He rushed to Charlottenburg and found Henrietta and her companion at Fräulein Niemann’s. A violent scene took place, but a reconciliation followed, and Schroder allowed himself to be persuaded to wait until February 27th. When on that day the money was again not forthcoming, he very naturally grew uneasy and applied to the police. Herr Gerlach, at that time the head of the force, found no cause for prosecuting Henrietta Wilke or the blameless Fräulein Niemann, and although the celebrated police magistrate Duncker did not agree, no steps were taken to arrest them. Schroder now decided to sue Fräulein Niemann. A compromise, however, was reached. He then limited his demands to the repayment of the 1,600 thalers and to the loan of a small capital of 8,000 thalers, both of which were conceded. To disarm his suspicion, Fräulein Wilke required of Fräulein Niemann that she should at least show him the money he was to receive. The old lady accordingly took out of her cabinet a sealed packet with the superscription “10,000 thalers in Pomeranian debentures.” Schroder asked that it should be given over to him at once, but Fräulein Wilke, always the spokeswoman for Fräulein Niemann, explained that this was impossible on account of family circumstances, and that he could not have the debentures until March 30th. The day came but not the money; Fräulein Wilke and her companion Fräulein Alfrede called upon him and continued to allege complicated family affairs as the cause of the delay. To reassure him, however, and to disarm suspicion, she handed over to him, in Fräulein Niemann’s name, the sealed packet with the 10,000 thalers in debentures, but with the injunction not to open it until April 5th, otherwise, no further payments would be made; then to convert the debentures into cash, keep 1,600 thalers for himself, take 8,000 thalers as a loan, and return the rest to Fräulein Niemann. All parties now seemed satisfied.
On the date fixed, Schroder went to a notary’s office under police instruction and broke the seals, when, in the place of the 10,000 thalers in debentures, they found nothing in the envelope but several sheets of blank paper. A fraud had evidently been committed which pointed to other irregularities. It would be tedious to describe in detail the ingenious deceptions practised for years past by Henrietta Wilke on Fräulein Niemann, whose god-daughter she was, and upon whom she had continually imposed by pretending that she was the protégé of great personages, more especially the princess Raziwill, who had secured the good offices of the king himself, William III, on her behalf. The Fräulein Niemann was deluded into making large advances, ostensibly to help the princess in her necessities and ultimately the king, but which really were impounded feloniously by Wilke. The king was also supposed to be mixed up in the backing of Schroder’s furniture business, and the packet containing the sham debentures was represented to have been really prepared by royal hands. This farrago of nonsense failed to satisfy Schroder, who now gave information to the police and the “Golden Princess” had reached the end of her career. She was taken into custody and subjected to judicial examination. When before the judge, all her powers of intrigue seemed to abandon her. She made a full confession and admitted everything. What was the motive which led so young a girl to commit such gigantic frauds, was asked. The criminal herself gives the simplest explanation of this in her own statement:
“In first practising my frauds on Niemann, I was actuated by a distaste for service as a means of support. It proved so easy to procure money from her that I continued doing so. At first I thought that she was very rich and would not be much damaged if I drew upon her superfluity. When, however, she was obliged to raise money on her house, I saw that she had nothing more, but then it was too late for me to turn back.” When asked if she had never considered the danger of detection, she replied with complete unconcern that she had entertained no such fears. She had spent everything she had received from Fraulein Niemann and others to gratify her desire to live like a fine lady, and had retained nothing but the few articles found in her possession at the time of her arrest. In this simple statement the whole explanation of her way of life was contained. All the witnesses who had known her previously testified to her being a quiet, good-tempered person and that she was well conducted from a moral point of view was certain. Her relatives confirmed all this, but stated that they had always considered the education given her to be above her condition, and had thought it encouraged her in her frivolity and her desire to play the lady of quality. All this tallies with the whole story of her life which was based upon the desire for luxury and show.
Opportunity creates thieves and also begets beings of her sort, addicted to speculative transactions. They begin in a small way and good luck spurs them on to greater enterprises. Like her imagination, her talent for intrigue grew apace. From the humble position of a nurse-maid, she aspired to raise herself to that of a lady companion. She only pretended to act as the favoured agent of a king, after having posed as the pet of a princess and the betrothed of several counts, her early desire to be a school mistress having been cast aside as unworthy of her soaring ambition.
While in prison, she composed a letter to the king, supposed to be written by Fräulein Niemann, in which this lady is made to implore his pardon for her protégé, and begs him to open the prison doors. To this she added some lines addressed to Fräulein Alfrede, Wilke’s former companion, directing her to induce Fräulein Niemann to copy it in her own hand; and it was then to be delivered by the companion to a trustworthy person who would see that it was given to the king. The contents of this epistle were divulged by another prisoner. It produced no results, of course, but bears witness to Henrietta Wilke’s courage and adroitness in continuing to weave her intrigues within the prison walls, and shows how long she must have held the old lady a captive in a net of lies.
The first verdict was pronounced on May 21, 1836. According to Prussian law, the fraud committed could only be atoned for by the reimbursement of double the sum misappropriated, and if the criminal were without means, a corresponding term of penal servitude would be inflicted. This duplicated fine was computed by the judge at 42,450 thalers, and he desired that on account of the self-evident impecuniosity of the girl Wilke, and of the allegation brought forward of aggravated circumstances connected with her malpractices, a sentence of twelve years’ penal servitude be pronounced.
Confined at first in Spandau and afterward in Brandenburg, the prisoner’s conduct seems to have been uniformly good. She occupied herself with embroideries, which were said to be very skilfully executed. A petition for her pardon was sent in some years ago, but was rejected, as there was no reason for letting out so dangerous a prisoner before her term had expired. Even when the period for release arrived, she was not allowed her freedom until the administrator of the institution had satisfied himself that she had really been improved by the punishment endured, was capable of earning her livelihood honestly, and that her liberation would not endanger the public safety.
A case of the pretentious impostor of recent date, imprisoned in various German prisons, is that of George Manolescu, whose memoirs have appeared in the form of an autobiography. So varied were the experiences of this thorough-paced scoundrel, so cleverly did he carry out his gigantic depredations and his numerous frauds and thefts great and small, almost always without any violence, that his story has all the elements of romance. Manolescu was highly gifted by nature. Endowed with a handsome person, he appeared to have an affectionate disposition, spoke several languages with ease and fluency, and his singular charm of manner made him at home in the most fastidious society. Exhibiting an utter disregard of the commonest principles of right and wrong, he devoted his talents and his marvellous ingenuity to criminal malpractices.
George Manolescu was born on May 20th, 1871, in the town of Ploesci in Roumania. His father was a captain of cavalry, who, owing to his implacable and haughty character, was constantly being shifted from one garrison to another; his mother, a great beauty, died when he was two years old, and the care of his early childhood was confided to his grandmother, whom he caused endless trouble. Later on he was transferred from school to school, for his passionate love of perpetual change and his undisciplined nature prevented him from settling down to work anywhere. This longing for travels and adventures was, indeed, deep seated and unconquerable, so that at last his father sought to give it a natural vent by sending him to an academy for naval cadets. At first his conduct was good, but soon his intolerance of control asserted itself and led him to insubordination. On his return to the academy after a vacation, he misconducted himself and was punished with close confinement in a small cell under the roof. He managed, however, to break open the door, climb out on the roof and let himself down into the street by means of the nearest telegraph post. He started at once for the harbour of Galatz, and with only one franc, 50 centimes for his whole fortune, stowed himself away on a steamer bound for Constantinople. The captain had him put on shore at that port. Half dead with fatigue and hunger, he obtained a portion of pilaf from the first vendor of that delicacy whom he met in the streets of the Turkish capital, and after satisfying his appetite, in lieu of payment he flung the empty dish at the man’s head and took to his heels. He ran up to Pera and entered the public garden, where an entertainment was in progress at a theatre of varieties. Here he met a Turkish officer who noticed him and with whom he had some conversation. Seeing the corner of a pocket book protruding from that worthy’s half-open coat, the boy with lightning speed possessed himself of it unobserved, and also picked the officer’s pocket of a cigarette case encrusted with diamonds. He then escaped with his booty. The pocket book contained 20 pounds sterling; with this sum he set up a sort of bazaar by filling a large basket with various articles for sale, and, assisted by a young Italian he casually met, cried his wares all over the town. This first venture was not successful, as he made no profit and the assistant ran away with the whole stock in trade, including the basket.
Thus living from hand to mouth, he decided to turn his back on Constantinople, where he felt the eyes of the police were upon him. Being penniless, he applied to the Roumanian legation to send him home, which they consented to do. On landing at Galatz, as he was entirely without money, he went into the nearest café, annexed the first overcoat he saw, and pawned it for a few francs. This was not enough money to pay his journey to Bucharest where his family now lived, so he sought other means to replenish his exchequer. Loving, as he did, everything pertaining to the sea, he visited the various foreign ships lying in the harbour and inspected all parts, always stealing as he went any valuables he could find in the cabins of the captain and chief engineer. Presently Galatz became too hot for him, and he found it expedient to proceed to Bucharest, where he made but a short stay.