The True Story Book Part 9

For the first four months of his stay with Daumer, his senses of sight, taste, hearing, and smell were very acute. He had got past the stage in which he disliked light, and could now see much further than most people by day, without, however, losing his power of seeing in the dark; at the same time he could not distinguish between a thing and a picture of that thing, and could not for a long time judge distances at all, for he saw everything flat. His favourite colours were red and yellow; black and green he particularly disliked; everything ugly was called green. He could not be persuaded that a ball did not roll because it wished to do so, or that his top did not spin of its own accord. For a long time he saw no reason why animals should not behave like human beings, and was much annoyed because the cat refused to sit up at table and to eat with its paws, blaming its disobedience in not doing as it was told. He further thought that a cow which had lain down in the road would do well to go home to bed if it were tired. His sense of smell was very keen, painfully so, in fact, for he was made quite ill by the smell of the dye in his clothes, the smell of paper, and of many other things which other people do not notice at all; while the smell of a sweep a hundred yards off on the other side of the road upset him for a week. On the other hand, he could distinguish the leaves of trees by their smell.

By November he had made sufficient progress to make it possible for Dr.

Daumer to teach him other things besides the use of his senses: he was encouraged to write letters and essays, to use his hands in every way, to draw, to make paper-models, to dig in the garden, where he had a little plot of ground with his name in mustard and cress; in fact, to use his lately acquired knowledge. The great difficulty was to persuade him to eat anything but bread and water, but by slow degrees he learned to eat different forms of farinaceous food, gruel, bread and milk, rice, &c., into which a little gravy and meat was gradually introduced. By the following May he could eat meat without being made ill by it, but never drank anything but water, except at breakfast, when he had chocolate.

For the next eleven months he lived a happy, simple life with his friend and tutor, who mentions, however, that the intense acuteness of his senses was gradually pa.s.sing away, but that he had still the charming, obedient, child-like nature which had won all hearts. In the summer, public interest was aroused by the news that Kaspar Hauser was writing his life, and the paper was eagerly looked forward to. All went well until October 17, when Kaspar was discovered senseless in a cellar under Dr. Daumer's house, with a wound in his forehead. He was carried upstairs and put to bed, when he kept on moaning, 'Man! man!--tell mother (Mrs. Daumer)--tell professor--man beat me--black sweep.' For some days he was too ill to give any account of his wound, but at last said, that he had gone downstairs and was suddenly attacked by a man with a black face,[10] who hit him on the head; that he fell down, and when he got up the man was gone; that he went to look for Mrs. Daumer, and, as he could not find her, finally hid in the cellar to be quite safe. After this murderous attack it was no longer safe to leave him in Dr. Daumer's house, so when well again he was removed to the house of one of the magistrates, and constantly guarded by two policemen, without whom he never went out. He was not very happy here, and after some months was put under the charge of Herr von Tucher (June 1830), with whom he remained for eighteen months. At first the arrangement answered admirably; he was happy in his new home, his only trouble being that he was sent to the grammar school and put into one of the upper forms, where he had to learn Latin, a task which proved too hard for his brain.

By this time his face had quite lost the brutish character it had when he came to Nuremberg, and its expression was pleasant, though rather sad. Unfortunately for himself, he was one of the sights of Nuremberg, was always introduced to any stranger of distinction who came to the town, and attracted even more attention than the kangaroo; so that even his warmest friends were obliged to admit that he was rather spoiled.

At the beginning of 1831, an Englishman, Lord Stanhope, came to Nuremberg, saw the foundling, was curiously interested in him, and wished to adopt him. Kaspar was very much flattered, and drew unfavourable comparisons between this Englishman who thought nothing too good for him, and his guardians, who were thinking of apprenticing him to a bookbinder. Lord Stanhope's kindness turned his head, and Herr von Tucher, after repeated remonstrances, resigned his guardians.h.i.+p in December 1831. With the full consent of the town council of Nuremberg, Lord Stanhope removed Kaspar to Ausbach, and placed him under the care of Dr. Mayer. It was generally supposed that this was only preparatory to taking him to England. Ample funds were provided for his maintenance, but the journey to England was again and again put off; and at last there were signs that Lord Stanhope was not quite satisfied with his new plaything. So much had been said about Kaspar's cleverness, that his new teachers were disappointed to find that his acquirements were about those of a boy of eight. They accused him of laziness and of deceit; and he, finding himself suspected and closely questioned as to everything he did, took refuge in falsehood. At last a government clerks.h.i.+p of the lowest cla.s.s was procured for him, but great complaints were made of his inattention to his duties (mainly copying); he was unhappy, and, when on a visit to Nuremberg in the summer, made plans for the happy time when he should be able to come back and live with his friends there. For the people of Ausbach, though making him one of the shows of the place, do not seem to have had that perfect belief in him shown by his earlier friends; while his new guardians expected a great deal too much from him. His chief friend in Ausbach was the clergyman who had prepared him for confirmation, who noticed, in November 1833, that he was very much depressed; but this pa.s.sed away. On the afternoon of December 14, Kaspar came to call on the clergyman's wife, and was particularly happy and bright. Three hours afterwards he staggered into his tutor's house, holding his hand to his side, gasping out 'Garden--man--stabbed--give purse--let it drop--come--' and dragged the astonished Dr. Mayer off to a public garden, where a little purse was found on the ground. In it was a piece of paper, on which was written backwards in pencil these lines: 'I come from the Bavarian frontier. I will even tell you my name, "M. L.

O."'

Kaspar was taken home and put to bed, when it was discovered that there was a deep stab in his left side. For some hours he was too ill to be questioned, but on the 15th he was able to tell his story. On the 14th, as he was coming out of the government buildings to go home to dinner, he was accosted by a man who promised to tell him who his parents were, if he would come to a spot in the public gardens. He refused, as he was going home to dinner, but made an appointment for that afternoon. After dinner he called on the clergyman's wife, and then went to the gardens, where he found the man waiting for him. The man led him to the Uz monument, which was at a little distance from the main path, and shut in by trees. Here he made him take a solemn oath of secrecy and handed him the little purse, which Kaspar, in his hurry to seize it, let drop. As he stooped to pick it up he was stabbed, and when he lifted himself up the stranger was gone. Then he ran home.

For two days he was not supposed to be in any danger, but fever set in; the doctors gave no hope of his recovery, and on the 17th he died.

His death caused great excitement, not only in Ausbach and Nuremberg, but throughout all Germany. The question as to whether he was an impostor or not was hotly debated; those who favoured the former theory insisting that he had killed himself accidentally when he only meant to wound himself and so excite sympathy. Some of the doctors declared, however, that that was quite impossible, for the wound was meant to kill, and could only have been self-inflicted by a left-handed person of great strength, for it had pierced through a padded coat. A large reward (1,200_l._) was offered for the capture of the a.s.sa.s.sin, but in vain; and the spot of the murder was marked by an inscription in Latin:

HIC OCCULTUS OCCULTO OCCISUS EST

(Here the Mystery was mysteriously murdered).

The same idea is repeated on his tombstone. 'Here lies K. H., the riddle of the age. His birth was unknown, his death mysterious.'

His death was the signal for a violent paper-war between his friends and his enemies. It raged hotly for years; but his friends have never succeeded in proving who he was; why, after having been shut up for so long, he was at last set free; or why his death was, after all, necessary; while his enemies have utterly failed to prove that he was an impostor.[11]

FOOTNOTES:

[10] Probably the man had tied a piece of black c.r.a.pe over his face as a mask.

[11] This is rather a picturesque than a critical story of Kaspar Hauser. The evidence of the men who first met him shows that he could then speak quite rationally. The curious will find a brief but useful account of him in the d.u.c.h.ess of Cleveland's 'Kaspar Hauser'

(Macmillans, 1893.)

_AN ARTIST'S ADVENTURE_

NEARLY four hundred years ago, a boy was born in Italy who grew up to be one of the most accomplished artists of his own or any other age.

Besides excelling as a sculptor, modeller, and medallist, he was a musician, an author, and an admirable swordsman; and popes, kings, and other great princes eagerly employed him, and vied with each other to secure his services. His name was Benvenuto Cellini.

Under Pope Clement VII. he took part in the defence of the Castle of St.

Angelo, when it was besieged by the Constable de Bourbon, and the Pope reposed such confidence in Cellini that he was entrusted with the task of removing all the gems in the treasury from their settings, and concealing the stones in the thick folds of his clothing. However, I am not going to enlarge on Benvenuto's many talents, but to tell you of a wonderful adventure which befell him in the very Castle of St. Angelo he had helped to defend.

Those were lawless days, and Cellini was a man of fiery temper, to whom blows came more naturally than patience and forbearance. So it came to pa.s.s that, being told that a certain goldsmith named Pompeo had been spreading false reports about him, Benvenuto fell upon him one fine day in the very midst of Rome, and promptly stabbed him to death.

This might possibly have been overlooked, but a workman, jealous of Cellini's success and reputation, accused the artist to the reigning Pope, Paul III., of having purloined some of the jewels entrusted to his care during the siege, and Paul was not to be trifled with where the affairs of the treasury were concerned. Moreover, a near relation of the Pope's was Cellini's sworn enemy, and this sufficed to seal his fate.

So, when taking a walk one morning, Benvenuto suddenly found himself face to face with Crespino, the sheriff, attended by his band of constables. Crespino advanced, saying, 'You are the Pope's prisoner.'

'Crespino,' exclaimed Benvenuto, 'you must take me for some one else.'

'No, no,' replied Crespino, 'I know you perfectly, Benvenuto, and I have orders to carry you to the Castle of St. Angelo, where great n.o.bles and men of talent like yourself are sent.'

Then he politely begged Benvenuto to give up his sword, and led him off to the Castle, where he was locked up in a room above the keep.

It was easy enough for Benvenuto to refute the accusations brought against him; nevertheless he was kept prisoner, in spite of the intervention of the French amba.s.sador, who demanded his liberty in the name of Francis I.

The governor of the Castle was, like Cellini, a Florentine, and at first showed himself full of kind attentions towards his countryman, allowing him a certain amount of liberty on parole, within the Castle walls.

Growing suspicious later, he kept his prisoner closer, but after a time he restored him to comparative liberty.

When Benvenuto found how changeable the governor's humour was, he set himself to think over matters seriously. 'For,' he reflected, 'should a fresh fit of anger or suspicion cause him to confine me more strictly, I should feel myself released from my word, and it may be as well to be prepared.'

Accordingly he ordered some new coa.r.s.e linen sheets to be brought him, but when soiled he did not send them back. When his servants asked for the sheets so as to have them washed he bade them say no more, as he had given them to one of the poor soldiers on guard, who would be sure to get into trouble if the matter were known. By degrees he emptied the straw out of his mattress, burning a little of it at a time in his fireplace, and replacing it with the sheets, which he cut into strips some inches wide. As soon as he thought these strips were long enough for his purpose, he told his servants that he had given all the sheets away, and that in future they had better bring him finer linen, which he would be sure to return.

Now it so happened that every year the governor was subject to a most distressing illness, which, for the time being, entirely deprived him of his reason. When it began to come on, he would talk and chatter incessantly. Each year he had some fresh hallucination, at one time fancying himself an oil-jar, at another a frog, and skipping about like one. Again, another time, he declared he was dead, and wished to be buried; and so, year by year, he was the victim of some new delusion.

This year he imagined he was a bat, and as he walked about he uttered little half-smothered cries like a bat, and flapped his hands and moved his body as though about to fly. His faithful old servants and his doctors noticed this, and, thinking change of ideas and variety of conversation might do him good, they frequently fetched Benvenuto to entertain him.

One day the governor asked Benvenuto whether it had ever occurred to him to desire to fly, and; on being answered in the affirmative, he inquired further how he should set about it.

Benvenuto replied that the only flying creature it would be at all possible to imitate artificially was the bat, on which the poor man cried out, 'True, true, that's it, that's the thing.' Then turning round he said, 'Benvenuto, if you had everything you required for it, do you think you could fly?'

'Oh, yes,' said the artist; 'if you will only leave me free to do it, I will engage to make a pair of wings of fine waxed cloth, and to fly from here to Prati with them.'

'And I, too,' exclaimed the governor; 'I could do it too, but the Pope has ordered me to keep you like the apple of his eye, and as I strongly suspect you're a cunning fellow, I shall lock you well up and give you no chance of flying.'

Thereupon, and in spite of all Benvenuto's entreaties and protestations, the governor ordered him to be taken back to prison and more carefully guarded than ever.

Seeing he could not help himself, Cellini exclaimed before the officers and attendants: 'Very well! lock me up and keep me safe, for I give you due warning I mean to escape in spite of everything.'

No sooner was he shut up in his cell than he fell to turning over in his mind how this escape could be made, and began minutely examining his prison, and, after discovering what he thought would be a sure way of getting out, he considered how best he might let himself down from the top of this enormous donjon tower, which went by the name of 'Il Mastio.' He began by measuring the length of the linen strips, which he had cut and joined firmly together so as to form a sort of rope, and he thought there would be enough for his purpose. Next, he armed himself with a pair of pincers which he had taken from one of his guards who was fond of carpentering, and who, amongst his tools, had a particularly large and strong pair of pincers, which appeared so useful to Benvenuto that he abstracted them, and hid them in his mattress.

As soon as he thought himself safe from interruption, he began to feel about for the nails in the ironwork of the door, but owing to its immense thickness they were by no means easy to get at. However, he managed at length to extract the first nail. Then came the question, how to conceal the hole left behind. This he contrived by making a paste of rusty sc.r.a.pings and wax, which he modelled into an exact representation of the head of a nail, and in this way he replaced each nail he drew by a facsimile of its head in wax.

Great care was required to leave just a sufficient number of nails to keep the ironwork and hinges in their places. But Benvenuto managed this by first drawing the nails, cutting them as short as he dared, and then replacing them in such a way as to keep things together, and yet to allow of their being easily drawn out at the last moment.

All this was by no means easy to contrive, for the governor was constantly sending some one to make sure that his prisoner was safe.

The two men who were specially charged with this duty were rough and rude, and one of them in particular took pains to inspect the whole room carefully every evening, paying special attention to the locks and hinges.

Cellini lived in constant terror lest it should occur to them to examine his bedding, where, besides the pincers, he had hidden a long sharp dagger and some other instruments, as well as his long strips of linen.

Each morning he swept out and dusted his room and carefully made his bed, ornamenting it with flowers which he got the soldier from whom he had taken the pincers to bring him. When his two warders appeared he desired them on no account to go near or touch his bed, for fear of soiling or disturbing it. Sometimes, in order to tease him, they would touch it, and then he would shout: 'Ah! you dirty rascals! Just let me get at one of your swords and see how I'll punish you! How dare you touch the bed of such a man as I am? Little care I about risking my own life, for I should be certain to take yours. Leave me in peace with my grief and trouble, or I will show you what a man can do when driven to desperation!'

These words were repeated to the governor, who forbade the gaolers touching Cellini's bed, or entering his room armed. The bed once safe, he felt as if all else must go right.

[Ill.u.s.tration: HE PREPARED TO ATTACK THE SENTRY]

One night the governor had a worse attack than ever, and in a fit of madness kept repeating that he certainly was a bat, and that, should they hear of Benvenuto's escape, they must let him fly off too, as he was sure he could fly better at night and would overtake the fugitive.

'Benvenuto,' said he, 'is but a sham bat, but as I am a real bat, and he has been given into my keeping, I shall soon catch him again, depend on it.'