Crime, Histoire & Sociétés / Crime, History & Societies

Vol. 3, n°1 | 1999 Varia

Édition électronique URL : http://journals.openedition.org/chs/931 DOI : 10.4000/chs.931 ISSN : 1663-4837

Éditeur Librairie Droz

Édition imprimée Date de publication : 1 janvier 1999 ISBN : 2-600-00356-8 ISSN : 1422-0857

Référence électronique Crime, Histoire & Sociétés / Crime, History & Societies, Vol. 3, n°1 | 1999 [En ligne], mis en ligne le 03 avril 2009, consulté le 13 février 2021. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/chs/931 ; DOI : https://doi.org/ 10.4000/chs.931

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© Droz 1

SOMMAIRE

Articles

« Cretins » and « idiots » in an Austrian Alpine valley in the late 19th and early 20th centuries: interests, social norms, and institutions involved in the attribution of « imbecility » The Herman Diedericks Prize Essay for 1998 / Lauréat du prix Herman Diedericks 1998 Gudrun Hopf

A typology of nineteenth-century police Clive Emsley

Weak Bodies ? Prostitutes and the Role of Gender in the Criminological Writings of 19th- century German Detectives and Magistrates Peter Becker

The creation and evolution of criminal law in colonial and post-colonial societies Leslie Sebba

Entre idéal de bienfaisance et politique sécuritaire : la prévention selon le Landrecht prussien de 1794 Yves Cartuyvels

Forum

La « Cour du 19 août 1944 » : essai sur la mémoire policière Jean-Marc Berlière

Comptes rendus

Yves Cartuyvels, D'où vient le code pénal?: une approche généalogique des premiers codes pénaux absolutistes au XVIIIe siècle / Michel Porret, (Ed.), Beccaria et la culture juridique des Lumières Paris/Bruxelles, Les Presses de l'Université de Montréal/ Les Presses de l'Université d'Ottawa/ De Boeck Université, 1996 (Préface de Françoise Tulkens), XX + 404 pp., ISBN 2 8041 2360 X. / Genève, Droz, 1997, 316 pp., ISBN 2 600 00176 X. J.A. Sharpe

Clive Emsley, Crime and Society in England 1750-1900 London and New York, Longman, 1996 (2nd ed.), 287 p., ISBN 0 522 25768-9 Martin J. Wiener

Lonza (Nella), Pod plaštem pravde, Kaznenopravni sustav Dubrovaèke Republike u XVIII. stoljecu, (Sous le voile de la justice, Le système pénal de la République de Dubrovnik au XVIIIe siècle) Dubrovnik, Zavod za povijesne znanosti Hrvatske Akademije Znanosti i Umjetnosti (Publications de l'Institut pour les Sciences historiques de l'Académie des Sciences de Croatie), 1997, [Résumé en anglais], ISBN 953 154 0810. Jasna Adler

Crime, Histoire & Sociétés / Crime, History & Societies, Vol. 3, n°1 | 1999 2

Nandrin (Jean-Pierre), La justice de paix à l'aube de l'indépendance de la Belgique (1832-1848). La professionnalisation d'une fonction judiciaire Bruxelles, Publications des Facultés universitaires Saint-Louis, n° 78, 1998, 314 p., ISBN 2 8020 0123 6. Jean-Claude Farcy

Logie (Jacques), Les magistrats des cours et des tribunaux en Belgique (1794-1814). Essai d'approche politique et sociale Genève, Droz, 1998, VIII-513 p., ISBN 2 600 00291 X. Jean-Claude Farcy

Jean-Marc Berlière, Le monde des polices en France XIXe-XXe siècles / Marie Vogel et Jean-Marc Berlière, Police, État et société en France (1930-1960) Bruxelles, Éditions Complexe, 1996, 275 pp., ISBN 2 87027 641 9 (Collection « Le monde de... ») / Les cahiers de l'IHTP, 1997, 36, 143 pp., ISSN 0247-0101 René Lévy

Frédéric Chauvaud, éd., « Violences », Sociétés & Représentations 1998, n° 6, 503 pp., ISSN 1262 2966. Laurent Mucchielli

Informations

Livres reçus / Books received

International Association for the History and Criminal Justice Élection du président et du secrétaire / Election for president and secretary 1999-2001

Fritz Sack Prize for Criminology GIWK. Gesellschaft für Interdisziplinäre wissenschaftliche Kriminologie (Association for Interdisciplinary Scientific Criminology)

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Articles

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« Cretins » and « idiots » in an Austrian Alpine valley in the late 19th and early 20th centuries: interests, social norms, and institutions involved in the attribution of « imbecility » The Herman Diedericks Prize Essay for 1998 / Lauréat du prix Herman Diedericks 1998

Gudrun Hopf

1 Mental disability is a phenomenon usually considered to be marginal to both historical and present societies, and apparently to social history, too. While there are several studies on psychiatry, psychiatric patients, and insane asylums, there are only a few treatises on the social history of the disabled in general, and next to none on that of the mentally disabled in particular. It is not the exotic touch, though, that led me to investigate into this topic. Apart from its undoubted contemporary relevance (however marginal the group concerned), I have been influenced by the idea that, as is the case with other marginal social phenomena such as infanticide, it « offers a good example of how the apparently marginal may be a gateway to the deeper puzzles of a culture »2. However, the phenomenon was not so entirely marginal to the particular culture I am interested in, the « servant-keeping society » (Gesindegesellschajf3) of the Inner Alps.

2 My research is based on a case-study of the Alpine region around the community of Oberwölz, district of Murau, Upper Austria4.I chose this district because of its remarkably high rates of « handicapped » people evidenced in late-nineteenth-century census lists5, which also seem to correlate with other economic and social patterns peculiar to the Inner Alps. Characteristic for the region were large peasant holdings with impartible inheritance, the predominance of cattle-breeding, and a considerable number of servants. Since the peasants usually kept their holdings until they died

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(which was possible because of the large numbers of servants who relieved them from physical work in their old age), and the heir - usually the eldest son -could not marry until he succeeded his father into the property, mean age at first marriage was very high even within the context of the so-called « European Marriage Pattern »6: over 30 for men and around 27 for women7. Moreover, the proportion of life-long unmarried persons was among the highest in Europe, or maybe in the world: in the Murau district, in the eighteen-eighties it amounted to some 50 per cent8. This high proportion of never married was due to the fact that the regional society was a marked « servant- keeping society ». In Central and Western Europe, domestic service was customarily linked to celibacy, and contrary to other European regions where it was only a life cycle phase, in the Austrian Inner Alps we additionally encounter the exceptional type of the « life time servant »9. These structures resulted in extra-ordinarily high illegitimacy rates: in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, about one half of the children in Murau were born out of wedlock10. In this respect, the district was, among all European regions, second only to St. Veit an der Glan (Carinthia), the illegitimacy rate of which came to nearly 70 per cent11. Most of the « life time servants » were either residual heirs (non-inheriting younger children of the peasant land-holders), or the illegitimate offspring of farm servants. None of these patterns changed substantially until the nineteen-twenties, meaning that we can speak in terms of the « long nineteenth century ».

3 This article focuses on interests and strategies involved in the process of Stigmatisation, and in the social environment's attitudes towards the « mentally disabled », as well as on social constructions of normalcy and deviation. I shall ask which social groups and institutions - such as family and kinship, the neigh-bourhood, local authorities, or medical experts - had the power to define who was « normal » or « mentally sane », and who was not. Concerning the process of Stigmatisation and marginalisation, I shall examine both how this process started and developed, as well as to whose benefit it worked, and whether there were any deliberate strategies involved. In addition, I shall investigate the social and cultural criteria that made an individual an « imbecile ». In doing so, I make three main assumptions: first, that a « handicap », be it mental or physical, is not in itself constituted by specific symptoms, but is a social phenomenon. Second, that this « handicap » does not form an « anthropological constant » over space and time, but depends on cultural factors. Third, that the ascription of so heavily stigmatising an attribute as « imbecility » leads to the whole personality being viewed in this way, such that the stigmatised individual is no longer seen as, for example, a farm-hand who happened to be « imbecile », but as an « imbecile » person who was a farm-hand12.

4 On the basis of curatorship files from the local court at Oberwölz, I will deal with persons who had been placed under wardship because of « imbecility » or « feeble- mindedness » (Blödsinn or Schwachsinn)13. These files were kept by the local court in its function as a curatorship office. In addition to medical certificates, the recorded statements of relatives, neighbours, or employers who had been interrogated as informants, and court decrees, the files contain documents of different kinds and quality dealing with the further life courses of the individuals in question. In many cases they also deal with their lives before legal incapacitation, because some of them had had guardians by judicial appointment, having been minor illegitimates or orphans. It is possible to (re)construct in part the life-stories of the incapacitated on

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the basis of this evidence, combined with probate inventories14 connected to the individual cases, which makes possible a profound qualitative analysis.

I. - Interests and strategies

5 To start with, we will look at the procedure of legal incapacitation. In most cases the process of Stigmatisation probably started much earlier than that procedure, which was initiated at the earliest when the persons in question reached their majority (at that time, 24 years of age). But because of the sources being used, incapacitation is in any case the central theme of this article and hence requires a proper explanation15. It appears to be the case that the incapacitation procedure was usually initiated by relatives or other individuals with personal interests. After that, the community was ordered by the local court to name persons who could give reliable information on the mental state of the person in question. These informants were then questioned and afterwards the individual to be incapacitated was summoned before the court, in the company of an other person, in order to undergo a medical examination. If the two medical experts appointed by the court unanimously judged the individual in question to be « feeble-minded » or « imbecile », the incapacitation was decided upon. But we have evidence that the initiation of a court procedure did not always lead to incapacitation, nor did the medical examination always conclude with a « positive » verdict (i. e. the decla-ration of « imbecility or « insanity »)16. We can thus assume that, though the local court may sometimes have prevented an incapacitation, it could not easily force such a conclusion if there was nobody to initiate the legal procedure. If this is true, then the authority of the medical experts in judging whether someone was « normal » or not was actually quite limited, given that they were not called upon until the legal procedure had already started. It was therefore the social environment - that is to say, family, relatives, neighbours, and probably to some extent the mayor - who first ascribed the attribute of « imbecile »to someone17. We shall therefore begin with an investigation into the particular interests of these groups or individuals, using a few case histories.

A.-Two case histories

1. Helene Fürst: on the fringes of society

6 Helene Fürst18 was a peasant land-holder's foster-daughter, born illegitimately in 1870. She was placed under wardship in 1903, a few months after her foster-father's death. Of her birth and kinship we know nothing other than her unwed mother's name, Katharina, and that her birthplace was Salchau, the village where her foster-parents had their farm. Her mother may have been a farm-maid.

7 Her foster-father Georg Leitner and his wife, who had obviously had no children, sold their holding (named « Seinzer ») in 1888 to one Leopold Leitner (who in spite of his surname was probably no relation, or at least not an eligible heir), and retired to the Ausgedinge (retirement institution) 19. In the same year, Helene gave birth to an illegitimate child. It was probably shortly after her foster-parents' retirement that she left their house and started working as a farm-maid, or occasionally as a day-labourer. She changed employment often, up to five or six times a year, which was not at all characteristic for rural servants. Since she was not regarded as a fully capable worker

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she usually received no wages, only board and lodging and the simplest clothing necessities. But on the other hand she was never unemployed. In 1896 Georg Leitner made an oral will in which he left to his foster-daughter a legacy of 240 Kronen, leaving the unnamed rest of his property to her illegitimate son Mathias, who was Georg Leitner's ward. But when Leitner died in 1902, there was apparently no property left.

8 The purchase price of the « Seinzer » holding had been paid in instalments, as was the custom in such cases, and by the time of Georg Leitner's death there was a residual amount of 590 Kronen which the purchaser still owed him. But the new holder Sebastian Leitner, who had taken over the « Seinzer » farm after his father Leopold's death in 1901, produced an account proving that not only did he not owe anything to the heirs, but that on the contrary, the deceased had left a small debt of some 25 Kronen. Apart from the costs for medical treatment and the funeral, and an amount which he said he had given to Georg Leitner without having received a receipt, he charged the deceased with the costs for his maintenance from the day of Leopold Leitner's (the original purchaser's) death onwards. The fact that the total of what he placed on account amounted to roughly what he had owed arouses the suspicion that he had deliberately concocted the bill in order to spare himself the necessity of paying off the heirs-at-will. It was, so to speak, a favourable set of circumstances for the inheritance debtor that one of these heirs was an under-aged child, and the other regarded as an « imbecile » not capable of attending to her own affairs. The persons appointed by the court as trustees ad actum (which means: temporarily and for a special purpose) to act on behalf of Helene Fürst and her son Mathias in the course of the inheritance proceedings were propertied peasants from the neighbourhood, and they confirmed Sebastian Leitner's account.

9 The first to describe Helene Fürst as imbecile and incapable of an autonomous administration of her fortune were the witnesses to Georg Leitner's will. But it was Sebastian Leitner himself who applied for her to be immediately placed under wardship. When it turned out that there was nothing left to be inherited, however, the trustees ad actum expressed the opinion that as she had no fortune, and could not expect one either, they held it unnecessary to place Helene under wardship. Yet in the end she was incapacitated, all the same. The incapacitation procedure went rather quickly. Since nobody seemed to know her well enough to give evidence of her mental state, Sebastian Leitner was the only person interrogated on this matter. After a short examination by the medical experts (the records give the impression of this examination having been quite casual), she was declared « imbecile ». Sebastian Leitner was appointed her guardian - and the guardian of her son Mathias as well.

10 Before we analyse this case history in more detail, we will look at another one which shows certain parallels, despite being very different in many other respects.

2. Leonhard Pichler: an heir-presumptive disinherited ?

11 Leonhard Pichler20 was a wealthy peasant's son, born in 1867. He was incapacitated because of « feeble-mindedness » shortly after his father's death in 1899, when he was 32 years of age. Since he had no other living siblings apart from an elder sister, who by that time was married to a peasant in a neighbouring village, it can be assumed that under « normal » circumstances he would have eventually succeeded his father into the property. But in his last will, Filipp Pichler had made his widow Maria his main heiress (which was not uncommon in Styria21), leaving his son and daughter with residual

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portions of about 2000 Gulden each22. Leonhard went on living on the parental farm, working as a farm-hand. Although the sources do not give us any information as to who took the first steps towards Leonhard's incapacitation, it seems very likely that it was his mother. His sister, Elisabeth Plank received her portion (most of which she had in fact already received by the time of her marriage), whereas Leonhard's claim was registered in the land register, his mother being obliged to pay him four per cent interest a year. Part of the interest was to be deposited at court and partly given to him as an allowance. But as Maria Pichler argued that her son was often ill and not entirely fit for work, to the extent that he could not earn a proper living, she was allowed to keep the greater part of the interest against the costs of his support. In 1902, she had the non-related guardian (a land-holder from the same village) replaced by her own brother, who had become a land-owner by that time. After that, she and the new guardian were released from providing accounts of Leonhard's fortune, because they declared unanimously that he did not work and that therefore the entire interest would be needed for his clothing.

12 When Maria Pichler died in 1907, her grandson Karl Plank, Leonhard's nephew, succeeded her into the property, while Leonhard again inherited a residual portion, which was registered like his previous patrimony. Shortly afterwards, he left his birthplace and started working as a farm-hand for other peasants, changing employment yearly, as was the custom with rural servants. He worked for low wages, because he was not regarded as a fully capable farm-hand, but he had apparently no problems with his employers. When he was employed by his uncle and guardian Franz Krenold, though, a conflict arose which throws a significant light on the whole story. After a few months, Pichler left his uncle's service because of rough treatment, went to the local court and, with the aid of the local Waisenpfleger (« guardian of the orphans »)23, asked for a new guardian. This is the first time that we encounter Leonhard Pichler as an individual actor. While his mother was still alive, he had appeared in court with her on several occasions, but had apparently been incapable of saying anything. Now he was pleading before the authorities on his own, albeit assisted by a confident, and was given justice: Johann Gugganig, who was apparently the son and follower in property of Pichler's former guardian Josef Gugganig, was appointed.

13 When this is viewed together with the fact that it was not until his mother's death that Leonhard had started to live independently, it seems reasonable to conclude that his mother had intimidated him and kept him under her thumb. Moreover, it is apparent that Pichler had no problems in finding work, yet all the while had problems coming to terms with his relatives. A couple of years later, he again appeared in court because of a conflict, this time with another relative. He had been living in his sister's house, but had left her after a short time and moved to a non-related peasant, because, as he stated before the court, his sister did not treat him well and paid him no wages, although he was forced to work hard. The case came before the court because his guardian wanted him to return to his sister, which Leonhard refused to do.

14 In 1919, twenty years after Leonhard Pichler had been placed under wardship, his incapacitation was altered to a restricted one (a legal possibility that did not exist before) at his guardian's initiative. The main arguments leading to the alteration were that he was a diligent worker, able to deal with small sums of money without wasting them, and was quite aware of the matters of his daily life. In the court decree it was also stated that he had been placed under wardship merely because of his large fortune24.

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His new legal status was that of an under-aged mature person (mündiger Minder- jähriger), who was allowed to control his own income and the interest of his fortune. It was also acknowledged that he could decide on his own where he wanted to live and work, which in fact he had already been more or less allowed to do previously.

15 What emerges from these two case histories are the following points :

16 (a) the motive for incapacitation was in both cases an inheritance, in which the respective initiators of the legal proceedings had major personal interests. This suggests that the incapacitations formed part of their strategies of inheritance.

17 (b) the most striking point in the Pichler case is Leonhard's bad relationship to his next of kin, or to be more precise, his relatives' exploitive attitudes towards him. It seems that the latter were mainly interested either in his money or his free labour, sometimes both. It should also be noted that the court was obviously disinclined to look further into the circumstances within a wealthy peasant family, once the incapacitation had been imposed.

18 (c) Helene Fürst, on the other hand, was merely an illegitimate child of uncertain descent, completely lacking the protection of a respectable kinship. When her foster- father died, she clearly had nobody to safeguard her interests against those of her more prominent inheritance debtor. Presumably, the neighbours involved in the case were all too ready to help Sebastian Leitner, a land-holder like themselves, to get a couple of undesired bastard heirs out of the way.

19 (d) Both Pichler and Fürst were working as rural servants. They had no difficulty finding employment, but worked for low wages, or nothing at all. It can be assumed that their abilities were deliberately underestimated, which would of course have been to the advantage of their peasant employers.

20 (e) As for the act of incapacitation itself, there is evidence in the two cases that both the local population and the court considered that an incapacitation was necessary only if there was at least a small fortune to be held in trust.

B. Peasant inheritance strategies and family interests

21 Hermann Rebel has shown that, from the second half of the eighteenth century onwards, when legal reforms in the Habsburg Monarchy « greatly expanded the number of eligible heirs beyond the, until then customary, circle of spouse and children » - the new rulings recognising, for instance, also « Claims on the mother's inheritance by even illegitimate children » -, the inheritance politics of Austrian peasant householders in regions with impartible inheritance aimed at reducing the number and portions of residual heirs in order to « limit the damage to their control of inheritance funds ». He has argued that infanticide was « clearly one Option » for achieving such reductions, and that even though it was not the only or the main option, « infanticidal practices remain central to any such discussion because they appear as the initiators of those processes of selection and destruction in families that were demonstrably among the fundamental characteristics of the Austrian social system under the ancien regime »25.

22 I would argue that the attribution of « imbecility » - including an eventual incapacitation - was most likely a more sophisticated method of reducing the number

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of eligible heirs, which seems to have been developed in the course of the nineteenth century and which certainly fits in with a context of « selection and destruction ».

23 The disbursement of residual portions was largely linked to marriage arrangements, the portions of unmarried siblings usually remaining with the holding26. Therefore, it would have been of vital interest to peasant land-holders to deny access to marriage to residual heirs. The high proportion of life-long unmarried persons in the region has already been mentioned; we can assume that it was due partly to such inheritance politics. Physically or mentally « handicapped » children or siblings were not supposed to marry at all, meaning that the holders would never be obliged to pay them off. Declaring daughters and younger sons, or the daughters' illegitimate offspring, as « idiots » was thus an effective way of preventing them from claiming their portions. I do not mean to suggest that all forms of mental disability in this region were simply the results of intentional acts of attribution, but it does seem that at least some of the region's « imbeciles » were victims of their families' inheritance strategies.

24 Whereas in the other instances of incapacitation, there were elder siblings to inherit the holdings, Leonhard Pichler's only living sibling, who was his senior by two years, was already married to a peasant by the time of their father's death. One would normally assume, therefore, that Leonhard was the heir presumptive, rather than a residual heir. As has already been mentioned, leaving the farm to a widow was not uncommon among peasant holders, and there is no indication that Leonhard's father intended that his son be incapacitated. From all we know about Leonhard (and we know quite a lot, because his court file is especially voluminous), it seems that he was perhaps a little slow of thought, but certainly not what we would call « mentally handicapped ». Why was he placed under wardship, then? Admittedly, we cannot rule out the possibility that his father wanted to prevent a son whose intelligence he did not rate highly from taking over a large and wealthy holding. Yet when we examine the facts of the case, we should definitely begin by asking who was likely to benefit from Leonhard's incapacitation.

25 It was certainly an advantage for Leonhard's mother to prevent him from marrying, because that would have obliged her to pay him off, or even to hand over the farm. And she must have been interested in preventing him from leaving home as well, because she obviously took advantage of his free labour27. She kept him as a servant, not paying him wages and, as far as was possible, denying him the interest she owed him for his paternal portion, claiming the money for his maintenance and clothing. She argued that he was scarcely capable of working, a point we can neither verify nor falsify, but can at least open to doubt, considering that we have evidence that later on he worked as a farm-hand for non-related peasants, and earned wages, even if they were comparatively low.

26 Moreover, she was interested in controlling her son's fortune as well as his actions. The arguments she put forward when successfully applying for his non-related guardian to be replaced by her own brother are, in my opinion, highly significant: she complained that Josef Gugganig (the guardian) encouraged Leonhard, a wealthy peasant's son, to pay for his boon-companions' beer in the public house; this also induced him to drink himself, which was bad for him28. If this story is true at all, Leonhard's standing rounds was most likely a way of being at least partly accepted in spite of his stigma, which meant that his mother feared him slipping out of her hands. But apart from that consideration, such an incident must have been welcome to her: it gave her an

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opportunity to complain, and she would probably have been inclined to have her brother made her son's guardian anyway. It seems that she took advantage of the new situation, for she and her brother managed to convince the court that Leonhard needed the whole of his interest for his maintenance, meaning that they were released from their duty to render accounts of their trusteeship.

27 Yet this shows one great disadvantage of legal incapacitation for those who had personal interests in it: whilst the attribution of « imbecility » to the « dispossessed »29 clearly lay within the peasant holders' interests, at the same time an incapacitation meant that the inheritance claim of the incapacitated was subjected to the local court's control. This is probably the reason the family sometimes tried to prevent an incapacitation, as is suggested by the evidence from two cases, both of them peasant's children: in the first case, Josef Reif, a peasant's youngest son, had been under guardianship after his father's death and was therefore known to the court. He was placed under wardship against his brother's (the farm-keeper's) will when he reached majority, the incapacitation procedure having been initiated by the local Waisenpfleger30. In the other case, Magdalena Perchthaler was incapacitated at the age of 34 on the occasion of a legacy received from her deceased uncle. It was her aunt-in-law, her childless uncle's general heiress, who initiated the incapacitation proceedings. Her brother argued - in vain - that Magdalena, though slightly mentally retarded, had already inherited earlier on without someone having held it necessary to place her under wardship. Her paternal portion had been registered, without her or her siblings charging their mother, who had succeeded her deceased husband into the property, with the interest that they could claim for. A legacy from another uncle had been deposited on a deposit book which her mother was keeping for her31. In both cases, the persons in question were living at home at the time of their incapacitations, working as farm-hands without wages. Their families had no obvious reason to have them incapacitated, because they were known to be « not quite normal », and would not claim for their residual portions. In these instances, the incapacitations forced from outside deprived the householders of the control over their « not quite normal » brother's or daughter's inheritance claims.

28 Once an incapacitation was imposed, one possibility of regaining control over the incapacitated's fortune was a contract for life-long maintenance, which left the interest from the trust at the provider's disposal, the trust itself passing to his or her possession after the charge's death. In five of the twelve cases under question the incapacitated's relatives made use of this possibility. One of these cases is especially significant: in the case of Franz Mayer a non-related peasant, who was Franz's employer, intended to make a contract for maintenance, which his family hindered, arguing that Franz was fit for work and would still be so for many years (he was approximately 30 by then). The family was certainly not interested in assigning Franz's inheritance claim to a stranger. Yet a couple of years later his relatives made such a contract themselves32.

29 Aside from the aspect of financial control, the court does not appear to have properly scrutinised the families' attitudes towards their « handicapped » members. Or, more likely, since there were annual written inquiries into the circumstances of the incapacitated persons, which had to be answered by the village authorities, it was the latter who seemingly turned a blind eye to abuses within peasant families. To my mind, it seems clear that social control - be it acted out by the neighbourhood, the village community, or the local authorities - largely stopped at the borders of peasant family

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life; or, in other words: a « handicapped » person's family was much less the subject of public control than non-related employers or fostering parties, which left the families every opportunity to exploit their « handicapped » relatives.

C. - Collective interests of the propertied peasant class

1. Social inequality and social reproduction

30 The case of Helene Fürst is rather different, however. She was an illegitimate child without legal inheritance claims, she and her illegitimate son having been made heirs- at-will by her foster-father. As was indicated above, she had no relatives to act on her behalf. There is no indication whatsoever of her foster-father having considered her incapable of managing her own affairs; on the contrary, he had intended to leave to her a fair legacy without stating that she should be placed under legal protection (which was, after all, one function of incapacitation). But because she probably lived on the fringes of local society, it was apparently all too easy to stigmatise her once her protector had died.

31 Aside from the assumed inheritance strategies, this might be another reason for the comparatively large number of « mentally handicapped » persons in the region: there was a large fringe population consisting mainly of the illegitimate children of farm- maids, and former life-time servants who, when they had grown old and were no longer capable of working, were dependent upon poor relief. The latter were customarily supported by local communities in the form of the so-called Einlege, which meant that they were handed round from farm to farm in a fixed order, remaining in each place for a period lasting from a couple of days to several weeks (depending on the size of the holding), and receiving board and lodging from the peasant holders. Provided that they were still capable of carrying out lighter tasks, they were obliged to do so in return. They usually slept in the stables, and at mealtimes had to sit apart from everyone else, for nobody wanted to come into too close contact with them33. These propertyless individuals were probably more easily stigmatised than those who were socially integrated34. The Oberwölz census lists indicate that only members of this fringe population - mainly Einleger and poorhouse inmates - were registered as being « handicapped »35.

32 Another striking point about the Fürst case is the fact that Helene Fürst's and her illegitimate son's trustees in the inheritance proceedings clearly took the side of the inheritance debtor, Sebastian Leitner. They were all too ready to confirm Leitner's account without so much as asking for reliable evidence. It was landed peasants, like the testator's witnesses, who had first suggested Helene's being incapable of managing her own affairs. It can be supposed that they all thought that Georg Leitner's favouring his illegitimately born foster-daughter and her equally illegitimate son amounted to an assault on peasant property rights, endangering a custom which worked in their own interest. They would not have their own deceased daughters' or sisters' illegitimate children succeeding them into their inheritance if it could at all be avoided, much less recognise the claims of a non-related bastard. Probably this was the reason why they supported Sebastian Leitner's arguments.

33 There is evidence for the district of Murau and the neighbouring district of Judenburg, from 1882, that on the large peasant holdings the farm-maids' illegitimate children were readily kept as foster-children (even if their mothers left service), because rearing

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them did not cost much, especially in large households, and later on they became cheap servants who were closely attached to the house36. Viewed together with the fact that the unwed mothers themselves were often the illegitimate offspring of farm-maids, this suggests a social functionality of illegitimacy as « a persistent pattern of social reproduction of a « bastard group » over time, which provided a key source of cheap labour for the wealthy and the landed without posing a threat to the bulk of the hamlet's patrimonies »37.

2. The interest in cheap labour

34 Another « key source of cheap labour », even if it provided fewer workers, appears to have been formed by the « mentally handicapped ». There is evidence for « mentally handicapped » people having been positively sought after as agricultural workers in late-nineteenth-century rural Austria because of their unpretentiousness and efficiency38.

35 Nearly all of the twelve persons in question had been working at least temporally as rural servants, but they worked for low wages, or nothing at all. In several cases we find statements by their peasant employers, and by their relatives as well, proving that they were used mainly for heavy labour, but were regarded as inferior workers - the common argument being that they were not fit for responsible work -and therefore not paid, but only given board and lodging and the simplest clothing necessities. Most significant in this respect is the statement of one of Leonhard Pichler's former employers, recorded in the course of the proceedings leading to a restricted incapacitation: he stated that Leonhard had been in his service for two years, and that he had been fully content with him, but had paid him low wages because Leonhard wasn't fit for every kind of work. In the same statement, however, the peasant said afterwards that Leonhard was fit for almost any kind of work and, although not equalling a full farm-hand, he was not much inferior39. The contradiction in this statement is evident, and the purpose easy to identify: to justify the low wages he had been paying, the employer (like many others in similar situations) argued Leonhard's alleged inferiority. On the other hand he was pleading in favour of Leonhard, whose incapacitation was about to be restricted, such that in the further course of his statement he felt obliged to emphasise Leonhard's abilities.

36 In general it seems that, according to the local custom, a mental or physical « handicap » sufficiently justified the employer in paying a servant low wages. Sometimes these employers even posed as public benefactors, as is indicated by an Oberwölz example concerning a physically « handicapped » farm-maid: She had been sent to hospital because of a chronic foot ailment, and her employer refused to pay the bill, which he would have been obliged to do. He argued successfully that he had employed her in spite of her disease, preventing her from being thrown upon poor relief, such that he spared the community the costs for her support40. There is no indication of the amount of her wages, but I suppose that they were low, and that her employer profited from this fact.

37 Peasant holders probably also took advantage, to a certain degree, of housing the so- called Einleger, who were, as has been indicated above, obliged to help on the farm as far as they still could. But it was certainly more profitable to engage servants who were in full possession of their physical strength without being obliged to pay them the usual wages, which was the case with those who were (or were said to be) « mentally

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handicapped ». Therefore we can assume that not only was the value of a « mentally handicapped » servant's efficiency deliberately underestimated as a rule, but the attribution of « imbecility » or « feeble-mindedness » to rural servants, or even to children who were supposed to become servants later on, lay generally within the wealthy peasants' collective interest.

D. - Financial control and the role of the authorities

38 As has been indicated above, the local court appears to have been quite unheedful of peasant families' attitudes towards their incapacitated members, save for financial control. In fact it seems that incapacitations because of « imbecility » or « feeble- mindedness » were imposed mainly for financial reasons as a rule. We have seen that, in the Pichler case, it was finally stated that Leonhard had been incapacitated merely because of the large size of his paternal portion, and in the Fürst case the peasant neighbours acting as Helene's and her son's « trustees ad actum » expressed the opinion that since she had no fortune, it was unnecessary to place her under wardship. Actually there was at least a small fortune or inheritance portion in ten of the twelve cases examined. The two remaining cases were that of Helene Fürst and of another woman, who should have inherited a paternal portion, but came away empty-handed because her father's property had been heavily encumbered41. Although there is evidence from the community archive of obviously propertyless people having been incapacitated as well42, it is conceivable that these cases may also have had financial backgrounds - for instance rather unexpected inheritance claims like that of Helene Fürst.

39 Aside from apparently being the main reason for imposing an incapacitation, it is clear why financial aspects were the local court's prevalent concern: in its function as a curatorship office it was the duty of the court to hold the incapacitated's fortunes in trust, which required a great deal of administrative work, such that other concerns were neglected, or at least the court did not interfere unless it was appealed to.

40 The state did apparently not interfere either, the whole affair lying within the responsibility of the local court. Its role was more or less confined to a registration of « handicapped » people in sanitary statistics and censuses, which were argued to serve for ascertaining the demand for institutions such as special schools, asylums, etc., but were actually not particularly successful43.

41 As for people whose support was the responsibility of the local community, the Styrian provincial government could decide upon the adequate manner of maintaining them, and sometimes did so - even against the local authorities' will -by sending them to an « invalid asylum » (Siechenhaus). This often led to serious financial quarrels, because the funds for maintenance in these institutions had to be provided by the local community. In these quarrels, the district authorities appear to have taken the side of the community rather than that of the provincial government44.

II - Concepts of normalcy and deviation

42 We now turn to the criteria according to which an individual was classified as « feeble- minded » or « imbecile ». The incapacitation records (enclosed in the curatorship files) will allow us to analyse the different criteria, interpretations, and judgements of the local population, the court officials, and the medical experts.

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43 It has to be stated first of all that a distinction was made between « imbecility » (Blödsinn) and « feeble-mindedness » (Schwachsinn), the latter being regarded as less severe, but that this distinction was not at all clear. In the case of Franz Mayer, for instance, the local judge as well as a peasant informant stated that he was not entirely « imbecile », but merely « feeble-minded ». According to the medical certificate, however, he was « completely imbecile » (total blödsinnig)45. In six of the twelve cases examined the diagnosis was « feeble-mindedness », in five cases « imbecility », in one case it is missing. If compared to the case histories, the diagnoses appear to have been quite at will. Yet it is remarkable that three of the four women concerned were classified as « imbeciles », while only two out of seven men (the eighth is missing) were thus classified, which points to a different rating of the sexes by medical experts. For the local population both expressions were probably equally uncommon. When they appear in the informants' statements, as in the Mayer case cited above, we may assume that the peasants were either prompted by an exceptional situation to use expressions outside their usual vocabulary, or merely repeating words they heard in court, or even that the court secretary put the words into their mouth. A local expression appearing several times in the court files is Hascher(in), which translates roughly as « poor creature », and once we encounter the expression unweltläufig, which means approximately « not capable of getting on with life ». As for the legal consequences, the distinction between « feeble-mindedness » and « imbecility » made no difference, both verdicts leading to the same (and at that time the only) form of incapacitation; neither did it apparently make a difference for the criteria of normalcy and deviation.

44 As for possible « objective » reasons for Stigmatisation, it has to be said that, according to the medical certificates, one of the incapacitated was an epileptic, and another one was said to be « deaf-mute »46 - both diseases which at that time almost inevitably led to the verdict of « imbecility ». Epilepsy was regarded as a mental disease standing next to insanity, the afflicted individuals often being locked up in lunatic asylums. As for deaf children, though there had been special schools from the late eighteenth century onwards, the greater part of them, especially in the rural area, were - due to their inability to make themselves understood - simply reared as « idiots »47. But other cases clearly show that the stigmatised individuals had not suffered from any such predisposing diseases. In fact it does not matter here whether there was more or less reason for the attribution of « imbecility » or « feeble-mindedness » in one or the other case. In order to avoid any misunderstanding: I do not mean to deny the existence of mental diseases, but whether or not they were « real » - or merely « constructed » - is simply not the point. It cannot be the task of a social-historical analysis to judge whether in a given case, imposing an incapacitation was justified or not, or to examine whether a historical diagnosis was correct according to modern medical standards. The point is to investigate the norms and values behind stigmatisation, and the different concepts of normalcy and deviation of the social groups and institutions involved.

A. - The local population's criteria

45 Beginning with the local population, we may first refer to some of the cases described above. A common argument of both the relatives and the neighbours questioned in the incapacitation procedures was fitness for work, or the examined individual's lack of it. While, as for the relatives or foster-parents, we must certainly bear in mind their personal interests, especially when they stressed a lack of fitness for work in their

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charges in order to be permitted to keep their money, it is clear, on the other hand, that, in a peasant society, fitness for work was a basic value. Therefore it is not surprising that the peasant informants talked about concrete work which the individuals in question were able to do or not - for example leading a team of oxen or a horse, sowing, threshing, hacking straw, or feeding cattle, cooking, etc., depending on whether the person in question was a man or a woman. It seems reasonable to assume that these peasants judged a person's mental state according to the degree of his or her fitness for peasant work.

46 Another argument, though occurring only twice, is stubbornness: Franz Mayer's former employer said of him: « He is very touchy, if he is told something he does not like he will hide somewhere, coming neither to the meals nor to work for several days »48. This was clearly an offence of the paterfamilias's authority, which would not have been tolerated in a « normal » servant - all the more because it contained an element of refusal of labour. But a similar example out of the Pichler case shows that such behaviour was obviously regarded as « normal » in those who were thought to be « feeble-minded » : In the course of the proceedings leading to a restriction of Leonhard's incapacitation, his former employer said that when Leonhard was teased by other servants, he got very exasperated, started scolding, and left his work; but the employer took account of this peculiarity, forbidding his servants to tease him, and thus got along with Leonhard. Stubbornness was undoubtedly a culturally intelligible form of deviant behaviour, and the « feeble-minded* actors obviously knew that it would be tolerated in them, maybe even expected of them, because it was part of their social role. It was, however, apparently a criterion for the local population according to which they judged whether an individual was « normal » or not.

47 Furthermore the local population obviously regarded a person's ability to deal with money as a main criterion for judging whether he or she was « normal » or not. But, as compared with the court's criteria, the peasant informants were referring to very concrete forms of this social ability. In the Mayer case, for instance, a former employer stated that Franz Mayer was not capable of purchasing anything because he did not know the value of money. A more impressive example is to be found in the case of Josef Reif, where a former employer refers to a concrete incident: Josef had once sold a valuable pair of deerskin trousers far beneath their value, the bargain having been revoked afterwards by his elder brother. Therefore he did not think Josef to be entirely capable of being in charge of his small maternal portion49.

48 If we take into account that peasant households were not self-sufficient at the time, but had to buy and sell things in the neighbouring villages or towns, and that money was always short, this attitude is easy to understand. Yet we may assume that most of the individuals in question had never had the opportunity to learn the value of money. So for example Josef Reif said that he had always given his wages to his mother, who had bought him his clothes, keeping for himself only a little money for tobacco. Moreover, the individuals examined had been subjected to the domestic authority of the paterfamilias all their lives, meaning that they had never been directly responsible for greater sums of money.

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B. - The official's criteria

49 The local court was also - and mainly - interested in the examined individuals' way of handling money. But its approach was different from that of the local population, and much more abstract. The persons examined were usually asked what they would do with their money if it were handed over to them. A typical example out of the Pichler case : « Asked what he would do with his inheritance portion of 2000 Gulden if it were disbursed to him, he says that he would deposit it at the savings bank. What will happen to the money at the savings bank he does not know. He is entirely ignorant of the fact that his fortune should bear him interest, moreover the term interest is entirely strange and incomprehensible to him »50.

50 The fact that ignorance in financial operations was regarded as a sign of « feeble- mindedness », in my opinion, shows a clear distance from the rural lifeworld. We can assume that peasant householders knew about such matters, but, at the time in question, the greater part of the rural population, subjected as they were - like the individuals investigated - to domestic authority, must have been unfamiliar with such terms as interest and percentage.

51 Sometimes we find remarks on the shyness and clumsiness of the persons to be examined when they were brought before the court. Obviously the local judge did not take account of the situation they were exposed to: they suddenly found themselves in an unfamiliar environment with a couple of strangers asking them questions, the aim of which they could hardly understand, and they were probably all too well aware of the fact that these prominent strangers were about to decide their future - small wonder they were intimidated. What is more, even the usual behaviour of an average farm-hand would probably have appeared clumsy to the more urbane local judge.

52 In some aspects it is almost impossible to tell which were the court's and which the medical expert's criteria of normalcy and deviation. The examination of the mental state was conducted by two medical experts in the presence of the local judge, the latter taking part in it by posing questions himself. The examination records do not show which questions were posed by whom. We will therefore pass on to the medical expert's criteria, of which the not genuinely medical ones were probably at least partly also those of the court.

C.-The medical expert's criteria

53 The medical experts consulted in the incapacitation procedure were the Murau district physician and the community physician at Oberwölz. Neither were specialists, but merely general practitioners. Their unanimous verdict of « imbecility » or « feeble- mindedness » was the conditio sine qua non for legal incapacitation 51. But apparently their role was more or less that of mere executing organs - they do not appear to have questioned the examined individuals' mental inferiority. Moreover, we may assume that they would not have recognised a « normal » individual as being « normal » if it had been introduced to them the way their « patients » were. In the early nineteen- seventies, the American psychologist David L. Rosenhan showed by an experiment that « normalcy » is not recognisable as such52 ; and, to remain within the time period in question, a late-nineteenth-century German case history shows that a mental specialist to whom a « lunatic » was introduced by a friend was unable to distinguish which of the

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two persons appearing before him was « insane ». When the mistake was set right, however, he attested the « lunatic » to be not only « insane », but a « public menace »53.

54 The first part of each medical certificate consists in a physical description, showing that the medical experts were looking primarily for physical signs of « imbecility ». I will again take an example from the Pichler case : « Leonhard Pichler, 32 years old, is of medium size, not very sturdily built, and adequately nourished. The facial expression is completely stupid, the speech slowed down, languid, and often indistinct. The sight is good, but the sense of hearing deficiently developed. The bearing is a negligent, bent forward one, the carriage somewhat staggering and shuffling. The head is small and round, and especially the cranium appears remarkably small »54.

55 The approach as well as the language of this example are typical of medical examinations in the second half of the nineteenth and the early twentieth centuries. The main aim of the positivistic and natural-scientifically oriented medical science of that time was to measure and categorise. In this and other examples from our sample, it is clear that the physicians were looking for the « objective » attributes of « imbecility » elaborated by medical scientists since about the eighteen-forties, such as uncertain carriage or inarticulate speech55. Moreover, if we compare the medical certificates to a series of descriptions of « cretins » « collected » by one physician56, we can observe some clear resemblances. Although the term « cretin » is never used in the medical certificates, the medical experts were obviously searching for the alleged symptoms of « cretinism », which were, besides the physical signs of « imbecility » indicated above, mainly a peculiar physiognomy, a goitre, and hardness of hearing. As for the latter, in the Pichler case we have evidence that the physicians were ascribing such attributes without closer examination, merely because they fitted in with the picture of an acknowledged disease: while in the first medical certificate they attested that Leonhard's sense of hearing was « deficiently developed », in the second one, recorded twenty years later in the course of the restriction of his incapacitation, it was stated that his hearing was good. Since his sense of hearing could hardly have improved with age, there is no other explanation left than the one given above.

56 In a study on psychiatric examinations of incendiaries, based on court files from the beginning of the twentieth century, Regina Schulte has come upon descriptions very similar to those in my sample. She states that it was the language of psychiatry itself and its criteria of description that created a « cretin »57, which is clearly confirmed by my evidence - although the medical experts in question were no mental specialists.

57 In the further course of the examination, the individuals examined were asked questions by both the physicians and the local judge, concerning their education, their knowledge of reading, writing, and calculating, their temporal and spatial orientation, their ethical values, and their « deeper knowledge ». Of these points, we find that temporal and spatial orientation was a criterion for the local population as well - for instance an informant said that Franz Fussi could scarcely find his way into the town of Oberwölz, and Magdalena Perchthaler's brother stated that she vaguely knew how to tell time, but confused, for example, a quarter past eleven with a quarter to twelve. Knowledge of writing, on the contrary, must have been rather indifferent to the local people, since many of them were practically illiterate themselves. In the Pichler case, the medical certificate states that Leonhard could « merely » write his name, which was more than his mother or sister could, however: both of them signed with crosses.

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58 As for the judgement of « deeper knowledge », the certificates finally show the physician's (and probably also the judge's) complete ignorance of the examined individuals' lifeworld. Franz Fussi was « fairly oriented on the primitive social institutions without giving them a thought »; questions beyond the most primitive routine, he did not answer at all, or repeated them hesitatingly. What was meant by beyond the « primitive routine » is shown in other cases: Magdalena Perchthaler did not know anything about the Austrian emperor save that he was in Vienna, and Leonhard Pichler was obviously not interested in political events, lacking any reasonable view of them. Magdalena's vocabulary was « a very modest one », restricted to the most primitive expressions and ideas. Leonhard, though in affairs of everyday life « not without apt discernment », lacked any deeper knowledge, his emotional life being entirely primitive, and his thoughts always directed merely to what was common and near at hand58. Schulte describes a similar case, though the medical expert's expressions are more scholarly: when a young farm-hand who had set a fire was examined by a mental specialist, the latter stated that the young man's ability in forming abstractions was only rudimentary, all his notions referring directly to material perceptions, and that he was not able to answer questions on things lying beyond his horizon. A most common expression in these medical certificates is « primitive ». Schulte states that the mental specialists of the nineteenth century had no use for the concrete, which they put on a level with the trivial59.

59 It is obvious that the examiners blamed their examinees for lacking higher education and for not knowing things that were not part of their lifeworld. Actually these medical experts argued that someone who was incapable of understanding things that were beyond him was an idiot, which is clearly a vicious circle. We can assume that according to these criteria the greater part of the local population would have been regarded as idiots.

III.-Conclusion

60 We have seen that individual as well as collective interests were undoubtedly a causal factor in the attribution of « imbecility » or « feeble-mindedness », and that these interests were themselves influenced by socio-economic in the region under question. The society of the Austrian Inner Alps was decisively characterised by its organisation of labour, meaning that it was a marked « servant-keeping society », which in association with the inheritance system led to an exceptionally high proportion of life- long unmarried persons, and consequently to extremely high illegitimacy rates. The high proportion of « mentally handicapped » in this region is certainly not a mere coincidence. As has been shown in the article, two vital interests of the peasant land- holders - their inheritance politics, which aimed at reducing the number of residual heirs who had to be paid off, and their collective interest in cheap labour - were decisively involved in the attribution of « mental disability »:

61 (a) Declaring non-inheriting children - or their illegitimate offspring - to be « imbecile » was apparently one of the peasant strategies of inheritance, because this was an effective way of preventing residual heirs from claiming their portions.

62 (b) « Mentally disabled » servants were cheap and effective workers, because they were in full possession of their physical strength, but could be paid low wages. Attributing

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« mental handicaps » to farm-hands was therefore an option for creating a source of cheap labour.

63 These aims could easily be achieved, because interests of the propertied peasant class as a whole were involved, so that neighbours did not interfere with each other's inheritance or employment politics, or even supported each other's arguments where, for instance, undesirable inheritance claims were concerned. Moreover, the existence of a large fringe population in the region provided the peasant employers with a group of people who were easy to stigmatise.

64 Since it was the social environment that first designated a person as « imbecile », the legal and medical expert's authority was actually quite limited in this respect, and it can be assumed that the local population used the legal possibility of incapacitation for their own purposes, which were partly contrary to its original aims - one of which was to provide legal protection to those who were in need of it. The local court obviously did not question the applicants' motives; in particular it appears to have been quite disinclined to scrutinise the circumstances within peasant families, which left the latter with every opportunity to exploit their « handicapped » relatives. Higher authorities, such as the provincial government, were very seldom involved. The local communities, which had a say in such affairs, also had their own deeply involved interests. As for the medical experts, they were interested mainly in classifying symptoms. Thus, none of the social or legal institutions concerned had any reason to interfere on behalf of the stigmatised individuals.

65 Whilst these findings, although they throw a significant light on the rural society of the Inner Alps, cannot claim general validity beyond the region under question, the same in not true, to my mind, for the concepts of normalcy and deviation considered in this article. I have shown that the criteria for judging someone's « mental state » were deeply influenced by the lifeworlds of the ones who judged. The local population's concept was based on very concrete and practical criteria oriented by the peasant lifeworld. The local officials' concept was, in many respects, no less practical and concrete, but it was obviously founded upon different criteria, which were mainly of a financial nature. The medical experts, however - although, the fact that they lived in the region, made them also part of the local society -, had a much different concept, which was oriented mainly by scientific research and therefore much more abstract in its criteria of judgement. If consequently pursued, their concept of « mental normalcy » would clearly have led them to the conclusion that almost everyone in the region was an « idiot ».

66 We may say, therefore, that « normalcy » is more or less a point of view. It does not exist independently of cultural patterns, and neither does « mental disability ».

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Schulte, R., Das Dorf im Verhör. Brandstifter, Kindsmörderinnen und Wilderer vor den Schranken des bürgerlichen Gerichts - Oberbayern 1848-1910, Reinbek b. Hamburg, 1989. (English translation: The village in court: arson, infanticide, and poaching in the court records of Upper Bavaria, 1848-1910, New York, Cambridge, 1994.)

Statistisches Handbuch für das Herzogtum Steiermark (Statistische Mitteilungen über Steiermark 25), Graz, 1912.

Viazzo, P.P., Illegitimacy and the european marriage pattern: comparative evidence from the alpine area, in Bonfield, L., et al., (Eds), The World we have Gained. Histories of Population and Social Structure. Essays Presented to Peter Laslett on his Seventieth Birthday, Oxford, New York, 1986, p. 100-121.

Wallnöfer, E., Der Dorftrottel. Von der Dekonstruktion eines Mythos?, Kuckuck. Notizen zu Alltagskultur und Volkskunde, 1997, 12, p. 46-50.

Wiesenberger, D., Das Dienstbotenbuch. Ein Beitrag zum steirischen Dienstbotenwesen von 1857 bis 1922, Mitteilungen des Steiermärkischen Landesarchivs, 1984, 34, p. 113-136.

Zwiedineck-Südenhorst, O. v., Die Illegitimität in Steiermark, Statistische Monatsschrift, 1895, 21, p. 157-181.

NOTES

2. Rebel (1993, p. 15). 3. Mitterauer (1986, p. 198). 4. Oberwölz is the capital of one out of three court districts in the political district of Murau. 5. In the district of Murau, according to the census of 1880, 2.7 per cent of the population were « handicapped »(« blind », « deaf-mute », « imbecile », or « insane »), which was nearly four times as high as the average rate for all Austrian rural districts (0.7 per cent): Ortmayr (1992, p. 372). 6. Hajnal (1965). 7. According to a family reconstitution for the Upper Styrian community of Weichselboden in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries compiled by H. Keiter, cited in Ortmayr (1995, p. 52). 8. Ortmayr (1995, p. 51). 9. Ehmer (1991, p. 127-130). 10. See, for instance: Schimmer (1876, p. 169); Statistisches Handbuch (1912, p. 12-15). 11. On illegitimacy in the Inner Alps, see: Mitterauer (1979); in Europe: Mitterauer (1983); world- wide: Laslett et al. (1980). 12. Compare: Goffrnan (1967). 13. Steiermärkisches Landesarchiv, Bezirksgericht Oberwölz (hereafter cited as: StLA, BGO), Pflegschaftsakten (signature: P). The curatorship files (Kuratelsakten) are only one part of this stock of sources which contains also guardianship files. From 1896 to 1914, 12 cases there have been preserved, some of their contents partly reaching back as far as to the early eighteen- eighties: P 21/1899, P 42/1900, P 57/1901, P 30/1902, P 27/1903, P 28/1903, P 29/1903, P 30/1903, P 38/1904, P 29/1905, P 18/1906, and P 140/1908. Except for 1903, it seems that from 1899 to 1908

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one case per year was preserved almost as a rule, the rest probably having been thrown away, for in some of the files we have evidence of other curatorship files which no longer exist. From 1909 on, no more curatorship files are preserved. 14. StLA, BGO, Verlassenschaftsakten (signature: A). 15. Since I am mainly interested in social aspects, I have not so far analysed normative sources such as laws, but will proceed solely on the evidence given by the court files. 16. StLA, Archiv der Stadt Oberwölz (hereafter cited as: StAO), 12/020-6 (incapacitations): The cases of Rupert Siebenhofer (Sept. 1892) and Mathias Kowatsch (April 1900) (the material is not paginated). This evidence is very casual, though, and does not contain much information. Unfortunately the original incapacitation files (Entmündigungsakten) of the Styrian local courts, which probably also contained the rejected cases, have not been preserved. 17. Kaufmann (1990, p. 187) has come to a similar conclusion for the definition of « insanity » in rural Germany in an earlier period: « In the first half of the 19th century, (...) the definition of which kind of conduct was « mad », « mentally confused », or « insane » (...) was still exclusively decided upon by relatives and neighbours, that is, by the sick person's social environment ». (Translation from German: G. H.) She also states the mayor's important role in such affairs (ibid., p. 203). 18. StLA, BGO, P 27/1903 and A 102/2 (probate inventory Georg Leitner). 19. An Ausgedinge usually meant that the former holders went on living on the farm and were granted lifelong board and lodging by the new holder, which was part of the purchase price. In the inner Alps the Ausgedinge was not very common, though - see, for instance: Mitterauer (1979, p. 141-142). 20. StLA, BGO, P 21/1899. 21. See: Mitterauer (1986, p. 314). 22. One Gulden was the equivalent of two Kronen. 23. An honorary post in the community, comparable to a guardian of the poor (Armenpfleger). 24. « His feeble-mindedness was not such that he was completely incapable of managing his own affairs, but had merely such a degree as to render it advisable to put his large trust under legal custody. » (« Sein Schwachsinn war (...) nicht derart, daß er ganz unfähig war seine Angelegenheiten selbst zu besorgen, sondern hatte nur einen solchen Grad, daß es angezeigt war sein großes Pflegschaftsvermögen unter gerichtliche Obhut zu nehmen (...) ».). StLA, BGO, P 21/1899 fol. 94. 25. Rebel (1993, p. 18-20). 26. See, for instance : Schlögl (1988, p. 354). 27. There is a parallel to such interests in deliberate ascription of « imbecility »: In Swabia, a region with partible inheritance, it is said to have been the custom with peasant parents to make one daughter deliberately dull (with the aid of alcohol or poppy) in order to tie her to the house, such that she would take care of her parents when they had grown old without making any demands : Ilien, Jeggle (1978, p. 76). 28. « The latter, following his own views and way of living, seeks to induce my son, as a wealthy landowner's son, to pay his boon-companions' beer in the public house, whereby he is inveigled into drinking himself, which, given his mental state and physical condition, can only be unwholesome for him ». (« Derselbe sucht, entsprechend seinen Ansichten und seiner Lebensführung meinen Sohn zu bewegen, daß er im Gasthause als wohlhabender Grundbesitzerssohn seinen Zechgenossen Bier bezahlt, wodurch auch er selbst zum Trinken verleitet wird, was ihm mit Rücksicht auf seinen Geistes- und Gesundheitszustand nur schädlich sein kann. »). StLA, BGO, P 21/1899 fol. 19. 29. An expression used by Rebel (1993) as a collective term for residual heirs. 30. StLA, BGO, P 30/1902. 31. StLA, BGO, P 140/1908; A 425/1895, A 60/1904, A 72/1908. 32. StLA, BGO, P 28/1903. 33. Ehmer (1990, p. 36-37).

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34. In her case-study on « insanity »in the rural society of Westphalia (Germany) during the first half of the 19th century, Kaufmann (1990, p. 198) came to the conclusion that tolerance of deviant behaviour essentially depended on the « conspicuous »individual's social status, and that individuals not integrated into kinship networks were very easily stigmatised as being « dangerous to public safety ». 35. StLA, StAO, 13/022-1: Volkszählungen Oberwölz Stadt, 1880 and 1890. 36. Zwiedineck-Südenhorst (1895, p. 176). 37. Viazzo (1986, p. 120). 38. Hofmüller, Stekl (1982, p. 13). 39. « The wages were low, of course, because he is not fit for every kind of work after all ». (« Der Lohn war allerdings ein geringer, weil er ja zu allen Arbeiten nicht fähig ist (...) ».) - « He is fit for almost any kind of work. Of course he is not like a full farm-hand, but he does not fall off much. » (« Er ist fast zu allen Arbeiten fähig. Er ist zwar nicht wie ein vollwertiger Knecht, doch läßt er nicht viel nach. »). P 21/1899, annex: L 4/1919, fol. 3 and 3'. 40. Wiesenberger (1984, p. 136). 41. Theresia Lenz, P 29/1905 and A 76/1904 (probate inventory Georg Lenz). 42. StAO, 12/020-6 (incapacitations), and 51/400-0/2 (register of the poor). 43. Compare: Bolognese-Leuchtenmüller (1978, p. 150-155). 44. On this score, I have viewed a sample of files on persons admitted to governmental invalid asylums, comprising mentally or physically disabled as well as old people: StLA, Rezens, VI, 8, 1876 and 1877. 45. P 28/1903, enclosed incapacitation file L 4/2. 46. Franz Fussi, P 42/1900; Johann Schmiedhofer, P 57/1901. 47. See, for instance: Hofmuller, Stekl (1982, p. 12-13). 48. In the German original: « Er ist sehr empfindlich, wenn man ihm etwas sagt, was ihm nicht paßt, versteckt er sich irgend wo u. kommt mehrere Tage weder zum Essen noch zur Arbeit ». P 28/1903, enclosed incapacitation file L 4/2, fol. 3. 49. P 30/1902, enclosed incapacitation file L 4/8. 50. In German original: « Befragt, was er mit dem ihm zufallenden Legate von 2000 fl beginnen würde, wenn er dasselbe ausbezahlt erhielte, sagt er, er würde es in die Sparkasse geben. Was mit dem Gelde in der Sparkasse weiter geschieht, weiß er nicht. Es ist ihm vollkommen unbekannt, daß ihm sein Vermögen Zinsen tragen soll u. ist ihm auch der Begriff Zinsen oder Interessen ein vollkommen fremder u. unverständlicher ». P 21/1899 fol. 1'-2. 51. See Kaufmann (1995, p. 276). 52. Several « normal » persons applied for admission to different American psychiatric clinics, pretending that they « heard voices ». After their admission they were behaving normally, but were not recognised as being « normal ». They were all discharged « uncured », the diagnosis being in all but one of the cases « schizophrenia ». - Rosenhan (1985). 53. Blasius (1980, p. 126). 54. In German original: « Leonhard Pichler 32 J. alt ist mittelgroß, nicht besonders kräftig gebaut u. entsprechend genährt. Der Gesichtsausdruck ist vollkommen geistlos, die Sprache verlangsamt, schleppend u. häufig undeutlich. Das Gesicht gut, das Gehör jedoch mangelhaft entwickelt. Die Körperhaltung ist eine nachlässige, nach vorne geneigte, der Gang etwas schwankend u. schleppend. Der Kopf ist klein u. rund u. erscheint besonders der Hirnschädel auffallend klein ». P 21/99, fol. 1. 55. See, for instance, Wallnöfer (1997, p. 46). 56. Klebs (1877). 57. Schulte (1989, p. 95). 58. P 42/1900 (Fussi): enclosed incapacitation file L 5/8; P 140/1908 (Perchthaler): enclosed incapacitation file L 10/8; P 21/1899 (Pichler): annex (second incapacitation file) L 4/19. 59. Schulte (1989, p. 103-104).

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ABSTRACTS

On the basis of a regional case study, this article deals with the stigmatization of « mentally handicapped » people in the rural society of the Austrian Alps, using court files of persons who were placed under wardship because of « imbecility » or « feeble-mindedness ». Proceeding from exemplary case histories, first the interests and strategies involved in the procedure of legal incapacitation and in the social environment's attitudes towards the « mentally disabled » are considered, and second, the different concepts of normalcy and deviation of the local population, the authorities, and the medical experts. In the region under question, peasant inheritance strategies as well as a collective interest of the peasant class in cheap labour were apparently causal factors of the attribution of « imbecility ».

Fondée sur une recherche régionale dans les archives judiciaires relatives aux personnes placées sous tutelle pour « imbécillité » ou « faiblesse d'esprit », cette étude traite de la stigmatisation de personnes handicapées mentales dans la société rurale des Alpes autrichiennes. À partir d'études de cas exemplaires, l'auteur étudie d'une part les intérêts et les stratégies engagés dans la procédure judiciaire en question, ainsi que dans les attitudes du milieu social à l'égard des « handicapés mentaux », et d'autre part les différentes conceptions de la normalité et de la déviance au sein de la population locale, chez les autorités et les experts médicaux. Dans la région en cause, les stratégies successorales et l'intérêt collectif de la paysannerie dans une main-d'œuvre bon marché, semblent avoir été les causes de l'étiquetage comme « imbécile ».

AUTHOR

GUDRUN HOPF Fleschgasse 15-17/8/4, A-1130 Vienna, E-mail: [email protected] Gudrun Hopf is a doctoral candidate in history at the University of Vienna (Austria). She is the author of Illegitimät in Wien: Kritische Methodenreflexion über eine Untersuchung anhand von Volkszählungslisten [Illegitimacy in Vienna: Critical reflection on the methods used in an investigation based on census lists], History & Computing Newsletter, 1994, 4, p. 32-37; Gabe und Sozialprestige: Einer, der « anders » ist. Eine Fallgeschichte aus der Obersteiermark [Gift and social prestige: someone who is « different ». A case history from Upper Styria], in G. Dressel, G. Hopf (Eds), Von Geschenken und anderen Gaben, Frankfurt a M., 1998, p. 73-83 (wich she also co- edited).

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A typology of nineteenth-century police

Clive Emsley

I

1 Victorian Englishmen were proud of their police and praised the British model, civilian, restrained, free from corruption, as superior to a generalised European model, military, arbitrary, political, secretive. Quite simply, theirs was 'the best police in the world'2. Yet it was Charles Reith, writing in the mid-twentieth century, who best encapsulated what remains the traditional view of police development in Britain3. Reith, following the assertions of nineteenth-century police reformers like Edwin Chadwick, believed that the pre-police system of parish constables and night watchmen was inefficient and incapable of dealing with the problems of rising crime and increasing disorder that he considered to have emerged in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries with burgeoning urban growth and industrialisation. Fortunately, a group of far-sighted reformers, including Chadwick, came up with the solution - the modern police. First established in London in 1829, the 'police idea' rapidly showed its worth, was adopted across the whole country, and was perceived as a model by others elsewhere. The logic and simplicity of Reith's explanation accounts for its longevity. It remains a useful straw man for academics to begin critical assessments of police development - though some, having nuanced his interpretation, describe their conclusions as neo-Reithian4. Unnuanced, it remains the version deployed by the police themselves when they address their own history, particularly in the form of official histories5.

2 The importance of the Metropolitan Police was explicit in Reith's work ; the superiority of the British model was generally implicit. However in The Blind Eye of History he differentiated between two kinds of police : The kin police or Anglo-Saxon police system, and the ruler appointed gendarmerie, or despotic totalitarian police system. The first represents, basically, force exercised indirectly by the people, from below, upwards. The other represents force exercised, by authority, from above, downwards.

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3 Kin police were democratic ; gendarmeries were not. It was therefore 'unnecessary to look far beyond this fact to account for the comparative failure of democracy elsewhere than in Britain and the United States'. This probably tells us more about Reith, the son of a Victorian doctor and a man who had been a tea and rubber planter and an officer in the Indian army, than it does about police systems in general6. It also underlines, perhaps, a long-standing suspicion and ignorance of things European within British society more colourfully expressed by one of the central characters of the popular l980s television series Minder, the entrepreneurial rogue Arthur Daley, for whom Europe meant 'plods with pistols, iffy food, and sawn-off toilets'7.

4 There have never been two clear models of police, a British one, also employed in the British Empire and the United States, and a European one. Indeed, until the 1960s at least, it would be difficult to define a single British model. While in contemporary France and Italy apologists for the situation of having two major and very different police forces, one military the other civilian, functioning side-by-side - the Gendarmerie nationale and the Police nationale in the former, the Carabinieri and the Polizia di Stato in the latter8 - confidently declare this to be good for democracy since the two balance each other and consequently impede any attempt by a single faction to seize power in a coup.

5 David Bayley's comparative investigation of police development in Britain, France, Germany and Italy starts with a contemporary baseline of the police as they are (or rather were in 1975) and then explores how the present came to be9. He draws attention to significant differences in the contemporary systems, pinpoints the key period of development as beginning in the late seventeenth century, though the main focus is on the nineteenth, but stresses how the different police systems really emerged at different times. He suggests that distinctive national features within the different police forces have remained remarkably constant through a multiplicity of upheavals. He denies that the growth of crime, industrialisation, population, or urbanisation have been especially significant in the development of these police forces ; much more important was the transformation of the organisation of political power, the extent of violent popular resistance to government, the erosion of the old social bases of community authority, and the creation of new law and order tasks. There is much that is stimulating and significant in this essay, but at times it is also so general as not to explain very much in terms of specific historical development. In particular, while he suggests that the forms of policing are to be explained by prior practices, he never explores the longevity of the old social structures and of traditional policing ; and at times he appears to assume a degree of national organisation which, the following discussion will argue, did not exist. While he notes that the Italian Carabinieri was based on the French Gendarmerie, he generally ignores the importance of cultural exchange and the borrowing and subsequent reshaping of police models ; something which again will be stressed in what follows.

6 In a subsequent book Bayley develops an important and thought-provoking typology of contemporary policing based on two dimensions of analysis : the centralisation of command and the number of commands. These, he notes, are often confused because of imprecise use of the concepts of centralisation and decentralisation. 'The point is that decentralization creates multiple forces, but multiple forces are not always decentralized'. Thus, for example, countries like France and Italy with multiple forces in fact have centralised command in as much as control is exercised from the capital

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cities over both the civilian and the para-military police. The key factor in explaining initial centralisation was the scale of violent resistance to the state's assertion of authority and consolidation. The ultimate structure of policing depended on political settlements and resulting traditions, together with the nature of government. But, at the same time, he warns that 'policing structures should not be read as a symptom of governmental character, therefore identical command structures can accomodate regimes of vastly different types'10.

7 This essay will follow a rather different tack from Bayley ; it will tend to amplify some of his conclusions, particularly in demonstrating the degree of negotiation between states and other social actors over police development during the nineteenth century. However, rather than working back from the present, it will focus initially on the police institutions of two European nation states during the nineteenth century. These states, Britain and France, are important in the history of police development : the former because historians of its police have insisted that it was the home of the 'new police', and, during the nineteenth century, many European liberals, as well as police reformers in the United States, professed, or at least aspired, to follow this model ; the latter because of the precocity of its development of police institutions which can be seen emerging in their nineteenth-century, if not their modern, form towards the end of the seventeenth century. From this initial survey it will be suggested that three distinct types of police can be perceived in the two states. It will be suggested further that these types can be found elsewhere and that a recognition of these types contributes to our understanding of the growth of nineteenth-century states and the extent of their internal authority.

II

8 In the middle of the nineteenth century there were three distinct models of what can be termed public as opposed to private11 policing in the British Isles : those of the Metropolitan Police, the provincial police, and the Irish police12. The Metropolitan Police, the first of the 'new police', was commanded by commissioners appointed by central government and was accountable to the home secretary. This dependence on central government was greatly resented by many local authorities in London during the 1830s. They complained that while they were required to pay for the police, they had no say in its management and its operations. Some could point to the fact that under the new police the streets of their district were less well patrolled than they had been with the former night watches. Such protests declined in the middle years of the century, but resurfaced during the debates over the creation of the London County Council during the late 1880s, and again during the twentieth century.

9 Provincial police in Britain often drew on the Metropolitan Police for their officer cadres, but some looked elsewhere too, notably to Ireland. They also looked to the Metropolitan system for organisational patterns and operational behaviour. But, unlike the Metropolitan Police, the provincial police, whether borough or county forces, were accountable to local government. There were differences. The chief constables of the counties tended to have much greater independence from their police committees than the head constables of boroughs where, in some places, the police continued to be regarded as municipal servants carrying out a variety of administrative functions until well into the twentieth century. The municipal police showed as much evolution in

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their links with existing forms of local government as they did revolution in their hierarchical structures, uniforms and operational behaviour. The example of London provided a degree of uniformity. The creation of Her Majesty's Inspectorate of Constabulary in 1856 whose certificates of efficiency led to treasury grants, and the subsequent growth of police experts within the Home Office, who preferred to by-pass civilian police committees and speak directly to the experts who served as chief or head constables, generated further uniformity and a degree of centralisation before the First World War. The latter process was assisted by the way in which many police committees began, increasingly, to leave the management of their local police to their chief or head constable. But if police committees, especially urban watch committees which sometimes met weekly and in a few instances even more often, wanted their constables to wear green uniforms as opposed to the usual blue, to collect market tolls, act as municipal mace bearers or mortuary attendants, or in any other local government function, there was nothing to prevent them.

10 Much of the tight linkage between the police and local government was a result of the way in which the latter had developed and maintained its independence since the Glorious Revolution of 1688. As magistrates, members of local elites ran the counties and boroughs with little direction from the centre ; M.P.s and ministers had commonly served as county magistrates, or, as the nineteenth century wore on, as municipal leaders. Moreover, while the machinery of local government had creaked under the pressure of the Revolutionary and Napoleonic wars and during their turbulent aftermath, English magistrates had rarely lost their nerve and popular disorder had never seriously threatened the stability of the state. In Ireland, in contrast, while the gentry saw themselves as similar to their English cousins, they had consistently failed when confronted with disorder in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Small wonder then that policing should be taken out of their hands by central government. Dublin was given a Metropolitan Police akin to that in London, while provincial Ireland was given a paramilitary police, the Irish (from 1867, the Royal Irish) Constabulary. The RIC was equipped with firearms ; it was stationed in small barracks on main roads and in the principal towns, and it was employed to coerce the recalcitrant peasantry. However, while much Irish history has been written from the perspective of famine, evictions, land war, and general disorder, it appears that, towards the end of the century, the RIC was increasingly accepted within the communities where it served and that it was 'domesticated,' losing much of its military edge - one reason, it can be argued, for its poor showing in the troubles which accompanied the end of World War One13.

11 Mid-nineteenth-century France also had three distinct types of police. In Paris the Prefect of Police, a government appointee, directed the city police. In many respects this police was a much older institution than that of London - the post of Lieutenant Général, the precursor of the Prefect, had been created in 1667 ; in other respects it had emerged at roughly the same time - in 1829 Prefect Louis Debelleyme had established the sergents de ville as a civilian patrol to restore confidence in the police after a series of scandals, and to help establish his idea of a paternal institution which would ensure « Safety by day and night, free and easy movement of traffic, cleanliness of the public streets, supervision and precautions against any cause of accident, the maintenance of public order in public places, the investigation of offences and the pursuit of offenders »14.

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12 A succession of laws during the Revolutionary years established the post of commissaire de police in towns with a population in excess of 5000. Initially the post was elected, but the reassertion of central government authority under Napoleon saw the commissaire become a government appointee selected from a short-list presented by the departmental prefect. In many instances for at least the first third of the century, men on the short-list were local, sometimes former soldiers, and sometimes men seeking a new government position for a new stage of their career in the emergent state bureaucracy. However, as the century progressed, the men began to see themselves more and more as a professional policemen with a bureaucratic career progressing to bigger towns with more responsiblity, possibly ending as the commissaire central in a large town with several junior, subordinate commissaires. The Journal des commissaires de police first published in January 1853 with the agreement of the minister of the interior, provided the men with a digest of legislation but also contained articles designed to instill them with a sense of mission and the value of their role. But the commissaires provided only a framework of centralised policing. Beneath them were the local police officers -inspecteurs, agents de police, sergents de ville - who, for much of the century were dependent upon the municipality for appointment and pay. There was recurrant friction between central and local authority over the appointment of these functionaries. Legislation of 1864 authorised the departmental prefect to nominate the police on the recommendation of the mayor ; legislation of 1884 confirmed the mayor as the nominal chief of police, and authorised him to appoint personnel with the agreement of the prefect. There could be conflict between central and local government over policing matters, and this could create difficulties when a commissaire found himself receiving advice and directives from a government in Paris of a very different political hue to the municipality. However, in many places it appears that the municipality increasingly withdrew from direct involvement in the administration of the police leaving matters to the commissaire15.

13 The legislation which first established the commissaires in 1791 brought uniformity to the towns where, under the old regime, a multitude of different individuals and corporations had held police powers, often with overlapping jurisdictions. In the same year the Loi relative à la police rurale of 6 October authorised local communes, if they so wished, to appoint and pay, under the mayor's supervision, a garde champêtre. The law largely formalised a much older practice of appointing field guards, particularly at harvest time ; the subsistance crisis of 1795 saw the requirement of appointing a garde champêtre made obligatory, though many communes appear to have ignored it, not the least because of a reluctance to impose a tax on the local community to pay the men. There were a succession of proposals to improve the gardes, by recruiting them from old soldiers, brigading them, making them auxiliaries of the Gendarmerie. During the Napoleonic period some men behaved courageously, often at risk to themselves and their families, in arresting deserters, refractory conscripts, and poachers16. Yet the gardes have generally received a bad press, criticised as creatures of the local mayors or large landowners, and/or too susceptible to community opinion. It is worth noting that criticism of them seems gradually to disappear from the monthly and annual reports of the Gendarmerie in the mid-nineteenth century17. Perhaps this is indicative of a degree of improvement, though there were still adverse comments from some regions « The service of the gardes champêtres is the only one in the department wich leads much to be desired, the reason being that there are too few of them and most of these are incapable »18. As a group the gardes champêtres await serious academic investigation19.

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14 The Gendarmerie nationale was a military body. Reformed and reorganised from the military police of the old regime, the Maréchaussée, it was composed of former regular soldiers, usually NCOs with good conduct records and who had transferred to the corps often, it seems, as a way of continuing in their chosen profession in their pays natal. One of the principal tasks of the Maréchaussée had been keeping the roads safe for travellers and the mail coaches. The Gendarmerie continued with this role. Brigades of six men, though often reduced by shortages or particular exigencies to only four or five, were stationed in barracks in towns and villages along the main roads. They were also expected to provide coercive support for other state functionaries as and when required, to bring in the conscripts, protect tax and ammunition convoys, supervise troops on the march, and to report on and investigate offences.

15 Setting the British and French examples side-by-side a broad typology of three kinds of public police can be delineated. The police of metropolitan London and of Paris, both commanded by government appointees and quite independent of local authority, can be considered as state civilian forces. The borough and county police in Britain, and the urban police and gardes champêtres in France all constitute civilian municipal police ; men recruited locally and largely under local control though, in both countries such control was gradually being yielded into the hands of 'experts'. It is something of a paradox that, in spite of the reputation which the nineteenth-century French state had for centralisation and a burgeoning bureaucracy, it appears to have lagged behind the British state, so often lauded for its policies of laissez-faire, in the central financing and inspection of such civilian-municipal police. The third variety of police, represented by the Gendarmerie and the Royal Irish Constabulary, were armed and equipped like soldiers, stationed in barracks, and responsible to a central government ministry ; they can conveniently be labelled state military.

16 State civilian, municipal civilian, and state military are ideal types in the Weberian sense. When different forces are put under the microscope the edges between the distinctions can become decidedly fuzzy. Most nineteenth-century civilian police, for example, had military elements. London's Metropolitan Police may have been given top hats and blue, swallow-tail coats so as not to appear to be soldiers, but the force was rigidly hierarchical and strictly regimented. Furthermore, in the civilian English police, there were large numbers of recruits with military experience and some chief constables, especially those who had held military rank themselves, favoured former soldiers as policemen20. The gardiens de la paix, as the patrolmen of the Paris police came to be termed in the second half of the nineteenth-century, may have been essentially civilian and Napoleon Ill's reform of them sought to introduce a variety of practices learned from the London Bobby, but three-quarters of the vacancies were reserved for former soldiers21. Municipal civilian police might receive part of their pay from state funds, and a few of this type, especially among the gardes champêtres could shade into private police - in the sense of gamekeepers and private watchmen - given the patronage systems under which they were recruited and under which they worked. Nevertheless, state civilian, municipal civilian and state military, are sufficiently distinctive types in the ways that the chains of command and accountability functioned, and that men were recruited, equipped and deployed.

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III

17 Adjusting the focus to look further across nineteenth-century Europe, these same three types can be seen functioning, often side-by-side, in other states. In the Netherlands, for example, there was the Koninklije Marechaussee, a state military police mainly responsible for policing the south and east of the country and answerable primarily to the ministry of war, the Rijksveldwacht, a state civilian police under the ministry of justice, and municipal civilian police in the shape of the Gemeentepolitie of the towns and the Gemeenteveldwachtes of the rural districts. From independence in 1830 Belgium had a Gendarmerie nationale, communal police regulated by the municipalities, and very gradually set about developing a state civilian force.

18 Across much of continental Europe, and particularly in the centre and east, state civilian police grew out of the ideas surrounding what Marc Raeff called 'the well- ordered police state'. Raeff appears to suggest that the ordinances passed by German and Russian princes from the seventeenth century, in themselves played a key role in shaping the attitudes of those princes' subjects. Yet it was one thing to pass ordinances and quite another to ensure their implementation. During the Enlightenment Habsburgs, Hohenzollerns and Romanovs developed structures to enforce notions of good 'police' in the broad definition of the term, that is structures that provided a degree of welfare, security, fairness in, and the smooth-running of, markets, together with the maintenance of order. These structures also sought to repress threats against the prince and to keep under surveillance those individuals considered likely to foment trouble. The organisation working under the lieutenant general of police in Paris provided one model here, though such developments would seem to be as much rooted in German traditions as any French model22.

19 State military police, however, were firmly rooted in a French model23. French expansion across Europe during the revolutionary and Napoleonic period brought with it Gendarmerie-style policing. The Gendarmes policed the French armies on the march ; and where the French settled they proved themselves in fighting brigands, protecting tax convoys and mail coaches, and bringing in the conscripts. Princes, like those of Bavaria and Württemberg, who for much of the first decade of the nineteenth century were under Napoleonic protection began to develop state military police during these years. The Prussian reformers, reeling from the shocks of Jena and Napoleonic dismemberment, sought to create a similar corps as part of their modernisation of the state. On Napoleon's fall princes restored to territories which had been part of his empire, like Vittorio Emanuele I in Piedmont and Cardinal Consalvi in the Papal States, similarly recreated gendarmeries. There were slightly different reasons underlying each case, but the state military police were seen as providing an efficient means of bringing the state to the countryside and cementing its claim to be the sole repository of law and the maintenance of order, of replacing the traditional authority of the seigneur and his agents, and of providing central government with eyes and ears as well as a first line of defence against rural disorder. The initial wave of these gendarmerie creations came in those states which had either been part of the Napoleonic empire or strongly influenced by it - northern and central Italy, the low countries, the lands of the Confederation of the Rhine and Prussia. The second wave came in the aftermath of serious revolutionary disorders - in Spain in 1844, and in the Austrian Empire in 1849.

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20 Well into the nineteenth century, across most of Europe, municipalities were generally responsible for their own policing arrangements. When the British parliament passed its Municipal Corporations Act in 1835 requiring the new town councils to establish watch committees who would be responsible for police organisations, it was following the tradition of leaving such responsibilities to the locality. Similarly the legislation of 1839 and 1840 permitting the creation of county constabularies, left decisions and management to the recognised organ of county government - the bench of county magistrates. The early stages of the French Revolution were strongly marked with notions of devolving powers to the localities : the Gendarmerie may have been nationale, yet it was, initially, to be under the administration of the departments ; commissaires, as noted earlier, were, initially, to be elected, and what kind of policing arrangements existed under the commissaire, were to be left to the municipality. While the Gendarmerie and the commissaires were brought under state control within a decade, the ordinary agents de police were not. A rather more detailed glance at the patterns of policing in Italy and Prussia will show how similar complexities were allowed to develop and to continue elsewhere throughout the nineteenth century.

21 Until the arrival of the French revolutionary armies during the late 1790s, policing in the Italian states was in the hands of armed men (sbirri) who were generally regarded as little better than the brigands they were supposed to combat ; indeed, according to a French traveller, Charles Dupaty : « The sbirri are privileged brigands who make war on the brigands who lack privileges ». Such research as has been conducted recently on the sbirri has done nothing to contradict such assessments24. The French imposed their system of commissaires, gardes champê-tres, and gendarmerie across the peninsula, and even the most reactionary of the states restored after Napoleon's fall maintained aspects of the French system. Piedmont was the state which eventually unified Italy and here Vittorio Emanuele I, restored to his northern capital of Turin in May 1814, resolved to turn the clock back to the old regime and abolish everything French. Yet in June 1814 he established the Carabinieri Reali modelled on the French Gendarmerie. Piedmont was a state which prided itself on its military prowess and, consequently, the creation of a state military police by the restored regime was in the traditions of the old regime - and there had been an experiment with an anti-brigand corps of light troops in 1791 - as well as drawing on the new. In the wake of the revolutions of 1848 and the growth of liberal ideology among the rulers of Piedmont a state civilian force was created, this time apparently looking to the new English model. In July 1852 the Piedmontese Parliament passed law 1404 establishing the Guardia di Pubblica Sicurezza for the principal cities of the kingdom. The origins of this legislation have never been seriously analysed ; they appear to lay within the increasing fears of the 'dangerous classes', the belief among the Liberals that an alternative was needed to the Carabinieri, which appeared to them to be controlled by aristocratic conservatives, and that such an alternative was to be found in a civilian police somewhat along the lines of the English Bobby. With the unification process of the 1860s both the Carabinieri and the Guardia di Pubblica Sicurezza spread down the peninsula. Unfortunately for the P.S., the differentiation of the roles of the two forces was never clarified and it tended to take second place to the elite, glamorous troops of the Carabinieri whose battle honours included some key clashes in the wars of unification25.

22 Members of the Italian Parliament during the 1860s professed admiration for the English Bobby, but were reluctant to let policing pass out of the hands of the state and

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into those of the municipalities. The Parliamentary Committee which met in December 1861 to determine whether or not the PS. should be spread across the new kingdom concluded that, unfortunately, the Italians were not yet ready to take responsibility for policing themselves. However, Italian cities had long traditions of independence and civic pride. During the revolutions of 1848 several had experimented with municipal civilian police based on their perception of the English model, and, with the liberal freedoms of the early 1860s, they experimented again. The big cities, particularly in the north, established their own Guardie Municipali. Again these are forces which have never been the subject of detailed academic investigation. However, at least as late as the 1880s, local authorities in Italy appear to have considered their own municipal and forest guards, local men responsible to local government, as superior to the P.S. - generally, it would seem, underfunded, understrength, overage, and disparaged as sbirri - and often as preferable to the Carabinieri26.

23 Just as Piedmont was not Italy, though it played the central role in unification, so Prussia was not Germany, and played a key role in unification. In Prussia too, the same three varieties of police existed during the nineteenth century, and developed differently because of the different context. A Gendarmerie was created in 1812 as part and parcel of the modernising reforms introduced in the wake of the disasters of 1806 and 1807 ; but the legal and administrative reforms of which it was part were vigorously resisted by the Junkers who saw these changes as a threat to their personal authority and particularly the concept of Herrschaft which defined their relationship with the peasantry under their jurisdiction. The administrative reforms which constituted a major element of the Gendarmerie Edict of 1812 were never introduced ; the Gendarmerie itself survived, but in greatly reduced numbers. In the first half of the nineteenth century Prussia's rulers commonly considered that their first line of defence against serious disorder was the army27.

24 State civilian police, similar to the system functioning under the lieutenant general in Paris, had begun to be developed in the mid-eighteenth century. The Städteordnung of November 1808, which was part of the post Jena reformers' programme of modernisation, made provision for popular representation in town government and the election of officials, but it also declared that policing was a Crown prerogative. Thus, while municipal policemen might be administered by the town council, they acted as representatives of the king. This tended to make the urban elites reluctant to improve their policing structures as they felt that they were paying for men who were under central direction and, as in Italy, it encouraged Liberals to look with interest on the alternative models which were developing in Britain that were both civilian and municipal. The Revolutions of 1848 saw Prussian Liberals experimenting along the lines of the British Bobby, most notably in Berlin. The Police Law of 1850 however, introduced in a reactionary atmosphere, sought to ensure that urban police remained state police ; a police director was to be appointed for the principal municipalities by the central government, but all of the costs of his men, their buildings, and equipment were to be met by the municipality. Infuriated at having to pay for policemen over whom they had no control, the municipalities took the state to court over the financial provisions of the law, and won. The rulers of the Prussian state concluded that they could not afford to pay for the police of all provincial cities as well as that of Berlin and, consequently, decided on the removal of all but eleven of the police directorships. This upshot was that the state civilian police were transformed back into municipal police.

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25 The municipal police (Kommunale Ortspolizeibehörde) which emerged in Prussian towns and cities during the early 1860s were technically under the authority of the central state since, constitutionally - and in keeping with the 1808 Städteordnung - no police authority was ever devolved to local government. Theoretically the government in Berlin could have chosen to intervene in matters of municipal policing, but in practice it very rarely attempted to do so, recognising that any such action might provoke constitutional debate and political difficulties with the big cities. The municipalities made most of their own decisions regarding their police structures and organisation, and they issued police ordinances for the regulation of local matters ; but there were problems. The most acute of these appear to have been experienced in the burgeoning, turbulent industrial 'wild west' towns of the Ruhr. In the decade or so immediately before World War One the virtues of state civilian, as opposed to municipal civilian, police began again to be debated. The Royal Prussian Police (Königliche Schutzmannschaft) were seen increasingly to be preferable ; they seemed better disciplined, without the potential problem of local ties, more able to maintain surveillance of political organisations and to pursue offenders outside the district in which they served. All of this suited both officials in Berlin and the respectable Rhineland burghers ; the latter's Heimat had now been incorporated into Prussia for almost a century and, for a variety of reasons, the respectable Rhinelanders were identifying themselves more and more with that state. Equally important to the cost- conscious Rhineland burgher, the Royal Police were cheaper since they were funded from the state treasury rather than local coffers ; the police finance law of 1908 made the state treasury responsible for two-thirds of the funding of Royal Schtzmannschaften, the remaining third came from the towns and cities where they were established28. Significantly the years immediately before the war witnessed the Royal Police moving into the Ruhr and the Upper Silesian coalfields. Yet even here some local municipal police remained responsible for the supervision of markets, certain trades, master- servant relations, school attendance, public health, and the streets.

26 The experience of Italy and Germany suggests that, even in territories that were aggressively unified or dominated by an absolutist, militarist structure, police development was never simply dictated or dominated from the centre. There was always negotiation between central government and the localities ; on both sides there were considerations of independence as well as of cost. Other models were looked to29, borrowed from, and reshaped to take account of different cultural perspectives and perceptions. Yet overall, it would probably be true to say that across nineteenth- century Europe the role of the central state in policing, as in many other areas, was becoming more significant.

IV

27 The nineteenth-century state was increasingly jealous of its authority. Where local elites could be depended upon and/or where they were indistinguishable from the national elite, shared agreement about the constitutional structure, and where no serious threat was posed to the state's legitimacy, then civilian, municipal police were allowed to flourish. Yet it would be wrong to assume from this that the creation of a state civilian or state military police depended solely on the will of even the most authoritarian government. In the early nineteenth century the government at

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Westminster was able to impose a gendarmerie system on the Irish gentry ; that government was strong, confident, successful but, by the standards of the time, not particularly authoritarian ; while the Irish gentry had a poor record of exercising its authority and maintaining order, and no particular clout in parliament. In contrast, reformers in Prussia were seeking to revive an enfeebled state with impoverished coffers ; they were unable to press forward with their plans for a Gendarmerie and a restructuring of the legal system in the way that they had hoped because they faced a challenge from an articulate and powerful gentry, intensely loyal to the king but intensely hostile to those who seemed to be set on destroying that gentry's way of life and relationship with its peasantry.

28 Nineteenth-century states did not, of course, exist in individual vacuums but side-by- side observing each other's developments sometimes seeking to emulate, sometimes seeking to avoid the experience or practice of a neighbour. In the case of police developments they borrowed models and shaped them to their own needs, but also saw the models shaped by their own varying contexts. And while this essay has been at pains to stress three types of nineteenth-century policing, it would be wrong to assume that each of these types existed in every state. The Scandinavian countries did not employ state military police for internal duties with the exception of Denmark, where a Gendarmerie was established in the suspect province of Schleswig in 1851, and where a nervous government of the right established such a corps to police the whole country between 1885 and 189430. It was only in John Bull's other island and in the British Empire that gendarmerie-style police were deployed as a rule by the government at Westminster. English sensibilities were such that an overtly military police probably could never have been created in England itself even had the government so wished. Moreover, the very success of the French Gendarmerie coupled with the suspicion of things French and British success in the wars against the Revolution and Napoleon, were probably important contributory elements in the search for something different when it came to establishing the Metropolitan Police31. Like the Liberals of continental Europe, reformers from the big cities of the eastern seaboard of the United States also looked to the English Metropolitan Police model, though the system of control was much closer to that of the borough watch committees. Here too there were suspicions of soldiers on the streets. Furthermore the federal structure and democratic ideology of the United States militated against the creation of any significant police organisation run from Washington ; it was the democratic ideology in particular which ensured the predominance of different varieties of civilian municipal police.

29 The three types discussed here are essentially concerned with accountability, control and form, rather than function. It would, of course, be possible to construct another series of types based on function which crossed the boundaries of the types delineated here. Detective police were generally civilian as opposed to military ; political surveillance was a state police task, both military and civilian, as opposed to municipal. Furthermore, the savoir-faire developed by policemen in particular functions would probably have made the tasks and work practices of, for example, a Bulle in the Hamburg docks district perfectly understandable to, and perhaps interchangeable with those of a Peeler in the Liverpool docks district, and similarly with say, a gendarme patrolling the Aveyron and a Bobby in the North Riding of Yorkshire.

30 This leads on to two important questions with which I wish to conclude as suggestions for further thought and further research. It was not just at the level of the man on daily

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patrol that, during the nineteenth century, the police began to develop a kind of professional savoir-faire. Max Weber suggested that the growth of bureaucracy could lead to the professional, by virtue of his role, seeking to gain autonomy over his political masters who, in comparison with the bureaucratic expert, increasingly seemed dilettantes32. This may be an important way into an exploration of the way that links were strengthened between the professional police of municipalities and the state bureaucrats at least in Britain and France at the end of the nineteenth and beginning of the twentieth centuries. But if this was the case at municipal level, may there not also have been some similar developments at state level ? The study of nineteenth-century policing is now fairly well developed, but work on the twentieth century is lacking and an exploration of autonomy at the level of senior police officers and state bureaucrats might be one item for the agenda. Secondly, if typologies at the level of control, form, and functions were similar, there is a need to explore the roots of police behaviour and perceptions of that behaviour in both national and comparative contexts. The policemen of Victorian England used violence, sometimes indiscriminately and excessively33, but by both English and European commentators, they were not perceived to be as violent as American cops, French flics, or German Bulles. Possibly this was indeed the case, but it needs exploration rather than assertion ; furthermore, it may be less because of anything structural within the English police, and rather more because of something structural in English society which made it, as a whole, less violent.

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Axtmann, R., « Police » and the formation of the modern state. Legal and ideologicalassumptions on State capacity in the Austrian Lands of the Habsburg Empire, 1500-1800, German History, 1992, 10, p. 39-61.

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Bayley, D., Patterns of Policing. A Comparative International Analysis, New Brunswick, N.J., Rutgers University Press, 1985.

Berlière, J.M., Le préfet Lépine. Vers la naissance de la police moderne, Paris Denoël, 1993.

Davis, J.A., Conflict and Control. Law and Order in Ninetenth-Century Italy, London, Macmillan, 1989.

Emsley, C., Policing and its Context, 1750-1870, London, Macmillan, 1983.

Emsley, C., « The thump of wood on a swede turnip ». Police violence in nineteenth-century England », Criminal Justice History, 1985, VI, p. 125-49.

Emsley, C, 'The English Bobby : an indulgent tradition', in Porter, R., (Ed.), Myths of the English, Oxford, Polity Press, 1992.

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Emsley, C., The English Police : A Political and Social History, London, Longman, 1996, (2nd. edn.).

Emsley, C, Gendarmes and the State in Nineteenth Century Europe, Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1999.

Funk, A., Polizei und Rechtsstaat : Die Entwicklung des staatlichen Gewaltmonopols in Preussen 1848-1914, Frankfurt, Campus, 1986.

Gaveau, F., L’ordre aux champs. Pour une histoire des gardes champêtres 1789-1880,Mémoire de DEA d'histoire, Dijon, Université de Bourgogne, 1997.

Hauterive, E. d', (Ed.), La police secrète du Premier Empire, 5 vols, Paris, Perrin (laterClavreuil), 1922-1964.

Hjellemo, O., A tribute to an unusual historian of police : Charles Edward Williams Reith (1886-1957), Police College Magazine, 1977, 14, p. 5-8.

Hughes, S.C., Fear and loathing in Bologna and Rome. The papal police in perspective, Journal of Social History, 1987, 21, p. 97-116.

Hughes, S.C., Poliziotti, Carabinieri e « Policemen » : il bobby inglese nella polizia italiana, La Carta e la Storia, 1996, 11, p. 22-31.

Jensen, R.B., Police reform and social reform : Italy from the crisis of thel890s to the Giolittian era, Criminal Justice History, 1989, 10, p. 179-200.

Jessen, R., Polizei im Industrierevier : Modernisierung und Herrschaftspraxis im westfälischen Ruhrgebiet, 1848-1914, Göttingen, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1991.

Kosselleck, R., Preussen zwischen Reform und Revolution : Allgemeines Landrecht, Verwaltung und Sozialbewegung von 1791 bis 1848, Stuttgart, Ernst Klett, 1975 (2nd edn.).

Lowe, W.J., Malcolm, E.L., The domestication of the Royal Irish Constabulary, 1836-1922, Irish Economic and Social History, 1992, XIX, p. 27-48.

Lüdtke, A., Police and State in Prussia, 1815-1850, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1989.

Madelin, L., La Rome de Napoléon. La domination française à Rome de 1809 à 1814, Plon, Paris, 1906.

Palmer, S.H. Police and Protest in England and Ireland 1780-1850, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1989.

Pike, L.O., A History of Crime in England, 2 vols, London, Smith, Elder and Co., 1873-1876.

Raeff, M., The Well-Ordered Police State : Social and Institutional Change Through Law in the Germanies and Russia, 1600-1800, New Haven, Yale University Press, 1983.

Reinke, H., « Armed as if for a war » : The state, the military and the professionalisation of the Prussian Police in Imperial Germany, in Emsley, C, Weinberger, B., (eds.), Policing Western Europe : Politics, Professionalism and Public Order, 1850-1940, New York, Greenwood Press, 1991, p. 55-73.

Reiner, R., The Politics of the Police, Brighton, Wheatsheaf, 1985.

Reith, C, The Police Idea, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1938.

Reith, C, Police Principles and the Problem of War, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1940.

Reith, C, British Police and the Democratic Ideal, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1943.

Reith, C, A Short History of Police, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1948.

Reith, C, The Blind Eye of History, London, Faber, 1952.

Santucci, M.R., Délinquance et répression au XIXe siècle. L'exemple de l'Hérault, Paris, Économica, 1986.

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Soulet, J.F., Les Pyrénées au XIXe siècle, 2 vols, Toulouse, Éché, 1987.

Spencer, E.G., Police and the Social Order in German Cities. The Düsseldorf District 1848-1914, De Kalb, Northern Illinois University Press, 1992.

Tulard, J., Paris et son administration (1800-1830), Paris, Ville de Paris, Commission des Travaux Publics, 1976.

Vogel, M.T., Les polices des villes entre local et national : l'administration des polices urbaines sous la IIIe République, Doctorat de science politique, 3 vols, Université de Grenoble II, 1993.

Weber, M., Economy and Society. An Outline of Interpretive Sociology, 3 vols. New York, Bedminster Press, 1968.

Woloch, I., The New Regime. Transformations of the French Civic Culture 1789-1820s, New York, Norton, 1994.

NOTES

2. See, for example, Pike (1873-1876, ii, p. 457 and 461) ; and for other comments on the superiority of the English police at the turn of the century see Emsley (1992). 3. Reith (1938, 1940, 1943, 1948, 1952). 4. Reiner (1985, p. 47). 5. A good example is Ascoli (1979). 6. Reith (1952, p. 20 and 244) ; for Reith himself see Hjellemo (1977). 7. Minder on the Orient Express, Euston Films, 1986. My thanks to Dr. Jill Stevenson of the University of Edinburgh for reminding me of this wonderful Eurosceptic phrase. 'Plod' is pejorative slang for the ordinary constable who walks (or 'plods') his beat. The term has acquired an additional element from the fact that 'Mr. Plod' was the name given (apparently without any pejorative intent) to the policeman in the Toytown of Enid Blyton's popular children's character, Noddy. 8. In Italy there are also the para-military Guardia di Finanza, which claims to have originated in 1774 and which has responsibility for the policing of taxation laws, customs and excise, and frontier surveillance, and the vigili urbani which largely supervise municipal traffic regulation. 9. Bayley (1975). 10. Bayley (1985, p. 53 and 71). 11. I make this differentiation between public and private policing largely to avoid the additional category of private police which, in England, could range from gamekeepers on a gentleman's estate to the uniformed constables of the railway companies - the latter not greatly dissimilar from the public police. Such private police could also be found across nineteenth- century Europe and merit their own structural typology from which to analyse comparisons and contrasts. 12. The following discussion is based on Emsley (1996). 13. Lowe and Malcom (1992). For the origins of the RIC, compared with police development in England, see Palmer (1989). 14. « La sûreté, le jour et la nuit, la circulation libre et commode, la propreté de la voie publique, la surveillance et les précautions contre toute cause d'accident, le maintien de l'ordre dans les lieux publics, la recherche des délits et de leurs auteurs » ; quoted by Tulard (1976, p. 436-437). Bayley (1985, p. 67) argues that, as a result of the Fronde, Louis XIII and Richelieu concluded that regional nobles could not be trusted with government authority, consequently intendants, later assisted by lieutenants general of police, were appointed by the king to impose order as Paris

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required. This would seem to be one of the instances where Bayley slightly misunderstands the degree of development and institution achieved by the state. While there is, a yet, no detailed study of provincial lieutenants general under the old regime, the posts were venal and it appears that they were often purchased by local seigneurs or other authorities. The monarch was not able to get such individuals, or corporate bodies to enforce order as he required. Local bishops purchased the offices in Beauvais, Reims and St. Malo ; the bailliage courts purchased them in Blois and Troyes ; see Emsley (1983, p. 19). 15. Vogel (1993, chapter 2, passim). 16. For attacks on the gardes see d'Hauterive (1922-1964, ii, nos. 1378 and 1473, iii, nos. 58, 427 and 726), and for a general discussion of their development during the revolutionary and Napoleonic period, see Woloch (1994 p. 156-63). 17. Based on a reading of the Gendarmerie reports of Eure-et-Loir, Finistère, Gers, Nord, Puy-de- Dôme, and Rhône in Archives Nationales, Paris, series F7. 18. « Le service des gardes champêtres est le seul du département qui laisse beaucoup à désirer, à raison du trop petit nombre de ces agents et de l'incapacité de la plupart d'entr'eux ». Service Historique de l'Armée de terre, Vincennes, G8 180, Rapport du préfet de l'Allier, 9 July 1859. See also Santucci (1986, p. 23) and Soulet (1987, p. 286). 19. What promises to be significant research in this area has recently commenced, see Gaveau (1997). 20. Emsley (1996, p. 193-197). 21. The intention was to encourage men to stay in the army after the initial period of conscription thus laws of 1872, 1889, and 1905 guaranteed civilian posts for veterans after their army service, though many expressed their reservations about the quality of the men thus recruited. Berlière (1993, p. 130-138). 22. Raeff (1983) ; Axtmann (1992). 23. Clive Emsley, Gendarmes and the State in Nineteenth-Century Europe, 1999. 24. « Les sbires sont des brigands privilégiés qui font la guerre à des brigands qui ne sont pas privilégiés. » Quotation in Madelin (1906, p. 67) ; and for the sbirri see Hughes (1987). 25. Hughes (1996). 26. Davis (1989, p. 232-233 and 237-241) ; Jensen (1989) ; Hughes (1996). 27. The following discussion draws on Kosselleck (1975) ; Funk (1986) ; Lüdtke (1989) ; Jessen (1991) ; Reinke (1991) ; Spencer (1992). 28. The Städteordnung of 1808, the continuance of the Prussian Gendarmerie after 1820, and finally the spread of the Royal Police suggests that Bayley's assertion (1985, p. 71) that in Prussia « policing remained decentralized » is in need of some qualification. 29. The Minghetti Papers in the Biblioteca comunale di Bologna contain a large number of different documents forwarded by the London Metropolitan Police as examples of how it was organised and functioned. My thanks to Steven Hughes for this information (personal communication 25 May 1991). Requests for information from different German states appear to have been such that from the summer of 1878 the Criminal Investigation Department, at least, of the Metropolitan Police had note-paper headed in German - Polizei-Behörde in London, Abtheilung für Criminal-Sachen ; see, for example, correspondence in Brandenburgisches Landeshauptarchiv, Orangerie, Potsdam, Pr.Br. Rep 30 Berlin C : Polizei-Präsidium Berlin Nr. 865 'Die englischen Polizeieinrichtungen, 1848-1882'. My thanks to Carl Wade for this reference. 30. My thanks to Gunner Lind for this information (personal communication 20 Oct. 1997). 31. In emergencies such as the Rebecca riots in South Wales in 1839 or the strikes in the years before World War One, English police could be supported by, and act alongside soldiers. This might have led to them ressembling state military police, yet they always remained quite separate and distinct from the army. Moreover, in France and Italy, gendarmes or carabinieri

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confronting strikes or other large popular manifestations could similarly be seconded by conventional soldiers. 32. Weber (1968, III, p. 991). 33. Emsley (1985).

ABSTRACTS

Taking as its starting points the Bobby in Victorian England and some of the general conclusions of David H. Bayley's comparative work, this essay suggests that three basic types of police developed in nineteenth-century Europe. Focussing primarily on England, France, Italy and Prussia it argues that, in terms of accountability, control and form, state civilian, state military, and civilian municipal police can be delineated as Weberian ideal types. Individual states did not necessarily develop all three types ; but everywhere governments sought to learn and/or borrow from the police system and pratice of their neighbours, central governments were generality in negotiation with local government over policing matters, and were otherwise constrained by traditions and finance. The essay concludes by posing some very general questions for future work regarding police autonomy and police violence.

Le présent essai, prenant pour point de départ l'exemple du « Bobby » de l'Angleterre victorienne et certaines conclusions générales des recherches comparatives de David H. Bayley, défend l'idée que l'Europe du XIXe siècle a vu se développer trois modèles fondamentaux de police, que l'on peut construire comme des types-idéaux weberiens, en fonction de l'autorité compétente, de la manière dont la police est contrôlée et ses formes d'organisation. En examinant en particulier, les cas anglais, français, italien et prussien, on peut ainsi identifier un type « police d'État civile », un type « police d'État militaire » et un type « police civile municipale ». Ces trois types ne sont pas nécessairement présents dans chaque État, mais les gouvernements se sont partout inspirés des systèmes policiers et des pratiques de leurs voisins ; partout les gouvernements centraux ont dû négocier les questions de police avec les autorités locales et leur action a été limitée par des contraintes financières ou des traditions. En conclusion, cet essai esquisse des orientations pour de futures recherches touchant à l'autonomie et à la violence policières.

AUTHOR

CLIVE EMSLEY The Open University, Walton Hall, Milton Keynes MK7 6AA, UK, E-mail : [email protected] Emsley is Professor of History at the Open University, U.K., and co- director of the European Centre for the Study of Policing there. Since 1995 he has been President of the International Association for the History of Crime and Criminal Justice. His publications include : Policing and its Context, 1750-1870 (1983), Crime and Society in England 1750-1900 (2nd edn. 1996) and The English Police : a Political and Social History (2nd edn. 1996). He is currently completing a comparative study of the development of Gendarmerie-style policing in nineteenth-century Europe.

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Weak Bodies ? Prostitutes and the Role of Gender in the Criminological Writings of 19th-century German Detectives and Magistrates

Peter Becker

Gender in criminological writings : the case of prostitutes

1 When the Italian criminologist, Cesare Lombroso, condemned women to a childlike state on the basis of his anthropological research, he pointed out that women in their retrogression usually did not turn to criminality but rather to prostitution : « ... the born female criminal is, so to speak, doubly exceptional, as a woman and as a criminal. For criminals are an exception among civilized people, and women are an exception among criminals, the natural form of retrogression in women being prostitution and not crime. The primitive woman was impure rather than criminal »2. Even though Lombroso - and after him scholars such as Otto Weininger3 - were among the first to express the stereotypical description of women as mothers and whores in scientific terms, they also took up the long-existing notion that female deviance was closely related to sexuality.

2 It was this that enabled criminologists at the turn of the century to provide a scientific explanation for a worrisome detail in moral statistics, namely the low absolute and relative numbers of women committing crimes and misdemeanors, which seemed - at first sight - to threaten the moral supremacy of their male compatriots4. Even though moral statistics made gender-specific criminality rates more visible, criminologists played down the relevance of the low rate of female criminality by citing the results of their own observations about the lifestyles of women. They suggested that different living conditions, levels of education, and women's lack of physical strength caused this low level of criminality without giving women a higher moral capability5. Lombroso

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went one step further and identified the « real » deviant drives in women as sexual dissoluteness and was therefore able to include prostitutes among the female « criminals*, who thus suddenly began to outnumber their male counterparts. In doing so, Lombroso transmuted the practical knowledge of early criminalistic writers, i.e. that female deviance would have shown up first as sexual dissoluteness, into a scientific truth.

3 Throughout the nineteenth century, female dissoluteness was important as an explanation of the persistent nature of the problem of male criminality. This can be seen in the writings both of scholars from various disciplines and of authors with practical experience in dealing with criminals, such as magistrates, detectives, and criminologists. Faced with the failure of bourgeois society to achieve a society free of crime and social problems, these authors, whom I will call « criminalists » for want of a better term, laid the blame for this defective development of society on the moral shortcomings of an increasing number of men. From their perspective, male citizens betrayed the prospects of bourgeois society and decided more frequently to take a wrong approach to life, with serious consequences for the well-being of the social body. Criminalists understood this decisive turn in the life of a citizen as a willful and conscious replacement of ethical principles by a faulty rationality - a decision which took place long before criminal acts were actually committed.

4 It was a commonly held truth that this wrong approach to life could be chosen quite late in an individual's development, as late as early adulthood. Criminological writers were eager to point to outside influences which lured young men into deviance : alcohol and dissolute women were among the most prominent factors. German teacher, Jakob Friedrich Abel, used this configuration in an exemplary manner in his account of the life of Friedrich Schwahn - a well-known criminal of the second half of the eighteenth century. Abel was interested primarily in the psychological dynamics that had turned an ordinary citizen's son into a famous rogue. As a result of his inquiry, Abel blamed Schwahn's parents for the way they had raised their son, asserting they had been too lenient and had not drawn moral and ethical boundaries around the maturing young man6.

5 This was, however, insufficient to produce such an outstanding criminal career, and Abel further attributed this career to the evil influence of a woman. Her attractive looks and her boundless sexuality appealed to Schwahn's strong drives. She used her sexual attraction to pull Schwahn into the world of rogues and thieves, and to keep him there by undermining his recurring feelings of remorse. Abel's story is representative of a criminological reasoning that had prevailed since the late eighteenth century, and in which women were often blamed for young men's drift into a criminal career7.

6 This configuration, female seduction and victimization of the male, was not the only element in the narratives concerning the relationship between the two sexes ; however, it dominated early criminological writers' narratives of the hidden motives of a man's descent into the criminal underworld. The way in which this configuration was used to address anxieties about men and their place within society depended both on commonly held anthropological theories and on the master narratives about men and their reasons for committing criminal acts. In the following, I will first use the discussions about prostitution in order to trace the ways in which professional and anthropological knowledge informed each other in the criminalist's attempts to describe and combat a criminal underworld. Secondly, I will present two models of

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thinking about criminals within bourgeois society and the attitudes of each towards prostitution.

A professional's view of prostitutes

7 During the nineteenth century, German-speaking authors differed little from their English and French counterparts in the ways in which they addressed the social problem of prostitution. They all expressed their fear of a moral and physical contagion that they associated with prostitutes. There was one principal difference, however. Participation in German and French debates was not restricted to social scientists, medical experts, philanthropists, and military planners, as was the case in England8. In Germany and France, the existing regulations concerning prostitution gave police experts an incentive to take an active part in this discussion. Police experts shared a common interest and a common methodological approach with medical experts and moral reformers. Each of these groups was driven by a desire to develop new strategies for preventing any further moral and physical contagion of bourgeois society.

8 There is, however, one aspect which gives the reflections of police experts a special place among the narratives on prostitution : Police experts were the only ones who claimed to have comprehensive and expert knowledge about the cultural and social dynamics of the world of prostitution and particularly about the lives and careers of prostitutes. In their reflections, police experts tried to integrate personal as well as communicated experience into a narrative that was built on the same moral-ethical stereotypical image of the prostitute which shaped the arguments of moral reformers. In addition, police experts shared with moral reformers the fear of prostitution as one of the most dangerous moral contagions.

9 The police were expected to combat this threat through prevention. This approach fits neatly with the general task of the continental police, which was to prevent rather than to solve crimes. As a precondition for successful preventative strategies, police experts, like the senior detective, Johann Friedrich Carl Merker, urged the collection of a body of knowledge on the world of thieves and « whores »9. For a variety of reasons, police experts and magistrates felt compelled to publish their reflections on the causes of crime and destitution, which contributed to the expert knowledge about the lives and habits of people in the criminal underworld.

10 Until the end of the nineteenth century, authors of studies on prostitution did not restrict their inquiries to the application of quantitative methods, they also studied prostitution from an ethnographic and/or medical point of view. Their approach was ethnographic in that they saw themselves entering a strange and foreign culture that they wanted to decode in order to destroy. The strangeness and otherness of prostitutes lives as a part of the criminal underworld justified the police experts' claim to an exclusive understanding of its dynamic. The hidden secrets of this world revealed themselves in their totality only to the trained eyes of experienced detectives. At least this was what the detectives maintained. The lack of statistical refinement in these studies was, however, not only a consequence of this but resulted also from their resistance to a genuine materialistic approach and of their rejection of a restricted understanding of evidence as empirical facts10.

11 While the attitude of police experts towards prostitutes, as a field of investigation, was ethnographic, their analytic approach was influenced by traditional medical semiotics.

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Medical semiotics structured the way in which police experts tried to decipher the hidden causalities behind prostitution. It was understood as a disease of the social body and its visible manifestations were therefore read as symptoms of a disease which surfaced on the body of the patient, i.e. society. While the authors used medical models to decipher the symptoms of social pathology, the signs were taken from ethnographic observations of the criminal underworld.

12 The way police experts looked at prostitution very much affected the outcome of their analysis. Police experts described their approach to all kinds of social problems with the term « practical view » (praktischer Blick), which appeared both in medical and in criminalistic writings on methodology. This view referred to the attempt by detectives and physicians to access hidden causalities with an intuitive, yet focused and learned interpretation of visible clues. « Certainly experience, a trained practical view, tact and refinement are required... », which was how Magistrate F.A. Wennmohs, from Mecklenburg, described the profile of a successful detective11.

13 In the case of police experts, they claimed that their practical view allowed them to reproduce a highly selective, but nevertheless authentic image of the observed social realities12. The visible indications of prostitution as a social problem were deconstructed and used to access its hidden order. Order was the key term in all these methodological enterprises. Every social reality was believed to have its own order. To understand the criminal underworld, the detectives had first to figure out its genuine order. To accomplish this task, observers had to employ not only their practical view, they had to adhere to a set of rules, such as impartiality and causality. Based on their experience, training, and authority as police experts, they claimed to be able to use their practical view in a successful attempt to decode flexibly, yet in a standardized way, the order of prostitution13.

14 From the perspective of police experts, only their experience and authority guaranteed an appropriate representation of prostitution. Moral reformers, on the other hand, lacking experience and the authority of a practical view, could only misread the observed social facts ; or, at least, it was thus that police experts defended themselves against the accusations made by moral reformers, who blamed the police for their obvious failure to control and confine prostitution. Nevertheless, their defensive strategy was successful, partly because both the police and their critics based their narratives on the same evidence and the same methodological principles. In terms of experience and the amount of information gathered, police experts were clearly superior to social reformers. Nevertheless, social reformers such as Theodor Bade tried to support their arguments by pointing to their own « fieldwork ». When Bade published a book on prostitution in 1858, he depicted himself as a philanthropic ethnographer, « who enters this shadowy region which is populated by human shades with the heart of a philanthropist.. »14.

15 To access the hidden structure of the criminal underworld, of which prostitution was an important part, both moral superiority and expertise were necessary. A real understanding of this alien world seemed to be possible only if detectives and moral reformers descended into the dark caverns where criminals indulged their desires and engaged in debaucheries, particularly in « dingy dives », which, Avé-Lallemant, for one, understood as « cozy hideouts » where « with his cronies » the criminal could expect to fulfill « all his lusts, as if atop a vermin-infested haystack »15. This personal exposure to the pernicious reality of the criminal underworld can be seen both as a ritual of the

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visiting bourgeois, who, as Judith Walkowitz16 has observed, thus proved to himself his moral superiority, and as an ethnographic study. Moral superiority could be claimed by moral reformers and police experts alike. A well-prepared fieldtrip into the underworld, however, had to be supported by institutionalized knowledge and experience. Therefore, in an internal reply to Bade's accusations, the head of the vice squad argued that « prostitution is a field that reveals itself comprehensively only very rarely to a layman »17.

16 Police experts presented their « ethnographic » descriptions of prostitution as the results of impartial and objective observations. This is exactly the way in which Wilhelm Stieber, head of the Berlin detective squad and later head of Bismarck's secret service, understood his own study of prostitution in Berlin. Breaking with the past, he argued, modern social and criminological research tried to see even the most wicked person as another human being, whose life and deeds were to be studied carefully. The driving force, he claimed, was an intellectual curiosity that drew researchers into the deepest caverns of society18.

17 As police experts, they did not just follow their intellectual curiosity. Their entire lives and work had to be devoted to the common good, which seemed to be threatened by prostitution. This gave their intellectual curiosity an aura of practical interest. Reading further in Stieber's methodological self-description, we find this notion expressed clearly. He understands his own book as an attempt to reconnoiter the terrain on which the struggle between the police and the members of the criminal underworld would eventually take place19.

18 The practical view of police experts on prostitutes and their trade embodied not only their professional but also their gendered attitudes. They ordered the worlds of vice and respectability around male dominance and male necessities. Prostitution was seen not so much from the perspective of female supply, but rather from the viewpoint of male demand, which was closely linked to the particularities of the bourgeois family and the growing number of bachelors in bigger cities20. Men were believed to have an almost irresistible sexual drive - even more accentuated within the criminal class - which had to be relieved through sexual intercourse. A number of memoranda, reports, and publications by police officials and medical experts used this argument to defend the existing practice of tolerated, controlled prostitution. For some authors, the very fact that women had to cater to the sexual needs of men was part of the almost universal gender roles. Julien Jeannel, whose book on prostitutes was translated into German in 1869, quoted from the Bible to support this argument : Etenim non es creatus vir propter muliem, sed mulier propter virum21.

19 The concept of a universal male sexual desire and its influence on the need for prostitutes can be found early on and was applied in a differentiated way by introducing the concept of class-specific needs. A student of Joseph von Sonnenfels, one of late-eighteenth-century Europe's most prominent bureaucrats, who taught political economy at the University of Vienna, provides an interesting example of the reasoning at the end of that century. He wrote an anonymous pamphlet in which he argued against his teacher's defense of the ban on brothels in Vienna. He based his argument on the idea of a universal sexual drive in men, which he expressed with the Latin phrase malum necessarium. He saw, however, class-specific differences in the appeasement of this desire : members of the upper classes would have had numerous opportunities to satisfy their drives by exploiting the service of good-looking servants,

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while unmarried men from the lower classes and from the military would have had to turn elsewhere22.

20 This line of argument can be found in most of the accounts written by police experts. Another version of class-specific needs for prostitution painted a more positive, moral picture of men. In a rescript dated November 30, 1837, the Ministry of the Interior turned down the application of a private person who wanted to open a brothel for the upper classes in a provincial town in Prussia. The Ministry argued that members of the upper classes had to live exemplary lives. Only men from the lower classes could be allowed to resort to prostitutes. Their immorality would have been tolerated as a result of their lack of Bildung - of education and cultivation -, whereas men from the upper classes received sufficient education and training to control their natural instincts23. This idealistic notion of men, with its strong belief in the benefits of intellectual and moral education, failed, however, to transform the way in which police experts couched their concerns and conducted their administrative routines. It even stood in contrast to the objectives of the police. The police were charged with watching over citizens to prevent their falling prey to sinners or to their own sins ; perfectly educated and reformed people would eventually render the institution superfluous.

Strong drives - weak reason : client and « whore »

21 Until the closing decades of the nineteenth century, the descriptions of the prostitute's personality depict her as a victim of her own sinful inclinations. As pointed out above, prostitutes were believed to represent the female type of dissoluteness24, the male counterpart of which would have been the Gauner - the most prominent type of a professional criminal until the late nineteenth century. In these writings, social causes, such as bad economic conditions and lack of work for laborers, were seen as promoting a career as a Gauner or as a prostitute only for those individuals whose personality did not allow a respectable response to hardship. Only women who were fond of fashionable clothes, idle, alcoholics, wicked, licentious, or nymphomaniacs, were expected to respond to economic hardship or to a reduction of their standard of living by prostituting themselves. Most police experts writing on prostitution believed that this configuration -economic depravation and the existence of specific dispositions - could account for the existence of prostitution only when it also included the lack of intellectual and moral education, which they held responsible for the failure to develop reason and morality so as to restrain sensual inclinations25.

22 Prostitution was therefore understood mainly as a problem of strong physical inclinations and the lack of moral and intellectual qualities. Successful reintegration into bourgeois society was therefore complicated, since prostitutes and criminals developed habits that were attuned to the social dynamics of the criminal underworld and hence not compatible with bourgeois life. Reform institutions, such as penitentiaries, workhouses, and homes for fallen women, tried to influence the « wicked minds » of these social outcasts in two ways. Moral education was supposed to help them to understand the wickedness of their previous way of living. Practical training, especially forced labor (even on a treadmill), was believed to establish habits of work and diligence in both mind and body. This optimistic belief in the possibility of reforming habits through the practice of new routines was common at the end of the eighteenth and at the beginning of the nineteenth century. Immanuel Kant used the

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notion to argue that even dispositions could be acquired : If someone feigned respectability and friendliness over a long enough time, these characteristics would become part of his character26.

23 Reform was not possible in the case of every prostitute and criminal, however. Prostitutes were seen as being on a descending spiral from dissolute women to the occasional « pick-up » on the street to ending up finally in brothels. Police experts underlined the desperate situation of prostitutes in brothels, where they were exploited and deprived of their freedom. Even worse, as Stieber pointed out, was the fact that prostitutes in brothels relinquished the possibility of selecting their sexual partners and determining the number of sexual contacts they had. In his words, they gave every man a legal right to their bodies. They therefore fell to the lowest levels of society and morality. Stieber described them as a « bizarre monstrosity of our moral conditions... »27. It is highly characteristic of the contradictory character of the detectives' stereotypes of prostitutes that Stieber could give those women high marks as housewives and mothers in the unlikely event that they finally left the brothel and married28.

24 Police experts were certainly interested in the personalities and biographies of prostitutes. But their main concern was the role they played in the larger society. This role was seen in ambivalent terms. They welcomed the service that prostitutes rendered to the respectable male community, even if this required their more or less thorough segregation from the rest of society, especially in order to protect juveniles from harmful contact with them. At the same time, police experts were disturbed by the consequences of this social segregation. Prostitutes joined criminals as part of the vicious and dangerous criminal underworld. This underworld was believed to consist of men and women who had chosen a life apart from respectable citizens. Within the polarized view that police experts held of society, this criminal underworld was depicted as the negative image of bourgeois society29.

25 Police experts ascribed prostitutes a fairly privileged position within this underworld, since they were the only ones allowed to surface in respectable society. Professional criminals, the Gauner, were assigned a different role. Criminals were assumed to have an intimate, yet disrupted relationship with bourgeois society, out of which they originally came and which they exploited through their insidious profession. Crime experts were convinced that, in stepping from bourgeois society into the criminal world, the Gauner had undergone a profound change of identity. There had to exist an essential difference between a member of the bourgeoisie and the Gauner. The Gauner personified falseness, while the citizen represented authenticity. Since he surfaced in a variety of masks, a Gauner was very difficult to apprehend30.

26 The prostitute, in contrast, was visible not only to juveniles, which caused severe problems, but also to detectives. This coincidence of their visibility and belonging to the criminal underworld made them the detectives' preferred source for information regarding the whereabouts of criminals and their « earnings ». It was widely held that most of a criminal's booty ended up in the hands of prostitutes and pimps, and that these criminals found a very convenient hiding place in brothels, where they were not required to register and where they could satisfy their putative enormous sexual drives31. Accordingly, prostitutes and brothel owners were one of the main targets of police detectives when they were struggling to solve a crime. The cooperation of these individuals was traded for the police's tolerant attitude toward their business.

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27 The cooperation of prostitutes and pimps with law-enforcement agencies was due in part to the highly complex nature of the regulations concerning prostitution32. These regulations attempted to ban prostitutes from numerous public places, theaters, and amusement facilities and were enforced to such an extent that prostitutes could get into trouble even on their way to their compulsory medical check-up. In short, the regulations were almost impossible to adhere to. The members of the vice squad were, however, flexible in their enforcement. A certain amount of violation was more likely to be accepted in the cases of more cooperative prostitutes. Prostitution as a tolerated but controlled trade was therefore an instrumental part of the prosecution of criminals both in Germany and in France33. From the perspective of police experts, the prostitute's - albeit forced - betrayal of boyfriends and clients associated her again with the criminal underworld, which was seen as being characterized by forgery and betrayal.

28 The visibility of prostitutes not only gave detectives access to the criminal underworld, it also gave the criminal underworld access to respectable families. Bodily and socially, prostitutes bridged the gap between the worlds of vice and respectability. This made them exceptionally dangerous, even more dangerous than members of the proletariat or criminals, as Stieber pointed out : « The proletarians and criminals socialize in closed social circles and societies that do not have frequent contact with the wealthier parts of society. The proletarian lives, suffers, starves, and freezes by himself ; only for getting work or for begging does he approach his richer fellow citizens, and he tries to be useful rather than harmful. The criminal vegetates usually in partly [smart] and partly shy seclusion. He harms us with his crimes, but this nuisance is always only temporary and only very rarely affects an individual ». Prostitutes, however, threatened to penetrate all levels of bourgeois society ; they made men from the upper classes dependent on their unbridled sexual lust and they corrupted juvenile males34.

29 The imminent danger that prostitutes posed to the moral integrity of young men could be tolerated only because of the quasi natural law of male sexual urges that had to be discharged somewhere. The police paid a high price for its tolerant attitude toward prostitution : Moral reformers repeatedly pointed to the intolerable situation in which the city's youth was placed. Exposed as innocent youngsters to the seductive influences of « vicious » women whom they met at one of the many dancing venues, they became increasingly entrapped in an immoral lifestyle. Merker, whom we met previously, saw the prostitute's corrupting influence on young males as the most immediate problem. He argued that « once young men develop an inclination for intercourse with prostitutes, they cannot willingly pull themselves away again ». In his view, these young men often turned to embezzlement, forgery, and thievery to acquire the means that were necessary to meet the expectations of prostitutes. Since Merker held it almost impossible to cure these young men of their insidious inclination by imprisonment, he demanded that prostitutes be banned from city streets35.

30 Moral reformers and police experts alike were obsessed with the protection of youth from pernicious influences, such as contact with prostitutes, indecent speech, or lascivious books and plays. The police were given the assignment of enforcing moral hygiene. There was, however, no consensus about the most appropriate means to implement the regulations. Besides a variety of strategies for keeping books and plays with indecent contents out of the reach of juveniles, the crucial question was the approach to prostitution. Should prostitution be forbidden or should prostitutes simply

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be banned from the streets where their very appearance could corrupt the innocent ? This question was difficult to answer for police experts in German-speaking countries. In the long run, as moral standards within all classes of society improved, they expected prostitution to become useless and meaningless. Merker was one of the few authors who believed firmly in the already existing moral superiority of German men and therefore embarked on a systematic critique of the French system, as it was presented by Parent-Duchatelet. Merker even questioned the need for prostitutes in places with a strong military presence, citing his own experience in the city of Erfurt as proof36.

31 Most of the German police experts, however, believed in the benefits of the French system and postponed the advent of moral superiority to later times. Therefore, they accepted and defended the existing systems of regulation, which were modeled on the French example. These regulations were institutionalized in various forms. During the first half of the century, brothels were quite common in German cities, even though the pressure from citizens' organizations and churches against these « domiciles of vicious activities » were mounting. They tried to force the police to remove brothels and/or independent prostitutes from their neighborhood. Partly due to this mounting pressure, brothels were forbidden in Prussia during the second half of the century. Because of a clause in the penal code which penalized procuring, this strategy was finally extended to the rest of the German empire, even though several cities clung to their traditional system of licensed brothels and/or concentration of prostitutes in one single area. By closing down brothels in all of Germany and also in other parts of Europe, the police were merely responding to a change in the demand for venal sex. A growing number of bachelors looked for the excitement of flirtations and seductions in bars and dance-halls in addition to the spectacle of women who tried to attract men on the streets37.

32 Because this new structure in the supply of venal sex resulted in a higher visibility of prostitutes, police experts and moral reformers became alarmed. Self-styled moral reformers, teachers, and other respectable citizens secretly frequented notorious bars and dance-halls to watch what they saw as the steady descent of working-class youngsters into a wicked lifestyle and the corruption of adolescents from a bourgeois background. The latter was blamed especially on the presence of prostitutes at places where bourgeois people went for entertainment38. Less than a month after one of these reformers submitted an anonymous report, the Ministry of the Interior issued a rescript to the head of the Berlin police department, urging him to put an end to the « vicious » activities described in the report. Police detectives responded by deriding the exclusively moral approach of the philanthropic authors of the report, which had distorted the visiting bourgeois' perception of social realities. However, given that moral imperatives were also at the core of the police's work, police detectives found it difficult to discount the concerns raised in the report.

33 The activities and arguments of moral reformers were driven by the same sociopolitical agenda as those of the police. Both moral reformers and police experts employed the image of the criminal personality as a « fallen angel » in order to represent the imminent danger facing respectable, young men. In their narratives, every man had the potential to become a perfect human being, an angel ; no one exhibited a personality at the time of his birth that one day might lead him astray. Certainly the authors were aware that only careful moral and intellectual education would bring forth all the best

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dispositions. For children of the lower classes, a minimum of Christian education was deemed sufficient to develop social habits that were appropriate for a respectable life in bourgeois society. Missing or misdirected education was held to be the breeding ground for sensual drives against which no moral and intellectual constraints could be deployed. Criminalists were far from believing that wrong education and strong sensual drives sufficed to start a criminal career. In their view, most criminals needed an additional impulse. During the first half of the nineteenth century, criminological writers looked at the biographies of criminals in an attempt to discover the crucial steps that led « fallen angels » away from a respectable life. Alcohol, regular encounters with prostitutes, avarice, and bad company were all found to be prominent factors39, albeit not the direct cause of crime. Such influences first of all caused the person to deviate from a virtuous life, and it was this deviation that finally led to vice and misery.

34 Prominent among these influences was contact with prostitutes. Every criminal's biography shows that, as Rudolf Fröhlich phrased it, a calamitous relationship with a « vicious » woman initiated the criminal career40. Within this frame of thought, not every client of prostitutes succumbed to this vicious influence, however. Those who were believed to be particularly endangered, were immature persons whom police experts and moral reformers denied the ability to the use of sexual services provided by prostitutes and other women of the same kind as a simple commodity. Because such young men lacked intellectual sophistication, moral resolve, and had yet to develop and embody the habits of respectable citizens, detectives and moral reformers anxiously watched over any contacts they might have with indecency, above all with the apparently free and unrestricted lifestyle of prostitutes and criminals, which could easily drag them down into the criminal underworld. These concerns motivated many reformers and city officials to write letters to police departments demanding a stricter enforcement of the exclusion of apprentices and young students from brothels. At the same time, they called for a complete ban on indecent literature and images41.

35 Some of the criminological authors, such as Rudolf Fröhlich, saw the seduction and corruption of young bourgeois men as some kind of intentional revenge by prostitutes, as female members of the working class, for their prior seduction by men of a higher social standing. This gendered fear was even more prevalent with regard to the infection of men with syphilis. It was a widely held opinion that women who were infected with venereal disease took vengeance for this on the male sex by spreading the disease42. In their reflections on the very beginnings of a prostitute's career, criminalists frequently blamed a failed love affair resulting in pregnancy or even in venereal disease. As a prostitute, she purged herself of emotional attachment to her clients, specialized in sex, and was therefore able to spread moral as well as physical contagion. This lack of attachment gave her a real dominance over immature men, who were now seduced by her. Her seductive abilities reversed the gender roles - which was also understood in terms of vengeance.

36 Police experts were not just concerned with the sons of respectable citizens being dragged into the criminal underworld when they pondered the problem of prostitution. They were also worried about the spread of venereal disease, which was understood in similar terms to the spread of moral contagion. In both instances, police and sanitary experts hoped to stop the further spread of the disease by isolating the persons already afflicted. Prostitutes were compelled to undergo medical examinations on a regular basis in order to reduce the risk of infection for male clients. This measure, which

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became part of the criminal code in Prussia43, covered only registered prostitutes. As a result, the members of the vice squad had two different tasks. First, they had to enforce these regulations on registered prostitutes. Second, they were constantly on the look- out for hidden prostitutes, who lived on their own, evaded medical examinations, and avoided the stigma of being registered. Police experts understood this second class of prostitutes as extremely dangerous not only for the spread of venereal disease but also for disseminating a moral contagion. Clandestine prostitutes did not follow the rules which kept them out of the reach of immature persons and could therefore even more easily pull innocent men into a vicious lifestyle.

37 This police concern for unregistered prostitution prompted members of the vice squad to apprehend all unlicensed women who seemed to solicit men in the streets. The absence of sufficient indications that unmistakably signified a loose woman resulted in several public scandals when respectable women were arrested for prostitution. The detectives excused their mistakes by pointing to the blurred distinctions between respectable and « vicious » women : « With the current fashion of painting one's face and dressing up, one needs a very well-trained eye to tell prostitutes from respectable women »44. The concern with the higher risk that uncontrolled prostitution posed to society also blocked the path of those prostitutes who wanted to quit. Police officials were expected to give these women all the help they needed. This supportive attitude was, however, neutralized by the need for control. How could one discriminate between genuine and feigned desires on the part of prostitutes to leave their trade ? Considering the weak moral and intellectual condition of these women, only their future behavior would prove conclusive. To be on the safe side, members of the vice squad watched over these women's first steps in respectable trades. But this surveillance exposed their previous life to managers and their new colleagues, and often resulted in loss of their employment.

38 Even bureaucratic routines placed hurdles in the path of these women. The most serious consequences of this development emerged toward the end of the century when the communication network and a tight system of registration allowed the police and employers permanent access to a person's prior history. These difficulties are well documented in the letter of Elsbeth von Pigage, a former Lübeck prostitute, who sought regular employment in Hamburg. She wrote to the Lübeck police department, asking them to send her a certificate of registration, one that omitted her status as prostitute. Otherwise, she claimed, it would be impossible for her to break with the past45. In dealing with repentant prostitutes, the police were torn between suspicion, as an element in its preventative approach, and moral reform, which was not easy to ascertain by bureaucratic procedures. Moreover, police detectives were interested in maintaining the status quo as it gave them access to information about the criminal underworld. Altogether, these forces contributed to make the vice squad into a « machine for turning temporary prostitutes into permanent ones », as Alain Corbin convincingly argues46.

39 The violation of the rights of prostitutes to decide about their lives stood in sharp contrast to the intrinsic objectives of the police. This contradiction was recognized by police experts, who nevertheless supported the work of the vice squad. To them, the vice squad was necessary in order to combat the threat that prostitutes posed to the moral and physical constitution of the social body. In their reflections on this threat, they understood venereal diseases not within the framework of a steady, physical

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decline of the social body but rather within an economic frame of thought. Even though medical concerns were prominent in the writings of police and public health experts throughout the century, the meaning of the venereal peril shifted remarkably toward the end of the century. Until then, toleration and surveillance of prostitution were justified by the need to contain the spread of venereal disease, seen in terms of an economic problem. Men infected with this disease were unable to comply with the demands of either bourgeois society or the military47. The same men spread syphilis, as they inflicted the harm of venereal disease even on innocent people, such as their wife, fiancee, or their newborn children. But whereas venereal disease was a primary concern, it was not an immediate threat to society's well-being. In order to establish a link between individual, physical decay and the decline of German society, the authors of criminological studies needed a different conceptual framework.

40 The only framework that linked the social problem of prostitution to an analysis of society as a whole was the metaphor of the social body. Just as the human body can bear some physical shortcomings, the social body was able to tolerate some social pathologies without collapsing, Merker argued48. As soon as social problems, such as prostitution, appeared to be gaining ground, it became necessary for police experts to relieve the social body of its disease by means of an appropriate cure. Within this framework, the social disease of prostitution served as a referent for a variety of social problems : the loss of able-bodied men for military service, the loss of well-educated men for bourgeois trades and professions, the upsurge in crimes against property, and finally the increasing number of young citizens who took to crime. The most unsettling evidence that criminological writers gained from their analysis of prostitution did not refer to the weakened bodies of men suffering from venereal disease, however. The real problem, as they saw it, were the strong sexual urges in men's bodies which dominated moral and intellectual constraints and could be aroused easily by pernicious influences.

Weak bodies : prostitutes

41 In the last two decades of the nineteenth century, there was a remarkable shift in the discourse on crime and criminals, which altered fundamentally the ways in which criminals and prostitutes were viewed and represented. Part of this transformation of the narrative on criminals was a relocation of the site of this discourse from the legal to the medical-anthropological professions. This medicalisation of social problems was the result of a variety of changes taking place in German society, which contributed to an increase in authority for the members of the medical profession.

42 From the end of the nineteenth and continuing into the early twentieth century, books and articles which provided new theories and insights into the lives, habits, and bodies of criminals were written by psychiatrists, medical experts, and anthropologists. They used ethnographic descriptions of criminal lifestyles, written by police experts and magistrates of previous generations, in order to construct the social and cultural contexts of criminals. Authors with a practical experience in crime fighting and prevention ceased to play a role in providing criminological insights. They found themselves now on the receiving end of the discourse and incorporated the new criminological ideas into their drive to reform the penal code, to develop new tools for preventing criminality, and to tailor the existing penitentiaries to meet the new theories about the very nature of criminals.

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43 The medicalisation of criminological reasoning began, however, long before the end of the century. It dates back at least to the late eighteenth century, when enlightened psychiatrists pondered the criminal liability of offenders who showed signs of insanity. A second tradition can be linked to the efforts of public hygiene experts, such as Parent-Duchâtelet, who studied prostitution with the same incentive and verve that he devoted to the study of the sewer system. Hygiene experts became involved in the discussion of criminality and prostitution through the issue of venereal disease and the control of the spread of contagious diseases. They had always looked at the bodies and minds of criminals in different ways from legal experts. But it was only at the end of the nineteenth century, that this medical approach became the dominant one. One of the most distinctive features of this approach was its focus on individual bodies and minds. Whereas police experts used the bodies of criminals and prostitutes in their (re-)construction of the criminal underworld to highlight their wicked nature, medical writers used the habits and moral characteristics of criminals to support their theories, which were based on the punctilious analysis of individual bodies and minds.

44 Even though the works of the members of the positivist school were sprinkled with tables and statistics, late nineteenth-century criminologists nevertheless despised the tyranny of statistical evidence as much as did the police experts in their ethnographic description of the criminal underworld. Both trusted only the interpretative skills of experienced men. As Cesare Lombroso, the founding father of criminal anthropology, wrote : « Large numbers are useful if we are dealing with evidence that everyone can record. If we do not record only age, sex, and occupation, but rather the psychological characteristics or the shape of the skull of a group of criminals, we cannot arrive at large numbers even after long lives. With respect to these delicate evidences, which require special aptitude and training to record, the large numbers of the official statistics, which are collected by uneducated clerks, are of much less value than a few observations collected by competent men »49. Lombroso's argument shows that anthropologists and medical experts, who were engaged in criminological research at the turn the century, also claimed to have a trained and educated eye which allowed them to integrate a wide body of cultural knowledge into their scrutiny of criminal bodies, minds, and lives.

45 While the legal and police experts framed their empirical observations within the master narrative of the fallen angel, anthropologists and medical experts looked at criminality within a medical-evolutionary framework. Unlike fallen angels, the criminals/prostitutes of the late nineteenth century seemed to have no real choice. They were understood as embodying determining forces that sprang from their social and biological environment. Along with gender roles that were given the status of natural laws, these influences drove men and women into their respective careers.

46 Erich Wulffen, a high-ranking official in the Ministry of the Interior in Saxony, used these narratives to explain the existence of prostitution in modern Germany along with male exploitation of the female sex and the female's need for protection, which he understood as an integral part of gender hierarchy and as an outcome of the evolution of mankind : « In spite of their sexual passivity, women, especially young and poor ones, can be seduced easily. The man is always economically and socially superior ; the woman succumbs to any kind of suggestion, as can be proven with the follies of fashion, which also originate with men ! Ethical restraints are not strong in women, they are easily overcome ; women's intellectual development lags behind, their logical thinking

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is deficient, their emotional life easily overwhelms their stream of consciousness. Therefore, a woman unprotected by family and education is prone to become a prostitute. Moreover, in every woman the whorish nature is physiologically and psychologically dormant. This is the result of her anthropological evolution. Using women's biological tendencies, men have bred this whorish nature »50.

47 Wulffen's detour through the history of mankind reminds us of Lombroso's lengthy accounts of the reappearance of atavistic morphological and psychological traits in modern society. At the core of this doctrine lay the idea that ontogeny recapitulated phylogeny, that is, that every human had to experience the complete evolution of living beings51. From this viewpoint, morphological or psychological development arrested at a certain stage prompted the appearance of atavistic characteristics. Even though most German and French criminological writers questioned Lombroso's theory of atavism, authors such as Wulffen obviously built their arguments on Lombroso's powerful images. This can be seen from a comparison of Wulffen's account with Lombroso's ideas about the very origin of prostitution. Lombroso used the same image of polygamous sexuality as characteristic of primitive women : « The primitive woman was rarely a murderess ; but she was always a prostitute, and remained such until semi- civilized epochs »52. Whereas the technicalities about the transfer of this original female designation from the primitive stages of mankind to modern Europe remained contested, the notion of women's inferior ethical, moral, and intellectual standards allowed men to fend off increasing demands for political participation and to conceal the sexual exploitation of woman behind the screen of natural law.

48 These prostitutes and criminals were no fallen angels. Rather they had been prevented from finishing their psychological and physical formation. This was at least the way criminologists at the turn of the century told the story53. When they were exploring the « real » causes of « antisocial behavior », they were talking about impaired (wo)men. The main characteristic of these victims of degenerating influences was their weakness, which prevented their successful integration into bourgeois life. Tramps were the male prototype, prostitutes the female equivalent of this paradigm of weakness. This master narrative guided different interpretations of prostitution as a social problem. A prostitute's weakness - one that encompassed her body, her will-power, and her mind - could be explained by hereditary influences, malnutrition, and improper hygiene, or all of these. The main point, however, was that this weakness gave them no freedom to choose their career. Gustav Aschaffenburg expressed this well in his influential book on criminality : « Just as the weak are the first to fall prey to devastating epidemics, the numerous psychopathic types will perish first - more slowly or quickly - in the morass that is termed prostitution »54.

49 Degeneration - as a « medico-psychological discussion of heredity » - was not unknown to participants in the medical discourse of the early nineteenth century55. The degeneration theory of Benedict Morel, first published in 1857, can be seen nevertheless as a new approach. It was « an account of regressive tendencies in both individuals and modern sciences » (Harris) and provided, for the first time, a conclusive system linking somatic and psychological diseases to an underlying force of weakness and decay, which in turn was thought to spread at an increasing rate throughout society. This added a genealogical dimension to the study of crime and deviance. Case studies in well-known textbooks no longer focused exclusively on the biography of the suspects, but discussed their heritage, habits, and physical bodies at length. A typical

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example may be found in the first paragraph of Richard von Krafft-Ebing's Psychopathia Sexualis, where he describes a male pervert who abused women : « Mister X., aged twenty-five ; father syphilitic, died of paretic dementia ; mother hysterical and neurasthenic. He was a weak individual, constitutionally neuropathic, and presented several anatomical signs of degeneration... »56.

50 Within this paradigm of degeneration, prostitutes had two different roles : as victims and as agents of continual degeneration. The image of women too weak to protect themselves from their own « whorish » nature and from seduction by men had far- reaching consequences for police strategies. It guided legislation against and widespread police concerns with the issue of the so-called white slave trade. To prevent the development of large-scale trade in innocent young women and their « enslavement » in foreign brothels, the first international cooperation between police forces was established at a conference held in Paris in 1902. The decisions to combat this pernicious trade with administrative measures were ratified in 1904, whereas the attempts to standardize legislative responses to this crime were stalled for a long time57. As a result of the administrative measures, every participating country created a central unit at one of its police headquarters to collect information on agents who specialized in this type of trade and to communicate directly with corresponding units of other countries. This was a major breakthrough in international police cooperation. Before that, communication with the police forces of different countries had to go through diplomatic channels and was, accordingly, slow58.

51 These efforts were rooted almost exclusively in a narrative of prostitution which saw female prostitutes as weak, as unable to take care of themselves, and as especially vulnerable when they tried to venture outside their social boundaries. The struggle against international procurers was not intended to improve the situation of the « real » victims, miserable prostitutes, who were sold from one procurer to the next, but rather to rescue innocent virgins who were sent abroad under some pretext in order to force them into prostitution. This second type of victim of an international white slave trade was, however, almost non existent. At least in Germany, there was no significant evidence confirming the existence of a large-scale international trade in innocent women, as was pointed out by Robert Heindl, one of the leading police experts of Imperial Germany and the Weimar Republic. He was one of the few experts highly critical of the measures taken against the white slave trade. To support his criticisms, he emphasized that almost no one had ever been convicted of this crime. Moreover, he noted that only a very small number of individuals (only 29 before 1912) had ever been targeted by gossip or other forms of denunciation as having been involved in this kind of trade ; their photographs had then been taken by the Berlin police department. To Heindl, the concern with white slave traffickers was exaggerated and due to a press campaign that was based mostly on imagination59.

52 The writings of Heindl were not the only ones to point out the lack of evidence for the existence of white slave traffic in the sense of commerce in women who were either virgins below the age of consent or unwilling to become prostitutes. Further hints can be found in an impressive number of rescripts from the Ministry of the Interior in Berlin and in the responses from provincial police forces. The most telling one dates from March 24, 1900. The Ministry of the Interior refers to a rescript from September 1899, in which regional police headquarters were asked to provide the ministry with information regarding the activities of white slave traffickers within their jurisdiction.

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After the Ministry received only negative responses, it replied : « There can be no doubt that this kind of international trade exists, however, the agents have been successful in evading legal prosecution. It has therefore to be the task of all agencies to pursue this problem with eagerness and attention and to shadow carefully all suspicious persons and observe public houses »60. These remarks show once more that the white slave trade has to be considered to be a subject « in which it is difficult to disentangle myth from reality », as Alain Corbin observed with regard to France61. This myth built on an image of women as the weaker sex, who had to be placed under the guardianship of families or state agencies, which was all the more compelling in times of rising demands for equal rights for women.

53 If we look at other countries, a somewhat different picture emerges. Russia and the Austro-Hungarian monarchy were much more affected by the white slave trade, since Eastern European women were sent to brothels all around the world, especially to the Near East, to South-America, and to the United States, even though there was a declining demand in North America. Vienna, Budapest, Odessa, Genova, Trieste, and Naples as well as Marseilles, Bordeaux, Le Havre and Southampton were the main continental markets and places of embarkation. The eastern Mediterranean and Asian market was run by procurers in Alexandria, the South American market had its centers in Montevideo and Buenos Aires62. Police experts tried to unravel the structure of the market as well as the identities and strategies of the procurers. As early as 1885, the police headquarters of Lemberg (Galicia) notified the police in Vienna of the existence of a lively white slave trade whose main protagonists were identified as Jews63. Even though surviving reports from consular agencies and police experts indicate fraudulent and deceptive strategies in the recruitment of prostitutes in some cases, there is strong evidence that most of the women who went to brothels and stayed there actually knew about the nature of the trade that they were expected to pursue. Therefore, we can at least agree with Heindl's second argument, namely, that the white slave trade frequently involved registered prostitutes who were traded between different procurers. Their fate was desperate enough, but they were not the center of attention of the crusade against white slave trade64.

54 The threat that prostitutes posed to society came from their role as agents who weakened the social body by transmitting venereal disease, especially when the disease was passed on to newborn babies. Syphilis was thought to have the potential to seriously affect a newborn's constitution. Although inherited syphilis had been discussed previously, within the narrative framework of degeneration and impaired (wo)men, it was endowed with new meaning. On the one hand, syphilis became one indication of an individual's degenerate constitution, which left him/her improperly equipped to face the harsh realities of bourgeois society65. On the other hand, criminologists identified syphilis and the excessive consumption of alcohol as principal agents of damage to the embryo : « Through several harmful influences of the paternal or maternal sex cells, the embryo can be damaged and such damage, which is unfortunately not a rare occurrence, results in the intellectual inferiority of the child »66.

55 From the perspective of police experts, prostitutes were a prime source of venereal disease infections. Within the new framework of degeneration, their role continued to be that of connecting the world of bourgeois respectability and strength to the criminal underworld dominated by weakness and disease. Across the bridge of prostitution, the

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« pernicious germs » of venereal disease flowed into respectable families. Society had to be protected against this threat - or so the argument went -just as weak women had to be protected against inappropriate exploitation.

56 Prostitutes were indeed a main source of infection because they had frequent intercourse with numerous sexual partners who had not necessarily been screened for their health condition. In order to prevent the further spread of venereal disease, prostitutes were forced to undergo regular medical examinations. This was a widely accepted means of checking the spread of degeneration. This spread was viewed as even more threatening because it had the potential to burden not only contemporary but also future society. Sterile women, insane offspring, and men without willpower represented the fears connected with the further diffusion of syphilis. Seen from the perspective of competing nation-states, a degenerating population seemed to jeopardize the very independence of states, nations, and races. The obsession of French and British social reformers with falling birth rates at the turn of the century is well known67. Similar concerns can also be found in the writings of German police and medical experts, even though the demographic situation in Germany provided a different basis for these reflections68.

57 With their narratives guided by the concept of degeneration, criminological writers claimed to have found a unique driving force behind every kind of antisocial behavior, from vagabondage to prostitution. They used these findings to justify widespread recourse to preventative and invasive measures69. The leading German penologist, Franz von Liszt, regarded repeat offenders to be the « general staff » of a group of people considered to be society's main enemy70. This group was composed of beggars, tramps, prostitutes, alcoholics, Gauner, and pimps. Von Liszt argued that these people embodied several social pathologies, which he labeled « proletariat »71. The criminal personality, as intensifier of all social pathologies, was therefore seen as one of the chief menaces confronting the modern state. Their faith in the need for a broad range of preventative measures connected representatives of criminal law, welfare agencies, and the medical sciences72.

Conclusion

58 These two models of reasoning about prostitutes were not separated in the ideal- typical way that I have described here. The two concerns of moral and physical contagion were present at any given time in the history of this discourse. Certain patterns of consumption and reproduction as well as the lack of a work spirit were in both cases at the core of concerns about deviance. If we look at the two models for representing deviance as stereotypes, in the sense of cognitive structures, we can easily delineate some differences : These two models featured almost identical peripheral attributes, ranging from idleness and excessive consumption of liquor to physiognomic characteristics. These attributes were given different meanings depending on the focal attributes and the master narratives into which they were embedded. The first stereotype featured deception as the most significant characteristic of criminals, whereas the second stereotype focused on weakness. The two focal attributes were closely linked to two different master narratives - fallen angel and impaired (wo)men - which in addition endowed the peripheral characteristics with their own meaning and

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provided a frame of thought which narrowed the choices for combating vice, deviance, and crime.

59 In the first half of the nineteenth century, when the fear of moral contagion was dominant, medical experts raised the issue of social hygiene and the need to guard against the spread of venereal disease. At this time, the arguments from medical experts were still framed by the fallen angel narrative. Innocent children and women could be infected and thus become victims. This victimization was by then seen only in terms of an insidious corruption of middle-class life and could make a difference with regard to the victims' morality when they themselves actually decided in favor of vice and deviance. Only the introduction of the concept of degeneration as a different narrative linked this medical concern with the ongoing depravation of society.

60 At the turn of the century, even moral contagion was warded off in these terms. Children and juveniles were seen as persons whose intellectual and moral facilities were not yet completely developed. Some of them - the natural born criminals -were thought to be impaired from reaching a final state of development in any case. For the good of the rest of the population, there was an urgent need to keep still-malleable minds away from pernicious influences. From the viewpoint of social reformers as well as medical and police experts, everyone who lagged behind in their development required additional protective measures. Their confinement, in workhouses and reformatories for example, did not aim to reform them morally, but rather to isolate them and shield them from their own atavistic drives as well as to protect society.

61 These two master narratives not only gave specific meaning to an empirical field that was not as distinct as the two different explanations of crime and prostitution would suggest, they were also crucial to defining links between representations of criminals and contemporary cultural knowledge. In doing so, they opened the possibilities of exchange between specialized criminological discourse on the one hand and literary, legal, philosophical, and theological reflections, on the other.

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Pick, D., Faces of Degeneration. A European Disorder, c. 1848-c. 1918, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1993.

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Prins, A., Die Gemeingefährlichen, Mitteilungen der Internationalen Kriminalistischen Vereinigung, 1906, 13, p. 81-84.

Quétel, C, History of Syphilis, Baltimore, The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1992.

Quetelet, A.L.J., Physique Social, ou : Essai sur le développement des facultés de l'homme, Paris, Baillière, 1869.

Reagin, N.R., A true woman can take care of herself : the debate over prostitution in Hanover, 1906, Central European History, 1991, 24, p. 347-380.

Richards, R.J., The Meaning of Evolution. The Morphological Construction and Ideological Reconstruction of Darwin's Theory, Chicago, University of Chicago Press, 1992.

Rochlitz, Ch., Das Wesen und Treiben der Gauner, Diebe und Betrüger Deutschlands, nebst Angabe von Maßregeln, sich gegen Raub, Diebstahl und Betrug zu schützen, und einem Wörterbuch der Diebessprache, Leipzig, Schmidt, 1846.

Schmidt, E., Einführung in die Geschichte der deutschen Strafrechtspflege, 3rd ed., Göttingen, Vandehoeck & Ruprecht, 1965.

Schönert, J., Bilder vom « Verbrechermenschen » in den rechtskulturellen Diskursen um 1900 : Zum Erzählen über Kriminalität und zum Status kriminologischen Wissens, in Schönert, J., (Ed.), Erzählte Kriminalität. Zur Typologie und Funktion von narrativen Darstellungen in Strafrechtspflege, Publizistik und Literatur zwischen 1770 und 1920, Tübingen, Niemeyer, 1991, p. 497-531.

Schulte, Ch., Radikal böse. Die Karriere des Bösen von Kant bis Nietzsche, München, Fink, 1988.

Schulte, R., Sperrbezirke. Tugendhaftigkeit und Prostitution in der bürgerlichen Welt, Frankfurt/Main, Syndikat, 1979.

Siemann, W., « Deutschlands Ruhe, Sicherheit und Ordnung ». Die Anfänge der politischen Polizei 1806-1866, Tübingen, Niemeyer, 1985.

Soloway, R.A., Demography and Degeneration. Eugenics and the Declining Birthrate in Twentieth-Century Britain, Chapel Hill, University of North Carolina Press, 1995.

Sommer, R., Kriminalpsychologie und strafrechtliche Psychopathologie auf naturwissen-schaftlicher Grundlage, Leipzig, Barth, 1904.

Stieber, W., Die Prostitution in Berlin und ihre Opfer. Nach amtlichen Quellen und Erfahrungen. In historischer, sittlicher, medizinischer und polizeilicher Beziehung beleuchtet, Berlin, Hoffmann & Campe, 1846.

Stieber, W., Practisches Lehrbuch der Criminal-Polizei. Auf Grund langjähriger Erfahrungen zur amtlichen Benutzung für Justiz- und Polizeibeamte und zur Warnung und Belehrung für das Publikum bearbeitet, Berlin, Hayn, 1860.

Strasser, P., Verbrechermenschen. Zur kriminalwissenschaftlichen Erzeugung des Bösen, Frankfurt/ Main, Campus, 1984.

Titzmann, M., Literarische Strukturen und kulturelles Wissen : Das Beispiel inzestuöser Situationen in der Erzählliteratur der Goethezeit und ihrer Funktionen im Denksystem der Epoche, in Schönert, J., (Ed.), Erzählte Kriminalität. Zur Typologie und Funktion von narrativen Darstellungen in Strafrechtspflege, Publizistik und Literatur zwischen 1770 und 1920, Tübingen, Niemeyer, 1991, p. 229-281.

Ulrich, A., « Marie Trottoir » in Zürich. Zur sozialen Situation der Prostituierten in der Belle Epoque, Schweizerische Zeitschrift für Geschichte, 1984, 34, p. 420-430.

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Walkowitz, J.R., Prostitution and Victorian Society. Women, Class, and the State, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1980.

Walser, K., Prostitutionsverdacht und Geschlechterforschung. Das Beispiel der Dienstmädchen um 1900, Geschichte und Gesellschaft, 1985, 11, p. 99-111.

Weininger, O., Geschlecht und Charakter. Eine prinzipielle Untersuchung, Wien, Braumüller, 1903.

Wennmohs, F.A., Über Gauner und über das zweckmäßigste, vielmehr einzige Mittel zur Vertilgung dieses Uebels, vol. 1, Güstrow, Ebert, 1823.

Wetzeil, R.F., The medicalization of criminal law reform in Imperial Germany, in Finzsch, N., Jütte, R. (Eds.), The Prerogative of Confinement : Hospitals and Penal Institutions in Western Europe and North America, 1500-1900, New York : Cambridge University Press, 1997, p. 275-283.

Wilmanns, K., Zur Psychopathologie des Landstreichers. Eine klinische Studie, Leipzig, Barth, 1906.

Wulffen, E., Der Sexualverbrecher. Ein Handbuch für Juristen, Verwaltungsbeamte und Ärzte. Mit zahlreichen kriminalistischen Originalaufnahmen, 8th ed., Berlin, Langenscheidt, 1921.

Zimmermann, G., Die deutsche Polizei im neunzehnten Jahrhundert, 3 vols., Hannover, Schlüter, 1845, 1849.

Zimmerman, K.W., Der sittliche Zustand von Berlin nach Aufhebung der geduldeten Prostitution des weiblichen Geschlechts. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der Gegenwart, unterstützt durch die vollständigen und freimüthigen Biographien der bekanntesten prostituierten Frauenzimmer in Berlin, Leipzig, Rührmann, 1846.

Zimmermann, K.W., Die Diebe in Berlin oder Darstellung ihres Entstehens, ihrer Organisation, ihrer Verbindungen, ihres [sic !] Taktik, ihrer Gewohnheiten und ihrer Sprache. Zur Belehrung für Polizeibeamte und zur Warnung für das Publikum, nach praktischen Erfahrungen, Berlin, Reichhardt, 1847.

NOTES

2. Lombroso, Ferrero, (1895, 151ff). 3. Weininger (1903, 281ff). 4. This was certainly not true for some exceptional crimes such as infanticide, which was committed by a higher percentage of women. Cf. Quetelet 1869, 288ff. 5. Cf. Aschaffenburg (1903, p. 127ff) and Quetelet (1869, p. 291 ff). 6. Cf. Abel (1794). 7. Merker (1839, p. 37). 8. Cf. Walkowitz (1980). 9. Merker (1839, p. 4ff). 10. Bonß (1982, p. 104ff) argues that this understanding of evidence was representative of early social scientific studies. 11. Wennmohs (1823, p. 322). 12. Cf. Becker (1992, p. 284ff). 13. Cf. Becker (1994a, p. 160ff). 14. Bade (1858, p. 3). 15. Av6-Lallemant (1858, 2, p. 8and333). 16. Walkowitz (1980, p. 33ff). 17. BLHA 16927 : Polizeidirektor Hofrichter an den Polizeipräsidenten, 30.9.1857. 18. Stieber (1846, p. 1ff). 19. Stieber (1846, p. 2).

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20. Cf. Corbin (1982, p. 287ff). 21. I. Cor. XI. 9, quoted from Jeannel (1869, p. 77). 22. Anonymous (1786, p. 5ff). 23. Rescript of the Ministery of the Interior and Police of 30.11.1837 to the Head of Police in N.N., regarding the toleration of brothels. In : Kamptz'sche Annalen 21, 1837, p. 159-162, 162. The ministry applied the legal principles of the Allgemeines Landrecht (1794, p. 999ff) which put local police authorities in charge of supervising brothels. After someone asked for permission to open a new brothel, the local police authorities also decided whether or not the demand for it existed in their jurisdiction. Their decisions could be revoked by the superior authorities, which actually happened in the rescript of November 30, 1837. The ministery legitimized its repeal by pointing to the local police authority's mistaken assessment of the need for brothels. 24. Cf. Jeannel (1869, p. 80 and 105). 25. Cf. Stieber (1846, p. 83ff). 26. Kant (1798, p. 442). 27. Stieber (1846, p. 83). 28. Stieber (1846, p. 91). 29. Cf. Becker (1994b, p. 150ff). 30. Cf. Becker (1994a, p. 158ff). 31. Cf. Becker (1804, p. 17) and Stieber (1860, p. 184). 32. Cf. Schulte (1979, p. 176ff). 33. Cf. Zimmermann (1847, p. 204) and Berlière (1992, p. 102ff) about the French case. 34. Stieber (1846, p. 80ff). 35. Merker (1839, p. 37) ; cf. also Fröhlich (1851, p. 77). 36. Merker (1839, p. 69ff). 37. Cf. Corbin (1982, p. 301ff) ; Krafft (1996, p. 37ff). 38. Cf. Excerpt from a teacher's anonymous report to the board of the Evangelische Verein für kirchliche Zustände, 21.1.1851, in : BLHA, Pr. Br. Rep. 30, Berlin C : Polizei Präsidium, Tit. 121, No. 22 : Acte betreffend das unsittliche Treiben halberwachsener Knaben und Mächen in öffentlichen Lokalen von Berlin, 1851, 16926 ; Bade (1858, p. 17ff). 39. Cf. Falkenberg (1818, 2, p. 167). 40. Fröhlich (1851, p. 77). 41. Cf. Supplication of the Mayor of Berlin to the police headquarters of December 1, 1820, in which the case of a sixteen year old apprentice, who was infected with venereal disease in a brothel, was used as a reason to ask for a more thorough enforcement of existing regulations. BLHA Pr. Br. Rep. 30, Berlin C : Polizei-Präsidium, Tit 23, Nr. 1 : Acte Generalie regarding brothels, 720, f. 102. 42. Cf. Quétel (1992, p. 124ff and 238). 43. Cf. Allgemeines Landrecht (1794, Th. II, Tit. 20, § 1002). 44. Report of a detective from 11.5.1884, Pr.Br.Rep. 30, Berlin C : Polizei Präsidium, Tit. 121, No. 26. Acta betreffend die hiesigen sittlichen Zustände, 1857-1898, 62r. 45. Letter of Elsbeth von Pigage to Lübeck police department, February 18, 1913. Archiv der Hansestadt Lübeck, 739. 46. Corbin (1982, p. 335). 47. Cf. Merker (1839, p. 58ff). 48. Merker (1839, p. 3ff). 49. Lombroso (1887, p. XIX). 50. Wulffen (1921, p. 678). 51. Baer (1893, p. 338), Haeckel (1906, p. 168ff) and Lombroso (1887, 1, p. 97ff) ; cf. also Becker (1995), Gould (1977, p. 120ff), Gould (1988, p. 118ff), Richards (1992, p. 17ff), Strasser (1984, p. 63ff).

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52. Lombroso, Ferrero (1895, p. 111). 53. Cf. Corbin (1982, p. 441). 54. Aschaffenburg (1903, p. 78). 55. Cf. Harris (1991, p. 51). 56. Krafft-Ebing ([1902] 1965, p. 69). 57. Cf. Corbin (1982, p. 431). 58. This international police cooperation can be understood as the continuation of similar cooperative efforts between the German States since the 1830s. These earlier attempts to provide police departments with the opportunity of direct communication with their peers from neighboring states were thought to further the combat against politically defined enemies of the common good. (Siemann 1985, p. 87ff). Nevertheless, these networks and some other initiatives were already used for the purposes of detective work. 59. Heindl (1926, p. 303ff). 60. Rescript of the ministery of the Interior to the Oberpräsident of the province of Hanover, March 24, 1900. HStA Hannover, Hann 122a, Oberpräsidium Hannover, 2654 : Acta generalia betreffend die Bekämpfung der Unisttlichkeit. Internationaler Mädchenhandel für unzüchtige Zwecke. Einrichtung von Bordellen. 1891-1942. 61. Corbin (1982, p. 405). 62. Cf. Corbin (1982, p. 419ff). 63. Cf. Oberhummer (1938, p. 78ff). 64. Heindl (1926, p. 304) ; cf. also Coibin (1982, p. 432ff). 65. Cf. Sommer (1904, p. 264ff). 66. Cf. Lichem (1935, p. 585). 67. Cf. Mitchell (1991, p. 97ff) and Soloway (1995, p. 38ff). 68. Cf. Wulffen (1921, p. 688ff). 69. Cf. Wetzell (1997). 70. Cf. Frommel (1991, p. 486) ; the difficulties in equating recidivism with criminal tendencies were already discussed from Sommer (1904, p. 348ff) and in the commentary of Kurella (1912, p. 51ff). 71. Liszt (1905, p. 167). 72. Cf. Grünhut (1930, p. 3), Prins (1906, p. 82) and Harris (1991, p. 94).

ABSTRACTS

The change in the representation of deviance, which took place during the second half of the 19th century, is analysed in the writings of two groups of authors from German-speaking countries : criminalists (police experts and detectives) and criminologists (scholars in the fields of law, medicine and anthropology). My analysis of the representation of prostitutes reconstructs two master-narratives, which structured the reflection and writing on crime and deviance. Each of these created specific fears and anxieties related to prostitutes and affected the ways institutional responses to these fears were organized. I argue that the analysis of these narratives as part of a discursive practice provides a better understanding of the ways in which experts as well as lay people approached social problems, from both an intellectual and an institutional standpoint.

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Le changement dans la représentation de la déviance qui se produisit au cours de la deuxième moitié du XIXe siècle est analysé à travers les écrits de deux groupes d'auteurs de pays germaniques : les criminalistes (experts de police scientifique et technique et enquêteurs) et les criminologues (universitaires dans les domaines du droit, de la médecine et de l'anthropologie). Mon analyse des représentations de la prostituée permet de reconstituer deux matrices du discours qui structurent les réflexions et les écrits relatifs au crime et à la déviance. Chacune d'elles suscite des craintes ou des angoisses propres et influence la réaction institutionnelle qu'elles déclenchent. Ma thèse est qu'en analysant ces écrits, en tant que pratiques discursives, on accède à une meilleure compréhension de la façon dont les experts, tout comme les profanes, approchaient les problèmes sociaux, d'un point de vue à la fois intellectuel et institutionnel.

AUTHOR

PETER BECKER European University Institute, Department of History and Civilization, Via Bocaccio, 121, I-50133 Firenze, E-mail : [email protected] Peter Becker is professor of Central European History at the European University Institute. His main research interests are in the fields of the history of sexuality, police and criminology from the 18th to the early 20th centuries. His new project is a comparative analysis of bureaucracy from a cultural historical view point. His main publications are : Leben und Lieben in einem kalten Land (1990) ; Randgruppen im Blickfeld der Polizei, Archiv für Sozialgeschichte, 1992, 32 ; Une sémiotique de l'escroquerie, Déviance et Société, 1994, 18 ; The triumphant advance of degeneration, in Sakai, S., et al., Medicine and the Law, 1998.1 would like to thank the many people who commented on earlier drafts of this paper. I am particularly indebted to the three anonymous readers of Crime, Histoire & Société/Crime, History & Societies for their helpful and thoughtful suggestions.

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The creation and evolution of criminal law in colonial and post- colonial societies

Leslie Sebba

1 The original focus of this research was the creation and evolution of criminal law in post-colonial societies - with special emphasis on Israel. However, one of the most striking (and seemingly surprising) features of the development of law in these societies is the fact that in many cases they have substantially retained the criminal codes enacted by the colonial power. Thus, rather than limiting the focus to the non- creation (or retention) of criminal law in these societies, it seemed appropriate to broaden the topic so as to include the creation of the laws generally prevailing today - by extending the analysis to the colonial phase of development. In the result, this historical phase became the focus of the study.

2 The topic under discussion here does not fit easily into a developed academic tradition. For while “it has long been recognized that the systematic study of the social and legal context of legislation is an important means of understanding law and the legal process”2, relatively little has been achieved to implement this goal3. The growing literature on the sociology of law (or "law and society") lays relatively little emphasis on legislation, and much of the literature on legislation is concerned with its effects or its implementation rather than the process of its creation (ibid., p. 33). Studies of the creative processes are generally case-studies4 and give rise to methodological problems regarding their purpose : "These studies frequently vacillate between an effort to provide a comprehensive description of the passage of a law and an attempt to explain in causal terms why it was passed"5.

3 Moreover, in the context of the criminal law, the topics selected for study are generally those forms of deviance, such as juvenile delinquency, drug abuse and sexual deviance, which attract the energies of moral entrepreneurs seeking the imposition of a medicalised form of criminal law6 - or, more recently, involved in victim advocacy 7. These are fruitful areas for the analysis of issues related to social control, but they are located in the margins of the criminal law proper.

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4 Another type of approach has been to focus on the socio-legal functions of certain legal (mainly statutory) reforms in England, as seen in their historical perspective. Notable examples are the analyses by Jerome Hall (1952) of the law of theft, William Chambliss (1964) of the Vagrancy Laws and E.P. Thompson (1975) of the Black Act. These analyses tend to show how laws are created or manipulated by the ruling classes for the protection of their economic and political interests. This approach, as indicated, lays emphasis on the socio-political function of the legal development concerned, rather than the processes of its adoption.

5 Most of the above-mentioned literature has been concerned with the analysis of legislation in Western democracies. There is some (largely anthropological) literature relating to the imposition of law on colonized peoples8, but here the emphasis is on the conflict between the imposed and the traditional norms, rather than on the legislative processes9.

6 The studies referred to above tend to focus on particular legislative enactments or reforms rather than comprehensive codifications of the law. Codification (including the processes involved in its adoption) has also been the subject of academic analysis10. This literature, however, tends to be inward-looking, in that it sees the legislative processes as autonomous, rather than as a testing-ground for broadly-based sociological theories.

Theories of legislation

7 The traditional analysis distinguishing between two hypotheses applicable to the role of law in society - the functional and Marxist, or "consensus" and "conflict" hypotheses11 has been applied specifically to the legislative process. Thus Hagan in his analysis of sociological studies of legislation differentiated between the "moral functionalists", who regard the law as an expression of "values and customs that are widely shared in society", and the "moral Marxists", for whom "'the legal system is an apparatus that is created to serve the interests of the dominant class'"12. Tomasic, however, added a further dimension to this analysis13. He differentiated between those analyses in which the dichotomy was based upon values (consensus versus conflict) and those in which the criterion was interests - contrasting interest group theories which are elitist in orientation with those adopting a pluralistic approach. This analysis gave rise to a whole matrix of possible theoretical orientations based upon the above classifications14. Ultimately, however, it seems that the consensus-versus-conflict dichotomy is implicit in both the "value" and the "interest group" approaches.

8 The above approaches seem all to be deterministic, legislation being perceived as the outcome of vested interests, and reflecting either a synthesis of such interests under the consensus-functionalist approach, or those of the dominant forces under the Marxist-conflict approach. Chambliss (1993, p. 9), too, sees law creation as the “resolution of contradictions, conflicts and dilemmas... inherent in the structure of a particular political, economic and social structure” ; but his reference to “dilemmas” and his emphasis on the processual aspect of law-making suggest a “softer” model, and this is confirmed by the incorporation of “human agency” into this model15. Indeed, Chambliss adopts a “dialectical methodology” which “grants a role to choice, intentions, and the like (even envisioning a freely chosen future)”16 - albeit limited by the structural constraints referred to. In the case-studies referred to, however, the

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“human agency” element tends to remain abstract, and seems to be relating to interest-groups and other sub-sections of the population, rather than personalities.

9 "Personalities" are, however, one of the key elements in the analytical studies of law reform conducted by Martin Friedland (1984). Friedland, rather than invoking sweeping sociological theories, sees law reform as the result of "politics, personalities and pressure groups" (p. 44). In the context of contemporary law-making, he refers to the "constant interplay between public opinion, pressure groups and influential individuals" (p. 74). This analysis implies an open and non-deterministic legislative system - although passing reference is made to "the possibility of inordinate influence by powerful pressure groups..." (p. 112). It may thus be appropriate to name this construct a democratic model, which may in substance be regarded as a variant on the functionalist theme.

10 The above-mentioned approaches all seem to assume that the legislative process is characterized by a high degree of purposefulness17 and rationality, deriving either from fundamental features of the socio-economic structure, or at least from the explicit views of articulate sections of the population. This is true both of the radical/Marxist/ conflict analyses, which perceive this process as a conspiracy on the part of certain powerful elements in the social structure to further their self-seeking goals and interests, and of the consensus/functionalist/democratic analyses, which see the process as a framework designed to ensure that the final legislative product will reflect a fine balance between competing interest groups, thereby achieving if not consensus in the literal sense, at least a sort of lowest common denominator.

11 Consideration should also be given, however, to the possibility that legislative processes do not possess such rational and purposeful characteristics. Two such models may be envisaged. These models derive essentially from anecdotal evidence and are proposed somewhat tentatively ; but at least one of the models will he highly pertinent to the subsequent discussion of colonial legislation.

12 The first of these models may he termed the bureaucratic model 18. Under some parliamentary systems, including those following the Westminster model, parliamentary business, and in particular the bills which are ultimately adopted, are generated primarily by the government of the day19. The ministers of which these governments are composed rely, in turn, upon their senior advisers for this purpose. Thus, while a British minister might he largely motivated to introduce new legislation20, the content of this legislation will generally be determined largely by public servants ; “... most legislation is conceived, drafted and all but enacted in Whitehall”21. Even where the legislation adopted follows from the recommendations of various public bodies (such as law reform committees), these bodies may also have included or have been influenced by officials. The procedure described here is a far cry from Dicey's image of a constitutional and substantially consensual process in which the dominating force is public opinion22. This phenomenon, i.e., the focal role of the civil servant in the governmental process (in substance the theme of the popular TV series “Yes, Minister”), has been the subject of academic analysis in recent times23 ; but relatively little emphasis has been placed in this context on the legislative process.

13 Specific evidence of this phenomenon is found in an account of the adoption of criminal justice legislation in England, where “It's not generally realized that civil servants brief their ministers not just behind the scenes but while actual debates are going on on the floor or in committee”24. It seems clear from the illustrations (in the

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context of criminal justice) provided by this source that the civil servant rather than the Minister is the guiding force behind legislative reform. In Israel, too, a perceptive jurist drew attention, in a short monograph devoted to this topic, to the critical role of the ministerial legal adviser in the creation of legislation25.

14 This model of the legislative process may be less appropriate in the context of political systems in which the legislature has a greater degree of independence from the executive arm, such as the United States26. Moreover, the emphasis under the bureaucratic model is very different from Friedland's attribution of law reform to “politics, personalities and pressure groups” (see above) - more particularly in that he adds “public opinion” to his list of main ingredients27. This may be partly explained by the emphasis in his analysis on Canada (although his model purports to be applicable to the U.K. too). It may also be true that the bureaucratic model is presently losing ground in an era of more participatory politics.

15 It may also be argued that the dynamics of the legislative process described here are relevant mainly to what is sometimes known as “lawyers' law”, rather than to areas of the law more closely related to controversial political issues, where the input will be wider. However, even if both this differentiation is valid and the conclusion correct, the model remains at least partially valid - and may apply in particular to criminal law (see below). If this is indeed the case, it raises questions about the validity - or at least the universality - of both the consensus and the conflict views of legislation ; for legislation would reflect the view neither of the general public, nor of powerful interests groups in society, but of a handful of (or sometimes even individual) public servants. The actions of such individuals will, of course, reflect certain social, economic and political values (whether sectarian or consensual) ; but these will be applied in isolation from the broader political processes.

16 What, indeed, would be the character of legislation emanating primarily from a bureaucrat ? His (or her) natural inclination would be to antagonize as few persons as possible, and this might be expected to be reflected in the legislation. In rare cases, a secure official, taking pride in his or her professional background and/or competence, might attempt more ambitious reforms ; and this might be true also of an outsider, called in from academic or private practice. These alternative roles -which may he labelled the “obfuscated” and the "enlightened" bureaucrat - will be considered further in the course of the subsequent discussion of colonial legislation.

17 The second - and more tentatively suggested - model is the fortuitousness model. Anecdotal evidence describes many haphazard (or even negligent) occurrences in the course of the legislative process, such as chance absences from votes (including votes in committee rooms - or even at plenary sessions, with only a handful of legislators participating), inattention to drafting, and errors in voting resulting from misunderstandings. Clearly such disarray may play a part in the nature or content of the legislation adopted. However, it seems unlikely that such forces actually dominate the legislative process. Thus, this model should perhaps be regarded as a force modifying the three previous models rather than as an independent model.

18 Four tentative models of the legislative process emerge from the foregoing discussion : (1) a (democratic) consensual model ; (2) a (Marxist) conflict model ; (3) a bureaucratic model ; and (4) a "fortuitousness" model. The next question to consider is which of these models are relevant to the colonial situation.

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Colonial legislation

19 Under a colonial regime the applicability of the democratic or consensual model is by definition precluded ; laws are imposed by the mother country on a subject people. It is true that an enlightened colonial regime may endeavour to take account of the wishes of the local population (or at least of certain sectors of that population) when enacting new legislation. But whereas for Dicey taking account of public opinion was an essential feature of a democratic legal system, in the context of a colonial regime such considerations are at the rulers' discretion. Interest in ascertaining the views of the local population, if any, may derive not primarily from democratic ideology, but rather from pragmatic considerations, namely the desire that the law will be accepted and implemented with a minimum of friction and controversy28.

20 On the other hand, the (Marxist) conflict model presents a more plausible model for the dynamics of colonial legislation. To colonial governments are attributed the desire to exploit the native population, to "divide and rule", and to maintain hegemony for its own sake (cf. Tomasic's "elite interest group" referred to above). The use of the instrument of law for this purpose clearly suggests itself, especially as wide powers of law-making rest with the colonial administration, with some control exercised by the home administration - but little intervention on the part of more democratic forces. In her conclusions to a survey of the literature on law and colonialism Merry (1991, p. 917) concludes that "Law often serves as the handmaiden for processes of domination, helping to create new systems of control and regulation". However, the more blatant expressions of repressive, and in particular exploitative, domination are found in land and labour law, rather than the criminal law. Such illustrations of the use of law to secure capitalist transformations in Rhodesia and Tanganyika may be found in Sumner's Crime, Justice and Underdevelopment (1982)29 ; but Sumner also notes the use of penal provisions (albeit not usually in the penal codes) for the purposes of the maximization of production and minimizing of costs, by creating forms of pseudo- slavery.

21 Economic patterns and "strategies of rule" varied widely from colony to colony (Merry, 1991, p. 891), and the above illustrations may not be typical. It was nevertheless probably common for standard penal provisions to be widely drawn, to facilitate control of the local populations. Some illustrations from the legislative history of the Palestinian mandate appear to illustrate this phenomenon. The Criminal Procedure Ordinance (Arrest and Searches) of 1924 vested very wide powers of arrest in the Palestine police, while bestowing minimal rights and powers on the local population. A second example is the provision added to the Criminal Code Ordinance of 1936, in the later drafting stages, to provide the government with a somewhat vague and embracing power to punish an act “which may cause or tend to a public mischief” on the grounds that “‘it might be useful here, particularly in time of disturbances !30’”. This provision is somewhat reminiscent of the vagrancy laws in early English history ; the vagueness of which has been seen as providing a legal basis for the control of populations perceived as dangerous to the establishment31. Thus colonial legal history is replete with evidence in support of the conflict model32.

22 “Fortuitousness” is also on occasion a feature of colonial legislation. Certain developments appear to have been attributable to poor communication systems, while errors (due partly to ignorance of the law in the mother country) have sometimes

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exercised a lasting influence33. Such features, however, appear to play only a secondary role in colonial legislation too.

23 The overriding character of much colonial legislation, on the other hand, seems rather to accord with the bureaucratic model. The two possible forms which this model may assume - the “enlightened” as compared with the “obfuscated” bureaucracy - may apply with greater force to colonial rather than to non-colonial administrations, for the personnel concerned operated in a greater degree of isolation and with greater freedom from the pressures of “checks and balances” prevailing in the mother country34. The following section will develop these variants of administrative/ legislative styles as applied to various colonial regimes in the British Empire - notably India and Palestine35.

An enlightened bureaucrat - macaulay's indian code

24 Thomas Macaulay (1800-1859) is a figure well-known to historians but seemingly neglected by sociologists of law. His unusual characteristics render the legal history of India a unique phenomenon. He was described by the late Professor Cross as "a distinguished politician and a great man of letters [Macaulay was offered a Chair in history at Cambridge] but hardly a jurist"36. Nevertheless, he was called to the bar before entering politics and, after holding office as Secretary of the Board of Control of India, accepted the appointment as "Law Member" of the Governor-General's Legislative Council. The Law Member was to be, in the words of James Mill (the father of John Stuart Mill) "versed in the philosophy of men and government"37 - a role somewhat reminiscent of Plato's philosopher-king38 ; this was a position that Macaulay himself (when a Member of Parliament) had helped to create under the Charter Act of 1833 - in effect India's constitution39. Macaulay arrived in India in 1834, and one year later it was decided that India needed a penal code. Although formally he was merely one of the four members of the Law Commission entrusted with this task, in practice "Macaulay was virtually the sole author" of the draft code submitted to the Governor- General some two years later40.

25 Although Macaulay was on record as a critic of the utilitarians, the style of the penal code he drafted strongly suggests the influence of Jeremy Bentham, who had indeed advocated the codification of the Indian Penal Law41. According to Stokes42, Macaulay did not fully adhere to Bentham's political philosophy, and he "had no sympathy for the planned, centralized, bureaucratic state which Bentham had envisaged in all its minutiae" (in his Constitutional Code)43, but he internalized Bentham's jurisprudential concepts44. Thus Macaulay's Penal Code sought to maximize clarity of language and to minimize technicality. Following Bentham, he rejected the verbiage of the "preamble" (partly on the ground that there might be disagreements as to the purpose of a particular law), but instead suggested that consideration be given to the possibility of publishing the minutes of the Legislative Council so that the reasoning of the legislation could be generally known45. He himself published his own legislative minutes46, which have themselves become a minor classic. Clarity and comprehensibility - the two underlying principles of the code47 - were also to be achieved by providing, as an integral part of the code, illustrations of the principles stated therein, described by the famous jurist James FitzJames Stephen as "an entirely new and original method of legislative expression"48. This approach seems to have been

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aimed at reducing judicial discretion - in accordance with classical penal law doctrine : precedents were effectively being set in advance. In particular, there was perceived to be a need to remove the confusion caused by the application of religious criminal law (Muslim in some areas, Hindu in others) upon which colonial Regulations had been superimposed49. In his parliamentary speech on the Charter Bill, Macaulay had advocated "uniformity where you can have it, diversity where you must have it - but at all costs certainty"50.

26 Further, while a patriot, Macaulay did not believe that existing English law was perfect. Macaulay's code was influenced primarily by English law - it was subsequently described by Sir James FitzJames Stephen as "the criminal law of England freed from all technicalities and superfluities..." - but the departures were so extensive that it might be better regarded as "an entirely new thing"51. For, following the ethos of the utilitarians, the code was intended to meet universal criteria. In the spirit of Bentham's Codification Proposal, "the law-giver like Solon was to be a foreigner, versed in the universal principles of legislation, and free from local prejudice and interest"52. It thus also incorporated a number of provisions of the recently drafted Louisiana Code, as well as the French Penal Code - both, in turn, influenced by Bentham53.

27 Moreover, although under Benthamite principles "local knowledge was of minor importance"54, and Macaulay believed in the superiority of European values over Indian, Macaulay did take account of the fact that he was legislating not only for the European settlers, but also for the native Indians. It was therefore his policy to ensure that opportunity be provided for the expression of comments on any proposed legislation. While the time taken to draft the penal code - as well as the additional twenty-three years which elapsed until it was finally enacted - allowed plenty of time for reactions in the instant case, Macaulay's standing orders for the proceedings of the Legislative Council established a general principle to the effect that a period of six weeks was to elapse between the promulgation of draft laws and their enactment, so that local public opinion could he taken into account55 (This concept had in principle been laid down by the "Court of Directors"). However, this six week delay may generally have been of little assistance to most of the natives since pending bills, unlike the legislation finally adopted, were not translated into local languages56. On the other hand, Macaulay had no great sympathy for a "public opinion" which meant "the opinion of five hundred persons [i.e., the European settlers] who have no interest, feeling or taste in common with the fifty millions among whom they live"57.

28 The need for codification derived in Macaulay's view less from the superiority of western norms but rather from the chaotic nature of the existing system58. Moreover, Macaulay argued in favour of having a number of Law Commissioners who in combination would have a greater understanding of the native population59. Further, while Macaulay's code seems to have incorporated little native customary law60, it "takes notice of, and tries to deal with, some of the special problems of India"61.

29 Macaulay's objective of the introduction of a new body of law met with "a storm of criticism" on the part of the judicial establishment. In the words of a contemporary Anglo-Indian judge, the code was seen as "calculated to produce a degree of confusion and difficulty which has never yet been found in administering the criminal justice of any civilised country"62. Civil servants questioned "the wisdom of enacting a law which declined to draw exclusively upon any one system of law, choosing instead either to borrow from several, or to rely on abstract theories of jurisprudence"63. Such

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objections, coupled with the resignation of Macaulay in 1838 and other new appointments in the Indian administration64, account for the delay in the code's adoption. Moreover, subsequent administrations sought - and sometimes effected - their own modifications to the Code. In the circumstances it is perhaps surprising that, more than two decades after Macaulay's draft was completed (and one year after his death), the Code was actually adopted - thanks in part to the professional editing by Sir Barnes Peacock, a subsequent "Law Member"65.

30 Macaulay's enlightened rationality was reflected in many of his views. He was against capital and corporal punishment, and the use of the criminal code to restrict civil liberties66. He looked favourably on the possibility of eventual self-determination on the part of the Indian people. While emphasising the importance of exporting British products and "the diffusion of European civilisation", he took the view that it would be "far better for us that the people of India were well-governed and independent of us, than ill-governed and subject to us"67. He also insisted on the principle of a free press, and the denial of legal privileges to Europeans - principles which rendered him highly unpopular in certain quarters. Finally, in the matter of local taxation for local purposes, Macaulay was insistent that the local population should decide68.

31 In contrasting Macaulay's enlightened views with the conservativism of many of his critics it should not be forgotten that in the last analysis the model described was nevertheless a bureaucratic one. In spite of the concession to "public opinion" and the incorporation of various extraneous legal concepts, Macaulay was ultimately imposing a foreign (in this case English-based) legal system on an indigenous population69. He was, of course, unaware of the approach of the later anthropological school, or of contemporary sociological approaches which question both the practicality and the ethics of the imposition of so-called "advanced" legal systems on so-called "backward" peoples70. However, while he did indeed believe in the superiority of western values and education71, the legal codes he wished to impose were, as noted above, perceived by him (following the utilitarian philosophy) to be universal rather than culture-specific.

Obfuscated bureaucrats - the Palestine model

32 The pioneering achievements of Thomas Macaulay - in terms both of his concept of legislation and the content of his code - did not provide the model for future colonial developments. "Whereas the Indian Penal Code was the work of a commission of some of the most distinguished lawyers of the early years of Victorian England who were deeply imbued with Benthamite inspiration and reforming zeal... the average colonial Criminal Code has come out of the Attorney-General's chamber probably as the work of a legal draftsman"72. The expansion of the British Empire and the consequent proliferation of colonial legislation was doubtless a crucial factor in the process of bureaucratization ; perhaps also the intellectual climate of the late Victorian and subsequent period could not rival that of the early nineteenth century. Whatever the explanation, the colonial code model most widely adopted during the nineteenth century was not the Indian Penal Code but that of Queensland, which was based on the well-known Digest of the Criminal Law produced by the conservative judge and jurist James Fitzjames Stephen73 -published in 1877, and intended as "a first step towards a Code"74.

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33 The Queensland Criminal Code, adopted in 1899, was largely the work of Sir Samuel Griffith. Like Macaulay, Griffith, too, was a lawyer (when he drafted the code he was Chief Justice of Queensland), a politician and a man of letters (known for his translation of Dante's Divine Comedy). However, he lacked Macaulay's inspiration and innovative orientation. In Griffith's view, codification meant essentially "the reduction of the existing law to an orderly written system", for which purpose he relied heavily on Stephen's Digest and the subsequent Draft Code of the Royal Commission75, although a greater degree of creativity was evident in his drafting of the general principles of responsibility76.

34 Another codifier emerging in the late nineteenth century was R.S. Wright. He, too, had a background in the classics, and published books in this field77. While still a young man he was invited by the Colonial Office to draft a penal code for Jamaica, with the intention that it should be subsequently adapted to the needs of other colonies78. In making a detailed comparison between the codes of Wright and Stephen "the two principal rivals in codifying the criminal law in the British Empire in the second half of the nineteenth century"79, Friedland found the former to be more progressive and "in many, if not most, respects... a much better Code"80. Perhaps because of its progressive elements, Wright's code was not adopted in Jamaica ; and while widely praised was eventually adopted only in British Honduras, Tobago and the Gold Coast81, in sharp contrast to the widely adopted Queensland code.

35 It might be arguable that the adoption of Stephen's code, designed for the population of England (although never adopted in that country) was in principle not totally unsuitable for Queensland, an Australian state, composed mainly of migrants from the mother country or their descendants. What, however, could the cultural or normative standards of such a population have in common with those of the tribesmen of Nigeria, or the Turkish-Greek or Arab-Jewish melanges of Cyprus and Palestine respectively ? For the same code (subject to relatively few modifications) was adopted in all these locations, as well as a dozen others82. Thus, the "Palestine Model" of the present sub- heading is in fact the Queensland model ; but it is its adoption in Palestine - the direct importation of an already existing code to a colony (or in this case a mandated territory) with a heterogeneous population - that characterizes the phenomenon being described here.

36 The replication of this version of the English criminal law in numerous colonies had the overriding advantage of familiarity and therefore convenience for the majority of the administrators - whether they arrived from the mother country or from another colony which had already adopted this model, as well as being acceptable to the Colonial Office officials83. In the Palestine case, the decisionmaking process by which the code was adopted combined this bureaucratic approach with an autocratic one, as reflected in the Palestinian High Commissioner's declaration84 that "I have decided on the advice of the Chief Justice and the Attorney General to adopt the Cyprus Criminal Code as the model".

37 Various pressures were exercised in favour of a more flexible approach. In Palestine (unlike India) a unified system of penal law, namely the Ottoman Law -itself strongly influenced by the French Law - had been in force for a long period of time and was familiar to much of the local population. However, it is clear that when Attorney- General Bentwich argued in favour of a more extensive retention of Ottoman Law provisions, in order to take such factors into account, he was regarded as a nuisance85.

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In the event, however, a few of the Ottoman provisions were retained, notably relating to homicide86.

38 In some colonies, moreover, support was expressed specifically for the Indian model. However, it seems that the very characteristics which made this code attractive to some - namely, its attempt to improve upon and simplify the existing common law, taking into account its prospective application to indigenous populations - rendered it unattractive to conservative bureaucratic minds. In this connection the detailed account of the adoption of the Queensland model in the African colonies in preference to the Indian code87 makes fascinating reading.

39 In 1904-1905, Sir Walter Egerton, the High commissioner of Southern Nigeria, strongly favoured the introduction of the Indian model into that colony. The legal advisers to the Secretary of State for the colonies (named Cox and Riley) favoured the Queensland model, which was the basis of the Northern Nigerian code (drafted during this period by Chief Justice Gollan). Egerton's reaction was strident :

40 "I cannot doubt that any unbiased person will consider the Indian Code far simpler and better suited to the needs of an uncivilized or semi-civilized population (sic !). The population of India has many things in common with the population of Lagos and Southern Nigeria. The latter has nothing in common with the population of Queensland"88.

41 The Secretary of State himself (Lord Elgin) supported this view : “The Indian Penal Code has stood the test of fifty years with wonderfully few alterations. It was specifically designed for a semi-civilized population by one of the greatest intellects of the nineteenth century... Surely it is a mistake to now adopt an untried Code designed for a white population in view of this Code which has proved so successful in India and has been extended to various Crown Colonies”89.

42 This last passage drew the comment "only Eastern colonies" from the legal advisers, who were able to ensure that no new code was adopted at that time, paving the way for the application of the Queensland model on the amalgamation of Northern and Southern Nigeria a few years later (in 1914).

43 The conservative bureaucratic view consistently prevailed in the course of the debate on the legislation of African penal codes. The most telling illustration is that of East Africa. These territories initially adopted Macaulay's Code90. This was clearly anathema to the bureaucrats, who objected to the placing of "white men under laws intended for a coloured population despotically governed", and in this instance they received some support from the European settlers91. A single notorious trial, in which a defendant perpetrating a fatal assault received a light sentence, provided the excuse for the repeal of the Macaulay codes and their substitution by the Nigerian (Queensland) model. Both the Governor and the Chief Justice of Kenya expressed reservations about this change, but Bushe, the legal adviser to the Secretary of State, "was adamant" - and the retrogressive measure was adopted.

44 As in the Southern Nigeria case referred to above, this episode illustrates the triumph of bureaucracy over rationality92. It also provides a link between the law-making process of the colonial and democratic regimes - the role of the legal adviser being predominant in both. The "Yes, Minister" phenomenon seems not to be peculiar to certain types of contemporary democratic regimes93, but seems also to have manifested itself in the colonial context.

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Post-colonial legislation

45 As noted in the opening section of this article, one of the interesting features of post- colonial regimes is that, having finally freed themselves of the shackles of colonial domination, with (under many analyses) its concomitant imposition of a presumptively oppressive normative system designed to serve the interests of the colonial power - relatively little is done on the part of these new regimes to replace this system. The post-colonial legislative system may thus differ little from the colonial system.

46 Thus, in the case of Palestine/Israel, although a large number of amendments have been made to the Criminal Code Ordinance of 1936, and a Hebrew formulation was finally enacted in 1977, much of the substance of this Code remains in force today - half a century after independence, while the "General Part" was reformed only in 1994. Moreover other enactments, such as the Police Ordinance, the Prisons Ordinance and the Dangerous Drugs Ordinance, although translated into Hebrew and frequently amended, still bear the Mandatory nomenclature of "Ordinance". It seems that Israel is by no means unique in this experience, and that other ex-colonial nations retained their colonial criminal codes for several decades after independence94.

47 The question which is raised here is, therefore, as follows : How is it that the white settlers, the African tribesmen, the Jews and the Arabs, having thrown off the yoke of imperial domination, have been so slow to repeal the modified version of the English criminal law so arbitrarily imposed upon them ? This question seems pertinent whichever theory of colonial legislation is the valid one - whether such legislation constituted an expression of a policy of domination and exploitation, whether it was the fruit of bureaucratic pressures, or whether it was the result of chance. Before considering some possible explanations for the above phenomenon, a few observations will be made on the development of criminal law reform in post-independence Israel.

48 By and large the substantive criminal law, at least in Israel, may be said to pertain to "lawyer's law". The general public generally shows little interest in the definition of larceny, arson, or even murder - although the question of homicide in self-defence against a background of either political or domestic violence has given rise to public debate, and the definition of rape, too, has been of concern to the feminist lobby, resulting in reforms in these areas95. Even sentencing provisions are not widely debated by the public, except when they raise sensitivities in the area of domestic violence, or where there is a "moral panic", such as periodically occurs in the context of drug use - particularly where minors are concerned. Such occurrences give rise to calls for - and sometimes to the adoption of - minimum penalties, which are otherwise not an integral part of Israel's criminal justice system96.

49 Subject to the above reservations, criminal law legislation is seen to be a matter for the professional personnel at the Ministry of Justice (and, where appropriate, the legal adviser of the appropriate ministry97) and, to a lesser extent, the legal community in general. Pressure to change the law may arise from judicial exposure of gaps in the present law, from controversial judicial interpretations of that law or following the recommendations of a professional committee. Alternatively, an activist Minister of Justice may regard law reform as a worthy political or professional objective. Further, since the political parties have adopted the system of selecting their candidates by means of "primaries", much legislation is now initiated personally by "private members" - in order to demonstrate legislative activity on their part98.

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50 On the other hand, the forces operating against law reform seem to be strong. As noted above, criminal law reform is almost exclusively a matter of concern to lawyers, and lawyers, having been trained in the existing system, have a vested interest in the status quo. This interest may combine with interests of other kinds : an earlier draft for the general part of a new criminal code, incorporating a greater structurization of the sentencing provisions, was abandoned owing to the objections of the judiciary to the curtailment of their discretionary powers. On the other hand even during the post- colonial period reform is seen - or at least used to be seen - as more acceptable when it followed the lead of the English system, whether in the context of legislation99 or precedent. Moreover the provisions which specified that the Criminal Code should be interpreted in accordance with English law, and that gaps in the law should be filled by reference to English law, remained in effect for more than two decades after independence, and the Israeli legal system thus became weaned from this dependence relatively slowly100.

Conclusions

51 This article has considered various models of the legislative process, and particularly of codification processes' in colonial and post-colonial societies. The point of departure for this overview was the phenomenon whereby many post-colonial societies have been slow to abandon codes which were imposed upon them by the colonial power - in the case of Israel, the Queensland-Nigeria-Cyprus-Colonial Office criminal code - generally with only minimal concern for the local culture and for the previously prevailing norms. A number of alternative explanations will now be considered by way of explanation of this phenomenon.

52 (1) One possible explanation is that legal norms are (or should be) in substance universal, so that the adoption of similar penal codes by different peoples is only natural. This seems in substance to have been the view of Macaulay and the Benthamites alluded to above. This view is inherent in the old concept of mala in se, accepted by Blackstone and others101. Some support for this view is found in the replications of Sellin and Wolfgang's measurement of delinquency, which elicited from various population samples assessments of the relative seriousness of different offences, and which claimed to have arrived at similar results in different cultures102. However, other comparative work103 as well as much anthropological literature would seem to question this hypothesis. Moreover the conflict hypothesis referred to earlier, if valid, posits a conflict of values and interests within societies, thereby leaving little room for consensus among societies.

53 (2) Another possible explanation is that whatever the legal, national and cultural origins of the imported code, its interpretation and application subsequently develop independently, so that in practice it becomes autonomous - and in effect indigenous. Thus, in the Palestine/Israel context, as in other colonies, the view was not unanimous, even during the Mandatory period, that enactments based upon English law should be interpreted as they would be in England104 ; and this trend naturally became stronger after Independence - particularly after the official severance of the interpretation provisions from the English law105. Moreover, if it were surmised that the Criminal Code Ordinance would be interpreted in accordance with the interpretations which prevailed in the other colonies, or former colonies, in which the same or a similar code

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was in force, Abrams (1972) and Shachar (1979) have pointed out that the Israel judiciary was almost totally unaware of the case-law of those other jurisdictions ; and in some areas new interpretations have emerged, supposedly attuned to Israeli conditions. The issuance of the official Hebrew version of the Code in 1977 would lend further support to the concept of an independent development, as, a fortiori, would the numerous legislative amendments which have taken place since the original Code was introduced - and in particular those introduced since the independence of the state.

54 (3) A third explanation for the post-colonial society's adherence to the colonial norms might be that whatever the prior values and normative patterns of a society, the imposition of a new code will have a momentum of its own, and will give rise to an internalisation of the values underlying that code. This view is perhaps implicit in the Austinian "command" theory of law, and is reflected in the view of Andenaes (1974), who has argued that sanctioning principles laid down by the legislature infiltrate into the normative attitudes of subsequent generations. Following this line of argument, even if the colonial societies differed culturally and normatively at the time when the codes were adopted, both from the mother country and from the other societies in which the code's norms prevailed, during the course of time they would become similar, as a result of the application of the code to that society.

55 This analysis raises the issue of the relationship between legal norms and social or cultural norms, for it assumes that social norms are determined by legal norms rather than vice versa. While the "social engineering" school attributed to the law some potential for social change, this was generally applied within the parameters of a particular political culture106. Moreover legal philosophers with a more historical or cultural orientation, such as Savigny or Sumner, would certainly question such a vision of socio-legal development107 as would the post-modernists108.

56 (4) Yet another approach would accept the existence of cultural and normative diversity among nations and would deny the power of an imposed law either to adapt itself to the local normative system or to remove the diversity among the different systems. It would rather argue that a gap between the official legal norms and popular norms was created by the imperial bureaucracy during the colonial period and that this gap was maintained following independence by a "New Class" of lawyer-bureaucrats, reluctant to alter a system with which they were familiar.

57 In principle this approach is consistent with the bureaucratic model of legislation described earlier in the article. In many instances, however, it may also be consistent with a conflict analysis. For while on the one hand, as noted above, the colonial legislation enacted during the imperial period may be perceived as an instrument for the subjugation of the local population, and thus no longer relevant, in many former colonies the tension between a dominant and a native population (or minority) remains - and the colonial legal structure will be serving the interests not merely of a bureaucracy, but of a class, race or ethnic group109.

58 The more valid of the explanations for the retention of the colonial codes in general, and in Israel in particular, seems to be some combination of the second approach, which lays emphasis on the autonomous development of the codes, and the last one, whether in its bureaucratic or its conflict form110, which emphasises the interest of the powers-that-be in the continuity of the colonial system.

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Final note

59 A detailed study of the nature and history of the codes of a variety of former colonies might provide answers to a number of questions, and enable some hypotheses to be tested in connection with the interrelationship of some of the variables referred to here. For example : How far is there a connection between the duration of the retention of the colonial code and its content ? It could be hypothesized here that a more "universalist" code, drafted in the spirit of the utilitarians, would endure longer than a code based exclusively upon the law of the imperial power. Secondly, have the codes been longer retained in former colonies in which there is a disadvantaged (usually native) minority ? A positive finding would be hypothesized here. Finally, it may also be of interest to study the connection between the nature of the independence process (in particular the degree of conflict involved) and the other variables referred to111. Here it would be hypothesized that a smoother passage to independence (evolutionary, rather than revolutionary) would increase the probability that the code would be retained. Further research is required in order to explore these issues.

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Thompson, E.P., Whigs and Hunters : The Origin of the Black Act, Harmondsworth, Penguin, 1975.

Turner, S., Introduction, in Sellin, T, Wolfgang, M.E. (Eds), The Measurement of Delinquency, New York, Elsevier, 1964-1978.

Zander, M., The Law-Making Process, London, Butterworths, 4th ed., 1994.

Zatz, M.S., Preface, in Chambliss, W.J., Zatz, M.S., (Eds), Making Law : The State, the Law, and Structural Contradictions, Bloomington, Indiana University Press, 1993, p. ix-xi.

NOTES

2. Tomasic (1980, p. 19). 3. See, however, the useful integrative surveys conducted by Tomasic (1980) and Hagan (1980), as well as the more recent work by Chambliss (1993) and his colleagues in the framework of the Society for the Study of Social Problems. 4. A notable exception is the pioneering study by Berk, Brackman and Lesser (1977) of changes in the Californian Penal Code between 1955-1971. 5. Hagan (1980, p. 623). 6. Cf. Hagan (1980). 7. Rock (1986) ; McCoy (1993) ; Scheingold, et al. (1994). 8. Notably Burman and Harrell-Bond (1979). 9. There is, of course, an extensive political science literature relating to the political aspects of the legislative process (see, e.g., the Legislative Studies Quarterly), but this literature adopts a very different perspective, laying emphasis on the respective roles of various institutions pertaining to the constitutional scheme. 10. See, e.g. - in the context of criminal law codification - Kadish (1978) and Friedland (1984). 11. See, e.g., McDonald (1976). 12. Hagan (1980, p. 604-605), citing Richard Quinney. 13. See also Chambliss (1993) who identifies two derivatives of the functionalist and Marxist approaches, which he refers to as "pluralist" and "ruling class" theories.

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14. Tomasic (1980, p. 27). 15. Zatz, (1993, p. x). 16. J. Kenneth Benson, cited in Chambliss (1993, p. 9). 17. Cf. the discussion by Kidder (1979) of the relevance of intent in the imposition of law. 18. Cf. Chambliss (1976, p. 87). 19. Mezey (1979), in his comparative analysis of political systems, characterizes the legislatures of the type referred to here as "reactive". 20. Zander (1994, p. 5). 21. Miers and Page (1990, p. 39). 22. Cf. Tomasic (1980). 23. See Potter (1986), and the references therein on p. 11, fn.22. 24. Professor Anthony King, cited in Zander (1994, p. 59). 25. Bar-Niv (1971). See, generally, Sebba (1995), alluding also to the dominant role (particularly in the area of civil law) of the head of the legislation department in the Ministry of Justice. In recent years, however, greater initiative has passed to "private members" of the Knesset in the instigation of legislation, including criminal legislation (see ibid.). 26. Cf. Mezey (1979). 27. Friedland (1984, p. 74). 28. Even for Lord Macaulay, whose enlightened views will be described below, the importance of taking account of local opinion derived primarily from the need to forestall criticisms which might otherwise emerge in the local press. On the other hand, the principle that the local press should be free was for Macaulay a matter of ideology. 29. See also Merry (1991, p. 909), reviewing The Political Economy of Law, by Ghai et al. (1987). 30. “The language is that of the Attorney General, who in fact attributes the suggestion that such a provision be added to ‘one of the leading advocates’” (Abrams, 1972, p. 45). 31. Chambliss (1964). 32. However Merry also sees the legal norms as providing constraints for the repressive systems that were prevalent, and as providing “arenas for resistance” (Merry, 1981, p. 917). 33. An illustration of this, albeit on the judicial rather than the legislative level, was the misinterpretation by Palestinian judges of the English corroboration rule in sexual assault cases ; see Sebba (1968) ; cf. also Likhovski (1995, p. 341-342). 34. The British Empire was administered by the Colonial Secretaries exercising royal prerogative powers. Parliamentary control was thus more limited here than in respect of other areas of government. 35. In formal terms, Palestine was not a colony but a Mandated territory administered by Britain on behalf of the League of Nations. 36. Cross (1978, p. 519). However the analysis by Cross of some of the provisions of Macaulay's code suggests a more positive view of the latter's legal talents ! 37. Stokes (1959, p. 178). 38. Stokes (1959, p. 176-177) describes Mill's Benthamite concept of the legislator : "His pedigree is that of the eighteenth-century philosophe, and it reaches back to Solon. Legislation is a science, a task for the ablest philosophic mind, a subject for dispassionate study and expert knowledge...". 39. On the dual control of India by the East India Company and the British Parliament, see Cross (1978 : 520, fn.3). 40. Cross (1978, p. 522) ; Dhagamwar (1992, p. 7). 41. Jain (1977). James and John Stuart Mill were also highly involved in Indian afffairs : see Stokes (1959). 42. Stokes (1959, p. 192). 43. Cf. also Edward Livingston, author of the Louisiana Code, who believed in extensive state intervention to prevent crime (Kadish, 1978).

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44. The differentiation between political and jurisprudential philosophy may not always be clear. Thus Stokes (1959, p. 213) attributes to Macaulay a "grandiose conception of a pyramid of codes". Here the jurisprudential thinking seems to merge with the political philosophy. 45. Dharker (1946). 46. See Dharker (1946). 47. See the Law Commissioners' letter which accompanied their submission of the code (Dharker, 1946, p. 264). 48. Cross (1978, p. 524). 49. Stokes (1959, p. 225). "The criminality of a person's actions often depended on who he was – his caste, his religion, whether English or native - and on which of the presidencies he happened to be tried in" (Kadish, 1978, p. 1109) (Cf. Maine's description of India as "empty of law" (Jain, 1977) !). 50. Jain (1977, p. 505). 51. Kadish (1978, p. 1109-1110). 52. Stokes (1959, p. 178). 53. Ibid., p. 226. 54. Ibid., p. 178. 55. Dharker (1946, p. 22-23). 56. Dharker (1946, p. 35). As to the laws themselves, cheap vernacular copies were to be made widely available (Stokes, 1959, p. 194). 57. Cited in Dharker (1946, p. 37). 58. See above ; and see Macaulay's speech to Parliament on the enactment of the Charter Act (Jain, 1977, p. 504). 59. See Dharker (1946, p. 256-257). The Commission would therefore comprise "partly persons sent down from England and partly members of the Civil Service" (Macaulay, ibid). However, although Macaulay held the view that native Indians would eventually hold public office, he did not specify that these were the "members of the civil service" he had in mind here. 60. A claim has been made for the continued influence of Moslem Law, at least in the determination of penalties ; see Bannerjee (1963, p. 123). 61. Jain (1977, p. 555). "The Commission was careful to consider the special Indian conditions so as to avoid making conduct punishable when no sufficient advantage was likely to accrue from applying the criminal law ; as also from the standpoint of making special provisions against crimes peculiar to India" (Jain, 1977, p. 555). 62. Cited in Cross (1978, p. 523). 63. Dhagamwar (1992, p. 88). 64. In particular, some of the subsequent Law Members were against introduction of the Code : see Stokes (1959, p. 261) ; Char (1963, p. 182), and Cross (1978, p. 524). 65. Char (1963, p. 186-187). In praising this combination of talents, Sir James Stephen commented that "an ideal code ought to be drawn by a Bacon and a Coke" (Char, 1963, p. 187, n. 77). 66. See Kadish (1978, p. 1114). However, Kadish attributes these opinions to practical considerations on Macaulay's part, rather than to ideology. (In this he differed from Livingston, who sought to use the criminal code he drafted for the state of Louisiana as a weapon against the abuse of civil liberties (Ibid.)). 67. From Macaulay's speech in the Charter debate, cited in Stokes (1959, p. 43). 68. Dharker (1946, p. 163). 69. It is to the credit of the judicial critic cited above that he purported to object to the novel code as being "new to those who are to dispense the law as to those who have to live under it" (See Cross, 1978, p. 523 - emphasis added). On the Indian objections to this aspect of the criminal codification project, see Brown (1989, p. 23). In other areas, Macaulay appeared to have

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demonstrated even less sympathy for indigenous cultures, being totally scornful of native Indian education and literature in his insistence on the need for its anglicization (Ibid., p. 521). 70. See, e.g., the discussion in Lloyd (1979, p. 648). In conjunction with the utilitarians, Macaulay also had a somewhat ambivalent attitude to the democratic component of the legislative process. Laws were best adopted by a small body of experts - albeit incorporating some representative elements (Stokes, 1959, p. 177-178). Cf. also Bentham, who "found himself more at home with the enlightened despots than turbulent political assemblies" (Stokes, 1959, p. 177). 71. Cf. Stokes (1959, p. 57), and above, fn. 33. On this characteristic of colonialism, and Edward Said's concept of "Orientalism", see Darian-Smith (1996). 72. Elias (1962, p. 148). 73. Elias, too, cites Stephen's Digest as the main inspiration of the legal draftsmen responsible for many of the colonial codes (Elias, 1962, p. 148, fn. 13). 74. Kadish (1978, p. 1122). In the following year Stephen did indeed draw up a draft code for the British Parliament. This was revised one year later by a Royal Commission, comprising Stephen and three High Court judges (Kadish, 1978, p. 1122). 75. See preceding footnote. 76. Shachar (1979, p. 84-85). 77. Friedland (1984, p. 4). 78. Ibid., p. 5. 79. Friedland (1984, p. 44). 80. Ibid., p. 1. 81. Friedland (1984, p. 35-36). 82. The interrelationship between the codes has been analysed by Abrams (1972), and Shachar (1979). 83. In civil law matters, however, the view was widely held among colonial officials that English law was too advanced to be appreciated by the native populations : see Likhovski (1995). 84. Cited in Abrams (1972, p. 27). 85. Shachar (1979, p. 105-106, fn. 154a). 86. Generally, however, Bentwich was in favour of the introduction of English law in Mandatory Palestine in the interests of progress : see Likhovski (Ibid). 87. Morris (1970 and 1974). 88. Morris (1970, p. 146). 89. Ibid., p. 147. 90. Morris (1974, p. 13). Zanzibar enacted such a code in 1867, Kenya in 1897, Uganda in 1902, and Tanganyika in 1920 (Morris, 1974, p. 13). 91. Ibid. 92. It should be pointed out, however, that there were certain interests operating in favour of the Indian model. Both Sir Walter Egerton and Lord Elgin had personal experience of this model, so that the preference for the familiar over the unknown did not operate for them. Another factor was that the greater simplicity of this code rendered unnecessary the appointment of stipendiary magistrates - with the additional costs involved (See Morris, 1974, p. 13). 93. Mainly those with "reactive" legislatures - see above, fn. 19. 94. Morris (1974). 95. See secs. 300A and 345 of the Penal Law, 1977 (as amended). 96. The pressure for the adoption of mandatory minima for sex offences and domestic violence led in 1996 to the establishment of a public committee, headed by a Supreme Court Justice, to reconsider the sentencing system. Its recommendations are now being considered by the government. 97. See above, text by fn. 25. Reference was made there to the pivotal role of the head of the department of legislation in the Ministry of Justice. Shachar (1992) has described the activities of

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Prof. U. Yadin, who fulfilled this role during the early years of independence, and saw it as his mission to explain the evolving legislative system to the general public - including the use of radio for this purpose. In spite of the constitutional differences between colonial India and independent Israel, there seems to be a close parallel here between the roles of Macaulay and Yadin respectively ! (Yadin, however, was a civil law specialist). 98. See above, fn. 25. 99. Thus the repeal of the rule in Hollington v. Hewthorn, which had held evidence of criminal judgments to be inadmissible in civil cases, followed its repeal in England. The introduction of community sentences also followed the English example. 100. See the Law and Administration Ordinance (Amendment No. 14) Law, 1972, repealing sec. 4 of the Criminal Code Ordinance, which provided that the Code should in principle be interpreted according in accordance with the English law. A more general provision for filling gaps in the law by reference to "the principles of common law and equity current in England", enacted in the first years of the British Mandate, was repealed in 1980 by the Foundations of Law Act, to be replaced by more "indigenous" principles, viz., "the principles of freedom, justice, honesty and peace of the Israeli heritage" (Bein, 1995, p. 134-135). 101. See, e.g., Mannheim (1965). 102. See Turner (1978). 103. See, e.g., Newman (1976). 104. Likhovski (1995, p. 340-2) ; Cf. Elias (1962, p. 154). 105. See above fn. 100. 106. Cf. Evan (1980). 107. Cf. Cotterrell (1992, chapter 1). 108. See, e.g., Freeman (1994, chapter 14). 109. See, e.g., Hazlehurst (1995). 110. In Israel some elements of the colonial legislation were clearly retained in order to control the Arab population, who were seen as a security threat. 111. Cf. Rabello and Sebba (1994)

ABSTRACTS

Theoretical models of the legislative process are explored in order to seek an explanation of the phenomenon whereby post-colonial democracies frequently retain the legislation adopted by the imperial predecessor. This even applies to criminal codes, in spite of their presumed role in the controlling of colonial populations. A possible explanation is proffered in terms of a bureaucratic model of legislation, which seems to fit both colonial powers and some democracies. Under this model, the character and content of the legislation may depend as much upon the personalities involved in its drafting and promotion, as upon political or structural factors.

Cet article examine différents modèles théoriques relatifs au processus législatif afin de rechercher l'explication du fait que les démocraties post-coloniales conservent fréquemment la législation édictée par le pouvoir colonial antérieur. Ce constat vaut même pour les codes pénaux en dépit de leur supposée vocation à contrôler les populations colonisées. L'une des explications possibles repose sur un modèle législatif "bureaucratique" qui paraît s'appliquer aussi bien au pouvoir colonial qu'à certaines démocraties. Dans ce modèle, le type et le contenu du droit peut

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dépendre tout autant des personnalités chargées de l'élaborer et de la promouvoir que de facteurs politiques ou structurels.

AUTHOR

LESLIE SEBBA Institute of Criminology, Faculty of Law, Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Mount Scopus, Jerusalem 91905, E-mail : [email protected] Leslie Sebba is Associate Professor in the Institute of Criminology at the Law Faculty of the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. His recent publications include Third Parties: The Victim and the Criminal Justice System (Ohio State University Press, 1996) and two edited books : Social Control and Justice : Inside or Outside the Law (Magnes Press, 1996) and (with Gillian Douglas) Children's Rights and Traditional Values (Dartmouth - Ashgate, 1998). His main interests are penal policy victimology (he serves as co-editor of the International Review of Victimology) and the sociology of law.

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Entre idéal de bienfaisance et politique sécuritaire : la prévention selon le Landrecht prussien de 1794

Yves Cartuyvels

1 Le XVIIIe siècle constitue, on le sait, un tournant pour le droit pénal. À travers un vaste mouvement de codification réformatrice, la pensée classique impose en Europe une nouvelle rationalité pénale qui structure encore et toujours notre rapport aux incriminations et aux peines aujourd'hui. On pourrait multiplier les objets-témoins et les cadres géographiques de référence à partir desquels montrer la filiation entre le projet pénal réformateur du siècle des Lumières et les réalités de nos politiques contemporaines. On se contentera ici de privilégier une question traitée dans un contexte particulier : la politique de prévention à l'égard d'une population flottante de sans-travail, telle qu'elle est pensée dans le Landrecht prussien de 1794, à la fin du siècle des Lumières.

2 Ce choix appelle deux commentaires préliminaires. Sur le plan du fond tout d'abord, il importe de souligner que la politique de prévention élaborée en Prusse à cette époque n'est pas isolée. Elle a des racines historiques, puisque l'organisation d'une politique publique de bienfaisance, fondée sur une éthique du travail obligatoire, qui se conjugue à l'enfermement de populations nomades, « oisives » et récalcitrantes, sévit en Europe depuis le XVIIe siècle. Elle s'inscrit ensuite dans un mouvement général d'étatisation de la vie publique qui répond à un nouveau « principe de gouvernementalité » qui s'impose avec force dans l'Europe absolutiste du XVIIIe siècle. L'influence d'une pensée « caméraliste »2 et les succès d'un concept très large de « police » n'y sont pas étrangers. Selon la première, la société et la population constituent un corps ordonné que l'État et le souverain doivent gérer conformément aux exigences de la liberté générale et de la raison pour assurer le bien commun. En vertu du second, l'État se doit de concevoir un « ensemble de mécanismes par lesquels sont assurés l'ordre et l'organisation de l'enrichissement »3. La « police » suppose un projet interventionniste englobant à la fois la régulation économique, la promotion du bien-être physique et de la santé, le contrôle (préventif et répressif) des individus « dangereux » qui échappent à

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l'ordre régulateur du travail. C'est donc dans ce contexte qu'il faut situer la manifestation d'une conception riche et diversifiée de la prévention telle qu'elle se manifeste en Prusse à la fin du XVIIIe siècle. Pourquoi avoir fait le choix du code prussien pour illustrer cette problématique ? Pour deux raisons, principalement. La première est que ce texte nous paraît particulièrement éclairant sur les enjeux d'une politique de prévention qui oscille entre l'assistance et le contrôle, entre le social et le pénal, telle qu'elle se conceptualise à l'époque en Europe pour répondre aux exigences d'un « État policé » et aux besoins d'un « bien commun » organisé selon les préceptes de la raison naturelle. La seconde est que le système prévu par le Landrecht fait largement écho aux politiques de prévention contemporaine : à l'heure où nos démocraties européennes se heurtent à nouveau à une crise profonde du travail comme ordre d'intégration et de régulation sociales, la « prévention » fait en effet retour dans nos systèmes de contrôle social, sous la forme de politiques « intégrées » qui rappellent à bien des égards l'architecture de la prévention proposée par le codificateur prussien. En matière de prévention, le Landrecht n'est pas sans intérêt pour la criminologie contemporaine, confirmant l'intuition selon laquelle un retour sur le passé est bien souvent d'un appoint précieux pour mieux comprendre les évolutions du présent.

3 Sur le plan méthodologique, la perspective privilégiée est celle d'une analyse de textes généraux et des discours qui l'accompagnent. La démarche peut heurter l'historien. Derrière le Landrecht impérial, il y a aussi, en Prusse à cette époque, les réalités du droit régional et local, l'importance des coutumes et des pratiques de terrain. Quelle portée faut-il dès lors attribuer à des textes ou à des déclarations de principes élaborés au plus haut niveau de l'État eu égard à des pratiques qui peuvent s'en distancier considérablement ? Il y a là un « nœud » méthodologique, d'autant plus important que la société prussienne de l'époque est une société « complexe » où la multiplication des niveaux de pouvoir diversifie les sources de normativité. S'il traduit une difficulté pour l'historien qui travaille sur le passé, ce problème méthodologique n'est pas moins aigu pour le criminologue qui cherche à saisir les contours de la politique criminelle contemporaine : dans nos démocraties « post-modernes », marquées elles aussi par l'enchevêtrement des sources de pouvoir et de normativités, l'accent mis aujourd'hui sur le « local » soulève également le problème de la fiabilité d'analyses qui portent sur des textes législatifs élaborés à l'échelon national ou même régional. Face à cette difficulté, on partira d'un enseignement que nous livre la recherche sur les politiques de prévention contemporaines : si la prudence s'impose pour évaluer des orientations de politique criminelle à partir de la lecture de textes élaborés « en haut », il n'empêche que les discours produits à ce niveau ont des effets structurants sur les politiques adoptées « en bas ». Proposant des définitions, distribuant des images, légitimant des actions ou orientant des stratégies, les discours institutionnels dessinent une « grammaire » ou une grille de lecture des problèmes traités qui détermine largement la configuration d'un champ d'interventions. À ce titre, une étude des textes légaux, a fortiori s'il s'agit d'un code pénal, nous paraît avoir sa pertinence pour éclairer le sens et les enjeux des problématiques envisagées, même si elle ne peut prétendre traduire à elle seule, dans toute sa vérité, une réalité qui se construit toujours en partie sur le terrain.

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La prévention selon Frédéric II de Prusse

4 Frédéric II de Prusse monte sur le trône en 1740. Féru de philosophie, ce prince réformateur qui connaît Christian Wolff, lit Montesquieu et conteste Machiavel, s'entretient avec Voltaire et d'Alembert, s'intéresse rapidement au droit et à la justice. Et très vite, comme tout esprit « éclairé » de l'époque, au droit pénal et à la justice pénale4.

5 Dès 1749, sa Dissertation sur les raisons d'établir ou d'abroger les lois laisse présager un esprit étonnamment précurseur pour l'époque. Dans ce texte qui suit d'un an L'esprit des lois de Montesquieu, Frédéric II se prononce en faveur d'une rationalisation de l'arsenal législatif. Il y annonce les principes de la codification qualitative moderne et entame un plaidoyer vibrant en faveur d'une législation pénale « éclairée » dans laquelle Beccaria se serait sans doute reconnu à bien des égards5. Fidèle à ses lectures, Frédéric II prône le principe d'une justice pénale légale-étatique fondée sur la responsabilité d'un homme doué de libre-arbitre. Il n'hésite guère plus à prôner une politique d'adoucissement général des peines qu'il promeut dès sa montée sur le trône : de l'abolition partielle de la torture (1740) à la réduction spectaculaire de l'application de la peine de mort, de la dépénalisation du suicide (1747) à la disparition de la peine d'infamie perçue comme un frein à la resocialisation de l'infracteur amendable (1756), les signes d'une pénalité « modérée » se multiplient. L'adoucissement du régime pénal de l'infanticide, qu'il s'agit désormais aussi de prévenir par des mesures de police sociale (1765), la suppression du Kirchenbusse (sorte de confession publique) ou encore l'émergence croissante de l'emprisonnement comme peine complètent une stratégie de réformes qui, pour inquiéter son entourage, ne doit rien au hasard6.

6 Cette nouvelle « douceur des peines » ne s'apparente en rien à une forme de laxisme. Frédéric II ne supprime d'ailleurs pas les peines sévères pour les délits les plus graves. En fait, l'empereur poursuit l'idéal d'une pénalité, plus humaine certes, mais aussi plus performante dont l'efficacité préventive passe par la modération et la proportion des peines à la gravité des délits. Fidèle sur ce point à un mouvement de pensée qu'incarnera Beccaria7, le souverain saisit tout l'intérêt d'une pénalité dissuasive orientée vers le futur. Marquée par le calcul et la proportion, cette nouvelle économie des peines est un élément essentiel dans une politique pénale absolutiste qui n'a plus tant pour objectif la vengeance ou l'expiation morale d'une faute passée que la préservation du bien commun ou de l'ordre social à construire. Comme ailleurs en Europe, la prévention des délits s'impose donc comme l'axe fondamental de la nouvelle économie des peines.

7 Dans un État absolutiste qui se veut organisateur et gardien du bien commun, la prévention ne passe cependant pas uniquement par la peine. Une société qui connaît pauvreté et marginalité doit en effet aussi prévoir diverses mesures policières et sociales pour devancer la commission des infractions. Comme Joseph II en Autriche8, Frédéric II saisit rapidement la nécessité d'une politique à plusieurs échelons. Au nom d'une bonne police du quotidien, la prévention des délits futurs suppose un cumul de mesures pénales, techno-policières et sociales. Or c'est bien ce souci de continuum qui resurgit aujourd'hui dans les politiques de prévention socio-policières et judiciaires qui tablent sur une approche « globale et intégrée au niveau local ». Il y a chez Frédéric II l'intuition très contemporaine d'un concept large de prévention qui témoigne d'un

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souci de politique criminelle dépassant le cadre purement pénal. On peut en reprendre les éléments.

8 Sur la prévention des délits par la peine, Frédéric II ne se fait guère d'illusions. Loin de nourrir le rêve d'une éradication du crime, il se contente du souhait de les "freiner" autant que possible. Sa préoccupation majeure est manifestement la dissuasion générale, ce qui justifie le maintien de peines exemplaires, la crainte et la honte restant les meilleurs freins aux penchants coupables : « Imaginez tout ce que vous voudrez, vous ne trouverez de frein pour les méchantes actions que dans les peines afflictives et dans la honte. Voilà ce qui retient quelques personnes, et les empêche de nuire aux devoirs de la société (...) »9. Le spectacle punitif n'est pas renié, l'exécution publique pouvant dans certains cas servir à dissuader le public et favoriser l'intériorisation d'un message pédagogique censé exercer une contrainte psychologique sur l'esprit humain, en l'encourageant à faire parler sa raison pour maîtriser son penchant au vice10. Mais si la fonction de prévention ou de dissuasion générale d'une peine-représentation est primordiale, Frédéric II n'en oublie pas pour autant la dimension de prévention spéciale. La sécurité publique requiert d'éviter la récidive du délinquant et d'organiser sa mise à l'écart tant qu'il apparaît porteur d'une menace. L'irruption de la prison au cœur de l'arsenal pénologique permet ici des développements intéressants : aux côtés de peines déterminées prononcées par les juridictions, le code prussien introduit des peines d'emprisonnement à durée indéterminée qui se transforment en mesures de sûreté liées à l'amélioration du condamné11. Assurant la mise à l'écart d'infracteurs dangereux pour la société, l'emprisonnement favorise l'incapacitation de ces derniers, mais aussi, même si cet objectif paraît secondaire, la resocialisation de condamnés - surtout les jeunes, les femmes, et les auteurs d'infractions aux biens - jugés amendables par le travail. L'idéal de cette peine de sûreté est à la source d'un système pénologique dual, jouant sur la complémentarité de peines et de mesures, dont la paternité est attribuée à Klein, le principal auteur de la partie pénale du Landrecht de 179412.

9 La fibre sociale de Frédéric II lui fait comprendre assez rapidement que la pauvreté - on parlerait aujourd'hui d'« exclusion » ou de « désaffiliation »13 - et l'absence de travail sont bien souvent les voies qui mènent à « la petite délinquance ». Le souverain envisage alors d'adjoindre aux mesures de prévention proprement pénales des mesures de prévention policières ou de bienfaisance qui doivent devancer et limiter la commission de certains délits. En matière d'infanticide par exemple, le souverain décide d'abord d'adoucir dès 1740 le régime de lois qui attachent « un degré d'infamie aux couches clandestines » et placent une fille « née avec un tempérament trop tendre, trompée par les promesses d'un débauché » devant un choix bien souvent impossible..., avant de souligner dans un deuxième temps la nécessité de prendre diverses mesures de police pour aider l'accouchement de ces filles-mères et l'éducation de leurs enfants illégitimes14. Mais c'est surtout en matière de lutte contre le vagabondage et la mendicité, la prostitution et l'oisiveté que les mesures de prévention policières prennent tout leur sens. Dans ces questions, écrit le souverain à Voltaire en 1777, « il vaut mieux empêcher et prévenir les crimes que les punir »15. À l'encontre de cette population flottante, Frédéric II choisit dès lors de poursuivre une politique préventive d'aide aux pauvres qui se prolonge, de manière classique pour l'époque, en politique de sûreté pour ceux qui passent à travers les mailles du filet d'assistance. Forteresses et maisons de discipline, maisons de travail et prisons se multiplient pour encadrer une population où se mélangent, suivant les institutions, mendiants et petits délinquants, détenus en attente de jugement et condamnés qu'un travail « correcteur » doit (en

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principe) amender et resocialiser16. L'efficacité du système restera douteuse sur ce plan, en raison notamment de l'état du système pénitentiaire prussien que Frédéric II n'aura pas les moyens de réformer en profondeur.

10 Enfin, on peut se demander si l'influence des Lumières ne laisse pas entrevoir chez Frédéric II une troisième conception, plus radicale, de la prévention. La prévention, ici, passe par une politique d'incitations positives qui contribue à l'élévation morale et culturelle de la population. Un bon législateur « s'attachera moins à punir les crimes qu'à les prévenir ; il s'appliquera plus à donner des mœurs qu'à infliger des supplices » écrivait Montesquieu. Frédéric II n'oublie pas le message quand il part en guerre contre les effets de discours stigmatisants et identificatoires de l'infamie ou de la confession publique, lorsqu'il met l'accent sur l'intérêt de l'État à professer, faire connaître et amplifier la vertu ou encore lorsqu'il souligne l'importance de l'enseignement pour prévenir la délinquance17. Ce que souligne ici Frédéric II, c'est l'importance d'une prévention, qu'on taxerait aujourd'hui de « générale » ou de « primaire », qui passe par un idéal positif d'intégration culturelle des individus les plus vulnérables. Cette conception généraliste de la prévention, reste néanmoins marginale : dans un État que poursuit le souci d'ordre et de sécurité publique, la politique de prévention, même si elle n'est pas exempte de velléités sociales, est largement dominée par un idéal militariste de contrôle et de sûreté que conforte une lecture pénale des effets de la question sociale. Ce constat trouve confirmation dans la politique de prévention qu'organise le Landrecht prussien de 1794. On y retrouve en effet, derrière un idéal revendiqué de prévention, l'association d'une politique pénale et de mesures ambiguës de « bienfaisance » qui oscillent entre aide et contrainte, assistance et contrôle disciplinaire.

La prévention au service d'une politique de sûreté dans le Landrecht de 1794

11 Comme nombre d'États européens en cette fin de XVIIIe siècle, la Prusse de Frédéric II cherche à se doter d'un code « moderne » de législation. Après l'échec d'une première tentative confiée à Samuel Cocceius dans les années 1749-1751, Frédéric II relance le mouvement en 1780. Après un parcours mouvementé, l'Allge-meines Landrecht für die Preussischen Staaten est promulgué le 1er juin 179418. Il ne s'agit pas d'un code pénal au sens strict mais d'un code général, à vocation supplétive de surcroît19, doté d'une importante partie pénale. Fruit d'un processus ardu nourri par diverses résistances, les orientations du texte traduisent un difficile compromis entre le conservatisme politique qu'impose une société de Stände et le modernisme juridique que nourrit l'influence du iusnaturalisme allemand.

12 Le Landrecht consacre néanmoins un titre particulier au droit pénal qui, à l'inverse d'autres parties du code, fera rapidement autorité en Prusse20. Fort de 17 sections et de 1577 articles, le titre XX du code prussien propose une division duale de la matière pénale, suivant un modèle qui n'est plus inhabituel pour l'époque. Une partie « spéciale », qui répartit les différentes incriminations et leurs peines selon un certain nombre d'intérêts protégés, est précédée par une partie « générale » composée de l'introduction et de la première section du titre XX. Le « droit pénal général » est donc suivi du « droit pénal spécial » auquel il s'applique : l'architecture devient classique et permet de saisir l'empreinte de la pensée pénale « éclairée » de Frédéric II sur un code

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promulgué quelques années après sa mort. Par ailleurs, le volet pénal du Landrecht est précédé par un titre XIX consacré à la mise en place d'une politique de bienfaisance auquel il s'articule étroitement. Au cœur du projet pénal codifié, l'idéal utilitariste de prévention par la peine prend donc également appui sur les principes d'une politique de bienfaisance pour assurer ordre et sécurité. Conformément aux projets de Frédéric II, le Landrecht prussien reprend le dessein d'une politique criminelle qui dépasse le cadre du champ pénal stricto sensu pour assurer la sûreté et la tranquillité publiques.

13 On ne s'arrêtera pas en détail sur les principes directeurs de la pénologie du Landrecht prussien. Fidèle à la pensée de l'empereur, elle s'organise autour d'un principe de proportionnalité qui lie la peine à la gravité du délit (titre XX, art. 25) dans un schéma orienté par le souci majeur de prévenir la commission des délits. La dissuasion collective et l'incapacitation personnelle restent les objectifs majeurs d'une stratégie qui table tant sur la prévention générale du message pénal que sur la prévention spéciale par l'enfermement qui se généralise comme peine. Cette avancée de l'enfermement comme peine n'est plus guère révolutionnaire pour l'époque. Lié au travail et inscrit dans le temps, l'emprisonnement permet mieux que toute autre peine la consécration d'une pénologie de calcul que requiert le principe de proportion. Mais il permet aussi, au nom de l'idéal de prévention toujours, l'inscription d'un enfermement de sûreté à l'intérieur du champ pénal pour certains condamnés jugés dangereux qui, au terme de leur peine légale, n'auraient pas fait la preuve de leur réadaptation sociale. Sont visés notamment, aux termes des articles 5, 1024 et 1160 du titre XX, les voleurs récidivistes et les prostituées qui ne pourraient ou refuseraient de s'amender. L'effet perceptible de la logique de prévention à ce stade est évidemment la dilution progressive du principe de sécurité juridique imposé par le légalisme classique au nom d'un souci de gestion du risque que représentent certains individus pour la sécurité publique.

14 Pas plus que Frédéric II, le législateur prussien ne fait confiance au seul ressort d'une politique des peines pour assurer la conservation de l'ordre social et prévenir les délits. Aussi, le titre pénal du Landrecht prévoit-il l'instauration de mécanismes de surveillance générant une sorte d'auto-contrôle social relayés par des mesures de prévention « quasi pénales ». On pense aux articles 1 et 6 de l'introduction du titre pénal qui, avec d'autres dispositions disséminées dans le corps des principes généraux, font obligation à divers acteurs de la vie sociale de surveiller ceux qui sont placés sous leur responsabilité. De même, les articles 119 à 132 du titre pénal, qui érigent en délit divers comportements « dangereux » pour la sûreté de l'État, contribuent eux aussi à la mise en place de mesures pénales de sûreté préventives21. Les citoyens sont donc, par principe, sommés de participer à une police du quotidien au spectre mal défini. Ce souci de surveillance contraint par ailleurs les magistrats locaux à contrôler et éventuellement à arrêter la population « suspecte », errante et sans travail, qui transiterait par les communes dont ils ont la charge22. Le souci de protéger la population contre les agissements d'une population suspecte amène alors le législateur prussien à penser des mécanismes de prévention qui, s'ils prennent appui sur un socle pénal, s'inscrivent dans un champ pré-pénal qu'on qualifierait aujourd'hui de « socio- pénal ».

15 La criminalisation de l'oisiveté et la prise en charge des sans travail constituent le deuxième pilier d'une politique de prévention qui vise des populations en décrochage social. Au nom du bien commun, une logique d'assistance et de contrôle des

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populations à risques vient compléter les creux du légalisme pénal pour assurer la pérennité d'un « État bien réglé ». Le travail reste, aux yeux du législateur prussien, le vecteur privilégié d'une politique d'intégration qui favorise la stabilité sociale sous le regard bienveillant de l'État. Il est aussi, le fait n'est ni nouveau, ni propre à la situation prussienne, le baromètre de la dangerosité sociale. C'est dans cette perspective que l'article 4 de l'introduction du titre pénal dispose « qu'il faut contraindre au travail les mendiants déhontés, les vagabonds, les fainéans ; et quand ils n'y sont pas aptes, pourvoir à leur subsistance d'une manière convenable, ou les déporter s'ils sont étrangers ». Cette triple politique d'assistance charitable, de mise au travail forcée et d'expulsion à l'égard des mendiants et des vagabonds, ne surprend guère. Le législateur prussien reprend les idées de Frédéric II dont on sait qu'il estimait que « la fainéantise est la mère de tous les vices, le travail est le plus sûr gardien de la vertu »23. Le travail est bien le baromètre de l'intégration et de la dangerosité sociales. S'il favorise la stabilité d'individus que l'absence d'ancrage social risque de plonger dans des comportements incontrôlables, il apparaît bien comme un des moyens les plus efficaces pour prévenir la criminalité.

16 En aucun cas il n'est donc question de laisser errer en nomades désœuvrés, mendiants, Juifs ou autres personnes « inconnues ou suspectes » (Titre VII, art. 61). Pour répondre à un problème croissant, le Landrecht organise une politique de bienfaisance qui oscille entre un idéal humanitaire d'assistance et un objectif utilitariste de sûreté. Le titre XIX du Landrecht prévoit en effet l'institution d'« Établissements pour les Pauvres, et autres Fondations de bienfaisance » dans le but avoué de répondre à la mission de protection (sociale) qui incombe à l'État à l'égard de tous ses membres. Officiellement, il s'agit pour l'Etat prussien de répondre à son devoir de « pourvoir à la subsistance et à l'entretien de ceux de ses membres qui sont dans l'impuissance de le faire eux-mêmes, et qui ne peuvent obtenir de tels secours des autres particuliers auxquels des lois spéciales en font un devoir » (art. 1). Les bénéficiaires désignés du système de protection mis en place sont, sans surprise, les catégories de « sans-travail » visées directement ou indirectement à l'article 4 de l'introduction du titre pénal. Trois figures émergent :

17 — les pauvres, ou « ceux qui manquent seulement de moyens et occasions de gagner leur subsistance et celle de leur famille ». A ces pauvres, qui ont plus la figure de la victime que celle du coupable, il faut assigner « des travaux proportionnés à leurs forces et à leurs facultés » (art. 2) ;

18 —- les oisifs ou ceux qui « par paresse, amour de l'oisiveté, et autres penchants déréglés, négligent les moyens de pourvoir à leur subsistance ». On entre ici dans une catégorie de « mauvais pauvres », jugés responsables de leur triste sort, qui « doivent être employés par voie de contraintes et de peines, à des travaux utiles, sous une surveillance convenable » (art. 3) ;

19 —- les mendiants « indigènes » qui doivent être renvoyés chez eux pour y recevoir des soins (art. 5, 23). Ces derniers ne « doivent pas être tolérés sur la voie publique », la police ayant l'obligation de « réprimer rigoureusement » la mendicité (art. 20-21). Les mendiants étrangers quant à eux seront expulsés, conformément au prescrit de l'article 4 de l'introduction du titre pénal (art. 4).

20 Quelles mesures d'assistance l'État prussien prévoit-il à l'égard d'une population dotée, dans son ensemble, de « penchants nuisibles » ? On trouve d'abord diverses mesures de prévention prophylactiques et policières destinées à freiner le processus de

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marginalisation. A l'intérieur du titre pénal, diverses initiatives préventives sont envisagées, comme le contrôle des loteries ou l'interdiction des jeux de hasard (II, XX, art. 1298-1307). Ces mesures doivent freiner une oisiveté nuisible qui détruit l'amour du travail auprès des classes inférieures (II, XIX, art. 6-7). Vient ensuite un filet de protection à cinq échelons successifs : après avoir posé un principe d'auto-assistance qui enjoint à tout intéressé de faire le maximum pour subvenir à ses besoins, le Landrecht prévoit un système de solidarité obligatoire entre parents et enfants, puis entre proches plus lointains pour éviter au maximum l'intervention publique24. Ce n'est qu'en cas d'échec de ce filet d'assistance privée qu'intervient une politique de bienfaisance publique qui compte à son tour trois degrés d'intervention. La protection étatique passe d'abord par les « corporations privilégiées qui ont des fonds particuliers destinés aux pauvres » et qui ont l'obligation de subvenir aux besoins de leurs membres. On trouve ensuite les « communes de villes ou de villages » qui ont pour obligation de pourvoir à la subsistance de leurs citoyens « tombés dans l'indigence ». A ce stade, le devoir de prise en charge au niveau local s'accompagne d'un devoir d'enquête et d'information à l'égard des autorités : les responsables des corporations et des communes rechercheront « les causes de l'état dans lequel leurs membres sont tombés », à charge d'en informer les autorités pour qu'elles puissent y porter remède. Enfin, ceux qui passeraient à travers les mailles du filet, c'est-à-dire les indigents dont les corporations et les communes n'ont pas l'obligation légale de s'occuper et les mendiants étrangers qu'on ne jugerait pas opportun d'expulser, sont reçus « par l'entremise de l'État, dans les hospices publics des provinces ». Ces hospices constituent avec « les hôpitaux, les établissements consacrés aux orphelins, aux enfants trouvés, les maisons destinées aux ouvrages et travaux de force » un réseau d'« établissements publics de bienfaisance » placés sous la tutelle de l'État qui servent à aider/contrôler cette masse flottante de population25.

21 La vie à l'intérieur de ces institutions est régie par des « règlements et instructions émanés de l'État ou approuvés par lui ». La « discipline » instaurée et les règlements édictés s'imposent à tous, sans que les pensionnaires ne puissent s'y soustraire « sous aucun prétexte ». Les « turbulents et réfractaires » sont, au besoin, « contenus par les préposés, en employant les voies de force », sans que les « peines » n'excèdent toutefois « les limites d'un juste châtiment ». Si cela s'avère insuffisant, les récalcitrants seront, sous le contrôle d'un juge, éventuellement renvoyés de l'hospice, sans que le texte ne précise vers quel paradis on expulse des individus qui, à l'instar des mendiants, sont interdits de séjour sur la voie publique. L'oisiveté n'est évidemment pas de mise à l'intérieur d'institutions qui ont aussi vocation à corriger et resocialiser leurs pensionnaires. Ceux-ci sont soumis à un labeur utile et proportionné à leur santé et à leurs forces, labeur qui doit leur inculquer le goût d'une habitude perdue. Leur sortie de l'hospice en dépend : sauf à se faire expulser, les pensionnaires sont en effet priés de donner « la certitude qu'ils ont non seulement la volonté, mais aussi les moyens, de pourvoir à leur subsistance par d'autres voies licites, sans être à charge du public »26. Il s'agit donc, pour l'assisté interné, de montrer que l'état de vulnérabilité sociale ou de délabrement moral qui a justifié l'internement est dépassé et surtout qu'il ne risque plus d'être une charge pour le public.

22 On ne s'arrêtera pas plus en détail sur la politique de bienfaisance telle qu'elle est conçue dans le Landrecht prussien. Fondée de manière assez classique sur la distinction entre les « bons pauvres » incapables ou désireux de travailler d'un côté, les pauvres « valides » mais paresseux et les étrangers de l'autre, articulée autour du travail comme

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critère de démarcation de l'intégration, la politique d'assistance repose sur une logique de subsidiarité qui privilégie le local comme niveau d'intervention. Comme tout système, celui-ci génère évidemment un « reste » incarné par les mendiants persistants ou les vagabonds sans attaches locales ou familiales. Pour ces marginaux qui constituent un risque et un poids insupportables pour le reste du corps social, la condamnation devient morale et le recours à l'institution disciplinaire. La réglementation des hospices n'a sans doute rien à envier à celle du monde carcéral comme en témoignent un vocabulaire en partie identique à celui en cours dans le monde carcéral pénal - on parle de « voies de force », de « voies de contraintes » ou encore de « peines » - ou la durée arbitraire de la détention qui est calquée sur un principe de détention carcérale : on sort en effet de l'hospice comme on sort dans certains cas de prison, c'est-à-dire soumis au bon vouloir d'une administration chargée d'estimer si l'individu qui lui a été confié est resocialisé ou non.

23 Aujourd'hui, dans le cadre d'une société dominée par les problématiques de l'exclusion et de l'insécurité, l'idéologie de la prévention est à l'honneur. Présentée comme une alternative à une approche répressive, la « nouvelle prévention » cherche à lutter contre la petite délinquance génératrice d'insécurité et à reconstruire le lien social. Elle se conçoit de plus en plus en Europe sous la forme d'une approche « globale et intégrée » qui tente d'associer à l'échelon local juges, policiers et intervenants médico- sociaux, autour d'une démarche consensuelle et partenariale27.

24 Face à cet engouement, l'intérêt du Landrecht prussien est de nous rappeler certaines vérités qu'on aurait tendance à oublier aujourd'hui. Tout d'abord, le concept de prévention est pour une très large part issu du vocabulaire pénal. Une politique de prévention qui intègre répression pénale et prévention sociale, contrôle policier et politique de bienfaisance, aussi humaniste soit-elle, trouve dès lors un terreau naturel pour diffuser une lecture pénale de la question sociale au terme de laquelle des individus flottants et menacés sont rapidement transformés en catégories dangereuses et menaçantes. La prévention, quand elle se met au service du bien commun, entraîne vite la criminalisation de populations dont la vulnérabilité sociale et l'insécurité d'existence disparaissent derrière le danger qu'elles représentent pour L'ordre et la sécurité publique. Prostituées, oisifs et vagabonds hier, jeunes « à risques », usagers de drogues, immigrés et réfugiés aujourd'hui...

25 Une logique de prévention défensive ainsi conçue contribue ensuite à dépolitiser la question sociale. Faisant l'impasse sur les causes des processus de paupérisation et de marginalisation, elle légitime l'abandon d'une politique offensive et transformatrice axée sur les fondements des problèmes sociaux au profit d'une logique de gestion et de contrôle de ses effets. Pour le dire autrement, la prévention intégrée à caractère « socio-pénal » qui se développe au niveau « local » refoule derrière le seul souci gestionnaire, la troisième conception de la prévention évoquée par Frédéric II, cette prévention généraliste et émancipatoire, politique et égalitaire qui fît les beaux jours de l'État-providence dans ces derniers développements. Qu'elle connaisse aujourd'hui un si vif succès est sans doute le témoignage du succès croissant d'une pensée néo- libérale et utilitariste qui s'accommode de l'accroissement des inégalités sociales et favorise les processus de ségrégation et de repli identitaire.

26 Enfin, l'idéal d'une politique criminelle « intégrée » qui associe divers acteurs issus de champs différents pour les besoins du contrôle de populations « à risques » n'est pas neuve. Le Landrecht est ici un témoignage parmi d'autres qui souligne la récurrence

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d'un modèle « socio-pénal » de prise en charge de populations vulnérables qui oscillent entre victime et coupable, dès lors que le travail ne joue pas son rôle central d'intégration et de stabilisation sociale. C'est bien ce modèle, encore popularisé aux débuts du XXe siècle par une partie de la pensée positiviste en Italie 28, qui fait retour aujourd'hui.

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Œuvres de Frédéric le Grand, Berlin, 1846-1856.

Ogris, W., Friedrich der Große und das Recht, in Hauser, O., (Ed.), Friedrich der Große in seiner Zeit, Köln - Wien, Böhlau Verlag, 1987, p. 47-92.

Salmonowicz, S., Das Strafgesetz des Preussischen Landrechts vom Jahre 1794, Archivium Iuridicum Cracoviense, 1980, XIII, p. 78-98.

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Schmidt, E., Beiträge zur Geschichte des preussischen Rechtsstaates, Berlin, Duncker und Humbolt, 1980.

Thäle, B., Die Verdachtsstrafe in der Kriminalwissenschaftlichen Literatur des 18. und 19. Jahrhunderts, Frankfurt-am-Main, etc., Peter Lang, 1993.

Von Hippel, R., Deutsches Strafrecht. Band I : Allgemeine Grundlagen, Aalen, Scientia Verlag, 1971.

Wurtenberger, Th., Das System der Rechtsgüterordnung in der deutschen Strafgesetzgebung seit 1532, Aalen, Scientia Verlag, 1973.

NOTES

2. Voyez e. a. Dittrich (1974). 3. Foucault (1994, p. 17). 4. Sur les sources philosophiques de Frédéric II, voyez e. a. Birtsch (1987, p. 31-46) ; Ogris (1987, p. 47-92). 5. Œuvres de Frédéric le Grand (1846-1856, t. IX, p. 22-33). 6. Pour l'énumération de ces mesures d'adoucissement du régime pénal, voyez e. a. Ogris (1987, p. 66-76) ; Schmidt (1980) ; Von Hippel (1971, p. 273-276). 7. À Voltaire, qui vient de participer à un prix lancé en Suisse par la Société économique de Berne pour la rédaction d'un « plan complet et détaillé de législation sur les matières criminelles », le souverain écrit en 1777 : « ... Il me semble que M. Beccaria n'a guère laissé à glaner après lui. Il n'y a qu'à s'en tenir à ce qu'il a si judicieusement proposé. Dès que les peines sont proportionnées au délit, tout est en règle » (Frédéric Le Grand, 1911, p. 413). 8. Cartuyvels (1996a, p. 264-300). 9. Œuvres de Frédéric Le Grand (1846-1856, t. XXVI, p. 546). 10. Œuvres de Frédéric Le Grand (1846-1856, t. XXIV, p. 525). 11. Un ordre de cabinet du 24 février 1762 permet la condamnation à un peine de durée indéterminée à des fins d'amélioration : une condamnée sera “soumise à des travaux légers, jusqu'à ce que sa santé physique et mentale se soit améliorée” (« soll so lange zur massigen Arbeit angehalten werden, bis sie in bessere Leibes und Gemüths Umstände versetzt seyn wird »). Un ordre de cabinet du 20 octobre 1764 prévoit quant à lui "qu'une condamnée sera mise à l'écart jusqu'à ce que le médecin estime que son état physique et mental ne nécessite plus de soins" (« so lange zu verwahren sei, bis nach dem Urtheil des Arztes von ihr nichts weiter zu besorgen seyn wird ») [Schmidt (1980, p. 447)]. 12. Schmidt (1980, p. 348-352). Dans le même sens S. Salmonowicz (1980, p. 79-80). Sur Klein et sa conception duale de la pénalité, voyez Thäle (1993, p. 56-83). Ce système de sûreté, repris par le Landrecht de 1794, sera encore précisé par une circulaire célèbre du 26 février 1799 relative au vol et aux délits analogues. 13. Castel, 1995. 14. Œuvres de Frédéric Le Grand (1846-1856, t. IX, p. 28). 15. Œuvres de Frédéric Le Grand (1846-1856, t. XX, p. 23). 16. Schmidt (1980, p. 427- 433, 443-445). 17. Schmidt (1980, p. 438-439). 18. Sur l'émergence et les orientations du Landrecht prussien, je me permets de renvoyer à Cartuyvels (1996a, p. 329-360). 19. Le Landrecht doit notamment composer avec le droit territorial des provinces appelé à être codifié lui aussi. Il ne s'impose donc pas d'emblée à tous les territoires prussiens dès sa

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promulgation. Sur l'autorité réelle acquise par le Landrecht au fil du temps, voyez e.a. Koselleck (1989, p. 38-51). 20. Salmonowicz (1980, p. 78). 21. Wurtenberger (1973, p. 193-195). 22. Allgemeines Landrecht für die Preussischen Staaten von 1794 (1970, t. II, titre VII, art. 61). 23. Œuvres de Frédéric le Grand (1846-1856, t. XXVI, p. 552). Pour Frédéric II, le véritable danger pour l'ordre et la justice est chez ces prodigues, paresseux et autres dissipateurs qui « épuisent en peu de temps leurs ressources » et « finissent par devenir brigands et par commettre les attentats les plus énormes contre la sûreté publique ». 24. Breitenborn (1994, p. 144). 25. Allgemeines Landrecht für die Preussischen Staaten von 1794 (1970, t. II, titre XIX, art. 9, 10, 14, 16, 32). 26. Allgemeines Landrecht für die Preussischen Staaten von 1794 (1970, art. 76, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, 18 et 19). 27. Cartuyvels (1996b). 28. Ferri (1905, p. 265-305).

RÉSUMÉS

Le Landrecht prussien de 1794 constitue un jalon sur la voie de la codification pénale moderne. Émergeant au cœur d'un des régimes les plus absolutistes d'Europe, il traduit dans son versant pénal la double influence d'une pensée pénale éclairée et d'un idéal de gouvernementalité rationnel. La politique de prévention telle qu'elle s'élabore dans le texte en est une des manifestations les plus claires : pénale, policière et sociale, la prévention se pense sur un modèle intégré, qui associe politique de peines, dispositifs de surveillance et mesures de bienfaisance pour les besoins du contrôle social dans un État « bien réglé ». Telle qu'elle se conceptualise à l'époque en Prusse, la prévention n'est pas sans rappeler les orientations impulsées aujourd'hui à la « nouvelle prévention » dans divers pays européens.

The 1794 Prussian Landrecht is a milepost on the way to a modem code of criminal law. While it appeared within one of the most rigidly absolute regimes of Europe, the penal section shows the twofold influence of an enlightened conception of criminal law and an ideal of rational governance. One of the clearest manifestations of this dual influence is the policy of prevention, presented in the text as integrating the penal, police and social systems by combining sentencing policy, surveillance and welfare, in the service of the needs of social control in a « well-ordered » State. Prevention, as conceptualized in Prussia at that time is not without recalling the « new prevention » guidelines advocated in various countries of Europe today.

AUTEUR

YVES CARTUYVELS Facultés universitaires Saint-Louis, 43, Bd du Jardin Botanique, B-1000 Bruxelles, E-mail : [email protected]

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Yves Cartuyvels, juriste et criminologue, est professeur à la faculté de droit des Facultés universitaires Saint-Louis (Bruxelles). Il a notamment publié : Les polices en Belgique. Histoire socio- politique du système policier de 1794 à nos jours, Bruxelles, Vie Ouvrière, 1991 (avec L. van Outrive et P. Ponsaers) ; D'où vient le code pénal ? Une approche généalogique des premiers codes pénaux dans l'Europe absolutiste du XVIIIe siècle, Bruxelles, Montréal, Ottawa, Deboeck-Université, P.U. d'Ottawa, P.U. de Montréal, 1996 ; Le droit pénal entre consolidation étatique et codification absolutiste au XVIIIe siècle, in Rousseaux, X., Lévy, R., (dir.), Le pénal dans tous ses États. Justice, États et sociétés en Europe (XIIe-XXe siècles), Bruxelles, F.U.S.L., 1997, p. 251-278. Ses recherches actuelles portent, d'une part, sur « le projet de code pénal de E. Ferri en Italie (1921) », et de l'autre sur « l'évolution du droit dans son rapport au temps : l'exemple du droit pénal en Belgique ». Cet article est issu d'un travail plus vaste consacré aux premiers code pénaux de l'époque absolutiste en Europe ; voyez Cartuyvels (1996a).

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Forum

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La « Cour du 19 août 1944 » : essai sur la mémoire policière

Jean-Marc Berlière

« L'intérêt bien compris d'une démocratie commande d'élever le niveau de la police et non de l'abaisser » (Célestin Hennion, Directeur de la Sûreté générale, projet de réforme 1911, AN F7 13 043).

1 « Du déclenchement de l'insurrection, le 19 août, jusqu'à la victoire du 25 août, les fonctionnaires de la Préfecture de police ont été de tous les combats, au prix hélas ! d'un lourd tribut. [...] Nous avons le devoir d'entretenir la flamme du souvenir de ces héros - policiers, sapeurs-pompiers, fonctionnaires administratifs de la Préfecture de police - qui, aux côtés de leurs camarades de la Résistance et de la 2e D.B., ont écrit cette page glorieuse de la capitale et de l'histoire de France. Dans leur lutte pour le rétablissement de la liberté et des droits de l'homme, 167 d'entre eux ont poussé le sens du devoir jusqu'à faire le sacrifice de leur vie »1. C'est en ces termes que le Préfet de police présente les cérémonies qui se sont déroulées dans la « cour du 19 août 1944 » de la Préfecture de police, pour commémorer le cinquantenaire de l'insurrection qui marque le début des combats pour la libération de Paris.

2 Devant ces images diffusées dans les journaux télévisés, revenait en mémoire une autre commémoration : celle du 16 juillet 1992, Boulevard de Grenelle, devant l'emplacement du Vel d'hiv' où 50 ans auparavant avaient été enfermées 13 152 personnes de « race juive » - dont 4 115 enfants - raflées, parce qu'on leur en avait donné l'ordre, par ces fonctionnaires de la Préfecture de police dont on célèbrerait plus tard la lutte héroïque pour la liberté et les droits de l'homme.

3 Qui et que célébrait-on ce 19 août 1994 ?

4 La question mérite d'autant plus d'être posée qu'à la suite de cette commémoration de la libération de Paris, une exposition sur « la Préfecture de police des origines à nos jours » préparée dans le cadre d'une très officielle « mission du cinquantenaire », s'installait entre la caserne de la Cité et le Palais de Justice. La Préfecture de police

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allait-elle profiter de cette occasion pour rendre l'ultime hommage de la vérité aux victimes de « la police de Vichy » qui avaient donné leur vie pour la liberté avec quelques années d'avance sur ses propres fonctionnaires ? En fait, si l'attitude héroïque et le martyre des policiers parisiens y étaient à nouveau célébrés, pas un mot, pas un espace n'évoquait les rafles ou le rôle et la participation essentiels de la police parisienne à la répression menée pendant quatre ans contre des résistants et patriotes persécutés en même temps que ces droits de l'homme dont les policiers parisiens devaient devenir d'ardents défenseurs en août 1944.

5 L'administration venait de perdre une belle occasion de montrer, qu'après cinquante ans, le temps était peut-être venu de sortir des légendes complaisantes, des auto- glorifications et de la prétérition ; que le temps était peut-être venu d'affronter une réalité plus nuancée, moins souriante et exaltante ; que le temps était peut-être venu de considérer les Français en général et les policiers en particulier comme des citoyens responsables capables d'affronter la vérité2...

6 Cet épisode met en lumière le problème de la mémoire policière et de ses rapports à l'histoire et au réel. Des mémoires devrions nous plutôt écrire, puisqu'à côté d'une mémoire officielle et institutionnelle souvent embarrassée, existent des mémoires individuelles, corporatives, syndicales, professionnelles, politiques et partisanes, toutes plus ou moins mythiques et reconstruites...

7 Un régime, une société, un État, un pouvoir, une nation ont la police qu'ils méritent3. Que penser d'un silence et d'une légende qui ne trompent personne, mais suscitent dans l'opinion publique les soupçons et les fantasmes les plus noirs, les analyses les plus folles ?

8 Comment fonder une « police républicaine », comment gloser sur la déontologie policière en occultant ou en falsifiant le passé et le rôle réels de l'institution ? Comment former des « policiers citoyens » en leur célant les dérapages passés de l'institution et les dérives de ses pratiques ? La négation ou la méconnaissance des réalités constituent-elles la meilleure des préparations à des responsabilités délicates qui peuvent parfois être dramatiques dans leurs conséquences ? Comment espérer d'une police qu'elle puisse affronter en connaissance de cause ces problèmes fondamentaux que l'on trouve dans toute son histoire et qui ont pour origine : irresponsabilité, instrumentalisation, culture d'obéissance... sans lui permettre l'accès à une connaissance objective de son passé ? Comment s'étonner de l'obéissance passive dont ont fait preuve, de 1940 à 1944, la plupart des policiers aux ordres de l'État français, comment blâmer les comportements ouvertement racistes et xénophobes de certains si, aujourd'hui comme hier, on ne leur donne aucun moyen de mettre en perspective les responsabilités et les exigences morales d'une corporation que l'on méprise au point de lui déguiser sa propre histoire ?

9 Certes, les « non-lieux de mémoire »4 ont longtemps prévalu pour la période de l'Occupation. L'histoire de leur police s'inscrit dans les rapports difficiles et malsains des Français à ce « passé qui ne passe pas ». Elle relève de ce deuil impossible pour cause d'histoire falsifiée, d'histoire douloureuse à force d'être en si totale contradiction avec l'exigence qu'impliquent les responsabilités morales du « pays des droits de l'homme et de la liberté ». Elle constitue un défi et une gageure tant elle a été manipulée. Or il n'est pas sain, il peut même être dangereux qu'une administration oublie ses errances passées. Des drames comme ceux des 16-17 juillet 1942 ou du 17 octobre 19615 - ces deux soleils noirs qui projettent un jour lugubre sur l'histoire de la

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Préfecture de police - nécessitent d'être connus et lucidement analysés. « Il ne faut pas craindre de se souvenir de ce que des policiers français ont été amenés à faire en collaborant avec l'occupant. Il faut cultiver la honte de ces années noires pour que, jamais, cela ne se reproduise [...] J'aimerais [...] qu'on regarde en face la collaboration, les rafles, les tortures, l'antisémitisme, qu'on revienne sur les causes, qu'on explique aux futurs flics comment cette boucherie a été possible », écrivait il y a quelques années un responsable syndical6 de la police.

10 Nous aimerions ici non pas tant partir à la recherche d'une mémoire ou d'une vérité perdues7 qu'éclairer, à travers l'exemple de la période de l'Occupation, les rapports difficiles et contradictoires d'une institution à son histoire : en souligner les blancs et les silences ; évoquer quelques-uns des mécanismes des récits légendaires - noirs ou roses - qui en tiennent souvent lieu ; analyser les contorsions de la mémoire officielle entre commémoration des victimes d'un devoir professionnel contestable et exaltation d'une résistance dont la vertu essentielle résida dans un réflexe de désobéissance qu'on peut assimiler à la négation de l'essence même de l'institution.

1. - Pages blanches pour années noires

11 L'histoire de la police contemporaine8 reste, en France, un chapitre à écrire au sein d'une période qui a elle-même longtemps constitué un « trou noir » historiogra- phique : une singularité sur les causes et les conséquences de laquelle il convient de s'interroger rapidement.

12 Si la police a longtemps fait figure d'objet perdu des sciences sociales, les responsabilités doivent en être équitablement partagées entre l'institution elle-même et la communauté scientifique.

13 La première cause de ce déficit tient en effet à l'attitude d'une institution qui ne craint rien plus que la lumière et dont le sociologue canadien Jean-Paul Brodeur rappelle à juste titre qu'elle « s'est longtemps opposée au projet de connaître »9. Les raisons de cette répugnance sont multiples.

14 Elles tiennent notamment à la croyance que sa puissance vient en partie des fantasmes, des mythes et des légendes qui l'entourent.

15 Elle tient ensuite à des méthodes et des actions qui se situent souvent en marge de la loi, ce qu'une institution chargée de veiller à son application ne souhaite pas voir étaler au grand jour.

16 Enfin, cette frilosité s'explique par une réelle incompréhension de l'intérêt que l'institution policière trouverait à la connaissance lucide et démythifiée de son passé10.

17 La conséquence pratique d'une telle méfiance est bien connue : elle se traduit notamment par la destruction d'archives sensibles avant versement ou le verrouillage de leur accès : une attitude qui donne quelque consistance - généralement la seule - aux campagnes des défenseurs du « devoir de mémoire » et aux citoyens militant pour la « libération » des archives11. Elle permet également aux historiens de se retrancher derrière un prétexte commode pour justifier leur ignorance ou leur désintérêt.

18 En réalité, même si cette difficulté est réelle, elle constitue plus un prétexte qu'un handicap rédhibitoire et il convient de s'interroger plus à fond sur les responsabilités

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de la communauté historienne dans un silence qui contraste fort avec la situation des pays anglo-saxons ou de l'Allemagne par exemple.

19 La première difficulté tient à l'objet même : la police, comme l'écrit le sociologue Dominique Monjardet, est un objet « sale » dont l'image rejaillit toujours plus ou moins négativement sur celui qui l'étudie12. Au soupçon d'être poussé par des motivations peu nobles se joint celui de l'instrumentalisation par une institution dont la manipulation est une des spécialités, voire celui de complaisance ou de naïveté. Ce sont là quelques- unes des raisons qui expliquent que si l'historien utilise volontiers le travail du policier, ce dernier soit resté transparent à ses yeux.

20 La deuxième série de questions concerne la « fermeture » des archives.

21 Notons d'abord qu'il s'agit en partie d'un mythe ou d'un prétexte. Il existe en effet pratiquement toujours un moyen de trouver ailleurs ou autrement ce que l'on cherche13.

22 Mais le vrai problème est celui de leur usage : des archives, mais pour quoi faire et pour y chercher quoi ?

23 N'acceptant pas l'idée que le délai légal de consultation14 « protégerait » des gens qu'il assimile à des criminels au même titre que les chefs de la Gestapo, l'auteur d'un livre récent sur la « police de Vichy », s'indigne de ne pas avoir obtenu de dérogation pour consulter une liste nominative de policiers et de gendarmes ayant bénéficié d'une gratification spéciale pour leur travail de gardiens aux camps de Pithiviers et Beaune- la-Rolande15. Or, quand il écrit : « Puisque les Archives Nationales sont tellement discrètes lorsqu'il s'agit de communiquer des documents comportant des noms de policiers français au service de la Gestapo, il ne faut jamais hésiter à enfreindre cet interdit »16, il dévoile un but - dénoncer des « coupables », jeter des noms en pâture à l'opinion publique - qui n'est pas, qui ne peut pas être, du ressort d'une histoire à laquelle il assigne une tâche qui n'est pas la sienne : celle de « rattraper »17 des coupables que la justice aurait laissé échapper et que protège le « silence administratif ».

24 Outre le fait que comme l'écrit un de ces historiens « officiels » qu'il dénonce : « L'écriture de l'histoire ne consiste pas, comme le croient certains obsédés de la mémoire, à dresser des listes noires de collaborateurs, mais à comprendre et expliquer. C'est un métier, c'est même une éthique »18, nous retrouvons là un problème familier aux historiens : celui de la recomposition erronée du passé.

25 Car enfin l'épuration, toute imparfaite et incomplète qu'elle fut, a bel et bien eu lieu et a touché des dizaines de milliers de Français y compris les policiers19. Même si elle a rapidement provoqué l'écœurement par ses excès ou au contraire déçu piusa faiblesse, même si la justice - essentiellement faute de pouvoir condamner sur la base d'un délit qui n'existait pas en tant que tel antérieurement aux faits - a semblé d'une indulgence coupable, même si des responsabilités que nous savons aujourd'hui accablantes lui ont échappé, d'où vient-il que la mémoire collective l'occulte au point de mettre en doute sa réalité ? S'il n'est pas question de se retrancher derrière une quelconque autorité de la chose jugée, il faut réaffirmer ici que les finalités de l'histoire et de la justice diffèrent notablement20.

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2. - Le monde des légendes

26 L'histoire officielle de la police sous l'Occupation donne une vision délibérément glorieuse et noble du comportement et de l'attitude des policiers. La commémoration du cinquantenaire de la Libération, par les publications auxquelles elle a donné lieu, par les témoignages et les déclarations officielles qu'elle a suscités, permet d'en observer quelques ressorts.

27 Pour l'occasion, la Préfecture de police, du moins « la mission du cinquantenaire » qu'elle a mise en place, a édité deux publications.

28 Un numéro spécial - « Libération de Paris, 50ème anniversaire » - de son magazine Liaisons, consacré à la « Commémoration du soulèvement de la Préfecture de police », présente 48 pages abondamment illustrées de documents rares ou inédits : photos, témoignages, récits, fac-similés, mémoires de policiers, extraits de l'enregistrement des communications téléphoniques reçues au standard de la Préfecture pendant le soulèvement, plans, chronologie des événements du 13 au 26 août. C'est dire l'intérêt d'une livraison placée délibérément sous le signe du souvenir, mais également de l'histoire avec la caution d'un avant-propos de René Rémond historien reconnu qui a récemment dirigé plusieurs commissions chargées d'élucider des questions délicates21.

29 Parallèlement, pour l'édification des enfants et la joie des adeptes du « 8ème art », une bande dessinée fut distribuée aux visiteurs de l'exposition sur l'histoire de la Préfecture. La couverture en montre le général de Gaulle décorant le drapeau des gardiens de la paix, le 12 octobre 1944, sur fond de troupes de la 2ème Division Blindée, de Parisiens enthousiastes et de caserne de la Cité surmontée du drapeau tricolore. Le titre - La fourragère rouge - précise le propos : il s'agit d'un récit de la Libération de Paris à travers l'action héroïque des policiers parisiens qui leur a valu cette décoration prestigieuse et inhabituelle par le premier des Français libres.

30 Passons sur les invraisemblances, anachronismes et manipulations grossières de cette bande dessinée en notant toutefois que destinée aux enfants, elle présente une conception qui tient davantage du marketing, de la communication et de la propagande que de l'histoire et intéressons-nous de plus près à Liaisons dont l'ambition et la caution d'un historien reconnu rendent le contenu plus ambigu. Son propos ressortit à un mécanisme bien rodé et intangible depuis l'automne 1944 : occultation totale des faits les plus gênants comme les rafles qui mettent en cause des milliers de fonctionnaires agissant sur ordre ; condamnation sans équivoque d'une minorité de policiers dévoyés seuls auteurs de tous les crimes ; exaltation de la Résistance policière et surtout de l'héroïque soulèvement.

31 L'élision totale des épisodes gênants pourrait sembler naturelle puisque le propos est de célébrer la Libération, mais ne solliciter l'histoire que pour cet événement glorieux, revient à souligner le silence dont, par contraste, souffrent les faits que jamais l'institution n'aborde.

32 Certains des témoins cités transgressent cette loi du silence. Leur qualité officielle de résistants leur permet d'évoquer des aspects moins glorieux laissés systématiquement dans l'ombre par la mémoire officielle. Sous le titre « Ils se souviennent », les présidents respectifs de la Fédération des anciens combattants et résistants de la Préfecture de police (FACRPP) et de l'Union des anciens combattants de la Préfecture de police (UACPP)22, font allusion, et ils sont bien les seuls dans cette publication, aux « méchants ».

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Constituant l'antithèse des héros qui se sont battus pour la liberté, les policiers félons présentent l'avantage de mettre en valeur les autres, c'est-à-dire la majorité.

33 Le président de l'UACPP concède donc que : « le rôle des fonctionnaires de la Préfecture de police, pendant cette période, a donné lieu à de nombreuses controverses. Il y eut bien sûr les Brigades spéciales totalement inféodées à l'ennemi, collaborant avec un enthousiasme de mauvais aloi à la chasse aux patriotes (p. 37) ». Quant au président de la FACRPP, il rappelle (p. 36) qu'en dépit de tant d'héroïsme il « ne faut pas oublier néanmoins qu'une minorité de policiers comme ceux des Renseignements généraux et des Brigades spéciales participèrent aux arrestations de patriotes et de Juifs morts en déportation ou fusillés », et il ajoute qu'ils « ont eu à répondre de leurs crimes devant la commission d'épuration et la cour de justice », ce qui est parfaitement exact.

34 Il y a donc bien eu des traîtres et des collaborateurs dans la police. Ils sont clairement identifiés : il s'agissait de policiers des Renseignements généraux et en particulier des Brigades spéciales, qui ont d'ailleurs payé pour leurs crimes. La concession est d'importance, elle crédibilise le discours, garantit son objectivité puisqu'on reconnaît la participation - que l'institution oublie ou occulte encore systématiquement - de policiers français à la lutte contre les patriotes. Cette « émissarisation » a l'avantage de circonscrire les mauvais policiers à quelques dizaines et à un service - les Renseignements généraux - qui de toutes façons n'a jamais eu bonne réputation. La stigmatisation des uns blanchit ipso facto les autres.

35 C'est si pratique et si commode qu'on va jusqu'à charger ces Brigades spéciales d'arrestations de Juifs dont elles sont en réalité totalement innocentes. Car si les policiers des Brigades spéciales ont arrêté des résistants qui étaient Juifs, notamment le groupe Manouchian23, c'est comme « terroristes » et communistes, pas en tant que Juifs. Les Brigades spéciales sont même de tous les services de la Préfecture de police ceux qui ont le moins arrêté de Juifs, et jamais en tant que tels, contrairement à tous les autres services24, ce dont aucun des auteurs ne dit mot.

36 Bien au contraire, le président de la FACRPP l'affirme : « La grande majorité des policiers obéissait à leur (sic) conscience et de ce fait pratiquait une résistance individuelle et n'appliquait pas les ordres de Vichy qui leur (sic) étaient donnés d'arrêter des résistants, des Juifs ou des S.T.O. ». Et le président de l'UACPP « confirme » : « Dans le même temps, fort heureusement, juste après la défaite, de nombreux fonctionnaires de la Préfecture de police se regroupent au sein d'un mouvement de résistance ». On notera une petite divergence : résistance individuelle ou adhésion à un mouvement ? Peu importe, l'essentiel est ailleurs. Après avoir minoré les dérives et circonscrit les responsabilités aux seules Brigades spéciales (BS), on transforme la majorité des policiers en résistants refusant d'appliquer des ordres infâmes. On vient d'aborder le dernier volet du triptyque : l'exaltation des vertus des bons policiers. Après quoi, il ne reste plus qu'à chanter la saga de la Libération : l'héroïsme qu'y démontrèrent des policiers tous - ou presque - résistants.

37 Une présentation aussi merveilleuse25 du passé, ne peut prospérer que sur l'oubli, la désinformation d'un public qui ne découvre les faits qu'à travers le prisme de la presse, du cinéma ou de livres médiatisés26. Elle se nourrit aussi des mécanismes de reconstruction de la mémoire chez les témoins et les acteurs eux-mêmes.

38 Cette mythification et l'amnésie ont leur prix : le développement d'une autre légende, noire celle-là.

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39 Devant ce renversement de la réalité, l'occultation de responsabilités parfois criminelles, toujours écrasantes, l'absence totale ne serait-ce que d'une interrogation sur le rôle joué par l'institution, un sentiment de frustration et d'indignation a germé, exacerbé par les ratés, les inconséquences et insuffisances de l'épuration judiciaire.

40 Insensibles aux sirènes chantant les vertus de la paix civile et les nécessités de la réconciliation nationale, beaucoup restent scandalisés, bouleversés, confondus par tant de bonne conscience et d'assurance encouragées par le révisionnisme qui caractérise les années 1970. Commençant par la grâce accordée par le Président Pompidou au milicien Paul Touvier et se terminant par l'interview dans l'Express de Darquier, l'ancien Commissaire aux questions juives vivant une retraite paisible en Espagne et exposant avec impudence les thèses négationnistes, elles éclairent les compromissions d'un après-guerre qui apparaît rétrospectivement d'une tolérance coupable.

41 Ces sentiments sont à l'origine, dans les années 1980, d'une réaction parfaitement compréhensible dont les procès de Klaus Barbie, Paul Touvier, les affaires Leguay, Papon, Bousquet27 constituent des paroxysmes. Les passions encore brûlantes attestent du poids du refoulé et montrent combien la France, faute de l'avoir affronté avec lucidité, souffre d'un deuil inachevé.

42 Il était donc normal qu'à cette occasion, des témoins, des survivants ou des descendants de victimes rappellent avec force leur vérité, leur expérience et s'indignent de l'oubli comme du renversement des rôles. Ces témoignages forts et indispensables, ces recherches précieuses contribuent à éclairer la réalité et à peindre des faces cachées d'une vérité complexe et tragique. On y voit apparaître un monde policier bien différent de celui que présente l'histoire officielle.

43 Mais le problème vient de ce que certains de ces ouvrages se présentant comme des travaux scientifiques, n'en respectent pas les buts, en transgressent les méthodes, et tombent ainsi dans le travers qu'ils dénoncent à juste titre dans l'histoire officielle. A trop vouloir prouver et dénoncer, ils oublient que l'historien, s'il ne saurait rester impassible, doit s'efforcer à l'impartialité et que son rôle est de comprendre et d'expliquer, jamais de juger. Le livre récent de Maurice Rajsfus sur La Police de Vichy28 dont le sous-titre - Les forces de l'ordre françaises au service de la Gestapo - annonce à la fois le parti-pris et la confusion, témoigne clairement de ces travers29.

3. - La mécanique légendaire

44 Si on perçoit bien les ressorts de la légende noire encouragée par le silence et l'occultation officiels, la construction de la légende rose appelle davantage de réflexion.

45 On connaît la boutade de Claude Bourdet, responsable du NAP30 : « On m'a toujours dit qu'il n'y avait que 2 % de policiers collaborateurs. Manque de chance, je suis toujours tombé sur eux ». Elle montre combien les résistants étaient, eux, sans illusion sur l'attitude des policiers français.

46 Dans ces conditions, comment expliquer la naissance et la pérennité d'une légende qui ne pouvait guère abuser des témoins bien placés pour juger de l'attitude et du rôle réels de la majorité des policiers français ?

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47 Pour comprendre le comment et le pourquoi de cette mystification, il faut bien garder à l'esprit que la police est au centre de l'État et revenir, dans la situation de l'été 1944, aux enjeux qui occupent les coulisses de la Libération.

48 Au delà de la joie, de la liberté retrouvée, c'est l'avenir politique du pays qui est en jeu. Les deux grandes composantes de la Résistance - gaullistes et communistes - ont besoin de la police dans leur jeu. Pour des raisons différentes, les uns et les autres vont concourir à une falsification et c'est parce qu'elle a été cautionnée par de tels parrains que la légende a pu perdurer.

49 Dans les circonstances et les incertitudes de la Libération, la police incarne la permanence et la continuité de l'État, la démonstration face aux alliés anglo-saxons31 de la capacité du nouveau pouvoir à gouverner, elle constitue, dans un climat insurrectionnel, un enjeu qui n'échappe à personne. Pour de Gaulle, elle est une garantie du retour à l'ordre32, un attribut et un outil indispensables du pouvoir et il n'a donc qu'un souci : la conserver forte et organisée. Pour les communistes, au contraire, elle constitue un obstacle à une éventuelle prise du pouvoir, il leur faut donc soit l'affaiblir, soit l'investir. Ainsi courtisée et convoitée, la police va être l'objet d'une double opération aux origines du mécanisme légendaire.

50 Séduction et magnanimité sont les moyens privilégiés par le chef de la France libre. C'est à la police parisienne, qu'avant même d'aller à l'Hôtel de Ville où l'attend le Conseil national de la Résistance, le général de Gaulle rend, au soir du 25 août, sa première visite dans la capitale libérée, marquant ainsi sa volonté de relégitimer le plus rapidement possible des policiers qui, en donnant le signal des combats, ont su saisir « l'occasion d'accroître leur prestige et leur popularité33 ». À travers la police, ce sont bien l'ordre, le régime, l'administration, l'État qui sont en jeu34.

51 Le nouveau pouvoir ne veut pas que la police - notamment à Paris - soit paralysée par l'usage qu'en a fait Vichy, c'est pourquoi, exploitant sans délai le rôle qu'elle a joué dans l'insurrection, il entreprend de la relégitimer et de la dédouaner par l'exaltation de l'héroïsme des policiers dans le combat libérateur et l'occultation de leur rôle sous l'Occupation. Dès le 26 août, une affiche signée Charles Luizet - le préfet nommé par de Gaulle - donne le ton, on peut y lire que « la police de Paris, qui s'est fièrement battue, n'oubliera jamais le concours aussi efficace que valeureux que les FFI lui ont apporté du 19 au 25 août pour la défense de la préfecture de police ». La suite éclaire le sens de ce renversement des rôles et la conclusion rappelle les enjeux politiques à qui les aurait oubliés : « des liens indissolubles unissent désormais le peuple de Paris et la police de Paris [...] L'ordre républicain reconquis les armes à la main, doit régner dans Paris délivré de l'ennemi et de la dictature ».

52 Une bataille de la mémoire vient bel et bien de commencer. Son enjeu justifie quelque liberté avec la vérité historique et un pieux mensonge accrédité par le moins suspect des Français.

53 L'occultation des besognes accomplies, la célébration, dès la fin du mois d'août, du rôle joué par les policiers pendant les combats pour la Libération constituent la première étape d'une réécriture de l'histoire. Le chef de la France libre en ouvre solennellement la première page, le 12 octobre 1944, avec cette citation de la police parisienne à l'ordre de la nation, portant attribution de la Légion d'honneur35 et de la Croix de guerre : « Bravant l'occupant dès le 15 août, déclenchant la lutte dès le 19 et la poursuivant jusqu'au 26, les courageux gardiens de la police parisienne ont donné à toute la nation

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un bel exemple de patriotisme et de solidarité qui fut l'un des premiers facteurs du succès des combats pour la libération de la capitale ».

54 L'opération réhabilitation allait réussir au delà de toutes espérances. Il aurait fallu bien de la mauvaise foi pour refuser un brevet de bonne conduite républicaine et résistante à une institution dont le rôle et le courage exemplaires étaient salués par le premier des résistants.

55 Mais d'autres acteurs - les communistes et les policiers eux-mêmes - ont joué leur rôle dans la bataille de la mémoire.

56 Comme nous l'écrivions plus haut : la police est au cœur de l'État. N'ayant pas renoncé à son objectif de prise du pouvoir36, le Parti communiste se veut donc au cœur de la police. Pour ce faire, il a imaginé de l'investir, à défaut de réussir à la remplacer par les Milices patriotiques qu'il contrôlait. C'est l'épuration qui va lui en fournir le moyen et l'occasion37. Plus elle sera profonde et plus il affaiblira un des remparts de l'État tout en créant des places disponibles pour des résistants communistes ou sympathisants.

57 L'objectif est de taille surtout dans deux domaines : le maintien de l'ordre et le renseignement politique38. C'est l'entrisme par le biais des Milices patriotiques dans les Compagnies républicaines de sécurité (CRS) créées en décembre 1945 qui permet aux communistes d'investir cette nouvelle force civile de maintien de l'ordre issue en partie des Groupes Mobiles de réserve (GMR) créés par Vichy. Pour les Renseignements généraux, non seulement les communistes ont éliminé - par l'épuration - ou « retourné » - par les dossiers dont ils se sont emparés - un certain nombre de spécialistes des services politiques qui étaient les plus fins connaisseurs du PCF, de ses mécanismes et rouages internes, de ses hommes et de ses cadres, mais ils ont largement pénétré une citadelle de l'État qui leur était jusqu'alors fermée. Ce faisant, ils accèdent à des dossiers qui seront fort utiles - avec les archives sur lesquelles les Soviétiques vont mettre la main - pour tenir un certain nombre de personnalités ou de fonctionnaires compromis avec l'occupant39.

58 Cette tactique explique que, même s'ils sont bien placés pour savoir qu'il reste dans la police énormément de policiers non résistants - comme subsistent dans les CRS d'anciens hommes des GMR qui ont combattu les maquis -, les communistes ont tout intérêt, depuis qu'ils l'ont pénétrée, à promouvoir l'image d'une police républicaine issue de la Résistance.

59 Jusqu'à l'automne 1947, ils seront donc les complices consentants et intéressés du stratagème, tout en dénonçant l'insuffisance d'une épuration que de Gaulle, pas dupe, souhaitait réduite au strict minimum. Avec la « guerre froide », après la rupture du tripartisme, les grèves de 1947, l'épuration des épurateurs, le désarmement puis la dissolution des CRS communistes40, ils dénonceront la pérennité d'une police « fasciste » au service du « capital ». Mais il était trop tard, la relégitimation avait bel et bien eu lieu.

60 Dans cet avatar, on ne saurait enfin négliger le rôle des policiers. Ils devinrent d'actifs propagandistes d'une histoire légendaire centrée sur le sacrifice collectif d'expiation et de rachat de la semaine héroïque qui faisait oublier le rôle ambigu des anciens et flattait la fierté professionnelle des nouveaux venus. Mais pour construire une « police propre, républicaine et française » comme le réclamait, dès le 28 août 1944, un tract de policiers résistants, suffisait-il d'exalter le rôle de la police parisienne dans la libération de la capitale et d'occuper le territoire de la mémoire avec ces plaques de marbre

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rappelant au passant l'héroïsme des policiers de la Préfecture tombés dans les combats ?41 L'épuration - spectaculaire - permettait-elle d'occulter le problème fondamental : celui d'une police prise au piège par une collaboration d'État qui fit perdre de vue à beaucoup de policiers la réalité de leur mission ?

61 « L'histoire des années noires n'est pas un conte de fées ou de sorcières relatant l'histoire d'une poignée de bons et de méchants. Elle est l'histoire d'une tragédie humaine, et pleinement humaine, dont il est difficile, encore aujourd'hui, de comprendre toutes les pages grises »42 : telle apparaît effectivement l'histoire de la police sous l'Occupation.

4. - Les pages grises de la réalité

62 La méconnaissance du passé de l'institution, de son fonctionnement, de ses divisions... fait généralement perdre de vue que la période de l'Occupation représenta aussi pour la société policière l'occasion de faire avancer des revendications anciennes tout en réglant de vieux comptes internes et quelques contentieux externes. On doit également garder à l'esprit que l'existence d'un gouvernement légal, les clauses de l'armistice43, la politique de collaboration mise en œuvre par Vichy pour se concilier les bonnes grâces de son vainqueur et une place dans le futur ordre européen, valurent à la France un statut unique parmi les pays vaincus. Elles expliquent notamment la situation inédite, inconfortable et ambiguë d'une police qui se trouva au centre d'un double enjeu. Symbole de sa légitimité et de ses prérogatives d'état souverain, outil au service d'une politique autonome et spécifique de répression et d'exclusion pour l'État français, elle allait en outre devenir rapidement une pièce maîtresse de sa volonté de collaboration. Quant à l'occupant, il vit plus simplement dans la police française une auxiliaire inespérée dont le rôle, dans certaines circonstances, pouvait s'avérer précieux voire irremplaçable.

63 Instrument essentiel au maintien d'un ordre liberticide, la police française majoritairement composée de policiers de la IIIe République a plutôt bien accepté ce rôle du moins jusqu'en 1943. Pourquoi ?44

64 Sans doute parce qu'elle fut sensible à l'état d'esprit et aux premières mesures d'un pouvoir qui flattait une sensibilité idéologico-professionnelle que la IIIe République finissante avait exaltée. Elle fut encore plus sensible à la réalisation de quelques-unes des réformes que demandaient sans relâche, depuis des décennies, ses organisations corporatives. Les mesures du printemps 1941 qui mirent en place une « Police nationale » étatisée, centralisée et unifiée, qui se préoccupèrent de la formation et de la professionnalisation d'un corps proclamé « d'élite » auquel on accordait de surcroît de substantiels avantages pécuniaires et corporatifs, comblèrent les attentes du monde policier.

65 Si le régime de Vichy se situe dans la continuité de la IIP République, ce n'est pas seulement parce qu'il en a prolongé la lutte anticommuniste et xénophobe, et achevé l'œuvre d'étatisation, c'est également parce qu'il en a conservé, en dépit de leur sensibilité politique supposée, la plupart des personnels et la quasi totalité du cadre : ce qui permit à beaucoup de policiers d'imaginer qu'ils continuaient le même travail. Mais la continuité n'était qu'apparente. Ce qui était l'exception sous la République, était devenu la règle, et la police - dont la mission est de veiller à l'application de la loi et de poursuivre ceux qui la transgressent - fut amenée à traquer des gens non seulement

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pour ce qu'ils faisaient, mais pour ce qu'ils étaient45, rompant ainsi avec une déontologie péniblement édifiée par 70 ans de République.

66 La multiplication d'officines parapolicières46 put faire, un temps, croire le contraire. Il semblait que ces créations traduisaient la méfiance qu'inspirait la police officielle aux fanatiques des groupuscules fascisants et aux ultras de la collaboration ; qu'elles étaient une conséquence de la mollesse, du manque d'entrain manifestés par les policiers dans la construction de « l'Europe nouvelle », qu'elles prouvaient ainsi la réalité et la persistance d'une éthique professionnelle « républicaine ». Après tout, on ne pouvait pas confier n'importe quelle besogne aux policiers de métier. En réalité, le réflexe corporatif l'emporta largement sur la déontologie et le patriotisme. Cette concurrence stimula le zèle d'une police atteinte par le « syndrome du pont de la rivière Kwaï » ravie de prouver ses compétences à l'autre « meilleure police du monde ».

67 Au triple motif d'affirmer l'autonomie de l'État français, de défendre un monopole professionnel et de préserver la légalité formelle, elle allait, notamment sous le secrétariat général de René Bousquet dont ce fut un des objectifs essentiels et l'écrasante responsabilité, prendre à sa charge toutes les missions répressives liées à la législation de Vichy et aux exigences allemandes. Prise au piège de la légitimité du nouveau pouvoir et de ses intérêts corporatifs, mais aussi d'une culture professionnelle qui lui faisait partager des aversions communes avec ses nouveaux maîtres, la police française fut amenée à jouer au service de l'occupant un rôle répressif majeur inédit en Europe occupée47.

68 Ce n'est donc pas une « minorité » de policiers, ce ne sont pas les seules brebis galeuses des Brigades spéciales (BS) et des Renseignements généraux comme l'écrivaient les policiers résistants, mais bel et bien l'institution dans son ensemble -comme la gendarmerie -, tous les services - administratifs et actifs, la tenue et les « bourgeois »48, les Renseignements généraux et la Police judiciaire, la Préfecture de police et la Police nationale - qui ont joué leur rôle dans la pièce comme le montrent la lutte « antiterroriste » et plus encore les persécutions antisémites.

69 Pour rivaliser avec les services parallèles créés par Pierre Pucheu, le secrétaire d'État à l'Intérieur, René Bousquet, le Secrétaire général à la police nommé par Laval en avril 1942, va donner à la Police judiciaire de la Police nationale les structures et les missions d'une police politique. Le 9 juin 1942, une circulaire du Secrétariat général annonce la constitution au sein de chaque Service régional de police judiciaire d'une section « nettement dégagée des affaires judiciaires de droit commun [...] uniquement chargée de la répression des menées communistes et terroristes ainsi que des menées antinationales de toute nature ». Ces « Sections régionales des affaires judiciaires à origine politique » (SRAJOP) ou « sections de droit spécial » créées dans chaque direction régionale furent transformées, le 21 novembre 1942, en Sections des affaires politiques (SAP). Chaque Service régional de Police de sûreté - nouveau nom depuis le 4 octobre 1942, de la Police judiciaire - comporte depuis cette date une SAP. En coopération ou poussées par la concurrence du Service de répression des menées antinationales (SRMAN) de Charles Detmar, elles vont faire des dégâts considérables49.

70 À la Préfecture de police, c'étaient essentiellement les Brigades spéciales (BS) des Renseignements généraux créées en mars 1940 pour lutter contre le Parti Communiste hors la loi, qui furent chargées de la répression anticommuniste. Mais tous les services participèrent à la lutte antiterroriste.

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71 La Police municipale parisienne50 elle-même fut contaminée par cette dérive. Elle avait, dès l'automne 1939, dû créer en son sein des « brigades spéciales ». Formées de 5 à 6 gardiens de la paix en civil, leur mission consistait à rechercher la propagande subversive et les individus qui l'assuraient. Transformées en 1942 en « Brigades spéciales d'interpellation » (BSi), leur activité, qui n'avait jamais cessé, prit, comme celle des Brigades spéciales (BS) des Renseignements généraux, une grande ampleur à partir de l'entrée des communistes dans la Résistance et des débuts de la lutte armée qui suivit l'attaque allemande de l'URSS à l'été 1941.

72 Les structures mises en place depuis la fin de la IIIe République jouent dès lors un rôle capital que leurs concepteurs n'avaient sans doute pas prévu. La Brigade spéciale (BS) des Renseignements généraux fut doublée d'une autre - la « BS2 » -en janvier 194251. Comptant chacune une centaine d'hommes au zèle sans cesse stimulé par le cadre hiérarchique et par des primes conséquentes, usant des fichiers et renseignements de la première section des Renseignements généraux, procédant à des surveillances et à des filatures de plusieurs semaines voire plusieurs mois, elles allaient faire des ravages dans les rangs du PCF52. Pour autant, on ne saurait oublier ceux commis par les brigades spéciales d'intervention de la police municipale. Formées de gardiens de la paix opérant les uns en civil, les autres en uniforme, elles opéraient inopinément, de jour comme de nuit, sur la voie publique, dans le métro et les lieux publics et sont à l'origine d'arrestations aussi nombreuses et spectaculaires que celles de leurs homonymes des RG.

73 La « solution finale de la question juive » rend plus dramatiques encore les persécutions antisémites auxquelles les policiers français donnèrent la main. Sans entrer dans le détail d'une évolution compliquée, notons que les missions répressives liées aux lois antisémites françaises et aux ordonnances allemandes ont été l'enjeu d'une lutte complexe entre Vichy, les autorités allemandes, le Secrétariat général pour la police et le Commissariat général aux questions juives (CGQJ)53. C'est à la demande de Xavier Vallat, le Commissaire général, qui souhaitait disposer d'une police antijuive, que Vichy créa, en octobre 1941, la Police aux questions juives (PQJ) dont les effectifs étaient encadrés par des spécialistes allemands et, selon qu'il s'agissait de Paris ou de la province, quelques policiers détachés de la Préfecture de police ou de la Police nationale.

74 Dès la création de la PQJ, le problème de ses rapports avec les services officiels de police s'était posé. Pour répondre aux inquiétudes d'une administration jalouse de ses prérogatives, qui voyait d'un mauvais œil cette concurrence, Rivalland, le premier Secrétaire général à la police, avait pris soin de préciser que, recrutés directement par le CGQJ, les hommes de la PQJ ne dépendaient que de lui et que leur rôle se limitait à la recherche des infractions au « décret portant statut des Juifs » du 2 juin 1941 et à leur communication aux services de police.

75 Succédant à Rivalland, Bousquet n'eut de cesse qu'il eût supprimé toutes les officines parallèles créées par Pucheu, au nombre desquelles la PQJ. Il exigea et obtint de Laval que les opérations judiciaires, notamment les arrestations et les perquisitions, fussent désormais effectuées par les seuls fonctionnaires de police sous son autorité. Dans la circulaire annonçant aux préfets régionaux la suppression, début juillet 1942, de la PQJ, il précisait : « les opérations judiciaires et notamment les perquisitions nécessitées par l'application de la législation sur les Israélites, seront effectuées par les fonctionnaires

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de la Police nationale. [...] Vous voudrez bien [...] confier l'exécution des dites opérations au Service national de la Police judiciaire, Section des affaires politiques ».

76 Tout à son souci de ne pas laisser échapper une parcelle de la répression, Bousquet mettait ainsi au compte de la police française une partie essentielle de la gestion de la question juive : les arrestations. Dans ce domaine inhabituel, elle allait démontrer, en dépit des doutes du S.S. Dannecker et de Darquier, le successeur de Vallat au CGQJ, qu'elle était capable d'une efficacité d'autant plus grande que l'émulation entre les différentes directions de la Préfecture de police et de la Police nationale allait jouer à plein également dans ce domaine.

77 Dans son ressort territorial, la Préfecture de police avait, dès 1941, joué un rôle pionnier : le détachement de policiers de la 3ème section des Renseignements généraux à la PQJ atteste d'un intérêt précoce pour la question juive. La création d'une sous- direction des « affaires juives » au sein de la direction de la Police générale participe du même empressement. Ce laboratoire de la modernité n'allait pas tarder à se distinguer en mettant au point, grâce à l'expérience acquise à la fin des années trente dans la gestion des étrangers, un fichier à entrées multiples, constitué à partir du recensement des Juifs de la région parisienne imposé par l'ordonnance allemande du 27 septembre 1940. Ce « fichier juif »54, qui suscita l'admiration des services allemands, servit à organiser toutes les rafles de mai 1941 à février 1944.

78 Mais pour supplanter la Section d'enquête et de contrôle (SEC) qui avait succédé à la PQJ dissoute, il fallait aller encore plus loin. Ce fut la mise en place d'un service répressif spécialisé. Rattaché à la Direction des étrangers puis, en 1943, à la Direction de la police judiciaire, ce Service des affaires juives fut confié à un commissaire principal aux Délégations judiciaires, délégué dans les fonctions de directeur-adjoint de la Police judiciaire.

79 Ce rôle moteur de la Police judiciaire dans les persécutions ne représente pas la seule des dérives professionnelles qui affectent la pratique de tous les services. Dans le cadre de la concurrence séculaire qui les oppose entre elles, les autres directions de la Préfecture de police - ne voulant pas être en reste avec la Police judiciaire - ont tenu à mettre sur pied leur propre service antijuif. Ce fut le cas de la Direction des Renseignements généraux qui créa une section de voie publique (sic) - une révolution pour un service politique - au sein de la 3ème section chargée « des Juifs et étrangers non terroristes ». Cette brigade contrôlait les papiers des passants sur la voie publique à la recherche d'Israélites en contravention avec le statut du 2 juin 1941 ou les ordonnances allemandes et notamment le port de l'étoile, les heures légales de sortie ou la fréquentation des établissements publics. Une quinzaine d'inspecteurs opérant près des gares, dans le métro, les cafés, souvent accompagnés d'éléments du Parti Populaire Français voire d'Allemands du service « IV J » du SD, opérèrent plusieurs milliers d'arrestations. La Police municipale, qui jouait déjà un rôle essentiel dans les rafles, ne négligea pas pour autant les infractions à la législation antisémite et, pour non-respect des heures légales de sortie ou dissimulation d'étoile jaune, certains gardiens de la paix et certaines brigades spéciales d'intervention, notamment celles des 4ème et 11 ème arrondissements, ont contribué à pourvoir le camp de Drancy en Juifs à déporter.

80 Prise au piège des habitudes de l'avant-guerre, de sa culture, de ses intérêts corporatifs, de son orgueil professionnel, la police le fut aussi de la volonté de collaboration de Vichy dont les accords Oberg-Bousquet55 montrent la réalité : une police française amenée à remplir les tâches de l'occupant en échange d'une autonomie administrative

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et d'une reconnaissance de souveraineté que Vichy était prêt à payer à n'importe quel prix. Comme le remarque Robert Paxton, « Cette politique de présence administrative, sans cesse revendiquée, déboucha sur un activisme antijuif »56. On connaît bien désormais la lettre adressée le 18 juin 1942 par Bousquet à Oberg57 : « Vous connaissez bien la police française. Elle a sans doute ses défauts, mais aussi ses qualités. Je suis persuadé que réorganisée sur des bases nouvelles et énergiquement dirigée, elle est susceptible de rendre les plus grands services. Déjà dans de nombreuses affaires, vous avez pu constater l'efficacité de son action. Je suis certain qu'elle peut faire davantage encore ».

81 Le test qui devait lui permettre de démontrer ses qualités fut la livraison des 40 000 Juifs que Dannecker s'était imprudemment engagé au mois de juin à livrer à Eichmann et dont Bousquet obtint58, le 2 juillet, qu'il s'agisse de Juifs étrangers ou « apatrides » - c'est-à-dire déchus de la nationalité française par Vichy - et qu'ils soient arrêtés, par la seule police française, dans les deux zones59.

82 La Préfecture de police devait en fournir plus de la moitié, le solde devant provenir - à la discrétion des autorités françaises - de la zone non occupée. La rafle des 16 et 17 juillet à Paris 1942 fut donc - contrairement aux précédentes de mai, août et décembre 1941 - entièrement mise en œuvre par la seule Préfecture de police. On sait que si la Police municipale fournit la plus grande partie des effectifs d'une opération méticuleusement préparée par la Direction de la Police générale, Hennequin, le directeur de la Police municipale exigea la participation des effectifs des autres directions. Ce fut donc bien la totalité de la police parisienne, des milliers de policiers - gardiens de la paix et inspecteurs, de Paris et de banlieue - qui furent impliqués dans cette besogne que certains accomplirent avec zèle, d'autres avec répugnance. Quant aux Juifs étrangers et « apatrides » de la zone non occupée, ils furent déportés à partir du 6 août des camps de zone sud60 ou raflés, le 26 août, par les policiers de la Police nationale, des polices municipales et les gendarmes dans toutes les villes et les villages de la zone non occupée.

83 On le voit, on est loin de la légende d'une « majorité de policiers obéissant à leur conscience » et refusant d'appliquer les ordres de Vichy.

84 Amenée par une législation méticuleuse à traquer des gens dont le seul crime était d'être légalement privés du droit à l'existence, la police atteignit clairement des limites déontologiques que peu de policiers eurent le courage civique et moral de ne pas franchir. Face à une « législation monstrueuse »61, ils furent une infime minorité à avoir ce réflexe de désobéissance qu'éprouvèrent naturellement leurs collègues du service des étrangers de la police de Nancy62. Un réflexe qui s'opposait à toute une culture que les lois de septembre 1939 contre les communistes, celles de l'été 1940 contre les francs-maçons, les étrangers... avaient renforcée.

85 Sous couvert de devoir d'obéissance, c'est en réalité toute une morale et une culture professionnelles qui étaient foulées au pied. Une police judiciaire traquant des gens sur le seul « délit » de la religion de leurs grands-parents, des Renseignements généraux transformés en service répressif, une police municipale effectuant des missions proprement politiques montrent, avec l'emploi systématique de la violence, quelques- unes des dérives majeures d'une police pourtant héritée en grande partie de la IIIe République. Loin d'avoir « évité le pire », comme le proclamèrent par la suite un certain nombre de cadres et de responsables, la prise en charge de ces missions par la police française a produit des résultats que ni la Milice, ni les Allemands n'auraient pu

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espérer. Croyant faire la « part du feu », les policiers français ont servi les intérêts de nazis qui n'en espéraient pas tant.

86 La vérité n'a rien de commun avec les légendes, elle oblige à dire que l'institution a exécuté fidèlement les ordres. En revanche, les policiers qui, dans leur écrasante majorité firent d'abord, au moins jusqu'en 1943, preuve de soumission et, pour certains, de zèle, évoluèrent au fur et à mesure que la tournure prise par la guerre rendit plus évident un retournement de situation. Une réelle passivité se développa peu à peu jusqu'à prendre les formes d'une désobéissance larvée.

87 En ce sens, les policiers ne furent pas différents du reste de la population française, mais leurs missions, leurs pouvoirs, leurs responsabilités rendirent cette attitude plus lourde de conséquences que pour n'importe quelle autre catégorie professionnelle. Ils arrêtèrent et raflèrent parce que c'étaient les ordres. On mesure ainsi le poids de la culture d'obéissance qui constitue l'essence même de la police et que tous les régimes se sont attachés à développer en son sein.

88 Ceci rappelé, on ne saurait sans illogisme à la fois fonder la formation et les qualités professionnelles de la police sur les notions d'obéissance aveugle aux ordres et au pouvoir établi, et s'étonner de leurs conséquences dans des circonstances extrêmes. Ni la formation reçue, ni la routine quotidienne, ni l'évaluation professionnelle n'avaient préparé ces policiers à l'idée même d'un devoir de désobéissance. C'est avec une douloureuse surprise que la plupart découvrirent à la Libération qu'une « apparence de légalité peut couvrir des actes illégitimes »63, que « le zèle est un acte de trahison », et que ces « bons Français » qui n'avaient pas hésité à les seconder par leur vigilance et à soutenir leur zèle défaillant par des dénonciations, feignaient désormais de s'étonner et de s'indigner de leur obéissance et de leur soumission aux autorités. Ce changement des règles du jeu suscita l'incompréhension des intéressés et des anciens. « Si quand un chef vous donne un ordre, vous vous dites : est-ce que je dois l'exécuter, plus rien ne tient debout. »64

89 Ces vérités peuvent-elles être prises en charge par l'institution ?

90 Les récentes polémiques autour du nombre de victimes de la répression de la manifestation du 17 octobre 1961, les repentances publiques spectaculaires des évêques, d'un syndicat de policiers au moment du procès de Maurice Papon montrent que si les choses bougent c'est avec difficulté et toujours dans la douleur et la polémique : ce que l'on peut mesurer dans les embarras et contradictions de la mémoire officielle.

5. - Les ambiguïtés de la mémoire officielle

91 « Ce fonctionnaire obéissait aux ordres de ses chefs. On ne peut pas dire qu'il était collaborateur, mais un peu trop discipliné ». Cette conclusion d'un rapport, d'octobre 1945, du 3ème groupe de la section d'épuration de la Préfecture de police chargée d'enquêter sur le cas d'un inspecteur de la BS2 « victime du devoir », tué en 1942 par un déserteur allemand, montre bien quel fut - sous l'Occupation - le dilemme de policiers élevés dans le respect de la discipline. Elle pose deux questions essentielles : peut-on honorer les policiers morts par excès de discipline ? Que doit privilégier une institution comme la police ?

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92 Le devoir professionnel ? Certes. C'est d'ailleurs à ce titre que sont honorés les policiers victimes du devoir. Mais que faire quand ce devoir professionnel s'oppose à la morale, et pire encore à l'honneur ?

93 Faut-il continuer à honorer des policiers qui ont fait leur devoir en obéissant jusqu'au sacrifice de leur conscience et de leur vie aux ordres donnés quand ces derniers les mettaient objectivement au service de l'occupant et les amenaient à commettre des actes illégitimes ? Ou faut-il rendre hommage à un devoir d'une autre nature que l'on respecte en désobéissant à des ordres qui nient les droits mêmes et la dignité des personnes, l'honneur qui conduit à enfreindre la sacro-sainte consigne quand elle déshonore ceux qui l'appliquent autant que ceux qui l'énoncent ou la transmettent ? Concrètement, la question pourrait se formuler ainsi : peut-on et faut-il encore honorer des policiers tombés au service d'un camp et d'un ordre que l'histoire a condamnés, dans l'accomplissement de missions dont la finalité provoque gêne et malaise cinquante ans après ? Mais, inversement, peut-on célébrer des policiers résistants que l'on assimila longtemps à des rebelles et qui constituent de dangereux exemples d'indiscipline ?65 Comment commémorer une grève et une insurrection qui si elles sauvent l'honneur du corps, le menacent dans son essence même ? La police peut-elle sans risque et sans contradiction, célébrer une attitude qui représente la négation même de ce qu'elle doit être, de ce qui constitue sa raison d'être ? Si résister c'est d'abord transgresser les ordres, la discipline, la loi... comment exalter ceux qui ont désobéi en résistant ?

94 Cette aporie apparaît clairement dans les silences66 gênés de l'institution et surtout dans les cultes mémoriels et cérémonies à bien des égards contradictoires dont elle est le cadre.

95 Pour mieux percevoir les ambiguïtés des célébrations officielles, retournons dans cette Cour du 19 août d'où nous sommes partis et cherchons-y, figées dans la pierre, les marques symboliques des hommages officiels.

96 La Préfecture de police honore quatre sortes de victimes : d'abord et comme toute administration qui se respecte, les policiers « morts pour la France », entendre sous l'uniforme français comme soldats pendant les guerres ; les « victimes du devoir » ; les policiers résistants, torturés, fusillés par les nazis ou morts en déportation ; enfin les policiers « tombés dans les combats pour la libération de Paris ». Il s'agit là - même si les familles ne saisissent pas toujours les nuances - de catégories bien distinctes qu'il convient d'honorer pour des raisons fort différentes.

97 Deux d'entre elles seulement ont leur monument dans la Cour du 19 août67. L'un dédié « A nos camarades morts pour la France », le second, aux « Policiers victimes du devoir ».

98 Les policiers « tombés pour la libération de Paris » n'étant stricto sensu ni « morts pour la France », ni « pour le devoir », n'ont pas droit à un monument particulier68. Pas plus d'ailleurs que les policiers résistants déportés ou fusillés69. Ces derniers ne sont pas morts pour la France mais pour l'idée qu'ils s'en faisaient. Ils ne sont pas morts pour le devoir, mais pour ce qu'ils estimaient être l'honneur. ce qui les a amenés à trahir leur devoir professionnel car en ces temps difficiles et confus, l'honneur, impliquait une rupture fondamentale avec la règle d'obéissance et le devoir professionnel.

99 Ainsi, alors que cette cour est baptisée « du 19 août » depuis le soulèvement de 1944 ses victimes n'y étaient rappelées par aucun monument jusqu'en août 1994.

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100 C'est que si les policiers tués dans les combats d'août 1944 sont aussi morts par obéissance70 - et pour sauver l'honneur bien terni de la police parisienne -, ils le sont dans une action - une grève insurrectionnelle - et d'un côté inhabituel des barricades qui n'ont sans doute pas semblé dignes d'être rappelés dans la cour d'honneur de la Préfecture de police.

101 La mémoire officielle apparaît ainsi conjoncturelle et à « géométrie variable » : sur le temps long, on met plutôt en valeur les policiers dont la mort honore la profession et ses valeurs d'obéissance, de devoir, de discipline, d'abnégation, mais dans certaines circonstances, il peut ne pas être inopportun de rendre un hommage, même tardif et discret, à ceux qui ont sauvé l'honneur du corps.

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NOTES

1. Liaisons, juillet 1994, p. 3. 2. Cette attitude contraste avec les efforts accomplis par la Gendarmerie Nationale pour assumer en partie ce passé. Le 26 juin 1992, en présence du ministre de la Défense, le directeur général de la Gendarmerie à l'occasion du baptême de la 96ème promotion d'officiers, et avant un hommage appuyé aux gendarmes résistants, avait prononcé des paroles dont on chercherait en vain l'équivalent pour la Police nationale et a fortiori la Préfecture de police : « Il faut reconnaître [...] les souffrances que la Gendarmerie, comme d'autres services de l'État, a pu occasionner, volontairement parfois, involontairement le plus souvent, à toutes les victimes innocentes, combattants de l'ombre, déportés pour des motifs politiques ou raciaux, requis pour le S.T.O. [service du travail obligatoire en Allemagne auquel furent astreints les jeunes Français à partir de février 1943] » (cité par Cazals, 1994, p. 12). 3. Cf. sur ce sujet, les réflexions de Bertaux, un ancien directeur de la Police nationale (1963), et celles de Lantier, pseudonyme d'un policier devenu haut fonctionnaire de la Police nationale (1971). 4. Sur ce problème de mémoire voir par exemple les articles ou ouvrages cités de Chanteau (1995), Frank (1993), IHTP (1986), Kantin et Manceron (1991), Lindenberg (1994), Namer (1983), Rousso (1990), Thibaud (1991). 5. Répression meurtrière par la police parisienne d'une manifestation organisée par la fédération de France du F.L.N. (Front de Libération Nationale algérien). Un des épisodes

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controversés de cette répression se serait justement déroulé dans la « cour du 19 août » de la caserne de la Cité (J.L. Einaudi, 1991 et M. Papon in le Figaro du lundi 4 mai et du mardi 5 mai 1998). 6. Deleplace (1987, p. 64). 7. Pour en savoir plus sur l'histoire des années noires et celle de la police, on pourra se reporter aux articles ou ouvrages cités et notamment à la tentative de mise au point que nous avons tenté de réaliser dans Berlière (1996b). 8. Si cet essai ne concerne pas la gendarmerie, il va de soi que cela ne signifie en aucun cas que cette dernière aurait été épargnée par les syndromes décrits. 9. Brodeur (1984). 10. Ce déficit de connaissances se double d'un déficit politique et déontologique : il est hélas banal de rencontrer un commissaire de police parisien ignorant que les rafles qui ont eu lieu dans son quartier cinquante ans auparavant ont été le fait de ses aînés et non des Allemands (exemple rapporté par M. Rajsfus, 1992 : « la police a oublié »). 11. Sur les problèmes plus complexes qu'il n'y paraît liant citoyenneté et liberté d'accès aux archives, on lira les propos introductifs de J.N. Jeanneney à la table ronde consacrée à ce sujet par l'Association des Archivistes français (1998, p. 165). 12. Monjardet (1985). 13. L'accès aux rapports du préfet de police pendant l'Occupation n'étant pas possible, on les trouvait - certes en traduction allemande - dans des archives consultables (la série AJ40 des archives nationales qui contiennent les archives du Militärbefehlshaber in Frankreich). On ne peut avoir accès par le ministère de l'Intérieur aux dossiers personnels des policiers jugés à la Libération ? Les séries Z6 (cours de justice), Z5 (chambres de justice) et Z4 (sections spéciales) qui concernent les procès de la Libération et dépendent du ministère de la Justice bénéficient d'un régime plus libéral. On pourrait multiplier les exemples de stratégies de remplacement, de sources de substitution auxquelles les historiens ont régulièrement recours. Pour des illustrations de ce propos, cf. D. Peschanski (1986, 1996a et b). 14. Trente ans depuis la loi sur les archives de 1979, mais soixante ans pour ce qui touche à la « sûreté de l'État » et à la vie privée : c'est sous ce prétexte - pas toujours fondé pour ce qui concerne la « sûreté de l'État » - que les archives de police ne sont pas consultables - sauf dérogation - avant ce délai. On lira divers points de vue sur ce problème dans Association des archivistes français (1998). 15. Rajsfus (1995, p. 17 et 19). 16. Ibid., p. 60. C'est nous qui soulignons. 17. [l'ex-commissaire Schweblin] « et tant d'autres que l'histoire finira par rattraper après bien des années de silence administratif » (Ibid., p. 61 : c'est nous qui soulignons). 18. Rousso (1995). 19. Sur le problème de l'épuration en général, on lira Rousso (1992), Conan et Rousso (1994) ; et de la police en particulier Berlière (1996a). 20. Si la chose jugée clôt un dossier juridique elle ne ferme pas le dossier historique. À l'inverse, on a vu, à l'occasion de récents procès, mettre en délibéré ce que l'histoire avait tranché depuis longtemps. 21. Cf. notamment Rémond (1996). 22. L'existence de deux associations différentes d'anciens combattants, dont l'une fut dirigée par des proches ou des adhérents du PCF, comme leurs appellations respectives sont révélatrices d'autres conflits de mémoire et de leurs enjeux. 23. Cf. Courtois, Peschanski et Rayski (1989) et Berlière, Peschanski (1997). 24. Y compris ceux de la Police judiciaire dont on ne parle jamais et y compris les policiers résistants. 25. « Qui dit ou fait des choses invraisemblables » (Dictionnaire Robert de la langue française).

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26. Qui sont l'occasion pour des journalistes de « découvrir » et d'écrire qui sur les camps d'internement français, qui sur les « vichysto-résistants », qui sur le « fichier juif », la rafle du Vel' d'hiv, l'aryanisation des biens juifs... Chaque « découverte » étant l'occasion de controverses et de débats médiatiques qui ne brillent pas toujours par la rigueur scientifique et la méticulosité des recherches. 27. Hauts fonctionnaires en poste sous Vichy et inculpés de crime contre l'humanité. 28. Le Cherche-midi, 1995. 29. La police française était-elle au service de Vichy ou de la Gestapo ? C'est parce qu'il a pu affirmer qu'il avait défendu l'autonomie française contre l'occupant que Bousquet - secrétaire général à la police du gouvernement Laval - fut acquitté. S'agit-il de la police ou des forces de l'ordre ? Le livre mélange allègrement des choses fort différentes : police et gendarmerie, mais également milice, « gestapo française » et officines parallèles comme la Police aux questions juives, le Service de police anticommuniste... sans qu'il soit toujours facile de savoir de quoi et de qui on parle. Enfin, tout à son propos de montrer que les policiers français étaient animés d'un zèle meurtrier, l'auteur - sans doute inconscient du révisionnisme de son argumentation - en arrive à minorer les responsabilités du gouvernement de Vichy et des hauts fonctionnaires de la police pour mieux accabler les exécutants. 30. Noyautage des administrations publiques : organisation de résistance de fonctionnaires. 31. Qui avaient envisagé pour la France la mise en place - comme en Italie - d'un AMGOT (Allied Military Government of Occupied Territories) ce qui traduisait leur scepticisme quant à l'aptitude de la France libre et de la Résistance à gouverner le pays libéré. 32. « Je ne voulais pas qu'à la faveur du bouleversement, la capitale ne devînt la proie de l'anarchie », de Gaulle (1954, p. 364). 33. Ibid, p. 373. 34. « Pour ce qui est de l'ordre public, il sera maintenu par la police et la gendarmerie, avec, en cas de besoin, le concours des garnisons. Les milices n'ont plus d'objet. Celles qui existent seront dissoutes » Ibid., p. 386. 35. Une pratique rarissime qui n'a été appliquée qu'à quelques unités décimées pendant la guerre 14-18 et qui déroge dans ce cas précis à toutes les règles en usage, mais qui vaut aux gardiens de la paix parisiens l'honneur de porter cette fourragère rouge si mal ressentie par leurs victimes et qui provoqua la surprise quelque peu indignée des hommes des Forces françaises libres si on en croit le témoignage de Pierre Messmer au colloque de Bayeux sur le rétablissement de la légalité républicaine (Institut Ch. de Gaulle, 1996, p. 540-541). 36. Cf. Buton (1993, passim). 37. C'est pourquoi les communistes vont jouer un rôle moteur dans l'épuration de la Préfecture de police : non seulement en poussant leurs militants à dénoncer sans relâche ni faiblesse, les policiers qui les ont arrêtés ou traqués, mais surtout en s'emparant des rouages essentiels de l'épuration : la Commission d'épuration qui prononce les sanctions, la section d'épuration chargée des enquêtes, présidées, l'une et l'autre, par des communistes. 38. On note la même tentative - par le biais du 2 ème bureau des FFI (Forces françaises de l'intérieur) - en direction des services spéciaux et du contre-espionnage (Cf. Faligot, Kauffer (1989) et Faligot, Krop (1985). 39. En voir un exemple in Jean Rochet, 1985, p. 32-58. 40. Agulhon, Barrat, 1971. 41. Sauber, Annales ESC, 1993. 42. Conan, Rousso (1994, p. 103). 43. Dont l'article 3 obligeait l'administration française à assurer l'application des ordonnances allemandes. 44. La sensibilité d'un nombre non négligeable de policiers aux mots d'ordre xénophobes et anticommunistes de la Révolution nationale pose un réel problème quand on sait que la police,

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notamment parisienne, dont Vichy se méfiait terriblement et qu'il renonça à réformer, était largement pénétrée avant-guerre par un syndicalisme très marqué par la franc-maçonnerie et le radicalisme. 45. Quid d'une police des crimes et des délits quand l'appartenance à une société philosophique ou à une religion deviennent des délits ? 46. Groupes de protection (GP), Police aux questions juives (PQJ), Service des sociétés secrètes (SSS), Service de police anticommuniste (SPAC) et leurs divers avatars, sans parler des truands employés par la Gestapo : « carlingue », bande Bonny-Lafont de la rue Lauriston dite « gestapo française »... 47. « Si nous avons pu avoir en France, une police moins nombreuse [qu'en Belgique et en Hollande] c'est parce qu'il existait un gouvernement établi et une police officielle au lieu d'une police auxiliaire comme dans les autres pays » (Déposition de Knochen, sept. 1948, tirée du dossier d'instruction de Bousquet citée par P. Froment, 1994, p. 221). À l'automne 1941, le personnel policier allemand affecté à l'occupation de la France - qui comporte encore la zone libre - ne comptait que 2 900 personnes, moins qu'aux Pays-Bas (chiffre cité par Paxton, 1993, note 25, p. 615). 48. Policiers en civils. 49. Les spécialistes leur attribuent 12 549 arrestations de mai 1942 à mai 1943 : 7 237 en zone sud, 5 212 en zone nord. Pendant la même période, la Préfecture de police, à l'aide de ses propres services spécialisés pouvait se targuer de 3 500 arrestations de communistes (Azéma, Peschanski, 1993, p. 370). 50. C'est-à-dire, la police de la rue, celle des gardiens de la paix. 51. Après avoir été créée dans un premier temps au sein de la Direction de la Police judiciaire qui souhaitait disposer - elle aussi - d'une brigade spéciale et des avantages - en termes de promotions, de primes - que cela procurait. 52. Cf. à ce sujet, Courtois, Peschanski, Rayski (1989). 53. Cf. à ce propos, les trois tomes pionniers de Billig consacrés au CGQJ (1995, 1957, 1960), ainsi que les ouvrages et articles cités de Klarsfeld et Froment. 54. Voir à ce sujet, les mises au point apportées par la commission d'enquête présidée par René Rémond (1996). 55. Mis en lumière et analysés par Klarsfeld (1983, 1985) qu'on pourra compléter par son article (1993, p. 545sq). 56. Paxton (1993, p. 609). 57. AN-WIII-89, citée par Klarsfeld, (1983, p. 211). Pour le détail de ces négociations et la genèse des accords qui en résultèrent, on se reportera à cet ouvrage de référence, ainsi qu'à Froment (1994). 58. Il s'agit en l'occurrence d'une reculade et non d'un marchandage comme le montre Klarsfeld. C'est début mai, lors de sa rencontre avec Heydrich, que Bousquet prit l'initiative de proposer la livraison des Juifs apatrides (Cf. Paxton, 1993, p. 605sq). Pour les dissensions au sein des services allemands, on lira l'article cité de Klarsfeld (1993). 59. Accord entériné le lendemain en conseil des ministres et confirmé le 4 juillet par Laval à Oberg et Knochen. 60. Cf. Grynberg (1993). Vichy fut d'autant plus prompt à accepter cette livraison que l'État français vivait dans une peur constante de voir les nazis transformer la zone non occupée en « dépotoir des Juifs allemands » après les transferts opérés de façon autoritaire et unilatérale, en juillet, août et octobre 1940, de Juifs Alsaciens, de Juifs Allemands réfugiés à Bordeaux, puis des Juifs du pays de Bade et de Sarre-Palatinat (Cf. Marrus et Paxton, 1981, p. 24). 61. Notion que j'emprunte à Dominique Gros (1996) qui l'a développée et explicitée au colloque sur L'encadrement juridique de l'antisémitisme sous le régime de Vichy, Dijon, 19-20 décembre 1994.

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62. Les policiers du service des étrangers de la police de Nancy, bien conscients des risques qu'ils prenaient, mirent tout en œuvre pour faire échouer les rafles en prévenant les Juifs menacés d'arrestation, en leur fournissant caches, filières et faux papiers... Ils parvinrent ainsi à sauver 80 % de la communauté juive de l'agglomération (Cf. Muller, 1994). 63. Deleplace (1987, p. 62). Sur la lente intégration d'un « droit de désobéissance » par la déontologie policière, Cf. Muller (1994, p. 103 sq). 64. Réponse d'un gardien de la paix du 4 e arrondissement détaché à la Brigade spéciale d'intervention, au membre de la Commission d'épuration qui vient de lui dire qu'il aurait pu éviter d'appliquer une consigne. 65. Les policiers français ont gagné le droit syndical en 1948, la grève leur reste statutairement interdite. 66. On notera que - toutes proportions gardées - le problème et la gêne sont de la même nature pour la Résistance allemande antinazie peu célébrée pendant longtemps en Allemagne parce qu'elle ne pouvait guère s'opposer à Hitler sans trahir la patrie. 67. On notera un problème du même ordre évoqué par Badinter (1997, p. 205sq) à propos des avocats morts pour la France de 1939 à 1945 et dont les noms figurent sur deux plaques différentes. 68. En revanche, leur sacrifice est rappelé à l'endroit où ils sont tombés, par des plaques de marbre portant leur nom entouré de symboles et palmes évoquant les décorations attribuées à la police parisienne par le chef du Gouvernement provisoire de la République en octobre 1944. 69. Par exemple Arsène Poncey, Edmond Dubent, arrêtés en 1943, torturés et morts en déportation, réels initiateurs d'une résistance dans la police parisienne. 70. Ce qui est attesté par le fait que les policiers qui n'ont pas obéi à l'ordre de grève insurrectionnelle ont été traduits devant la Commission d'épuration et souvent sanctionnés pour ce motif.

RÉSUMÉS

Le rôle des administrations publiques et des fonctionnaires français sous l'Occupation fait aujourd'hui l'objet d'une véritable bataille autour de leur « mémoire ». Dans ce contexte, il a semblé intéressant de voir comment et avec quelles difficultés et contradictions une institution comme la police gère sa propre mémoire des années noires. Après le temps des pages blanches et du silence, celui des légendes noires ou roses, le moment est-il venu pour une administration d'affronter ce que furent son rôle et l'attitude d'un groupe pris au piège de la légalité de Vichy comme de sa culture professionnelle et de ses intérêts corporatifs ? Cela pose concrètement le problème des cultes et cérémonies mémoriels. Qui honorer, comment et pourquoi ? Peut-on, doit-on continuer d'honorer la mémoire de policiers tombés en faisant leur devoir au service d'un régime devenu illégitime ? Peut-on célébrer sans arrière-pensée l'attitude de policiers résistants qui ont certes sauvé l'honneur du corps, mais en donnant l'exemple même de l'indiscipline et de la transgression de tout ce qui fait l'essence et les valeurs sur lesquelles repose la police ?

In the present context, in which « remembrance » battles are being waged over the role of the French public administrations and civil servants during the Occupation, it seemed worthwhile to look at how an institution such as the police copes with its own memories of those dark years,

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and the difficulties and contradictions it encounters. After years of blank pages and silence, followed by years of alternate dark and rosy legends, perhaps the time has come for the administration to face up to its own role, to its attitude as a group, entrapped in the formally legal nature of the Vichy régime, as well as in its own professional style and corporate interests. Concretely, this raises the problem of cults and memorial ceremonies. Who should be honored, and how and why ? Can we, should we, continue to honor the memory of police officers who died in the line of duty in obedience to a régime that has lost its legitimacy since ? Can we extol the stance taken by police officers who cooperated with the resistance, thus saving the corps' honor, without any mental reservation over the fact that in doing so they were overtly exemplifying indiscipline and transgression of the very essence of police values ?

AUTEUR

JEAN-MARC BERLIÈRE Université de Bourgogne, 12, rue du Chapeau Rouge, F-21000 Dijon, E-mail : [email protected] bourgogne.fr

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Forum

Comptes rendus

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Yves Cartuyvels, D'où vient le code pénal?: une approche généalogique des premiers codes pénaux absolutistes au XVIIIe siècle / Michel Porret, (Ed.), Beccaria et la culture juridique des Lumières Paris/Bruxelles, Les Presses de l'Université de Montréal/ Les Presses de l'Université d'Ottawa/ De Boeck Université, 1996 (Préface de Françoise Tulkens), XX + 404 pp., ISBN 2 8041 2360 X. / Genève, Droz, 1997, 316 pp., ISBN 2 600 00176 X.

J.A. Sharpe

REFERENCES

Yves Cartuyvels, D'où vient le code pénal?: une approche généalogique des premiers codes pénaux absolutistes au XVIIIe siècle, Paris/Bruxelles, Les Presses de l'Université de Montréal/ Les Presses de l'Université d'Ottawa/ De Boeck Université, 1996 (Préface de Françoise Tulkens), XX + 404 pp., ISBN 2 8041 2360 X. Michel Porret, (Ed.), Beccaria et la culture juridique des Lumières, Genève, Droz, 1997, 316 pp., ISBN 2 600 00176 X.

1 It is encouraging to see how work currently in progress is opening up our understanding of the significance and operation of the law in Ancien Régime Europe, a trend which is illustrated by the two books, each of them well researched and well thought out works which add much to grasp of such matters, under review here. Both of them, of course, deal with fairly familiar topics : everyone who has studied the history of European law will have heard of Beccaria, while the law codes created by

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enlightened despots in the eighteenth century have long been known about. But both of these volumes open up new approaches to, and give us new insights upon, their respective subjects.

2 Cartuyvels is, in effect, attempting a bold work of synthesis, and one which takes in moves towards the codification of the law from the famous Carolina of Charles V onwards. The first half of the book is concerned with these earlier developments, taking a comparative approach which encompasses France, Italy, and some of the territories that lay within the Holy Roman Empire. In all states, he argues, the push towards codification of the law was connected with the broader needs of state formation, and in particular the logic of centralisation. To legal developments linked overtly to the needs of the state were added, especially in the seventeenth century, the development of natural law doctrines which in some measure anticipated ways of thinking which are more commonly associated with the Enlightenment: Cartuyvels discusses the thought of Althusius, Grotius, Pufendorf, Wolff, and Leibnitz, and devotes a section to Jean Domat, whom he sees as the precursor of modern codification of the law in France. This part of the book ends with an analysis of the Prussian and Bavarian codes of the mid eighteenth century, which are interpreted as being on the cusp of two different rationales of law codes, these rationales being themselves related to specific stages in the history of political theory and of state -formation.

3 Part two of Cartuyvels book concentrates on the codes created by, or at least under, the Enlightened Despots of the later eighteenth century. Separate chapters are devoted to each of the most noteworthy of these: that promulgated by Catherine the Great of Russia in 1767; the Tuscan code of 1786, the Leopoldina; the code of Joseph II of Austria, promulgated un 1787 ; and the project for a penal code in Lom-bardy. Once again, a valuable comparative framework is maintained, although each separate topic is treated on its own terms and covered in appropriate detail. The book is rounded off by a conclusion, in which the author draws the threads together, and in particular demonstrates his ability to link the theme of law reform with the broader intellectual and political developments of the period he studies.

4 The work edited by Michel Porret is a timely collection of essays on Beccaria, the fruits of a colloquium held at Geneva in November 1994. The various essays, taken together, cover many aspects of what might be described as Beccaria studies. A number of them, appropriately enough, are concerned with the reception of Bec-caria's thought in various national contexts: Spain, England, and Scandinavia. Others are precisely - focussed pieces covering more specific topics : a discussion of an unedited translation of On Crime and Punishment, for example. More numerous are those which discuss Beccaria's thought in the context of the more general legal developments of the period: thus there are contributions on legal medicine after Beccaria, on legal medicine and torture in eighteenth-century Italy, on the philos-phical foundations of Beccaria's ideas on the function of punishment, and on Beccaria and the formation of modern notions of public order. One has the sense that the conference from which this volume derives must have been an intellectually exciting event: the range of papers delivered, and the informed yet lively scholarship which informs them, is most impressive.

5 A number of the essays in this collection also lead us forwards to a consideration of that set of problems which, I would contend, forms the basis of a serious questioning of the type of approach to legal history from which, it seems to me, Cartuyvels' book, despite its undoubted virtues, does not escape. One has, as has already been suggested, for long

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been familiar with the legal reforms of the enlightened despots. These have been much written about, although this statement is not in any way intended to question the individuality and freshness of Cartuyvels' analysis, and his ability to deal with the relevant issues on a comparative basis. What one wonders, of course, is how effectively the philosophy enshrined in these new, rational, modernising codes informed the practices of local officials and local judges. The idea that local law enforcement agents in, say, the Urals or the more remote parts of Leopold II's Hungarian possessions became philosophes overnight, and eagerly thumbed through translations of Beccaria as they honed up their appreciation of more rational penal strategies seems a little unlikely. I personally would welcome detailed studies on the actual workings of the criminal courts and local legal systems in states where new, enlightened, legal codes were promulgated to see what difference, on a grass roots level, these grandiose schemes actually made.

6 These problems are, for example, highlighted in Porret's collection by Xavier Rousseaux's essay on the Habsburg possessions, which examines penal practices as well as doctrines and projects, and in Nicole Dyonet's study of the maréchaussée and judicial culture in Beccaria's day. Both demonstrate, at certain points, how Ancien Régime penal practices, if less streamlined and rational than either the philosophes of the time or modern historians would have liked, did have a logic of their own, and seemed to be generally accepted. This raises a further point. Much of the writing on Enlightenment law reform seems to be constrained within what an Anglosphone historian would describe as a Whig Interpretation: that is, an occasionally triumphalist history which takes an uncritical celebration of progress as its main theme. People in the past were not quite as enthusiastic for progress, or at least change, as are modern historians, and there must be a large question as to how far judges and the perhaps relatively unenlightened local law enforcement officers to whom I have referred reacted to the changes proposed by their rulers and the intellectuals whom, in the eighteenth century, it was fashionable to trust as policy makers. Again, we need to know more about the personnel manning Europe's criminal justice systems, the attitudes of such people, and how those machines actually operated.

7 But between them these do books have done us a valuable service. D'où vient le code pénal? Has provided us with a thoughtful, scholarly, yet lively and wide ranging restatement of what is, in essence, the traditional framework for the legal history of Ancien Régime Europe. The collection edited by Porret, while celebrating what has long been accepted as a key figure in that traditional history, does contain many pointers to how future research might move beyond that framework, and deepen our understanding of this important and fascinating aspect of Europe's past.

AUTHORS

J.A. SHARPE University of York, England, [email protected]

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Clive Emsley, Crime and Society in England 1750-1900 London and New York, Longman, 1996 (2nd ed.), 287 p., ISBN 0 522 25768-9

Martin J. Wiener

REFERENCES

Clive Emsley, Crime and Society in England 1750-1900, London and New York, Longman, 1996 (2nd ed.), 287 p., ISBN 0 522 25768-9.

1 The first edition of this work, bringing together for the first time the findings of specialized scholarship in a concise overview of the subject, immediately became a standard reference. In less than a decade, the large amount of scholarly work in the decade since has called forth a revised edition, one which maintains the work's position as an indispensable introduction to the field. Like its predecessor, this edition provides not only authoritative brief summaries of specialized research (including the author's own), but a most attractive text for undergraduate and graduate students. Emsley has managed to marry precision of exposition with the vividness of a multitude of examples drawn from the archives. The original edition is updated throughout, as findings and arguments of work done in the intervening decade are smoothly incorporated - including some work not yet published. As the focus within the field has moved from crime as a social activity to how crime was defined and dealt with, Emsley's chapters on these subjects have become richer, without giving up the clarity of the first edition.

2 The most important difference between editions is the addition here of an entirely new chapter on gender, a perspective that was barely acknowledged a decade ago. This chapter opens with Frances Heidensohn's apt observation that, even more than class, gender is « the crucial variable in predicting criminality. » Yet the overwhelmingly male nature of most criminal activity was just what allowed gender to be dismissed by earlier scholars. Crime was an affair of men, and that acknowledgment was the

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beginning and end of the gender issue. Now, however, that « fact » is seen to raise, not close, questions central to the entire enterprise of criminal history. The perspective of gender affects the older history of crime in two ways. First, Emsley brings women fully into the story. He examines criminal activity by women (chiefly petty theft and offences associated with prostitution) and against women (in particular domestic violence and sexual assault). Such activities (usually very under-reported) have traditionally but not necessarily correctly been seen as either trivial or « private, » and thus of less broad import than others (which generally involve few women) like rioting, poaching, forgery, robbery or murder. He also describes evidence for a long-term decline during this period in female criminal participation and notes possible explanations recently advanced. Second - and here the scholarship does not yet support an extended discussion, so Emsley is very brief -looking closely at gender opens up fresh questions about how behavior is criminalized, and how it may be differentially treated, by police, courts and penal systems. In these questions the increasing interest in gender dovetails with that in how crime is defined and dealt with. Perhaps in another decade a third edition of this work may be able to provide a fuller discussion of these questions.

3 In the meantime, we are fortunate to have Emsley's work as a judicious and knowledgeable marker of the present state of modern English criminal justice history.

AUTHORS

MARTIN J. WIENER Rice University

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Lonza (Nella), Pod plaštem pravde, Kaznenopravni sustav Dubrovaèke Republike u XVIII. stoljecu, (Sous le voile de la justice, Le système pénal de la République de Dubrovnik au XVIIIe siècle) Dubrovnik, Zavod za povijesne znanosti Hrvatske Akademije Znanosti i Umjetnosti (Publications de l'Institut pour les Sciences historiques de l'Académie des Sciences de Croatie), 1997, [Résumé en anglais], ISBN 953 154 0810.

Jasna Adler

RÉFÉRENCE

Lonza (Nella), Pod plaštem pravde, Kaznenopravni sustav Dubrovaèke Republike u XVIII. stoljecu, (Sous le voile de la justice, Le système pénal de la République de Dubrovnik au XVIIIe siècle) Dubrovnik, Zavod za povijesne znanosti Hrvatske Akademije Znanosti i Umjetnosti (Publications de l'Institut pour les Sciences historiques de l'Académie des Sciences de Croatie), 1997, [Résumé en anglais], ISBN 953 154 0810.

1 Cet ouvrage sérieux, bien documenté sur les archives de la République ragusienne, analyse différents aspects de son système pénal. Au confluent de multiples influences, la doctrine se construit déjà au XIIe siècle et s'enrichit par acquis et emprunts successifs au système pénal vénitien, ainsi qu'à la coutume ou encore à la jurisprudence des villes italiennes. La torture par exemple, dont la pratique et la doctrine sont empruntées aux villes italiennes, est utilisée au XIVe siècle alors que les normes écrites n'existent pas encore. Les premiers cadres, notaires, viennent des villes italiennes, avec lesquels

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perdurent des liens sociaux. Les grandes familles de Dubrovnik (comme les Sorgo) forment au courant du XVIIIe siècle volontiers leurs fils à Rome, ou à Bologne. La doctrine juridique italienne s'y répand à la même vitesse qu'ailleurs en Europe ; le texte de Beccaria, Des délits et des peines, dans son édition vénitienne de 1781, arrive la même année dans les villes de la côte dalmate.

2 En analysant la structure de l'appareil juridique, le fonctionnement de ses institutions, la pratique pénale et son insertion dans le tissu social, Lonza dresse un tableau complet du système pénal ragusien. Certaines difficultés fonctionnelles des institutions pénales proviennent d'un affaiblissement démographique de la classe patricienne, mais aussi de son apparent désintérêt de la chose publique. Une des mesures pour lutter contre l'abstentionnisme au sein du Grand conseil seront des amendes. Ces mesures sont peu efficaces, à en juger par le nombre de billets d'excuses, accompagnés de certificats médicaux complaisants précisant parfois l'impossibilité de quitter le domicile pour cause de « purgation ». Surmontant l'affaiblissement de la classe patricienne, les institutions de la République continuent à fonctionner tout au long du XVIIIe siècle selon leurs modes anciens : fonctions limitées dans la durée, faites dans le souci d'éviter un pouvoir oligarchique.

3 La criminalité, telle qu'en témoignent les documents étudiés, manifeste quelques particularités. Le contentieux des meurtres diminue au XVIIIe siècle, ne représentant plus que un à deux cas par an, contre onze au XVIIe siècle. L'explication de ce changement se trouve dans les circonstances politiques, le territoire de la République se situant au croisement des intérêts vénitiens et ottomans. La paix de 1699 marque donc la diminution des troubles. La part des vols, par contre, reste constante au cours des deux siècles.

4 Après avoir étudié et évoqué les différentes peines appliquées (estrapade, bannissement, exposition à dos d'âne, etc.), puis les mécanismes inquisitoriaux du procès pénal, Lonza termine par un chapitre sur la culture juridique de Dubrovnik au XVIIIe siècle.

5 Cet ouvrage érudit, tout en renseignant sur le système pénal de la République, qu'il montre lié aux courants européens de son époque, souligne aussi ses particularités locales : le poids, notamment, de la coutume dans les communautés villageoises, ainsi que l'impact de son environnement politique plus vaste.

AUTEURS

JASNA ADLER (Département d'histoire générale, Université de Genève)

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Nandrin (Jean-Pierre), La justice de paix à l'aube de l'indépendance de la Belgique (1832-1848). La professionnalisation d'une fonction judiciaire Bruxelles, Publications des Facultés universitaires Saint-Louis, n° 78, 1998, 314 p., ISBN 2 8020 0123 6.

Jean-Claude Farcy

RÉFÉRENCE

Nandrin (Jean-Pierre), La justice de paix à l'aube de l'indépendance de la Belgique (1832-1848). La professionnalisation d'une fonction judiciaire, Bruxelles, Publications des Facultés universitaires Saint-Louis, n° 78, 1998, 314 p., ISBN 2 8020 0123 6.

1 Cet ouvrage est la publication d'une partie de la thèse de l'auteur, soutenue à l'Université catholique de Louvain en 1995, et consacrée à l'histoire de la justice belge dans les années 1830-1840 (Hommes, normes et politique. Le pouvoir judiciaire en Belgique aux premiers temps de l'indépendance, 1832-1848). Il s'agit essentiellement d'une étude institutionnelle de la justice de paix, avec un fil conducteur parfaitement identifié dans le titre. Jean-Pierre Nandrin montre comment la conception originelle de la justice de paix cède progressivement la place à une institution à caractère plus professionnel, mieux intégrée dans l'organisation judiciaire. Mais cette professionnalisation s'accompagne d'une référence constante, dans les discours, à « l'utopie originaire », au mythe fondateur de 1790, celui des Constituants français proposant un modèle de justice de proximité.

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2 Dans un premier temps, l'auteur rappelle les grands traits de ce projet « rous-seauiste » qui, au delà du désir d'instaurer un juge paternel, davantage conciliateur et arbitre que juriste, chargé de trancher les questions de fait et non de droit, témoigne aussi de la volonté des révolutionnaires de limiter le pouvoir judiciaire, en réduisant ainsi la compétence de la justice civile ordinaire. Les atteintes portées à la conciliation (nombreuses dispenses accordées dans le code de procédure civile de 1806), les pressions des agents d'affaires jouant sur la faible qualification juridique de ces magistrats, comme la dépendance à l'égard du pouvoir (amovibilité) et la médiocrité des traitements mettent à mal cet idéal. Au début des années 1830, la justice de paix apparaît comme dévalorisée.

3 La situation va commencer à changer avec l'indépendance acquise en 1830. Le principe de l'inamovibilité est inscrit dans la nouvelle Constitution belge (art. 99-100) et la loi d'organisation judiciaire d'août 1832 donne un délai à la nomination des juges de paix par l'exécutif, en attendant la réorganisation des circonscriptions judiciaires cantonales. Mais les projets d'améliorer la capacité juridique et les traitements de ces magistrats sont écartés par le législatif. Il reviendra au libéral Joseph Lebeau, ministre de la Justice d'octobre 1832 à août 1834, de prendre les premières mesures allant dans le sens de la professionnalisation, notamment par une politique « volontariste » de nominations : 26 % des juges de paix sont remplacés (peu de révocations, mais surtout des mises à la retraite) par des hommes jeunes et qualifiés, possédant un diplôme de droit. Ces juristes de formation inspirent davantage de confiance aux élites et l'on voit alors les députés étendre progressivement la compétence de ces magistrats (loi de 1833 sur l'expulsion des fermiers et surtout loi de compétence civile de 1841), évolution favorisée par l'exemple français, la faveur de la doctrine et le développement de la statistique judiciaire qui révèle à la fois la place fondamentale de la conciliation dans la pratique (et notamment du préliminaire de conciliation), la confiance des justiciables envers la justice de paix et l'importance de l'arriéré au niveau des tribunaux de première instance témoignant de l'encombrement de ces derniers. L'analyse fine, conduite par l'auteur, au niveau des débats parlementaires et de la chronologie, souligne bien les réticences à ce mouvement, prenant prétexte de la question toujours en suspend du remodelage des circonscriptions, question finalement abandonnée en 1846. Et le long ministère du catholique Jules d'Anethan (1843-1847), par son pragmatisme, confirme cette impression: si l'obligation de résidence au chef-lieu de canton votée en 1847, comme la revalorisation des traitements accordée en 1845 confirment la professionnalisation, la politique de nominations est plus ambiguë selon l'auteur. D'une part, les remplacements s'ils se font surtout sur le critère du diplôme, tiennent compte aussi de l'expérience et de la notabilité. D'autre part, suite à la fin de la question des circonscriptions, la nomination « définitive », en 1847, des magistrats en poste avant 1832, consacre l'état de fait: ces juges, âgés, sont maintenus et l'on se refuse à une épuration, en partie pour des raisons politiques et budgétaires (problèmes des pensions).

4 Aussi l'auteur peut-il conclure sur « une professionnalisation inachevée », résultat à la fois du contexte politique (relations conflictuelles avec la Hollande), de l'impossible réforme de la carte judiciaire et de la puissance du « mythe originaire » (le juge professionnel risquant d'éloigner les justiciables attachés à la conciliation). Accompagné, en annexe, d'une liste des juges de paix par cantons, en poste de 1830 à 1847 (les informations données se limitent au cursus judiciaire et à la qualification),

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l'ouvrage est écrit avec clarté et rigueur, de rares coquilles étant à signaler (le 1er § de la page 23 et quelques références bibliographiques - dont une de l'auteur, p. 301 - seraient à revoir). H a le mérite de poser le problème, toujours d'actualité, de la justice de proximité, de ses modalités - conciliation, médiation - et de sa place dans l'organisation judiciaire (juges professionnels ou non ?). Sur le plan historique, on retrouve naturellement les mêmes problèmes pour la justice de paix française, étudiée, notamment, par Guillaume Métairie, à travers l'exemple parisien. Il semble, cependant, qu'en France, la politique de nomination, qui est également une des voies majeures vers la professionnalisation, soit davantage liée aux fonctions politiques que l'on veut faire jouer à ces magistrats. En témoignent notamment les nombreuses épurations qui les touchent au cours du XIXe siècle, alors que pour la période étudiée (1832-1848) la modération est de mise en Belgique. Il faudrait aussi faire intervenir les attributions pénales qui ne sont pas prises en compte dans le travail de Jean-Pierre Nandrin. Il n'en constitue pas moins un apport, définitif au plan de l'analyse institutionnelle, et indispensable pour toute étude future qui replacera le juge de paix dans son environnement, non seulement judiciaire, mais également social et politique.

AUTEURS

JEAN-CLAUDE FARCY CNRS, France

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Logie (Jacques), Les magistrats des cours et des tribunaux en Belgique (1794-1814). Essai d'approche politique et sociale Genève, Droz, 1998, VIII-513 p., ISBN 2 600 00291 X.

Jean-Claude Farcy

RÉFÉRENCE

Logie (Jacques), Les magistrats des cours et des tribunaux en Belgique (1794-1814). Essai d'approche politique et sociale, Genève, Droz, 1998, VIII-513 p., ISBN 2 600 00291 X.

1 Issu d'une thèse de doctorat soutenue en 1995 à l'Université de Paris IV, cet ouvrage est, comme l'indique la préface de Jean Tulard, un monument d'érudition. C'est dire à la fois son intérêt et également ses limites, l'apport en matière de connaissances se faisant parfois au détriment d'une réflexion générale sur la spécificité du personnel judiciaire dans un pays occupé par la France de l'an IV à la fin de l'Empire. La description - faite avec minutie, précision et rigueur - des institutions judiciaires (exception faite de la justice de paix et des tribunaux d'exception) et des politiques de nomination des magistrats fait la richesse de ce livre, écrit avec un plan très classique, suivant la chronologie des régimes politiques. Pour chaque grande période - Directoire, Consulat, Empire -, on retrouve le même cadre d'exposition: les textes légaux reprennent les nouveautés institutionnelles (déjà bien connues par le travail de Jean Bourdon ou la synthèse de Jacques Godechot), la condition matérielle des magistrats évoque la question des traitements - modestes et payés irrégulièrement jusqu'au Consulat, améliorés ensuite pour les magistrats des cours impériales -, un court chapitre traite du fonctionnement des tribunaux (audiences, jugements, menues dépenses), l'essentiel du développement de chaque partie étant consacré à l'examen, extrêmement précis, des processus de nomination des juges qui dépendent à la fois de

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la politique française - d'où des conclusions familières pour le lecteur français - et de l'évolution des relations entre la Belgique et l'occupant.

2 On devine la somme du travail consacré à la longue quête d'informations dans les fonds d'archives français et belges pour recueillir les éléments permettant de suivre le profil du personnel judiciaire selon les critères retenus : âge, niveau de fortune, exercice d'activités judiciaires ou publiques antérieures, résidence ou non dans le ressort, qualification (diplôme de droit), nationalité (part des Français de l'intérieur). Ce sont ces caractéristiques qui servent de trame à la conclusion générale. L'auteur insiste sur le profond renouvellement opéré dans la magistrature belge lors de l'annexion: près de 60 % d'hommes nouveaux sous le Directoire. L'attentisme des magistrats de l'Ancien Régime s'explique par la nouveauté de l'annexion et les incertitudes relatives à sa durée, les réticences certaines devant les idées républicaines, la médiocrité de la condition matérielle de la magistrature nouvelle (faiblesse des traitements). Les choses changent quelque peu sous le régime napoléonien, mais le retour du personnel ayant exercé sous l'Ancien Régime est très limité, les épurations de l'Empire affectant surtout ceux qui ont servi le Directoire, bien que le personnel nommé pendant cette période représente encore près de la moitié des effectifs à la fin de l'Empire. Avant même la loi du 22 ventôse an XII exigeant de tout candidat à une fonction judiciaire la licence en droit, la grande majorité du personnel élu puis nommé possède cette qualification, les seules faiblesses notées concernant les magistrats du parquet - ces fonctions plus politiques recrutent moins dans le vivier des juristes - ou les juges des tribunaux situés dans les petites villes éloignées des centres universitaires. C'est que le recrutement des magistrats se fait, en règle générale, de manière très locale, la répugnance à se déplacer loin de son milieu d'origine étant souvent à l'origine de refus et démissions. On retrouve aussi, sans surprise, des nominations privilégiant, de plus en plus sous le régime napoléonien, les représentants des classes aisées et riches, et la présence des nobles devient même significative à la fin de l'Empire (15 % des magistrats alors). Si l'on ajoute le vieillissement qui accompagne logiquement la fin des renouvellements après le Directoire, l'évolution vers une magistrature de notables est bien amorcée à la fin de l'occupation française.

3 L'auteur termine sa conclusion en évoquant les nuances de la collaboration des juristes locaux avec les autorités françaises, selon les différents départements des pays réunis. Si le duché de Brabant et la ville de Bruxelles ne posent pas de problèmes à l'occupant, il n'est en est pas de même pour les pays flamands (sauf la Meuse-Inférieure) où l'on doit faire davantage appel aux juges français. Le pays wallon est partagé: les départements de Jemappes et de l'Ourthe participent bien à la nouvelle administration, mais celui de Sambre-et-Meuse est plus réticent. Dans l'ensemble la tendance est à un recrutement de plus en plus national, les Français se maintenant dans les postes du parquet où l'on peut davantage orienter le contrôle des populations et des fonctionnaires locaux.

4 On peut se demander si cette question n'aurait pas mérité d'être placée au cœur de la réflexion, étant donné le poids de l'influence française bien au delà de l'annexion, et, pour la période analysée, l'importance de la problématique occupant/ occupé. Il est dommage sur ce plan que la conclusion ne redonne pas de manière synthétique (sous forme de tableaux ou graphiques, accompagnés de cartes par départements), pour ce critère comme pour les autres, les résultats acquis à la suite de la longue et minutieuse enquête effectuée dans les archives. De même si la référence au travail de Jean Bourdon

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est constante - l'auteur y apporte quelques correctifs de détail seulement -, en particulier pour l'analyse des processus de nomination, elle aurait pu servir également pour une comparaison relative au profil du personnel judiciaire. Ces regrets n'enlèvent rien à la richesse du livre de Jacques Logie, ils pointent seulement les limites d'une œuvre d'érudition, qui, en son domaine, est de grande qualité et servira longtemps de référence, à l'égal des travaux de Jean Bourdon pour la France.

AUTEURS

JEAN-CLAUDE FARCY CNRS, France

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Jean-Marc Berlière, Le monde des polices en France XIXe-XXe siècles / Marie Vogel et Jean-Marc Berlière, Police, État et société en France (1930-1960) Bruxelles, Éditions Complexe, 1996, 275 pp., ISBN 2 87027 641 9 (Collection « Le monde de... ») / Les cahiers de l'IHTP, 1997, 36, 143 pp., ISSN 0247-0101

René Lévy

RÉFÉRENCE

Jean-Marc Berlière, Le monde des polices en France XIXe-XXe siècles, Bruxelles, Éditions Complexe, 1996, 275 pp., ISBN 2 87027 641 9 (Collection « Le monde de... »). Marie Vogel et Jean-Marc Berlière, Police, État et société en France (1930-1960), Les cahiers de l'IHTP, 1997, 36, 143 pp., ISSN 0247-0101.

1 Publié sous un titre peu attrayant, dû à l'intitulé de la collection où il paraît, l'ouvrage de Jean-Marc Berlière représente un véritable tour de force. Son auteur - que sa monumentale thèse et ses nombreuses publications ont révélé comme le principal historien de la police contemporaine en France1 - nous présente ici la première synthèse historique sérieuse sur cette question pour la période allant de la IIIe République à la Libération.

2 En dix chapitres, complétés par près de 400 notes souvent substantielles, une bibliographie très complète et un index onomastique, l'auteur dresse un panorama très complet et nuancé des différents aspects de cette institution si longtemps et profondément négligée par les historiens (le tout en seulement 275 pages).

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3 L'ouvrage se compose de deux parties. La première, la plus longue, est consacrée à la IIIe République, et l'auteur y examine successivement les différentes facettes de la police et la manière dont elles ont évolué au cours des 70 années du régime: la complexité de l'organisation initiale et son unification progressive; la différenciation de la police judiciaire ; le recrutement et la formation des policiers ; les avatars de la police politique ; le maintien de l'ordre public ; le cas particulier de la Préfecture de police de Paris, véritable État dans l'État.

4 La seconde est consacrée à la rupture décisive qu'occasionne à cette institution la Deuxième Guerre mondiale, avec la mise en place, en France occupée, d'un régime de collaboration qui provoque l'étatisation des polices, et la nécessité de reconstruire la police à la Libération. A chaque fois, de manière nuancée, mais sans dissimuler son point de vue personnel, l'auteur s'efforce de mettre en lumière les politiques et les débats qu'elles suscitent, mais aussi les représentations des policiers eux-mêmes, leurs motivations, leurs dilemmes et leurs pratiques.

5 L'un des leitmotivs de l'ouvrage est l'ambivalence des républicains, tout au long de la période: d'un côté, ils sont soucieux de concilier démocratie et défense des libertés avec la défense de l'ordre et d'un régime longtemps fragile. Ayant rapidement renoncé à abolir la Préfecture de police de Paris, tout comme les services de police politique, qu'ils vouaient aux gémonies sous l'Empire, ils n'hésitèrent pas à utiliser ces instruments contre leurs adversaires, d'extrême-droite comme d'extrême-gauche. D'un autre côté, leurs velléités réformatrices étaient constamment bridées par le souci d'épargner les deniers publics, de sorte que c'est généralement sous la pression des circonstances que se produisaient les changements.

6 La Troisième République, et c'est le premier mérite de l'ouvrage que de le montrer, conserva donc un système policier composite, source de multiples contradictions, concurrences et conflits, où coexistent au plan national la gendarmerie et une police d'Etat très peu développée - la Sûreté générale (puis, après 1934, « nationale ») - longtemps réduite à une police politique, avant de s'étoffer d'un embryon de police judiciaire (les fameuses brigades mobiles créées en 1907). Localement, on trouve tantôt des polices purement municipales, souvent faibles, tantôt des polices municipales étatisées au coup par coup pour répondre à des situations particulières, à l'exception de Paris, de tous temps placée sous l'autorité directe de l'État (mais sans aucun lien avec la Sûreté). Cette situation assez chaotique ne trouvera son épilogue qu'avec la guerre et l'Occupation, le régime de Vichy réalisant, dans ce domaine comme dans d'autres, la « modernisation » des structures dont beaucoup affirmait la nécessité depuis la première avant-guerre. En ce sens, « Vichy prolonge et achève l'œuvre de la IIIe République » (p. 164), mais sans remettre en cause l'existence de la Préfecture de police de Paris (qui ne fut intégrée à la Police nationale qu'en 1966, tout en conservant son organisation spécifique).

7 Pour qui connaissait déjà les travaux de Jean-Marc Berlière, les chapitres consacrés à la Deuxième Guerre et à la Libération sont les plus neufs et constituent une mise au point bienvenue. Jean-Marc Berlière y montre clairement à la fois comment Vichy a su satisfaire les aspirations des policiers et comment il les a enfermées dans un piège: celui d'une collaboration avec le nazisme, cautionnée par l'apparence de légitimité du régime (et le passé républicain de beaucoup de responsables) et renforcée par la volonté de celui-ci d'affirmer sa souveraineté en se chargeant, en lieu et place de l'occupant, des sales besognes dont celui-ci n'était que trop content de se décharger sur

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la police française. Période qui révèle aussi, pour le pire, l'extrême professionnalisation et compétence des policiers aguerris sous la République, et les méfaits d'une « culture de l'obéissance » dont « on avait fait leur unique préoccupation, le critère professionnel idéal, la borne de leur horizon mental » (p. 196) et avec laquelle seul un petit nombre de policiers sont parvenus à rompre dès le début, avant d'être progressivement rejoints par d'autres à mesure que s'affirmait la perspective d'une défaite allemande.

8 Jean-Marc Berlière montre également que l'épuration qui s'ensuivit fut plus profonde qu'on a tendance à le penser aujourd'hui, mais qu'elle fut peu soucieuse de hiérarchiser les responsabilités et peu sensible à la question de la collaboration de la police au génocide des Juifs. Surtout, elle s'est d'emblée inscrite dans une sourde rivalité politique entre un de Gaulle soucieux de restaurer au plus vite l'autorité de l'État - fût- ce au prix d'un pieux mensonge sur la participation de la police à la Résistance - et le PCF, qui voyait dans l'épuration le moyen à la fois de mettre hors d'état de nuire quelques-uns de ses plus efficaces adversaires et de prendre pied dans une institution qui lui était jusqu'alors fermée. Il n'en reste pas moins que l'épuration, même rapidement atténuée par des amnisties successives, a constitué, pour la police, « un véritable révolution culturelle » (p. 217), dans laquelle l'obéissance et le zèle passés étaient subitement taxés de trahison, tandis que la désobéissance, l'attentisme ou la passivité se virent décerner un brevet de patriotisme. En ce sens, elle marque une véritable rupture par rapport aux précédentes transitions politiques - de l'Empire à la République, puis de celle-ci à l'État français - dont les nouveaux dirigeants s'assurèrent la fidélité de la police du régime précédent en lui épargnant, précisément, la purge. Révolution lourde de conséquences, qui introduisant l'exigence déontologique et éthique au cœur de l'appareil d'État, « rompt le pacte qui liait les policiers au pouvoir » (p. 218), ce dont la IVe République - héritière de l'organisation policière mise en place par Vichy et dans l'ensemble conservée après la guerre - fera les frais.

9 Bien d'autres aspects mériteraient d'être soulignés; disons donc simplement qu'il s'agit d'un ouvrage écrit dans une langue parfaitement accessible au profane et qui devrait figurer dans la bibliothèque de tous les spécialistes.

10 Il devrait y être rejoint par un petit instrument de travail fort utile, réalisé par Marie Vogel2 et Jean-Marc Berlière: il s'agit d'une bibliographie d'un millier de titres, complétée par plusieurs index et comprenant, il faut le noter, aussi bien des travaux historiques que de sociologie ou de science politique.

11 En résumé, voici donc deux ouvrages qui témoignent de l'importance croissante qu'a pris le domaine des recherches sur la police en France, depuis quelques années et qui augurent bien de son développement futur.

NOTES

1. Notamment : La police des mœurs sous la IIIe République, Paris, Seuil, 1992 ; Le préfet Lépine, vers la naissance de la police moderne, Paris, Denoël, 1993.

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2. Elle-même auteur d'une thèse qui a renouvelé nos connaissances sur les polices municipales sous la IIIe République : Vogel (M.), La police des villes entre local et national. L'administration des polices urbaines sous la IIIe République , Grenoble, Université de Grenoble II- Institut d'études politiques 1993.

AUTEUR

RENÉ LÉVY CESDIP-CNRS, France, [email protected]

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Frédéric Chauvaud, éd., « Violences », Sociétés & Représentations 1998, n° 6, 503 pp., ISSN 1262 2966.

Laurent Mucchielli

RÉFÉRENCE

Frédéric Chauvaud, éd., « Violences », Sociétés & Représentations, 1998, n° 6, 503 pp., ISSN 1262 2966.

1 Ce sixième numéro de la revue Sociétés & Représentations est particulièrement riche de travaux historiques autour du thème des « violences ». La plupart de ces contributions sont centrées en réalité sur le XIXe siècle et sur la France : telle est la véritable unité de ce numéro dirigé du reste par un spécialiste du XIXe siècle français. Citons, dans l'ordre où ils apparaissent, les sujets traités : l'image des violences familiales dans la presse française à la fin du XIXe siècle, la violence dans les romans coloniaux (1880-1930), les femmes durant la Commune de Paris, Verlaine et Cocteau s'estimant victimes de la critique du regard social, la police des populations pauvres dans la première moitié du XIXe siècle, la violence dans les photographies amateurs au début du XX e siècle, la violence des enseignants dans les écoles (1830-1880), la violence sur les enfants au milieu du XIXe siècle, la violence sexuelle sur les enfants au début du XIX e siècle, la topographie judiciaire à Genève aux époques moderne et contemporaine, l'automutilation dans les commentaires médicaux et juridiques au XIXe siècle, le suicide en Beauce à la fin du XIXe siècle, la morgue de Paris au XIXe siècle, la biographie d'un révolutionnaire, l'évolution des mentalités sur la violence envers les animaux au XIXe siècle. Enfin, ce gros dossier dix-neuviémiste est complété par deux entretiens avec deux acteurs très importants du développement de ces études : Robert Muchembled et Alain Corbin.

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2 Certes, le pluriel ne suffit pas à donner une réelle unité à une accumulation d'articles la plupart du temps extrêmement spécialisés. Toutefois, ce volume peut se lire comme un état des recherches à un moment donné, dans un champ historique donné. Au demeurant, il aurait sans doute gagner à conserver ce cadre très cohérent. Mais les animateurs ont manifestement voulu l'ouvrir davantage et l'on trouvera ainsi quelques études portant sur la société contemporaine: la lèpre au XXe siècle, le contrôle du corps dans la salle de classes en cours préparatoire et en cours élémentaire 1, la violence révolutionnaire après 1968, les modèles de la violence urbaine, le viol de guerre, un débat sur les manifestations. Ces contributions sont naturellement intéressantes en soi, mais elles n'ont à l'évidence guère de rapport avec les précédentes. Inversement, elles sont vraiment trop peu nombreuses pour permettre de se faire une idée de l'état actuel des études sur le XXe siècle. Cette impression d'éclatement voire d'hétérogénéité est toutefois atténuée par l'existence d'une très utile bibliographie sur toutes les formes de violences sur autrui et sur soi que le lecteur trouvera tout à la fin du volume (p. 443-461).

AUTEURS

LAURENT MUCCHIELLI CESDIP-CNRS, France, [email protected]

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Informations

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Livres reçus / Books received

Artières (Ph.), Clinique de l'écriture. Une histoire du regard médical sur l'écriture, Le Plessis- Robinson, Les empêcheurs de penser en rond, 1998, 270 pp., ISBN 2 84324 052 2. Chauvaud (F.), Petit (J.-G.), (Dir.), L'Histoire contemporaine et les usages des archives judiciaires (1800-1939), Paris, Société des amis des archives de France/Honoré Champion, 490 pp., ISSN 1278 382X (Histoire et Archives, hors-série n° 2). Convenances et inconvenances du corps, Équinoxe (Revue de sciences humaines), 1998, 20. Damousi (J.), Depraved and Disorderly. Female Convicts, Sexuality and Gender in Colonial Australia, Cambridge, Cambridge U.P., 1997, x + 220 pp., ISBN 0 521 58723 9. Farcy (J.C.), Magistrats en majesté. Les discours de rentrée aux audiences solennelles des cours d'appel (XIXe-XXe siècles), Paris, CNRS Éditions, 1998, 793 pp., ISBN 2 271 05561 X. Kaluszynski (M.), Wahnich (S.), (Dir.), L'État contre la politique ? Les expressions historiques de l'étatisation, Paris, l'Harmattan, 339 pp., ISBN 2 7384 6809.1. Keniston Mcintosh (M.), Controling Misbehavior in England, 1370-1600, Cambridge, Cambridge U.P., 1998 xviii+289 pp., ISBN 0 521 62177 1 (Cambridge series in population, economy and society in past time, n° 34). Meccarelli (M.), Arbitrium. Un aspetto sistematico degli ordinamenti giuridici in età di diritto comune, Milano, Giuffrè, 1998, 394 pp., ISBN 88 14 07267 1. Ruchat (M.), Les chroniques du mal. Le journal de l'éducation correctionnelle 1850-1918, Carouge, Éd. Passé Présent, 1998, 214 pp. ISBN 2 940014 16 7. Weisberg (R.H.), Vichy, la justice et les Juifs, Amsterdam, Éditions des archives contemporaines, 1998, 266 pp., ISBN 90 5709 010 4 (trad. Fr. de Vichy Law and the Holocaust in France, dont un compte rendu est paru dans CHS, 1998, 2, 111-119). Ylikangas (H.), Karonen (P.), Lehti (M.), Five Centuries of Violence in Finland and the Baltic Area, Helsinki, Publications of the History of Criminality Research project, 1998, 275 pp. ISBN 951 715 279 5.

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International Association for the History and Criminal Justice Élection du président et du secrétaire / Election for president and secretary 1999-2001

— Clive Emsley (Open University, Milton Keynes, U.K.), Président — Pieter Spierenburg (Erasmus Universiteit, Rotterdam, N.L.), Secretary

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Fritz Sack Prize for Criminology GIWK. Gesellschaft für Interdisziplinäre wissenschaftliche Kriminologie (Association for Interdisciplinary Scientific Criminology)

The Association for Interdisciplinary Scientific Criminology invites nominations for the Fritz Sack Prize for Criminology. The Association will confer the award upon scholars who, through their research, have made an outstanding contribution to the development of interdisciplinary scientific criminology.

Prize money

The prize money will amount to DM 3,000. It will be awarded to an individual author or a team of authors. The Executive Committee of the Association reserves to themselves the right of adjusting the sum for financial reasons and of suspending the offer of the prize.

Selection procedure

The prize will be awarded to an individual author or a team of authors in consideration of one or more publications in the field of criminology. The pieces - articles or monographs - should have been in press for a period of no more than two years preceding the deadline for the nominations. The decision upon the award will be taken by an independent Selection Committee elected by the members of the Association. The Selection Committee will choose the winner or the group of winners from the nominees by a simple majority of votes. The decision is definitive and cannot be challenged. The award may not be given to members of either the Selection or the Executive Committees of the Association.

Nominations

Nominations must be submitted by 30 November 1999. They must include a recommendation for the nominee not to exceed two typed pages. Please address your

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suggestions to the Selection Committee (c/o Geschaftsstelle der GIWK, Aufbau- und KontaktstudiumKriminologie, Troplowitzstr. 7, D-22529 Hamburg, Germany).

Members of the selection committee

The Selection Committee consists of four elected members (currently: Dr. Susanne Karstedt, University of Bielefeld; Prof. Dr. Rudiger Lautmann, University of Bremen; Prof. Dr. Wolfgang Naucke, University of Francfort; Priv. Doz. Dr. Gerlinda Smaus, University of Saarbrucken) and the president of the Association's Executive Committee (currently: Priv. Doz. Dr. Gabi Loschper, University of Hamburg).

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