fright lay, stared into the face of the newcomer.

Without speaking, Hickel threateningly raised his finger.
This gesture seemed to excite Caspar’s fright to the utmost.
He folded his hands and murmured with a groan: “Don’t
come near; I did not do it myself.”

“But, Hauser, what are you thinking of,” exclaimed Hickel
with the kind of joviality which one might display in a
tavern, while his yellow teeth gleamed between his full lips.
“I only raised my finger at you because you went into the

[4581
 

AENIGMA SUI TEMPORIS

 

Court Garden without permission. Do you perhaps wish
to deny that?”

“I must ask you to avoid any discussion,” warned the
doctor, not without anger. He had renewed the bandage
and drew the teacher aside, and said in low and earnest
tones : “I must inform you that Hauser will probably not live
through the night.”

With open mouth Quandt stared at the physician. His
knees became as soft as butter. “Why? What?” he mur-
mured. “Is that possible?” He looked at all those in the
room slowly, one after the other, while his face resembled
that of a person who was about to sit down comfortably to
eat, and from whom the dishes, plates, knife, fork—yes, even
the whole table is suddenly snatched away by magic.

“Come with me, Herr Quandt,” said Hickel in a hoarse
voice; he was standing by the tiled stove and rubbing his
hands with meaningless assiduity against the tiles.

Quandt nodded and walked ahead mechanically.

“Is it possible?” he murmured again, as he stood upon the
steps. He looked at the lieutenant, as if looking for aid.
“Oh,” he continued elegiacally, “we certainly did our part
honestly. We really did not fail in faithful care.”

“Just quit that nonsense, Quandt,” answered the lieu-
tenant roughly. “Tell me rather what Hauser has said in
his delirium.”

“Nonsense, nothing but nonsense,” replied Quandt,
anxiously.

“Have a care, Herr Quandt, just look down there,” ex-
claimed Hickel, bending over the railing.

“Why, what's there?” was Quandt’s frightened reply.

“You don’t see anything! The deuce take it; I don’t
either! We neither of us see anything, it appears.” He
laughed curiously, drew himself up again, erect as a candle,
and coughed dryly. Then he left, while Quandt gazed after
him with considerable surprise.

And indeed what is to become of che world if people like

[459]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

Hickel take to seeing ghosts. Upon their shoulders rest
the principles of order, of obedience, and all the officially
recognized virtues. And although possibly matters are so
disposed in this peculiar case that this monster, endowed
with a mixture of praiseworthy qualities, nevertheless felt
his conscience stir, then it must be explained that this bad
.conscience was blessed with such a martial appearance that
it developed an enviable appetite for all its meals, and that
it formed the softest pillow for an incomparably healthy
sleep which no fire alarm or Te Deum could have disturbed.

In Caspar’s room, the registrar had begun his questioning
again. Caspar was to tell him whether a third person had
been present while he had spoken with the stranger in the
Appellate Court.

Caspar answered limply that he had not noticed any one,
only in front of the gate there had been people. “Poor
people always wait for me there,” he said, “for example, a
certain Feigelein woman, to whom I sometimes gave a copper,
or the widow of the weaver Weigel.”

The registrar wanted to question him further, but Caspar
whispered : “Tired—very tired.”

“How do you feel, Hauser ?”” inquired the nurse.

“Tired,” he replied, “T’ll soon leave this wretched world.”

For a while he screamed and talked aloud to himself, then
he became quite still again.

He saw a light, which slowly went out. He heard sounds,
which seemed to come from the inside of his ears; they
sounded as if one were to strike upon a metal bell with a
hammer. He perceived a wide lonely plain in the dusk. A
human figure runs quickly over it. Oh, God! It is Schild-
knecht. Why are you running so, Schildknecht? he calls to
him. “Am in a hurry, a great hurry,” the latter replied.
Suddenly Schildknecht shrivels up until he becomes a spider
climbing on a glowing thread up to the branch of a huge
tree. Tears of horror fall like rain from Caspar’s eyes.

He saw a curious building. It resembled a colossal cupola,

[ 460]
 

AENIGMA SUI TEMPORIS

 

it had no gate, no door, no window. But Caspar could fly,
and he flew up and looked through a circular opening into
the interior, which was filled with a heavenly blue 2ir. On
sky-blue tiles there stood a woman. In front of this woman
there appeared a person, scarcely more visible than a shadow,
who told her that Caspar Hauser had died. The woman
raised her arms and cried with grief until the rafters re-
sounded. Then the floor opened up and a long procession
of people appeared, all of whom were weeping. And Caspar
saw that their hearts trembled and shook like live fish in the
hands of fishermen. And one of them, who was armed, and
carried a sword, stepped forward and uttered tremendous
words which revealed the whole secret. And all of those who
listened pressed their hands over their ears, closed their eyes,
and fell upon the floor.

Then everything was changed. Caspar felt now full of a
wonderful strength. He felt the metals in the earth—from
deep below they drew him toward them—and he felt the
stones, which had veins of bronze. Among these there were
many kinds of seeds and the little roots sprouted, and the
little roots spread, and the stalks quivered and grew. And
wells sprang out of the earth like fountains, and the welcome
sun shone upon their spray. And in the midst of creation
there stood a tree with a wide top and countless branches;
red berries grew from these branches, and at the top of
the tree the berries formed a heart. Inside in the trunk blood
flowed, and where the bark was broken, black-red drops
oozed forth.

In the midst of this tumult of frenzied images and sick fan-
tasies, it seemed to Caspar as if some one carried him into a
room where there was no air left to breathe. Struggling
and resisting were of no avail, something carried him thither,
and a cool wind blew over his hair, and his fingers bent in-
wards as if he were seeking to seize hold of something.
An unutterable exhaustion accompanied the vain struggle.

[461]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

Out in the road the Niirnberg mail coach drove by, and
the postillion blew his horn.

Many people came, until evening, to inquire how he was
doing. Frau von Imhoff remained sitting a long time at his
bed.

At eight o’clock the nurse sent for Herr Fuhrmann, who
appeared very promptly. He laid his hand on Caspar’s fore-
head. With big anxious eyes Caspar looked about; his
shoulders shook. He made movements with his finger upon
the bed cover as if he wanted to write. But that did not last
long.

“You once told me, dear Hauser, that you trusted God
and wanted to fight every battle with his help,” said the
clergyman.

“I don’t know,” whispered Caspar.

“Have you already prayed to-day and asked God for His
succor ?”

Caspar nodded.

“And how did you feel after that? Did you not feel
strengthened ?”

Caspar was silent.

“Do you not want to pray again?”

“I'm too weak ; my thoughts leave me at once.” And after
a while he said to himself with a curious refrain: “The tired
head begs for rest.”

“Then I will pray,
me silently.”

“Father, not my—but thy will be done,” concluded Cas-
par, breathing with difficulty.

“Who prayed thus?”

“The Saviour.”

“And when?”

“Before—his—death.” At this word his body struggled up
and his face quivered painfully. He gritted his teeth and
screamed three times piercingly: “Where am I?”

“But, Hauser, you are in your bed,” said Quandt, sooth-

[462]

»

continued the clergyman, “pray with
 

AENIGMA SUI TEMPORIS

ingly. “It often happens that sick people think that they
are in a different place,” he explained, turning to the
clergyman.

“Give him something to drink,” said the latter.

Frau Quandt brought a glass of fresh water.

When Caspar had drunk, Quandt wiped the cold sweat
from his forehead. He himself was shaking in every limb.
He bent over the boy and asked urgently, imploring him
ceremoniously : “Hauser, Hauser, have you nothing more to
say? Look at me once, quite honestly, Hauser! Have you
nothing more to confess?”

Then Caspar in great agony of soul seized the teacher’s
hand. “Oh, God—oh, God—to have to pass on this way in
shame and disgrace!” he exclaimed painfully. *

These were his last words. He turned a little on his right
side with his face to the wall. Every limb of his body died
separately. \0 @-w.

Two days later he was buried. It was afternoon and the
sky was a cloudless blue. The whole city was in commotion. 2%
A famous contemporary, who called Caspar Hauser the child
of Europe, tells that at that hour the sun and the moon were
to be seen in the heavens at the same time, the one in the
west and the other in the east, and that both their discs shone
with the same leaden light.

About a week and a half later, three days after Christmas,
it was evening, and Quandt and his wife were about to go to
bed, when sharp knocks were heard against the front door.
Greatly frightened, Quandt hesitated a while; only when the
pounding was repeated did he take a light and go to open
the door.

Outside stood Frau von Kannawurf. “Take me to
Caspar’s room,” she said to the teacher.

“Now? At night?” the latter dared to object.

“Now, at night,” the woman insisted.

[4631 Xi b
AL he Saad ; L tana MEO

3X Ae Cua

be - P ¥ 7 ah 0 OA ts [a "er \A A
CASPAR HAUSER

 

Her manner intimidated Quandt so that he silently stepped
aside, allowing her to pass, and followed with the light.

In Caspar’s room there was little that reminded one of
the dead boy. Everything was changed and put away. Only
the little wooden horse still stood on the corner table near
the window. :

“Leave me alone,” commanded Frau von Kannawurf.
Quandt set down the candlestick and went silently away; he
waited below on the step with his wife. “It is very good-
natured of me to allow such a thing in my house,” he
grumbled.

With arms crossed, Clara von Kannawurf walked up and
down the room. Her glance fell upon the table, where a
copy of the post-mortem examination lay; herein it was
stated that, after Caspar’s death, the side wall of his heart
was found to have been pierced through. Clara took the
paper in both hands and tore it in her fists.

Of what avail was all grief and repentance! One cannot
recreate the departed out of air; one cannot force the earth
to give back her victim. Tears are soothing, but this mourner
had no tears left. For her there were no longer any stars
and the sky had lost its radiance; for her the grass no longer
grew, and flowers had no odor left; for her days and nights
had lost their relish and all human activity, even the existence
of the elements, had rolled itself into a dark cloud of never-
to-be-expiated sin.

Perhaps half an hour had passed before Clara came down
again. She stood quite close to the teacher and, looking at
him with wide-open eyes, said quiveringly and coldly:
“Murderer!”

This was for Quandt about as if one were to hold burning
sulphuric acid under his nose. As one may readily imagine,
the good man had not the dimmest notion of what was going
on; he was waiting in his dressing-gown and embroidered
house-cap and bedroom slippers for the uninvited guest to

[464]
 

AENIGMA SUI TEMPORIS

 

leave his house, and suddenly a word is spoken which he does
not expect to hear even in an evil dream.

“The woman is mad! I shall call her to account,” he
still raged in bed.

Clara was living at the Imhoffs’. She found her friend
still up. Frau von Imhoff said that to-morrow they would
go to the cemetery, because then the cross was to be put
upon Caspar Hauser’s grave. Clara’s silence rested like an
incubus upon Frau von Imhoff and she talked and talked
—much about Caspar and about those surrounding him.
Quandt intended to write a book in which he expected to
prove minutely that Caspar had been a swindler; Hickel
had left the service and moved from Ansbach, no one knew
whither; all attempts to get any information about the ter-
rible crime had been in vain.

Clara remained as if of stone. When they separated for
the night, she said in low tones and with uncanny gentleness:
“You, too, are his murderer.”

Frau von Imhoff started back, but Clara continued in
equally low and gentle tones: “Don’t you know it; don’t you
want to know it? Are you hiding from the truth like Cain
from the voice of God? Do you not know who he was? Do
you think that the world will always be silent about it as it is
silent now? He will arise, Bettine, and call us to a reckon-
ing and cover our names with shame; he will poison the
conscience of generations to come; he will be as powerful
in his death as he was impotent in his life. The sun will
bring it to light.”

Hereupon Clara left the room as quietly as a shadow.

The next morning she left the house early. She visited
her bellman on the tower of St. John’s and sat a long time
on the stone bench of the narrow gallery, looking far out
over the wintry plain. But she did not see the snow, she only
saw the blood which had flowed. She did not see the land-
scape, she only saw a stabbed heart.

Then she took her way to the cemetery. The grave-digger

[465]
 

CASPAR HAUSER

 

took her to the grave. Two workmen had just come and
leaned a wooden cross against the trunk of a weeping willow.

A few minutes later the clergyman appeared. He recog-
nized Clara and greeted her seriously and politely. She,
without replying, looked past him; her glance rested upon
the mound of the grave, covered with dirty snow, and upon
the workmen who now planted the cross at the head of the
grave. On a large heart-shaped shield, fastened in the mid-
dle of the cross, stood the following words in white letters:

Hic Jacer
Casparus HAUSER
ZANIGMA
Sur TEMPORIS
IenoTtAa NATIVITAS
OccurtAa Mors

Mpcec XX Xt »

She read it, pressed her hands before her face and broke
into a painful, piercing laugh. Suddenly, however, she be-
came quite still. She turned to the clergyman and called to
him: “Murderer.”

At this moment several people came along the main path,
persons who had intended to be present at the ceremony of
erecting the cross: Herr and Frau von Imhoff, Herr von
Stichaner, Dr. Albert, Hofrat Hofmann, Quandt and his
wife. They saw the clergyman white and excited, and every
one had the impression that something unpleasant was going
on. Frau von Imhoff, full of premonition, hurried up to
her friend and put her arms about her. But with a wild
gesture Clara shook herself free, rushed toward the approach-
ing group, and with a penetrating voice screamed: “You are
murderers, murderers; murderers!”

She then ran out upon the street, where a number of
people at once surrounded her, continuing to scream. Finally
she was surrounded by some men and prevented from run-

ning further.
[466]
 

AENIGMA SUI TEMPORIS

 

Quandt had once more been right. She had become in-
sane. On the same day she was taken to an institution. In
time her raving subsided, but her mind remained clouded.

Herr Fuhrmann took the scene at the grave very much
to heart. He could not be satisfied when told that it was an
insane person who had behaved so. Before his death, which
came soon afterwards, he said to Frau von Imhoff, who had
gone to see him: “I can no longer enjoy the world. Why did
she complain of me? Why just of me? I loved Hauser.”

“The unfortunate woman,” replied Frau von Imhoff in
low tones, “love alone was not enough for her.”

“I bear no blame,” continued the old man, “or not more
than is the lot of mortals in general. Guilty we all are—all
of us who wander here on earth. Life springs from guilt,
or our ancestor in paradise would not have been allowed to
sin. Nor can I absolve our dead friend. Of what use was
it to dream about his origin? Where betrayal emanates
from every one’s mouth, a real man must take refuge in a
circle of useful activities. But madmen hear only their own
voices. Guiltless, my dear, guiltless is only God. May He
have mercy upon my soul and that of the noble Caspar:
Hauser.”

THE END
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