himself had gotten rid of his unwanted son-in-law so that no one would interfere with his dirty deeds.
Only decades later, in 1952, a new detail of Klaus Briel’s convoluted story surfaced, told by Jakob Knecht, one of the hired workers who worked on the Gruber farm. Huber claimed that, in his opinion, Klaus could never reconcile himself to the unhealthy closeness between Victoria and her father, Andreas. «He wasn’t one to put up with that sort of thing,» Huber allegedly said, hinting at the unbearable atmosphere in the house. It remained unknown whether Klaus was planning a divorce from Victoria, seeking to break this vicious circle, or whether he simply fled, not having the strength to resist the Gruber family demons.
One way or another, Klaus’s decision to leave Hinterkaifeck immediately after the wedding cast a shadow over the entire Gruber family and became a harbinger of impending misfortune. It was like a crack in the foundation of a house, foreshadowing an imminent collapse. Klaus’s departure to Lak gave rise to many questions that were never given clear answers, only giving rise to new rumors and speculation, which, like poisonous roots, sprouted in the hearts of the residents of Hinterkaifeck.
However, the fact remained: just four months after fleeing to Lak, on August 14, 1914, Klaus Gabriel enlisted as a volunteer in the military registry. In the «Reason for Enlistment’ column, it was written in a crooked hand: «Patriotic duty.»
But who knows what duty actually drove him into the inferno of World War I? Perhaps a duty to his country, or perhaps a duty to himself, to prove that he was not a coward, not a fugitive, but a real man.
It is noteworthy that, when filling out the documents, he indicated the address in Lak as his home address, completely erasing Hinterkaifeck from his life, as if this farm was a cursed place, stained with blood and lies, from which one had to run without looking back. And he ran. He ran towards the war, towards gas attacks, trenches, mud, and death. He ran there, where human life was worth nothing, where yesterday’s peasants and artisans were turned into cannon fodder, where entire generations perished for the ambitions of kings and generals. He ran to hell, hoping, perhaps, to find there deliverance from the hell that haunted him on earth.
On December 12 of that same year, 1914, another tragedy befell the Gruber family, as if an evil fate was haunting their heels. News arrived from the front, sealed with a wax seal and permeated with the smell of gunpowder and death: Klaus Briel, had fallen bravely somewhere on French soil, fighting in the ranks of the Kaiser’s army. The dry, bureaucratic wording («fell bravely for the Fatherland’) did not say a word about what he felt in the last moments of his life, what he was thinking about, whom he was remembering.
The news of her husband’s death reached Victoria while she was carrying their daughter, little Cäzilia, under her heart, condemning the newborn to orphanhood even before she was born. Victoria was doomed to widowhood and the heavy burden of raising a child alone.
In Hinterkaifeck, as in many Bavarian villages, mothers without husbands were treated with restraint, if not wariness. A child born out of wedlock was considered a stain on the family’s reputation, and the mother was seen as a woman who had made a mistake. Of course, no one would shout insults openly, but she would feel that she was being shunned. Respectable citizens would try not to linger on her, as if afraid of getting dirty. Married women would whisper behind her back, discussing who the father of the child was and how this could have happened. The priest, although he would not curse her from the pulpit, his sermons about the purity of marriage would sound to Victoria like a personal accusation. There would be no open hostility, but she would feel a cold detachment, as if an invisible wall separated her from the rest of the village.
And who could say what weighed heavier on the heart: the pain of loss (even if not the happiest) or the fear of a future in which she and the child would have to survive in this atmosphere of wariness and condemnation?
After Klaus’s tragic death at the front, Victoria, in addition to grief and the burden of widowhood, faced the need to resolve property issues. According to the laws of that time, the quarter of the Hinterkaifeck farm that had previously belonged to Klaus was inherited by his closest relative – Victoria.
Thus, Victoria Gruber became the sole owner of Hinterkaifeck. All three-quarters of the property that had previously belonged to her parents, and the quarter inherited from her husband, were now at her full disposal. She became not just the mistress of the house, but also the official owner of the farm, bearing full responsibility for its maintenance and prosperity.
It would seem that this fact should have strengthened her position and ensured her a stable future. However, in the case of Hinterkaifeck, owning property became more of a curse than a blessing, placing on her shoulders an unbearable burden of responsibility and attachment to a place imbued with grief and secrets. The status of official mistress only increased her dependence on Hinterkaifeck, preventing her from breaking out of the vicious circle of tragedies that haunted this farm.
Chapter 7
Absolute Power
After Klaus’s death, life on the Hinterkaifeck farm seemed to freeze, bound not only by grief, but also by a kind of oppressive, lingering silence. The days dragged on monotonously: working in the field, tending to the livestock, caring for the child, endless chores around the house. Victoria, with her extinguished gaze and haggard face, seemed to have turned into a shadow of herself. But, as is known, silence is deceptive. Behind the closed shutters of peasant houses, gossip was brewing, which with each day became louder and bolder.
And it wasn’t just her widowhood or her illegitimate child. There were rumors, dark, indecent, that made some cross themselves, as if warding off evil forces. These rumors concerned her relationship with her father, Andreas Gruber.
Victoria, a beautiful and self-confident woman, the lead singer in the church choir, now seemed broken. Before the war, she was the sole mistress of the yard, made decisions, and was respected… or, rather, she was feared. There were rumors that she was not averse to male attention, although perhaps these were just envious gossip, born of her independence. But, as it turned out later, during the investigation, there were three men willing to swear that they sought a closer relationship with Victoria.
Andreas, tall and strong even after sixty years, always kept the farm in his iron grip. Judicious, but quick-tempered – the village remembered at least two cases when he used a pitchfork and a gun. It’s strange that the signs of a break-in on the eve of the tragedy did not frighten him. Perhaps he was too confident in his own strength, too accustomed to defending his territory. But was he defending only territory?
The version of violence on the part of Andreas against his daughter Victoria, despite the lack of direct evidence, seems frighteningly plausible, especially in the context of that era and social structure. Reasoning logically, one can reconstruct a chain of events that pushes towards this gloomy conclusion.
Andreas, marrying Cäzilia, by no means a beauty, five years older than him, and also a widow who inherited the farm, was most likely guided by cold calculation. A marriage for love? Hardly. Rather, it was a deal, beneficial to both parties. Andreas received the farm and stability, Cäzilia – protection and continuation of the family line. The couple had children, but an evil fate haunted the Gruber family: only Victoria lived to adulthood, the rest died in infancy, as, unfortunately, often happened in those days.
And now Victoria, like a bud, blossoms, turning into an attractive girl. And Andreas, a man in the prime of his life, suddenly realizes that he has power not only over his hateful wife, but also over his daughter, who is completely dependent on him. Impunity and power intoxicate the mind. What can stop the master of the farm, the head of the family, a man accustomed to unquestioning obedience, from satisfying his dark desires?
As the English historian John Dalberg-Acton said, «Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.» And Andreas, endowed with unlimited power over his family, could succumb to temptation