Karl Grosjean alias Grandisson—His residence in Heidelberg—Occupation unknown—Suspicion aroused—Letters seized by the postal authorities—Grosjean arrested in Berlin and imprisoned—Found dead in his cell—His wife cross-examined—Proved that he had perpetrated daring post-cart robberies—Brigandage—Formation of bands of robbers—Carefully planned attacks made on villages—Schinderhannes, the famous brigand chief—Arrested and brought to trial with his assistants, twenty of whom were guillotined—The horrible murder of Dorothea-Blankenfeld by her fellow travellers Antonini and his wife—Their sentence and its execution.

The chronic disorder which reigned in central Europe during the nearly incessant warfare of the Napoleonic period stimulated the activity of daring and ingenious thieves. A successful depredator on a larger scale who long escaped detection was a certain Karl Grosjean, alias Grandisson, whose story may be told as a remarkable instance of the immunity enjoyed by his class.

He first comes upon the scenes in the spring of 1804, when a superb travelling carriage arrived at a small country town in the vicinity of Heidelberg. Two strangers alighted from it to spend the night at the inn. They were apparently worthy representatives of the class that would possess so magnificent an equipage, one being a man of aristocratic appearance, and the other his young and beautiful wife. They were from Denmark, where the stranger was said to be a merchant and reputed enormously wealthy. He owned many shops somewhere, and carried on an immense trade in iron, flax and other articles. He had come to this little town to buy vinegar, which was manufactured there on a large scale by a chemist of the place. Eventually the couple took up their residence in the neighbouring city of Heidelberg, where they lived in a charming house on the slope of the hill crowned by the ruined castle and overlooking the beautiful valley of the Neckar. Their residence at Heidelberg was checkered by some unpleasant occurrences, among others the theft of a large sum of money, which was in due course recovered after a long trial, but M. Grandisson was so much vexed by all that had happened that he left the city and moved first to Strasburg, then to Dijon and to Nancy. They returned to Heidelberg in 1810. They lived in a luxurious style, but Madame Grandisson devoted herself principally to the education of her children. She did not go out much, although she paid and received visits. She was intimate with no one and forbore to talk much of her husband’s private affairs, except to allude at times to the many interesting journeys he made.

M. Grandisson was more sociable and accessible. He did not absent himself from public places, and not only liked to converse with other people, but was addicted to boasting of his wealth and possessions. This little weakness was not resented in so amiable and obliging a man, for he was civility itself to every one. One thing only seemed odd. Grandisson was a merchant, but never spoke of his business with other merchants; still less did he make any mention of his real domicile or his origin. When closely pressed in conversation, however, he vaguely hinted that he was concerned in vast smuggling transactions. This was not to his discredit in those days of the Continental blockade introduced by Napoleon against English trade. Again, it was passing strange that a business man, engaged ostensibly in extensive operations in all parts of Europe, carried on no business correspondence. Moreover, he did not obtain his funds by drawing bills of exchange or receiving cash remittances; yet he was perpetually travelling and must have spent much money on the road. There seemed also to be something peculiar connected with these journeys. He talked a great deal about them beforehand, mentioning his intention of going to Brussels, Paris or Copenhagen, as the case might be, but he would disappear silently to reappear as suddenly as he had gone, and seldom let fall a word as to where he had been. The local police at Heidelberg heard nothing of these journeys, nor was it necessary, as Grandisson had his passports from the government authorities and they were usually good for six months at a time.

For more than three years the Grandisson family lived quietly in Heidelberg, respected and apparently happy and contented. Contraband trade was generally supposed to supply their chief wealth and to be sufficient explanation for the secrecy observed in regard to it. Another theory was held on this subject, which it was thought well not to insist upon in those days: Grandisson seemed to time his journeys to conform to the constant movements of troops in the many campaigns afoot; he occasionally started and returned in company with French officers, and it might well be thought that he was one of the emissaries who swarmed in Germany just then.

Grandisson was actually on the move and absent from Heidelberg when letters arrived from Frankfurt-on-the-Main dated April 7th; one was addressed to the governor of the town, the other to the criminal judge, and their contents threw a new and lurid light upon the mysterious stranger. The Thurn and Taxis post-wagon had been robbed twice within two years, between Eisenach and Frankfurt, and so effectually that well secured cash boxes packed away inside the vehicle had disappeared. The first occasion was on October 13, 1812, when all packets of money destined for Frankfurt were purloined from the post-cart; and the second on February 14, 1814, when a packet containing more than 4,947 florins was stolen. Suspicion fell upon a certain passenger remembered by the conductor and others, and who, as it turned out on investigation, had always travelled and been registered under different names. It was subsequently discovered that this man, so generously endowed with aliases, had on February 18th put up at the inn, the Sign of the Anchor, in Eisenach, under the name of Grandisson and there posted a packet of fifty gulden addressed to himself at Heidelberg, which had there been safely handed to Madame Grandisson. The description of the suspicious passenger tallied exactly with that of M. Grandisson so well known in Heidelberg. Besides this, the conductor of the post-cart from which the last theft had been made, insisted that he had seen him in that town. The governor of Heidelberg was so much impressed with these reports that he would have proceeded to arrest Grandisson at once, but the man was absent at the time. The question was then mooted as to the apprehension of Madame Grandisson, who was generally respected as a modest, reputable lady who lived exclusively for her children. She seemed somewhat embarrassed when questioned by the police and asked to explain her husband’s prolonged absence, but evinced no desire to leave the town, and no further steps were taken beyond keeping her under observation. Unhappily for her, fresh revelations were soon forthcoming in which she was implicated. A letter from Madame Grandisson to her husband, directed to what was then his real address, “poste restante WÜrzburg,” was presently intercepted in the chief post-office. In this letter she enclosed another which had arrived for M. Grandisson and had been opened by her. Her own letter contained little more than references to the other which was signed with the name “Louis Fischer,” and had evidently occasioned her great uneasiness. It was dated from Bornheim near Frankfurt, March 10, 1814, and contained a quantity of obscure and suspicious matter.

It began by reminding its recipient that he was passing under an assumed name, that he was really Grosjean, not Grandisson; then referred to the “working off” of certain Dutch ducats; proceeded to complain that he had been robbed of his fourteen thousand gulden by having soldiers quartered upon him; and finished as follows: “All are consumed but a few hundred gulden. I do not make demands upon you as a beggar but on the current value of what you know.... I sign an assumed name.... Write to me poste restante.... If you do not write, be assured, as certainly as that God will yet judge my soul, I shall be compelled to make public what I know.... This you would surely avoid because of the dishonour and the loss of the consideration you enjoy.... You are perfectly well aware that I have kept silence for years ... but yet I hold the damning proofs and shall use them unless you accept my terms. Nevertheless, if you act fairly by me the proofs shall be destroyed and the guilty deed with them.”

This letter threw very serious aspersions on Grandisson’s character. It hinted that his real name was Grosjean and that he had at some time or other committed a crime or a dishonourable action, either in conjunction with the writer or with his knowledge, the publication of which must ruin him, and that he was consequently being blackmailed by his correspondent. There was nothing in the letter, however, to inculpate Madame Grandisson. On the contrary, the anonymous writer mentioned her with great respect, and the agitation of mind she displayed in her appeal to her husband testified to her innocence and showed that there was less reason than ever to proceed against her. Efforts were still made to tamper with her correspondence, but in vain, for she was very wary and used the utmost caution in posting her letters. At last, however, one was intercepted and was thought compromising. “Since you left thirteen days ago, I have no news of you,” it ran. “Write me the number of the house where I am to address my letters. Now attend to me. How would it be were I to pack most of my belongings and give them into the charge of Herr Klein, and only take with me exactly what I require, until I am certain where I am to live? I do not think I could have anything in common with your relations; I have too vivid a recollection of their vulgarity and rapaciousness. It would be best for you to hire a lodging for me with decent, respectable people, so that when I arrive I can be with you; even for yourself it is not advisable that you should lodge with your relatives. I will not stop with them even for one night. Farewell.” This letter certainly gave the impression that Madame Grandisson was initiated partially, at least, into her husband’s secrets, and as she was evidently now making preparations for escaping from Heidelberg, she was more closely watched than ever. Her behaviour was unaltered as she was not aware that her letter had been intercepted. The address on the outside cover, moreover, to “Herr Prinz im KÖnigstrasse, Berlin,” gave a clue which facilitated proceedings against Grandisson. This, however, was only on the outside, for on the real letter itself the direction was as follows: “Mlle. Caroline is requested to deliver this letter to her brother Karl.” Thus it appeared that Grandisson was now in Berlin and that he had a sister there. He must now be sought for in that capital, and a demand for his arrest was despatched by the chief post office in Frankfurt to the head of the police in Berlin.

In the house of a merchant of the name of Prinz, situated in the KÖnigstrasse in Berlin, there lived an unmarried woman called Caroline Grosjean, who was in the service of the family and undoubtedly the intended recipient of the above letter. She was in truth the sister of the suspected criminal, and the name of Grosjean corresponded with that mentioned in the Fischer letter. A detective was sent to question her as to her brother’s whereabouts, and she admitted that he was in Berlin but would say nothing further until shown the letter, whereupon recognising her sister-in-law’s handwriting, she offered to conduct the evidently trustworthy messenger to her brother. The detective, however, intimated that when on his travels he had to stay within doors to receive people on business, and requested her to send her brother to his inn that same afternoon, which she did. The man so accurately described by the Frankfurt and Heidelberg authorities accordingly appeared at the “Sign of the Crown.” He acted the unconcerned gentleman even when the detective said he had just come from Heidelberg charged with greetings from his wife and assurances that all was well. But when the officer of the law handed him her letter, he seized it with evident uneasiness, crumpled it up and thrust it into his pocket. The detective then proposed to conduct him to some private place where he might be inclined perhaps to give a more satisfactory account of himself. On reaching the door of the inn, Grosjean tried to escape, but two police officials at once barred his way. From that moment he became quite passive and followed the police quietly to the office and thence to the prison. When searched, two razors he had secreted were found and taken from him. Suicide was obviously his intention, and he was resolved to carry it through. When visited in his cell next morning, it was found that he had made away with himself. He lay in a cramped position, sitting rather than hanging, strangled and dead, his handkerchief having been tightly fastened round his neck and secured in the jamb of the door. The method he had employed testified to an extraordinary exercise of will power.

The chief criminal having thus disposed of himself, to proceed to the discovery and arrest of his accomplices became the next object of the authorities. But those of Heidelberg were still loth to arrest Madame Grandisson, and the judge himself paid her a visit to inquire for her husband. She had heard nothing yet of the suicide, and replied that she was growing uneasy at his protracted absence. She was next invited to visit the law courts to make a formal deposition, and when further questioned there, it was seen that her pretended ignorance of her husband’s real character was assumed. This led to her committal to the criminal prison. Close examination into her own antecedents followed. She stated that she came from Breslau, where her family resided, and that after her marriage with Grosjean, she had travelled with him in distant countries, where he was engaged in extensive commercial enterprises. For a long time she little realised their true nature, but had learned it by accident and had taxed him with his criminal life. Gradually the facts came out and she made open confession of all she knew. Yes, her husband was indeed a villain, although she knew nothing of it till long after her marriage, when to her horror she found that all the money on which they lived so luxuriously was stolen, acquired by systematic thefts from the post-wagons. Grosjean, when she first made his acquaintance, had been a butler in the service of a general officer, Von Dolfs by name. After their marriage she spent a brief period of happiness, which was shattered by Grosjean’s arrest for having robbed his master of a large sum. At that time she herself was brought up for examination, and was asked if she was aware that he had already served a term of imprisonment in a house of correction on account of robberies. Then the general sent for her and advised her to seek a separation, but it seemed too cruel to desert him and she was easily persuaded to join him in prison. On their release, they decided to go to his parents in Berlin, where he undertook to carry on his father’s business, in which he continued to work honestly for five or six years. Afterward they moved to Hamburg and then to Copenhagen, where they suffered many vicissitudes. Next they went to St. Petersburg, and thence to Bayreuth; last of all they settled in the neighbourhood of Heidelberg, and the events followed as already described.

At the judicial examination more incriminating evidence came out. Upon being closely interrogated, Madame Grosjean admitted having gone from St. Petersburg, first to Emden, then to the Hague and to Amsterdam. At the last named places, Grosjean seems to have begun his systematic business journeys in connection with the post-carts, but she denied all participation or knowledge of their aim and results. Only at Bayreuth, when he bought the costly carriage, her conscience seemed to have awakened. When she reproached him for purchasing it he replied that it was none of her business; that it was enough for her if he provided for her; and that if she were not pleased she might leave him and go where she chose. This partly pacified, partly terrified her. She forbore to ask him about the post-cart robberies, but suffered him to follow his own road, without remark or complaint. She had made a great mistake in her marriage, she admitted, yet she was undoubtedly much affected when the news of his death by suicide was communicated to her.

Meanwhile a series of laborious investigations and far-reaching correspondence had been set on foot to build up the criminal history of Grosjean. It was fully established that his evil tendencies were inborn and strongly developed; he had a passion for stealing that amounted to mania. He had acted for the most part alone and unaided, exhibiting rare skill and meeting generally with extraordinary good luck. He had carried out his robberies over a large area, in various countries and at many times, greedy to lay his hands on everything he came across. To utilise his plunder in playing the great personage with much ostentation and display, was another trait in him not uncommon with others of his class. He was ambitious also to appear a refined and well educated man in the cultured social surroundings of the university town of Heidelberg. He loved to forget that he was a common thief, and to assume the superior airs of a well-bred gentleman. It was the same in France, where he gained a reputation for good breeding and perfect manners, inspiring confidence and appreciation in all with whom he was thrown.

Little was known to a certainty of his early life. He was born at Weilburg, where his father owned a cloth factory, but the family moved subsequently to Berlin. Karl accompanied his parents and was apprenticed to the hairdresser’s craft. He soon left the capital, and rarely returned to it after he had assumed the part of a wealthy merchant. On the third visit, he was arrested and it was then shown that not only had he robbed General Dolfs, as already described, but that when only 16 years of age he had been sentenced to four years’ penal servitude for theft. While a hairdresser in Berlin, he carried out a large robbery in the house of the English envoy; and at Hamburg, where he was afterward in service, he stole three thousand marks from his master, but he was not apprehended for either offence. From that time very little information came to hand concerning his larger and more audacious undertakings, which he perpetrated chiefly in foreign countries. The chief post-office authorities at Frankfurt-on-the-Main had on their register a long list of post-cart robberies, covering the years from 1800-1811, all of which might no doubt be laid to Grosjean’s charge. It was certainly proved that a man answering to his description travelled under eight or nine different aliases at various times. One curious and unusual trait in a man accustomed to carry out thefts on a very large scale, was his stooping to steal groceries from his landlord, and also heavy goods, articles of no value, but difficult to move and likely to lead to his detection. His wife, annoyed at these useless thefts and overburdened with groceries and spices she could not use, would ask him how she should get rid of them, upon which he would tell her to sell them to the landlord. This ironical suggestion to sell stolen goods to the victim of the thefts was in its way amusing. Grosjean also purloined tobacco, and once when travelling stole his landlord’s gold repeater watch, which he wore boldly and unconcernedly until his arrest in 1814. He likewise abstracted the silver spoons at the inns where he lodged, and stole stockings for his family from shops, whether they wanted them or not. Sixty-five pairs were found when his lodging was searched, and they were claimed by a tradesman in Frankfurt who was the author of the mysterious letter signed, “Louis Fischer,” which had given the Heidelberg legal authorities the first clue for Grosjean’s prosecution. This man, after having dealings with Grosjean, who was a good customer and paid ready money, suddenly began to suspect him of pilfering in the shop and at last caught him in the act. His bump of acquisitiveness was no doubt abnormally developed.

Insecurity of life and property was universal at this time. The country was terrorised and laid waste by brigandage. Bands were organised under the most redoubtable chiefs, whose skill and boldness in the prosecution of their evil business were quite on a par with the most famous feats of great bandits in other lands. Foremost among them were such men as Pickard, who long devastated the Low Countries, and not less noted was Schinderhannes, otherwise John Buckler the younger. He had followed the craft of his father, a flayer of dead animals, and hence his sobriquet, Schinderhannes or “Hans the skinner.” His operations covered a wide area, extending from both banks of the upper Rhine to the lower Meuse; from Mayence on the one side as far as Dunkirk on the other; and again to the eastward beyond the Weser to the Elbe. He “worked” this country from 1793 to 1801, and when at last justice overtook him and he was committed to the prison of Mayence, sixty-seven associates, who had followed him with unflagging devotion, were arrested and brought to trial with him.

The growth of brigandage was stimulated by the prevailing distress of the territories so constantly ravaged by war. Peaceable inhabitants were harried and harassed by the excesses of the troops. Contributions in money and in kind were repeatedly levied upon them; they lost their cattle and their crops by military requisitions, and were heavily taxed in money. Where the farmers and other employers were nearly ruined, large numbers of labourers were thrown out of work and were driven into evil practices. Many took to thieving, and stole everything they came across,—horses from their stables and cattle from the fields. They cut off and robbed stragglers from the armies on the march, and pillaged the baggage wagons that went astray. As guardians of the law became more active in pursuit, offenders were driven to combine forces and form associations for greater strength and more concerted action. Receivers of the stolen goods were established with secure hiding places and lines of safe retreat. Leaders were also appointed to direct operations, to ascertain the most likely victims and plan attacks without incurring suspicion or subsequent detection. In this way, outrages multiplied and developed on a large scale far beyond mere highway robbery.

Great prudence and circumspection were employed in the formation of a band. The members were chosen with an eye to fitness for the work; every effort was made to preserve their incognito; they were forbidden to assemble in any considerable number; not more than two or three men were suffered to live in the same village. Each man’s address or change of address was known only to the receivers of the district, through whom orders were circulated from the supreme chief of the entire association, the individual members of which lived singly, dispersed through the villages and small towns of an extensive territory. The brigands themselves were strictly enjoined not to attract attention; to keep disguises close at hand, to change their abode frequently, and to be prepared to assume quickly a different character. The aristocratic German baron or the respectable Dutch merchant drinking the waters at Aix-la-Chapelle or Spa one week was transformed the next into the leader of a band of miscreants lurking in a wood, waiting to embark upon a bloodthirsty attack and wholesale massacre.

No important movement was undertaken unless it had been recommended as feasible by one of the numerous indicators or spies spread over the country. These were mostly Jews and, strange to say, they were not members of the band. They were ever on the alert, and by insinuating themselves into people’s homes, learned who were well-off and where money and valuables were treasured. They gained all necessary information as to the possible opposition that would be offered by the residents, and when all was prepared, the informer contracted to help the brigand chief to make the coup on a promise of receiving part, and a large part, of the booty. The rÔle played by these spies was the more detestable because of the certainty that the robbery would be accompanied with brutal violence and much cruelty. If the treasure was well concealed or obstinately withheld by the owners, the most barbarous tortures were inflicted on them, such as those practised by the “chauffeurs” of central France about this same time, who “warmed” or toasted the feet of their victims before a blazing fire until they confessed where their goods lay hidden. These informers were generally receivers also, ready to take over and dispose of the plunder.

As soon as a stroke had been decided upon, word was passed around to gather the band together. A letter was addressed to each member, in which he was summoned to meet the others at a particular place and discuss “a matter of business.” Sometimes the chief went in person and called upon every member. When assembled, the project was considered from every point of view; the difficulties and dangers were formally examined; and a decision was taken by vote as to whether it was practicable or unsafe. If accepted in spite of serious obstacles, several sub-chiefs were appointed to deal with the different parts of the plan, such as the line of approach, the actual execution and the means of retreat. As a rule, the spring or autumn season was preferred for an attempt, because of the long nights. Winter was tabooed on account of the bad travelling over dark and nearly impracticable roads, and the summer nights were too light. Moonlight nights were carefully avoided, and also any time when snow lay upon the ground. When the matter eventually came into court, it was found that the week-end was the time almost invariably chosen for the operations of the band.

To avoid the alarm that might be caused by the united march of thirty or forty robbers in company, they were ordered to repair to the rendezvous, only two or three travelling together. Those who could afford it rode or drove in vehicles, intended for use afterward in removing part of the stolen goods. Great pains were taken to prevent the men from going astray in the dark when passing through the dense forests. Guides went ahead and marked the path by nailing scraps of white paper on tree or post; at cross-roads the direction was shown by a chalked line, or a great branch was broken off from a tree and laid on the ground with the leafage pointing out the road. Signals were also passed on from one to another by imitating the hoot of an owl; whistling was not permitted because it was a low class practice certain to attract observation. A halt was called at the rendezvous near the point of attack, where the robbers rested; pistols were examined, a pass word was chosen and a number of candles and torches were distributed to be lighted when the march was resumed, as it was, in perfect silence; and all had their faces blackened to escape recognition. Any one whom they met was seized, tied, gagged and muzzled, and left to lie by the roadside, so that he might give no alarm.

The chief or captain now took the lead, followed by a party carrying the belier or battering ram, a solid beam ten or twelve feet long, and one foot thick, which was sometimes a signpost and sometimes a wooden cross from a churchyard. On entering a village, some one who knew the road was sent to barricade the church door and prevent access to the belfry from which the tocsin might be sounded. The night watchmen were captured and put out of the way. Next, the doomed house was surrounded and a sharp fire opened to keep every one in-doors and give the idea that the assailants were in great numbers. If the French had passed recently through the country, loud shouts and oaths were uttered in that language to convey a false impression. After this, the principal door was beaten in, and the captain entered boldly at the head of his men, reserving the right to shoot down instantly any who hesitated or hung back. The whole house was then illuminated from roof-tree to cellar, and the place was thoroughly ransacked. All the inmates were bound and gagged, and rolled up in blankets with bedding and mattresses piled on top of them, until called upon to surrender their valuables or give information as to where they were concealed. This, as has been said, was generally extorted after horrible tortures had been inflicted.

When the pillage ended, the party hurried away to divide the booty. Any robber wounded and unable to move off was despatched on the spot; the greatest pains were taken to leave no one behind who might, if caught, be made to confess. At the sharing of the spoil, the captain received a double or triple portion, in addition to anything precious he had annexed at the first search. At the same time, if an ordinary robber withheld any valuables, his share was reduced one-half on detection. If the informer who had started the whole affair did not contrive to be present at the distribution, he was likely to get little or nothing. The robbers had a profound contempt for the creatures who followed the despised trade of spy.

A leading character among the many who became famous as brigand chiefs, such as Finck, Black Peter, Seibert and Zughetto, was the more notorious Schinderhannes, the youngest, boldest and most active robber of them all, who moved with great rapidity over a wide country and spread terror everywhere. He did not attempt to conceal himself, but showed openly at fairs and gatherings, risking capture recklessly; yet if ill-luck befell, no prison could hold him. He was an adept in the use of tools to aid escape, and unrivalled in his skill in breaking chains, forcing locks and cutting through solid walls.

This notorious criminal was born in the village of Muklen on the right bank of the Rhine. At an early age he was taught to steal sheep which he sold to a butcher. Later he became servant to the hangman of Barenbach, but being taken in the act of robbery, he was thrown into the gaol at Kirn and flogged. He subsequently escaped, however, and joined the band of Red Finck, which committed many highway robberies, chiefly upon Jews. He was again captured and locked up in the prison of Sarrebruck, from which he easily freed himself. After these beginnings, Schinderhannes embarked in the business on a larger scale, and having recruited several desperate companions, committed numberless crimes. He was a generous brigand who succoured the poor while he made war upon the rich, and he was credited with a strong desire to abandon his evil ways if pardoned and permitted to join a regiment in the field; but this was against the law.

He was finally arrested by the counsellor Fuchs, grand-bailiff of the electorate of Treves, who caught him on the high road near Wolfenhausen as he stole out, alone, from a field of corn. He was dressed as a sportsman, carried a gun and a long whip, but could not produce a passport and was forthwith arrested. After passing from place to place, closely guarded and watched, he was lodged at length in the prison of Mayence, where he was in due course put upon his trial, was eventually convicted and suffered the extreme penalty.

The earlier operations of this formidable ruffian were limited to highway robbery, but Schinderhannes soon adopted the practice of extortion by letter, demanding large sums for immunity from attack, and he issued safe conducts to all who paid blackmail. He dominated the whole country. Travellers did not dare to take the road. The news of the forcible entry and pillage of houses and farms spread like wildfire. For the most part, the robberies were effected upon rich Jews and others who possessed great stores of cash and valuables, and the plunder was enormous. The brigands lived royally and with ostentatious extravagance, appearing at all village fÊtes and giving rein to the wildest self-indulgence.

When captured at length, this successful miscreant was subjected to a lengthy trial of eighteen months, the records of which filled five volumes. In the course of the trial it was proved that he had been guilty of fifty-three serious crimes, with or without the assistance of his sixty-seven associates, who were arraigned at the same time, and were headed by his father, the first John Buckler. Among these associates were many women. The sentences after conviction were various. Twenty-one were to be guillotined, including Schinderhannes, who asked with some apprehension whether he would be broken on the wheel, but was told to his great relief that this penalty had disappeared from the code. The capital convicts were to be taken to the scaffold clothed in red shirts, presumably to increase the ignominy. For the rest, various terms of imprisonment were imposed, ranging from six to twenty-four years in chains. Schinderhannes, having heard his own fate unmoved, expressed his gratitude to his judges for having spared the lives of his father and wife. He was quite at ease, telling the bystanders to stare as much as they pleased, for he would be on view for only two more days. The chaplain gave him the sacrament, and he accepted the consolation of the Church with very proper feeling. The convicts were taken to the place of execution in five carts, Schinderhannes beguiling the way with a full account of his misdeeds. He mounted the scaffold with a brisk step and closely examined the guillotine, asking whether it worked as easily and promptly as had been asserted. In his farewell speech, he admitted the justice of his sentence, but protested that ten of his companions were dying innocent men.

The sharp vindication of the law in the case of these brigands had a marked result in restoring tranquillity and effectually checked the operations of organised bands on a large scale. But the records of the times show many isolated instances of atrocious murders perpetrated on defenceless travellers. A peculiarly horrible case was the doing to death of the beautiful girl, Dorothea Blankenfeld, at the post-house of Maitingen near Augsburg by her travelling companions, who had accompanied her for many stages, ever thirsting for her blood, but constantly foiled for want of opportunity until the last night before arriving at their destination.

The victim was a native of Friedland, who started from Danzig in November, 1809, on her way to Vienna, where she was to join her intended husband, a war commissary in the French service. She had reached Dresden, but halted there until her friends could find a suitable escort for the rest of the journey. She was young, barely twenty-four years old, remarkably good looking, of gentle disposition and spotless character. The opportunity for which she awaited presented itself when two French military postilions arrived in Dresden and sought passports for Vienna. It was easy to add the FrÄulein Blankenfeld’s name in the route paper, and she left Dresden with her escort, who had already doomed her to destruction.

The two postilions were really man and wife, for one was a woman in disguise. They gave their names as Antoine and Schulz, but they were really the two Antoninis. The man was a native of southern Italy, who as a boy had been captured by Barbary pirates and released by a French warship. He had been a drummer in a Corsican battalion, a laquais de place, a sutler and lastly a French army postilion. His criminal propensities were developed early; he had been frequently imprisoned, twice in Berlin and once in Mayence with his wife,—for he had married a woman named Marschall of Berlin,—and he had been constantly denounced as a thief and incendiary. At Erfurt he had broken prison and effected the escape of his fellow-prisoners. Theresa Antonini had been a wild, obstinate and vicious girl, who after marriage became a partner also in her husband’s evil deeds and shared his imprisonment. The pair were on their way south to Antonini’s native place in Messina, very short of money, and they took with them Carl Marschall, the woman’s brother, a boy barely fifteen years of age.

Dorothea Blankenfeld was a tempting bait to their cupidity. She was fashionably dressed, her trunk was full of linen and fine clothes, and she really carried about two thousand thalers sewed in her stays, a fact then unknown to her would-be murderers.

A scheme was soon broached by Antonini to his wife to make away with the girl, and young Carl Marschall was prevailed upon to join in the plot. They waited only for a favourable opportunity to effect their purpose, devising many plans to murder her and conceal their crime. The whole journey was occupied with abortive attempts. They selected their quarters for the night with this idea, but some accident interposed to save the threatened victim, who was altogether unconscious of her impending fate.

At Hof a plan was devised of stifling her with smoke in her bed, but the results seemed uncertain, and it was not tried. At Berneck, between Hof and Bayreuth, they lodged in a lonely inn at the foot of a mountain covered with wood, and here the corpse might be buried during the night. But Theresa Antonini had discarded her postilion’s disguise, and as two women had arrived, the departure of only one the next morning must surely arouse suspicion. The following night the notion of choking the girl with the fumes of smoke was revived, but was dismissed for the same reason, the doubtful result. Death must be dealt in some other way if it was to be risked at all. So they drugged her, took her keys from under her pillow, and opened and examined her trunks, finding more than enough to seal her doom.

They arrived next at NÜrnberg, a likely place, where many streams of water flowing through the city might help to get rid of the body. But a sentry happened to have his post just in front of the inn, and this afforded protection to the threatened girl. At this time Carl Marschall proposed to mix pounded glass in her soup, but the scheme was rejected by Antonini, who declared that he had often swallowed broken glass for sport without ill effects. At Roth, a suitable weapon was found in a loft, a mattock with three iron prongs,—and a pool of water for the concealment of the body was discovered in a neighbouring field, so the deed was to be perpetrated here, after administering another sleeping draught. The mischance that a number of carriers put up that night at the inn again shielded the FrÄulein. Insurmountable objections arose also at Weissenberg and DonauwÖrth, and as they had now reached the last stage but one, it seemed as if the murder might never be committed.

The last station was Maitingen near Augsburg, where the girl was to leave the party, and here fresh incitement was given to guilty greed by her incautious admission that she carried a quantity of valuables on her person. Somehow she must be disposed of that night. The boy Carl was to be the principal agent in the crime; it was thought that his youth would save him from capital punishment, an inevitable sentence for the others if convicted. The lad showed no reluctance to the act, and only hesitated lest he should not be strong enough to complete it, but his sister said that Antonini would help as soon as the first blow was struck, and she further tempted him with the promise of a substantial gift.

Carl had discovered in the post-house a heavy roller which he hid in Antonini’s bed-room. Then he dug a hole in the yard, intended for the disposal of the body. Antonini bought some candles, and on the pretence of using a foot bath, much warm water was prepared to cleanse the blood stains. At supper Dorothea drank some brandy and water mixed with laudanum, and was taken off to bed half stupefied. About midnight the murderers viewed their intended victim and found her asleep, but in a position unfavourable for attack, as her face was turned to the wall. Now a change of plan was proposed,—to pour molten lead into her ears and eyes,—but on heating the fragments of a spoon over the candle, it was seen that a drop which fell on the sheet merely scorched it, which indicated that the metal cooled too quickly to destroy life.

Another visit was paid to the victim at four o’clock, and now Carl was ordered to strike the first blow, which fell with murderous effect; but the poor girl was able to raise herself in bed and to plead piteously for her life. A fierce struggle ensued; repeated blows were rained upon her and she sank upon the floor in the agony of death, while Antonini tore at the money she still carried on her person. As the wretched woman still breathed and groaned audibly, Antonini savagely trampled and jumped on her body until life was quite extinct. When afterward examined, the body was found to be grievously bruised and swollen, the collar bone was broken, and there were nine wounds made by a blunt instrument on the brow and other parts of the head.

The house was disturbed at first by the piercing shrieks of the victim, and the postmaster listened at her door but heard nothing more. It was noticed the following morning that although the party was to have started at five o’clock, they were not ready to leave until nine. The attention of the postmaster, who was looking out of the window, was attracted by a curiously shaped bundle which the men dragged out of the house and flung into the carriage, something like the carcass of a dog, or it might be of a human being. Then the party entered the carriage and drove away, but it was observed that there was only one woman in the carriage instead of the two who had arrived on the previous evening. The rooms upstairs were now visited and the terrible catastrophe was forthwith discovered. Walls, floor and bed were drenched with blood and it was plain that an atrocious murder had been committed. Information was at once given to the authorities, and the carriage was promptly pursued. It was overtaken at the gates of Augsburg, and the culprits were seized and lodged in gaol. The suspicious looking bundle, wrapped up in a long blue cloak, had been tied up behind the carriage, and when examined it was found to contain the wounded and much battered corpse of a young woman.

In the course of the protracted criminal proceedings which followed, the boy Carl Marschall was the first to confess his guilt. The Antoninis were obstinately reticent, but at last, after nineteen long examinations, Theresa, when confronted with her brother, also acknowledged her share in the deed. Antonini was persistent in his denial and sought continually to deceive the judge by a variety of lying statements, but even he yielded at last and made a disjointed but still self-incriminating confession. Husband and wife were both convicted and sentenced by the court at NÜrnberg to death by the sword. Their boy accomplice, Carl Marschall, in consideration of his youth, was condemned to ten years’ imprisonment at hard labour. Antonini escaped the punishment he so well deserved by dying in prison; but his wife was not so fortunate and suffered the penalty of death upon the scaffold, hardened and unrepentant to the last.

Perhaps no more brutal murder than this committed by the Antoninis has ever been recorded, though at that time, when the activities of the brigand and highway robber were not entirely suppressed, doubtless many atrocities were perpetrated, the true stories of which have remained forever in obscurity.