Monday, May 21, 2007

Very Old Serial Killer News


In the year of the Lord 1786, the Austrian surgeon Franz Xaver Wegartshofner put an end to a most bizarre killing spree. For a long time, there had been rumours concerning the wealthy farmer Bartholomäus Rainer of Großlobming (Styria). He was now sixty-eight years of age, seemingly a rather odd man who never cut his fingernails, and people whispered he was a sorcerer dealing with occult powers. Yet he was never in want of a wife, which is to say that whenever a wife of his went to the churchyard for good, he had no problems in finding one to replace her.

However, when his sixth wife died on July 4th of that year, rumours got so intense and minds so upset that the authorities could no longer ignore it. Wegartshofner was required to investigate. After learning from the deceased Mrs Rainer’s doctor that she had suffered from a somewhat mysterious sort of diarrhoea, he performed an autopsy on the corpse that lead to what he deemed to be the strangest discovery he had made in his whole career: in the severely sore uterus of the dead woman, he found a piece of printed paper, containing a gray substance, which, according to a chemical analysis, proved to be a deadly amount of arsenic (11 grains).

Following his arrest, the widower confessed to murdering five out of his six wives by administering arsenic to them. His first wife had passed away after eating an arsenic-seasoned soup he kindly served her when she was just recovering from the birth of her eleventh child: no one would wonder at childbed deaths in those times, and he hadn’t been as clumsy as to call a doctor when she got her colic. Marrying again, within a year from this death, he murdered the second wife in a similar way, after she had given birth to a child. The third wife, he claimed, and insisted, had died of natural causes. The fourth wife met her fate after falling ill some day. This time, Rainer called a doctor, and blended the prescribed medicine with arsenic: she died two days after taking it.

He seemed to be in a hurry now. Taking a fifth wife, few months after he had buried the fourth, he waited just one year before murdering her, too. Aware that people were talking, and worrying at the prospect of possible investigations and autopsies (for he was determined to murder on, and to murder on by using arsenic), he came up with an – at least he thought it to be so – ingenious device. Autopsies, he concluded, would look for poison in the victim’s stomach. There could be no danger of detection as long as he was able to make the poison operate from another part of the organism. And he was.

Having made a tiny parcel of his deadly gift by enveloping it with paper and securing it with a thread, he inserted it deep into his wife’s vagina by means of marital intercourse one night, just before she went away on a (planned) visit to her family. She died two days later from violent “cramps” in the house of her parents. Even the local corpse-washer seems to have had her suspicions; she called the local barber, indicating to him black spots on the belly and the back of the dead woman. But the barber made no other use of his last word than to calm down her apprehensions. These were symptoms of a gangrene, he explained.

Now, as his device had worked out so brilliantly, Mr. Rainer married for the sixth time, only a few weeks afterwards, and undid his newest wife in the same way, as speedily as he could: which led to his own undoing. Strange as the story of this man may seem, the motive to which he confessed is still the strangest part of it. Being indeed occupied with occult sciences, he had read in a book on the subject that “he who hath outlived nine wives will turn into a bird”; and it seems Mr Rainer had no greater desire than to become a bird. He had even prepared for the event not only by murdering his wives, but also by not cutting his fingernails -- trying to transform them into eagle claws.

_____________________

There's not much room for conjecture in what I know about this case, apart from the question what became of this man; did he or could he plead insanity? Did he go to prison for the rest of his nowaytobecomeabird-life, or did he perish in one of the gulags the emperor had created in the Hungarian moors? Was he one of the last to be executed, before Joseph II -- for a short interval -- abolished the death penalty, in 1787?

What's left to everyone's guessing is how this case got preserved for posterity. I found it in a German paperback dealing with the history of forensic medicine (Hans Pfeiffer, Die Sprache der Toten, Munich 1997), but without any indication of the source; and the author of that book, it seems, has died some years ago. The community of Großlobming is no stranger on the web, but to date I've found no website that makes mention of this case (of course they may see it as one of those skeletons rattling in the cupboard which are best forgotten).

What I'd like to know about, too, would be what became of those gulags of Joseph II, when his nephew (Francis II) abolished his reforms. Somehow I seem to be the only person to take an interest in that question.

Sunday, April 29, 2007

My First Jane Austen Rant


There are lots of reasons why the recent Austen frenzy must be called a most deplorable event. One of them is that now everyone feels entitled to give judgement on her novels -- especially those who have never read them, or have never given them a thought before.

"Jane Austen is all about love." Tsktsktsk, she wrote cheesy chick-lit, pure and simple.

"Jane Austen is all about money." Oh my! how mercenary, how despicable!

What next? Ah, yes: "Oh, but it's not just the poor she ignores, it's any subject of any real importance whatsoever. Even women's issues, supposedly her main interest. Compare her with Mary Wollestonecraft. It's like something an ostrich might have written." (I found this in the comment section of some tabloid blog, some weeks ago, but have not been able to rediscover the source).

1. Beware of people who try to set laws about what subjects writers should treat and how they should treat them.

2. What, pray, are "subjects of real importance"?

3. In a free society, there is only one thing you can rightfully ask writers to do -- namely, to give their readers the very best they are able to give. Which Jane Austen did.

4. Jane Austen's concept of writing is that of classic literature (Shakespeare, Molière etc). Which means that she didn't deal with futile events and phenomenons of contemporary society and politics, but with what is consistent throughout all ages, e.g. human nature.

5. The subject of real importance Jane Austen was treating, above all in her unequaled master pieces, Mansfield Park and Emma, is self-delusion and self-knowledge -- e.g. human subjectivity. This subject will rest an essential one throughout all history of mankind, and applies as much to people of today (especially those who think they know how the world should be run), as it mattered two hundred years ago.

6. Good intentions (in this case, solidarity with the working class and outrage with the defects of society) don't make a good book. Thanks a bunch, Mary Wollstonecraft, for writing about women's rights. No doubt your work was an essential and important one, and I shall never grudge you anything I don't like in your style and your subjects. However, I suppose that I'm not the only one to feel that your literary work is sentimental, melodramatic, preachy and greatly outdated by now -- as well as downright dreary stuff. That goes, BTW, for a lot of well-intentioned writers who indulge in nice black and white tableaux of noble working class sufferers on the one side, and rich capitalist villains on the other. Messages to be imposed upon the reader nearly always ruin a writer's talents of observation and imagination (if s/he ever possessed them, in the first instance).

7. A great German-Jewish journalist and literary critic of the 20th century, Kurt Tucholsky -- decidedly leftist --, once reviewed a novel that was based on the best intentions, relating a scandal of WW I, and exposing social injustice. Tucholsky greatly approved of the novel, but was outraged with its pompous beginning ("The earth, Tellus, a tiny planet, is swirling through the depths of the universe..."). "When", Tucholsky did ask impatiently, "will you finally get to understand that God with his whole universe attached can be found in the onion pattern of a coffee cup?"

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Entry the first


Fine. Now I do have a blog, too. Everyone has one, right? So it was about time that I joined the crowd. And as I like to comment now and then on other blogs it's only fair that I give my targets a way of hitting back. Only problem is, what shall I write into my blog? I never took to diary writing before. So I guess this is why I called my blog the realm of conjecture. One conjecture at least seams fairly certain: that next to no-one will come to read here. Which is kind of reassuring, since being no native speaker of English, there shall be lots and lots of badly chosen words, spelling errors and grammar slips. Enjoy!