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.