In Prussia, long before the establishment of Bruchsal, the method of solitary confinement found many advocates, and, beginning in 1846, several large, separate cell prisons were built. The first, the Moabit, which was organised by Dr. Wichern, the famous creator of the Hamburg Raue Haus, is a cellular prison on the “wheel” or radiating plan, with four wings and 508 cells in all. An interesting feature of the Moabit is its management by a Protestant brotherhood, that of the Raue Haus, or Hamburg reformatory, whose members are regularly trained for this useful work on lines laid down by Dr. Wichern. All the brothers do not devote themselves to prison management, however, but are sent as required to various fields of labour.
At Moabit it soon became evident that the separate system was not suitable, and that secret intercourse among the convicts was not preventable. The doors of the cells were therefore left open during working hours, and a number of convicts worked in company. In church, during exercise, and in school no isolation took place, but silence was always enforced. On the whole, the Prussian authorities were not in favour of prolonged isolation. As to the general result, it has been thought that the cellular system lessened the number of reconvictions, but that the experience had no lasting effect upon hardened or habitual criminals. On the other hand, first offenders, or those who had been tempted by opportunity or carried away by passion, were believed to have been returned to society changed and reformed after a period of cellular confinement. Progress continued to be made, although the introduction of a new system of criminal procedure in 1849 led to such an increase in the number of sentences that much overcrowding of the prisons followed. Attention was in consequence directed rather toward providing further accommodation than to experiments in treatment. Such reforms as were urgent, including the separation of the sexes in different buildings, were accomplished, while the building of new prisons went steadily on and the fine specimens of the Stadtvogtei in Berlin, the cellular prisons at Ratibor in Silesia and Rendsburg in Schleswig-Holstein, a cellular police prison at Altona and similar institutions in other provinces, showed that improvement did not tarry by the way in Prussia.
Bavaria made the most marked progress, which was worthy of the country that produced the famous Herr Obermaier, and the great state prison of Munich is still worked upon the lines he introduced in 1843, although cellular confinement, which he did not favour, has been to some extent installed. Obermaier was one of those rare characters, another Montesinos, who left his mark on prison administration. He was a man of the same indomitable will and commanding personal influence, who could work wonders with prisoners and change their natures entirely. When he assumed charge, the prison of Munich contained some six or seven hundred prisoners in the worst state of insubordination. They defied all discipline, although the harshest and most severe had been tried. They were chained together and to each chain so heavy a weight was attached that even the strongest found a difficulty in dragging it along. Soldiers, a hundred of them, were on duty all through the prison, at the gates, around the walls, in the passages, inside the work-shops and dormitories; at night, as an additional precaution, a pack of from twenty to thirty large and savage bloodhounds roamed at large through the yards. Obermaier called the place “a perfect pandemonium, comprising within the limits of a few acres, the worst men, the most slavish vices, and the most heartless tyranny.” By degrees he relaxed the severity of the discipline, lightened the chains and sent away the soldiers and the dogs.
The prisoners became humanised and in return for the confidence placed in them, grew well-behaved. They managed themselves, and public opinion among them checked flagrant misconduct, all yielding ready obedience to those of their fellows who were appointed overseers. If a prisoner was inclined to break a rule, the warning, es ist verboten, was sufficient to deter him. The most satisfactory industry prevailed, and the prisoners became self-supporting, making their own clothes, building their own walls, forging their own fetters, and more especially manufacturing useful articles which found ready sale. In these employments they earned good wages, part of which was given to them on discharge. Nor was the conquest thus achieved over these turbulent spirits merely evanescent, disappearing after release. It was proved, “on irrefutable evidence,” that about five-sixths of those sent out from the Munich prison returned to society improved and that the percentage of relapse was exceedingly small.
Bavaria has four cellular prisons in all; one at Nürnberg and three others intended to serve the district courts of justice and filled mostly with prisoners not yet tried. Other prisons are conducted on the collective system. Many of them are ancient convents and castles, little suited for the purpose to which they have been converted. Crime is very prevalent, owing to a generally low standard of morality, the neglect of education and the rough manners and customs of the population. The peasants in many parts of the country are in the habit of carrying long stiletto-like knives at public houses and dancing places, and murderous conflicts, after nasty quarrels, when grave injuries are inflicted, are very common.
The penal code of Bavaria, compiled chiefly by Anselm von Feuerbach, a distinguished criminal jurist, was adopted by the government in 1813, and became the basis of criminal legislation for all the German states. In Bavaria the peculiar merits and defects of this code were strongly accentuated. The laws are severe and the punishment merciless, but blood is never shed until the most minute pains have been taken to secure proof of guilt. Circumstantial evidence is never held sufficient to justify the extreme penalty, and sentence of death cannot be passed unless the culprit has confessed his crime.[1] Two witnesses are deemed sufficient when they testify to facts seen with their own eyes, and the statement of one witness is accepted only as half proof. By far the most important evidence is that given by the prisoner himself. He is questioned by the examining judge in the presence of the notary only, who is employed to take down his replies. The judge seeks to elicit a full statement by suggesting that ample confession may soften punishment. An attempt is made to entrap the prisoner into untruthfulness by asking him if he knows the real reason of his arrest, and if he affects ignorance or gives a false answer he is gravely admonished and warned that lying will prejudice his case. All the questions put to him are aimed to mislead him and obtain unwary admissions inconsistent with innocence. If the prisoner has replied truthfully, he is closely cross-examined on his own story, which is twisted and inverted until he is confused into contradicting and committing himself.
[1] This practice of requiring confession in capital cases doubtless had its origin in the influence of the Church and the doctrine of the confession as necessary to absolution.
All this time he is kept in the dark as to the exact nature of the accusation laid to his charge, and it is illegal for him to seek enlightenment. He is not furnished with a copy of his own evidence or of that of the witnesses for or against him. Pitfalls are laid for him by his unexpected confrontation with an accomplice. If he obstinately refuses to speak, he is sentenced to bread and water. If it is a murder charge, he is brought face to face with the bleeding corpse, or it may be that the decaying remains are exhibited to him. The most curious feature in the proceedings is their prolixity.
Criminal trials in Bavaria have lasted for years. The reports in one leading case, that of the priest-murderer Riembauer, filled forty-two folio volumes. The most minute and searching investigation was made of the secret motives and inmost feelings of the accused, as well as his open actions. Feuerbach has written an account of remarkable crimes and lengthy trials in Germany, and among others tells the story of Francis Riembauer. He was a parish priest whose first worldly venture was the purchase of a farm near the village of Lauterbach between Ratisbon and Landshut, where he lived with the former owners, a widow, Mrs. Frauenknecht, and her two daughters, Magdalena and Catherine. All were esteemed by their neighbours. Riembauer passed for a model of apostolic zeal and charity. Though the son of humble parents, he had a fine person and was an eloquent preacher. In 1808, after passing with great distinction the examination for ecclesiastical preferment, he obtained the benefice of Priel, sold the farm and moved with the Frauenknecht family to his new parsonage.
Soon after the change, the mother and the elder daughter Magdalena died. Riembauer then endeavoured to persuade Catherine, the remaining daughter, to continue to live with him as his housekeeper in her sister’s place. She refused, however, and left him to take a position as a domestic in another family. It was noted that for some time afterward she was subject to periods of great gloom and depression. Finally she confided to a friend, and then confessed to a priest, that she was the possessor of a dreadful secret: that Riembauer had murdered a woman; that she and her mother and sister had witnessed the deed; and that he had also appropriated the entire fortune of her family. The priest to whom she confessed counselled silence, but wrote Riembauer in an attempt to bring about the restoration of the fortune, with no result.