Friday, October 3, 2008


Who was this man in Iron Mask who spend his entire life forced to be in Iron Mask????
IRON MASK. The Man in the Iron Mask is the name by which a French state prisoner, whose identity has given rise to much curious inquiry, is universally known. The facts established by contemporaneous evidence respecting this mysterious personage, who died in 1703, were, until a modern writer largely added to them, neither numerous nor of very great importance.Enough indeed is related to show that even in his lifetime the veiled prisoner had become an object of curious mystery. Other instances occur, however, of captivity under like conditions, and nothing in the treatment of the Mask proves that he was a personage of rank and importance. It has been indisputably shown that it was no uncommon practice, especially in the reign of Louis XIV., to isolate human beings and keep them immured, their very features being carefully hidden, and that the victims were persons of all conditions. Though one or two efforts had been previously made to find out the name of the unknown prisoner, Voltaire was the first writer of note to give form and life to the vague traditions that had been current about the Mask; and we may probably ascribe to his suggestive account the increased importance which since his time the subject has been supposed to possess. In his Age of Louis XIV the historian hinted that the Mask was a person of high rank; and he graphically described how this mysterious being endeavoured to commune with the outer world by throwing out, on the shore of Sainte Marguerite, from the grated window of his gloomy dungeon, a piece of fine linen, and a silver plate, on which he had traced some strange characters to reveal a horrible tale of misfortune. This work was published in 1751, nearly fifty years after the death of the Mask; and from this time the problem who he was has been investigated with no little diligence. The editor of the Philosophic Dictionary suggested that he was an illegitimate son of Anne of Austria, born in 1626; and in 1790 he was identified, in the Memoirs of Cardinal Richelieu with a supposed twin brother of Louis XIV., put out of the way by the great Cardinal to avoid the ills of a disputed succession. As early as 1745 the Mask was said, by an anonymous writer, to have been the count of Vermandois, one of the bastards of Louis XIV; in 1759 M. Lagrange-Chaucel endeavoured to prove that he was the duke of Beaufort, a hero of the Fronde; a few years afterwards M. St Foix conjectured that he was the duke of Monmouth, the English pretender of 1685; and others have laboured to show that he was either a son of the Protector Cromwell, or Fouquet, the minister of Louis XIV, or Avedick, the Armenian patriarch, whose treacherous imprisonment by the ambassador of France was one of the worst acts of that unscrupulous king. The claim, finally, of Ercolo Mattioli, a diplomatic agent of the duke of Mantua, was put forward in 1770, and since that time has found zealous advocates in MM. Roux-Fazillac, Delort, Topin, and in the late Lord Dover; indeed, until lately it was generally thought that Mattioli was the mysterious captive.The claims, however, of none of these can stand the test of the searching inquiry which recent discoveries have made possible. Voltaire does not inform us who the Mask was; his hint that he was an exalted personage is at variance with a remark of his on the same subject in a later work ; and as for the tale of the attempts made by the Mask to divulge his name and fate, these have been traced to a Huguenot pastor, imprisoned in the islands of Sainte Marguerite. There is no evidence that the illegitimate child of Anne of Austria, or the twin brother of Louis XIV ever existed. Fouquet died in 1680, the count of Vermandois in 1683, and the duke of Beaufort in 1689 ; Monmouth fell under the axe of the headsman ; Avedick was not imprisoned until 1706. The case made on behalf of Mattioli also breaks down when carefully sifted. Mattioli was certainly imprisoned at Pignerol, and that for a considerable time; he was also long under the care of Saint Mars; and he was detained at the Sainte Marguerites, in the custody of the same jailer. But on the other hand the Mask is never named in the numerous documents that refer to him; he was certainly imprisoned at Exiles; and he was brought from the Sainte Marguerites, and died in the Bastille; whereas Mattioli’s name occurs not seldom in the correspondence of Saint Mars; he cannot be traced to Exiles; and it is almost certain that he died at the Sainte Marguerites in 1694.Is it impossible, then, to fix the identity of the unknown Mask? The latest writer upon the subject is M. Jung, a French staff officer, and his diligent investigations have brought us perhaps very near the solution of the problem. He appears to have fully proved that the prisoner of 1698 -- beyond question the mysterious Mask -- had for many years been guarded by St Mars; that he had long been known as your ancient prisoner," "your prisoner of twenty years standing"; and that at the Sainte Marguerites he was jealously watched with precautions nearly of the same kind as those afterwards taken at the Bastille. He has shown moreover, that this very prisoner was, in 1687, removed to the Sainte Marguerites from Exiles, always under the eye of the same jailer, and that, too, with the care and secrecy observed in the journey to the Bastille; and, finally, he has traced the captive to Pignerol, still in the hands of the relentless St Mars, where, in 1681, we find him designated as one of the "two prisoners of the Lower Tower," apparently for some years in confinement. This prisoner, too, is never once named, which, as we have seen, was the case with the Mask. On the whole it would seem that M. Jung has established the identity of the object of our search with this unknown person. He goes, however, a great deal further, and endeavours to find out the name and the history of the prisoner of the Lower Tower of Pignerol. His theory is that he was a criminal who probably played a prominent part in one of the numerous poisoning lots which disgraced the reign of Louis XIV; and he identifies him with a Lorraine gentleman who seems to have belonged to a murderous band of conspirators against the life of the king, and who, being then arrested at Peronne, was lodged in the Bastille in 1673, and thence taken, he makes out, to Pigmerol. His narrative abounds in interest, but he has adduced no valid proof to connect the supposed prisoner captured at Peronne with the prisoner of 1673; and he has not given us anything like evidence to associate this last-named person with either of the prisoners of the Lower Tower at Pignerol, or even to show that he reached that fortress. Besides, he has not ascertained the identity of these two prisoners. The mystery of the identity of the Mask thus remains unsolved ; b
360-1 Dujunea, the chief turnkey of the Bastille, whose register has fortunately been preserved, gives us this account of the captive:-- "On Thursday, the 18th September 1698, at three o’clock in the after-noon, M. Saint Mars, the governor, arrived at the Bastille for the first time from the islands of Sainte Marguerite and Sainte Honnat. He brought with him in his own litter an ancient prisoner formerly under his care at Pignerol, and whose name remains untold. This prisoner was always kept masked, and was at first lodged in the Basinière tower,... I conducted him afterwards to the Bertandière tower, and put him in a room, which, by order of M. de Saint Mars, I had furnished before his arrival." A letter of M. de Formanoir, a grand-nephew of Saint Mars, furnishes the following details:-- "In 1698 M. de Saint Mars exchanged the governorship of the islands for that of the Bastille. When he set off to enter on his new office he stayed with his prisoner for a short time at Palteau, his estate. The Mask arrived in a litter which preceded that of M. de Saint Mars; they were accompanied by several men on horseback. The peasants went out to meet their seigneur. M. de Saint Mars took his meals with his prisoner, who sat with his back towards the windows of the room, which looked into the courtyard. The peasants of whom I made enquiry could not see if he had his mask on when eating; but they observed that M. de Saint Mars, who sat opposite to him at table, had a pair of pistols beside his plate. They were attended by a single valet only, Antoine Ru, who took away the dishes set down to him in an antechamber, having first carefully shut the door of the dining-room. When the prisoner crossed the courtyard a black mask was always on his face." Dujunca’s journal contains this entry respecting the death of the secluded prisoner, who, it may be added, was named "M. de Marchiel" in the Bastille register:-- "On Monday, the 19th of November 1703, the unknown prisoner, who had continually worn a black velvet mask, and whom M. de Saint Mars had brought with him from the island of Sainte Marguerite, died to-day at about ten o’clock in the evening, having been yesterday taken slightly ill. He had been a long time in M. de Saint Mars’s hands, and his illness was exceedingly trifling."ut the field .Lot of research have been done in this field but till date...know result of Who was this man in Iron Mask.


Who was this legend which has been bafling the world since
The 26th May,1828, was a major holiday and the streets of Nuremberg were almost empty. Between four and five o'clock in the afternoon, Georg Weickmann, a shoemaker who lived in Unschlitt Square, noticed a strange boy of between fifteen and eighteen years old, dressed in coarse peasant clothes and walking strangely as if drunk. The shoemaker approached him and the boy held out a sealed envelope addressed 'To the Honourable Captain of the Cavalry of the Fourth Squadron, of the Sixth Regiment of the Light Cavalry in Nuremberg.' On seeing the address Weickmann took the stranger to the Guard Tower in front of the New Gate, to find out where the captain lived, and then on to the captain's house.
When they arrived at the address, they found that the captain was not home, and were asked to wait. The servants offered them food and drink, but the boy spat out the beer and sausage given to him as if he'd never tasted such things before. In the end he accepted a meal of plain black bread and water, and ate as if starved, though he didn't seem to know how to use his fingers properly. The boy appeared to be in extreme pain and wept continually, pointing to his feet. Weickmann and the servants tried to talk to him, but the only answers they got were 'I don't know', and 'I would like to be a rider the way my father was.' Finally, thinking him some sort of wild man, they put him in the stable, where he immediately fell asleep.
When Captain Wessenig arrived home, he was told the news of the strange visitor and demanded to see him at once. There was some difficulty in waking the boy from his deep sleep, and, when he finally awoke, he was spellbound at the captain's uniform. But like everyone else the captain could get no sense from the boy, and, thinking there was nothing he could do, sent him to the police station.
At the station the police questioned the young stranger again, but all they got was the same 'don't know' or 'take me home!' He showed practically no reaction to anything, behaving as if in a trance, and was perfectly happy when a policeman gave him a coin to play with, saying 'Horse! Horse!' One of the policemen then had the idea of giving him a pen, ink and paper and telling him to write. To everyone's surprise he wrote the name Kaspar Hauser, 'in firm, legible letters.'
Kaspar was about four feet nine inches tall, had light brown curly hair, and was stocky with broad shoulders. His skin was very fair and delicate, though he didn't have a sickly complexion, his hands were small and soft, and his blistered feet showed no signs of ever having worn shoes. He had a wound on his right arm and, according to some sources, also a vaccination mark, probably suggesting an upper-class origin.
He was wearing a round felt peasant's hat lined with yellow silk, an old pair of high-heeled half boots that didn't fit, a black silk scarf, a grey cloth jacket, a linen vest, and grey cloth trousers. He was carrying a white and red checked handkerchief with the initials K.H. embroidered in red, and some rags decorated with blue and white flowers, a (possibly) German key, a small envelope containing gold dust (!), and prayer beads made of horn. He also had some printed religious texts in his pockets, including a spiritual manual entitled 'The Art of Replacing Lost Time and Years Badly Spent', a cynical title in view of what was later found out about his history.
Confinement in the tower
Kaspar was soon handed over to a policeman and locked in the upper floor of Vetsner Gate tower, under the guard of a sympathetic and inquisitive jailer, Andreas Hiltel. To make sure there was no deception on Kaspar's part, a physician was ordered to monitor the boy and the jailer was to observe him secretly. Hiltel's eleven year-old son and three year old daughter became good friends with Kaspar, and the son taught him the alphabet and how to draw, and 'virtually taught him to speak' in the words of the jailer.
After a few days Kaspar was moved to the lower floor of the tower where the jailer and his family lived. Here the jailer soon noticed some strange things about the boy. His facial expressions were limited to an innocent smile, and he was not embarrassed at being bathed by the jailer and his wife, seeming not to understand the differences between the sexes. He later said he told the difference between men and women by the kinds of clothes they wore. The boy seemed perfectly happy to sit alone in his cell motionless and mute, with his legs stretched out in front of him. When he did attempt to walk he was unsteady on his feet, like a small child learning to take its first steps.
The letters Hauser was carrying were examined by the authorities. One letter was 'From the boarder of Bavaria', and written in simulated Bavarian dialect. It stated that the writer was sending the captain a boy who would like to faithfully serve his king in the army. The boy had been left with the writer, 'a poor day labourer', on 7 October, 1812. The boy's mother had asked the labourer to bring the boy up, but with ten children of his own, he already had enough to do. The letter went on to say that the boy had always been confined to the house, and that if the boy's parents had lived, he might have had the chance of a good education, as he was a quick learner and could do anything after being shown once. The labourer also said that he had already taught the boy to read and write and that 'he writes my handwriting exactly as I do.' It finished strangely and menacingly:
'If you can't keep him, you will have to butcher him or hang him up in the chimney.' It was unsigned, but dated 1828.
The second letter, apparently the one given to the poor labourer along with Kaspar, was dated 1812, and claimed to have been written by the boy's mother. It said that the child had been born on 30 April,1812, and baptised Kaspar, but the labourer should give him a second name himself. Kaspar's father was dead, apparently, and had been a cavalry soldier, so when the boy was seventeen the labourer was to take him to Nuremberg to the Sixth Cavalry regiment - which his father had belonged to. The writer was 'a poor little girl' who couldn't feed the boy.
When the letters were studied closely, it was discovered that they were probably written by the same hand, with the same ink and on the same kind of paper.
Kaspar was unhappy at first in his strange new environment, and cried frequently for the first week or so. A royal forensic physician's diagnosis was that the boy was not insane or dull-witted, but had been forcibly removed from all human and social education. He also noted an abnormality of the bone structure of his knees, perhaps from only rarely having stood up. It was also noticed that Kaspar was far more comfortable at night and was even able to see in the dark. This all seemed to prove what the letter had said, that most of Kaspar's life had been spent confined indoors with very little, if any, contact with other people or with the outside world.
His diet continued to consist of water and black bread, as he was unable to stomach anything else. Other things about the boy attracted attention. He was always very gentle, kind and completely trusting, and could not bear harm coming to even the smallest insect. His reactions were as if he was seeing life for the first time. Delighted at the bright light of a candle, he burnt his hand when he attempted to touch the flame, and began to scream and cry in pain. When a mirror was put in front of him, he tried to touch his own reflection and looked behind it to find the person he believed was hiding there. Any shiny object would grab his attention and he cried like a baby when he wasn't allowed to have it.
At first Kaspar had no conception of humans or animals; he knew of nothing apart from 'boys', meaning himself and the man who'd always been with him, and 'horse', the toy he'd played with. He called all animals 'horse', but, although he liked light coloured animals, he was very afraid of dark colours. In the tower he was given some toy horses, which he became very attached to and played with for hours in his room, taking no notice of what went on around him.
Soon, however, he began to tire of these inanimate toys and started to draw, hanging the pictures on the walls of his small room.
Public interest in the mysterious youth grew daily and crowds assembled to gaze as he ate and slept. Many thought, since he could hardly walk, could speak only a few strange sentences, and was able to hear but not understand what was said to him, that he must be a feral child.

Kaspar's Past Life
As Kaspar's vocabulary grew details of his disturbing past life emerged. In his Autobiography, written in 1829 (published in Masson's book - see Sources), he writes that he had grown up in a tiny 'cage' 6 or 7ft long, 4ft wide and only 5ft high. With the two windows boarded up, there was hardly any light, and he never saw the sun. The ceiling consisted of two large pieces of wood, pushed and tied together. He was never allowed out, and the entrance was guarded by a low locked door. He had a straw bed to sleep on a dirt floor, and a woollen blanket, and there was a round hole or bucket where he could relieve himself. He never saw his jailer as he always approached him from behind in the darkness, insisting Kaspar's back was turned. According to Hauser, he never slept lying down, but rather sitting with his back vertical and his legs straight out in front. Each morning he found a jug of water and a piece of bread at his side; sometimes the water had a bitter taste and sent him to sleep, and he awoke to find his clothes had been changed and his hair and nails cut. On these occasions the water probably contained opium; Hauser later confirmed this when a drop was put in water by his doctor for him to drink While imprisoned he was given two white wooden horses, a wooden dog, and some red ribbons to play with. Like a young child he believed the animals to be alive and talked to them as if this was the case. Even after months in Nuremberg he did not understand that these animals were not real. He never saw any other human beings or heard any sounds of life while imprisoned. But he said he was never sick and only felt pain once, when he made too much noise and his jailer hit him with a stick. The scars from this blow on his right elbow were still there when he was examined in Nuremberg.
There are problems with Kaspar's story. Its difficult to believe someone could survive on such a diet of bread and water for any length of time, unless of course he wasn't kept imprisoned for anywhere near the length of time people later thought. He himself had no idea how long he was in the cage, or indeed of time in general. But he said he was always content because nobody hurt him.
One day, the jailor, whom Kaspar called 'the man', came into his cell barefoot and poorly dressed. He gave Kaspar some books and told him he must learn to read and write, and go to his father who was a rider, and then he too would become a rider. Kaspar learnt how to read a little, to write his name, and say 'I want to be a soldier as my father was.' He was also taught how to stand up, and warned never to try and get out of the door of his room, as God would be angry and punish him.
One night, the man appeared and told him he was going to take him away. Kaspar didn't want to go but was again persuaded with promises of seeing his father and becoming a rider as he was. The man lifted Kaspar onto his back and carried him outside, and they travelled until daybreak. Kasper, assaulted by the light and the new smells, fainted, or was given opium again to make him sleep as he travelled.
Later on the man put Kaspar down, and taught him to walk, which was difficult for him as he was barefoot and his feet were tender. On the third day the man made Kaspar change clothes and taught him a couple of prayers, and once again told him he would be a rider like his father. The food they ate on the journey was bread and water, as in his prison. Hauser was told to look only at the ground while he walked so as to keep from falling, this meant that he didn't see the surroundings as they travelled. As they drew near to Nuremberg, which the man called the 'big village', Kaspar was given the letter for the captain and told to go to the big village, the man saying he'd follow later.
So Kaspar walked on alone into Nuremberg and finally arrived at the gate where he met the shoemaker.

Daumer's Guardianship
Among the visitors who flocked to see Kaspar was the famous magistrate and criminologist Anselm Ritter von Feuerbach. He visited him in on 11 June, 1828, and noted Kaspar's fondness for bright and shiny objects, especially women's clothes and soldier's uniforms, and also his sensitivity to light. He also noted that there was no movement of the boy's facial muscles, and that his eyes stared blankly into space. At that time Kaspar could only make himself understood with difficulty and always spoke of himself in the third person - 'Kasper very good' rather than 'I am very good', and spoke to people in the third person -'Mister Colonel' for example, rather than saying 'you'.
The authority's investigations into Kaspar drew a blank; no one knew who he was or where he'd come from. The boy himself was not well physically, and was often depressed by the numerous visitors and new sensations he was bombarded with. Feuerbach felt Kaspar would die or go insane if he remained in the tower, so together with the Mayor, Binder, they decided that Hauser needed a guardian and a family. So, on 18 July, 1828, he was placed in the care of a university professor - George Friedrich Daumer, who had a reputation for his work in education and philosophy, and had been impressed with Hauser when he visited him two weeks after his arrival. Daumer studied Kaspar and kept a diary of the time he spent with him.
By August 1828 Kaspar had adjusted somewhat, he could express himself and make himself understood, and he could now tell the difference between living and lifeless, organic and inorganic things. Under Daumer's guidance Kaspar developed into a healthy, intelligent, and in many ways normal young man, who quickly learned the German language, though he always spoke it with a foreign accent. He also developed a sense of humour and wrote letters and essays, and mastered the art of riding a horse within a few days, riding for hours without stopping, to the wonder of the local cavalry.
Kaspar still had many peculiarities. He was sensitive to colours, his favourite being red, especially bright red, he disliked black and green and had little interest in nature because of this. In fact he disliked the view of trees and plants at Daumer's house, though he was upset when a boy hit a tree with a stick thinking it was hurt. But he was capable of amazement at nature - the first time he saw the star-filled night sky he was enraptured.
By September, he had developed psychologically enough to be curious about his former mental state; he could not imagine how he could not have wondered, when in his prison, about other living beings and life in the in the world outside the cage, or even where the bread and water came from. He began writing his autobiography, and this was news enough to be announced in several newspapers. He also began to eat meat for the first time and his strength gradually improved.
It was the opinion of those who met him that Kaspar was remembering language rather than learning it for the first time, so it was surmised that he must have been imprisoned somewhere between the ages of two and four.
Daumer learnt a lot more about Kaspar's extraordinary abilities, developed as the result of being brought up under such abnormal conditions. The boy proved to have extraordinarily developed senses. His sight and hearing were unusually acute, and he could hear a whisper from across the room. He could see in the dark, and demonstrated this by reading aloud from the Bible in total blackness, and he distinguished colours, even dark colours such as blue and green, in the dark. At dusk he could already recognise the constellations in the sky when a normally sharp sighted person could only distinguish a few stars
But there was a negative side to this. Any loud sounds would cause him convulsions, and bright light caused him extreme pain. The smell of coffee, beer or any other strong drink in the same room, would make him vomit, and the smell of wine was enough to make him drunk. Apart from the few smells he was used to, most smells were repulsive to him, especially tobacco and flowers. So sharp was this sense of smell that he could identify trees by the scent of a leaf, and different people by their individual scent in the dark. He also had a photographic memory which helped him in learning to read, write and draw and play the piano.
More peculiar was his extraordinary sensitivity to electricity and metals. He would suffer extreme pain during a thunderstorm because of the static electricity in the air. Dr Daumer also discovered that Kaspar was able to distinguish between various metals merely by holding his hands above the cloth that covered them, he did this by identifying the various strengths with which the metals 'pulled' at his fingertips. In the autumn of 1828, after visiting a warehouse filled with metal, Kaspar rushed out saying that the metal had been pulling on his body from all sides.
Magnets also caused strong responses in him, the north and south poles giving him distinctly different feelings as well as different colours. When Daumer pointed the positive side of a magnet at him he clasped his chest and pulled out his vest saying 'It is dragging me, there is a draught coming out of me.' Though the negative part of the magnet had less of an effect, it still caused a reaction in him, he said it was blowing on him. However, towards the end of December 1828, this sensitivity to metal gradually disappeared, as did his other unusual attributes, as he acquired more 'practical' knowledge of the world.
By now Kaspar's extraordinary story had made him famous not only throughout the city but across Europe, and he became affectionately known as 'The Child of Europe'. He had hundreds of visitors - lawyers, doctors, teachers, public officials - and many were sure he was someone unique; articles were published about him and speculations about his origins were rife.
First Assassination Attempt
Whether it was because newspapers carried reports of Hauser's autobiography, which he would proudly show to his visitors, or because he was becoming a public figure across Europe, on Sunday 17 October 1829, while Daumer was out walking, a stranger dressed in black entered a small outhouse at Daumer's house where the boy was sitting alone, and attacked him with a butcher's knife, wounding him in the forehead. The blow was probably aimed at the throat, but Kaspar ducked and diverted it. He then fainted, and was later found lying unconscious in the cellar, where he had hidden from the man in case he returned. While in delirium after the attack Kaspar muttered in broken sentence: 'Why you kill me? I never did you anything. Not kill me! I beg not to be locked up. Never let me out of my prison - not kill me! You kill me before I understand what life is. You must tell me why you locked me up!'
Soon he managed to recover, and said that his attacker had been wearing a black silk scarf covering his whole head, and a black hat. He later told the police that the man had told him 'You must die before you leave the city of Nuremberg.' He said it was the low, quiet voice of the man who'd kept him imprisoned.
The same well dressed man was apparently seen washing his hands in a water trough not far from Daumer's house. About four days after the attack, a man answering Kaspar's description of his attacker impatiently asked a woman in the town about the condition of Hauser; he then read an official notice of the crime on the town gate, and quickly departed.
Five days after the attempted murder, shortly after the death of the reigning Grand Duke of Baden, a wealthy English aristocrat, Philip Henry - Lord Stanhope, a friend of the Baden family, arrived in Nuremberg. It seems he tried to visit Hauser but it was not possible. Behind the scenes Stanhope was gathering all the information he could on the boy.
The news of the attack soon spread and caused an uproar. Some people asserted that it must have been an assassination attempt, probably organised by the Duke of Baden, according to some Kaspar's real father, and that Kaspar was the rightful prince of Baden. But though the police organised a thorough search, no assailant was ever discovered to fit the description.
However, for many people the initial novelty of having the strange boy amongst them, and paying for his upkeep, was wearing off. It was even suggested that there had never been an attacker, and that the boy had inflicted the wounds himself and made up the story to gain attention. But the attack had a very damaging effect on Kaspar's psychology, and the wonder for the world gradually left him. The town council decided that there was a serious threat to his life, and he was moved, in January 1830, from the care of Professor Daumer's, who had by now become ill, to the care of a wealthy businessman Herr Bieberbach, where two policemen were assigned to guard him. But there were problems between Frau Bieberbach and Kaspar, putting the boy into even more emotional confusion, and he was not happy there. Six months later he was moved again, this time into the care of Baron Von Tucher, his legal guardian, who did a great deal to restore the boy's emotional and physical health.

Lord Stanhope

In May 1831, Stanhope returned and began to visit Kaspar regularly. He showered him with gifts and compliments about his supposed royal parents, and publicly made extravagant promises about taking him to England, to his home at Chevening Castle, Kent. Unfortunately, this had the effect of cutting Kaspar off from Tucher and other people who really wanted to help him. Soon Stanhope and Hauser became close friends, and the English Lord provided money to the city for the upkeep of the boy. He also applied to the city authorities to become the boy's guardian, and the request was granted. One peculiarity of Stanhope's intense interest in Hauser is that he never once mentions him in his letters home to his family of this period, of which there are many.
But Stanhope soon became bored of Kaspar, and on 10 December 1831, obtained permission to leave him in the town of Ansbach, about fifty miles away from Nuremberg, to be tutored by his friend Dr Meyer. Kaspar was unhappy and lonely in Ansbach, Meyer was mean-minded and distrustful, a strict schoolmaster who shouted at him for not concentrating on his lessons, and told him constantly that he was telling lies.
Meyer was determined to make Kaspar into a devout Christian and threatened him with damnation if he didn't follow his religion. After a while Kaspar relented and was confirmed in the Christian faith by Pastor Fuhrmann. Stanhope left Ansbach on 9 January 1832, promising to adopt Kaspar and bring him over to England. But they never saw each other again. Stanhope actually went to see Stephanie, the Grand Duchess of Baden, at Mannheim. He gave her a copy of the just published book about Hauser by Feuerbach. She wept when she read it and was desperate to meet Hauser. Stanhope said he would arrange for them to meet, but he never did.
While staying with Meyer Hauser began working as a copying clerk in a law office. On December 9 Meyer and Hauser had a big argument, Meyer saying that Kaspar had been behaving oddly the whole of December. On 11 December Kaspar said he had to meet a friend to watch the boring of the artesian well in the park, the gardens of the disused palace.
The Assassination
On the afternoon of 14 December, Kaspar left his work at noon, and after lunch went to his spiritual guide Pastor Fuhrmann. He told Fuhrmann that he was meeting a young lady friend, but instead went to the park. Hauser later said he was tricked into going alone to the deserted gardens with the promise of information about his mother. He waited by the artesian well, but no one came, so he went across to a monument in the park, where a man was waiting for him. They walked together in the freezing cold for a while, then the man made as if to give Hauser a document and suddenly stabbed him in the side, puncturing his lung and piercing his liver, and then ran off. Kaspar managed to stagger into the house saying 'man . . . stabbed . . . knife . . . Hofgarten . . . gave purse . . . Go look quickly . . .' But Meyer was not convinced of the seriousness of the wound and did not call a doctor immediately.
Later the police searched the park but couldn't find the weapon, but did find a black wallet or purse. Inside the wallet there was a note written in mirror writing. It said:
'Hauser will be able to tell you how I look, where I came from and who I am. To spare him from this task I will tell you myself. I am from . . . on the Bavarian border . . . My name is MLO.'
Police questioned Hauser, wondering why, when there had been a previous attempt on his life, he had gone to the gardens alone. Kaspar couldn't identify his attacker, all he could tell them was that a workman had brought him a message which told him to go to the park as someone had news about his mother. When he got there, a tall, bearded man in a long, black cloak had asked him if his name was Kaspar Hauser. When Kaspar nodded, the stranger handed him the wallet or purse and thrust a knife into his ribs at the same time. As Kaspar lay dying he said, enigmatically: 'Many cats are the death of the mouse,' and finally: 'Tired, very tired, still have to take a long trip.'
He died on 17 December, at 21 years of age. A huge reward was offered by the king of Bavaria for information leading to the arrest of his killer, but nothing was ever found out.
Meyer had always been suspicious about Kaspar and it seems to have been him who started the rumours about Hauser's death being suicide. Soon others began to suspect Kaspar's story. Only a single set of footprints was found in the snow at the park, and they were Kaspar's; people suggested that Hauser may have stabbed himself in a despairing cry for attention. Stanhope later said, in his book written three years after Hauser's death, that it was accidental suicide, and that Kaspar was an imposter who got trapped in the role and was forced to keep it up for years, and made comparisons with the English impostor princess, Caraboo. But the physician who performed the autopsy, Dr. Friedrich Wilhelm Heidenreich, thought that due to the size of the wound, Kaspar could not have done it himself.
Strangely, Stanhope had actually written a last letter to Hauser, from Munich on 16th and 17th December, and postmarked on the 25th, when he must already have known of what had happened, and probably also knew that Kaspar was dead. Local newspapers carried the story from the day of Kaspar's death on the 17th, and the Munich newspapers from the 20th onwards. Was he trying to show, if questioned later, that he wasn't involved in the murder?

On 26th December Stanhope visited the prince of Öttingen-Wallerstein, Bavarian minister of the interior, and tried, unsuccessfully in the end, to convince him Hauser was a fake. He also went to the trouble of meeting with all of the people in Nuremberg who had seen Kaspar in his first few days in the city, including Daumer, and getting them to change their stories to say that Hauser had invented the whole thing. He also visited other public figures throughout Europe saying Hauser was a fake who'd committed suicide.
Kaspar was buried in a quiet country churchyard where his gravestone read:
'Here lies Kaspar Hauser, riddle of his time. His birth was unknown, his death mysterious.'

A Prince of Baden?
But who was the mysterious Kaspar Hauser? Was he the rightful prince of Baden?
It was Feuerbach who was officially in charge of the investigation into the first murder attempt. He was initially skeptical of royal claims, but later changed his mind and argued that Hauser was indeed the legitimate heir of the Duke of Baden, son of Stéphanie de Beauharnais, adopted daughter of Napoleon. He later presented the results of his investigations in a private letter to the queen mother of Bavaria, Karoline. This was published after his death by his son, but was still subject to a restraining order by the Baden family. Karoline herself stated that it was the 'unanimous opinion of many people (that) Hauser was one of the sons of my poor brother.' King Ludwig of Bavaria notes in his diary that he believed Hauser to be the 'rightful Grand Duke of Baden.' Indeed Mayor Binder had received a letter to this effect as early as July 1828.
A May 1832 letter from Feuerbach to Stanhope mentions proof about Hauser's royalty in the form of an 8 page report. It was unfortunate that the letter was to Stanhope, the one person Feuerbach trusted that he probably shouldn't have.
Feuerbach's book about Hauser caused a sensation when it was published in 1832, and newspapers all over Europe published accounts of Kaspar Hauser's life and possible origins.
However, on May 29,1832, on his way to meet a man called Klüber in Frankfurt to discuss the matter of Hauser's royal connections, Feuerbach died suddenly, aged fifty-eight. Before dying he said he thought he'd been poisoned on the orders of someone in the royal house of Baden, because of his discoveries about Hauser's origins. His son Ludwig was sure of this. There was even supposed to be a note that he wrote saying that he had been 'given something.' It was believed by Feuerbach's grandson that at least three members of the Feuerbach family were poisoned because of links to Kasper Hauser.
The 'prince theory', in essence, is that the son Stéphanie de Beauharnais, wife of Grand Duke Karl of Baden, gave birth to in 1812 was Hauser, and it is he who would have inherited the throne. She gave birth to another son in 1816, who also died. But she had three daughters that all lived. The countess of Hochberg, second wife of Karl's father, the founder of the dynasty, would have been the one to benefit from these deaths. Karl himself died in 1818, under mysterious circumstances believing he and his sons had been poisoned. Now nothing stood in the way of the son of the Duchess of Hochberg, who was supposed to have smuggled a dying child of a peasant woman into the palace and managed to exchange it with the baby prince - supposedly Kaspar Hauser. The countess wanted her own son, Leopold, to come to the throne, which he did in 1830. Hauser was then given to a Major Hennenhofer, who put the child in the care of an ex soldier. It was said by some that when questioned about this Hennenhofer confessed.
Apparently Kaspar was kept hidden away in a dungeon for twelve years. He was supposed to be killed, but the plan went wrong, and he was kept alive in prison by whoever had been ordered to murder him, possibly in order to bribe the royals later on, or perhaps out of sheer compassion. When the secret couldn't be kept hidden any longer, Hauser had to be brought disguised as a beggar to Nuremberg. Perhaps they hoped he'd be put in a lunatic asylum or sent away as a soldier.
It's possible that the place where Kaspar Hauser was imprisoned was the Schloss Pilsach, a large house close to Nuremberg, where there was a secret dungeon, and a small white wooden horse like the ones Hauser played with was discovered during renovations.
Admittedly, much evidence, the frequent attempts on Kaspar's life, the participation of Stanhope, and the Baden family's attempts to keep the story quiet, seem to indicate some truth to this prince story. Unfortunately when Hennenhofer died, his private papers were all destroyed, so that avenue, as with many in the story of Kaspar Hauser, is closed.
If the prince theory all sounds a bit too much like a fairytale, and if Hauser's death was not the accidental suicide of a desperate impostor, perhaps he could have been murdered, not for being a lost prince of the house of Baden, but because people thought he was - and he thus became a dangerous focus for discontent that needed to be removed.
Although, according to Masson (writing in 1996), there have been more than 3000 books and at least 14,000 articles written on Kaspar Hauser, the mystery still seems as far as ever from being solved or explained.