The Wild Child

by Jeffrey Masson

  The appearance of Kaspar Hauser—this is how this victim of inhuman treatment is called—is described in the accompanying attachment number 2. (We need only add that he speaks a Bavarian dialect such as is heard in the region of Regensburg, Straubing, Landshut, etc., and perhaps also in Altötting, and Burghausen, and that he is vaccinated on his right arm.) He was always locked up all alone. He heard and saw nobody except the monster who handed him his only nourishment, bread and water. He was permanently confined in a small, narrow, low room at ground level, without a hardwood floor, it would seem, just hard-packed earth, but whose ceiling consisted of two slabs of wood that were pushed and tied together. Two small, oblong windows were shuttered with wooden logs and therefore let in only a few weak rays of hazy light. Never did he see the sun. He sat on the ground dressed in no other clothing except a shirt and short, probably dark-colored pants that were tapered at the knees, held up by suspenders (called “Halfter” according to the Bavarian dialect). He played with two white wooden horses, which he called Ross, and a white wooden dog, by hanging various little toys around their necks, and spoke with them as much as his lack of concepts and words permitted. One of these horses was smaller than the other, neither taller than about a foot or a foot and a quarter. The dog was much smaller than either of the two horses—in other words ordinary children’s toys. In the ground of his prison there was, so it seems, a hole dug out to form a kind of pot or some similar receptacle, with a cover, in which he could perform his bodily necessities. Not far from that, lying on the ground, was a sack of straw that he at first called his bed. Since on account of his lack of exercise he could barely stand up or walk, but rather when he tried to stand up would fall, he would slide across the floor to his horses and from there to his pot and from there to his sack of straw upon which he slept. This he always did as soon as night fell. Earliest morning would find him once again awake. When he awoke he would find black bread and fresh water in front of his bed and the pot mentioned above would [have been] emptied, He rightly concluded from this that in place of the food he had eaten the day before, during his sleep he would be brought new food and in the same way the pot would be cleaned. He maintains the same with respect to cutting his fingernails and hair. He changed his shirt rarely, and since he did not know how it happened, he insisted that it must have taken place during his sleep, which was good and sound. The bread he enjoyed was always enough, but there was not always a sufficient supply of water to quench his thirst.

  The entrance to his prison was guarded by a small, low door that was locked from the outside. The oven that was inside was white, small, round, looked a bit like a large beehive, and was heated (or as he put it, “einkenten”) from the outside. He was in this prison for a long, long, time, but how long he does not know, for he has no concept of divisions of time. He saw nobody in there, no ray of sunlight, no shimmer of the moon, no light, heard no human voice, no sound of a bird, no cry from an animal, no footstep. Then at last the door of the prison opened and the unknown man who took him to Nuremberg entered, barefoot and just about as poorly. clothed as he was, and bent over so as not to hit his head, so that although he was only of medium height, he nearly touched the ceiling of the prison and revealed himself to be the one who always brought him bread and water and had given him the horses as a present.

  The same man gave him the books listed under attachment number 3, and told him that now he had to learn to read and write and then go to this father, who was a rider, and that he too would become a rider. Thanks to his extraordinary mental gifts, which had not been dulled in spite of a long and terrible incarceration, the efforts of the unknown man were successful. He said that he learned quickly and easily, which can be believed given his current apparent progress, but did not learn much, only barely to read and write his name, since the unknown [man] always returned only after four days, on the fifth day, to instruct him. But he always came in the same clothes, barefoot, and Hauser did not hear him come until he had opened the door.

  In order to increase his desire to learn, the man promised him that he would allow him, if he learned well, to ride around the prison with his horses. He still complains bitterly that although he fulfilled that condition and then rode around the prison, the unknown man did not keep his word, but hit him with a stick, and when he cried, punished him (the scars are still visible on his right elbow) and severely forbade him to ride around. He used a pencil for writing, which the unknown man told him was a quill. While the lesson was being administered, the man seriously warned him “never to try to get out the door, because above him was heaven, and in heaven there was a god who would be angry and would beat him if he tried to get out.”

  In this way a substantial time passed, but in his opinion it was not as long as he had been in Nuremberg, when he was suddenly awakened in the middle of the night. The unknown man stood before him once again and told him that he wanted to take him away at once. He cried over this but soon allowed himself to be calmed down by the cherished fantasy, often presaged and probably also explained, that he would see his father and become, like him, a rider. The unknown man who until now had come to him dressed only in a shirt and short tapered pants and barefoot, had now come dressed in a short jacket (also called a Jankerl and a Kittel), boots, and a crude, round, black gentleman’s hat; and was wearing blue stockings.

  He took Hauser on his back, just as he was, dressed only in a shirt and short pants, with a large, broad, black, round peasant’s hat, peaked at the top, straight from his prison to the outside and immediately began climbing a long, high mountain until day broke. Hauser had fallen asleep in the meantime and only awakened when he was placed on the ground. The unknown man then taught him to walk, which he found very difficult, since he was barefoot and the soles of his feet were very tender. He had to sit down, but finally he was able to walk better and alternated between walking and resting when the second night came. They lay down in the open air on the ground, and it began to rain hard, or, as he put it earlier, “It poured from heaven.” Poor Kaspar was bitterly cold. Nonetheless he fell asleep and at daybreak set out on the voyage in the same way as before, accompanied by the unknown man. Walking had become easier for him, but his legs and back hurt him more and more. The third night they camped out in the fresh air once again, and although it did not rain that night, it was very cold and he once again froze. At the first sign of light of the third day they set forth again in the same way as before, and while they were still far away from here, the unknown man took out of a bundle wrapped in cloth that he had been carrying with him the clothes described below under attachment 2, except for the blue stockings that he removed from his own feet, and dressed Kaspar in them. The man then exchanged his hat, which was a coarse, black man’s hat, for the one he had given him when they left the prison, put on his boots again over his bare feet, which were, according to Hauser’s opinion, much prettier than the lousy boots that he had to put on, and finally took away the trousers Hauser had worn in the prison. Altered in this manner, they continued on their journey. Their food on the entire trip was the same as that which Hauser had enjoyed in the prison, bread in the form of a large loaf, and water in a bottle, which the unknown man carried in a bag. During the entire trip he taught him to say the Lord’s Prayer and one other prayer on a rosary he gave him, and which he saw then for the first time. He had never heard either before, but now he can still recite them. The man entertained him with the story that he was going to see his father and would become a rider, just as he had been, which always made Kaspar happy. On the whole trip they did not go into any house, but passed houses and people, though of course Hauser cannot describe them. The unknown man admonished him to look only at the ground so that he could walk properly, but probably more likely so that he would not be able to form any impression of his surroundings such that he would be in a position to recognize them again. He did strictly as he was told.

  When they were finally approaching Nuremberg, which the unknown man called the “big village,
” he pulled the already mentioned letter out of his pocket and handed it to Kaspar Hauser with the instruction that he was to carry it into the big village and show it and give it to a boy who would then lead him further. It appears that he showed him the way, carefully and over and over, that he was to take on his own, and promised him, when Hauser did not want to separate from him, that he would soon follow him.

  Hauser walked, as he had been instructed, straight ahead and so came to the gate, without knowing which one it was, and probably shortly thereafter came to the man who showed him the way.

  If this in its own way perhaps unique example of inhuman, heartless behavior, never before recorded, touches everyone with human feelings, so also should even the most inquisitive intellect recognize that this case represents pure truth for the following reasons: The soft hand of our foundling; the simple food that until this very moment he still eats, looking healthy and with a well-nourished body, rejecting with the greatest disgust any other, near or far, that is offered him, or if he tries it with genuine disgust immediately pushes it away; the sensitivity of his sense of smell and taste with respect to the simplest objects, for example, flowers, strawberries, milk, which have no effect on other people; his body, which appears strong, but which experiments showed was weak, not even as strong as that of an eight-year-old child; his gait, which is, in contrast to his appearance, slow, swaying, exhausting for him, more like that of a child of only two years old; his poor nerves, which cause his hands momentarily to tremble and the muscles in his face to twitch at the slightest exertion; his gaze, which is, to be sure, clear and far reaching but not very strong, and which is very sensitive to the influence of daylight; his inclination to look down at the ground as well as his inclination to solitude; a certain discomfort when he is outside in the wonderful realm of nature or when he is among many people; his aversion to loud noises and sounds; his lack of words, ideas, and concepts about all objects, living ones and metaphysical ones, in remarkable contrast to his obvious attempts to make himself understood and to understand, and the manner in which he speaks, in short broken sentences. All these important examples taken together allow one to conclude, quite justly, that he was kept wrongfully imprisoned, excluded from all human company for many, many years.

  In contrast is his pure, open, innocent look; his broad, high forehead; the greatest lack of guile in his nature, which still does not distinguish [between] the sexes, cannot fathom that there is a difference, and even now is only able to tell people apart by the different kinds of clothes they wear; his indescribable gentleness; his warmth and kindness, which attract everybody in his presence, as a result of which, initially, he thought even of his oppressor only with tears, and now, with a new sense of freedom, with affection; his attachment to the past, which was initially experienced as a deep nostalgia for his home, his prison, and his jailer, then transformed into a melancholy memory that only now, through loving treatment, he is gradually losing; his devotion, sincere and touching, to all those who often deal with him and show him kindness; but also his trust toward all other people; his protectiveness of the smallest insect; his distaste for anything that could cause even the slightest suffering to a person or an animal; his unconditional obedience and submissiveness to all who wish him well, as well as his freedom from any kind of rudeness or vice, with his sense for what is evil; and finally his extraordinary desire to learn, through which—with the help of a good mind that is quick to understand and remember—his vocabulary, which in the beginning consisted of barely fifty words, now enriched, already includes ideas and concepts of many objects of which, apart from those that were in his prison, he knew nothing, and now encompasses both the idea of time and place; his very special fondness for music and drawing, which were completely unknown to him previously; his desire and skill in learning both of them; and his extraordinary love of order and cleanliness; as well as his childlike being and his pure, unsullied soul—these important phenomena taken all together, in so far as they support and strengthen his claims about his unlawful imprisonment, also promote the fullest conviction that nature has richly provided him with excellent predispositions of mind, temperament, and heart. These circumstances, taken together with a closer examination of the contents of the letters reproduced below as attachment number 1, which reveals them to be improbable and fabricated, justify the urgent suspicion that along with the unlawful confinement, there was a no-less-serious crime connected with deception about his family class, which robbed him of perhaps his parents, and even if they were no longer alive [at the time?], at least his freedom, his fortune, and probably the advantages of noble birth, but in any event along with the innocent pleasures of the joyful world of a child, he was robbed of the greatest treasures (höchsten Güter) of life, and his physical and mental development were violently suppressed and held back. The fact that in his prison he was able to speak with his toys, before he had seen the unknown man and had been instructed by him in language, proves that the crime against him goes back to the first years of his childhood, perhaps between his second and fourth year, and therefore had begun in a time when he was able to speak and was perhaps already the object of a noble education, which, like a star in the dark night of his life, shines forth from his entire being.

  It is our task to uncover the crime that was without any doubt committed against him, to discover the villain or his helpers who committed it, and in this manner to put him, as far as this is possible, in possession of his lost birthright, not as a means of getting rid of him, since the community that has placed him under its protection loves him and considers him a pawn of love delivered by providence and will not hand over this pawn to anyone until it has full proof of any claim to rights over him. All those officials from the courts, from the police, from the civil and military authorities, and all those who carry in their bosoms a human heart, are urgently requested to communicate to the undersigned police office all, even the most remote, traces, signs, and grounds of suspicion that could lead to the discovery of the crime, so that it will be in a position to hand over the inquiry to the appropriate court for further action. It hardly needs to be reiterated in this context that apart from determining the prison, or at least the probably quiet, isolated area where it is or was to be found, given that the villain who kept Hauser a prisoner there may well have leveled it after our foundling was taken away, and removed all trace of it. The investigation will have to turn to the discovery of a child of two to four years old who has been missing for the last fourteen to eighteen years, and about whose disappearance perhaps dark rumors are circulating.

  Every communication, every tip will be gratefully used, and if the informant is named, his name will as far as possible not be revealed. As circumstances warrant, there may be a generous reward.

  On the other hand, anonymous information cannot be taken into account.

  Nuremberg, July 7, 1828. [Signed:] Binder, First Mayor

  Appendix 2

  A New Kaspar Hauser Manuscript

  The discovery of new material about the mystery of Kaspar Hauser is an extremely rare occurrence. Hence a new manuscript bearing on his life is of considerable significance. This significance is even greater when one takes into account that the manuscript in question is, in fact, the earliest existing document on the life, thought, and words of the “child of Europe.” Moreover, it is the source for much of the information in Feuerbach’s more famous book. Daumer sent this manuscript to Feuerbach, who used it extensively in writing his 1832 biography of Kaspar Hauser. Daumer, too, published a small book about Kaspar Hauser in 1832. The relation between the two books was never clear. (Daumer’s had a small audience and was soon forgotten; Feuerbach’s book has hardly ever been out of print since it was first published.) A little-known but important passage in one of the Daumer’s later books clarifies the situation and throws some interesting new light on Stanhope as well. Here is the whole passage:

  I read with astonishment in a letter from Stanhope [to Feuerbach] of April 25, 1832, w
hich I found in papers in the Feuerbach estate,1 the following passage: “I found Daumer’s book very interesting, because of its subject matter. It is very much to be regretted that I could not talk him out of publishing this book. It was superfluous [given your book] and could even be harmful to the cause because of his presentation. I showed you [Feuerbach] the letter I wrote to him about this, and you were kind enough to agree with me. Since I did not receive any reply from him [Daumer], I thought he had seen my point, and heard nothing more until his book was announced. In this he seems not to have acted openly and generously, in that he led both of us astray.” I [Daumer] never received a letter from the count, and certainly not one which advised me against my intention of publishing a book about Kaspar Hauser. I would certainly remember if such a letter had been sent.2 Even today [in my seventies] I have still not lost my memory. It has never been my practice to allow letters written to me to go unanswered, particularly ones of that nature. Either the letter by Stanhope was lost, which does not seem probable to me, or he, not I, is misleading somebody. Feuerbach was very unhappy that I too was writing a book about Kaspar Hauser, since he did not want to divide the attention of the public which he hoped to win for his book, and see it diverted in a second direction. Moreover, he [Feuerbach] wanted to see to it that what he had extracted from the rich material I sent him, should be found only in his book. He wanted, as one can see from the passage I quoted, to use Stanhope to encourage me to take no further action and leave everything to him. Stanhope wrote a letter to that effect and showed it to Feuerbach, but deceived him, it would seem, in that he never sent the letter [to me]. One can imagine why he did this. He was not really on Feuerbach’s side, nor on that of his cause [Kaspar Hauser’s welfare], and did not want to help. It was fine with him for things to take a bad turn. As one can see from the letter, Feuerbach had expressed the same concern, namely that I would reveal more than the careful selection he thought prudent to publish. It is in fact true that I am very unsophisticated in such matters, and considered it my duty to say everything I knew and thought to be true [about Kaspar Hauser], even if such things appeared unbelievable to others. Stanhope, however, did not want to allow himself to be used to prevent this [namely, my publishing my book]; but here too Stanhope played foul, and pretended that he had done what he could in this matter [when in fact he had done nothing]. Now I understand the grudge that Feuerbach bore me. “The matter,” wrote Stanhope, “took exactly the course you expected; the facts will appear unbelievable to many people…. The true authentic picture, the one you published, should have appeared on its own.” Stanhope himself seized the opportunity immediately to dig up a whole host of doubts about Hauser’s story, not only about those parts of his story that were obscure, extraordinary or strange, but also other matters, to which he raised the most trivial objections which were in part unjustified by the standards of normal reasoning. After Feuerbach’s death he attacked Feuerbach’s account, which in the letter [to Feuerbach himself], he characterized as being “the true and authentic account,” calling it “dishonest,” “absurd,” and “fabricated.” He was particularly critical because so much of the account was based on my notes. Stanhope thus reveals himself to be a paragon of falsehood and dishonesty, and no sensible, honest person could fail to be repulsed. The noble Lord could never have imagined in his wildest dreams that his letters would one day fall into my hands. Marvelous are the ways of fate! After all this time, I find myself in a position to see through and expose the entire intrigue.3