On a crisp October morning in 1906, a man in an immaculate Prussian captain’s uniform marched into the Berlin suburb of Köpenick and coolly carried out one of the most extraordinary confidence tricks in modern European history. His name was Wilhelm Voigt, a 57-year-old shoemaker with a long, unhappy acquaintance with the German penal system. For a few hours on October 16, Voigt, armed with nothing more than authority borrowed from a uniform, seized control of a town hall, arrested its mayor, and walked away with 4,002 marks and 37 pfennigs of municipal funds. The affair would become legendary: a pointed satire of Prussian militarism and unquestioning obedience.
Wilhelm Voigt. Credit: Wikimedia Commons
Wilhelm Voigt was born in 1849 in Tilsit (modern-day Sovetsk, Russia), the son of a shoemaker. His early adulthood, however, was overshadowed by a succession of minor crimes—mostly theft and forgery—that led to repeated prison terms. By his mid-fifties he had spent nearly half his life behind bars.
When Voigt was released from prison in February 1906, he attempted to go straight, moving in with his sister in Rixdorf and finding work through a local cobbler. But his criminal record made even legal residency difficult. Police expelled him from the town and from several others where he tried to settle. His attempts to get official permission to live and work in Berlin all failed. These bureaucratic obstructions, layered onto years of marginalisation, pushed Voigt towards a desperate, almost theatrical solution.
The Uniform and the Plan
Through second-hand shops and former military stores, Voigt purchased parts of a Prussian captain’s uniform. He knew how much power such a uniform carried in an empire where military rank was revered. It needed no explanation, no paperwork—a captain was obeyed. And Voigt intended to take full advantage.
At around midday on 16 October 1906, Voigt put on his disguise and approached a detachment of soldiers near Köpenick station and ordered them to follow him for a “secret mission.” He summoned a second troop of relieved guards from the firing range of the 4th Guards Regiment and placed about ten or eleven men under his "command". The authority of his attire was unquestioned.
Telling the soldiers that he was unable to acquire motor vehicles, he rode the tramway with them to Köpenick, east of Berlin. At a layover in Rummelsburg, he bought the men beer. He even gave the soldiers one mark each to buy lunch at the station. After they arrived at Köpenick, he explained to his soldiers that he planned to arrest the mayor and other officers on charges of corruption.
Together they marched to the city hall of Köpenick, where he ordered the men to seal off all entrances. He then announced that the mayor and treasurer were under arrest for suspected financial irregularities.
Voigt then directed the treasurer to prepare an accounting statement and informed him that the municipal treasury would have to be confiscated. After the money had been counted, Voigt had bags brought to him, which he filled with the help of the treasurer, who held the bags and sealed them. The confiscated amount totalled 4002 marks and 37 pfennigs.
The false captain then had the mayor and treasurer escorted to a military vehicle, instructing the soldiers to deliver the officials to Berlin for interrogation. The troops saluted and obeyed.
Voigt even managed to shut down the Köpenick post office for one hour, preventing phone calls to Berlin. Only after the detainees were released, some city councillors were able to notify the district administration office via telegraph.
After Voigt had collected the town’s cash reserves, he calmly left, catching a tram and then a train, and then vanishing into the city before anyone realised what had happened.
Arrest and Pardon
Voigt’s freedom was short-lived. He was captured on 26 October after a former cellmate, who knew about Voigt's plans, tipped off the police. Voigt was sentenced to four years in prison for "unauthorized wearing of a uniform, offence against public order, deprivation of liberty, fraud, and serious forgery of documents."
Wilhelm Voigt's mugshots after his arrest. Credit: Wikimedia Commons
International newspapers reported the story with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. To many Germans, Voigt’s “coup” was deeply symbolic: it exposed a social order where the uniform commanded automatic obedience, and it highlighted the rigid bureaucracy that had ensnared Voigt for years. Popular sentiment swung decisively in his favour. Kaiser Wilhelm II himself was amused by the incident, referring to him as an “amiable scoundrel”. He had him pardoned on 16 August 1908. The pardon was justified on grounds of public sympathy but also reflected Germany’s embarrassment that such a deception had been possible.
After his release, Voigt became a minor celebrity. He toured with theatre productions, appeared in variety shows, signed autographs, and lent his name to early film adaptations of his story. Carl Zuckmayer’s 1931 play Der Hauptmann von Köpenick later immortalized him as a tragicomic figure—the everyman crushed by officialdom, who momentarily turned the system against itself.
In 1909, he published a book in Leipzig, How I became the Captain of Köpenick, which sold well. Although his United States tour almost failed because the immigration authorities refused to grant him a visa, he arrived in 1910 via Canada. He also inspired a waxwork in Madame Tussaud's museum in London.
On 1 May 1910, Wilhelm Voigt received a Luxembourgish passport and relocated to Luxembourg, where he worked primarily as a waiter and shoemaker as his public appearances dwindled. He earned considerable riches as a result of his fame and the "Captain of Köpenick" was actually one of the first car owners in the Grand Duchy. He lived modestly until his death in 1922.
Wilhelm Voigt's statue at Köpenick city hall. Credit: Wikimedia Commons
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