The Captain of Köpenick

How a Man Convinced a Bank to Give Him Thousands

Statue of the Captain of Koepenick outside of Koepenick town hall (Source: Wikimedia Commons)

At a time of great change in Germany, before either world war, what is possibly the perfect crime was committed in a Berlin town. A shoemaker convinced a group of soldiers to go with him to the town hall, where they gave him over 4,000 marks, and the shoemaker simply walked away on his own. This is the story of how he did it, and why it worked.

The Context

At the turn of the 20th century, Germany was a prideful country. And they had a lot to be proud about. As a fairly young state, they industrialised and expanded quickly. Living standards rose after the messy beginnings of the industrial process, wages rose by a quarter from 1885–1913, and Germans had to work less than ever at an average of 55 hours per week.¹ One of the major sources of German pride was their military.

This pride was built on the legend of Prussian military exploits in the Napoleonic Wars and the Prussian victory in the Franco-Prussian war being what unified Germany in the first place. Combined with being one of the largest, most powerful and well-trained armies on the European continent meant that military men were often romanticised, and demanded a lot of respect. One man decided to test just how far this respect would go.

The Story

Wilhelm Friedrich Voigt was a shoemaker down on his luck. Despite a strong German economy, Wilhelm struggled to make ends meet. He had some run-ins with the law and even spent time in jail. He was determined to get back on the straight and narrow. Yet, unable to find work or travel to look for it, something else had to be done.²

In 1906 while browsing secondhand shops, Voigt came across some items of a 1st Regiment Prussian Guard captain’s uniform, enough to complete the package. Deciding to see just how far his luck would go, he purchased them and donned the uniform. Immediately he noticed a vast difference in the way people treated him. People noticed. People almost revered him. And so Voigt decided he would try his luck further.

Marching to the nearby barracks, he ordered four grenadiers to accompany him, gathering six more men from a shooting range. He took these men on a train to Berlin Köpenick. He ordered his newly acquired troops to occupy the town hall, telling the local police force to “keep law and order while he went about his important business.”³ This included arresting the town’s mayor and treasurer for fraud, and demanding 4000 marks for confiscation.

Naturally, Voigt intended on keeping this money. He got a receipt, signing the name of one of his old jail keepers, before telling some of his men to take the mayor and treasurer to Berlin’s Neue Wache to be ‘questioned,’ while the rest were to stay at the town hall to stand guard. Voigt, of course, would take the money for ‘inspection.’ He ditched the uniform and made his getaway while the rest slowly figured out the ruse.

The Aftermath

Voigt was, unfortunately for him, caught. The story of his heist became widespread. In Germany Der Hauptmann von Köpenick is a folklore legend. Apart from being humorous, this act has come to be appreciated from a variety of different angles. As I have alluded to here, it has been used to demonstrate the extent to which people respected and did not question a military man, such was the power of the uniform.

Berlin memorial plaque on the town hall of Koepenick about the shoemaker Wilhelm Voigt, who became known as “The Captain of Köpenick” (Source: Wikimedia Commons)

Others have used the story and its pretext to examine the Imperial German law system, and how effective it was. It is used to critique perceived failures of those systems and shown to demonstrate how capable the justice system was. To some, Voigt’s folk hero status after the incident is indicative of a more positive change in the judicial and public world.⁴

In Köpenick one can find a statue of the man himself outside the town hall. The tale is so widespread that films and plays have been made about him. There were wax figures made of him in Berlin and London, and Wilhelm wrote a book about his experiences.

Sadly, Wilhelm passed away in poverty in 1922, the recession after the Great War hitting him as hard as anyone else. But his legacy remains in Germany, and to a lesser extent elsewhere. His tale is a funny, yet slightly alarming reminder of what can be done when blind obedience and respect are in play. Of how a seemingly rigid system is not always 100% reliable. But it also inspires adventure and being creative with solutions.

Matthew Brundrett studied History with Psychology at Keele University, and has recently completed an MA in Modern History at the University of Sheffield. He is currently continuing his MA research related to the First World War with a view to obtaining a PhD. Matthew can be contacted via matt.brundrett@sky.com or on Twitter @Matt_Brundrett

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1. Hoyer, K., Blood and Iron — The Rise and Fall of the German Empire, 1871–1918, (2021, The History Press, UK) p. 168
2. Markussen, V., History Net, ‘‘Captain of Köpenick”, 2006, https://www.historynet.com/captain-of-kopenick.htm [accessed 27 October 2021]
3. Hoyer, Blood and Iron, p. 167
4. Hett, B. C., ‘The “Captain of Köpenick” and the Transformation of German Criminal Justice, 1891–1914’, Central European History, 36.1 pp. 1–43