I want you to take a second and just think about
the most audacious lie you've ever told. Oh,
we're starting right out of the gate with the
hard questions. We are. Seriously, think about
it. Maybe it was when you were younger, you know,
trying to talk your way out of being grounded.
Or perhaps, and let's be honest with ourselves
here, it involved a bit of creative liberty on
a resume. Right. The classic resume padding.
Exactly. Stretching a weekend seminar into some
certificate of advanced proficiency. Or, you
know, claiming conversational fluency in a language
just because you successfully ordered a coffee
abroad once. We've all been there. We really
have. We've all felt that temptation to pad the
credentials just a fraction to get a foot in
the door. But whatever fabrication you are picturing
in your head right now, I promise you, it pales
in comparison to the subject of our discussion
today. It absolutely does. We are looking at
didn't pad his resume to secure like a middle
management position. He padded his resume to
claim he was the absolute monarch of an entire
European nation. It genuinely remains one of
the most spectacular acts of historical fabrication
on record. I mean, we are talking about a complete
reinvention of a self executed on a geopolitical
scale during one of the most. volatile periods
in modern European history. Yeah. Today, our
deep dive into the source material brings us
face to face with the astonishing tale of Otto
Witt. Now, according to a rather comprehensive
Wikipedia article we're using as our foundation
today, Otto Witt was a German circus acrobat
who claimed that for five glorious days in the
summer of 1913, he literally ruled the newly
independent nation of Albania. A circus acrobat.
A literal acrobat. And our mission for this deep
dive is to completely dissect this wild narrative.
We're going to separate the historical facts
from the circus fantasy, delve into the psychological
framework of pathological lying, and explore
why society, maybe even you listening right now,
is so captivated by a charming imposter. Okay,
let's unpack this. Because to really understand
the mechanics of this story, you have to mentally
construct the setting. Just picture an intersection
that is equal parts sawdust covered circus tent
and grand velvet draped European royal palace.
That is quite the visual. Right. But that collision
of low brow entertainment and high stakes international
diplomacy is exactly where Otto Witt's narrative
thrives. We're examining a scenario with profound
psychological layers taking place in a very specific,
highly unstable era of the early 20th century.
Yeah, the geopolitical context of 1913 is totally
crucial here. The Balkans were effectively a
powder keg. The Ottoman Empire, which had controlled
the region for centuries, was rapidly collapsing.
The First Balkan War had just concluded, and
Albania had hastily declared independence just
to avoid being carved up by neighboring states
like Serbia, Montenegro, and Greece. And the
great powers of Europe were heavily involved
in trying to establish some sort of stable government
there. Right. So in the midst of all this power
vacuum, Witt claimed that local Albanian Muslims
decided they desperately needed a strong, unifying
ruler. According to his account, they sent an
invitation to a man named Halim Eddin, who was
purportedly a nephew of the Ottoman sultan, asking
him to come to Albania and be crowned king. Which
I have to say is a remarkably astute framing
for a lie. How so? Well. Newly independent nations
in that era frequently sought out minor royals
from established empires to lend legitimacy to
their fragile governments. So Witt was leveraging
a very real diplomatic mechanism to set the stage
for his grift. He knew what he was doing. And
this is where our cast of characters makes their
entrance. We have Otto Witt, born October 16,
1872, whose primary trade is acrobatics and illusion.
And his partner in crime. Yes. His partner in
this grand geopolitical heist is a man named
Max Schlepsig. And Schlepsig is a literal sword
swallower by trade. It just introduces this element
of the absurd that somehow makes the story more
enduring. You have a tumbling acrobat and a sword
swallower inserting themselves into the complex
web of Balkan statecraft. Sounds like a movie
pitch. But according to Witt, he noticed a striking
physical resemblance between himself and this
royal nephew, Halim Eddin. Very. So capitalizing
on this, he and Schlepsig traveled to the Albanian
coastal city of Durres. Witt asserted that his
disguise was so flawless and his performance
of royal entitlement so convincing that he was
officially crowned king of Albania by the local
troops on August 13th, 1913. And he did not claim
to have been a passive monarch either. Oh, no,
no, no. The details of his supposed reign are
where the narrative leans heavily into pure theatricality.
He constructed a fantasy of unchecked opulent
power. He certainly didn't hold back. Wynne claimed
that for those five days, he enjoyed the exclusive
company of a royal harem. Of course he did. Furthermore,
perhaps feeling the rush of absolute authority,
he alleged that he declared war on the neighboring
country of Montenegro. Declaring war on Montenegro
in the immediate aftermath of the Balkan Wars,
it's just a hilariously reckless detail. It highlights
the sheer bravado of the story. And every dramatic
heist requires a thrilling getaway. Oh, and Wit's
account delivers on that front as well. On day
five, the ruse is supposedly discovered. But
rather than facing execution or imprisonment,
Wit and the sword swallower manage a daring escape
from the palace. And their accomplices in this
escape. The very harem he had commandeered. Naturally.
They allegedly slip out of the country, but not
before looting a substantial portion of the Albanian
kingdom's treasury to fund their retirement.
What's fascinating here is how perfectly this
account mirrors the pulp adventure novels of
the Victorian and Adordian eras. When you analyze
the structure of his claim, the mistaken identity,
the exotic foreign location, the sudden elevation
of a commoner to royalty, the harem. the daring
escape with the stolen treasure, it operates
as a paint -by -numbers replica of the escapist
fiction that was wildly popular at the time.
He hit every single beat. He utilized every single
trope. And that reliance on established fictional
structures lays the crucial groundwork for the
skepticism we must apply to his historical claims.
Because here's where it gets really interesting.
As entertaining as it is to visualize a sword
swallower and an acrobat outrunning a Balkan
army with bags of gold, the source text systematically
dismantles the mythology. Completely dismantles
it. When historians scrutinize Witt's narrative,
the foundational pillars of the story collapse
almost immediately. First and foremost, the catalyst
for the entire adventure. The sultan's nephew,
Halim Adain, did not exist. Wait, he just he
made up the guy he was supposedly impersonating.
The man he claimed to be impersonating was a
complete phantom. Well, that presents a rather
significant hurdle for the authenticity of the
memoir. It is the fatal flaw. Now, there was
a real historical figure named Burhan Adain,
who was the son of Sultan Abdul Hamid II. He
was indeed considered for the Albanian throne.
But that diplomatic maneuver did not occur until
1914, a full year after Witt's supposed reign.
Furthermore, Burhanuddin never actually traveled
to Albania to accept the position. And the timeline
discrepancies are really where the facade truly
crumbles. Witt initially toured with this story,
claiming the entire escapade happened in February
of 1913. Right. But he clearly failed to consult
a history book before locking in that date. In
February 1913, the coastal city of Durres, where
he claimed to be crowned, was under heavy occupation
by the Serbian military. Exactly. It would have
been physically and politically impossible for
local Muslim troops to organize a coronation
for a new monarch under those conditions. So,
confronted with that historical impossibility,
Witt's response was incredibly telling. He didn't
retract the story. No, he simply revised the
timeline. He shifted the date of his glorious
reign to August 1913 just to sidestep the Serbian
occupation. Just a quick edit to the history
books. And beyond the shifting dates, the lack
of local corroboration is deafening. There is
absolutely zero evidence in Albanian historical
records to support any facet of this event. Nothing.
No documentation of an August 13th coronation.
No diplomatic notes regarding a five -day king.
No financial records indicating a looted treasury.
And certainly no military archives noting a brief
phantom war with Montenegro initiated by a German
acrobat. Exactly. The total fabrication of the
event really brings us to the psychological underpinnings
of Otto Witt. It takes a very specific type of
cognitive framework to construct a lie of this
magnitude and maintain it under... Heavy scrutiny.
Psychology categorizes this behavior under the
term pseudologia fantastica. Pseudologia fantastica.
Also commonly known as pathological lying or
mythomania. And it's important to distinguish
this from the kind of lying we mentioned at the
beginning of the deep dive. This isn't a defensive
lie to avoid a parking ticket, nor is it standard
con artistry where the primary goal is financial
gain. No, pseudologia fantastica involves creating
complex, grandiose, often easily verifiable falsehoods.
And the individual frequently integrates these
lies into their core identity. The lie becomes
a reality. Precisely. The primary motive isn't
always external reward. It's often internal ego
gratification. And to demonstrate that Witt's
Albanian adventure was a manifestation of this
pathology rather than just a singular practical
joke, we have to look at his activities later
in life. His political career. Yes. In 1925,
Witt claimed that he founded a political party
and formally ran for the presidency of Weimar
Germany. And a 1925 German presidential election
was a massive pivotal moment in history. It was
the first direct election to the presidency of
the Reich. By inserting himself into that specific
event, Witt is attempting to place himself at
the absolute nexus of 20th century German politics.
And he didn't just claim he was on the ballot.
He built a statistical fantasy world. He asserted
that he received anywhere from 25 ,000 to 230
,000 votes in the first round of the election.
And the crowning detail of that specific fabrication
was his claim that he made the noble, selfless
decision to resign from the race, thereby throwing
his immense political weight behind Paul von
Hindenburg, who ultimately won. He made himself
the kingmaker. But official German voting records
from 1925 paint a different picture entirely.
Witt's name appears nowhere. He wasn't a registered
candidate, he received zero votes, and he certainly
didn't act as a kingmaker for Hindenburg. I mean,
imagine the sheer confidence required to double
down on a lie that massive. It shifts him from
a charismatic prankster to someone with a profound,
almost desperate psychological need for grandiosity.
He needed to be a pivotal figure in world events,
whether it was in the Balkans or in Berlin. But
if we return to the Albanian claim, we really
have to ask how he arrived at that specific scenario.
The intersection of his fantasy and actual historical
events is quite revealing. Yeah. So what does
this all mean? Where did an acrobat in Germany
get the specific inspiration to claim the throne
of a newly independent Balkan state? The inspiration
likely stems from a real world political event.
The great powers of Europe, in their attempt
to stabilize Albania, did actually place a German
prince on the throne. They did. His name was
Prince William of Weed. He was selected late
in 1913 and actually reigned for a brief, tumultuous
six months in 1914 before the outbreak of World
War I forced him to flee. The historical reality
of a German prince named William of Weed and
our circus acrobat named Otto Witt. The phonetic
similarity between weed and wheat is impossible
to ignore. It was almost certainly the spark
that ignited Witt's imagination. He observed
a German aristocrat with a name remarkably similar
to his own being associated with the Albanian
throne. And he basically utilized that coincidence
to write himself into the historical narrative.
But he didn't rely solely on the news of the
day. Witt also mapped his lie onto existing cultural
frameworks because the public in the early 20th
century was primed for exactly this kind of narrative.
They were completely immersed. in it, the story
perfectly mirrors the cultural zeitgeist of the
era. Consider the massive literary phenomena
of the time. In 1894, Anthony Hope published
a best -selling adventure novel titled The Prisoner
of Zenda. A classic. Right. And the central premise
of that book involves an ordinary man who happens
to share a striking physical resemblance to a
king, is mistaken for that monarch, and assumes
his place on the throne to thwart a political
conspiracy. And the very first film adaptation
of The Prisoner of Zenda was released released
in theaters in 1913. The exact same year Witt
claimed his Albanian adventure took place. The
timing is highly indicative of his influences.
Furthermore, there is Rudyard Kipling's famous
1888 novella, The Man Who Would Be King, which
details the exploits of two ambitious rogue adventurers
who travel to a remote, exoning land and successfully
trick the local population into counting them
as royalty. So Witt wasn't inventing a new genre
of storytelling. Not at all. He was effectively
casting himself as the lead actor in the most
popular literary genre of his generation. Which
makes the aftermath of this entire saga the most
astonishing aspect of the deep dive. Logic dictates
that once a man is exposed as a complete fraud,
especially one claiming to have absconded with
a sovereign nation's treasury, he would face
severe legal repercussions or, at the very least,
public shunning. You would think so. Instead,
society's reaction was entirely the opposite.
Otto Witt became incredibly famous in Germany.
He really transitioned into a beloved public
figure, making frequent appearances and leaning
heavily into the persona of the exiled monarch.
The capitulation of the authorities is what truly
stands out to me. The Berlin police actually
allowed his official identity card to bear an
artistic pseudonym. They officially permitted
the words, which translates to former king of
Albania, to be printed right on his government
-issued identification. It suggests a post -World
War I society that was perhaps deeply weary of
grim realities and just eager for a bit of harmless,
entertaining absurdity. He demanded to be greeted
by that title for the remainder of his life.
If you encountered him in Berlin, social protocol
dictated that you address him as your majesty.
And the public happily obliged. They loved it.
And the local police and the German public weren't
the only ones charmed by this elaborate fiction.
Even prestigious international media outlets
suspended their critical faculties. Time magazine,
a massive publication of record, published an
article in August of 1958 titled The Man Who
Was King. They largely treated his fantastical
tale as historical fact, allowing the romance
of the narrative to override rigorous fact checking.
And the legacy of that lie has only solidified
over time, cementing itself in modern literature.
It inspired numerous adaptations. Harry Turtledove
authored a high fantasy novel in 2005 called
Every Inch King, based directly on Witt's story.
In 2012, Andrew McCall published a novel titled
If You're Reading This, I'm Already Dead, another
direct adaptation of the Witt saga. The lie proved
so resilient and entertaining that it mutated
into a permanent piece of cultural folklore.
If we connect this to the bigger picture, Witt
is not an isolated phenomenon in German history.
He shares a striking conceptual resemblance to
another famous German imposter from that era,
Wilhelm Voigt. Ah, the captain of Köpenick. Yes,
the parallels are undeniable. In 1906, Voigt,
an unemployed shoemaker and ex -convict, purchased
a secondhand uniform of a Prussian military officer.
He commanded a squad of actual soldiers who followed
him simply because he wore the uniform with authority,
marched into the town hall of Kupinik, and confiscated
the municipal treasury. It's incredible. Both
Voight and Witt exposed the underlying absurdity
of rigid social and political hierarchies. Voight
demonstrated that the vaunted Prussian military
machine would blindly follow a piece of fabric
regardless of the man wearing it. Exactly. And
Witt performed a similar critique regarding royalty.
They tap into a deep psychological appeal. The
little guy hacking the system. If a circus acrobat
can successfully convince the world he's a king,
or a shoemaker can commandeer soldiers, it suggests
that authority... It brings this incredible journey
full circle. We're looking at a man who began
his career tumbling in the sawdust of a circus
ring. He wove a lie so massive, so impossibly
grand, that it permanently blurred the line between
reality and fiction. Truly. He successfully manipulated
the Berlin police into validating his fake royal
status on official documents. He charmed his
way into the archives of Time magazine and he
inspired fantasy novels a century later. He manifested
a kingdom out of thin air simply through an absolute
refusal to break character. It is a masterclass
in the sheer power of unwavering commitment to
a narrative. And the final detail from our source
material today serves as the ultimate punctuation
to his story. Otto Witt passed away on August
13th, 1958. Poetically, that date marked the
exact 45th anniversary of his supposed coronation
in Durres. Wow. Today, if you visit the Olsdorf
Cemetery in Hamburg, specifically Parzell Q9,
lots 430 through 433 stretch, you will find his
grave. And carved permanently into the stone
of his marker is his self -anointed royal title,
the former king of Albania. Which leaves us with
a fascinating dynamic to consider in our modern
context. Otto Witt operated in an era where information
moved slowly, relying on physical records, telegrams,
and the slow churn of early 20th century journalism.
His lie survived in the gaps of available data.
Right. It forces you to wonder how a modern day
Otto Witt would operate in our current era of
instantaneous verification, AI generated imagery
and deep fix. On one hand, a quick Internet search
today would instantly disprove a claim like his.
Instantly. But on the other hand, the tools to
fabricate reality to generate fake coronation
photos, coordinate bot networks to validate a
narrative, and create highly convincing digital
echo chambers are more powerful than ever. We
might assume that digital footprints make a lie
like Wits impossible today, but it is entirely
possible that our modern technology actually
makes it easier to invent an entire reality from
scratch and find a willing audience to believe
it. If a lie is repeated enough. celebrated by
the public, accepted by the police, and literally
carved in stone on a gravestone for eternity.
At what point does it transition from being a
mere falsehood into a culturally accepted mythology?
Does objective truth actually matter if the fabricated
story brings a society more joy? It's a profound
question. It really is a sobering thought to
weigh the next time you encounter a viral story
that seems just a little too perfectly aligned
with what you want to believe. That is all the
time we have for this deep dive into the source
material. We hope you found the five -day reign
of Otto Witt as illuminating as we did. Keep
questioning the narratives around you, look closely
at the historical details, and we'll catch you
next time you're ready to learn something new.