The countenance of Caspar Frisch was soon to force the townspeople to search their memories. At one o’clock in the afternoon, a witness had seen him without a mark; by six, his cheeks bore angry scratches. He spoke of an awkward fall, of a fir tree, of squirrels he had sought to capture. Meanwhile, Joseph Samuel Landauer did not return home. On July 17, 1809, Parnas Samuel informed the court at Harburg that the merchant, who had set out the previous day for Brünnsee, had been found dead near the ruins of Wöllwarth Castle. His servant David Levi and Andrew Bonlander had gone in search of him. Two promissory notes discovered upon the body bore Frisch’s name. Even before an official accusation was leveled against him, his own hand had spoken.
Landauer was a dealer in watches. Frisch had purchased several from him on credit: two silver timepieces, a hat buckle, and a chain, amounting to a debt of 132 florins which he struggled to discharge. His installments were habitually in arrears, and he nursed a bitter grievance against the trader, whom he believed had overcharged him. A few weeks prior to Landauer’s death, his desire had been inflamed by a repeater—a watch that struck the hours. He now coveted two new timepieces: one small, the other larger and flat. The exchange was intended to liquidate the former debt and place these prized objects in his hands without further encumbering his purse. According to his account, this new agreement demanded a balance of thirty-six florins, which he purposed to pay from an unexpected windfall.
Landauer’s widow recounted that some ten days before the murder, Frisch had spoken of a sum of money he claimed to have found concealed beneath an outhouse. He had promised to devote these funds to the satisfaction of his creditor, appointing Sunday, July 16, for the settlement. Landauer was to bring the watches and depart with his coin. The merchant had hesitated; the tale struck him as suspicious. Frisch overcame his reluctance by swearing that the money was the lawful fruit of his own labor. The widow attested that her husband had departed that day carrying a substantial sum together with two watches, one of which was a repeater.
Frisch offered a very different narrative. He claimed that Landauer had come to his lodging around one o’clock with two watches he had already sold, and that the meeting was merely to conclude a barter. Frisch insisted he had paid a portion of his debt before going abroad. He asserted that he only later learned three men had been fighting near the castle ruins. When the magistrate remarked upon the fresh scratches furrowing his face, Frisch attributed them to roofing repairs undertaken at his cousins’ house, while blaming his razor for the cuts about his mouth. To his neighbors, he had advanced yet another story: a tumble sustained while pursuing squirrels.
Witnesses soon shattered this defense. A neighbor testified that Frisch’s face was unblemished at one o’clock in the afternoon. Toward six o’clock, Frisch had come to beg a cup of water from another villager’s wife, who noticed that his legs trembled violently and that his scratches were still bleeding. A second witness likewise observed him uninjured earlier in the day, only to see him marked with wounds later that evening. The examining surgeon determined that the abrasions, present upon both his face and his left hand, bore every appearance of having been inflicted by human fingernails.
The accounts of what transpired at the castle remained less distinct. Keck stated that he had recognized Frisch by his peculiar gait and walking staff near the ruins shortly after the deed. Two individuals, Keck and Anna Vogt, had watched from a distance as two men assailed a third; a girl of some thirteen years described one assailant in a black smock and peasant’s hat, and another in a white smock with a black cap; she had heard prolonged moaning shortly thereafter. John Low, who had drawn Keck’s attention to the fray, maintained that he had seen only two persons in all. Keck subsequently declined to swear under oath that three men were present. The authorities were left to weigh these distant sightings against the debt notes, Frisch’s movements, and the injuries recorded by the surgeon.
On July 19, following an initial interrogation filled with desperate denials, Frisch petitioned for another hearing and confessed all. He explained that he lived under his cousins’ roof on account of an unhappy relationship with his stepmother, whom he described as harsh. At twenty-five years of age, he suffered from a stiff right leg, a partially paralyzed back, and several deformed fingers; he walked only with the aid of a crutch and was incapable of field labor. His cousins afforded him shelter and odd repair work; he earned a meager pittance by carving wood. The chronicle notes that he sought to compensate for his bodily infirmities through fine apparel and trinkets. He had lived far beyond his means, convincing himself that Landauer had cheated him on the prices. He desired both to escape payment and to possess the two coveted watches. He admitted that the design had taken root in his mind while working near a shed, after which he could not banish it. Throughout the week preceding the rendezvous, by his own account, he could neither sleep, eat, nor drink. One night, hearing an owl screech, he took it for a solemn omen; yet he confessed that he had resolved in his heart to proceed regardless.
Frisch revealed that he had fabricated the tale of buried money, inducing Landauer to accompany him to the castle under the pretext of digging up two hundred florins hidden away since the French occupation, with which he would finally satisfy his creditor. The merchant arrived near one o’clock, while the cousins were away from home. He demanded a written statement from Frisch certifying that the money was legitimately his own. Frisch then stated the hoard lay hidden among the rocks—whereas he had previously claimed it was beneath an outhouse. Landauer nevertheless followed him to the supposed cache and began setting aside the stones. Frisch struck him from behind. Landauer resisted desperately, and the marks upon Frisch’s face and hand were sustained in the struggle. Frisch contended that he had subsequently struck to preserve his own life; yet he freely admitted that he had contrived the meeting solely to rob the trader of the watches, and conceded that Landauer had piteously begged for his life. He took the money and the timepieces, then fled the scene. The surgeon found injuries upon the victim entirely consistent with the blows of a heavy stone.
A lingering doubt remained: had the distant observers seen Frisch alone, or in company with a second assailant? Frisch steadfastly denied having any accomplice, repeating this denial throughout successive depositions. The magistrates weighed his words against the testimony of those who had seen him near the ruins and at his neighbors’ cottages, but could establish the presence of no other man. Feuerbach concluded that the violent movements of a mortal struggle might easily have deceived onlookers stationed at a distance. He observed, moreover, that Frisch had dealt the first blow with felonious intent; his plea of self-defense could not efface the treacherous ambush that had drawn his victim among the rocks.
The chronicle records that Frisch’s indebtedness and resentment had become entwined with antisemitic prejudice. He admitted having persuaded himself that it was a far lesser sin to rob a Jewish creditor. This justification originated solely with the accused; the evidence adduced by Feuerbach proved the existence of the debt, but gave no countenance to the claim that Landauer had defrauded him. The court convicted him of robbery and murder: the district tribunal, followed by the Central Court of Appeal in Munich, condemned him to death by decapitation. The penal code of the era prescribed a far more severe execution, but his unreserved confession inclined the judges to temper the severity of the sentence.