
A poisoned marriage: the Buser case
The restrictive divorce laws of the 19th century repeatedly led to human tragedies. In the case of the Buser couple, they even resulted in murder.
It wasn’t the first time that Anna had gone to the authorities. Several months previously, she had asked to have her husband placed under guardianship because she said he was a spendthrift and “feeble minded”. And she wanted to be in charge of the mill. The authority denied this request as the mill business was doing well and was making money. Anna then appeared before the district court to file for divorce again and to ask “for the business to be handed over to her, for her own and her sons’ sakes, and to offer her husband an annual salary.”
Feeling forsaken by God, a meanness gradually developed in her heart, and with time that meanness turned into a loathing towards her spouse, who, through his drunkenness, diminished their earthly possessions and undermined their supposed happiness.
The district judge had little choice but to refuse the divorce. Basel Landschaft was a reformed canton, which meant that divorces were possible under strict conditions, unlike in Catholic regions, where according to church doctrine, marriage is a sacrament and thus cannot be dissolved. Catholic cantons only permitted a so-called ‘separation from bed and table’, in other words living apart, in the most extreme cases. The reformer Zwingli had previously specified a whole list of possible grounds for divorce, such as adultery, severe physical mistreatment (by the man), wilful abandonment, a capital offence committed by one of the spouses, infectious disease, insanity, and male impotence.
Although it was clear in today’s terms that the Busers’ marriage had broken down, the district court forced the couple to continue to live under the same roof. It was forbidden for a married couple to live separately without the State’s consent: “Spouses should in no way be permitted to separate of their own volition – whatever the reasons may be.” The moral court monitored whether people were living together or not: in the view of the legislator at the time, marriage was “a supraindividual institution (...) over which the spouses generally do not have control”, because its existence – as the ultimate form of regulating gender relations – was “in the State’s overarching, public interest”.
Suspicions confirmed
It didn’t take long for Anna Maria Buser to confess to her husband’s murder. After a series of witness statements, the authorities eventually managed to piece together what had happened. In order to carry out the poisoning, Anna had first been to see an unlicensed apothecary named Stocker in Frenkendorf, who was in fact a carpenter and was known to the authorities as ‘the quack’. She came right out with it and asked him for a poison that would cause a slow death. In exchange, she offered Stocker 50 doubloons and two years’ worth of flour. Anna’s accomplice Heuberger – who had previously worked as a servant in the Buser’s household but who scarpered just before Heinrich’s death when the situation got too risky – put Anna in touch with Stocker and picked the poison up from him. But the authorities didn’t believe Heuberger was Anna’s lover as his “outward appearance was as hideous as his character”.
However, Stocker’s ‘poison’ didn’t work – and Stocker then blackmailed Anna, threatening to disclose what he knew. Anna then tried copper shavings, which she grated into her husband’s roast potatoes. When that didn’t work either, she slipped lead oxide, which she had bought from a painter, into his brandy. While this made Heinrich sick, it only ended up being fatal in combination with sulphuric acid and hydrochloric acid.
The sulphuric acid had been in the house for ten years, while the hydrochloric acid had been procured the previous winter from a Dr Gaß in Muttenz to treat a sick horse. Anna poured the lead oxide into Heinrich’s grape brandy which had been coloured with black cherries. “He didn’t notice a thing,” she remarked in the hearing.
A change ahead of its time
A clear verdict


