Distorted Mirrors: Reflections on Forger Carl Wilhelm Becker

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Coins are mirrors of time, reflecting both their age and the one from which we observe them. In their luster, we glimpse not only their value but our own as well. These reflections grow sharper and stranger when the mirror is distorted. What happens, for instance, when we are faced with a counterfeit coin? 

The intriguing ambiguity of such encounters fuels the fascination numismatic scholars and collectors have with forgeries and their makers, along with a subtle sympathy—perhaps even a perverse admiration—for the master counterfeiter. After all, the trickster is a kind of hero too, defined, like any true character, by authenticity. Let’s talk about Becker then. 

A Life of Highs & Lows, a Legacy of Light & Shadow 

To American collectors, the name “Becker” is more likely to evoke the Becker Manufacturing Company and its vast production of coin replicas since the mid-20th century than Carl Wilhelm Becker, the German forger active in the early 19th century and the subject of this article. In fact, the U.S. company was explicitly named in his honor—and with good reason. 

The study of this colorful numismatic figure is supported by a wealth of material. About a century ago, George Hill wrote an excellent book, Becker The Counterfeiter , that was based on the partial availability of Becker’s personal diaries and an already substantial body of specialized literature. More recently, research has advanced further, thanks to the complete accessibility of the diaries, a vast collection of dies, and other personal documents now preserved at the Berlin Coin Cabinet (Weisser, B., 2024). Although additional information may yet come to light, the biographical sketch that follows can, for the time being, be regarded as reasonably well established. 

Born on June 28, 1772, in Speyer, a town in present-day southern Germany near the French border, Carl Wilhelm Becker was already renowned in his day for his masterful creations of medals and ancient coins, works that walked the delicate line between faithful reproduction and forgery. Over time, these pieces acquired distinct numismatic value, prized precisely for their creator’s hand, and today, many “authentic Becker” items are offered at renowned auctions worldwide. Yet in his own era, these very achievements unsettled numerous unsuspecting collectors of antiquities—an early article noted that “there is probably no coin collector through whose hands, at some time or other, one or more Becker’s forgeries have not passed, and that under not very agreeable circumstances.” (Arnold, T., 1863).

Becker came to numismatic forgery through both passion and, allegedly, revenge. He had hoped to become a sculptor, but his father, a man of local political standing, pushed him toward commerce. He is said to have spent part of his youth learning the wine trade in Bordeaux, where he instead focused on his artistic interests, especially drawing ancient coins and engraving dies. This is mentioned in a biography written by his daughter in 1902 but is otherwise undocumented. The safest conclusion is that we do not know exactly when or where Becker began making coins and medals, though he most likely did so as a self-taught young artist. 

By 1795 he was surely located in Frankfurt, married, and working in the wine business. He later moved to Mannheim and tried his hand at trading textiles, with little success, until declaring bankruptcy in 1803. According to Bernhard Weisser, director of the Berlin Münzkabinett, the first evidence of Becker’s numismatic commerce—including the sale of some forged Roman aurei to a museum in Stuttgart—also dates to that year. From then on, his activity ran alongside numismatic research and practice across various German cities, with adventures that take on novelistic contours. 

George Hill recounts in his book that Becker experienced a kind of revelation in Munich. After purchasing a gold coin of Emperor Commodus from a local baron, he later discovered it was counterfeit. When he returned to complain, the seller reportedly told him he had only himself to blame for dabbling in a field he did not know well. Angered by the deceit and driven by a desire for vengeance, Becker immersed himself in the study and reproduction of ancient coins so intensely that just a few years later, he was able to sell one of his own forgeries to that very same nonchalant nobleman. 

By around 1806, sources attest to Becker’s production of replicas of Greek gold coins, and in the following years his activity as a dealer in antiquities expanded rapidly, with medals and coins occupying a privileged place. Notably, Becker’s commercial endeavors were also supported through collaborations with other firms trading in ancient coins, including that of Meyer Amschel Rothschild, founder of the renowned financial dynasty. 

By 1810 records place Becker in Milan, where he secured a sale to the numismatic cabinet of the Brera Museum. While the exact number and authenticity of the items sold remain uncertain, the episode situates the German trader within a significant cultural network, one in which he continued to gain prominence. This is evidenced, for instance, around 1815 by multiple written mentions from none other than Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, who counted ancient coins among his many passions and referred to Becker as “a most excellent numismatist.” The famed poet had even become a client of Becker’s enterprise, Antiken Becker, by that time firmly established in Offenbach, not far from Frankfurt. Around the same period, Becker also developed a close friendship with Carl von Isenburg, an enlightened prince with Napoleonic sympathies and broad cultural interests, who conferred upon him the honorary title of Court Chancellor (or Hofrat). 

The first cracks in Becker’s success began to appear in 1819, when he made a miscalculated attempt to sell counterfeit Roman coins to a law student with a passion for numismatics, trying to exploit the dim twilight to avoid close scrutiny. In daylight, the young yet already discerning collector recognized the forgery and managed to cancel the purchase, without filing any formal complaint. Yet rumors about the less-than-spotless morality of Antiken Becker’s trade began to circulate, eventually erupting into a veritable international scandal. Between 1825 and 1826, the Italian polymath Domenico Sestini first reported a suspicious stream of counterfeit coins produced by a “transalpine” forger, then published another article explicitly naming “a certain Becker” and describing several of his specimens. 

Faced with mounting scandal, Becker defended himself by claiming that his replication activity served to satisfy, without fraudulent intent, enthusiasts who could not afford original ancient coins. To support his case, he even published a catalog listing 296 specimens, complete with prices for purchasing the entire collection or sections of it. The catalog speaks volumes about the scope of Becker’s production: Greek series (110 pieces), Roman series (126), Gothic kings (24), medieval Germany (24), and Muslim coins (12). Subsequent research—beginning with an initial catalog of Becker’s forgeries circulated among numismatists since 1836—suggests much higher numbers, and it is reasonable to assume that a definitive mapping of the “authentic Beckers” remains impossible. As indisputable material evidence of Becker’s engraving activities, the Berlin Coin Cabinet currently holds a collection of 595 of his dies (see https://ikmk.smb.museum). 

Becker’s defense did not withstand the scandal, and his reputation suffered irreparable damage, which also likely prevented him from completing the sale of his die collection to the Münzkabinett in Vienna, a transaction he had been negotiating since 1824 and for which he had even relocated to the heart of the Austrian Empire. The long trajectory of this failed deal at the very least shows that Becker openly presented his coin-replication activities well before they were exposed.

A few years of meager, itinerant endeavors followed until he settled in Bad Homburg, where he had a daughter with his new wife. Becker died shortly thereafter, on April 11, 1830, reportedly of a heart attack. Interestingly enough, Becker’s death most likely opened an even more unsettling chapter in his numismatic legacy. 

Master, Faker—and the Curious Case of Faked Fakes 

The body of work Becker left behind clearly demonstrates his meticulous care in crafting medals and coins, supported by exceptional numismatic skill and knowledge. Seen in this light, the decision made in 2022 by the Society for International Monetary History to dedicate a medal to him on the 250th anniversary of his birth seems thus understandable, despite some controversy over the appropriateness of honoring a notorious forger.

As a matter of fact, Becker engraved iron dies of undeniable beauty. Each coin was struck by hammer, using fine metals and alloys selected for the planchet with philological awareness. Although one cannot rule out occasional plating, he also employed original ancient pieces as planchets on which to strike his “new-old” dies—an approach intended to preserve consistency in the material itself. 

In our own day, when doctoral dissertations in mass spectrometry are routinely devoted to analyzing the composition and material conditions of coins, Becker’s precautions might seem easily disproved. Yet one cannot deny his meticulous attention to detail. On that note, it is worth mentioning the personal touch—so to speak—with which he finished his creations. According to accounts, Becker would first place the freshly struck coins in a container under his carriage, together with metal shavings that would conveniently scratch their surfaces, and then bury them in heaps of manure to give them an authentic “scent of age.” 

After his death, the difficult financial circumstances of his family seem to have compelled them to reuse his engraved dies to produce inferior copies—for instance, crudely replacing silver with tin—and to sell these new issues along that same fine line between replica and counterfeit. The result was possibly “fakes of fakes,” further complicating what counts as authentic in today’s numismatic market regarding Becker’s coins. Which brings us to some concluding reflections on themes as intriguing as they are intertwined. 

Through the Looking-Glasses 

At least until the Middle Ages, the originality of an artwork—understood as its attribution to a specific author, time, and context—held little relevance, since what mattered most was its function, most often devotional. It was only from the Renaissance onward that antiquity was rediscovered as a value and artistic genius celebrated; with Romanticism, this evolved into a kind of tormented cult of individuality, precisely at the same time that the Industrial Revolution introduced a fundamental distinction between handmade and machine-made works. It was in this context that the idea of distinguishing an original from replicas became definitely central (see Moulin, R., 2011).

The development of the arts and antiques markets, where numismatics long occupied a transitional space, culminated in the elevation of originality—and therefore rarity—as the primary determinants of economic value. Notably, this very logic now shapes the contemporary art market, where rarity is often manufactured for works that could, in principle, be endlessly reproduced. From this perspective, figures such as Carl Wilhelm Becker are emblematic of a historical and conceptual fault line in which the very value of values shifts precariously. 

Commercially speaking, the issue is relatively straightforward: knowingly selling something as what it is not carries legal consequences. This was clearly the case when the protagonist of our story sought his peculiar revenge on the nobleman who had sold him a forgery, or when he deliberately set out to mislead buyers, possibly exploiting the dimming evening light to cloak his actions in shadow—but by now it should be evident that Becker often played the role of a fully conscious trickster. Yet the broader question persists, particularly in light of the objectively remarkable artistic quality of the body of work produced by this figure, conjured here from the mists of old Germany. 

Indeed, the issue becomes subtler on a philosophical level. For instance, if an object is revealed to be a counterfeit, does the aesthetic—or even spiritual—experience it evokes become “false,” or does the experience remain valid regardless of material circumstances? It is also conceivable that figures who are both talented and morally ambiguous, as often happens with great forgers, may sometimes see themselves as preserving the authentic value of ancient artifacts through their own personal authenticity. (In this sense, Becker is in good company: Michelangelo’s sculpting career took off after he was discovered to have sold a marble statue of his own as an ancient Roman work to a cardinal who, impressed by his skill, introduced him to the elite circles of their contemporary Rome.)

We began this reflection by speaking of coins as mirrors, and of all that one can perceive within them, perhaps in some distorted ways. We end by leaving the question open. It is precisely for this reason, after all, that researchers continue to probe the shadowed corners of artist-forgers with a mixture of fervor and unease—and that readers, hopefully, continue to read their reports. 

Sources

Arnold, Thomas. “Becker’s Forgeries.” The Numismatic Chronicle and Journal of the Numismatic Society, 3, 246–254 (1863).
Hill, George. Becker the Counterfeiter. London: Spink and Sons, 1924.
Moulin, Raymonde. “The Genesis of the Rarity of Art.” Art in Translation, 3(4), 441–472 (2011).
Weisser, Bernhard. “Objekte und Zeugnisse zu Carl Wilhelm Becker (1772–1830).” In C. Stoess, B. Weisser, and B. Balz (eds.), Falschgeld und Münzfälschungen. Regenstauf: Battenberg, 2024.