Legal Literacy in Premodern European Societies

W H C, C V

LEGAL LITERACY IN PREMODERN EUROPEAN SOCIETIES

Edited by Mia Korpiola World Histories of Crime, Culture and Violence

Series Editors Marianna Muravyeva University of Tampere Tampere, Finland

Raisa Maria Toivo University of Tampere Tampere, Finland Palgrave’s World Histories of Crime, Culture and Violence seeks to publish research monographs, collections of scholarly essays, multi-authored books, and Palgrave Pivots addressing themes and issues of interdisciplinary histories of crime, criminal justice, criminal policy, culture and violence globally and on a wide chronological scale (from the ancient to the modern period). It focuses on interdisciplinary studies, historically contextual- ized, across various cultures and spaces employing a wide range of methodologies and conceptual frameworks.

More information about this series at http://www.palgrave.com/gp/series/14383 Mia Korpiola Editor Legal Literacy in Premodern European Societies Editor Mia Korpiola University of Turku Turku, Finland

World Histories of Crime, Culture and Violence ISBN 978-3-319-96862-9 ISBN 978-3-319-96863-6 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-96863-6

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This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland Contents

Introduction 1 Mia Korpiola Legal Literacy 4 Legal Literates of Various Kinds: Learning by Doing 7 (Popular) Legal Literature as a Means of Learning Law 10 Bibliography 14

Part I Legal Literates and Their Paths to Legal Literacy 17

Legal Education in Late Medieval England: How Did Provincial Scriveners Learn Their Law? 19 Kitrina Bevan Introduction: Legal Literacy and Access to Justice 19 Scriveners and the Ordinance of 1280 22 The Oxford Business Schools as Training Centres for Scriveners 25 Apprenticeship and On-the-Job Training 28 Legal Tracts, Treatises, and Self-Tuition 32 Conclusion 37 Bibliography 38

v vi CONTENTS

The Imperial Chamber Court (1495–1806) as an Educational and Training Institution 43 Anette Baumann Introduction 43 The Establishing and Early Years of the Imperial Chamber Court and Its Professional Corps of Judges 44 Bartholomäus von Sastrow’s First “Internship” at the Imperial Chamber Court (1542–1544) 47 Bartholomäus von Sastrow’s Second Stay at the Imperial Chamber Court (1549–c. 1551) 50 The Imperial Chamber Court as a Training Centre in the Eighteenth Century 53 Conclusion 55 Bibliography 56

Legal Learning of Various Kinds: Swedish Court of Appeal Judges in the Seventeenth Century 59 Marianne Vasara-Aaltonen Introduction 59 The Svea Court of Appeal and Its Judges Without Any University Education 63 The Tales of Four Judges 66 Finding the Next Best Thing 71 Noblemen as Judges 77 Conclusions 80 Bibliography 82

The Agency and Practical Learning of a Lay Advocate in Seventeenth-Century Helsinki: The Case of Gabriel Abrahamsson 89 Petteri Impola Introduction 89 The Emergence of Advocacy in Seventeenth-Century Sweden 92 The Advocacy and Agency of Gabriel Abrahamsson 97 Acquiring Theoretical and Practical Skills 100 A Much-Used and Successful Lay Advocate 105 Successful Multitasking Enabling Social Mobility 109 Conclusion 111 Bibliography 113 CONTENTS vii

Ideal Types and Odd Men Out: Legal Literacy and Social Mobility in Nineteenth-Century Finland 119 Anna Kuismin Introduction 119 Legal Literacy, Class, and the Language Question in Nineteenth- Century Finland 121 Pietari Päivärinta: From a Village Scribe to a Professional Writer 127 Zefanias Suutarla, a Man of Many Ventures 130 The Odd Men Out: Legal Literacy Without Social Ascent 134 Conclusion 138 Bibliography 140

Part II (Popular) Legal Literature as a Means to Legal Literacy 145

Legal Literates in Eighteenth-Century Swedish Towns: Evidence of Book Ownership in Estate Inventories (Helsinki, Oulu, Porvoo, and Kokkola) 147 Mia Korpiola Introduction 147 Estate Inventories as Sources of Book Ownership 150 What Can We Learn from Numbers? Analysing Language, Time, and Place 156 Learned Books in Latin for the Learned Estate: Latin Jurisprudence and Natural Law 161 Laws and Statute Collections: Swedish “Proto-legalism” on the Grassroot Level 167 Legal Literacy in Swedish Towns: Practical Books for Practical Men? 171 How Were the Books Acquired? 177 Conclusion 183 Bibliography 184

Popular Legal Manuals as Sources and Mechanisms of Acquiring Legal Literacy 191 Annamaria Monti Introduction 191 Popular Legal Manuals in Nineteenth-Century Italy 193 viii CONTENTS

The Anglo-American Experience of Popular Legal Manuals 198 Conclusion 202 Bibliography 203

Acquiring Legal Literacy by Reading: Popular Legal Literature in Nineteenth-Century France 211 Laetitia Guerlain and Nader Hakim Popular Legal Literature as a Literary Subgenre: Are We In or Out? 215 The Popular Legal Literature: An Attempt at a Photofit 219 A Few Concluding Remarks: The Epistemological Interest in Popular Legal Literature 238 Bibliography 239

Index 253 Notes on Contributors

Anette Baumann is Professor of History at the Justus Liebig University Giessen, and Director of the research centre for the Imperial Chamber Court (1405–1806). She has written several books, including Die Gesellschaft der Frühen Neuzeit im Spiegel der Reichskammergerichtsprozesse (2000), Advokaten und Prokuratoren: Anwälte am Reichskammergericht (1690–1806) (2006), and Visitationen am Reichskammergericht: Speyer als politischer und juristischer Aktionsraum des Reiches (1529–1588) (2018). Kitrina Bevan defended her doctoral thesis Clerks and Scriveners: Legal Literacy and Access to Justice in Late Medieval England at the University of Exeter in 2013. She is an independent scholar working as a freelance proofreader and copy editor. Laetitia Guerlain is Assistant Professor of Legal History at the University of Bordeaux since 2012, and defended her PhD dissertation in 2011. She works on the history of legal thought and the history of legal knowledge in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Her research specifically focuses on the relationship between law and sociology, and law and anthropology. In addition to numerous papers and book chapters, she recently published a monograph, L’École de Le Play et le droit: Contribution à l’histoire des rapports entre droit et science sociale (2017) and edited Penser la protection sociale: Perspectives historiques et contemporaines (2017). Nader Hakim is Professor of Legal History at the University of Bordeaux since 2010 and Director of the Centre Aquitain d’Histoire du droit (Institut de Recherche Montesquieu). His publications deal mainly with the

ix x NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS history of legal thought since the end of the eighteenth century. In addition to his articles and book chapters, he has published Natalino Irti: Le nihilisme juridique (2017), Le droit du vin à l’épreuve des enjeux envi- ronnementaux (2015), Le droit civil et la législation ouvrière (2013) et Le renouveau de la doctrine française: Les grands auteurs de la pensée juridique au tournant du xxe siècle (2009). Petteri Impola is MA, Doctoral Student of Finnish History at the University of Jyväskylä. In his doctoral thesis, he examines different kinds of early modern semi-professionals and work based on self-education and personal skills rather than state-education and social privileges. Its working title is The Agency and Intangible Capital on the Edge of Estate-Based System at the Swedish Age of Greatness (c. 1620–1720). Mia Korpiola is Professor of Legal History at the University of Turku, and defended her thesis in 2004. She has authored numerous articles on Swedish and Finnish legal history from a comparative perspective. In addition, she has (co-)edited several books, including Regional Variations in Matrimonial Law and Custom in Europe, 1150–1600 (2011), The Svea Court of Appeal in the Early Modern Period (2014), and Planning for Death: Wills and Death- Related Property Arrangements in Europe, 1200–1600 (2018). Anna Kuismin is a former Associate Professor of Comparative Literature, Director of the Literary Archives of the Finnish Literature Society, and Senior Researcher at the Helsinki Collegium for Advanced Studies. Among other things, Kuismin has been the PI of the Academy of Finland-funded research project Exploring Social Boundaries from Below in 2011–2015. She has published widely on the processes and practices of literacy in nineteenth-century Finland. Annamaria Monti is Professor of Legal History at the Bocconi University, Milan, and defended her thesis in 1999. She has authored several contributions, including three books: I formulari del Senato di Milano (secoli XVI–XVIII) (2001), Iudicare tamquam deus: I modi della giustizia sena- toria nel Ducato di Milano tra Cinque e Settecento (2003), and Angelo Sraffa: Un ‘antiteorico’ del diritto (2011). Marianne Vasara-Aaltonen is Postdoctoral Researcher in Legal History at the University of Turku and defended her thesis Learning for the Legal Profession: Swedish Jurists’ Study Journeys ca. 1630–1800 in 2017. In addition, she has written articles on lawyers’ studies abroad, legal education, and legal professionalisation. Introduction

Mia Korpiola

The history and development of the legal profession are classical subjects in legal history.1 A very voluminous body of literature exists on the medieval and early modern history of various legal professionals—law professors, judges, barristers, solicitors and attorneys, pleaders and practitioners, agents, “men of law,” advocates, procurators and notaries, scribes and scriveners—in various countries. A “legal professional” is a vague concept—indeed, it has even been termed “slippery,”2 as what constituted a “real” lawyer or legal “profes-

1 The starting point of book was the conference “Learning Law by Doing: Exploring Legal Literacy in Premodern Societies,” organised at the University of Turku in January 2016. The conference was generously funded by the Faculty of Law which is acknowledged with thanks. Further, the writing of this book has been financially supported by the Academy of Finland through its research project (no. 309055) Legal Literacy in Finland ca. 1750-1920: A Case of Popular Legal Learning in Premodern Europe. Moreover, I would like to thank the anonymous reader of this book manuscript for the positive feedback, Hazel Salminen for her per- tinent remarks and for improving the language of this book, and finally—with much gratitude—Anita Geritz for her sterling assistance in editing this book. 2 Brand (1992), p. vii.

M. Korpiola (*) University of Turku, Turku, Finland e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s) 2019 1 M. Korpiola (ed.), Legal Literacy in Premodern European Societies, World Histories of Crime, Culture and Violence, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-96863-6_1 2 M. KORPIOLA sional” has varied in time and space, from country to country and from region to region. Yet, the core of professional lawyers had emerged by roughly the mid-thirteenth century. As James A. Brundage has observed in his magisterial work on the medieval foundations of the legal profession,

[a]round the year 1150, a small number of jurists were teaching Roman or canon law and practicing in ecclesiastical courts in a handful of cities, but there is no evidence that a legal profession in the rigorous sense of that term existed at that point anywhere in Western Europe. Roughly a century later, by around 1250, professional lawyers had set shop in every European city of any consequence and in some smaller towns as well.3

Thus, ever since the thirteenth century, in Continental Europe and Scotland, a person who had studied and taken a degree in a faculty of law studying Roman and/or canon law at a university was beyond doubt considered a lawyer. As for England, as is well known, the royal law courts of Westminster came to form the hub of the legal world. The common law courts, the Courts of Common Pleas and King’s Bench, as well as the Chancery drew litigants and the men representing them to London, where legal training specialising in English law, the ius proprium, emerged in the thirteenth century as an alternative—and for some, a supplement—to university studies in law.4 By the fourteenth century, professional guilds and associations of different men in law had emerged, such as guilds of scriveners and notaries.5 In addition, courts started to restrict the persons permitted to plead and represent litigants in them. The court could authorise persons (advocates, proctors, or procurators) to work there, requiring them to take professional oaths and submitting them to the court’s supervision and control as to their conduct, training, and apparel. This helped to develop a collective identity, furthered the development towards professionalisation, and accentuated an ever-growing difference between legal professionals and laymen. Yet, English sixteenth-century country practitioners held minor legal offices (receiver, under-bailiff, scribe, and scrivener) in the locality and surrounding urban settlements. They could be “at the very

3 Brundage (2008), p. 1. 4 Brand (1992). 5 E.g. Martines (1968), esp. pp. 11–57. INTRODUCTION 3 least part-time professionals.”6 Humphrey Newton (1466–1536), the Cheshire scrivener discussed by Kitrina Bevan in her chapter in this book, may have been one of them. Thus, the common lawyers represent “only the tip of the iceberg,” as has been pointed out. “Throughout the towns and counties of England there was a multitude of legal experts offering services graded for every need and pocket.”7 In the English colonies in the New World the development was to some extent the same, even if the lack of formally trained men meant that legal education became more formalised only in the second half of the eighteenth and the early nineteenth centuries.8 Generally, the professionalisation of the men of law and the monopolisation of legal work took place in stages, starting in the High Middle Ages and later, resulting in a near-total expulsion of laymen with some exceptions such as jurors and expert judges in panels. The chronology of this development varied considerably, and laymen were reintroduced in some European courts after the French Revolution. Yet, the trend is the same everywhere. In the last few decades, the capacity of this conventional narrative to capture or accurately describe the legal reality at a grass-roots level has increasingly been called into question. When looking at a remote nineteenth- century rural village, or, in fact, certain more peripheral European legal cultures, in which the judiciary was traditionally lay-dominated, using a profession-centred approach can even be considered utterly anachronistic. Instead, one step towards a more culturally sensitive and general approach would be to expand the concept of a legal profession from a narrow definition of a legal professional to a broad and more functional one, just as, for example, Paul Brand has done. According to him, a “ʻprofessional’ lawyer is someone recognised by others as having a special expertise in legal matters and who is willing to put that expertise at the disposal of others, who is paid for doing this and who spends a major part of his time in this professional activity.” The added qualification of the special regulation related to this occupation created “a legal profession” out of these “professional lawyers.”9 How much—if anything—candidates for the title “professional lawyers” were paid for their services in proportion to their total income and

6 Ives (1968), pp. 148–149. 7 Ives (1968), p. 147. 8 E.g. Barnes (1984). For an interesting study on emerging legal professionals in modernis- ing Japan, see Flaherty (2013). 9 Brand (1992), pp. vii–viii. 4 M. KORPIOLA how much time, proportionally and absolutely, they actually spent on their legal business cannot necessarily be determined by the sources.10 However, what is even more noticeable in Brand’s definition is the absence of any mention of formal studies, training, or educational requirements. When “legal professionalism” was something that depended on a generally held opinion and acknowledgement of the legal skills of someone in his or her society, a person who was perceived as a “legal professional” at one particular time could be considered an ignorant layman a century later when the attitudes had changed and new standards had been introduced. In this book, we are operating with even broader and more inclusive definitions. We are talking about “legal literacy,” a term discussed and defined in more detail below, which includes the legal knowledge and skills of all people of the past on a continuum. Between the two extremes of total legally literates—professionals narrowly and broadly defined—and total legal illiterates (if such there were), there exists a grey zone of legal literacy of different kinds, shapes, and sizes. The legal literacy of any single person in the past—man, woman, or child—can be discussed and studied on this sliding scale if sources permit. Ordinary people rarely acquired legal literacy by formal training or study, but rather, learned their law more informally by doing: by judging, writing, reading, pleading, listening to, or, quite generally, being exposed to law. Or, modifying in a legal literacy context what E.W. Ives has discussed, the “humbler” legal literates learned their “smattering of law essential to their trade, either by apprenticeship, self instruction, or simply by trial and error.”11 Indeed, by such means did the legal literates of modest origins discussed by Anna Kuismin below learn about the law, so that they were able to start taking up modest scrivening in their communities.

Legal Literacy In the Middle Ages, literacy and being literate originally referred to a knowledge of Latin. Yet, these concepts became broader with time. First, they came to mean reading and writing skills, while later they came to encompass vernacular literacy, learning to read and write in vernacular languages.12 Since the twentieth century, the meaning has broadened

10 Finlay (2000), pp. 1–2. 11 Ives (1968), p. 151. 12 E.g. Clanchy (1979), pp. 149, 177–185; Parkes (1991), p. 275. INTRODUCTION 5 remarkably. The United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) has defined literacy as the “ability to identify, understand, interpret, create, communicate and compute, using printed and written materials associated with varying contexts. Literacy involves a continuum of learning in enabling individuals to achieve their goals, to develop their knowledge and potential, and to participate fully in their community and wider society.”13 The concept of legal literacy has existed at least since the 1940s, but it has since then evolved, together with societal changes, from only relating to lawyers but also to all social groups in the aftermath of various civic rights movements in the 1960s and 1970s. At this time, legal literacy became perceived as an extension of civic skills, having “a complete set of social, intellectual, and political relations and capacities” and “social literacy.”14 Its contents have also expanded to encompass more than merely the writing of law and the literary expression of law.15 For example, according to James Boyd White’s definition from 1983, legal literacy not only comprised of “a capacity to understand the conceptual content of [legal] writings and utterances, but the ability to participate fully in a set of [legal] practices.” “Full legal literacy,” an active and creative ability, was something that could be obtained only through “a professional education and […] full-time immersion in the legal culture.”16 Yet, legal literacy could be seen as a spectrum with the “professional legal literate” at one extreme and “the legally illiterate” at the other. Moreover, some level of legal literacy could also be obtained by a “nonlawyer” and taught as “part of general education.”17 In the United States, legal historians studying the practice of law in the Colonial period have observed the inappropriateness of traditional concepts such as “professional lawyers,” in the meaning of formal English inn-of-court training in law, which made little or no sense in the Colonial American context. In 1984, Daniel Coquillette denounced the “conventional ideas of professionalism” in the English style as “blinding.” Instead, he advocated for investigating the “widespread role of ‘amateurs’” as more

13 UNESCO, Education for All Global Monitoring Report 2006, Chapters 1 and 6: “Literacy: A Core of Education for All” and “Understandings of Literacy.” 14 Bunn et al. (1945), p. 377; White (1983), p. 144; Tapp and Levine (1974), p. 54. 15 Bunn et al. (1945), p. 377. 16 Cf. White (1983), p. 155. 17 White (1983), pp. 143, 156, 159. The term “legally illiterate” has been used, for example, by Tapp and Levine (1974), p. 8. 6 M. KORPIOLA suitable for analyses of the Colonial legal culture.18 Later, the legal historian Mary Sarah Bilder used the concept of legal literacy in an influential article on early American legal literates and the transatlantic legal culture, in order to demonstrate the presence of practical skills in law in the colonies. By legal literacy she meant “the reading, writing, speaking, and thinking practices that relate to the conduct of litigation.” Through the concept, she challenged “the traditional dichotomy of ‘lay’ or ‘amateur’ versus ‘professional’ ” and argued that one should rather be talking of a “spectrum of functional skills.”19 In her later research, Bilder defined “legal literacy” as “practices relating to lawyering and the conduct of litigation” and “legal literates” as “attorneys and legal practitioners.”20 In her turn, Kitrina Bevan has used the same term for analysing medieval English provincial scriveners. For her, “ ʻlegal literacy’ […] addresses issues related not only to basic literacy skills, but also extends its scope to consider a person’s ability to derive meaning, understanding and context from a legal text.”21 For the purposes of this book, legal literacy is defined as comprising knowledge of and skills in law. This knowledge of law, again, includes a familiarity with legal terminology, the substantial content of various fields of law, as well as legal procedure, among others. Often—but not always— presupposing other basic competencies such as reading, writing, counting, and oral presentation skills, legal skills could, for example, include an ability to draft legal documents and a capacity to inform and counsel others of the law. Such were, for example, the skills of Gabriel Abrahamsson, discussed by Petteri Impola in this book, who, in addition to his lower-rank office, acted as the most popular advocate of his hometown. As in his case, legal skills include an ability to use law courts for litigating and pleading. In addition, as part of legal skills one can count “thinking like a lawyer”: understanding the key questions and points of a case, thinking strategi- cally, and reasoning persuasively in a court case. Whether even a narrowly defined legal professional actually possessed such skills depended on the individual: there could be superlatively competent as well as rather incompetent legal professionals. Moreover, as Kitrina Bevan argues in this book, even a person having considerable legal knowl-

18 Coquillette (1984), p. xxxiii. 19 Bilder (1999), p. 51. 20 Bilder (2004), p. 15. 21 Bevan (2013), p. 17. INTRODUCTION 7 edge required more studies and practical training when taking up a job. Bevan discusses John Hooker (c. 1527–1601) who obtained the office of chamberlain in Exeter in 1554/55. Hooker had previously studied Roman law at Exeter College at the University of Oxford as well as pursued law studies on the Continent at the University of Cologne. Yet, he had to acquaint himself with local law and procedure, and, more importantly, the drafting of court records and documents of different kinds through what Bevan calls “on-the-job training” under Master Richard Hert, the town clerk of Exeter.22 Much the same would apply to any Continental university-trained lawyer, well acquainted in the ius commune,23 who was given an office at a secular court. There he would first and foremost have to master theius proprium, the local law, which could be written or customary. Moreover, he would also have to learn the legal skills that were usually not part of the more theoretical university training. While disputations and oral argumentation were part of the Continental university education just like mock trials and moots were included in the English inn-of-court training, other skills may have required more practical training.24 These examples indicate that legal skills and know-how in general developed mainly through practice, regardless of possible theoretical law studies and knowledge.

Legal Literates of Various Kinds: Learning by Doing As has been indicated above, for England, after the establishment of the royal courts in Westminster, London became an important training centre for common lawyers, first through the royal central courts of Westminster, and later through the Inns of Court and the Inns of Chancery established during the fourteenth century.25 As Kitrina Bevan discusses in her chapter in this book, the professionalisation tendency around the royal courts also reached the lower strata of persons doing legal work, the London scriven-

22 See Bevan’s chapter in this book. 23 The ius commune was learned law, mainly a mixture of canon and Roman law, that emerged in the universities of the later Middle Ages. In Europe, the law applied in a locality was usually layered, comprising, for example, first and foremost of the law of that particular town or region and secondarily of that of the province. The law of the principality or realm was a subsidiary legal source. At least theoretically, the ius commune was applied when none of the above proved a solution to a legal problem. 24 E.g. Baker (2013), esp. pp. 157–167; Bellomo (1995), pp. 128–129, 135–143. 25 Brand (1992); Baker (2013). 8 M. KORPIOLA ers. The scriveners, “an amorphous group of legal practitioners,” were scribes and clerks especially specialised in writing legal documents of various kinds. In 1373, they formed the Scriveners’ Company, successfully monopolising their position.26 In England, formal and informal clerking came to be the most prominent channel for men to become legal practitioners. Clerking and learning by practice in sixteenth-century Germany is also discussed by Anette Baumann. When his father became involved in a lawsuit, the Pomeranian Bartholomäus von Sastrow (1520–1603) was forced to abandon his studies at the University of Greifswald and change his career plans. Consequently, he and his brother travelled to the imperial city of Speyer, the seat of the Reichskammergericht, or the Imperial Chamber Court, which was established in 1495 as the highest court in the Holy Roman Empire. Here, the brothers meant to further their father’s court case as solicitators27 as well as make a living. Bartholomäus von Sastrow had the good fortune to be employed by the eminently competent procurator28 Dr Friedrich Reiffsteck. One of Sastrow’s duties was to clerk for Reiffsteck. As Baumann points out, thereby Sastrow could “become familiar with the customs and practices of the Court and the manner of argumentation used by the lawyers” even if his employer may have found the quality of his work lacking. Later, Sastrow moved on to procurator Simon Engelhard’s household, also there doing routine scribal work, producing many identical copies of the same documents. This may not have been very creative or exciting, but it provided him with considerable routine and insight into legal penmanship, argumentation, and court proceedings. Even some elementary teaching of such skills may have been available as Kitrina Bevan mentions in her chapter. In later-medieval Oxford, some legal teaching was available in what have been called “business schools.” The skills that students would learn from their masters included conveyancing and land law, oral and written French language skills, and how to draft various kinds of letters and legal documents. They were also taught how to hold local-level secular court sessions and how to plead there. Also

26 See further Bevan’s chapter in this book. 27 As Anette Baumann discusses in her chapter, a solicitator informally aided the lawyer or procurator working for his client. Solicitators attempted to influence the decision-makers at the court through conversations and by lobbying for the litigant. 28 A procurator was a person entrusted with the management of legal business for another and acting as his/her agent. INTRODUCTION 9 in Hanseatic towns, there were practically oriented schools for future merchants that provided the elementary knowledge as well as practical skills required in international trade. The seventeenth-century Court of Appeal judges, examined by Marianne Vasara-Aaltonen in her chapter, may have represented the most professional group of the “men of law” in the Swedish Realm. However, contrasted to the judges of the papal Rota Romana or the judges of the German Reichskammergericht, of whom a doctorate of law came to be required—the former already in the late Middle Ages, the latter in the early modern period—they appear very provincial.29 The career path of the judge Hans Dober, examined by Marianne Vasara-Aaltonen in this volume, from surgeon to organist and finally judge, may not have been characteristic of the Swedish appellate court judge; yet, it certainly demonstrates that there were many avenues to legal literacy. Literacy in general and special language skills more particularly helped a person to become a legal literate. Several of the chapters of this book highlight the role of language skills for legal literacy. The relevant legal languages to be learned varied considerably: in England the combination consisted of Law French, English, and Latin as Kitrina Bevan discusses. By contrast, the Pomeranian Bartholomäus von Sastrow learned High German, the official written language, to supplement his knowledge of Latin and his own native Low German as Anette Baumann observes. In Italy, people complained that Latin was required to understand law, while in nineteenth-century Finland, protests were voiced that Finnish, the majority language, could not be used as a legal language in courts where Swedish dominated. Consequently, in her chapter, Anna Kuismin explores the Fennoman movement calling for improvement of the position of Finnish as an official legal language. In such circumstances, the role of legal intermediaries became even more important. Just like the scriveners in medieval England, in seventeenth- and especially eighteenth-century Northern Sweden and Finland, parish scribes (sockenskrivare) had a position partly as trusted men of the local communities supervising the local tax collection, partly as “capillaries of the power state.” However, in their private capacity, for a fee, the parish scribes performed various legal writing assignments for the local population. This task was especially important in the more peripheral provinces

29 On the Rota Romana, see Salonen (2016) and on the Imperial Chamber Court, see, e.g., Baumann (2006). 10 M. KORPIOLA where writing skills were rarer.30 Yet, men of even more humble origin could use their writing skills as a means for upward social mobility. Both Petteri Impola and Anna Kuismin discuss such men, who as lower civil servants, scriveners, or jurors (Sw. nämndeman; Fi. lautamies) gained local positions of trust and, by doing broadly defined legal work, became valued legal intermediaries in their local communities.

(Popular) Legal Literature as a Means of Learning Law Legal manuals and guidebooks for the use of practitioners have existed alongside scientific works ever since the Middle Ages. In the context of literacy studies, medieval historians have talked about three distinct types of literacy: the recreational “cultivated literacy,” the “pragmatic literacy” of practical people transacting business, and the “professional literacy” of scholars and men of letters.31 The administration became more reliant on written records and so a bureaucracy developed, commercial activities became dependent on writing, and in several regions, a nascent legal profession came into being around central secular and ecclesiastical courts. For example, in England, the “proliferation of documents” has been dated by Michael Clanchy to the century between circa 1170 and 1270.32 In more peripheral European regions, orality persisted longer.33 Different needs required different texts. To supplement the more theoretical works and training, more pragmatic and practice-oriented texts were produced for the use of persons who were employed in scribal work. The administration of estates and landed property required an ability to read and write as well as numeracy skills. From the early thirteenth century onwards, treatises for farming and estate management with model accounts and formularies were written as guides for reeves, bailiffs, and stewards. About 40 per cent of the surviving English manuscripts form parts of compilations of legal texts. “[A]ccountancy and a knowledge of how to draw up accounts was not part of the basic legal training, but constituted an additional qualification.”34 Consequently, it has been assessed that already by the

30 Rantanen (2014); Sörlin (2013), pp. 223–233. 31 Parkes (1991), p. 275. 32 Clanchy (1979), pp. 29–59, 64–87; Parkes (1991), pp. 278–279. 33 For Sweden, see Larsson (2003). 34 Oschinsky (1955–1956), quotation pp. 301–302. INTRODUCTION 11 later Middle Ages, “in commerce, seignorial administration and law we find that the practitioners were not only using written instruments in the course of their professional activities but also that many of them had acquired the habit of having at their elbows a book to which they could refer for information.”35 Already in the Middle Ages, works were produced for an audience willing to learn more about trials and the strategic pursuit of lawsuits in courts. As Kitrina Bevan accounts, there were various formularies with writs and legal responses to them circulating as manuscripts. These works were available for medieval English scriveners and other men of law, and with the advent of printing, they started to spread as printed books, suggesting that there was a market for them. Even in other European regions more specialised books on how to litigate and what formulas to use in central courts appeared. For example, the Formularium instrumentorum ad usum Curiae Romanae, a formulary for ecclesiastical courts following—as the name suggests—the practice of the Roman papal curia, appeared in print in 1483.36 Some decades after the establishment of the Imperial Chamber Court in 1495, as the learned Romano-canonical procedure was spreading into the German-speaking regions that traditionally had had lay judges (Schöffen), formularies with all kinds of legal formulas as well as specialised procedural formularies found an interested and buying audience. Several editions were printed and the same authors gave out parallel works.37 The massive formulary by the German lawyer Abraham Saur (1545–1593) contained almost 900 pages of formulas for the use of the practitioner needing to produce various legal documents in the vernacular German.38 Other works summarised the law, providing the non- professional reader with a general introduction to the legal topic.39 The third type combined the two, providing the reader with a summary of the law on a particular topic, followed by the necessary formulas.40 Such books were useful reference works for many groups of legal literates, ranging from university-trained lawyers and advocates to town secretaries, notaries, and clerks—such as Bartholomäus von Sastrow discussed by Anette Baumann in this volume—and litigants.

35 Parkes (1991), p. 283. 36 Formularium instrumentorum ad usum Curiae Romanae [1483]. 37 E.g. Machholth (1560). 38 E.g. Saur (1595). 39 E.g. Saur (1592). 40 Notariat, vnd Teutsche Rhetoric (1561). 12 M. KORPIOLA

However, the Swedish system remained simpler compared to Continental Europe, where legal professionalisation and the use of Latin as the language of jurisprudence helped to widen the divide between experts in law and the jurisperiti and ordinary people. The birth of a formally trained legal profession with a profound expertise of a complex, multi-layered body of law and precedent largely existing in another language helped to alienate ordinary people from the courts and justice system. This gave rise to criticism of lawyers and their monopoly of justice that excluded ordinary people.41 On the Continent, a group of books emerged that aimed at providing laymen with sufficient information so that they could “be their own advocates” as Annamaria Monti discusses for Italy and the Anglo-American world and Laetitia Guerlain and Nader Hakim for France in this volume. In Continental legal cultures that had become increasingly professionalised in the course of the Middle Ages and the early modern period, books with titles translatable into English as “Everyman his own lawyer” or “My practical counsellor in the law” demonstrate that their aim was to provide the readers with such knowledge of the law and procedure as to allow them to navigate successfully in legal waters in their own cases at least. The Enlightenment criticised the ancien régime law courts for their arbitrary and opaque character and wanted to provide people with simpler and vernacular information about the law. Not only laymen, but also laywomen, were targeted by the authors as their particular audience for such works. In an interesting German example from 1751, parts of Emperor Justinian’s Institutiones were translated into French. In the beginning of the book, its author, Johann Heinrich Kratzenstein (1726–1805), wrote: “I will mention here only the legal topics that a woman must necessarily know.” The author also observed that women needed to know the law better, but were prevented from studying it and having “better instruction.”42 In another German example, published anonymously, but attributed to the law professor and judge Jacob Friedrich Kees (1750–1821), the author observed that the book was especially meant for laymen without legal learning (Rechtsunkundigen; Unstudirte; Nichtjuristen). The book title

41 E.g. Ginzburg (1980), p. 9; Strauss (1986), esp. pp. 3–32. 42 Beck Varela (2016), p. 171. Translation of the original French into English by Beck Varela. INTRODUCTION 13 especially mentions burghers and peasants. Consequently, the book tried to teach simply in the vernacular German “what the law was” (was Recht sey). According to the author, this work was only “the first small legal catechism” paving the way to increased knowledge.43 Kees’ work criticised the existing legal literature for being full of words in foreign languages, and his comments on judges as well as advocates were far from flattering. In fact, he started his book by asking whether there were any more common contemporary complaints than of bad justice.44 Such scathing remarks about the justice system and lawyers could only be made behind a veil of anonymity. Yet, several authors emphasised that some knowledge of the law, a degree of legal literacy, would help people to obtain justice instead of being duped by false advocates or bad judges. They were also empowered by the ability of writing legal documents themselves. Educating common people to learn the law by reading and self-study was seen as part of an Enlightened educational project as Annamaria Monti, Laetitia Guerlain, and Nader Hakim observe with both European and American examples in their chapters in this book. In the spirit of the Enlightenment and the French Revolution, authors wanted to educate citizens and to provide them with a knowledge of law and civic skills. Similar works also appeared in the German-speaking regions, as mentioned by passing in Monti’s chapter. Guerlain and Hakim have divided such books into two categories: works aiming at helping citizens to know their rights and works aiming at helping them to know the law. Thus, there were several reasons causing the genre of popular legal handbooks for laymen to multiply in the long nineteenth century both in Europe and across the Atlantic in the United States as Monti, Guerlain, and Hakim discuss. The number of titles increased in general and certain books were printed in several editions, suggesting that they were perceived to be useful. There were even more specialised works for the use of particular groups such as farmers, merchants, workers, architects, miners, businessmen, landlords, tenants, or civil servants. There were books targeting certain leisure activities such as hunting, cycling, or tourism, while others were aimed for the guidance of justices of the peace, town councillors, or jurors.

43 [Kees] (1789), Vorrede, [no pag.]: “Dies Buch ist nicht für diejenigen, die es übersehen können, sondern für die Rechtsunkundigen geschrieben; es enthält nicht hohe Gelehrsamkeit, sondern lehret in möglichst deutlichen und planen Ausdrücken was Recht sey; es ist bloss der erste kleine Rechtskatechismus, und bahnet den Weg zum höhern.” 44 [Kees] (1789), Vorrede, [no pag.]: “Welche Beschwerden sin in unsern Tagen wohl häu- figer, als die über schlechte Justitz?” 14 M. KORPIOLA

Books became an important means of making knowledge of the law more accessible to everybody and creating legal literates. It can be assumed that as popular legal books for non-specialists helped more and more people to learn some law, this resulted in laymen applying their knowledge in practice through writing documents, giving legal advice, and acting as lay advocates. The practical use of such manuals is hinted by the sources used by Anna Kuismin and Mia Korpiola. However, more in-depth research on the nexus of books and learning law by doing would be welcome in the future as a further avenue of studying popular legal literacy in history.

Bibliography

Printed Sources Formularium instrumentorum ad usum Curiae Romanae. [1483]. Basel. [Kees, Jacob Friedrich]. 1789. Allgemeines juristisch – praktisches Lehrbuch für Unstudirte[!], für Bürger und Bauern, wie sie sich für die Ränke schlechtdenk- ender Advokaten und Richter sichern können. Nebst einer Anweisung, alle Prozesse selbst leiten, und wo möglich selbst führen zu können. Cöthen: glanden- bergische Buchhandlung. Machholth, Alexander. 1560. Formular Oder Schreibebuch, Der gleichen zuuor also nie gesehen, noch gelesen, viel weniger im Druck ausgangen. Zu sampteinem sonderlichen mit angehengtem Process, Ersten zur güte, denn zu Recht, Und auff- sletzte, drey peinliche Citationes, gegen einem Todschleger […]. Halberstadt: Fridrich Stumpbart. Notariat, vnd Teutsche Rhetoric, Wes jeden Notarien, Schreibern, Procuratorn, Aduocaten, Gerichts, Raths, vnd Ampts Personen,oeder Verwaltern, In Reden vnd Schreiben, Jnn vnd Aussenhalb Gericht, Ihrer Practic, Handlung vnd Commission jeder Sachen, Contracten vnd Verbrieffungen […]. 1561. Frankfurt am Main: Ch. Egen. Erben. Saur, Abraham. 1592. Breviarium ivris, Das ist: Ein nützliches Handbüchlein vnd kurtzer Aufzzog gemeiner Sachen, so täglich in Gerichts vnd Rechtsstädten, auch sonsten in Rathschlägen fürfallen […] durch M. Abraham Sawrn, verordneten Fürstlichen Hessischen Hoffgerichts Aduocaten vnd Procuratorn zu Marpurg etc. in Druck gebracht. Königsberg: Georg Osterberger. ———. 1595. Dives notariorvm Penvs, Das ist: Ein new, schön, ausserlesen Formular vnd volkomlich Notariat-Buch oder Spiegel, Allerley Instrumenten, Schrifften, Brieffen vnd Acten […] M. Abraham Saurn. Frankfurt am Main: Nicolaus Bassaeus. INTRODUCTION 15

Secondary Literature Baker, Sir John. 2013. Collected Papers on English Legal History. Vol. 1. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Barnes, Thomas G. 1984. Thomas Lechford and the Earliest Lawyering in Massachusetts, 1638–1641. In Law in Colonial Massachusetts, 1630–1800: A Conference held 6 and 7 November by The Colonial Society of Massachusetts, ed. Daniel R. Coquillette, 3–38. Boston: The Colonial Society of Massachusetts. Baumann, Anette. 2006. Advokaten und Prokuratoren: Anwälte am Reichskammergericht (1690–1806). Cologne/Weimar: Böhlau Verlag. Beck Varela, Laura. 2016. Translating Law for Women? The Institutes du droit civil pour les dames in Eighteenth-Century Helmstedt. Rechtsgeschichte - Legal History (24): 171–189. Bellomo, Manlio. 1995. The Common Legal Past of Europe: 1000–1800. Trans. Lydia G. Cochrane. Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press. Bevan, Kitrina Lindsay. 2013. Clerks and Scriveners: Legal Literacy and Access to Justice in Late Medieval England. PhD Dissertation, University of Exeter. https://ore.exeter.ac.uk/repository/handle/10871/10732. Accessed 1 July 2018. Bilder, Mary Sarah. 1999. The Lost Lawyers: Early American Legal Literates and Transatlantic Legal Culture. Yale Journal of Law and the Humanities 11: 47–112. ———. 2004. The Transatlantic Constitution: Colonial Legal Culture and the Empire. Cambridge, MA/London: Harvard University Press. Brand, Paul. 1992. The Origins of the English Legal Profession. Oxford/Cambridge, MA: Blackwell. Brundage, James A. 2008. The Medieval Origins of the Legal Profession: Canonist, Civilians, and Courts. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Bunn, Charles, David Cavers, Judson F. Falknor, and Lester W. Feezer. 1945. Place of Skills in Legal Education. Columbia Law Review 45 (3): 345–391. Clanchy, Michael T. 1979. From Memory to Written Record: England 1066–1307. London: Arnold. Coquillette, Daniel R. 1984. Introduction: The ‘Countenance of Authoritie’. In Law in Colonial Massachusetts, 1630–1800: A Conference Held 6 and 7 November by The Colonial Society of Massachusetts, ed. Daniel R. Coquillette, xxi–lxii. Boston: The Colonial Society of Massachusetts. Finlay, John. 2000. Men of Law in Pre-Reformation Scotland, Scottish Historical Review Monograph 9. East Linton: Tuckwell Press. Flaherty, Darryl E. 2013. Public Law, Private Practice: Politics, Profit, and the Legal Profession in Nineteenth-Century Japan. Harvard: Harvard University Press. 16 M. KORPIOLA

Ginzburg, Carlo. 1980. The Cheese and the Worms: The Cosmos of a Sixteenth- Century Miller. Trans. John and Anne Tedeschi. Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press. Ives, E.W. 1968. The Common Lawyers in Pre-Reformation England. Transactions of the Royal Historical Society 18: 145–173. Larsson, Inger. 2003. Svenska medeltidsbrev: Framväxten av ett offentligt skrifts- pråk. Stockholm: Norstedts. Martines, Lauro. 1968. Lawyers and Statecraft in Renaissance Florence. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Oschinsky, Dorothea. 1955–1956. Medieval Treatises on Estate Management. Economic History Review (2nd series) 8: 296–309. Parkes, M.B. 1991. Scribes, Scripts and Readers: Studies in the Communication, Presentation and Dissemination of Medieval Texts. London/Rio Grande: The Hambledon Press. Rantanen, Arja. 2014. Pennförare i periferin: Österbottniska sockenskrivare 1721–1868. Turku: Åbo Akademis Förlag. Salonen, Kirsi. 2016. Papal Justice in the Late Middle Ages: The Sacra Romana Rota. London/New York: Routledge. Sörlin, Per. 2013. Maktstatens kapillärer: Sockenskrivarna i Jämtland under 1600- talet. In Allt på ett bräde: Stat, ekonomi och bondeoffer: En vänbok till Jan Lindegren, ed. Peter Ericsson, Fredrik Thisner, Patrik Winton, and Andreas Åkerlund, 223–233. Uppsala: Uppsala University. Strauss, Gerald. 1986. Law, Resistance, and the State: The Opposition to Roman Law to Reformation Germany. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Tapp, June Louin, and Felice J. Levine. 1974. Legal Socialization: Strategies for an Ethical Legality. Stanford Law Review 27 (1): 1–72. UNESCO. Education for All Global Monitoring Report 2006. http://unesdoc. unesco.org/images/0014/001416/141639e.pdf. Accessed 1 July 2018. White, James Boyd. 1983. The Invisible Discourse of the Law: Reflections on Legal Literacy and General Education. University of Colorado Law Review 54: 143–159. PART I

Legal Literates and Their Paths to Legal Literacy Legal Education in Late Medieval England: How Did Provincial Scriveners Learn Their Law?

Kitrina Bevan

Introduction: Legal Literacy and Access to Justice The relationship between literacy and the law has historically had profound implications for access to justice. Today, Article 6 of the European Convention on Human Rights gives everyone charged with a criminal offence the right “to be informed promptly, in a language which he under- stands and in detail, of the nature and cause of the accusation against him,” and “to have the free assistance of an interpreter if he cannot understand or speak the language used in court.”1 Unbeknownst to many, this modern law actually addresses historic issues of access to justice and legal literacy, or an understanding of the law, that are as applicable to contemporary European society as they once were to people in medieval England. That is because accessing justice in many parts of medieval Europe was just as much a written and oral process then as it is today. Consequently, literacy was an absolutely essential skill for the legal intermediaries, such as scriveners, who interpreted the law and languages for their clients.

1 Council of Europe (1950), sections 3 (a) and 3 (e).

K. Bevan (*) Independent Scholar, St. Catharines, ON, Canada

This term “literacy” is a complex one as it covers a range of experiences and interactions in both textual and oral cultures.2 As representative of a wide scope of understanding, certain literacies are outside of one’s literate experience, regardless of one’s ability to read or write.3 This means that even those who are capable of reading and writing can still be, rather para- doxically, “illiterate” in other contexts. Certain eighteenth-century scholars made influential, if exaggerated, statements on literacy rates in the medieval period. Most notably, William Robertson portrayed medieval society as being composed of “rude, illiterate people.”4 Of his early medieval subjects, Robertson wrote: “Persons of the highest rank, and in the most eminent stations, could not read or write. Many of the clergy did not understand the breviary which they were obliged daily to recite; some of them could scarcely read it.”5 His scathing criticism of literacy in the sense of reading, writing, and comprehension extended from the church and religious texts to include the law and literature, stating that “the arts of reading and writing were such uncommon attainments, that to be master of either, entitled a person to the appellation of a clerk or a learned man.”6 Literacy is a necessary precursor to accessing justice and there is a dual- ity within the very nature of literacy as it applies to the law. Today, literacy is considered the basic ability to read and write, although the term can also be applied to all manner of “literacies,” including “emotional literacy,” “cultural literacy,” “computer literacy,” and more. In the medieval world, “literacy” was a term used more straightforwardly to indicate the ability to read and write. More importantly, literacy was limited to the ability to read and write in the Latin language—vernacular literacy was considered an inferior sort of ability. A linguistic-based literacy is of course different from “legal literacy,” which addresses issues related not only to basic literacy skills, but also extends its scope to consider a person’s ability to derive meaning, understanding, and context from a legal document.7 Robertson’s

2 For influential works on textual cultures, see: Ong (2002); Stock (1997); Stock (1986); Stock (1984). The work of Michael Clanchy (1979) addresses literacy in textual cultures in greater detail. 3 Glenn (1993), p. 497. 4 Robertson (1806), pp. 52–53. 5 Robertson (1806), pp. 21–22. On page 76, Robertson goes on to describe the clergy as the only men “in the ages of darkness” who were “accustomed to read, to enquire, and to reason.” 6 Robertson (1806), p. 56. 7 For more on legal literacy, also see Mia Korpiola’s introduction to this volume. LEGAL EDUCATION IN LATE MEDIEVAL ENGLAND: HOW DID PROVINCIAL… 21 interpretation of the legal literacy of medieval European society acknowledged that progress was eventually made through the professionalisation of the law and the development of a knowledgeable “order of men, to whom their fellow-citizens had daily recourse for advice.”8 It was this intermediary that was capable of translating the meaning of the law into a more accessible language—both literally and figuratively—in order to facilitate the otherwise illiterate litigant’s understanding. The question is, how did these legal intermediaries gain the skills that were required to become literate in the law? Moreover, who comprised this order of men who performed the role of a legal intermediary? The role of the “legal intermediary” is now fulfilled by professional legal actors that are specially trained and highly skilled, such as solicitors and barristers. To a degree, the same requirements were necessary in the medieval period; however, there was another type of legally literate person who acted as a legal intermediary but who was not considered a lawyer.9 This person was known as the scrivener, and he existed on the periphery of what was typically recognised as the legal “profession”: it is his legal education that will be the focus of this chapter, and he will help us to understand what it meant to be legally literate in late medieval England.10 It is fair to say that in general, historians are imperfectly informed about how the people who worked at the lower reaches of the English legal profession, such as scriveners, learned their trade in the premodern period. This becomes especially apparent when we reflect on the relative lack of current scholarship on the provision of legal education for those who practised law away from the City of London and its courts. Using a variety of collections of legal texts and manuscripts, including wills, treatises, and guild records, I will discuss and analyse some of the various avenues for acquiring legal literacy for laymen, like scriveners, who worked outside of London doing all manner of legal work. In order to shed light on one of the darkest corners of research in this area, I will cover what were essentially the three main avenues for acquiring legal literacy in this period: (1) attending semi-formal academic settings such as schools; (2) undertaking apprenticeships and other practical, on-the-job-style training; and (3) pursuing self-tuition, or self-directed private study.

8 Robertson (1806), p. 82. 9 Andrew Butcher considered the role of medieval town clerks as “cultural mediators and creators” in his work, Butcher (2004), p. 157. 10 On scriveners, see, for example, Ramsay (1991); Ramsay (2009); Bevan (2013). 22 K. BEVAN

Scriveners and the Ordinance of 1280 Since England’s early legal profession was largely unregulated, its practitioners exhibited variable levels of skill in both languages and the law as a result.11 Scriveners formed an amorphous group of legal practitioners that has been largely overlooked in the history of the legal profession; they are difficult to define, simply because they were all so different, and, apart from the research referred to above, they have not attracted much scholarly attention. Although “scrivener” as a job title may be unfamiliar to most, every researcher who has ever looked at a legal instrument like a will, a deed or a charter, a recognisance of debt, a court roll, a manor roll, a receiver’s account, or a petition has likely held the work of a scrivener in their hands. These manuscripts represent the all- too-often invisible presence of legal writers who were hard at work during a time when documentary production was increasing as English bureaucracies expanded and demanded more records. We have scriveners to thank for the proliferation of documentation that came not only out of the central government’s Chancery, but also out of local guildhalls and courts. It is here, at the local level, that research on scriveners can be most revealing. Scriveners have sometimes been referred to as scribes or copyists, but they were capable of much more than the production and reproduction of manuscripts. Rather, they possessed a specialised knowledge of the law and of legal formulae, and their linguistic prowess and legal literacy were essential to the functioning of late medieval law, society, and bureaucracy. Scrivening was a universally transferable skill that could be applied to any number of occupations, whether it was becoming the bailiff of an estate, working as a freelance scribe, or even finding semi-permanent employment as a professional scribe, such as a town clerk. In order to learn the art of scrivening—and it was an art, as much as it was a technical skill— men required specialised training that could not be had at a typical grammar school. A minimum level of education was necessary, of course, because a scrivener needed to have a solid foundation in the three languages of the law—Latin, French, and English—and an ability to read and write in these languages, as well. A scrivener, meanwhile, needed to also learn the law.

11 Clanchy (1979). LEGAL EDUCATION IN LATE MEDIEVAL ENGLAND: HOW DID PROVINCIAL… 23

Both legal and linguistic illiteracy were social concerns in London, where the royal central courts in Westminster—the Court of Common Pleas and the Court of King’s Bench—sat as the highest secular tribunals in the country. There is evidence of this from at least as early as the thirteenth century, and this is reflected especially in what is known as the Ordinance of 1280. This ordinance reveals that at that time, there was a general perception of excessive litigation taking place in the city, which people believed was being carried out by a preponderance of incompetent lawyers.12 The ordinance was a product of longstanding displeasure with lawyers in the London courts generally, but it also highlighted contemporary complaints about the type of legal illiteracy that was considered injuri- ous to not only the clients in particular, but also to the burgeoning profession as a whole. This caused a great scandal in and amongst the courts.13 Specifically, the ordinance revealed that some men did not understand their profession because they had not “learned it” adequately.14 Moreover, these ignorant men were highly criticised for their inability to speak in the proper language.15 This can be interpreted in two ways. Quite literally, these men may have been unable to verbally address the court in either of the two languages of the law—meaning French or Latin. What is even more likely is that these men were ignorant of the technical vocabulary of the law and legal processes, thus they bungled their attempts to speak on behalf of their clients because they were incapable of speaking the language of the court as an institution. This was happening around the same time as what is typically considered the birth of the English legal profession, and it is clear that legal literacy was essential to the success of its practitioners then, just as it is now. But how could one gain such essential knowledge in the absence of formal legal education? It was not until much later, in the fourteenth century, that the Inns of Court and Chancery would be created for the purpose of training lawyers, and yet these “igno-

12 Rose (1998), p. 354. This ordinance marks the beginning of a specialisation within the legal profession. See Tucker (2006). 13 Riley (1860), pp. 280–281. The pleaders that were criticised in the London ordinance are the predecessors of the serjeants-at-law who eventually held a monopoly on pleading in the central courts. 14 Riley (1860), p. 280: “pur ceo qe soventefoiz par ascunes qi countours se firent, qi lour mestier ne savoient, ne ne eurent apris.” 15 Riley (1860), p. 280: “itel ascune foitz qi bone langage ne savoit parler.” 24 K. BEVAN rant” men were still expected to learn the languages of the law and know the correct ways of interacting with the legal system. In London, the Scriveners’ Company came to form a guild-like organisation for a heterogeneous group of professional scribes, clerks, copyists, and notaries public. In 1373, the Company petitioned the mayor of London in an attempt for the new society to gain a scrivening monopoly in the town. The impetus was certainly partially economical, but the petition also articulated a particular anxiety felt by practitioners that unskilled outsiders were committing such “mischiefs and defaults” as to harm the reputation of “all the good and lawful men of the said craft.”16 After its establishment, the members of the Scriveners’ Company agreed to abide by the common rules and regulations established, and to add their notarial mark or signature to work they produced. The 1280 ordinance, and later the petition of the Scriveners’ Company, show that from a very early period, the royal central courts of London attracted men of various sorts who were keen to offer their services to litigants, but whose actual legal competence was cause for concern. Consequently, the presence of the royal central courts, which were the most professional in the country, was instrumental in the early professionalisation of both lawyers and scriveners in London.17 Yet, if a lack of legal skill was perceived as a problem in the country’s largest city, where presumably legal education was more readily available than it would have been in the countryside, what must have been happening in the rest of England? It is easy to assume that the situation must have been much worse, but in reality the story is very different. In fact, it appears that there were a multitude of possibilities to acquire just enough legal knowledge and expertise to set oneself up as a scrivener. The question of the provision of legal education for those working at the lowest reaches of the legal profession in this period has yet to be studied in depth by legal historians. Accordingly, my aim is to analyse the information that we do have on the availability of basic legal education in England at that time in order to determine how scriveners were able to learn enough law to pursue careers at the administrative or bottom level of the legal profession.18

16 Steer (1968), p. 2. 17 For more on the professionalisation of law, see Musson (2001), pp. 36–83. 18 See, for example, Baker (1990); Baker (1999); Brand (1987); Clark (1987); Richter (1986). LEGAL EDUCATION IN LATE MEDIEVAL ENGLAND: HOW DID PROVINCIAL… 25

In the remainder of this chapter, I will outline the main three avenues that were open to literate laymen who wished to pursue the type of training that was required to become a practising scrivener. The first was at what were known as the business schools, evidence for which is plentiful in Oxford; the second was through the traditional route of an apprenticeship, while the third was through the private study of tracts and treatises on the law and manuals of legal formulae. In all three instances, it is clear that if a clerk wanted to obtain a specialised education in scrivening, he had to go to a scrivener to get it. In that sense, this was a predominantly self-perpetuating profession.

The Oxford Business Schools as Training Centres for Scriveners Evidence of the training available in “business”—loosely defined—in medieval Oxford has attracted the attention of several scholars interested in different aspects of the curriculum offered, the teachers, and their students. It is important to note that this school was not a college or university, and it did not aim to award degrees in either civil (i.e. Roman) or canon law. Instead, this was a place “for the less academically inclined”— to use the words of John Baker—or, as it was described by H.G. Richardson, this was a place “to train young men in business methods – to write letters, to keep accounts and to do miscellaneous legal work for landowners of substance.”19 Yet, Baker highlights the fact that while Oxford’s business schools were not affiliated with the university, they seemed to have operated with its blessing, as the schools and their students are occasionally mentioned in the university’s statutes.20 In London and Westminster, there were also schools specialising in common law teaching, even if in this chapter, I am focusing on teaching and learning the scrivener’s art in the provinces.21 Essentially, the purpose of this school was to provide practical voca- tional training in scrivening by teaching students to write and speak in

19 Baker (1999), p. 160; Richardson (1939), p. 458. 20 Baker (1999), p. 160. 21 Paul Brand’s research on the instruction of lawyers in London before the Inns of Court and during the early years of their foundation can be found in his 1987 article on the education of lawyers in England. For more on the Inns and the role they played in formalising English legal education, see Baker (1990). 26 K. BEVAN

French, the proper way to hold lay courts, how to plead in court, and also how to write letters and legal instruments according to the appropriate rules and conventions of these types of documents. For those students who went on to work for landed gentry, there were several didactic treatises on estate management that were available to them for further study and reference.22 In his work on the Oxford “school of clerkship,” as he called it, Baker focused on its provision of oral training in land law and conveyancing and considered four of its known teachers: Thomas Sampson, Simon O, William Kingsmill, and David Pencaer. Taken collectively, they represent what was surely a larger group of men who drew on a pre-existing body of knowledge to teach their students what they needed to know of the law, all the while consciously expanding on the resources available to future instructors by setting their lectures down in writing. More significantly, these men were all scriveners who used their legal and linguistic expertise to teach their craft to the next generation. This transmission of information affects our understanding of the training and education that was made available to scriveners in the Middle Ages. Simon O’s successor, William Kingsmill, is one of the few readily identifiable London scriveners who migrated to Oxford to teach his craft. It appears as though Kingsmill was driven to teach in the countryside not because he was particularly passionate about education, but because he had been dismissed from his duties as the under-marshal of the Court of King’s Bench in 1419 and was no longer welcome to practise in London.23 Like Thomas Sampson and Simon O before him, Kingsmill taught his students through the use of specimen or exemplar formulae. The specimens were entirely devised by the teachers, and rather than recount real events or situations, they presented the contents in more imaginative ways. One of the more obvious examples of this can be found in a sample patent in which Simon O cheekily refers to a “King Simon.”24 The fact that these teachers frequently inserted themselves into their exemplars and used their own names as placeholders for those of their imaginary clients reveals the

22 Such treatises were, in particular, Seneschaucy, the Anonymous Husbandry, and Robert Grosseteste’s Rules. For this genre, a list of these manuscripts and their owners, see Oschinsky (1956), p. 298. 23 Ramsay (1991), p. 124. 24 Baker (1999), p. 166. LEGAL EDUCATION IN LATE MEDIEVAL ENGLAND: HOW DID PROVINCIAL… 27 playful nature with which they must have approached their lessons and classroom pedagogy.25 David Pencaer succeeded William Kingsmill as the master of the Oxford business school. Like the other teachers, he based some of his lessons on those of his immediate predecessor and others on established legal sources, such as those of the Italian canonist Huguccio (d. 1210), Sir Ralph de Hengham (1235–1311),26 and the Year Books.27 Baker has shown that Simon O’s lectures on conveyancing were based on Thomas Sampson’s method as well, but that he also relied on sources such as Old Tenures,28 Britton,29 the Natura Brevium,30 and even the Year Books (along with other sources of the common law) for his teaching on the subject. As a business school teacher, Pencaer is an important example of a scrivener– teacher who was sharing his practical knowledge of the craft with his students. Unlike Thomas Sampson and Simon O, who seemed to have both been primarily educators, Pencaer was a career clerk who became a teacher only after he had already held the important post of Oxford’s town clerk.31 This confluence of three careers—scrivening, clerking, and teaching—has never before been so clearly identified as being represented by a single individual. If we are to examine the sources of education for scriveners, Pencaer surely provides the answer.

25 A useful parallel can be found in the teaching of grammar school masters who gave their students silly phrases to practise their translations. 26 Sir Ralph de Hengham, chief justice of the Court of King’s Bench (1274–1290) and later of the Court of Common Pleas (1301–1309), provided law students with collections of his lectures, referred to as Hengham Parva and Hengham Magna. Hengham is reputed to have been pedagogically inclined to explain relevant points of law to attending law students and apprentices after his cases. On Hengham, see Brand (2004). 27 Baker (1999), pp. 170–171. The Year Books were private collections of law reports, reports of pleas, and litigation at the Court of the Common Pleas in Westminster. They became important for establishing precedents in the common law system. A continuous series of Year Books exist for 1268–1535, and such volumes were first printed in the sixteenth century. 28 Old Tenures is a treatise, as the name suggests, on various different land tenures and land law, written during the reign of King Edward III (r. 1327–1377). 29 Britton is a French-language summary of English law that was probably written around 1291–1292 and first printed inc . 1530. 30 Natura Brevium was another treatise dated to King Edward III’s reign, presenting and commenting on the most commonly used writs of the time, their use, and their effects. 31 Baker (1999), p. 170. For a brief professional biography of Pencaer, see Pollard (1966), pp. 73–74. 28 K. BEVAN

Apprenticeship and On-the-Job Training It is possible that David Pencaer was already accustomed to teaching scrivening to apprentices in the Oxford guildhall when he worked as the town’s clerk. Perhaps he merely transferred the practical skills that he used in the workplace and applied them to teaching in a classroom setting. Further evidence that points to the widespread availability of both practical and theoretical training in scrivening outside of London can be found by considering apprenticeships and on-the-job training. Apprenticeship was the primary method of learning any and all trades in England at this time, but the availability of apprenticeships within the scrivening community is difficult to determine. Scriveners were organised in London in the form of a livery company, and, while some of the apprenticeship records for London’s Scriveners’ Company have survived, they are woefully incomplete.32 Tellingly, with the exception of William Kingsmill, evidence of apprentices receiving their training at the hands of the London guild’s émigrés to the countryside is wanting, which suggests that English scrivening as a trade was independent from London’s body of skilled legal scribes. Instead, provincial scriveners who worked as administrators were more likely to have been educated local men trained on the job by their predecessors who were trained in a similar fashion themselves.33 There are indications in the historical record of some of the ways in which scrivening could be learned by working under the guidance of others with more skill, and we do know that scriveners took apprentices. Like London, the City of York also had a scriveners’ guild, and provisions for its apprentices were set out in the guild’s ordinances, which stated that no master scrivener was permitted to take on an apprentice for a period of less than five years. The apprentice had to be at least 16 years of age and he was bound to his master for the duration of his apprenticeship.34 Further evidence of formal apprenticeship as a method of learning the scrivener’s craft outside of London can be demonstrated in a case that

32 The Common Paper was the name given to a collection of the London scriveners’ annual records, craft regulations, and membership and apprenticeship lists beginning in 1357 and ending in 1628. See Steer (1968). 33 For an overview of apprenticeship as a means of introducing young men to the business side of their trades, see Lyon (1920). 34 “Item que nul meistre escrivein preigne apprentice pur meyndre terme que pur v ans; et que le dit apprentice soit del age de xvj ans au meyns, et qil preigne nul autre pur apprendre sinon qil soit son apprentice.” Sellers (1912), p. 56. LEGAL EDUCATION IN LATE MEDIEVAL ENGLAND: HOW DID PROVINCIAL… 29 was heard in the Court of Common Pleas in 1431 and can be found in the Year Books. It concerned a master who attempted to sue his apprentice on a writ of the Statute of Labourers (1351), based on the plea that the plaintiff had retained the defendant as his apprentice to be a scrivener. The plaintiff had agreed to teach the defendant to write (informer a escrir) for a period of seven years; however, the apprentice left his position before the end of the set time.35 The defendant countered this accusation with the allegation that as an apprentice he could not be considered the plaintiff’s servant, and therefore he could not be held accountable under the Statute of Labourers. While it is unclear how long the apprentice had actually studied under his master, it is clear that he had learned a little something along the way and found a legal loophole that he could successfully exploit. Serjeant Chaunterell argued that even if the plaintiff had retained the apprentice for seven years, apprenticeship by indenture was an act of covenant as each party was bound to the other. Consequently, an apprentice was expected to only do that which pertained to his “mystery,” and to follow the custom of the city where the apprenticeship was held.36 Ultimately, the judge in the case determined that it was the plaintiff’s “own folly” to take the defendant on as an apprentice without an indenture, because only a writ of covenant could be sued on an apprenticeship, and not a writ on the Statute of Labourers, as the plaintiff had done.37 Ironically, it was the master scrivener’s own failure to keep a written record of the apprenticeship agreement that was most heavily criticised and ultimately led to him losing the case. This case also set the important legal principle in which it was determined that every apprentice was the servant of his master, thus closing the loophole that this apprentice scrivener had found.38 The extent to which the Statute of Labourers applied to scriveners can be interpreted in different ways. While they were not “labourers” per se, the Statute of Labourers did not distinguish between wage earners and businessmen; instead, it classified “every one purporting to deal with the public [as] a ‘minister’,

35 Seipp and Lee (2007a), 9 Hen. VI, plea 18, fol. 17b–18a. 36 “Meme cesty fuit retenu ove le plaintiff d’estre son apprentice pour estre un escrivener, & que le plaintiff doit luy informe a escrir per vij ans; apprentice per endenture; fesance d’apprentice est un covenan, & chaqun lie a l’auter, & l’apprentice n’est pas tenu a fair auter chose, mes cest que appertient a son mistiere, & le custome de chaqun ville ou apprentice est.” 37 Seipp and Lee (2007a), 9 Hen. VI, plea 18, fol. 18a. 38 Seipp and Lee (2007a), 9 Hen. VI, plea 18, fol. 18a: “Chaqun apprentice est le servant de son Maistre.” 30 K. BEVAN

‘workman’, ‘artificer’ or ‘servant’, as the case may be.”39 Edward Adler clarifies that scriveners were classed as artificers, which is a term for artisans or craftsman, and this term appears in some translations of the Statute of Labourers. Furthermore, the ordinances of York’s scriveners refer to their occupation as an “artifice” no less than seven times in what is a relatively short text.40 In this context, the York scriveners are clearly using the term “artifice” in the same manner as a tradesperson would use the term “craft.” A specific and very precise reference to scriveners as artificers can be found in the Year Books, in which Brook, J. [judge] compared scriveners to schoolmasters, as they both had learned disciples.41 This connection between scriveners and schoolmasters is telling as it accurately reflects the position of the Oxford teachers as scrivener–schoolmasters. Scriveners could also be trained on the job as a type of informal apprenticeship, and this may have been the commonest form of professional “education” for this class of clerk. From at least as early as the thirteenth century, working in county administration was a means for clerks to rise in the ranks of the provincial courts and learn their law. As Frank Pegues expressed:

The office of sheriff afforded a splendid opportunity to learn English law and judicial administration … from time to time clerks of his staff were called on to perform most of the duties pertaining to his office. And it was probably here at the level of staff clerks that the real instruction took place … Among these multifarious tasks were the empanelling of jurors, attaching defendants for the county court, the keeping of writs, rolls, accounts and, of course, the rendering of the sheriff’s account at the exchequer.42

These were all very practical legal skills. Furthermore, the sheriff’s clerk “received and kept the original writs issuing from the chancery and directed to the sheriff – writs which were the initiating force of thirteenth-

39 Adler (1916), p. 251. It was not until 1563 that guidelines were set out regarding the terms of employment for servants, labourers, and apprentices. These can be found in the Statute of Artificers (1563). 40 For the text of the ordinances of York’s scriveners and its references to “artifice,” see Sellers (1912), pp. 56–57. 41 “Issint si un artificier acquir(e) a luy plusieurs customers que autr(e) de mesme l’art; come Scrivener, ou Schoolmaster qui ad plusieurs disciples que aut(re), p(ur) c(eo) q(ue) il e(st) plu(s) erudite, c(eo) e(st) dam(mage) a l’aut(re).” Seipp and Lee (2007b), 12 Hen. VIII, plea 13, fol. 13b. 42 Pegues (1956), p. 540. For the judicial duties of sheriffs up to 1307, see Morris (1968), pp. 189, 209. LEGAL EDUCATION IN LATE MEDIEVAL ENGLAND: HOW DID PROVINCIAL… 31 century English law … [and from which the sheriff’s clerk] could learn a great deal about procedural law.”43 The sheriff’s clerk is known to have held the county court in the absence of the sheriff himself, thus demon- strating that the clerk was able to exercise both the clerical and legal responsibilities of the sheriff’s office. Nearly all of the duties of the sheriff’s clerk were performed in a similar fashion by town clerks working in the guildhalls and local courts of provincial England, thus what was happening in the sheriff’s office on the county level was being paralleled in the administrations of towns and boroughs on a more local level.44 Practices that were already established in Exeter’s sixteenth-century guildhall point to a similar method of on-the-job training within the secretariat of the city. John Hooker as the first person to hold the office of chamberlain in Exeter in 1554/55. His chief duty was to look after the city’s orphans, but he also assisted the town clerk and the city’s receiver, that is, its treasurer, in their roles. In the introduction to his book History of Exeter, Hooker reveals excellent insight into the internal mechanisms for workplace training that were available in the guildhall. First, he tells us that in his eager- ness to serve the city to the best of his ability, he ingratiated himself with Master Richard Hert, who was the town clerk at the time of his appointment. Hooker tells us that with much love and affection, Hert nourished his humour and instructed him: “in all things wch app[er]tained and wch in his opinion was to be donne: ffirst in the counsell chambre where I was a diligent trauellor [worker] asswell in attendinge the Mayor and his brethren in matters of counsell as in pennynge [meaning writing] their actes and devis- inge their l[ett]res to any estate or p[er]son.”45 Furthermore, it was Hert who gave Hooker a crash course in local law and procedure:

Mr Hert dyd also instructe me in matters of lawe concerninge his office. The order and keepinge of courtes the keepinge of sessions and instructinge me in all thinges concerninge the peace takinge of recognisaunce, examyninge of witnesses makinge of indictmente and all other thinges p[er]tayninge therunto: and when I was somewhat expert therin I dyd in all thinges app[er]tayninge to his office p[er]forme it to his greate comfort and to my knowledge and experience.46

43 Pegues (1956), pp. 540–541. 44 The possibility of actual links existing between sheriff’s clerks and town clerks is worthy of further investigation; however, it falls outside of the scope of this chapter. Due to the large volume of material that would need to be examined in order to identify all of the potential candidates, this would be lengthy project, but also a very valuable one. 45 Harte (1911), p. 1. 46 Harte (1911), p. 2. 32 K. BEVAN

It is important to note that Hooker was not in any way ignorant of the law—as mentioned before, according to his biographer, he had read Roman law at Exeter College Oxford, although he left without taking a degree.47 He had also studied law at Cologne and divinity in Strasbourg. In 1559, he gave legal advice to the city’s merchant adventurers in a dispute with the craft guilds over the former’s new charter of incorporation, and travelled to Ireland in 1568 as the private legal secretary and adviser of Sir Peter Carew (c. 1510–1575), before returning to Exeter and continuing in his role as chamberlain until his death.48 Despite this, it does not seem as though he was expected to already possess any legal skills at the time of taking up the job. Even Hooker’s own recollections focus upon the practical legal training that he received under the tutelage of Hert, rather than emphasise the formal theoretical education in the law that he had received elsewhere. There is no reason to believe that it would be anachronistic to assume that Hooker’s training was typical of the training of town clerks in general, even in the earlier period, as he gives no indication that there was anything novel or extraordinary about it. Therefore, this method of training was probably the norm for Exeter’s civic administrators and scriveners in general, and represents the quintes- sential form of learning the law by doing.

Legal Tracts, Treatises, and Self-Tuition Provided that they were already equipped with basic literacy skills in at least Latin and French, aspiring scriveners had access to another means of entry into practice through private study. This could take several forms, but we do know that the prevalence of legal tracts and treatises on oral pleading, writ composition, statutes, and land management must have supplemented a provincial scrivener’s knowledge of the law. As the central courts in particular were strict about the accuracy of oral and written pleading during all of its stages, from writ to courtroom, it is not surprising that medieval lawyers needed books to guide them through these complicated procedures. From an early period, there were a large number of written resources available to students of English law that concerned pleadings or “count- ings.” However, those texts that elucidated elements of legal procedure are of greater interest here, as they were more relevant to the work of provincial scriveners as they went about their day-to-day business.

47 Fuidge (1981), p. 334. 48 Mendyk (2004). LEGAL EDUCATION IN LATE MEDIEVAL ENGLAND: HOW DID PROVINCIAL… 33

The first of these texts were the works attributed to Ranulf de Glanville (c. 1112–1190) and Henry de Bracton, although we do know that they were not authored by them. The mid-thirteenth-century treatise Tractatus de legibus et consuetudinibus regni Angliae (Treatise on the Laws and Customs of the Realm of England Commonly Called Glanvill) was a practical text covering the forms of procedure in the Court of King’s Bench, and it still provides the earliest and best description of the court’s framework.49 Bracton’s De legibus et Consuetudinibus Angliae, or, On the Laws and Customs of England, was a complementary text written in around the same period, and it also constituted a study of the forms of the original writs used in England.50 A medieval scrivener who also engaged in pleading could rely upon the very popular fourteenth-century pleading manual Novae Narrationes for helpful instruction.51 This manual collected model “counts” or “narra- tions” that were the formal statements made by plaintiffs in response to the specific writs that had brought their cases to court. It is a compilation of 38 manuscripts dating from 1285 to around 1310. While pleading may never have been of much consequence to the majority of provincial clerks, knowledge of it was required in order to choose the appropriate writs. For the writs themselves, the medieval clerk or lawyer had several treatises on the subject from among which he could choose to seek guidance. Provincial scriveners, just like London’s clerks, would have understood the writ process in order to initiate legal action in the royal courts. This knowledge could be acquired by reading Brevia Placitata, which was a thirteenth-century collection of writs written in Latin, translated into French and accompanied by an example of a specimen count and defence for each.52 While not every scrivener would have been able to afford to own them, abridged versions and extracts from these types of practical texts could probably have been found in the average scrivener’s library, and either extracts from these works or the works themselves were probably used as teaching aids in the business schools as well.

49 Hall (2002). Glanville’s authorship has been rejected by some authorities based on the fact that he would not have had sufficient leisure time to complete such a work. See Turner (1985), p. 33; Russell (1970), pp. 69–70. It may have been the work of William of Raleigh, who was Bracton’s mentor. 50 Thorne (1968–1977). 51 Shanks and Milsom (1963). 52 Turner and Plucknett (1951). 34 K. BEVAN

We know that collections of statutes were used by provincial scriveners to learn old laws and stay current with new legislation, and they made copies of these from the volumes that they borrowed from local lawyers. Statute books were quite useful to all manner of people—not only those who practised the law, but also those who were directly impacted by it, such as members of the landed classes. We know relatively little about the private ownership of books of law, legal treatises, and the like; however, we do know that statute books were owned by London’s lawyers. Among them was Andrew Horn (c. 1275–1328), who was the chamberlain of London from 1320 to 1328. Horn himself compiled several collections of statutes and kept copies of older English laws. In his will, Horn bequeathed a number of books to the Chamber of the Guildhall, among them a book called De Statutis Angliae, which would later be considered a compilation of the “old statutes.”53 Books on statutes were similarly owned by provincial businessmen, like John Bount (d. 1404) and Philip Langley (c. 1525–1592), both from Bristol. From the evidence found in their wills, we can see that in 1404, John Bount left his books of the “new statutes” (nova statute mea), which dated from the reign of Edward III, to John Beoff, who was an “apprentice of the court” and perhaps a junior barrister in London.54 Philip Langley, alderman of Bristol, also possessed a copy of the new statutes which he left to his son, along with his Bible. Both were books of laws: the former representing temporal and terrestrial laws, while the latter contained the tenets of the faith eternal.55 Perhaps of even greater importance to the landed classes and the clerks and scriveners who managed their estates were collections of what were called the tenures, or collections of land law. With his fifteenth-century book entitled Tenures, Sir Thomas Littleton (1422–1481), who held several high judicial offices and ended his career as justice of the Common Pleas, wrote the first thoroughly English book of law, meaning that it was entirely devoid of any direct references to Roman law.56 In combination with what were referred to as the “Old Tenures,” or land law from the time of Edward III, “the elementary law of property could be learned … [and] the precedents copied or adapted from written collections.”57 What

53 Sharpe (1889), p. 344. On Horn, see Catto (2004). 54 The National Archives (TNA), PRO PROB 11/2A f. 61 [24 Aug. 1403, probate granted 6 Feb. 1404/5]. For a transcript of Bount’s will, see Weaver (1901), pp. 11–14. 55 Wadley (1886), p. 266. 56 Wadley (1886), p. xii. 57 Baker (1999), p. 173. LEGAL EDUCATION IN LATE MEDIEVAL ENGLAND: HOW DID PROVINCIAL… 35 is interesting about Littleton’s Tenures is that they were actually written with legal instruction in mind, and the author professes that his book was written in order to help his son Richard in his study of the law. Rather poignantly, Littleton’s epilogue speaks directly to his son and tells us him that “such things shall make thee more apt, and able to understand and apprehend the arguments and the reasons of the law, &c. For by the arguments and reasons in the law, a man more sooner shall come to certainty and knowledge of the law.”58 William Rastell (c. 1508–1565), a Tudor barrister and publisher, further explained the importance of manuals of this sort in the study of early English law. He prefaced a printed collection of 12 law tracts with this revealing statement:

How commodyous and profitable unto gentilmen students of the law, be these thre bokes, that is to wit, Natura Brevium, the olde tenures, & the tenures of mayster Lyttylton…for lyke as a chylde goyng to scole, fyrste lerneth his letters out of the a. b. c.: so they that entende the study of the law, do fyrste study these iii. bokes.59

One of these “students of the law” was a man named Humphrey Newton (1466–1536). Newton lived in Pownall, Cheshire, and he was a country gentleman who practised scrivening. A considerable amount of information about him is available because he kept a commonplace book, which was a type of medieval scrapbook that contained information of interest to its maker. As an aspiring scrivener, Newton’s book was made up of an assortment of materials related to writing and the law, and the original manuscript is presently in the Bodleian Library in Oxford.60 Deborah Youngs wrote a biography of Newton by relying primarily on his commonplace book to illuminate aspects of his life and his personal and professional interests.61 Newton’s book speaks to his business practising law at the lower reaches of the legal profession in the Cheshire countryside. Like many, if not most, provincial scriveners, Newton never attended an Inn of Court or Chancery for his education. As a result, his knowledge of the law and legal proce-

58 Wambaugh (1903), p. 341. 59 Quoted in Wambaugh (1903), p. lxiii. 60 Bodleian Library, MS. Lat. misc. c. 66 [Commonplace book of Humphrey Newton (1466–1536), of Pownall, Cheshire, in Latin and English 15th and 16th centuries]. 61 Youngs (2008). 36 K. BEVAN dure, and the documentation upon which these first two depended, came from a fundamentally practical legal education. In Newton’s case, it appears as though he learned his law through artful imitation. His commonplace book contains his transcriptions of the letters sent to him by two prominent local serjeants and justices, which contain advice on the rights of inheritance and on how to set land to feoffees.62 Presumably, he occasionally found himself stuck on a point of law, and reached out to others for help. Acquiring advice like this from other local practitioners and then learning by the example they set is one way in which provincial men were able to make inroads into the law, on a local level at least. Youngs suggests that Newton’s legal knowledge was accrued in the most practical way for someone who had never attended an Inn. First, he could have easily gained a familiarity with legal procedure by watching the law in action in the local and county courts. As a landed country gentleman, he would have certainly been required to attend the courts on occasion, especially as a juror. Second, he would have had access to legal theory from the wide variety of tracts and treatises that were available on the law, such as those that have been mentioned. We know that registers of writs were commonplace, as were instruction manuals on estate management, and abridged versions of statutes and common law were fairly ubiquitous at that time.63 Evidence of having access to such literature is found in what was copied by Newton into his book. He copied deeds and charters, but he also made memoranda and recorded information that would help him in the interpretation of documents, such as the dates of famous statutes, like the Statutes of Westminster, and the date to which the first Statute of Westminster set the limitation for time immemorial, which was assigned to 6 July 1189, the date of King Richard I’s (r. 1189–1199) accession.64 Learning the law through example, via legal literature, and by seeking out the invaluable advice of more senior and successful practitioners on matters of interpretation and formula, were some of the ways that a freelanc- ing provincial scrivener could build up the knowledge required to correctly formulate the testaments and conveyances that comprised the bulk of his business.65 In short, Humphrey Newton is an example of a largely self- taught English scrivener.

62 Youngs (2008), p. 43. 63 Musson (2001), pp. 38–44. 64 Youngs (2008), pp. 49–50. 65 For more on this, see Bevan (2013), pp. 177–218. LEGAL EDUCATION IN LATE MEDIEVAL ENGLAND: HOW DID PROVINCIAL… 37

Conclusion It is apparent that for scriveners, linguistic prowess was useless without an equally advanced understanding of the legal implications of the words and phrases found in legal documents. Thus, linguistic and legal literacies were intertwined in the work that was carried out by scriveners. The drafting of legal instruments required a considerable amount of thought and planning that was rooted in the knowledge of legal vocabulary and semantics, and this type of work could not have been done by just anyone. Therefore, we can argue that scriveners were defined by their knowledge of languages and the law. By using examples taken from Exeter, Bristol, Oxford, York, and Pownall, we can see that there were a multitude of possibilities open to aspiring scriveners who wished to acquire the basic skills required for them to be able to practise this particular type of law in provincial England. Of special significance is how these examples show that legal education was readily available outside of the City of London, thus revealing that English scrivening as a whole was not dependent upon London’s practitioners to share their knowledge of the scrivening craft with local scribes in order for it to flourish. The all-too-common London-centric view of medieval history is perva- sive and damaging not only to the history of scrivening, but to other areas of cultural and political history as well. Underlying this perspective is an assumption that all knowledge and popular trends emanated outward from London as the centre of sophistication. However, this was clearly not the case with scrivening in this period. Had London’s scriveners been the sole source of training in the scrivening craft in provincial England, they would have left a greater mark on the historical record in the places that they moved to, and this surely would have shown up in the records kept by London’s Scriveners’ Company as well. Moreover, if this had been the case, then a much larger number of scriveners would have needed to be trained in London in the first instance, in order to support a regular exo- dus or a “brain drain” of teachers to the countryside. Yet, there is no evidence of this. Other than William Kingsmill, who moved to Oxford to set himself up as a teacher in the first quarter of the fifteenth century, it does not appear that this type of migration was at all common, making Kingsmill the exception rather than the rule. Instead, significant evidence exists to support the theory that provincial scrivening and local scriveners were a self-sufficient and self-sustaining community of scribes. A basic education in languages and literacy skills 38 K. BEVAN could be had in all but the smallest of towns, and a more specialised education in law could be acquired through the three main avenues outlined above. Therefore, it is clear that legal literacy was not only obtainable in provincial England in the medieval period, but that this is how provincial scriveners actually learned their law.

Bibliography

Unprinted Sources Bodleian Library, Oxford, United Kingdom. MS. Lat. misc. c. 66. Commonplace book of Humphrey Newton (1466–1536), of Pownall, Cheshire, in Latin and English 15th and 16th centuries. The National Archives (TNA), Kew, Richmond, United Kingdom. Public Record Office (PRO). PROB 11/2A. Will of John Bount of Saint Mary Redcliffe Bristol, Gloucestershire.

Printed Sources Council of Europe. 1950. European Convention for the Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms, as Amended by Protocols Nos. 11 and 14, 4 November 1950, European Treaty Series 5. https://www.echr.coe.int/ Documents/Convention_ENG.pdf. Accessed 1 July 2018. Hall, G.D.G., ed. 2002. The Treatise on the Laws and Customs of the Realm of England Commonly Called Glanvill. Oxford: Clarendon. Harte, W.J., ed. 1911. An Account of the Sieges of Exeter, Foundation of the Cathedral Church and the Disputes between the Cathedral and City Authorities by John Vowell Alias Hooker. Exeter: James G. Commin. Riley, Henry Thomas, ed. 1860. Munimenta Gildhallae Londoniensis: Liber Albus, Liber Custumarum Et Liber Horn, 2:1. London: Longman, Green, Longman and Roberts. Seipp, David J., and Carol F. Lee, eds. 2007a. 1–20 Henry VI, 1422–1442, 7. The Year Books. London: George Sawbridge. First published 1678, 1679–1680. ———, eds. 2007b. Edward V, Richard III, Henry VII and Henry VIII, 1483–1535, 11. The Year Books. London: George Sawbridge. First published 1679–1680. Sellers, Maud, ed. 1912. The York Memorandum Book, I (1376–1419): Lettered a/Y in the Guildhall Muniment Room, 1. Durham: Surtees Society. Shanks, Elsie, and S.F.C. Milsom, eds. 1963. Novae Narrationes. London: Bernard Quaritch. LEGAL EDUCATION IN LATE MEDIEVAL ENGLAND: HOW DID PROVINCIAL… 39

Sharpe, R.R., ed. 1889. Calendar of Wills Proved and Enrolled in the Court of Husting, London: Part 1: 1258–1358, 1. London: Corporation of London. Steer, Francis W., ed. 1968. Scriveners’ Company Common Paper 1357–1628. London: London Record Society. Thorne, Samuel E., ed. 1968–1977. On the Laws and Customs of England. 4 vols. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Turner, G.J., and T.F.T. Plucknett, eds. 1951. Brevia Placitata. London: Selden Society. Wadley, T.P., ed. 1886. Notes or Abstracts of the Wills Contained in the Volume Entitled the Great Orphan Book and Book of Wills. Bristol: Bristol and Gloucestershire Society. Wambaugh, Eugene, ed. 1903. Littleton’s Tenures. Washington, DC: John Byrne & Co. Weaver, F.W., ed. 1901. Somerset Medieval Wills (1383–1500), Somerset Record Society 16. London: Somerset Record Society.

Secondary Literature Adler, Edward A. 1916. Labor, Capital, and Business at Common Law. Harvard Law Review 29 (3): 241–276. Baker, J.H. 1990. The Third University of England: The Inns of Court and the Common-Law Tradition. London: Selden Society. ———. 1999. Oral Instruction in Land Law and Conveyancing. 1250–1500. In Learning the Law: Teaching and the Transmission of Law in England, 1150–1900, ed. J.A. Bush and Alain Wijffels, 157–173. London: Hambledon. Bevan, Kitrina Lindsay. 2013. Clerks and Scriveners: Legal Literacy and Access to Justice in Late Medieval England. PhD dissertation, University of Exeter. https://ore.exeter.ac.uk/repository/handle/10871/10732. Accessed 1 July 2018. Brand, Paul. 1987. Courtroom and Schoolroom: The Education of Lawyers in England Prior to 1400. Historical Research 60 (2): 147–165. ———. 2004. Hengham, Ralph (b. in or before 1235, d. 1311). In Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, vol. 2, 350–351. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Butcher, Andrew. 2004. The Functions of Script in the Speech Community of a Late Medieval Town, c. 1300–1550. In The Uses of Script and Print, 1300–1700, ed. Julia Crick and Alexandra Walsham, 157–170. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Catto, Jeremy. 2004. Horn, Andrew (c. 1275–1328). In Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, vol. 28, 114–115. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Clanchy, Michael T. 1979. From Memory to Written Record: England 1066–1307. London: Arnold. 40 K. BEVAN

Clark, David S. 1987. The Medieval Origins of Modern Legal Education: Between Church and State. The American Journal of Comparative Law 35 (4): 653–719. Fuidge, N.M. 1981. Hooker, Alias Vowell, John (c. 1527–1601). In The History of Parliament: The House of Commons 1558–1603, 2, ed. P.W. Hasler, 333–335. London: HMSO for the History of Parliament Trust. Glenn, Cheryl. 1993. Medieval Literacy Outside the Academy: Popular Practice and Individual Technique. College Composition and Communication 44 (4): 497–508. Lyon, Leverett S. 1920. Medieval English Apprenticeship as Business Education. The School Review 28 (8): 585–599. Mendyk, S. 2004. Hooker [Vowell], John (c. 1527–1601). In Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, vol. 27, 960–963. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Morris, William Alfred. 1968. The Medieval English Sheriff to 1300. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Musson, Anthony. 2001. Medieval Law in Context. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Ong, Walter J. 2002. Orality and Literacy: The Technologizing of the Word. New York: Routledge. Oschinsky, Dorothea. 1956. Medieval Treatises on Estate Management. The Economic History Review 8 (3): 296–309. Pegues, Frank. 1956. The Clericus in the Legal Administration of Thirteenth- Century England. The English Historical Review 71: 529–559. Pollard, Graham. 1966. The Medieval Town Clerks of Oxford. Oxoniensia 31: 43–76. Ramsay, Nigel. 1991. Scriveners and Notaries as Legal Intermediaries in Later Medieval England. In Enterprise and Individuals in Fifteenth-Century England, ed. Jennifer Kermode, 118–131. Gloucester: Alan Sutton. ———. 2009. The History of the Notary in England. In Handbuch zur Geschichte des Notariats der europäischen Traditionen, ed. Mathias Schmoeckel and Werner Schubert, 375–392. Baden-Baden: Nomos. Richardson, H.G. 1939. An Oxford Teacher of the Fifteenth Century. Bulletin of the John Rylands Library 23 (2): 436–457. Richter, Janice Gordon. 1986. Education and Association: The Bureaucrat in the Reign of Henry VI. Journal of Medieval History 12: 81–95. Robertson, William. 1806. The History of the Reign of the Emperor Charles V, 1. 11th ed. London: Cadell and Davies. Rose, Jonathan. 1998. Medieval Attitudes toward the Legal Profession: The Past as Prologue. Stetson Law Review 28 (2): 345–369. Russell, Josiah Cox. 1970. Ranulf De Glanville. Speculum 45 (1): 69–79. Stock, Brian. 1984. Medieval Literacy, Linguistic Theory, and Social Organization. New Literary History 16 (1): 13–29. LEGAL EDUCATION IN LATE MEDIEVAL ENGLAND: HOW DID PROVINCIAL… 41

———. 1986. History, Literature, and Medieval Textuality. Yale French Studies (70): 7–17. ———. 1997. Listening for the Text: On the Uses of the Past. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Tucker, Penny. 2006. First Steps Towards an English Legal Profession: The Case of the London Ordinance of 1280. English Historical Review 121: 361–384. Turner, Ralph V. 1985. The English Judiciary in the Age of Glanvill and Bracton. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Youngs, Deborah. 2008. Humphrey Newton (1466–1536): An Early Tudor Gentleman. Woodbridge: Boydell. The Imperial Chamber Court (1495–1806) as an Educational and Training Institution

Anette Baumann

Introduction In 1767, a very promising young man from Frankfurt am Main travelled to Wetzlar. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832) had completed his law studies in Leipzig and Strasbourg and was now to finish an internship at the Imperial Chamber Court (in German: Reichskammergericht) in the small town of Wetzlar on the Lahn,1 one of the highest civil courts in the Holy Roman Empire.2 In doing so, Goethe was following a time-honoured tradition. The internship at the Court in Wetzlar was an important com- ponent in embarking upon a highly promising career trajectory in the territories of the Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation.3 The territorial authorities were dependent on persons who knew how the Imperial Chamber Court functioned, and consequently preferred functionar- ies who had gathered experience directly at the Imperial Chamber Court.

1 Gloël (1911). 2 Summary in Baumann (2013), pp. 96–103. 3 Burgdorf (2003), pp. 21–57; Schmidt-Scharff (1934), pp. 297–317.

A. Baumann (*) Justus Liebig University Giessen, Giessen, Germany e-mail: [email protected]

Moreover, if a person wanted to have a later career at the Court, an indispensable prerequisite, in the eighteenth century in any case, was a previous internship there. We all know that nothing came of Goethe’s highly promising career as a lawyer. Instead, the atmosphere at the Imperial Chamber Court, marked by class-consciousness and narrowmindedness, offered Goethe a special opportunity to write a novel, The Sorrows of Young Werther (in German: Die Leiden des jungen Werthers) in 1774. The novel became a world bestseller, initiating a singular career for him as a writer and poet. However, my text does not analyse interns at the Imperial Chamber Court, who, after completing a law degree, indeed came to Speyer, the first site of the Imperial Chamber Court (1527–1689/90), or later to Wetzlar (1689/90–1806), its later location. Nor are successful or failed careers as a poet the focus of this chapter. Rather, I want to explore the question whether the Imperial Chamber Court also served as an educational and training institution for non-university graduates, or those who had com- menced but then broken off their university studies, in addition to providing practical internships for graduated law students holding a degree. It is difficult to search out source materials for that question and it takes a lot of digging to come up with something. Thus, I can only report about limited clues pointing to the fact that the Imperial Chamber Court also provided opportunities for non-university graduates to acquire legal knowledge—expertise on which they could then build a professional career. My main source is the autobiography of Bartholomäus von Sastrow (1520–1603),4 later councillor and mayor of Stralsund, which reports specifically about this period. This source provides us with a wealth of information about Speyer as a site of legal training for persons who had not finished a university degree, and shows what opportunities beckoned for a young man with ambition at the time. I will also discuss some eighteenth- century evidence of young men studying law privately at Wetzlar before formal university studies.

The Establishing and Early Years of the Imperial Chamber Court and Its Professional Corps of Judges The Imperial Chamber Court was the result of the Empire’s reforms at the end of the fifteenth century which reflected the rivalry between the emperor as the head of the Empire and the Empire’s Estates.5 It was estab-

4 Mohnike (1823–1824). 5 Moraw (1988), p. 28. THE IMPERIAL CHAMBER COURT (1495–1806) AS AN EDUCATIONAL… 45 lished in 1495 at the Diet (Reichstag) of Worms. The founding of the Imperial Chamber Court was not only intended to deal in a judicial way with breaches of the peace, but also to act as an umpire between the Empire’s territories. Its establishment appeared to meet the demands of the Estates: the new court of justice was to be separated from the person, the residence, and the court of the emperor.6 From its inception, the Imperial Chamber Court played an important role. At the beginning of the sixteenth century, it was instrumental in rein- forcing the momentum of the process of integration within the Empire. Above all, the Court brought a homogeneous concept of law and justice to the northern and eastern territories of the Empire, which were mostly beyond the reach of the emperor’s direct influence. The judges who origi- nated from those territories brought to the Court their own legal traditions. Furthermore, the judges, who, after their tenure at the Imperial Chamber Court, pursued their career in the service of a court or administration of a territorial prince, carried with them their experience from the imperial court. They were also able to convey, particularly in the north and in the east, a stronger awareness of the Empire’s shared governance. It is worth observing that there was no uniform system of substantive law on which the Court could found its decisions. In first-instance proceedings, which dealt mostly with breaches of the peace, the judges implemented conventions and a limited number of imperial statutes. Such jurisdictional work was usually carried out in German, only exceptionally in Latin. Private litigation came to the Court mainly through appeal proceedings. There was no common German private law. Social relations between private individuals were governed by local and regional customs or statutes.7 As a result, litigants had to specify which particular law they relied upon to buttress their case, and they had to prove the authority and the scope of any customary or statutory rule they referred to.8 Moreover, the particular law often offered no solution for settling the dispute. In such cases, the judges had to resolve the case by using the general or common law of the Empire,9 which was another way for the Imperial Chamber Court to contribute to a great degree of legal unity within the Holy Roman Empire.

6 Diestelkamp (1997), p. 5. 7 Härter (2015), p. 331. 8 In general, Oestmann (2002). 9 Härter (2015), p. 329. 46 A. BAUMANN

The head of the Imperial Chamber Court was its chief justice (Kammerrichter). He was appointed by the emperor, and it was expected that he came from the higher aristocracy of the Empire. He was not involved in the judicial decision-making process and therefore did not need any legal qualifications. The political and territorial structure of the Empire was expressed in the Estates’ prerogative to submit their candidates who were to be appointed as judges (Assessoren, Beisitzer, Urteiler).10 The future judges had to be highly qualified: studies at universities, especially in Italy and France, and experience at other courts were obligatory. Like the judges, advocates and procurators11 had to undergo an examination of their abilities before being admitted at the Court. During the sixteenth century, a position as judge at the Imperial Chamber Court in Speyer was usually a stepping stone in the career path of highly qualified jurists. For example, Viglius van Zwichem (1507–1577)12 was a judge before he became president of the State Council in Brussels. After 1495 and during the first years of the sixteenth century, the Court convened on an intermittent basis, although it carried out its activities without interruption between 1507 and 1519. At the Diet of Speyer in 1526, the Estates wanted to have the Court in Speyer. It would remain there until 1689. For the city of Speyer, it was a matter of honour to be the seat of this supreme court in the Empire. In 1689, Speyer was completely destroyed by the French armies. Because of this, and after many discussions, the Court had to move to the small imperial city of Wetzlar. It is safe to say that in the early years of the Court after its creation in 1495 up to about 1527, it did not serve as an educational and training institution. This was because the Court, due to insufficient funding and constant change of location, offered little continuity and was only able to provide profitable employment to a very small circle of individuals during its first three decades.13 Only after 1529, when by Imperial decree the Court was granted a permanent official seat in the Imperial City of Speyer on the Rhine,14 was it possible for regular Court operations to commence. Yet those operations were seriously disrupted during the subsequent two

10 In general, Jahns (2003/2011). There is no literature about judges of the sixteenth century. 11 The advocates wrote the opinions and memorandums; the procurators represented their clients throughout the proceedings before the Court. Weitzel (1994), p. 256. 12 Sprenger (1988). 13 Baumann (2013), p. 101 and Hausmann (1995), pp. 9–36. 14 Baumann (2013), p. 101. THE IMPERIAL CHAMBER COURT (1495–1806) AS AN EDUCATIONAL… 47 decades as a result of religious turbulence both in the Empire and at the Court, mainly caused by the Reformation. However, that was soon to change. Specifically, during the years 1540–1544, Speyer was doubly attractive. Not only did the city house the Imperial Chamber Court, one of the first successful Imperial institutions, but it was also the venue for several Reichstage, assemblies of the Imperial Diet. Speyer was a central city in the Empire where matters of law and politics were in close dialogue and exchange. Contemporaries naturally were also quite cognisant of that fact.15

Bartholomäus von Sastrow’s First “Internship” at the Imperial Chamber Court (1542–1544) Bartholomäus von Sastrow came from Pomerania. His father Nicolaus Sastrow (1488–?) was a merchant and his grandfather had been a mayor of Stralsund. Sastrow had begun humanistic studies at the newly opened University in Greifswald.16 But a court case concerning debts involving his father at the Imperial Chamber Court forced him and his brother Johann Sastrow (1515–1545) to break off their studies.17 The family could no longer support the two sons studying at university.18 Consequently, the two brothers journeyed from Pomerania to distant Speyer in the hope of finding further options for education and fuelled by a desire to support their father in his case before the High Court.19 The institution of the so-called solicitator provided the brothers with the possibility of assisting and supporting the trial of their father personally on the spot.20 In addition to the work of the lawyers (procurators and attorneys) representing a litigant, solicitators aided informally the lawyer working for his respective client. Solicitators sought to influence those making decisions at the Court through conversations and proactive lobbying for the litigant. That was something self-evident at the Court. This kind of soliciting had a solid place in the procedures, since such trials were given special priority. That involved a very special step in procedure which

15 Westphal (2016), pp. 11–22. 16 Brosthaus (1972), p. 11. 17 Brosthaus (1972), p. 13. 18 Trauner (2004), p. 51. 19 Mohnike (1823), vol. I, p. 207. 20 Fuchs (2002). 48 A. BAUMANN should not be equated with corruption or the like. Normally the solicitators requested final verdicts or wanted to accelerate the proceedings in general. Solicitators or solicitants comprised a non-homogeneous group of individuals not defined more precisely in legal terms.21 The prerequisite for a solicitator was the possession more or less of practical legal knowledge.22 The litigants could appoint virtually anyone to serve as a solicitator. In the sources, you can encounter a whole spectrum of persons who acted as such: imperial officials, representatives of religious institutions and orders, as well as non-university graduates, women, and Jews.23 However, in journeying to Speyer, the Sastrow brothers were pursuing two aims. First, they wanted to assist the trial of their father as solicitators; second, they also wished to make use of the chance to supplement their interrupted studies in some form or other at the Imperial Chamber Court. At the same time, they badly needed to earn some money for their own support. After their arrival in Speyer, the two young men first sought to gain a foothold in the society of the Imperial Chamber Court with the aid of letters of recommendation, including one from the reformer and humanist Philipp Melanchthon (1497–1560).24 Finally, one of the lawyers named Dr Johann Hoechel arranged “employment,” as it is termed in the source material, with the famous lawyer Dr Friedrich Reiffsteck.25 Reiffsteck had many important clients such as counts and dukes.26 Bartholomäus von Sastrow, the author of the autobiography, hoped through this work in the law office of Reiffsteck to acquire first-hand knowledge about trial procedures at the Chamber Court. Sastrow characterised Reiffsteck as a good practitioner, who as a youth had also become acquainted with canonical trial procedures at the Rota Romana, the papal supreme court in Rome, that served as a model to other European high courts.27 Accordingly, Sastrow hoped this would provide him with a good additional basis of training. He resided in the Reiffsteck household and thus

21 Fuchs (2002), p. 120. 22 Fuchs (2002), p. 123. 23 Fuchs (2002), p. 120. 24 Mohnike (1823), vol. I, p. 211. 25 Mohnike (1823), vol. I, p. 211. We know nothing special about this generation. 26 For example, the count of Oettingen, see Millet and Engelke (2015), no. 8120–8125. 27 Mohnike (1823), vol. I, p. 212. On the procedure at the Rota Romana, see Salonen (2016). THE IMPERIAL CHAMBER COURT (1495–1806) AS AN EDUCATIONAL… 49 had a direct front-row seat, so to speak. He gained knowledge about how the Reiffsteck law office was organised and its interlinkages with the Chancellery of the Imperial Chamber Court.28 This was useful information for succeeding as a solicitator. In order to earn some hard cash to support himself, Bartholomäus von Sastrow had the job of caring for the needs of the sons of the master of the house and his horses. He probably served as a tutor for the sons. But most important was his activity as a scribe. Sastrow had to copy files, which served above all as a way for him to become familiar with the customs and practices of the Court and the manner of argumentation used by the lawyers. However, the procurator Reiffsteck candidly commented on Sastrow’s work, saying that his copying activities actually proved more useful for Sastrow himself than for Reiffsteck.29 Finally, Sastrow relocated to the law office of the procurator Simon Engelhard, since due to the Reformation and the ensuing religious conflicts in the Empire, Reiffsteck suffered from a lack of cases offered to him and thus decided to give Sastrow “leave.”30 As previously in the Reiffsteck household, Sastrow lived directly in the Engelhard household, tutored the sons there in Latin and helped wherever he was needed. Here, too, his main activity was also to act as a scribe, copying paperwork. Sastrow, commenting on his activity in the employ of Engelhard, observed that the lawyer’s documents in some instances had to be copied fourfold.31 In addition, the audiences, the public sessions of the Court for the announce- ment of the judgement and submission and acceptance of documentation prepared by the lawyers,32 all had to be recorded as minutes. These minutes had to be reproduced by hand, here too entailing two or three copies. Sastrow both wrote the minutes and also then recopied them. In this rep- etitious manner, he had ample opportunity to acquaint himself with the work of the Court. However, his autobiography does not contain reports about any concrete guidance or actual instruction. We likewise learn nothing there about his actual concrete activities as a solicitator.33

28 Mohnike (1823), vol. I, p. 212. 29 Mohnike (1823), vol. I, p. 213. 30 Mohnike (1823), vol. I, p. 217. It is not exactly clear why Reiffsteck lost clients. 31 Mohnike (1823), vol. I, p. 230. 32 Baumann (2018). 33 Mohnike (1823), vol. I, p. 230. 50 A. BAUMANN

Sastrow ultimately stayed two years in Speyer.34 That was sufficient time to gain some direct impression of the work of the Court and that of a lawyer. In addition, Sastrow had many opportunities to make important contacts and develop connections. However, he did not mention any contacts with the Chamber Court judges. On the whole, Sastrow evaluated his time of training in Speyer as a positive experience. It is true, he noted, that Engelhard had made extensive use of him and had exploited him, but in the process, he had learned High German, the official written language at the time, and thus a skill very important for his career.35 Sastrow, who came from a region where Low German was spoken, was especially proud of this achievement. In addition, he notes that he had acquired some additional legal knowledge, but in the autobiography, he does not detail what exactly that entailed.36 After the Imperial Diet of 1544, the Chamber Court was shut down for four years due to religious quarrels.37 So Sastrow looked about for some other terrain of activity. He became a scribe working for the Margrave Ernest of Baden-Durlach (1482–1553) in Pforzheim, thus initially remaining fairly close to Speyer.38

Bartholomäus von Sastrow’s Second Stay at the Imperial Chamber Court (1549–c. 1551) In 1548, Emperor Charles V (r. 1519–1556) reopened the Imperial Chamber Court.39 In the intervening four years, Sastrow had managed to gain a position in the employ of the Dukes of Pomerania, who in turn dispatched him as a solicitator to the Imperial Chamber Court in Speyer.40 Sastrow was an ideal candidate for that, given his already existing contacts and connections in Speyer, and the fact that he had built up “insider” knowledge of procedural practice there through his hands-on training. At the same time, his personal position and status in society had decisively changed, since now he was working for Duke Philipp I of Pomerania- Wolgast (1515–1560)—that is, for an Imperial Estate (Reichsstand)—and

34 Trauner (2004), p. 52. 35 Trauner (2004), p. 56. 36 Brosthaus (1972), p. 22f. 37 Baumann (2013), p. 101. 38 Mohnike (1824), vol. I, p. 259. 39 Baumann (2013), p. 101. 40 Trauner (2004), p. 21. THE IMPERIAL CHAMBER COURT (1495–1806) AS AN EDUCATIONAL… 51 no longer just for a private party like his father. Within the estate-based class society, this fact made it possible for him to associate with the members of the Court on another level, thus opening up further options for training and education. That became readily apparent when he arrived once again in Speyer. Now he rented lodgings at the home of a town councillor, gaining a place at table seated with young doctors in law who were interns and respected persons also active as solicitators.41 Now, Sastrow no longer needed to provide for his own everyday living expenses himself. He consulted regularly with the lawyer Engelhard and other attorneys (procurators) whose acquaintance he had previously made. At the same time, he fulfilled the useful function of a “contact person right on the spot” for additional litigants from Pomerania engaged with cases at the Imperial Chamber Court. Thus, he supported the nobleman von Borke in his struggle against Johann of Hohenzollern, Margrave of Brandenburg-Küstrin (r. 1535–1571).42 The litigation was about beer taxes (Bierakzise). In this way, Sastrow became a kind of “junior partner” of Engelhard, who in return continued with the case of Sastrow’s father cost-free.43 In addition, Sastrow had the opportunity to acquire a much-desired diploma as a notary of the Holy Roman Empire, which was awarded him by Emperor Charles V. With this diploma, he was now able to function “officially” at the Court and accompany commissions of the Court in order to notarise the testimonies given by witnesses.44 One could discuss whether this second stint in Speyer could already be viewed as a first stage in a budding career—or rather only as a further step in his training on the basis of better possibilities, thanks to his improved social status. I would like to interpret it as a step up the ladder in Sastrow’s training since he now managed, on the basis of his newly gained social status, to acquire knowledge about other spheres of the Court that otherwise would not have been accessible to him at all, or only with great difficulty. But ultimately that remains a question of interpretation which probably cannot be fully clarified until we have additional relevant source material.

41 Mohnike (1824), vol. II, p. 605. 42 Hausmann (1989); Franke (2014), pp. 162–185. 43 Mohnike (1824), vol. II, p. 609. Sastrow did not give details about the litigation of his father. The documents about the case are lost. 44 Mohnike (1824), vol. II, p. 610. 52 A. BAUMANN

Finally, Sastrow returned to Pomerania in order to work independently as a notary there. After some initial successes, he managed to land a permanent job as town scribe in Stralsund.45 There he was responsible for the broad range of municipal texts being produced and was busy recording the minutes of sessions of the town council. In addition, he probably also accompanied the town council delegations when they were dispatched elsewhere on diplomatic missions.46 In all these spheres, his knowledge of the procedures at the Chamber Court proved decisive for his future career, equipping him with a clear advantage in knowledge over his fellow workers. Sastrow expressly underlines this in his autobiography. So, despite the fact that he did not complete his university studies, he was nonetheless able to satisfy the needs of the municipal authorities for trained legal experts—a need that was hard to meet in Pomerania in the sixteenth century. That was because in the sixteenth century, there was a severe shortage of well-trained lawyers who were knowledgeable about Imperial law. At the same time, the demands for educational qualifications for the municipal officials continued to rise. Sastrow was well prepared for that. Even if the source material basis is quite thin, indeed here consisting only of a single autobiographical source, it enables one to clearly show that the Imperial Chamber Court also served as a training ground for individuals lacking a university degree and possessing few relevant connections. Usually, that was feasible in cases where a person took a position as a scribe associated with a lawyer accredited to the Imperial Chamber Court. Sastrow also mentions others who were in a situation quite similar to his own. Depending on a person’s ambition and the guidance he received, it was possible to acquire a diploma as a notary. Knowledge regarding the procedures at the Chamber Court was so important to the litigating parties that even an Imperial estate (Reichsstand) such as the Dukes of Pomerania did not shy away from dispatching a simple non-university graduate as notary to Speyer to deal with further cases if he was deemed competent. In such a situation, the non-graduate could freely choose whether to make use of this opportunity for his own benefit or not.

45 See Krischer (2010), pp. 203–228. 46 Trauner (2004), p. 59. THE IMPERIAL CHAMBER COURT (1495–1806) AS AN EDUCATIONAL… 53

The Imperial Chamber Court as a Training Centre in the Eighteenth Century We will now take a jump in time and look at the situation two centuries later. Were the options still open to non-university graduates, or had there been significant changes in the meantime in the history of the Court? In the eighteenth century, after the complete destruction of Speyer during the so-called War of the Grand Alliance (or War of the League of Augsburg) (1689–1697) involving the question of the succession of the Palatinate (in German: Kurpfalz), the Court resided in Wetzlar47 and had become a very popular training venue for interns. The young lawyers avidly exchanged reports by interns about how the internship could best be used, the quality of the courses on offer by assessors and procurators,48 and costs for lodgings and overnight stays.49 In addition, the courses being offered by members of the Imperial Chamber Court were advertised in the press across the Empire.50 In these courses the interns read documents of the litigations, as well as relations and votes and discussed them.51 But was there an opportunity likewise for non-university graduates to acquire a basic grounding in legal knowledge and thus to invest in their own future? The empirical indications regarding this are extremely sparse and can only be determined indirectly. Nonetheless, I think that also in the eighteenth century, there were indeed options available in Wetzlar. The principal source for this are the so-called general exams that every lawyer or assessor had to sit before the Court if he aspired to pursue work at the Imperial Chamber Court as a lawyer or procurator. In my case, that means I can only report about individuals who ultimately were able to enrol as students of law and earn a degree at a university, but who actually acquired basic knowledge of Imperial law initially without any university training or status, functioning as trainees in Wetzlar.52

47 Hahn (1991). 48 Becker [1798] (1985), pp. 11, 19. 49 Bergsträsser (1788), p. 39. 50 Stein (2002), p. 13; for example Friedrich Jakob von Bostell and Damian Ferdinand Haas. See also Weitzel (1996), p. 28. 51 Becker [1798] (1985), p. 19. 52 Klass (2002): Jakob Abel p. 209, Franz Christoph Bolles p. 218, Johann Bolles p. 219, Johann Ferdinand Wilhem Brandt called (genannt) Flender p. 225, Johann Adolph Georg von Brandt p. 227, Georg David Büsser p. 231, Joachim Christoph Clauder p. 233, Sigismund Debus p. 234, Franz Friedrich Ernst Duill p. 243, Joseph Leopold Ehemann p. 244, Johann Heinrich Fashauer p. 248, Johann Joseph Flach, p. 251, Johann Anton Friedrich Heinrich 54 A. BAUMANN

When one examines the curricula vitae of various members of the Imperial Chamber Court, one often comes across the comment that they had completed their “basic studies” or “basic training” in Wetzlar before embarking on law studies at a university. Some then also studied for a semester or two at another university. Then followed the relevant internship at the Court and their acceptance by the Imperial Chamber Court. Yet it can be clearly substantiated, for example, that of 98 students registered at the University of Gießen who later became lawyers and procurators, 16 of them indicated that at the beginning of their training, they had “studied” in Wetzlar.53 This primarily involved children from Wetzlar middle-class families as well as children of members of the Imperial Chamber Court staff. Presumably this reflected an attempt to keep training expenses as low as possible. On the basis of the specific nature of these sources, it remains unclear to what extent this form of study also appeared attractive to others who desired to acquire basic legal/judicial knowledge but without the plan to make later use of such knowledge for securing a job at the Imperial Chamber Court. We do not know what these so-called studies looked like. However, names are mentioned in the sources of teachers who gave some kind of private lectures in return for a fee, termed collegia theoretica juris. Perhaps that came about separate from the practical courses being offered to the interns at the Court by various teachers and trainers.54 In this connection, Albrecht Friedrich von Bernegger (1736–?) appears to have been especially important. Bernegger was a highly respected figure in Wetzlar, enjoying substantial influence.55 He belonged to the upper class in the Imperial City of Wetzlar, a stratum comprising some eight per cent of the total population. Bernegger had a very special reputation. He supported the citizenry or Bürgerschaft in their struggle against the municipal

Flender p. 253, Johann Eberhard Philipp Frech p. 257, Johann Daniel Geibel p. 261f, Ignaz Goll p. 264, Johann Konrad Helffrich p. 280f, Johann Jakob Joseph Kirschbaum p. 292f, Johann Wilhelm Lorsbach p. 298, Johann Joseph Benedikt Maria Loskant p. 299f, Gabriel Niederer p. 310, Franz Carl von Sachs p. 322, Matthäus Joseph Schick p. 328ff, Joseph Ambrosius Spinola p. 338, Georg Wilhelm Waldschmidt p. 348f, Conrad Anton Weißkirch p. 350, Felix Maximilian Weylach p. 352. 53 Jahns (1982), pp. 189–219, 217f. 54 Weitzel (1996), p. 28. 55 Hahn (1991), p. 74. THE IMPERIAL CHAMBER COURT (1495–1806) AS AN EDUCATIONAL… 55 oligarchy in the City Council,56 placing his professional legal knowledge at their disposal. In addition, Bernegger was quite at home in the two parallel worlds of the city and the Imperial Chamber Court. He was the son of one of the few marital unions between a lawyer employed at the Imperial Chamber Court and the daughter of a local Wetzlar artisan. On top of that, Bernegger was a privy councillor in Hohenlohe-Bartenstein in North-Eastern Baden-Württemberg, and thus enjoyed close ties to the Chamber Judge of Hohenlohe-Bartenstein, who had links with the “director” of the Court and the Emperor’s deputy.57 Bernegger was also known for being very knowledgeable about Imperial law. Moreover, he espoused an enlightened conception of the ideal citizen, which he also expressed in numerous publications.58 Nothing additional is to date known about Wetzlar. Other trainers are also mentioned, but up to now I have been unable to find any additional information about them. I also have not found any source materials that might shed useful light on the extent to which someone could at all participate in these courses as a scribe or some similar occupation.

Conclusion Some very sparse but, in my view, still informative, sources point to the fact that the Imperial Chamber Court did not only provide practical training to law school graduates but also functioned as a training ground for non-university graduates who had an interest in law. In the sixteenth century, this tended to come about unsystematically, via advocates’ or procurators’ offices that hired scribes and who then left it up to the respective individuals to continue their education and professional training on the basis of the knowledge offered to them. In any event, Bartholomäus von Sastrow from Pomerania proved to be very successful in this regard. He finished his life as a respected lord mayor of Stralsund. Sastrow composed his autobiographical writing in High German, which he was especially proud to have learned. Sastrow was able to profit from the fact that in the sixteenth century, lawyers who had been trained in Imperial law were quite rare. Consequently, where necessary, persons who had not studied formally at university but had managed to acquire the corresponding neces-

56 Hahn (1991), p. 149. 57 Hahn (1991), p. 150. 58 Hahn (1991), p. 167. 56 A. BAUMANN sary knowledge in some other way were hired. It would be a rewarding, albeit difficult, task to find individuals with similar careers among the syn- dics and municipal scribes of the sixteenth century. Two hundred years later, legal training without any previous university- level study appears to have become institutionalised. In this connection, it is clear that teaching was carried out only by certain private individuals who were not employed at the Imperial Chamber Court as lawyers and the like, yet who possessed close connections with the Court, also via family ties. Judges and lawyers in the eighteenth century customarily supplemented their income solely by offering courses to trainees. We cannot determine whether they also employed scribes who cherished the desire to learn something more about the law. Translated from the German by Bill Templer.

Bibliography

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Secondary Literature Baumann, Anette. 2013. The Holy Roman Empire: The Reichskammergericht [Imperial Chamber Court]. In European Supreme Courts: A Portrait Through History, ed. Alain Wijffels and C.H. van Rhee, 96–103. London: Third Millennium Information Group. ———. 2018. Die Visitationen des Reichskammergerichts: Speyer als juristischer und politischer Aktionsraum des Reiches (1529–1588). (Bibliotek Altes Reich 24.) Berlin/Boston: De Gruyter Oldenbourg. Brosthaus, Ulrike. 1972. Bürgerleben im 16. Jahrhundert: Die Autobiographie des Stralsunder Bürgermeisters Bartholomäus Sastrow als kulturgeschichtliche Quelle. Cologne/Vienna: Böhlau Verlag. THE IMPERIAL CHAMBER COURT (1495–1806) AS AN EDUCATIONAL… 57

Burgdorf, Wolfgang. 2003. Die reichsrechtliche Peregrinatio Academica im 18. Jahrhundert. In Reichspersonal: Funktionsträger für Kaiser und Reich, ed. Anette Baumann, Peter Oestmann, Stephan Wendehorst, and Siegrid Westphal, 21–57. (Quellen und Forschungen zur Höchsten Reichsgerichtsbarkeit im Alten Reich 46.) Cologne/Weimar/Vienna: Böhlau Verlag. Diestelkamp, Bernhard. 1997. Das Reichskammergericht in der deutschen Geschichte. In Ausstellungskatalog der Gesellschaft für Reichskam mergerichtsforschung, 2nd ed., 5–14. Wetzlar: Gesellschaft für Reichskammergerichtsforschung. Franke, Ellen. 2014. Küstrin – Speyer – Wien: “Ein Kampf um das Recht” im 16. Jahrhundert: Der Konflikt zwischen Markgraf Johann von Brandenburg- Küstrin und den Brüdern Borke. In Das Mittelalter endet gestern: Heinz-Dieter Heimann zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. Sascha Butow, 162–190. Berlin: Lukas Verlag. Fuchs, Bengt Christian. 2002. Die Sollicitatur am Reichskammergericht. (Quellen und Forschungen zur Höchsten Gerichtsbarkeit im Alten Reich 40.) Cologne/ Weimar/Vienna: Böhlau Verlag. Gloël, Heinrich. 1911. Goethes Wetzlar Zeit: Bilder aus der Reichskammergerichts- und Wertherstadt. Berlin: E.S. Mittler. Hahn, Hans-Werner. 1991. Altständisches Bürgertum zwischen Beharrung und Wandel: Wetzlar 1689–1870. Munich: De Gruyter Oldenbourg. Härter, Karl. 2015. Das Heilige Römische Reich deutscher Nation als mehrschich- tiges Rechtssystem. In Die Anatomie frühneuzeitlicher Imperien: Herrschaftsmanagement jenseits von Staat und Nation: Institutionen, Personal und Techniken, ed. Stephan Wendehorst, 327–348. (Bibliothek altes Reich 5.) Munich: De Gruyter Oldenbourg. Hausmann, Jost. 1989. Die Kameralfreiheiten des Reichskammergerichtspersonals. (Quellen und Forschungen zur Höchsten Gerichtsbarkeit im Alten Reich 20.) Cologne/Vienna: Böhlau Verlag. ———. 1995. Die Städte des Reichskammergerichts. In Fern vom Kaiser: Städte und Stätten des Reichskammergerichts, ed. Jost Hausmann, 9–36. Cologne/ Weimar/Vienna: Böhlau Verlag. ———. 2003. Die wechselnden Residenzen des Reichskammergerichts bis Speyer. In Das Reichskammergericht: Der Weg zu seiner Gründung und die ersten Jahrzehnte seines Wirkens (1451–1527), ed. Bernhard Diestelkamp, 145–161. (Quellen und Forschungen zur Höchsten Gerichtsbarkeit im Alten Reich 45.) Cologne/Weimar/Vienna: Böhlau Verlag. Jahns, Sigrid. 1982. Die Universität Gießen und das Reichskammergericht. In Academia Gissensis: Beiträge zur älteren Gießener Universitätsgeschichte, ed. Peter Moraw and Volker Press, 189–220. Marburg: N.G. Elwert Verlag. ———. 2003/2011. Das Reichskammergericht und seine Richter: Verfassung und Sozialstruktur eines höchsten Gerichts im Alten Reich, 1–2. (Quellen und 58 A. BAUMANN

Forschungen zur Höchsten Gerichtsbarkeit im Alten Reich 26.) Cologne/ Weimar/Vienna: Böhlau Verlag. Klass, Andreas. 2002. Standes- oder Leistungselite? Eine Untersuchung der Karrieren der Wetzlarer Anwälte des Reichskammergerichts (1693–1806). Frankfurt/New York: Lang. Krischer, André. 2010. Syndici als Diplomaten in der Frühen Neuzeit: Repräsentation, politischer Zeichengebrauch und Professionalisierung in der der reichsstädtischen Außenpolitik. In Spezialisierung und Professionalisierung: Träger und Foren städtischer Außenpolitik während des späten Mittelalters und der frühen Neuzeit, ed. Christian Jörg and Michael Jucker, 203–228. Wiesbaden: Reichert. Millet, Susanne, and Thomas Engelke. 2015. Bayerisches Hauptstaatsarchiv München Reichskammergericht, Vol. 19: Buchstabe O. Munich: Generaldirektion der Staatlichen Archive Bayerns. Moraw, Peter. 1988. Rechtspflege und Reichsverfassung im 15. und 16. Jahrhundert. (Schriftenreihe der Gesellschaft für Reichskammergerichtsforschung 10.) Wetzlar: Gesellschaft für Reichskammergerichtsforschung. Oestmann, Peter. 2002. Rechtsvielfalt vor Gericht: Rechtsanwendung und Partikularrecht im Alten Reich. Frankfurt am Main: Klostermann. Salonen, Kirsi. 2016. Papal Justice in the Late Middle Ages: The Sacra Romana Rota. London/New York: Routledge. Schmidt-Scharff, Werner. 1934. Die Matrikel der Praktikanten am Reichskammergericht in Wetzlar 1693–1806. Archiv für Sippenforschung 11: 297–317. Sprenger, R.M. 1988. Viglius von Aytta und seine Notizen über Beratungen am Reichskammergericht 1535–1537. Nijmegen: Gerard Noodt Instituut. Stein, Anke. 2002. Advokaten und Prokuratoren am Reichskammergericht in Wetzlar (1693–1806) als Rechtslehrer und Schriftsteller. Berlin: Tenea-Verlag. Trauner, Karl Reinhart. 2004. Identität in der Frühen Neuzeit: Die Autobiographie des Bartholomäus Sastrow. Münster: Aschendorff. Weitzel, Jürgen. 1994. Anwälte am Reichskammergericht. In Geschichte der Zentraljustiz in Mitteleuropa: Festschrift für Bernhard Diestelkamp, ed. Friedrich Battenberg and Filippo Ranieri, 253–270. Cologne/Weimar/Vienna: Böhlau. ———. 1996. Damian Ferdinand Haas (1723–1805) – ein Wetzlarer Prokuratorenleben. (Schriftenreihe der Gesellschaft für Reichskammergerichtsforschung 18.) Wetzlar: Gesellschaft für Reichskammergerichtsforschung. Westphal, Siegrid. 2016. Speyer als Zentralort des Reiches: Methodische Überlegungen. In Speyer als Hauptstadt des Reiches: Politik und Justiz zwischen Reich und Territorium im 16. und 17. Jahrhundert, ed. Anette Baumann and Joachim Kemper, 11–22. (Bibliothek altes Reich 20.) Munich: De Gruyter Oldenbourg. Legal Learning of Various Kinds: Swedish Court of Appeal Judges in the Seventeenth Century

Marianne Vasara-Aaltonen

Introduction In 1587, Hans Dober (c. 1564–1627) was a town surgeon. In 1614, he was, without ever setting foot in a university law faculty, a judge at the newly founded Svea Court of Appeal (Svea hovrätt)1 in Stockholm. How was this career path possible? What gave him the qualifications to hold

1 Different approaches have been taken when translating the name of the Svea hovrätt (literally “law court of the [King’s] court”) into English. The court’s name was not unequiv- ocally settled in its first years, and many versions were used:konunglig hovrätt (“royal court court”), konungsnämnd (“King’s jury”), konungens överste dom (“the King’s highest judgment”), kungsdomhavande (“those using the King’s power to judge”), dicasterium, parla- mentum, and supremum in regno Sveciæ iudicium. Indeed, the name Svea hovrätt became established only later on. The varying usage of the court’s name in the beginning indicates that the court was still at a developmental stage. Moreover, the court’s functions entailed also other matters than appeals. Therefore, Pihlajamäki refers to these Swedish courts as high courts instead of courts of appeal. However, the well-established present-day translation of Svea hovrätt is Svea Court of Appeal, which is why this translation was used in the recent anthology on the court. See Korpiola (2014a), p. 66; Pihlajamäki (2017), pp. 2–3, fn. 7;

M. Vasara-Aaltonen (*) University of Turku, Turku, Finland e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s) 2019 59 M. Korpiola (ed.), Legal Literacy in Premodern European Societies, World Histories of Crime, Culture and Violence, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-96863-6_4 60 M. VASARA-AALTONEN such a position? Dober is one of the men who judged at the Swedish courts of appeal during the seventeenth century without any academic training—a topic which thus far has received little attention. This chapter provides insight into the different paths that led to a career at the Swedish Svea Court of Appeal for those without any university education. In order to understand the setting in which it was possible for a European high court to have judges without any academic learning, one has to begin by briefly explaining the nature of the Swedish judiciary and the circumstances in which the first court of appeal was founded in 1614. Crucial for the question is that until the seventeenth century, the Swedish judiciary was virtually completely dominated by laymen, who were not only lacking a degree in law, but who had not spent any time at university studying law. Even thereafter the role of laymen remained dominant on the local level. Already before the opening of the first Swedish university in Uppsala in 1477, high clerics had travelled abroad for academic learning. Besides theology, they had acquired learning in canon law, and to some extent also in Roman law. Through them, the first signs of learned law reached medieval Sweden and some of it also filtered through to the medieval laws from the mid-fourteenth century.2 However, apart from some learned clerics, the judiciary was in the hands of laymen without any legal learning from university. On the local level, the district courts (häradsrätt) judged in the countryside and town courts (rådhusrätt/rådstugurätt) and lower town courts (kämnärsrätt) in the towns. The district courts were staffed by a judge (häradshövding), who was not required to have an education in law, and a jury (nämnd) consisting of local men. The town courts consisted of town burghers sitting as town councillors.3 Since King Gustav Vasa’s reign (1523–1560), the district court judgeships were often enfeoffed to noblemen, but in the late sixteenth century it became increasingly common for these noblemen to have surrogates (lagläsare) take care of the actual work.4 Since the 1620s, these surrogates had sometimes followed some law studies at university, but no educational requirements applied to them, and their poor education was a common complaint during the century.5 In

Korpiola (2014c), p. 426. My chapter follows this latter choice and uses the name Svea Court of Appeal. 2 Korpiola (2009), sections 6–7. 3 Munktell (1944), p. 13; Fällström and Mäntylä (1982), p. 189. 4 Blomstedt (1958), pp. 40–41, 89–92, 143, 197. 5 von Koskull (1949), pp. 3–4; Blomstedt (1958), pp. 222–226. LEGAL LEARNING OF VARIOUS KINDS: SWEDISH COURT OF APPEAL… 61

1680, the district court judges were required to take care of their office personally, but still no formal qualifications were established.6 As for the town courts, the Crown began to show more interest in the composition of the town councils from the 1620s onwards, and the number of educated councillors began to rise during the century. The learnedness of the town councillors varied greatly from town to town—with Stockholm certainly having the most learned members—but, by and large, seventeenth- century town courts were also still in the hands of laymen, that is, local merchants and craftsmen.7 On the state level, the situation had begun to change when Gustav Eriksson [Vasa] was elected king of Sweden in 1523. Leaving the Kalmar Union, which Sweden had been part of since 1397 with Denmark and Norway, Gustav Vasa began to build the Swedish state and pursue an independent foreign policy. In consolidating the state power, the king also managed to secure his family’s power as a hereditary monarchy was established at the Diet of Västerås in 1544. To pursue such goals, and especially to establish relations to other European states, the king needed trained men to act as his councillors and as diplomats. As these could not be found in Sweden, Gustav Vasa employed some German lawyers and financed the studies abroad of some Swedish students.8 Some trained lawyers were first employed in state service in the royal chancery and in diplomacy, but the judiciary was still not organised on the highest level. During the latter part of the sixteenth century there were attempts to do so—one can name the High Council (Höga nämnd) of King Erik XIV (r. 1560–1568) as an example—but they had proven unsuccessful. It was not until 1614 that a higher court, the Svea Court of Appeal, was successfully and permanently established. However, looking at the preceding situation, one can observe that in the early seventeenth century there was no tradition of learned lawyers functioning in the Swedish judiciary. Thus, at the outset, the Svea Court of Appeal found itself in a precarious situation regarding its corps of judges, as it proved difficult to recruit legally learned judges. It is this situation of the early decades of the Svea Court of Appeal that this chapter explores. Over time, the courts of appeal did come to have the most pro-

6 Blomstedt (1958), pp. 318, 323, 326; von Koskull (1949), pp. 3–4; Westman (1927), p. 40. 7 Ericson (1988), pp. 145, 151–153; Karonen (1995), pp. 41–42; Ericsson (1982), p. 321; Ranta (1975), p. 84; von Koskull (1950), p. 104; Nikula (1981), p. 178. 8 Korpiola (2012), pp. 103–112. 62 M. VASARA-AALTONEN fessional and educated judges available in Sweden—still, however, being far less educated than many of their European counterparts. It was not until 1749 that judicial office holders were required to take an exam at the law faculty, but qualifications for this exam were vague, and it cannot be compared with a doctorate in law, for instance.9 An article discussing the theme “learning by doing” at the courts of appeal cannot neglect to mention the trainee system (auskultantsystemet) at the Swedish courts of appeal and at other offices of the central administration. This system was developed in the 1620s as part of the efforts to reform the educational system. The University of Uppsala was seen as giving too theoretical learning, focusing most on training the clergy, and through a trainee system, prospective civil servants could learn the practical side of working in the administration. In the beginning, the role of the trainees was simply to observe court sessions, but later they also took part in reviewing the court records sent from the lower courts, and since the middle of the century they also got tasks related to ongoing cases at the court of appeal.10 Many of the trainees ended up working as surrogate judges at the district courts.11 Discussing the trainee system in depth is, however, left outside the scope of this chapter. While the trainee system was an important part of developing legal training in early modern Sweden and a very real example of learning by doing, it has already been researched earlier, and will not be further examined here. In fact, despite the trainee system being in place at the courts of appeal, it seems that until the late seventeenth century, the judges of the courts of appeal usually had not themselves trained at the courts.12 Moreover, the trainees were supposed to have followed some law studies at university,13 so they do not fit the research question at hand, which is to examine those judges with no university studies at all. One could see the trainee system as an institutional mode of learning by doing, whereas this chapter focuses on learning by doing on an individual level, discussing the various ways of gaining practical knowledge for working as a judge at a court of appeal.

9 See, e.g., Björne (1995), pp. 95–96, 145. 10 Gaunt (1975), pp. 31–59. 11 Gaunt (1975), pp. 140–150. 12 Vasara-Aaltonen (2014), pp. 327–328. 13 Gaunt (1975), pp. 41–42, 59–60. LEGAL LEARNING OF VARIOUS KINDS: SWEDISH COURT OF APPEAL… 63

This chapter will focus on those judges of the Svea Court of Appeal who had not studied at university at all; provide numbers from five sample years, 1614, 1634, 1654, 1674, and 1694; present a case study of four such judges; and explain their appearance at the court of appeal. Furthermore, I will briefly discuss the noble judges of the court who did have some academic learning, but not necessarily in law. Through this approach emerges a picture of a slowly professionalising court that tried to find qualified men as judges, but that in the beginning had to settle for what was available.

The Svea Court of Appeal and Its Judges Without Any University Education The founding of the Svea Court of Appeal in 1614 was a continuation of the previous efforts to organise the judiciary on the highest level.14 The 1610s were a time of uncertainty for the Swedish state. Gustav II Adolf (r. 1611–1632), the 17-year-old son of a usurper, had ascended the throne in 1611. War was raging on three fronts, the financial distress was enormous due to war indemnities to Denmark, and the young king was often absent from Stockholm due to being on the battle field. Complaints to the king from the burdened population were frequent and needed addressing. Likewise, the collection of taxes and fines to the Crown needed to be better organised in order to finance the ongoing wars. In this politically and economically pressing situation, the court of appeal was not only founded to take care of judicial matters on the highest level. It was also a way to appease the people, legitimise the new king’s rule, and ensure the efficient collection of finances to the Crown. Next to deciding cases, it also took care of many administrative issues regarding the judiciary and the law.15 Unlike the previous attempts, this court eventually proved successful. Indeed, it was so successful that it was soon followed by two others in Sweden proper: Turku (in present-day Finland, in Swedish: Åbo) in 1623 and Göta in Jönköping in 1634. In addition, two courts of appeal functioned in the areas conquered by Sweden: one was founded in Dorpat (in Estonian: Tartu) in Livonia in 1630 and the German Hofgericht in

14 See Korpiola (2014b), pp. 42–47. 15 Korpiola (2014a), pp. 60–64, 66, 92–93, 96–98, 100–101; Lappalainen (2014), pp. 83–88, 100, 107–112, 155–159. 64 M. VASARA-AALTONEN

Greifswald in Pomerania came under Swedish rule in 1655.16 However, this success could not yet be seen in the first years of the Svea Court of Appeal. The court was set up hurriedly, and many of its practicalities, such as salaries and the court’s seal, were still not settled at the founding of the court.17 The urgency with which the court was set up can also be seen in the difficulties to staff the court with learned men. The 1614 Ordinance of Judicial Procedure (rättegångsordinantia) stated that the newly founded Court of Appeal was to have 14 members: the Lord High Steward (drots) as its president, four other Councillors of the Realm (riksråd) as assessors of the first class, five other noblemen to staff the second class of the court, and four other “honest men, learned and experienced in law” (fyra andre Lärde och Laghfarne ährlige Män) for the third class of the court.18 While the statute refers to “learned men” in the third class of the court, no formal educational requirements guided the assessment of their learnedness. The expression “experienced in law” (laghfahrne) is mentioned separately from “learned” (lärde), so at least in principle it implies that judges should also have learnedness above mere experience in legal affairs. In practice, though, in the first decades of the court’s existence one could gain a seat at the court with little or no academic training at all. The reasons for this will be discussed in detail below. Furthermore, one must keep in mind that even those who had followed some studies at university had only rarely gained a degree, and studies did not necessarily entail law studies. I have previously studied the educational and career backgrounds of the Svea Court of Appeal judges from five sample years during the seventeenth century: 1614, 1634, 1654, 1674, and 1694.19 Based on these sample years, I will here discuss the number of judges who had not followed any studies at the university level. In 1614, when the court was founded, it

16 Korpiola (2014b), p. 26. 17 Korpiola (2014a), pp. 66–71; Sunnqvist (2014), p. 359. 18 “Och skal föreskreffne wår Hoffrätt wara beklädd aff fiorton Personer / ibland hwilke Rijksens Drotzet altijd skal wara en /medh fyra andra af Rijksens Råd / femb af Adel och fyra andre Lärde och Laghfarne ährlige Män: Och skal Drotzen städze wara wår Præsident eller Domhafwande / och honom til hielp en annan för Vice-Præsident,” 1614 Ordinance of Judicial Procedure, article 11, in Schmedeman (1706), p. 137. 19 The information was compiled from Anjou (1899), the Svenskt biografiskt lexikon, and various matriculation records of domestic and foreign universities, and was presented in Vasara-Aaltonen (2014), discussing the educational and career backgrounds of Svea Court of Appeal judges 1614–1809. That article does not, however, focus on the modes of learning of those judges lacking a university education that are discussed here. LEGAL LEARNING OF VARIOUS KINDS: SWEDISH COURT OF APPEAL… 65 comprised 14 judges, of whom six or seven had not studied at university. Two of them belonged to the first class of the court, that is, the Councillors of the Realm. Two or three came from the second class of the court, which consisted of noblemen, and, most interestingly, two of the four “learned class” judges had not studied at a university. What was common for most of these men was that they had held various posts in the administration or at the royal court prior to being appointed to the Svea Court of Appeal. Several of the noble members of the court had also visited foreign royal courts and held posts in the military.20 In 1634, still a good third of the judges, seven out of twenty, had not studied at a university, including one judge in the first and two judges in the second class of the court. Of the seven learned class judges, only three appear to have enrolled at a university. Those without university studies again had experience from the civil administration and local judiciary.21 However, among the more learned judges of the court in 1634 we find a law professor of the University of Uppsala, Daniel Sidenius (1592–1666),22 who stayed at the court until 1639 before returning to the university.23 Thus, the court certainly was not completely without legal learning, even though the majority of “learned class” judges had not studied at university. Twenty years later, in 1654, the situation seemed different, as only one of the 22 judges, a member of the first class, had not pursued any university studies. This was the nobleman Ture Sparre (1593–1664), who will be discussed in detail below. Again, in 1674, when the court comprised altogether 21 members, only one or two of the judges appear to completely lack university studies. This time, they can be found in the “learned class” of the court. By now, though, those without university education had experience specifically from the judiciary: either on the local level at a town court or at the court of appeal in lower positions.

20 Anjou (1899), pp. 27–28, 55, 72–73; Vasara-Aaltonen (2014), pp. 305–307, 319–320. 21 Anjou (1899), pp. 32–33, 57, 59, 73, 75; Vasara-Aaltonen (2014), pp. 307–308. 22 Sidenius had obtained his master’s degree at the Faculty of Arts in 1625 and was given the right to teach. In 1629, he defended a “dissertatio pro gradu” entitled De jure patrona- tus, and was awarded his doctorate at the first conferral of doctoral degrees doktorspromo-( tion) at the Law Faculty. He functioned as professor of Roman law until 1634, but planned a journey abroad, which had a negative impact on his teaching. In 1633 or 1634, he switched over to the professorship for Swedish law, but was absent for five years as he worked as an assessor of the Svea Court of Appeal for that period. Malmström (1985), pp. 51–54. 23 Anjou (1899), p. 76. 66 M. VASARA-AALTONEN

Finally, the last sample year of the century 1694 shows a court where probably all of the 18 judges had at least enrolled at university. This was to continue in the following century, when practically all judges had gone to university.24 As mentioned above, university exams were not required until 1749. However, already in the first half of the eighteenth century it was common practice for future court of appeal judges to have studied at university, though the extent of their studies is usually not known.25 The numbers reveal that judges without any university experience appeared mostly in the first decades of the Svea Court of Appeal’s existence. By the middle of the seventeenth century, the educational level of the court had clearly improved. Moreover, those few still lacking university education usually had experience from legal tasks either at local courts or from lower positions within the courts of appeal, whereas earlier on there was more variance in the pre-careers and they entailed more tasks also in the administration. The problem of finding educated judges seems to have become less acute after the first decades of the court’s existence. However, one must keep in mind that not all with a university education had necessarily studied law—this is especially true for the noble judges, and will be further discussed below. Moreover, studies at university usually did not entail a law degree, obtained after years of study, but could also be rather short term. Only a few judges held doctorates in law.26

The Tales of Four Judges What kind of merits, then, led those men without any experience of university studies to the court? Let us look at some of the men as examples. When the Svea Court of Appeal was founded in 1614, Hans Hansson Dober was one of its four “learned class” judges. He was of German back-

24 Anjou (1899), pp. 37, 79, 81 and passim.; Vasara-Aaltonen (2014), pp. 308–311. 25 Vasara-Aaltonen (2014), pp. 311–313. 26 One can name diplomat and Councillor of the Realm Johan Adler Salvius (1590–1652) and law professor Bengt Crusius (d. 1633), both of whom served the Svea Court of Appeal; as well as from the sample years discussed here, Daniel Sidenius, Carl Rosinger (nob. Rosenstielke, 1620s–1661), and Anders Anthelius (nob. Solenblomma, 1612–1666). However, some judges had also demonstrably studied law and defended exercise disputations without obtaining a degree. One can name, for instance, Magnus Larsson (d. 1674), who had studied abroad and written dissertations in Greifswald and Leipzig under the guidance of law professors Franz Stypmann (1612–1650) and Benedikt Carpzov (1595–1666); see Vasara-Aaltonen (2017), p. 146. For the others, see Vasara-Aaltonen (2014), pp. 307–310. LEGAL LEARNING OF VARIOUS KINDS: SWEDISH COURT OF APPEAL… 67 ground and appears as an apprentice to the Stockholm barber-surgeon27 in the 1580s. The guild of barbers in Stockholm had been formed in 1496 and in the sixteenth century it was markedly German.28 Dober next moved to Västerås, an important medieval commercial and episcopal town, located roughly 100 kilometres north-west of Stockholm, where he first, around 1587, became a surgeon and then an organist. Sometime during the 1590s, he advanced to an administrative–legal career as he was appointed to the position of town scribe (stadsskrivare) of Västerås—a position he held until at least 1603.29 In 1599, he represented the town of Västerås as a member of the burgher estate at the Diet. Around 1600, he was also appointed surrogate district court judge (lagläsare) by Duke Karl of Södermanland (regent since 1599 and future King Charles IX, r. 1604–1611), and functioned in this position in several districts for years to come. Around the same time, Councillor of the Realm, Count Abraham Brahe (1569–1630), made Dober his surrogate provincial judge (underlagman) of Dalarna. It is said that Dober was highly respected as a judge, so it is no surprise that when the new court of appeal was established, Dober was considered a good candidate for a judge’s position in the non-noble “learned class.”30 He was not university-educated, but had roughly 20 years of experience in handling administrative and judicial matters on the local level. In this case, it seems that having a prominent role in the town community as surgeon and organist helped the rise to a career in the administration and judiciary, which eventually led to the highest level of the judiciary. Among the judges of the Svea Court of Appeal in 1634, we find Oloff Nilsson (d. 1652) sitting in the “learned class” of the court. Nilsson was a

27 Smaller surgical procedures had been left to the barbers ever since medicine began to be taught at the medieval universities and academic physicians no longer wished to perform such procedures. Barber-surgeons thus formed a craftsmen’s trade rather than an academic profession. It was from the late seventeenth century onwards that the profession of barber- surgeons began to be professionalised in Sweden. See Himmelmann (2007), pp. 69–70. Surgery as part of medicine in itself is a good example of learning by doing versus academic training in another field than law. See, e.g., Robison (2014), pp. 178–179. 28 Almquist (1945); Himmelmann (2007), p. 72. 29 Unfortunately, the town council records (tänkeböcker) of Västerås have not been pre- served from the time Dober was active as town scribe, so his activities there cannot be inspected more closely; Kumlien (1971), p. 425. On the administration and economy of Västerås more generally, see Kumlien (1971), pp. 425–445. 30 Almquist (1945); Westman (1927), p. 27. For an examination of Dober’s activities as substitute district court judge especially in relation to the role of the jury (nämnd), see Westman (1927), pp. 27–37. 68 M. VASARA-AALTONEN burgher of Stockholm and had been town councillor (rådman) since 1600 and burgomaster (borgmästare) since 1612. In between he had also acted as fire master brandmästare( ), churchwarden (kyrkovärd), and judge of the lower town court (kämner). In 1615, he became assessor at the Svea Court of Appeal and held his position until 1642. Since 1631, he was also district court judge of Waxala, Bälinge, and Bro, but had a surrogate taking care of this position.31 The Crown began to take an interest in the composition of the town councils in the 1620s and started appointing so-called royal burgomasters, who often had a burgher background, although were not chosen because of that, but because they had earned their spurs in state service. The intention was to give the Crown better control of the towns and their development, which would eventually also benefit the whole state. By getting involved in the appointment of burgomasters, the Crown could also try to find town officials with some knowledge of the law. Specifically, the aim was to develop the town administration and judiciary and, thus, make them more efficient.32 Of the seventeen Stockholm burgomasters between 1599 and 1637, twelve were merchants and two craftsmen, while three were appointed because of their academic learning or experience serving the Crown. All these three were appointed after 1621.33 In the case of Oloff Nilsson, his experience in the Stockholm town administration stemmed from the first years of the seventeenth century— before the Crown began appointing royal burgomasters with some academic credentials and experience from state service. Thus, with Nilsson we see a common burgher background without any positions in state service prior to being appointed to the Svea Court of Appeal. Nevertheless, even at the time Nilsson functioned in the town administration, Stockholm as the heart of the central administration naturally held a special position in the realm. For instance, one of the Stockholm burgomasters, usually the judicial burgomaster, acted as speaker of the burgher estate at the Diet.34 As burgomaster of Stockholm, Nilsson was close to the central government, despite not having had a position in state administration. Close

31 Anjou (1899), p. 73. 32 Ericson (1988), pp. 145, 152, 333; Karonen (1995), pp. 41–42, 53–55, 108–111; von Koskull (1950), pp. 103, 105; Lappalainen (2014), pp. 238–240; Suolahti (1946), pp. 139–140; Karonen (2017), p. 226. 33 Ericson (1988), p. 122. 34 Sallila (2014), p. 283; Einonen (2017), pp. 249, 260–263. The level of learnedness of the Stockholm town councillors was also already regulated since the 1660s, which was early in comparison to other towns. Ericson (1988), pp. 151–153; Ericsson (1982), p. 321. LEGAL LEARNING OF VARIOUS KINDS: SWEDISH COURT OF APPEAL… 69 interaction—both formal and informal—between town officials and state officials was common in Stockholm.35 When Nilsson was appointed in 1615, the Svea Court of Appeal was still struggling to find competent judges, and the experience from the Stockholm administration and judiciary certainly must have enabled him to join the court even without academic training. Indeed, it was not uncommon for Stockholm town officials to be promoted to positions in the Crown’s service.36 The background of Ture Sparre, a judge of the court in 1654, represents a different type as Sparre was a nobleman, and his career is characteristic of this. The Sparre family can be traced back to the turn of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. While originally of lower nobility, members of the Sparre family rose to important positions in the late fifteenth century. Ture’s father Erik Larsson Sparre (1550–1600) had been Councillor and Chancellor of the Realm.37 It is hard to imagine that Ture Sparre would not have had any private tutoring as the son of an important noble family, but none of the records mention university studies. In 1617, at the age of 24, he followed Duke Karl Filip (1601–1622), younger brother of King Gustav II Adolf, on his five-month journey abroad, and some records place him as part of the royal court in 1626. We next hear of him as assessor of the second class, that is, the noble class, at the Svea Court of Appeal in 1630. Next to his assessorship he held positions as governor (ståthållare), provincial governor (landshöfding), and Hofmarschall (hovmarskalk) during the 1630s. During this time, he also regularly attended the Diet. In 1644, he was given the district court judge position in Sääksmäki in Finland—a position he in all likelihood left to a surrogate. The following year he was appointed Councillor of the Realm, which enabled him the rise to the first class of the Svea Court of Appeal. That same year, he was also part of the Brömsebro peace negotiations with Denmark. In 1648, he was appointed provincial judge (lagman) of Kalmar, Öland, and Gotland. He held his position as Councillor of the Realm and as first-class judge of the Svea Court of Appeal until 1661.38 Sparre’s career background was very typical for a noble judge of the Svea court in that it entailed various positions within the royal court and the civil administration, diplomatic journeys as well as the enfeoffment of a district judge’s office.39

35 Einonen (2017), p. 249. 36 Einonen (2017), pp. 251–252. 37 Gillingstam (2003–2006). 38 Anjou (1899), p. 37; Gillingstam (2003–2006). 39 See in detail Vasara-Aaltonen (2014), pp. 319–322. 70 M. VASARA-AALTONEN

Michill Olofsson Dubb (d. 1674), still judge in the sample year 1674, had built his career within the Svea Court of Appeal. He had begun as vice crown prosecutor in 1647, then advanced to crown prosecutor (advokat- fiskal) in 1651, and was appointed third-class assessor in 1655. This position he held until his death.40 This is all the information that is found on Dubb. Like the other men, he does not appear in the matriculation records of the universities of Uppsala or Turku.41 He must have been a diligent worker to advance within the court, without however having any special highlights that would have left a mark for future generations to remember him by. What connects these four men is that, according to the sources available, they had not studied at university prior to their positions as judges of the Svea Court of Appeal. They had obtained their learning through other means. All four represent slightly different paths to the assessorship, and naturally there were others with still other paths to the same position. Still, these examples give a good overview on the backgrounds that one can find among the judges. With Hans Dober we find someone with an interesting background— one that at a quick glance does not relate to a career in the judiciary—as a barber-surgeon and organist. What is relevant here is that through those positions he probably gained merit within the town of Västerås and was thus able to become the town scribe. This also implies that he was at least literate with probably some elementary education. Scribes generally had good opportunities for advancement.42 Getting his foot into the town administration certainly paved the way for his future career in the judiciary on the local level, where he earned his spurs. Prior to his appointment to the Svea Court of Appeal, he had years of practical knowledge of the judiciary. He also had practical medical knowledge, which later in some cases was seen useful in the judiciary, too.43 However, in this case, it probably

40 Anjou (1899), p. 79. 41 Andersson et al. (1900–1911); https://ylioppilasmatrikkeli.helsinki.fi. 42 Einonen (2017), p. 253. 43 For instance, Johan Munkthelius (1618–1674, nob. Lagercrona) had obtained a doctorate in medicine in Leiden and was a royal personal physician in 1650, before being nominated as assessor of the Svea Court of Appeal in 1654, shortly after his ennoblement in 1653. As a royal physician he had probably proven himself as a trustworthy man with the Crown, leading to his ennoblement and later his appointments in the judicial system. Perhaps his medical knowledge was also seen as useful, as in the case of the Göta Court of Appeal, where a physician was appointed assessor specifically because his knowledge of medicine was seen as LEGAL LEARNING OF VARIOUS KINDS: SWEDISH COURT OF APPEAL… 71 did not influence his appointment. Oloff Nilsson, starting at the Svea court only one year after Dober, had a very similar past. He had held positions of trust within the town, and, as head of the lower town court, he could also show practical experience of administering justice. By contrast, Ture Sparre needed no special justification for his position as judge of the noble class. He was a member of the noble estate, which formally was all that was needed. However, his previous career in the royal court and as governor was very typical for a noble judge, and this had given him some experience of state administration. Understanding the law based on tradition and the practice of previous generations was also regarded as an “innate” quality of the aristocracy.44 Most noble judges had, however, seen the necessity of gaining some university education, too. Finally, Michill Dubb is an example of experience gathered within the court of appeal itself. He is unusual in that he apparently had not attended university, but his career path is representative of the late seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.45 Dubb, beginning his career mid-century, is an early example of such advancement.

Finding the Next Best Thing The lay character of the Swedish judiciary was explained in the introduction. In the sixteenth century, the absence of trained administrators and judges was not yet an insurmountable problem, as there were not yet so many positions to fill. However, the growing centralisation of seventeenth- century Sweden changed this situation. During King Gustav II Adolf’s reign (1611–1632) and the following regency (1632–1644), the central administration was developed at an ever-growing pace. This included not only four courts of appeal being founded within a period of 20 years but beneficial in deciding criminal cases. The usefulness of knowledge in forensic medicine for lawyers was also brought up in the eighteenth century by the Swedish jurist David Nehrman (1695–1769, nob. Ehrenstråhle). There are also more examples of “physician-lawyers” such as the vice president of the Turku Court of Appeal in the 1630s, Olof Bure (1578–1655), who had a doctorate in medicine from Basel and had been the personal physician of the king. See Du Rieu (1875), p. 378; UBA, Kaartregister van der Woude: Leiden 1649; https:// ylioppilasmatrikkeli.helsinki.fi/henkilo.php?id=155; Vallinkoski (1962), p. 22; Thunander (1993), p. 34; Nehrman (1979), Cap. I, § 31, p. 10; Blomstedt (1973), p. 83. 44 Petrén (1964), p. 55. 45 Vasara-Aaltonen (2014), pp. 321–327. 72 M. VASARA-AALTONEN also the creation of collegial administrative boards (kollegier) in 1634. In addition, as Sweden pursued an active, expansive foreign policy and was constantly at war throughout the first half of the seventeenth century, it needed diplomats in great numbers, too.46 In 1629, Sweden had gained rule over Livonia; in 1648, parts of Pomerania; and in the 1640s and 1650s, parts of Denmark—and all of these regions needed personnel to govern them. Thus, in the first decades of the century, the Swedish government found itself rather suddenly in a situation where men were needed to staff all these new positions. With Sweden’s enhanced presence in Europe and close contacts to the Dutch, for instance, the courts were also faced with more complicated cases with international aspects. While a court of appeal was set up in Dorpat in Livonia in 1630, Swedish Estonia and the town of Riga in Livonia remained under the jurisdiction of the Svea Court of Appeal. Influences of Roman law and theius commune can be seen most clearly in cases originating from these areas.47 Therefore, it became more important than before to preferably find legally trained men to act as judges at the court of appeal. However, the overwhelming lay domination of the Swedish judiciary coming to the seventeenth century meant that in 1614, when the Svea Court of Appeal was founded, there were not too many legally trained men available to staff the court. In the court’s early years, many aspects of organising the court were still at a developmental stage, and this included finding educated men to serve as its assessors. For instance, in 1616, two years after the Svea Court of Appeal had been founded, one Carl Christoffersson, probably a moneyer (myntmästare), was suggested for a seat in the learned class of the court. Carl Christoffersson, however, turned down the offer, referring to his inexperience of the judiciary, the lack of knowledge on “those matters” and the fact that he “was not one to study,” and considered himself “completely unsuitable” for office as a judge.48 In the first years of the court’s existence, the lack of trained lawyers was so grave that sometimes it really seems to have been a matter of scraping the barrel to find men for the positions. In 1620, King Gustav II Adolf com-

46 Karonen (2008), pp. 186–190; Droste (2006), pp. 64–66, 69; Nuorteva (1997), p. 383. 47 Jägerskiöld (1963), pp. 30–31; Petrén (1966), p. 267; Pihlajamäki (2014), pp. 236–237; Pihlajamäki (2017), pp. 130–131. 48 “Som motiv anförde han, att han ’aldrig varit övad eller brukad i rättegångssaker, varken i städer på rådstuga, ej heller å landsting’. Därför sade han sig icke förstå sig på ’sådana saker, ej heller haver hans lägenhet varit mycket till att studera; är för den skull därtill alldeles odug- lig’,” Almquist (1943), pp. 100–102. LEGAL LEARNING OF VARIOUS KINDS: SWEDISH COURT OF APPEAL… 73 plained that while educated clerics were easy to find, qualified men for the administration were lacking: “There are no good town scribes, nor good bailiffs or scribes in the countryside; officials are for the most part so unlearned that some cannot even write their names.”49 Against this background, it becomes understandable that someone with experience from the local administration or judiciary, such as Hans Dober or Oloff Nilsson, was seen as a welcome addition to the court, as he was bringing with him at least some sort of knowledge of legal matters. Dober’s example also shows how gaining the trust of the leading members of the realm’s small elite was a sure way to advance in the early seventeenth century.50 In 1614, only one university existed in the Swedish Realm: that of Uppsala, which had been founded in 1477, but had been inactive for decades due to the controversies caused by the Reformation. It resumed its activities in the 1590s. A professor for law and political science was appointed in 1609, and in 1620, a law faculty with two professors was established. However, the focus at Uppsala University remained on theology and theoretical learning long after this.51 Thus in 1614, there was virtually no one available with any legal learning from a domestic university. There was no “own production” of learned lawyers to suit Swedish needs. Those with legal training had acquired it from studies abroad. Since the 1620s, efforts were put into the Swedish educational system to make it more functional for the new needs of the growing state. In 1640, a university was founded in Turku, and already in 1632 one in conquered Livonia. Nevertheless, these reforms were not immediately successful, and until the mid-seventeenth century, the majority of Svea Court of Appeal judges who had studied at the university level had done so abroad.52 With legal training in its infancy and still searching for its position at Uppsala University, it becomes clear that in the first years of the new court of

49 “Till predikoämbetet få finnas som det med nytta och väl kunna föra och förestå, men till regementet platt inga nyttiga och instruerade; alltså och, att icke en god stadsskrivare finns, sedan en god fogde eller skrivare å landet, och alla de, som antingen på landet eller i städerna magistraten och ämbeten bekläda, äro mestadels så olärde, att ock icke en part kunna skriva sitt namn.” Cited in Gaunt (1975), p. 35. 50 See also footnote 43 on judges with medical training and experience as royal physicians. 51 Malmström (1985), pp. 28–32; Lindroth (1975a), pp. 340–341; Lindroth (1975b), p. 16. 52 Lindroth (1975b), pp. 16–19, 48, 65–66; Malmström (1985), pp. 27–28, 33–38; Klinge (1987), pp. 53–54; Vasara-Aaltonen (2014), pp. 305–310. 74 M. VASARA-AALTONEN appeal, there were not too many university-trained lawyers available for its needs. The government had to rely on what was available, and in the absence of enough legally learned men, those with some practical experience were the next best thing. The reason this could work was that Swedish law was still rather simple. The plurality of legal sources, present in many parts of Europe, was to a great extent missing in Sweden.53 The law was administered according to the medieval laws covering the whole country: the Town Law (stadslag) and the Law of the Countryside (landslag) of King Magnus Eriksson (Magnus IV of Sweden, r. 1319–1364) from the mid-fourteenth century. The Law of the Countryside was updated by King Christopher of Bavaria (r. 1441–1448) in 1442, but it only began to replace the older version in the second half of the sixteenth century. These laws were applicable throughout Sweden proper.54 The courts of appeal also had a mediating function through the control and guidance of the lower courts. These, as was mentioned, were often in the hands of men without any or with very little academic legal learning. Therefore, complicated legal doctrine would have been difficult—and due to the simplicity of most local cases also unnecessary—to pass on to the local district courts.55 In the beginning, the courts of appeal could manage with only some of its judges having some academic learning and the rest having only practical knowledge, as not all of its cases involved difficult legal argumentation.56 The early years of the Svea Court of Appeal give the impression of a somewhat homespun effort, put together quite hurriedly. However, the Svea Court of Appeal was certainly not a Swedish invention but had an impressive foreign model especially in the German Imperial Chamber

53 On legal diversity in early modern Sweden—or the relative lack thereof—in a European perspective, see Korpiola (2017). 54 Korpiola (2017), pp. 148, 154–155. For the applicable law in Swedish Livonia, see Pihlajamäki (2017), pp. 238–258. 55 Pihlajamäki (2007); Korpiola (2017), pp. 155–156. 56 An interesting detail about the court’s practice in distributing cases connects to the question of the judges’ education and legal knowledge. The court’s practice was to allot each case to be prepared by one of the assessors. In the 1670s, the president of the court, Bengt Horn (1623–1678), suggested that the cases not be allotted to the assessors but rather distributed according to the specific knowledge each of the assessors had. The allotment system had the disadvantage that a difficult case could end up in the hands of an inexperienced assessor, and it was not possible to put the varying expertise of the judges to best use. However, this pro- posal was rejected and cases continued to be allotted for preparation. Jägerskiöld (1964), pp. 287–288. LEGAL LEARNING OF VARIOUS KINDS: SWEDISH COURT OF APPEAL… 75

Court, the Reichskammergericht (founded in 1495), with its division into noble and learned judges.57 Initially, half of the Imperial Chamber Court’s 16 assessors were learned in the law (der Recht gelert) and the other half came from the old nobility. All were to be respectable and have “knowledge and experience” (Wissen and Übung).58 The Imperial Chamber Court Ordinances (Reichskammergerichtsordnung) guiding the work of the court required learned judges to have studied the ius commune and to have a university law degree. During the sixteenth century, qualifications were still increased and the requirement of law studies was extended to noble judges as well, though they did not have to have a degree. The Imperial Chamber Court Ordinances of 1548 and 1555 specified that if there were not enough learned noblemen to be found, the court did not have to adhere to the rule that half of the judges should be noble. These provisions meant that, by the end of the sixteenth century, the Reichskammergericht was staffed by highly qualified professional learned jurists.59 Thus, the situation was very different from that at the Svea Court of Appeal. At the Imperial Chamber Court, strict qualifications were set for the learnedness of its non-noble members right from the beginning, and soon even the noble judges were required to have studied law. As we can see, the Svea Court of Appeal was modelled on foreign examples but had to modify the requirements to suit Swedish circumstances. No formal requirements existed for the qualifications of its judges—not even in the “learned” class of the court. It would have been futile to write down such requirements, as there were not enough learned lawyers to be found in early seventeenth-century Sweden. While the model for the structure of the Svea court can clearly be seen in the Imperial Chamber Court, one can notice a difference between the wording of the Swedish Ordinance of Judicial Procedure (1614) and the Imperial Chamber Court Ordinance (1495). The German text clearly defines the learned judges as legally learned (der Recht gelert), referring to academic studies in law. The general

57 See, e.g., Blomstedt (1973), pp. 34–36. 58 “Zum Ersten das Camergericht zu besetzen mit ainem Richter, der ain gaistlich oder weltlich Fürst oder ain Grave oder ain Freyherr sey, und XVI Urtailer, die alle Wir mit Rat und Willen der Besamnung yetzo hie kiessen werden auss dem Reich Teutscher Nacion, die redlichs, erbers Wesens, Wissens, Übung und ye der halb Tail der Urtailer der Recht gelert und gewirdiget, und der ander halb Tail auf das geringest auss der Ritterschaft geborn sein söllen.” Reichskammergerichtsordnung 1495, §1, Zeumer (1913), p. 284. 59 Jahns (2011), pp. 337–338, 464–469, 606; Baumann (2013), p. 96. 76 M. VASARA-AALTONEN requirement of knowledge and experience, in turn, is extended to cover all judges, also the noblemen. The Swedish provision, however, links learnedness and experience with law together (lärde och laghfarne) and mentions this only for the third-class judges, the commoners. Learnedness is here not specified to refer to law studies at university. Thus, while the requirements for the commoner judges are longer in the Swedish version, they are in fact vaguer than in the German model. The circumstances described above explain why in practice the Swedish system had to, and could, function differently than its model. First, the lack of university-trained lawyers at the time of the founding of the court was evident and could not be circumvented. Secondly, the poor state of university education in Sweden at the time is inevitably linked to this situation. Finally, the law applicable at the court is an explaining factor in how the Swedish courts of appeal could manage with their semi-professional judges during the early seventeenth century. The Imperial Chamber Court is naturally not the only example of a European high court with highly learned judges. The development of the learned ius commune at European universities and the establishment of appellate courts by states that were increasingly centralised brought about judges with university law degrees elsewhere on the Continent, too. One can refer to the French parlements, especially the Parlement de Paris,60 and the Great Council of Mechelen in the Low Countries (in Dutch: de Groote Raad der Nederlanden te Mechelen, in French: le Grand Conseil des Pays- Bas à Malines), for instance.61 What these European higher courts had in common was a greater reliance on learned law than the Swedish courts of appeal, and high-level universities with functioning law faculties in their vicinity. Thus, there were more trained personnel readily available for these courts than was the case in Sweden. On the other hand, Sweden was not alone in its situation. One can mention neighbouring Denmark, for instance, which also lacked formal requirements for even the highest judges to have a law degree until 1736. Indeed, in the seventeenth century, the judiciary in Denmark was even less legally learned than in Sweden, in part due to the different structure of the appellate courts.62

60 In older research, the Parlement de Paris has also been seen as one possible model for the Svea Court of Appeal. See, e.g., Blomstedt (1973), pp. 34–36. 61 See, e.g., Wijffels (2013a), p. 25; Wijffels (2013b), p. 64; van Rhee (2013), p. 206. 62 Tamm (2011), pp. 56–59; Andersen (2011), pp. 264, 327–329, 343–347; Johansen (2001), p. 564. For a comparison between especially the studies abroad of Danish and Swedish judges, see Vasara-Aaltonen (2017), pp. 268–272. LEGAL LEARNING OF VARIOUS KINDS: SWEDISH COURT OF APPEAL… 77

While finding learned lawyers to the Svea Court of Appeal was difficult in the beginning, the number of Svea Court of Appeal judges without any university studies had clearly decreased by the mid-seventeenth century. This can be attributed to the Swedish government’s efforts to improve the education in Sweden as well as the trend to send men to study abroad. Especially in the 1630s and 1640s, we find many future lawyers studying law and political science at Dutch universities.63 Indeed, the educational level of the Svea Court’s judges first began to rise due to their studies at foreign universities. Around the middle of the century, domestic universities also started to play a significant role in educating future judges, and by the late seventeenth century, studies at domestic universities had become more important than studies at foreign universities.64

Noblemen as Judges When assessing the level of learning at the court of appeal one must also take into account the fact that the first two classes of the court were staffed with noble judges. While the Ordinance of Judicial Procedure of 1614 called for “learned and experienced” judges in the third class of the court, no such requirements applied to the first two classes of the court, staffed with noblemen. In practice, though, it was very common for the noble judges to have attended university. However, the educational paths of noblemen differed to some extent from those of commoners. The above-discussed noble judge Ture Sparre represents a minority in that he was a noble judge without any university education. It was more common for Swedish noble judges to have some experience of university studies. However, for them studies had not necessarily entailed law studies—even if these noblemen later pursued a career also in the judiciary. Therefore, one must keep in mind when examining the number of educated court of appeal judges that academic learning did not in every case equal academic legal learning.65 The humanist noble ideal of a well-learned nobleman, cultivated across Europe especially in the sixteenth century, soon reached Sweden, too.66 As the growing state-building since the latter half of the sixteenth century

63 Vasara-Aaltonen (2017), pp. 61–99; Niléhn (1983), pp. 162–163. 64 Vasara-Aaltonen (2014), pp. 305–313, 315–319. 65 There are also examples of commoners who studied something other than law at university and ended up working as judges at the court of appeal. See above footnote 43 and Vasara-Aaltonen (2017), pp. 84–85. However, here the focus is on noblemen. 66 Giese (2009), pp. 87–91; Nuorteva (1997), pp. 325–326; Paravicini (1993), p. 110. 78 M. VASARA-AALTONEN meant that officials were needed in growing numbers, this ideal of an educated nobleman was combined with the nobility’s goal to secure the highest offices in the realm for its members. In the late sixteenth to early seventeenth centuries, the need for noblemen to educate themselves was discussed on many occasions in Sweden, and it was even seen as a prerequisite for granting the nobility more privileges to office. Thus, Swedish noblemen went to study in ever-growing numbers, and, with no domestic university functioning in the sixteenth century, these studies took place abroad.67 Still, in the first half of the seventeenth century, the Swedish nobles’ pursuit for education led them especially to foreign universities— with the Dutch University of Leiden at the front. The close connections between Sweden and the Netherlands also fostered an academic exchange. With the University of Leiden even providing suitable education for noblemen—including chivalric exercises—it was an opportune place for a young Swedish nobleman to study at.68 While at the Svea Court of Appeal, for instance, noble judges as a group had the best level of education in the first half of the seventeenth century, one has to take into account that their studies were very varied. One can take as an example those Swedes who had studied at the University of Leiden, because the faculty chosen by the students is mentioned in its records, unlike at some other universities. For those of the “learned class,” that is, the commoner judges at the Svea court, who had studied in Leiden, the most common choice of faculty was that of law. The same is true for the future non-noble Swedish lawyers more generally, as well. However, for those with a noble background, political science was the most common study choice at Leiden.69 Indeed, the studies of noblemen could encompass a variety of academic and non-academic learning: political science, law, history, languages, literature, as well as fencing, dancing, and riding. Next to studies at university, these noblemen also commonly travelled across Europe in order to acquaint themselves with the culture of the region, life at royal courts, and current affairs, to name just some aspects.70 One can thus conclude that for many of the noble judges, studies in law may only have played a marginal part in their education, if any.

67 Giese (2009), pp. 69, 106–107, 120–121; Lindroth (1975a), pp. 221, 272–275; Upton (1995), p. 16. 68 Vasara-Aaltonen (2017), pp. 233–236. 69 Vasara-Aaltonen (2014), pp. 305–309, 316, 345; Vasara-Aaltonen (2017), pp. 71–86. 70 Rees et al. (2002), pp. 40–42; Giese (2009), p. 129; Nuorteva (1997), p. 325. LEGAL LEARNING OF VARIOUS KINDS: SWEDISH COURT OF APPEAL… 79

Ernst Johan Creutz (1619–1684), the son of an important noble family from Uusimaa (in present-day Finland, in Swedish: Nyland), provides a good example of the education of a seventeenth-century Swedish nobleman. The Creutz family had risen to a prominent position in the first years of the seventeenth century, and, in the spirit of the time, it was clear that the sons Ernst Johan and Lorentz (c. 1615–1676) would be sent abroad for a study journey. During the course of eight years (1633–1641), Ernst Johan enrolled at the universities of Dorpat, Groningen, Leiden, and Strasbourg, and in between spent time studying also in Amsterdam, Paris, and Rome, but without university matriculation. At the Dutch universities Creutz enrolled to study politics, and in Strasbourg he matriculated at the law faculty.71 It is possible that in Leiden he studied under the professor of eloquence Marcus Zuerius Boxhornius (1612–1653), who was also known for his lectures in political science.72 In Amsterdam, Creutz was mentored by Gerardus Johannes Vossius (1577–1649), the known humanist scholar, under whose guidance Creutz translated the Italian satirist Traiano Boccalini’s (1556–1613) book Pietro del paragone politico from Italian into Latin with the title Lapis Lydius politicus.73 No additional information can be found about Creutz’s law studies in Strasbourg. Next to these academic studies, it is also important to keep in mind Creutz’s travels through France and Italy. Usually, these journeys had the aim of acquainting oneself with courtly life, understanding how different administrations function, and experiencing different cultures. These aims played an equally important part in the education of a young nobleman. Once back in Sweden, Creutz was appointed as assessor of the noble class of the Svea Court of Appeal.74 Creutz’s journey offers a very typical portrayal of the education of a Swedish nobleman in the first half of the seventeenth century. For Creutz, these studies also included some learning in law, but law studies were certainly not their focus. For some other future noble judges, law studies were lacking altogether. As was discussed above, concerns were voiced about the need for noblemen to educate themselves. However, these concerns related to studies in general, and it was not necessary for a nobleman pursuing a career in the

71 https://ylioppilasmatrikkeli.helsinki.fi/henkilo.php?id=U42. 72 Nuorteva (1997), p. 402; Wansink (1981), pp. 93–107. 73 Nuorteva (1997), pp. 401–402; Lappalainen (2005), pp. 147–148; Wrangel (1897), pp. 65–66. 74 https://ylioppilasmatrikkeli.helsinki.fi/henkilo.php?id=U42. 80 M. VASARA-AALTONEN civil administration or judiciary to specifically have studied law. It was more about gaining a broad overall education, which could then provide the best combination to serve the fatherland in any position. Sometimes even the innate abilities of noblemen to understand questions of law, gathered over many generations, were referred to as something qualifying them for judicial office. Thus, we can see that the noble judges of the Svea Court of Appeal form a group with very varied knowledge of the law.

Conclusions An inspection of the educational backgrounds of the judges of the Svea Court of Appeal reveals that in the early seventeenth century, it was not always possible to recruit “learned men” to the court. The Ordinance of Judicial Procedure called for “honest men, learned and experienced in law” to staff the third class of the court. However, in practice, the court sometimes had to make do with only part of that qualification being fulfilled. Thus, among the judges, one finds men who had no university education at all, but could bring to the court some experience from the administration or the local judiciary. One can distinguish four groups of judges based on their education: those few who had taken a degree in law, those who had studied law, those who had studied something else at university (often noblemen), and those without any academic experience. The two latter groups have been discussed in this chapter. The reason for this predicament can be seen in the growing need for trained lawyers and administrators in service of the rapidly centralising Swedish state apparatus. Coming to the seventeenth century, only very few learned lawyers could be found in Sweden, and they mainly functioned in diplomacy and as advisors to the king. The judiciary was virtually completely in the hands of laymen. When the court of appeal was set up, there were not enough learned men to be found, and the University of Uppsala was only just recommencing its activities. Moreover, the focus of the university was still on theology and on theoretical instead of practical learning. We can see that the German Imperial Chamber Court, which functioned as a model for the Svea Court of Appeal, had been staffed with learned judges from its beginning, and their qualifications were made stricter throughout the sixteenth century, requiring legal learning also from the noble judges. Thus, by the time the Imperial Chamber Court was used as a model by the Swedes in the beginning of the seventeenth LEGAL LEARNING OF VARIOUS KINDS: SWEDISH COURT OF APPEAL… 81 century, it was certainly staffed with highly learned, professional judges. The Swedes, however, could not muster the same level of professionalism. They did as best they could in trying to find anyone with the capability to act as judge. The wording of the Swedish provision is slightly different than that of its German model, leaving more leeway to evaluate who would be a fitting candidate for the court. The provision states that the judges of the third class ought to be “learned and experienced with the law,” suggesting that these two things are not synonymous. However, “learned” is not specified any further. Comparing the Swedish wording to the German gives the impression that Swedes wanted to put weight on academic legal learning, but had to highlight experience with law, especially concerning the commoner judges, as it was clear that learned lawyers were scarce at the time that the Svea court was founded. In the near- absence of men with any academic legal learning, let alone a law degree, it was necessary to turn also to those who had learned by doing. The Svea Court of Appeal being one of many early modern European high courts, it is also worth pondering how professional it was.75 The definitions given for a legal professional usually in some form or another entail the professional having a specialised knowledge of the law, acquired through studies.76 Certainly, most judges of the Svea court in its first years cannot be called legal professionals according to this criterion.77 However, many did have some legal knowledge gained from practical experience in the administration or judiciary that they could offer the court.78 As the century progressed, one can find more judges who had at least spent some time at university studying law, despite not obtaining a degree. Thus, the structure of the court shows that there was a desire to imitate the structure of a functioning European high court. The complaints voiced frequently since the 1620s about the lack of educated officials also show that there was an aim to build a professional court with learned members. This just could not be realised immediately, and even when the educational efforts began to bear fruit around the middle of the century, the level of professionalisation was still low from a

75 Here, I will limit myself to the educational background of the judges. For a more thor- ough analysis also regarding the court’s abilities to function effectively, see Vasara-Aaltonen (2014), pp. 340–345. 76 See, e.g., Brundage (2008), p. 2; Brand (1992), p. vii; Bowman (2004), p. 84. 77 See also Thunander (1993), p. 34, cf. Vasara-Aaltonen (2014), p. 343. 78 See also Bilder (1999), pp. 61–63, 85, 98, who uses the term “legal literates” and Musson (2003), pp. 37–39, 49–51, who uses the term “men of law.” 82 M. VASARA-AALTONEN

European perspective. Compared to the judges of the Imperial Chamber Court, for instance, the professionalising Svea judges still represented a “light version” of a professional high court. Still, judging by Swedish standards, the professionalisation of the court improved in the second half of the seventeenth century, and the direst situation of the early years was over. While the court was still not filled with doctors of law, one can already find more judges who with certainty had followed some law studies. In the first years of the court’s existence, however, it was necessary to rely also on those who had learned by doing.

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Electronic Resources University of Helsinki. Ylioppilasmatrikkeli. https://ylioppilasmatrikkeli.helsinki. fi. Accessed 1 July 2018. The Agency and Practical Learning of a Lay Advocate in Seventeenth-Century Helsinki: The Case of Gabriel Abrahamsson

Petteri Impola

Introduction At the beginning of May 1656, the General Town Council Meeting of Walpurgis Day (Valborgi rådstugu)—when the mayor(s), the town councillors (rådman), and other local civil servants were traditionally chosen in the Swedish Realm1—was held in Helsinki. That year Gabriel Abrahamsson (Rauthia2) was nominated as the guard master of the town (vachtmästare), an office suitable for a former cavalryman such as Gabriel.

1 Halila (1942), pp. 217–225; Suolahti (1950), p. 315. 2 Gabriel is not called Rauthia in the sources, but his father used this surname. Gabriel’s son Johan used the surname Rauthia or Rauthelius, too. As for Johan’s son, for some reason, he started to use the more aristocratic surname Warnstedt, but there is no proof of connections to the German-Swedish noble family von Warnstedt. Enckell (1994); Karonen (1995), p. 100; Kotivuori (2005), see “Johan Gabrielsson.”

P. Impola (*) University of Jyväskylä, Jyväskylä, Finland e-mail: [email protected]

At first, his duty as a civil servant of Helsinki was mainly to organise the protection of the town and police the public order,3 but soon after, it expanded to the supervision of trade. In December 1656, Gabriel was nominated as a market place bailiff (torgfogde) and before 1661, he served as a trade inspector (handelsuppsyningsman), a customs officer (lit. “coast- rider,” in Swedish: strandridare) supervising (illegal) foreign trade, a customs officer (lit. “outrider,” in Swedish:utridare ) supervising (illegal) land trade, and as the town’s public prosecutor (stadsfiskal).4 Thus, during the 23 years he resided in Helsinki until his death in 1678,5 Gabriel became familiar with law and litigation in the town court (rådhusrätt) and the lower town court (lit. “treasurer’s court,” in Swedish: kämnersrätt). By virtue of his office, he had to supervise people’s acts in general and prevent illicit trade, enforcing the control and privileges on trade in the spirit of early modern mercantilism. And when Gabriel by himself, or through hints dropped by burghers, noticed irregular behaviour and actions against the orders and privileges of town and the Crown, he normally had to investigate the matter and—especially in the role of the town’s public prosecutor—charge the suspects with the crimes and pursue the lawsuit. The main sources used for analysing Gabriel Abrahamsson’s agency are the transcribed lower court records (renoverade domböcker) from the Helsinki Town and Lower Town Courts from 1656 to 1678. Ever since the foundation of the royal courts of appeal, the lower courts had to send the transcribed (“renovated”) court records to the courts of appeal, so

3 Kansallisarkisto (KA) Helsingin raastuvanoikeuden tuomiokirjat (HRO) g:2, 3 May 1656. Generally, the guard masters of a town kept guard of the town area. The town’s courthouse became a concretely familiar place to Gabriel, because in Helsinki, the heating of and the maintenance of order in the courthouse belonged to the tasks of the guard master of the town, too. In Helsinki, the guard master of the town also helped inspect the trade and collect crown and municipal taxes. Karonen (1995), p. 94; Halila (1943), pp. 195–199. 4 KA HRO g:2, 6 December 1656; 21 November 1657; 23 February 1658; g:3, 24 April 1661. On the marketplace bailiff, see Karonen (1995), pp. 97, 143; Halila (1942), pp. 177–180. On trade inspectors, see Karonen (1995), pp. 96, 143; Karonen (1999). On trade inspection in Finnish towns in the seventeenth century, see Möller (1954), pp. 156–163, 181–182, 193–198; On the townʼs public prosecutor, see Karonen (1995), pp. 93–94, 143; Gabriel was chosen also as a fire (chimney) inspector, HRO g:4, 8 May 1669, fol. 45, and he was mentioned as a town bailiff (byfogde, stadsfogde), 24 May 1669, fol. 58. On the multiple tasks of the town bailiff like distraint, tax collecting, running of writs, conducting of different kind of inspections and investigations, and so on, see Karonen (1995), pp. 92–93, 143; Enckell (1994), pp. 75, 77–78. 5 KA Helsingin ruotsalais-suomalainen seurakunta, Syntyneiden ja kastettujen luettelot, 27 December 1678. THE AGENCY AND PRACTICAL LEARNING OF A LAY ADVOCATE… 91 that the actions and sentences in the lower courts could be supervised. During the trial, a clerk made quick notes, and later on transcribed the engrossments on the basis of those notes. The original notes as the original court records (koncept) could be fruitful sources, but in Finland, they have usually not survived. Also the court records and the final decrees of the Turku Court of Appeal were destroyed in the Great Fire of Turku in 1827.6 On the other hand, the renovated court records are easier to read and analyse than the original notes, and they contain the most essential litigation information condensed in them. Furthermore, there is much administrative information. For example, the appointments to offices enable us to follow the career of Gabriel Abrahamsson. Consequently, it is not surprising that from 1656 to 1678, Gabriel appeared at the Helsinki Town and Lower Town Courts 102 times, litigating by reason of his office. But more interestingly, he appeared 130 times in the court records because of private matters, and, notably, 125 times as a legal representative, attorney, or advocate (fullmäktig/fullmächtig), managing the lawsuits of other people. In this chapter, I will examine his activities as a lay advocate, and, above all, endeavour to explain how this non-academic, relatively low-level civil servant became the most popular and respected legal representative in Helsinki in the mid-seventeenth century, a period when advocacy was developing and becoming (more) professionalised in the Swedish Realm. In this chapter, through the case study of Gabriel Abrahamsson, I will ask: (1) What was the foundation of the legal skills of a self-educated and non-academic legal representative in seventeenth-century Sweden? (2) What was the standing of legally self-educated legal representatives within the local community? (3) What was the outcome of the legal agency for the agent himself and his offspring? The case study of Gabriel Abrahamsson gives a good opportunity to answer these questions, because he was the most popular (self-educated) legal representative in seventeenth-century Helsinki. Moreover, as a son of a pastor, a former soldier, and, later on, a lower-level civil servant, he is a worthwhile person to study if one wants to examine how legal knowledge influenced life in the margins of the estate system.

6 On the Swedish court records as a source, see Miettinen (2015), pp. 46–58; Karonen (2007); Eilola (2003), pp. 38–45 and the articles in Frühneuzeit-Info (2013) 23, no. 1–2, special issue: “The use of Court Records and Petitions,” esp. the article of Miia Kuha. 92 P. IMPOLA

The Emergence of Advocacy in Seventeenth-Century Sweden In Sweden, (semi)professional advocacy emerged in the seventeenth century. The development of advocacy was based on two particular factors: firstly, on the establishment of the royal courts of appeal, first in Stockholm (Svea Hovrätt, 1614) and in Turku (Åbo Hovrätt, 1623); secondly, the seventeenth century was a period of many new proposals and regulations concerning advocacy. From the viewpoint of legal representation, the first major regulation was the 1615 Rule of Legal Procedure, which confirmed the use of a representative in the court.7 Almost every honourable man could be a legal representative in the lower courts, because it was enough to produce authorisation (fullmakt) from the principal in front of the court. With time, academic education—studies at the Uppsala University or the Royal Academy of Turku (Kungliga Akademien i Åbo), for example—became increasingly necessary when exercising the profession of advocate (advocat/advokat) in the courts of appeal.8 In addition, some officially licensed procurators procurator/prokura-( tor) appeared in the lower town and district (häradsting) courts. For example, the lawyer trainees of the courts of appeal could practise their expertise acting as procurators in the lower courts.9 However, the legal representatives and some procurators in the lower courts were mostly just

7 Legal representation was allowed ever since the Middle Ages and people turned to legal representatives on a small scale. In 1615, legal representation became more regulated and the concepts of advocate and procurator emerged in addition to legal representative. This has been considered the foundation of advocacy as a judicial institution in Sweden, even if the advocacy remained undefined and underregulated for centuries. Letto-Vanamo (1989), pp. 7–12, 33–36, 38–40; Hassler (1920), pp. 72, 74–75, 77; Grunér (1937), pp. 670, 678; Raevuori (1947), pp. 101–104; Raevuori (1968), pp. 1–3; Blomstedt (1973), pp. 113, 118. 8 On the early modern legal representation and the establishment of an advocacy system in Sweden, see Hassler (1920), esp. pp. 64–118; Godenhielm (1932); Grunér (1937); Castrén (1934) and (1945); Bomgren (1937), esp. pp. 85–101; Raevuori (1947) and (1968), esp. pp. 1–15; Letto-Vanamo (1983); Letto-Vanamo (1987); Letto-Vanamo (1989); Letto- Vanamo (1991a); Letto-Vanamo (1991b); Letto-Vanamo (1994); Pihlajamäki (2009), esp. pp. 39–73; On the evolution of the Swedish courts of appeal, see Petrén et al. (1964); Blomstedt (1973), esp. pp. 112–119; Korpiola (2014b); Vasara-Aaltonen (2017). 9 The broad division into advocates and procurators was widely known in Western Europe, but the exact names and their activities could vary between states. In general, advocates were more recognised and usually academically legally trained, whereas procurators could also be self-educated through practice. Letto-Vanamo (1989), pp. 272–301; Pihlajamäki (2009), pp. 27, 30–31, 33–34, 36, 47. THE AGENCY AND PRACTICAL LEARNING OF A LAY ADVOCATE… 93

“reasonable men” with different non-academic backgrounds. Usually men represented women, and relatives each other: a husband his wife, a son his father, immediate family members the heirs. It was also normal that socially equal persons, for instance from the same craft, helped each other because of business opportunities and professional craft pride. By contrast, the nobles, the clergy, and major burghers could send their own private servants, or secular or ecclesiastical civil servants who were lower in the hierarchy, to represent them in court. Those persons were authorised on the basis of their (patronus—client) position, and, as in cases between relatives, legal representation was based more on duty than on professional advocacy. Notwithstanding, during the seventeenth century, the number of professional and/or part-time legal representatives, who would represent everyone who could afford their fees, slowly increased in towns but only rarely in the countryside. Throughout the century, the regulation of legal representation was rather complex and fluctuating. There were national procedures but also local orders in the biggest towns like Stockholm and Turku. Legal representation was increasingly needed, because the legal proceedings became more complicated and written, but for the same reason, more control and regulation was wanted. On the one hand, the Crown understood the demand for legally learned representatives who knew the articles of law to expedite litigation processes, but, for the most part, the Crown’s attitude was conspicuous and contradictory. For example, legal representatives in general, but licensed advocates and procurators in particular, were suspected to prolong the lawsuits in the hope of bigger fees and to bleed money from their poor clients. The Crown wanted to stop civil servants acting as advocates in addition to their office, but to no avail.10 At the same time, the advocates, procurators, and major legal representatives themselves—especially those with an academic background—wanted to monopolise advocacy in the biggest towns, so that their authorised group would get all the lawsuits and honoraria.11 In the north-eastern part of the

10 In general, on the regulation and its effect, see, for example, Letto-Vanamo (1989), pp. 33–126; Letto-Vanamo (1994), pp. 194–197; Pihlajamäki (2009), pp. 54–64; Raevuori (1968), pp. 1–12. For example, the attitude of the City Administration Ordinance of 1619 towards professional procurators was negative, and people were supposed to help themselves in litigation or turn to legal representatives from their immediate circle if necessary, see, for example, Karonen (1995), p. 174. 11 In many early modern states, advocates stayed strictly under the control of the state, but in France, they came to form a very independent group. Pihlajamäki (2009), p. 37. 94 P. IMPOLA

Swedish Realm, present-day Finland, this became reality only in Turku, where in the latter half of the seventeenth century, a privileged group of less than ten advocates and procurators did almost all of the advocacy in all court instances.12 But all in all, no “legal bar” emerged in seventeenth-century Sweden. In theory, from the mid-seventeenth century onwards, there was quite a strict advocate monopoly in the courts of appeal. Regulation, for example the regulation given by the Stockholm Court of Appeal in 1656, demanded that advocates were to be authorised by the Court of Appeal, which increased the pressure for an official education. In practice, the law still allowed that in the lower courts, and in the courts of appeal too, every representative with the correct authorisation from his principal was allowed to appear and act in litigation. Therefore, despite the ascending desires of academically learned professionals, the possibility to use any reasonable man as a legal representative continued.13 Therefore, the continuous regulations to formulate an academic advocate and procurator monopoly failed. Tellingly, during the preparation of the Swedish Law of 1734 it was proposed that all legal representatives were to be legally trained (lagfaren), but in the end realism won. Consequently, the final law text only insists that a representative must be reasonable or sensible (förståndig).14 Therefore, being a legal representative allowed a new kind of agency in

12 Letto-Vanamo (1989), pp. 23–26, 175–210; Pihlajamäki (2009), pp. 47–48; Raevuori (1968), pp. 6–10; Blomstedt (1973), pp. 112–119; Ranta (1975), pp. 701–706. In seventeenth-century Helsinki, the official procurator’s oath was demanded just once from Henrik Jöransson. The reason why the Helsinki Town Court demanded the oath was not to make advocacy in Helsinki into a monopoly, but was rather based on the willingness of the local mayor and town councillors to hinder Jöransson from acting as a legal representative, for some reason. The case indicates that the regulations were known around the Realm, but used only when needed. There were some, at least part time, legal representatives acting in Helsinki throughout the seventeenth century, but the oath of procurator was not required for them. Mostly, these representatives were well-known persons in Helsinki, whereas Jöransson may have been an outsider in the eyes of the local community. KA HRO g:4, 11 May 1670, p. 40; Karonen (1995), p. 100. 13 There were other ordinances of courts of appeal concerning advocacy later on, for example, in 1688, which demonstrate that, despite continuous regulation, in practice, there was no monopoly of academically learned advocates. Hassler (1920), pp. 53, 89–90, 92–93; Grunér (1937), p. 678; Jägerskiöld (1964), pp. 213–214, 218; Raevuori (1968), pp. 3–4; Blomstedt (1973), pp. 114–115; Letto-Vanamo (1989), pp. 17–20, 40–41, 49–52; Letto- Vanamo (1994), p. 195; Pihlajamäki (2009), p. 56. 14 Letto-Vanamo (1989), pp. 119–123, 125–126; Letto-Vanamo (1983), pp. 25–35; Letto-Vanamo (1994), pp. 194, 197, 200; Grunér (1937), p. 684; Castrén (1934), p. 138; THE AGENCY AND PRACTICAL LEARNING OF A LAY ADVOCATE… 95 seventeenth-century Sweden for persons from the lower levels of the social hierarchy. For example, former soldiers, scribes, and other low-level civil servants, even peasants, could rise to become important agents in their local communities and make at least part of their living through advocacy, if they were able to read and write, and had some understanding of the law as well as presentation skills.15 Compared to earlier studies, this chapter not only widens our knowledge of early modern Swedish legal history on many levels, but also of the history of state formation and everyday life. Firstly, from the viewpoint of legal history, I will present a self-educated and non-academic individual with legal and litigation skills. Such agency has hitherto lacked research, as traditionally, legal historians have focused on the emergence of the official and professionalised advocate system. Consequently, research has usually focused on academically learned, elite advocates, and lawyer trainees. The wider focus has been on the law-making and on the structural formation of the court system, and the practical agency concerning the everyday use of legal knowledge has played a minor role. Nevertheless, as Pia Letto- Vanamo has stated, “the regulations of the seventeenth century do not provide much information on advocacy or its practitioners.”16 On the one hand, researchers have noticed that in many European countries the development and rise of academically educated and specialised advocates was surprisingly slow. In the Finnish context, for instance, in the twentieth century, former civil servants and rural police chiefs commonly offered

Castrén (1945), p. 96; Raevuori (1947), p. 113; Raevuori (1968), pp. 10–13; Pihlajamäki (2009), pp. 60–64. 15 On the upward mobility enabled by advocating, see Pihlajamäki (2009), pp. 37–38; Amelang (1984), pp. 1264, 1274–1275, 1280. 16 Letto-Vanamo (1994), p. 197. Focusing merely on official regulation and education has generally been typical for studies concerning professionalisation. It is too often asserted that one specific profession emerged when the first regulation was given and/or the state-based education started. In such research, the self-educated agents and their important role are thrown aside. In the early modern period, self-educated agents did much crucial work, for example in healthcare and the judiciary, and even after officially educated agents had emerged, for centuries, the self-educated agents continued their work. On new legal history, focusing on everyday learning and the practices of people at the different levels of the judiciary, see Korpiola (2009); Bevan (2013); Vasara-Aaltonen (2017) and the articles in this book. On the early modern transmission of legal literacy and the lay aspect in early modern England, see Bush and Wijffels (2006). Early modern work and agency was done by a mix of male and female, official and unofficial agents, and regulations were quite flexible, as long as nobody caused harm to anyone; Ågren (2017), pp. 2–11; Lindström et al. (2017). 96 P. IMPOLA their legal knowledge as either part- or full-time lay advocates. Only in recent years have proper academic advocate professionals become frequent.17 Secondly, the transition of the focus of research from academic advocates to self-educated legal representatives is important because the developing legal system and the entire administration of Sweden increasingly needed legally skilled persons. There were barely enough academically educated persons to manage the offices in the courts of appeal or to act as judges and legal representatives in the biggest towns as Marianne Vasara- Aaltonen discusses in this volume. Moreover, the legal office was often merely a brief episode in one’s career en route to higher offices. In all, this is a very important viewpoint of the entire early modern state formation. It was the Crown’s ambition to tie in the subjects to become a firmer part of the legal system than before. Therefore, everyone, academic or self- educated, who could assist people with their litigation problems, was potentially valuable. This process was beneficial for all parties—the Crown, individual persons with legal problems, and through their fees, the legal representatives—even if the legal representatives were sometimes accused of being too greedy and prolonging disputes.18 There is also the aspect of social history, because the legal representatives were interesting agents as outsiders of the estate system. Seventeenth- century Sweden was an estate society like other European countries, where it was crucial for the individual to live and act in the hierarchy by the expectations of his/her estate (the nobility, the clergy, the burghers, and the peasants). But the legal representatives—especially the non-academic and self-educated ones—were oddities from this point of view. My hypothesis is that even peasants, low-level civil servants, soldiers, sons of petty burghers, and others could rise to become important and respected agents in their community, if they possessed exceptionally good legal and litigation skills. In such cases, exceptional legal knowledge was more important for their agency than the real position of the legal representative in the estate

17 Pihlajamäki (2009), pp. 46–47, 248–260; Letto-Vanamo (1983). 18 Blomstedt (1973), pp. 116–117. A lack of academic advocates was part of the development of early modern societies around Europe. It did not ease the problem that, as a new profession, advocates and legal representatives in general were often seen as suspicious. Society transforming from a medieval church-and-family-based society to a more secular and scientific one caused mistrust in advocates, because they represented the more novel influence of learned law against traditional local law. In addition, the actually unskilled advocates sullied the reputation of the profession. Kelley (1988); Pihlajamäki (2009), pp. 34–36. THE AGENCY AND PRACTICAL LEARNING OF A LAY ADVOCATE… 97 hierarchy. Although the highest legal offices in the courts of appeals were reserved for the nobles, legal agency in the lower courts was more or less open to all men who were interested and capable. This opened up possibilities for social mobility even in the estate system. All in all, the legal representatives had intangible (human and social) capital19 that benefitted themselves and possibly also their descendants, as well as the surrounding community. Therefore, this chapter is linked to the recent, wider tenden- cies to research the possibilities and effects of agency in the margins of society.20

The Advocacy and Agency of Gabriel Abrahamsson Gabriel Abrahamsson was very active in both law courts in Helsinki, the town and lower town courts, in his official and private capacity and as a lay advocate. These tribunals convened when necessary, unlike the itinerant rural district courts that had ordinary sessions three times a year. The town court was composed of one or more burgomasters—in Helsinki, there were separate administrative (including trade) and legal burgomasters— and the town councillors as lay members. In some towns like Helsinki, the lower town court acted under the control of the town court, handling minor financial disputes and minor cases of assault and defamation.21 On the whole, the survival ratio of the town court records of Helsinki is good and only the years 1676 and 1677 are missing. The lower town court records of Helsinki start from 1661, but the years 1674–1677 are missing. From the perspective of lay advocacy, Helsinki is an excellent town to examine, because within Sweden, it was a middle-sized and important “war town” where the troops and materials were gathered from the territories of Central and Southern Finland and then shipped around the Baltic Sea to the wars of the Swedish Empire. As a middle-sized town, Helsinki largely had only self-educated, part-time legal representatives, contrary to the bigger towns such as Turku.22 During Gabriel’s period, a few students

19 On intangible, human and social capital from different aspects, see for instance Lin (2001); Putnam (2000); Coleman (1998); Bourdieu (1986); Turunen (2016). 20 On the definition of agency and agent, see for instance Giddens (1984), pp. 5–16; Messer-Davidow (1995); for personal agency in the context of early modern Sweden, see Karonen and Hakanen (2017). 21 Karonen (1994), for example, pp. 176–183; Karonen (1995), 38–42, 87–91, and Karonen (2017), pp. 226–227, esp. note 46; Letto-Vanamo (1991b), pp. 32–33. 22 On seventeenth-century Helsinki, see Suolahti (1950); Aalto (2015). 98 P. IMPOLA from the Royal Academy [=University] of Turku (in Swedish: Åbo) occasionally acted as legal representatives in Helsinki, but most of the representatives were some kind of civil servants, burghers, and military personnel. In addition to Helsinki, I also use the district court records from parishes near Helsinki to chart Gabriel’s legal agency in the immediate surroundings. The legal agency of Gabriel Abrahamsson is also a suitable subject for a case study because of his significant activity in the courts of Helsinki. The 357 times Gabriel appeared in the court records offer material for a detailed analysis. There are some regional statistics of the numbers of legal representatives in previous research, but no deep investigation on the individual level has been done.23 The existence of non-academic legal representatives in the Swedish towns and countryside is a well-known phenomenon, but notions of their agency and legal literacy remain based on assumptions and educated guesses. The case study of Gabriel Abrahamsson enables us to investigate some of those assumptions using real sources of everyday life. My analysis of the court records is both qualitative and quantitative. Firstly, statistics on Gabriel’s appearance in the courts have been compiled: the number of his private and official appearances, the number of appearances related to his work as a lay advocate, the chronological changes in those cases, the number of his clients, how many times he won or lost lawsuits, and so on. Secondly, a close reading of the court records reveals lots of details about Gabriel’s lawsuits, but first and foremost, information about his knowledge and skills as well as his life outside the courtroom more widely. There is some ambiguity as to the classification of Gabriel’s official (102) and private (130) appearances as well as his advocacy (125). His own private matters—mostly concerning financial disputes—are quite clear, but in a few cases, his official lawsuits and legal representation are somewhat hard to separate from each other. This is because Gabriel was a civil servant and the town council could order him to represent itself for example in some financial matters. In addition, his working as the town’s public prosecutor makes the issue more complicated. But as I have carefully read and analysed all the cases, the classification should be trustworthy and approximately correct. Moreover, every time when there have been interpretative

23 Letto-Vanamo (1989); Pihlajamäki (2009), pp. 48–54. THE AGENCY AND PRACTICAL LEARNING OF A LAY ADVOCATE… 99 problems between official and legal representation, I have chosen the former category. When talking of Gabriel’s 357 appearances, this means his total appearances, either as plaintiff or as defendant, in the Helsinki Town or Lower Town Courts. Consequently, the number of total lawsuits is somewhat smaller; in other words, in one lawsuit he could appear in the courtroom for example one, two, or five times. But from the viewpoint of this article, the total number of appearances in the courtroom is important to know in order to conceive how much Gabriel spent his time and working resources involved in litigation. It is crucial to know how many times he had to present the cause in the courtroom during one case. Notably, this case study shows that even to find one legal representative is a result itself. The academic and officially authorised advocates and procurators are easy to find, because they had a clear title. On the other hand, the use of titles is very varied in the sources. There are differences between court record books: one person could be called “advocate,” “procurator,” or just generally “legal representative,” even within one long litigation process, and titles were used differently in different places. Clerks docu- mented the titles changeably, because the laws, statutes, and exigencies of legal representations changed often, and the titles were not yet exactly defined. Gabriel was just called a legal representative fullmächtig( ), but sometimes no title was used and he was just mentioned as managing a suit on behalf of somebody (å någons vägnar). It is interesting that he was called “advocate” only once, when he was acting as a legal representative in the nearby District Court of Hollola and Tennilä.24 Having read other town, lower town, and district court records from different areas of the Swedish Realm, I would suggest that when a locally well-known legal representative acted outside his hometown, especially in the countryside, his title may have been upgraded to “procurator” or “advocate.” It was perhaps just a polite way of underlining that someone legally skilled from outside of the local community was handling some important litigation on behalf of someone else. In addition, the sources must be read carefully in order to find persons who acted on behalf of their kinsmen, or out of duty for someone who was higher in the hierarchy such as a patronus. Therefore, a man who had represented two unrelated principles could be called a semi-professional. Representatives could naturally

24 KA Kihlakunnanoikeuksien renovoidut tuomiokirjat (KO) a:9 Hollola & Tennilä, 5–6 August 1678, fols. 20–20v. 100 P. IMPOLA also act on behalf of their relatives and patrons. I argue that litigation on behalf of familiar people increased one’s legal literacy and helped to get more clients who were unrelated. All this legal agency is revealed by systematically reading the sources covering a sufficiently long period. Doing spot checks and noting clear titles is not enough, as most of the agency will probably escape one’s attention, and one is likely to focus too much on authorised and academically learned professionals. Notably, some occupational titles are political and estate-hierarchical concepts like peasant or soldier, and they do not tell exactly what the people really did in everyday life. In addition, one exact (office) title could diminish the “multiple employments” of an agent, which was reality in the early modern society.25 Gabriel is a good example. He had many different offices while acting as a lay advocate. He was also a husband, the head of his family and household, and he practised subsis- tence farming.26 Because the advocates’ profession was not yet properly established, most of the Swedish legal representatives were just part-timers and relied on other work for their livelihood, acting in in many different roles in the local community and social networks. All in all, multi- employment was a solid base for various skills and knowledge supporting one another.

Acquiring Theoretical and Practical Skills I have divided the legal skills of Gabriel Abrahamsson into two categories: theoretical and practical (see Table 1). All the evidence from the sources supports the conclusion that Gabriel had never formally studied in any school or academy; during the 23 years that Gabriel appeared in court records he was always named as just “Gabriel Abrahamsson” and sometimes—mostly in his office matters—the office title was added before his name. There are no mentions about his possible studies and he is never addressed with words like “student” or “scholar” (wähllärde), and his name does not exist in Finnish student registers.27 Nor are there other

25 In recent years, historians have, besides the titles, paid more attention, to what people really are mentioned as doing in the sources. On the source criticism of occupational titles, the “verb-oriented method,” and “multiple employments,” see Ågren (2017), pp. 4–6, 13–19; Lindström et al. (2017). 26 The size of Gabrielʼs cultivated area was quite average in Helsinki, approx. nine ares, corresponding roughly to 0.23 acres. KA HRO g:4, 17 August 1667. 27 For example, Kotivuori (2005). THE AGENCY AND PRACTICAL LEARNING OF A LAY ADVOCATE… 101

Table 1 The basis of the legal literacy of Gabriel Abrahamsson

Theoretical skills Practical skills

(Non-academic) Former soldier Son of a pastor Former farmer Upbringing at home Civil servant having many offices, for example, All-round education supervisor of trade Ability to read and write Private litigation Numeracy Legal literature mentions that he would have lived in bigger university towns such as Turku. It is also more likely that, if Gabriel had actually studied, he would have been doing something more elevated than being an ordinary cavalryman cultivating a cavalryman’s farm and, later on, a low-level civil servant.28 Although the possibility of some studies cannot be completely ruled out, it does not prevent us from drawing the conclusion that practical work and self-education had the most crucial role in Gabriel’s legal and litigation skills. But what were those theoretical and practical skills that he possessed? Gabriel’s theoretical knowledge was based on his upbringing. His father Abraham Henrici Rauthia was the first pastor in the parish of Loppi, from 1632 to 1645, and, as a son of a pastor, Gabriel surely learned reading and writing, maybe the rudiments of numeracy, and got some level of an all-round education at home.29 The ability to read and write was the key factor to acting as a legal representative, because during the seven-

28 In general, graduated persons were rare among the civil servants of the town administration in this period, Karonen (1995), p. 93. Gabriel’s birthdate is unknown. In the sphere of influence of Loppi that was Gabriel’s home parish most likely at least from the 1630s onwards, the pedagogium (primary school) of Helsinki became a “trivial school” (secondary school) in 1641, and the pedagogium of Hämeenlinna was founded in 1639. In theory, it is possible that Gabriel was sent to a “primary school” for some time. Yet, this is not very likely, because in addition to writing and reading skills these schools mostly prepared pupils for academic studies and priesthood or becoming a high-level civil servant, which is in contradic- tion with the fact that Gabriel was mentioned as a cavalryman in 1647. It is a mystery why Gabriel and his brother did not follow in their father’s footsteps into priesthood. Hanho (1947), pp. 61–62, 64, 221; KA Läänintilit, Uudenmaan ja Hämeen läänin tilejä, Tositekirja 7941, fol. 512r; Enckell (1994), pp. 76–77, 80. 29 Enckell (1994), p. 77. 102 P. IMPOLA teenth century, legal proceedings in Sweden slowly became more based on written documents. Even if the proceedings mostly remained oral in the lower courts, at least the documents had to be written (in Swedish). Especially in financial litigation, the correct accounts and calculations were important as evidence.30 There were many lawsuits that Gabriel had to draw up long and exact written calculations for, sometimes in his official and private matters, but notably in his legal representations.31 His clients needed help with drafting legal documents properly, and they were ready to hire someone for the time-consuming work. There is also an interesting incident suggesting that Gabriel may have owned some legal literature. In 1672, he brought charges ex officio against Mats Olofsson for illegal fishing. The fisher was fined by the Helsinki Lower Town Court. However, a few hours later Gabriel came back to the court and said that he has investigated the law book, and admitted that he had incorrectly interpreted the article of the law (capittelet af Lagh boken). He apologised for his mistake and paid himself a three-mark fine domqval( ) for his wrongful prosecution. This case suggests that Gabriel either had a personal copy of the law book or, alternatively, that there may have been a small reference library, including legal literature, in the Helsinki Town Hall.32 In either case, Gabriel turned to legal literature when he did not know the correct articles and penalties. In addition to his theoretical skills, Gabriel had considerable practical knowledge, helping him in legal matters. Before Gabriel moved to

30 On the increase of writing in litigation, see the literature in note 6, esp. Letto-Vanamo (1989), pp. 223–233. The use of local civil servants such as parish scribes as legal representatives continued for centuries. Scribes could formulate litigation documents for a person, but did not always take actual part in the court proceedings. They also formulated contracts, debentures, and so on for parishioners. On this see, for example, Rantanen (2014). Gabriel could write documents for others, too, but the sources do not show such agency. 31 For example, acting as an advocate in a case of liabilities (KA HRO g:3) on 11 July 1664, Gabriel presented very specific calculations, which took one spread of the court record book and involved over 30 items, to the total sum of over 1000 thalers. Gabriel also represented custom duties to the value of over 5000 thalers. HRO g:4, 6 July 1670, p. 59, and onwards. Supervising trade had surely improved Gabriel’s numeracy skills. 32 KA Helsingin kämnerinoikeuden tuomiokirjat (HKO) g:105, 29 July 1672, fols. 31–32, 34. In the Estate Inventory Books of Helsinki (bouppteckningar) from the year 1679 onwards, the first mentioned owner of a private law book lagbok( ) was town councillor Hans Foss, who died in 1705. There is no mention of law literature in the estate inventory of Gabriel, but also nothing to have prevented him from having owned one. Åkerman (1937), pp. 5, 9, 279. THE AGENCY AND PRACTICAL LEARNING OF A LAY ADVOCATE… 103

Helsinki, he was a cavalryman.33 As a former soldier, he understood the meaning of discipline and the importance of order in making people respect the laws. Before moving to Helsinki, Gabriel was also a farmer, and mentioned as being in possession of his own cavalryman’s farm in Loppi still in 1653.34 Therefore, he also understood the basis of the finances of everyday life and was, for example, used to dealing with land ownership and taxation litigation. But most importantly, Gabriel’s office as a low-level civil servant of the town made his career as a legal representative possible. During his 23 years in Helsinki, Gabriel held several offices, as mentioned above, but mainly he became known as a very meticulous and uncompromising supervisor of trade. At that time, illegal trade was a considerable problem in Helsinki, the burghers of which continuously contended for the profitability of foreign trade.35 Therefore, Gabriel kept watch that the town citizens did not trade illegally by riding along the coast and to nearby parishes, trying to capture peasants and others who had failed to bring their products to the official marketplaces and customs. The Helsinki burghers tried to evade the restrictions placed on foreign trade in many different ways, too. And so, soon after his civil servant career started in 1656, Gabriel became a well-known person in the Helsinki Town and Lower Town Courts, charging citizens, peasants from the surrounding countryside, and, for example, burghers from Tallinn for illicit trade.36 This is why he learned the statutes

33 In 1647, Gabriel was mentioned in the judicial district of Hattula as a cavalryman (ryt- tare) in the regiment of Colonel Henrik Horn (of Kanckas) and the company of rittmaster (ryttmästare) Arfwed Henriksson. In 1648, he was mentioned in the population register as living in Loppi with his wife. KA Läänintilit, Uudenmaan ja Hämeen läänin tilejä, Tositekirja 7941, fols 512r, 723v; Enckell (1994), pp. 76–77. 34 KA Läänintilit, Uudenmaan ja Hämeen läänin tilejä, Tositekirja 7957, fol. 284r; Enckell (1994), p. 77. The parish of Loppi and the province of Häme (Tavastland) were strongly linked to Helsinki, commercially, socially, and militarily. His previous knowledge of the hin- terlands of Helsinki no doubt helped Gabriel as a supervisor of illegal trade. 35 Aalto (2015), for example, pp. 168–172, 192, 197, 200; Suolahti (1950). 36 Gabriel seems to have been a very strict civil servant. He referred to exact statutes and laws, for example, in the fishing episode mentioned earlier. This might indicate that Gabriel possessed some work ethics, possibly also legal ethics. He did not hesitate to prosecute the greatest burghers of town when they traded illegally. He even prosecuted and fined persons whom he represented in other cases. Thus, Gabriel did not mix his official litigation with his advocacy and representation litigations, which would have been easy in Helsinki because of the rival burgher groups. However, as the town’s public prosecutor and supervisor of trade, he had a special stimulus for strict supervision through his tantième: a third of the fines went 104 P. IMPOLA precisely, especially those concerning financial and commercial affairs. He also learned to know the citizens of the town and the surrounding parishes very well, which was important for his career as a legal representative. Commonly, the burgomasters and town councillors, acting as judges in towns, were also elected for their local and practical knowledge, rather than for any academic studies. Especially in financial cases, the town councillor with his burgher background could be more competent as a judge than an educated lawyer.37 Gabriel learned law also through his own lawsuits, mostly concerning financial matters. In addition to penmanship and detailed knowledge of laws and statutes, appearance and rhetoric skills were also crucial accomplishments gained by experience. Even if written evidence slowly became more common, the importance of oral hearings remained strong. In complicated trials, this worked for the party whose documentation was presented clearly, con- vincingly, and in the right order. The correct way to produce the evidence was important for the functioning of law and justice itself. The 1615 Rule of Legal Procedure recommended that parties use legal representatives if they were not capable of presenting their case and evidence without jeop- ardising their case. Therefore, using a competently arguing representative made the judge’s job easier, was advantageous for the whole legal system, and helped the client. The transcribed court records do not allow recap- turing the exact stresses and gestures from the courtroom, but it could be assumed that Gabriel’s address evolved in the long run. Because Gabriel by virtue of his office occasionally acted as prosecutor and in his private legal suits both as plaintiff and as defendant, he knew how to perform on “both sides of the courtroom.”38 Gabriel was likely bilingual because he was born to a literate (Swedish) family in the mostly Finnish-speaking countryside. In Helsinki, Finnish, Swedish, and occasional German were spoken. A multilingual representative was extremely useful if, for example, a burgher who only spoke Swedish had to litigate with a peasant from the nearby countryside who only spoke Finnish. The court records were written in Swedish, which was the official administrative language, but in the courtrooms, both languages were heard. There were pronounced tensions between “native to the official. On the disputes between trade burghers of Helsinki, see Suolahti (1950); Aalto (2015). On the salaries of civil servants, see Karonen (1995), pp. 94, 96, 100, 143. 37 Karonen (1995), p. 39. 38 On the litigation process in practice, see Letto-Vanamo (1995). THE AGENCY AND PRACTICAL LEARNING OF A LAY ADVOCATE… 105 burghers” who spoke Finnish, Swedish, and German, and burghers settled in Helsinki from the other side of the Realm, who could not operate in Finnish at all.39 Figure 1 contains all the times Gabriel Abrahamsson appeared in the Helsinki Town and Lower Town Courts from 1656 to 1678. The most interesting aspect is the difference between official and private cases against his advocacy. During the first ten years Gabriel spent in Helsinki, most of the cases concerned his office or were personal. But during the last decade, the number of legal representation cases increased notably.40 I conclude that Gabriel could start pursuing advocacy more and more as his legal skills and knowledge developed in his office and private matters. He was also very strict and exact in his office against illicit trade, thereby building a reputation for himself as an honest and trustworthy man. This surely inspired confidence among potential clients to use Gabriel as a legal representative.41 Another good explanation is also that in the 1670s, Gabriel was already an old man and he was no longer fully capable of taking care of his office. When younger men (from 1672 on) were appointed to help him inspect trade, Gabriel could stay in the town hall more, doing legal representation. All in all, Gabriel had a wide mix of varied theoretical and practical skills providing him with a solid basis for learning law by doing. And so, very soon after he had settled and started working in Helsinki, he also started to act as a legal representative alongside his office. As his theoretical and practical experience and routine evolved, he increasingly pursued advocacy.

A Much-Used and Successful Lay Advocate Gabriel Abrahamsson acted as a lay advocate for 42 different clients in the Helsinki Town and Lower Town Courts. He represented half of these clients only once, but four of them even ten and eleven times. Notably, all of these clients were higher in the social hierarchy than Gabriel himself, being burghers, pastors, mayors, and army officers. The main reason for

39 Aalto (2015), pp. 186–189. 40 The missing court records could no doubt reveal more cases of representation. 41 Gabriel had to be trustworthy in the first place, because he had been elected to uphold the common good as a civil servant. Trust was a key factor in early modern society in general and also in the choosing of officials. Karonen (1995), pp. 100, 144. 106 P. IMPOLA

0 Year 1660 1666 1672 1678 1656 1657 1658 1659 1661 1662 1663 1664 1665 1667 1668 1669 1670 1671 1673 1674 1675 1676 1677

Private Office Legal representative

Fig. 1 Gabriel Abrahamsson’s appearances in the lower courts of Helsinki 1656–1678, n = 357. (Sources: The court records of Helsinki Town Court 1656–1678 [1676–1677 are missing] and Lower Town Court 1661–1678 [1674–77 are missing]) this may have been the fees. Those who had enough money and property could employ a good representative. Moreover, Gabriel often assisted heirs in their disagreements about the distribution of estates, and at times, wealthy widows. For example, Gabriel represented Märta Reijer (Reiher) (d. 1681) in ten cases in the 1660s. Born into a noble family, Märta Reijer was a wealthy merchant and the widow of the late administrative burgomaster Johan Greek (d. 1648). Being female, it was to Reijer’s advantage to use a competent male representative in the courts. Gabriel acted for a total of eight women, representing 16 per cent of all instances of advocacy. Particularly the most influential women, especially widows like Reijer, could occasionally represent themselves in court even if the norms sug- THE AGENCY AND PRACTICAL LEARNING OF A LAY ADVOCATE… 107 gested using male representatives, but for important litigation, they certainly used male relatives or experts like Gabriel.42 Most of Gabriel’s clients lived in Helsinki, but many also lived in the nearby parishes and towns. A few times Gabriel also pursued advocacy outside of Helsinki. In 1678, he represented Johan Gråå, pastor of Pyhtää, in the District Court of Hollola and Tennilä, approximately 100 kilometres north of Helsinki. In 1672, Gabriel represented Daniel Meijsners, a hatter from Helsinki, in Tammisaari, which is a town 100 kilometres west of Helsinki.43 The case of Meijsners against Hans Jönson, a hatter in Tammisaari, concerned defamation. Gabriel won this case between the two craftsmen. All in all, the citizens of Helsinki were ready to send Gabriel to represent them in the courts of other localities, not only in cases with significant financial interest, but also in cases like defamation. It is interesting that in Hollola Gabriel was called pastor Gråå’s “advocate” and in Tammisaari a “Sieur” (S:r). Gabriel being called an advocate does not mean that he had studied law like officially appointed advocates in Turku, but it rather reflects that Gabriel was seen as respected legal agent when he came to the out-of-town court.44 As a lay advocate, Gabriel was relatively active, even compared to the situation in Turku where advocacy was even more common and profitable. In Helsinki, Gabriel was representing someone in court from 0 to 25 (average 5.4) times per year. If his 23 active years in Helsinki are divided into two, he acted as a legal representative 30 times before 1667 (average 2.6 times per year) and after this, 95 times (average 8.2 times per year). This clearly demonstrates how Gabriel’s agency as a legal representative expanded over time. The total numbers also prove that Gabriel was one of the most used representatives in the eastern part of the Swedish Realm at his time. For example, between 1647 and 1657, five of the top-rated legal

42 For the first time in 1660 and for the last in 1668. KA HRO g:3, 3 March 1660; g:4, 13 June 1668, fols. 38v–39. Something went wrong in their relations. In the following decade, Reijer litigated many times against Gabriel with the help of a new legal representative, mostly concerning debts. Maybe Reijer financed Gabriel in return for representations. In general, women were a common group of principals even if the widows could represent themselves and did not need male representatives. Especially widows’ inheritance disputes with other relatives and creditors kept the representatives busy. Ramsay (1909), see “Kasper Reiher,” 334; Letto-Vanamo (1989), p. 157; Toropainen (2016), esp. pp. 109–116. 43 KA KO a:9 Hollola & Tennilä, 5–6 August 1678, fols. 20–20v; KA Tammisaaren raastuvanoikeuden tuomiokirjat TRO d:1, 1 April 1672, fols. 13–14. 44 As mentioned, Gabriel was never addressed as “procurator” or “advocate” in Helsinki. 108 P. IMPOLA representatives in Turku together handled 30 cases in total, and at the end of the century, the representations of formal procurators in the lower courts of Turku were still on same level compared to Gabriel’s activity. For example, in 1696, the most popular procurator in Turku, Anders Eekman, acted in 11 cases, but even in Turku, the average per procurator was closer to five cases per year in the 1690s.45 In the district courts, the number of part-time legal representatives was significantly smaller—usually they were clients serving their patrons or civil servants like Gabriel, and their activity was mainly occasional.46 In Helsinki, Gabriel was without doubt the most popular legal representative of his time. There were a few part-time legal representatives in Helsinki between 1656 and 1678, but they usually handled only a small number of cases and their activity was more short-term. Many of them did legal representation intensively one after another during a short period, before moving away from town or pursuing more attractive duties. On the other hand, some civil servants and competent men occasionally represented their relatives or friends needing help. Compared to this, Gabriel’s legal agency was continuous, patient, and expanding. In total, 94 per cent of the cases in which Gabriel acted as representative involved financial interests up to the value of hundreds ofdalers , and in 80 per cent of the cases he acted for the plaintiff. Therefore, clients mostly turned to legal representatives when they, for example, wanted to collect debts. Such cases required considerable financial and calculating skills. The rest of the legal representations concerned defamation. People commonly used Gabriel’s services—in about one-third of the cases—when the counterpart also had an advocate. These cases were usually complex and tended to drag on, which underlines how willingly clients trusted their most challenging cases to the legal representatives.47 On the other hand, simple cases were trusted to representatives, too. I suggest that this may indicate the development towards a greater predictability and general

45 Letto-Vanamo (1989), pp. 175, 197–204. In the biggest towns such as Turku, the students had a significant role in advocacy. In towns with a court of appeal, the legal trainees (auskultant) could deepen their legal skills by acting in the lower courts. Letto-Vanamo (1989), for example, pp. 191, 221; Nallinmaa-Luoto (1974); Pihlajamäki (2009), pp. 48, 55–56; Korpiola (2014a), pp. 30–31. 46 Letto-Vanamo (1989), pp. 26–27, 220, 305–306; Pihlajamäki (2009), pp. 48–51. 47 Gabriel acted as a legal representative in the Town Court of Helsinki 83 times, and in the Lower Town Court 42 times. At first, the cases were more complicated. In general, financial matters were the most common reason to use representatives, and burghers were the most common principals in towns, too. Letto-Vanamo (1989), pp. 155, 257–270; Pihlajamäki (2009), pp. 48–54. THE AGENCY AND PRACTICAL LEARNING OF A LAY ADVOCATE… 109 reliability of litigation. Maybe those who could used legal representatives, because they could trust these to manage the case by themselves, if the evidence was watertight. This calls for more research. All in all, importantly for Gabriel’s clients, giving him their case to manage offered them a five times bigger chance to win than to lose. So, those who could afford Gabriel as a legal representative probably found it worthwhile. This conclusion is broadly accurate also for the other legal representatives that appear in the Helsinki court records in the mid-seventeenth century.

Successful Multitasking Enabling Social Mobility Acting as a legal representative meant a lot to Gabriel himself. In addition to the income from his civil servant’s office, he received fees from his advocacy, which was surely a welcome source of extra income, especially in his old age, when he slowly stepped aside from his offices as a civil servant.48 But the trust, respect, and reciprocity that he had gained were more important. The trust in Gabriel is clearly demonstrated by his huge and dispro- portionate debts. His network of debts and sureties included the countryside near Helsinki, but also the cities of Turku, Porvoo, Viipuri, and Tallinn. During his last years, Gabriel himself many times complained in court that he had enormous liabilities compared to his actual property and status, and that he was unable to pay them back. In 1683, Gabriel’s heirs were still involved in the litigation about the debts.49 The legal representations were also a way to amortise the liabilities. For example, in 1670, Märta Reijer sought her big liabilities back from Gabriel. In court, they counted that Gabriel could pay part of his debt by his acts as her representative.50 It is also significant that the many sentences against Gabriel as a private individual hardly affected his career as lay advocate. Most of the sentences

48 Wages of officials were commonly paid with a delay or not at all. Karonen (1995), pp. 94, 96, 100, 143; Gabriel had to litigate in order to have official wages paid, KA HRO g:3, 16 November 1661; g:5, 4 May 1674, fols. 69–70. One could argue that the extra income gained through the advocacy supplemented the living of civil servants. On the pays of legal representatives, see Letto-Vanamo (1987), p. 137 and (1989), pp. 249–254. 49 For example, KA HKO g:105, 7 February 1665; 10 July 1665, fol. 28; 3 April 1666, fol. 20; 28 May 1668, fols. 27–28; 11 November 1670, fols. 52–53; 4 July 1678, fols. 21–22; HRO g:3, 29 April 1664; 29 April 1664; g:4, 8 and 10 February 1668, fols. 3–3v, 4; g:4, 13 December 1671, fol. 85; g:8–11, 30 January 1682, fol. 23; 6 February 1682, fol. 24; From 24 January to 22 September 1683, fols. 2–9; 10 September 1683, fols. 64–65. Viipurin raastuvanoikeuden tuomiokirjat x:26, 2 May 1678, fol. 144. Åkerman (1937), p. 5. 50 KA HKO g:105, 11 November 1670, fols. 52–53. On Gabrielʼs debts and sureties covered by his efforts as some sort of advocate, see also 25 April 1672, fol. 20 and HRO g:8–11, 8 and 22 September 1683, fols. 6–8, 9. 110 P. IMPOLA concerned basic financial litigation but there was even one verdict for adultery, a serious offence in the late seventeenth century. In 1666, Gabriel’s maid gave birth to a baby girl. At first, a servant was suspected of fathering the infant, probably because of pressure from Gabriel, but at last, Gabriel had to admit his adulterous fatherhood. Begetting a child out of wedlock was a serious matter, but on the other hand, the community was often less sententious in case of sexual crime than the law and the Church. Particularly in a patriarchal system, the silent majority had an understanding for cases in which the wealthy master slept with his servant. Both Gabriel and his maid were sentenced to pay considerable fines, but Gabriel’s clients did not seem to have cared about his private sentences at all. After his adultery, there was just a short gap in his advocacy (1667), and after this, it increased to new heights.51 Occasionally, the Helsinki Town Court even decided to reduce some of Gabriel’s other private fines, emphasising Gabrielʼs diligence in his office.52 This reflects Gabriel’s importance as the town’s supervisor of trade and legal agent, and the community did not want to disadvantage his legal agency—not even after his crime. This suggests that Gabriel was a widely needed and valued legal representative in his local community. Gabriel is a good example of an early modern agent, whose rank in the estate system differed from his status in everyday life. Gabriel was a son of a pastor, but as he acted as a soldier and low-level civil servant, he was not on a very high level in the estate hierarchy—rather, he stood outside of the estate categories. In Helsinki, however, by working hard in his office and doing a lot of legal representation, he obtained quite a high-level rank in everyday life. After his death, Gabriel was called a burgher (borgare) in his estate inventory.53 The court records show that Gabriel had some financial dealings in town and especially in the countryside of Häme, even if he was not a merchant and burgher in the proper sense of the word—and it was certainly not a privilege granted to civil servants. Yet, in his estate inventory, he was on par with the burghers of the town. All this emphasises the appreciation of legal literacy in seventeenth-century urban life. Secondly, Gabriel’s offspring bring a further aspect to my analysis of his position in the social hierarchy of his time. Gabriel evidently realised the new possibilities that the development of the Swedish judiciary system

51 KA HRO g:4, 28 April 1666, fols. 24–24v. The reliability of the accused generally and his/her social networks were crucial to the reactions of the local community. If one’s networks in the local community were not extensive, also a high-level career could be ruined. Aalto (2015), pp. 276–283; Impola and Eilola (2015), esp. p. 146. 52 For example, KA HRO g:3, 9 and 29 April 1664; 25 April 1670, fol. 28. 53 Åkerman (1937), p. 5. THE AGENCY AND PRACTICAL LEARNING OF A LAY ADVOCATE… 111 could offer. He decided to send his son, Johan Gabrielsson (Rauthelius/ Rauthia) (d. 1714), to study at the Royal Academy of Turku in 1675/76. During his studies, Johan sometimes helped his father in advocacy in Helsinki,54 and Gabriel consequently transmitted his legal skills to his son. Speculatively, some law literature might also be transmitted from father to son, because no books are mentioned in Gabrielʼs estate inventory. Overall, Johan succeeded very well in his life. First, he became an advocate in the Turku Court of Appeal in 1680. Later on, he was the judge in the district of Sääksmäki (1684) as well as in province of Kyminkartano and the district of Lappee (1685–1692), at the same time (1687–1692) being burgomaster of Vehkalahti. Finally, he became secretary in the Turku Court of Appeal (1692), and in 1693, he was appointed as judge at the Turku Court of Appeal. Furthermore, Johan married twice into respected families. First, he married Maria Lagermarck (d. 1698), whose father Johan Wassenius (c. 1622–1691) had graduated from the Academy of Turku and become judge at the Turku Court of Appeal (1662–1685). Wassenius was ennobled as Lagermarck in 1688. After Maria’s death, in 1699, Johan wedded Maria Gyllenkrok (d. 1737), another noblewoman, whose family had been ennobled in 1674 and whose father and brother were also judges at the Turku Court of Appeal. It is noteworthy that the next generation (mostly using the surname of Warnstedt) succeeded well with their marriages and many had legal or other offices.55 So all in all, Gabriel’s activities enabled him upward mobility by teaching him law and litigation skills non-academically, through doing, and to his offspring the official academic way and notable marriages.

Conclusion A combination of varied theoretical and practical skills enabled Gabriel Abrahamsson, a non-academic and self-educated man, to practice advocacy in seventeenth-century Sweden. Numeracy but more particularly the ability to read and write were vital skills. Gabriel Abrahamsson benefitted from his disciplined military background, but, above all, from his having worked as a civil servant in Helsinki, mostly supervising the trade. It made possible

54 Cf. KA HKO g:105, 2 August 1678; HRO g:6, 10 August and 14 September 1678. 55 Kotivuori (2005), see “Johan Gabrielsson”; Lagus (1834), pp. 262, 418, 551, 580–581; Westerlund (1923), pp. 222, 520; Holmberg et al. (1959), p. 37; Enckell (1994); Karonen (1995), p. 100. 112 P. IMPOLA his career as a popular and highly esteemed legal representative. Therefore, Gabriel had human capital in the form of knowledge, skills, and capabili- ties, but also social capital such as a good reputation, trust, and knowledge of the citizens of the town and nearby parishes. Importantly, both the human and the social capitals as well as the number of legal representation cases increased synchronously during the years Gabriel spent in Helsinki. Wealthy persons belonging to the elite had enough money to hire a representative, and when needing one, they procured the services of persons with good legal skills. Using a legally skilled representative increased the chances to win in court. Legal representatives were needed especially in complex financial matters, but also in cases of defamation. The agency of legal representatives was not limited to the local community, but they could be sent to other towns and parishes or they could actively move around on their own initiative. Generally, legal literacy was highly respected in seventeenth-century urban life. Because such skills were not common, the legal representatives generally enjoyed respect, and other citizens were reluctant to jeopardise the social status of such useful people without weighty reasons. Being a self-educated legal representative also enabled social mobility outside of the estate hierarchy. There was also potential to transmit the accumulated legal human and social capital to the next generations, who could also pursue academic legal studies. This was crucial in seventeenth- century Sweden, when academic legal knowledge was quite rare. Both the developing administration system and the local communities needed people with legal skills, no matter whether these were academic or not. The case of Gabriel Abrahamsson exemplifies the evolution during the seventeenth century. At the end of the century, the whole legal system slowly started to become more professional, even if the tradition of using self- educated legal representatives was strong in Finland until the twentieth century. In the early modern context, legal representatives and all kinds of advocates were part of new professionalising groups, which in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries increasingly eroded the whole estate system. These conclusions concerning Gabriel Abrahamsson, and the self- educated legal representatives in general, are important for legal history, but also for the analyses of the history of state formation and everyday practices. For future research, it will be increasingly important to combine all these research traditions, because legal agency cross-cut the entire society from top to down and vice versa. The unique court records in Finland THE AGENCY AND PRACTICAL LEARNING OF A LAY ADVOCATE… 113 and Sweden enable an examination of the self-education of legal representatives and advocates on a larger scale. While this case study on Gabriel Abrahamsson highlights many interesting details, large-scale biographical or prosopographical data could yield even more evidence of early modern non-academic legal literacy.

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———. 1994. On the History of Assistance in Conflict Resolution in Finland: The Emerge of the Profession of Advocates in the 17th Century. Scandinavian Journal of History 19 (3): 193–200. ———. 1995. Käräjäyhteisön oikeus: Oikeudenkäyttö Ruotsi-Suomessa ennen val- tiollisen riidanratkaisun vakiintumista. (Oikeushistoriallisia julkaisuja 2.) Helsinki: Helsingin yliopisto, Rikos- ja prosessioikeuden sekä oikeuden yleisti- eteiden laitos. Lin, Nan. 2001. Social Capital: A Theory of Social Structure & Action. Port Chester: Cambridge University Press. Lindström, Jonas, Rosemarie Fiebranz, and Rydén Jöran. 2017. The Diversity of Work. In Making a Living, Making a Difference: Gender and Work in Early Modern European Society, ed. Maria Ågren, 57–79. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Messer-Davidow, Ellen. 1995. Acting Otherwise. In Provoking Agents: Gender and Agency in Theory and Practise, ed. Judith Kegan Gardiner, 23–51. Urbana/ Chicago: University of Illinois Press. Miettinen, Riikka. 2015. Suicide in Seventeenth-Century Sweden: The Crime and Legal Praxis in the Lower Courts. PhD Dissertation, School of Social Sciences and Humanities, University of Tampere. Möller, Sylvi. 1954. Suomen tapulikaupunkien valtaporvaristo ja sen kaupankäyn- timenetelmät 1600-luvun alkupuolella. (Historiallisia tutkimuksia 42.) Helsinki: Suomen Historiallinen Seura. Nallinmaa-Luoto, Terhi. 1974. Ylioppilaat turkulaisten asianajajina Turun Akatemian alkuaikoina. Defensor Legis 55: 310–316. Petrén, Sture, Stig Jägerskiöld, and Tord O:son Nordberg. 1964. Svea hovrätt: Studier till 350-årsminnet. Stockholm: A. Nordstedt & söners förlag. Pihlajamäki, Heikki. 2009. Kansan ja esivallan välissä: Suomalaisen asianajakun- nan historia. Helsinki: Edita. Putnam, Robert D. 2000. Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community. New York: Simon & Schuster. Raevuori, Yrjö. 1947. Asianajotoiminnasta Ruotsi-Suomessa ennen vuoden 1734 lakia. Defensor Legis 28: 99–113. ———. 1968. Suomen asianajotoiminnan vaiheita. Porvoo: WSOY ja Suomen asianajajaliiton säätiö. Ramsay, Jully. 1909. Frälsesläkter i Finland intill Stora ofreden. Helsingfors: Söderström. Rantanen, Arja. 2014. Pennförare i periferin: Österbottniska sockenskrivare 1721–1868. Turku: Åbo Akademis förlag. http://urn.fi/URN:ISBN:978- 951-765-753-2. Accessed 1 July 2018. Suolahti, Eino E. 1950. Ensimmäinen Vironniemen Helsinki (1640–1721). In Helsingin kaupungin historia, 1, ed. Eirik Hornborg et al., 275–437. Helsinki: Helsingin kaupunki. 118 P. IMPOLA

Toropainen, Veli Pekka. 2016. Päättäväiset porvarskat: Turun johtavan porvariston naisten toimijuus 1623–1670. (Annales Universitatis Turkuensis, Series C, Scripta lingua Fennica edita, 419.) Turku: University of Turku. Turunen, Olli. 2016. The Emergence of Intangible Capital: Human, Social and Intellectual Capital in Nineteenth-Century British, French and German Economic Thought. (Jyväskylä Studies in Humanities 285.) Jyväskylä: Jyväskylän yliopisto. http://urn.fi/URN:ISBN:978-951-39-6596-9. Accessed 1 July 2018. Vasara-Aaltonen, Marianne. 2017. Learning for the Legal Profession: Swedish Jurists’ Study Journeys ca. 1630–1800. LL.D. Dissertation, University of Helsinki, Faculty of Law. http://urn.fi/URN:ISBN:978-951-51-3852-1. Accessed 1 July 2018. Westerlund, A.W. 1923. Turun hovioikeuden presidentit, jäsenet ja virkamiehet 1623–1923: elämäkerrallisia ja sukuhistoriallisia muistiinpanoja. 1 ja 2 nide. Turku: H. Edgrenin kirjakauppa.

Electronic Resources Kotivuori, Yrjö. 2005. Ylioppilasmatrikkeli 1640–1852 [Academy of Turku/ University of Helsinki Student Register 1640–1852]. https://ylioppilasmatrikkeli.helsinki.fi. Accessed 1 July 2018. Ideal Types and Odd Men Out: Legal Literacy and Social Mobility in Nineteenth- Century Finland

Anna Kuismin

Introduction From the seventeenth century on, the Lutheran Church had been teaching the Finnish population to read, but penmanship was not considered necessary for everyone. In the hierarchical estate society, full literacy did not belong to the realm of the common people.1 Those who took up the pen were often faced with various kinds of challenges and prejudices.2 There were, however, a number of non-elite people who learned to write and used their skill to produce various kinds of texts, many of them autobiographical ones.3 Some of these aspiring writers were taught by parish priests or other educated people, while others learned the skill with the help of a peer or simply by teaching themselves with a model alphabet. In the early nineteenth century, the percentage of Finns who were able to

1 Laine and Laine (2010), p. 258. 2 Mäkinen (2016), pp. 24–40. 3 Kuismin (2013).

A. Kuismin (*) University of Helsinki, Helsinki, Finland e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s) 2019 119 M. Korpiola (ed.), Legal Literacy in Premodern European Societies, World Histories of Crime, Culture and Violence, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-96863-6_6 120 A. KUISMIN write was very small, but as the century wore on, the number of people with writing skills increased, as more and more primary schools were established.4 Because of long distances and the non-compulsoriness of the schools, the opportunities for the children to attend school were highly unequal.5 In this chapter, I am continuing the research I have been doing since the early 2000s on the processes and practices of literacy in the production, dissemination, and reception of written texts “from below” during the long nineteenth century (roughly from the 1780s to the First World War) in Finland. However, I will be focusing on a new set of research questions relating to the legal literacy6 of the Finnish-speaking people who belonged to the lower strata of society, lived in the countryside, and had little or no formal education. What kind of non-elite people became legal literates in nineteenth- century Finland? How did they acquire their skills? What was their position in their rural communities? Did legal literacy contribute to social ascent or increased cultural capital? In examining these questions, I shall draw my material from life stories—both published texts and archived manuscripts—as well as from newspapers and biographical sources. Several Finnish-speaking literates left behind writings that illuminate the problems that ordinary people faced in acquiring legal literacy and, in some cases, moving up on the social ladder. Both private and public motives made these common people write, and practical and ideological motives were intertwined. My “from below” perspective points to the approach that originates from the “new social history” movement in Great Britain in the 1960s. According to Martyn Lyons, the history of popular writing practices currently represents a “new” history from below, because it emphasises individual, rather than collective, experience and relies on what ordinary people actually wrote. It re-evaluates the individual experience and searches for the personal and private voices of la gente commune, and considers ordinary readers and writers as active agents in the shaping of their own lives and cultures.7 Writing is embedded in the networks of power relationships, defining authority and subordination, inclusion and exclusion.8

4 Leino-Kaukiainen (2007). 5 Kauranen (2007), p. 54. 6 For the term “legal literacy,” see the definition in the introduction of this volume by Mia Korpiola. 7 Lyons (2013), p. 16. 8 Lyons (2017). See also Lyons (2014). IDEAL TYPES AND ODD MEN OUT: LEGAL LITERACY AND SOCIAL… 121

According to David Barton and Mary Hamilton, dominant literacies are characterised by their formalisation and standardisation, and the access to knowledge is controlled by experts and teachers, whereas vernacular literacy practices are not regulated by the formal rules and procedures of dominant social institutions and they have their origins in everyday life.9 Legal literacy belongs to the realm of dominant literacies: it was difficult to become proficient in it without tuition or guidebooks, whereas one could manage to write a private letter or jot down notes in a calendar with elementary skills. Among other sources, autobiographical documents reveal that non-elite people who took to the pen often faced practical difficulties such as purchasing writing instruments and finding time to write. They also had to confront negative attitudes of family members, peers, and superiors. In general, writing skills were first acquired by men who owned land and only lastly women. The lower the position, the greater the obsta- cles facing the aspiring literate—and the legal literate in particular.10

Legal Literacy, Class, and the Language Question in Nineteenth-Century Finland In Finland, legal literacy was tied to the language question: Finnish- speakers formed the majority of the population, but Swedish was the official language of administration, judiciary, and further education until the last decades of the nineteenth century. Before that, it was necessary to learn Swedish if one wanted to become fully proficient in legal matters. Naturally, there were differences and antagonisms between peasants who owned their land and those who did not, such as crofters, cottagers, and farmhands. Yet, many barriers separated all of them from the nobility, the clergy, and civil servants who were able to speak Swedish. As I will demonstrate in this chapter, acquiring legal literacy was informed by the strug-

9 Barton and Hamilton (1998), pp. 247–252. 10 Parishes in the district of Ostrobothnia in Western Finland employed scribes to conduct various municipal duties. According to Arja Rantanen, who has studied this institution from 1721 to 1868, over a fourth of the parish scribes had attended school and a fifth had also studied at university. Rantanen (2014), p. 80. Even though the group was heterogeneous, their status was fairly high and they often married daughters of clergymen. Rantanen (2014), p. 111. In addition to serving the parish, the scribes also worked for private customers, composing wills, bills of sale, probate inventories (registers of possession made after death), estate distributions, land tenancy agreements, life annuity and crofter agreements, as well as promissory notes. Rantanen (2014), pp. 123–124. 122 A. KUISMIN gle for the rights of the Finnish language in the judiciary, in which Finnish-speaking peasants took part. From the eighteenth century onwards, the institution of lay jurors in district courts promoted legal literacy in rural Finland to a degree. Trustworthy and respected land-owning peasants who were chosen as jurors gained knowledge of the judicial proceedings, and some of them were also involved in producing estate inventories as evaluators or scribes from the eighteenth century onwards.11 For example, Antti Härjänsilmä (1705–1779) from South-Western Finland was a juror who took part in conducting foreclosures and estate inventories, among other things.12 Härjänsilmä was also a kuudennusmies, a kind of a village elder whose duties included assisting in parish administration such as collecting taxes and the parish priest’s exactions.13 Pietari Västi (1751–1826), a farmer from Ilmajoki, is another example of an influential figure and a literate man in his parish. According to his laconic life story, he became a juror in 1791, and five years later he received the honorary title ofherastuomari (senior juryman).14 According to Tiina Hemminki, Västi seems to have been a competent executor of estate inventories.15 Naturally, there are more cases like this among jurors, especially in the latter part of the nineteenth century. In 1809, following Sweden’s defeat in the war against Russia, Finland became an autonomous Grand Duchy of the Russian Empire. At first there were no significant changes in the jurisdiction and administration dating from the Swedish rule. However, the rise of Finnish nationalism was fostered by the fear that annexation would ultimately mean the Russification of the country. This threat could be met only by national unity, which was to be created by the Finnish-language culture. Popular education—literally the “enlightenment of the people” (in Finnish: kan- sanvalistus)—was part and parcel of the nation building in Finland, a tool for modernisation and material progress. The Fennophile and later the Fennoman movement contributed to the rise of Finnish-language books, as well as to the spreading of information on agriculture, animal husbandry, and health, among other topics. Temperance, diligence, and love

11 Laurikkala (1951), pp. 270–274. 12 Oja (1952), p. 145. 13 Aaltonen (1934), pp. 247–248. 14 Liakka (1913), p. 53. 15 Hemminki (2008), p. 57. IDEAL TYPES AND ODD MEN OUT: LEGAL LITERACY AND SOCIAL… 123 of one’s country were also promoted, and basic textbooks were published.16 Gathering folk poetry was one of the first steps in the process of creating Finnish literature. One of the first measures of the Finnish Literature Society, founded in 1831, was to fund the excursions made by its first secretary, Elias Lönnrot (1802–1884), to note down oral poetry in the easternmost parts of Finland and in eastern Karelia where the epic oral tradition was still alive. The Kalevala, an epos compiled by Lönnrot and published in 1835 (the second, enlarged edition came out in 1849), had great symbolic value: it enabled Finns to embrace the richness of their oral tradition.17 Besides meeting people who could recite traditional lore, the folklore collectors met peasants who composed poems of their own and even wrote them down. They applied the familiar forms of folk poetry to comment, report, or reflect on incidents and phenomena around them, including the course of their own lives.18 Contacts between the learned and the self-taught crossed class boundaries and made it possible for the so-called Peasant Poets (rahvaan runoniekat or talonpoikaisrunoilijat) to engage in cultural practices that were new to them, like reading newspapers and having their texts published.19 The language question was espoused in particular by the Peasant Poets. For Finnish-speaking common people, it was a novel idea to be proud of one’s mother tongue, but the practical side of the issue was even more important. “A Hymn of Mourning on the State of the Finnish Language,” written in 1837 by Pietari Makkonen (1785–1851), a peasant farmer from Eastern Finland, laments the fact that laws were written in a language that the unschooled people could not understand. They had to rely on scribes who composed documents in Swedish. Antti Puhakka (1816–1893), another peasant farmer from Eastern Finland, wrote as many as 26 poems on the language question.20 The most famous of them, “Jussin juttureissu” (“Jussi’s trip to the courthouse”), published on 17 August 1847 in Suometar, comprises 267 lines.21 It tells a story of a man who is shunned at the governor’s office because of the lack of a Swedish-language docu-

16 Schoolfield (1998), pp. xx–xxi; Laitinen and Schoolfield (1998), pp. 57–63; Sulkunen (2004a), p. 27; Sulkunen (2004b), p. ix; Kuismin (2016), p. 10. 17 Kuismin (2012), p. 10. 18 Laitinen and Schoolfield (1998), pp. 56–57. 19 Kuismin (2016), p. 11. 20 Laurila (1956), p. 185. 21 Puhakka (1847). 124 A. KUISMIN ment. Jussi met a man who wanted to help him, but the rescuing angel turned out to be a swindler. He had to return home penniless and disap- pointed. The satirical poem presents an archetype of nurkkasihteeri or nurkkakirjuri (“corner secretary,” “corner scribe”), a person who deals with the legal affairs of others, without being a professional lawyer. The word points to the derogatory German term of Winkeladvokat. In Swedish, the term is brännvinsadvokat (“liquor advocate”). Throughout the nineteenth century, the image of a treacherous and boozy scribe or advocate appeared in newspapers and fictional texts. If one wanted to avoid scribes’ services, it was necessary to learn to compose documents oneself. However, the encouragement for the acquisition of writing skills had to be furnished with affirmations that it did not bring with it the danger of abandoning one’s class.22 For example, in 1851, the weekly newspaper Maamiehen Ystävä (“Peasant’s Friend”) published a story of a young man who had learned to write receipts, promissory notes, and contracts. People liked his services, because his fees were reasonable and the documents were not contradicted in courts. Even though this young man was able to write, he had not adopted gentlemen’s manners, but remained “an industrious and decent working man,” con- cluded the anonymous writer.23 Encouraging his readers to follow suit, the young man mentioned Robert Trapp’s (1804–1875, ennobled von Trapp) Asianajaja, eli Lain- opillinen käsi-kirja Suomen kansalle (“Advocate, or, Handbook of Legal Matters for the Finnish People,” 1847). The book was translated from Swedish by Pietari Hannikainen (1813–1899).24 Another volume on legal matters, entitled Kirjoituksia Laki-asioista (“On legal issues”), was written by Karl Ferdinand Forsström (1817–1903) and published in 1862.25 This book belonged to the library of Matti Taipale (1825–1868), a self-taught peasant farmer and newspaper correspondent from Central Finland, among others.26 In 1856, Antti Manninen (1831–1866), a self-educated peasant’s son from Central Finland, who had become the headmaster of a farm school and a journalist, wrote a guidebook for peasant farmers entitled Taito ja

22 Mäkinen (2016), p. 35. 23 [Anonymous] (1851). The quoted passage is translated by Ilkka Mäkinen (2016), p. 35. 24 Trapp (1849). The second edition, Käsi-kirja lain opissa talonpojille, translated by Gustaf Cannelin (1815–1885), was published in 1849. 25 Forsström (1862). Forsström’s book was published by Clouberg & K. in Viipuri. 26 Haavio (1952), p. 397. IDEAL TYPES AND ODD MEN OUT: LEGAL LITERACY AND SOCIAL… 125

Toimi (“Skills and Tasks,” second edition 1863), in which a whole chapter is dedicated to the benefits of writing. It was important to note down wages, loans, and debts, because documents could prevent quarrels and even court cases; in a written contract, facts remained unchanged, wrote Manninen. He also added that money could be saved by not having to pay a scribe to do the paperwork. Last but not least, Manninen thought that it was amusing to read letters written by friends and to record one’s thoughts to be read by others. Like the anonymous writer quoted above, Manninen commented on the argument that penmanship separated peasants from their class: there was no danger that a writing peasant would become a “mock-gentleman,” he wrote.27 In the 1860s, the Fennoman campaign became more intense; the aim was to raise Finnish to the status of an official language. The most important legal reform to enhance legal literacy among the common people was the law on municipal sovereignty, which came into force in 1865 and separated the Lutheran Church and the secular administration. Before this, local affairs were taken care of in meetings called for by the leading clergyman. Municipal affairs included fire prevention, poor relief, storing grain for emergencies, collecting taxes, and looking after bridges, among other things. The chairman was expected to take minutes at meetings, take care of correspondence, and write certificates. However, the statute included a mention that it was possible to nominate someone else for the writing assignments, working under the direction of the chairman.28 The reform of municipal administration had an impact on the peasant farmers’ rising position in rural society, bringing them esteem in the communities.29 It also enhanced the learning of new skills that could be used in business and cooperative ventures, among other things, which in turn paved way for the modern civic society. In many cases, this kind of administrative literacy enhanced legal literacy. Prior to the reform, peasants’ activities were largely hindered by attitudes of class society in which the upper classes expected them to comply with the ideas presented from above.30

27 Manninen (1863), p. 5. The same arguments had been made by “A. W.” in his article “Pellonwiljeliäin kirjoitustaidosta” (“On the writing skills of peasants”) published in Sanomia Turusta (“News from Turku”) on 4 March, 18 March, and 1 April 1851. The writer in question was probably Anders (Antero) Warelius (d. 1904), a Lutheran minister who had held several humbler ecclesiastical posts before being elected vicar of Loimaa in 1869. Mäkinen (2016), p. 35. 28 Soikkanen (1966), p. 191. 29 Soikkanen (1966), pp. 203, 406. 30 Soikkanen (1966), p. 50. 126 A. KUISMIN

The rise of Finnish-language newspapers in the 1860s played an important role in narrowing the gap between the elites and the common people, by both conveying important information and providing a forum to engage in discussions through letters and local reports sent to the editor.31 Among other topics, the question of legal literacy was discussed. In 1861, Sanomia Turusta (“News from Turku”) published a letter by the pseud- onym “Liedon poika” (“Boy from Lieto”), in which the writer mentioned local peasants who acted as scribes in auctions and performed other writing assignments.32 In his response to this, “Liedon mies” (“Man from Lieto”) claimed that judges criticised these documents—one of them had even said that an axe is more suitable in the hand of a peasant than a pen. The “Boy from Lieto” wrote another letter, remarking that the judges to whom the previous writer referred were angered because the documents were written in Finnish.33 The polemic shows how the questions of legal literacy, class, and language were intertwined. Antti Puhakka, one of the Peasant Poets, is an example of a peasant farmer who became a legal literate. As a young man, he had wanted to try his hand at writing, but the parish priest refused to teach him, as he thought that the skill was not necessary for a peasant. However, Puhakka became a skilled penman. He acted as his own advocate in a civil court case to have the status of his farm changed. His success brought him customers far and wide. Puhakka was active in the establishment of a primary school and a lending library in his parish. In addition to participating in the local administration, he was elected representative of the Peasant Estate in Finland’s Diet. This took place for the first time in 1863, when the Estates—the nobility, clergy, burghers, and peasants—had started to convene every three to six years for a few months to prepare legislation. Puhakka participated in the work of the Diet up to 1882, promoting the use of Finnish and the building of the railway system, among other things. Even though Puhakka remained a peasant farmer, his social ranking had improved and he had gained a considerable amount of cultural and social capital.34 Interestingly, the question of class comes up in an anecdote about Puhakka, in Helsinki’s parliamentary setting. Puhakka was still using his homespun coat, an attire of a peasant. His friends thought that the garb

31 Stark (2016), p. 50. 32 [Liedon poika] (1861a); [Liedon mies] (1861). 33 [Liedon poika] (1861b). 34 Aaltonen (1952), pp. 354–356. IDEAL TYPES AND ODD MEN OUT: LEGAL LITERACY AND SOCIAL… 127 was not appropriate. They gave him imported material used in gentlemen’s clothes and asked him to have a coat made. Puhakka did this, but the fine cloth was used as a lining, while the outside was made of the familiar homespun cloth. When his friends were perplexed, Puhakka opened his coat and said, laughing: “I’m a peasant outside, but inside I am a gentleman.”35 The anecdote captures the in-between or double position of a peasant who had moved from his familiar surroundings to a higher position, but had not abandoned his original identity.

Pietari Päivärinta: From a Village Scribe to a Professional Writer Whereas Antti Puhakka was born as a son of a land-owning peasant farmer in Eastern Finland, Pietari Päivärinta’s (1827–1913) parents were poor cottagers in Ylivieska, in Western Finland. A good reader, the boy was praised for his reading skills at the yearly examination. He told the pastor that he would like to learn to write, and, when asked the reason for this wish, the boy said that he would like to become a clergyman himself, “because they eat well and walk self-confidently.”36 Everybody laughed at this clever observation. This anecdote was told in Päivärinta’s Elämäni (“My Life”), published by the Society for Popular Education (in Finnish: Kansanvalistusseura) in 1877. This book is an exemplary narrative in which the protagonist was poor as a child, so poor that he even had to beg, but because of his efforts was able to improve his situation. Class distinction and writing also appear in an episode in which the protagonist is learning to write. He wondered why the Finnish alphabet includes the letters b, d, and c, as these letters are not usually used in Finnish. His teacher, an older peasant boy, explained that they were for the “better people.” This explanation sounded plausible for the narrator; after all, gentlemen wear better clothes and eat better food—why should they not have extra letters, he thought.37 As Päivärinta was interested in music, a natural choice for more fulfilling work than that of a farmhand or a crofter was to aim at becoming a kanttori, a lower official in the Lutheran Church.Kanttori has been translated as a parish clerk, but the Latin origin of the term (cantor, a singer) is

35 Finnish Literature Society, Literary Archives, A378: “Satuja arvokkaista henkilöistä.” 36 Päivärinta [1877] (2002), p. 18. 37 Päivärinta [1877] (2002), pp. 20–22. 128 A. KUISMIN more accurate, because scribal duties did not usually play a role in the job description. The cantors led the congregation in the singing of hymns— and played the organ, when the parish had managed to purchase the instrument.38 They also taught reading and took care of vaccinations against smallpox. Most of the nineteenth-century cantors had little formal schooling, and their lifestyle did not differ from that of the peasants, as they were given a plot of land to farm. Because of the assisting role vis-à-vis the clergy, the social position was fairly high. When a cantor took part in the yearly reading and Catechism examinations in the villages, he dined at the same table with the clergymen, a sign of higher status. Full literacy was another factor that contributed to the social esteem of cantors and likened them to “gentlemen.” Many cantors wrote legal documents like estate inventories, contracts, and bills of sale. Päivärinta passed the cantor’s examination in 1850. He first worked as an acting cantor in Alavieska, the neighbouring parish, where he stayed until 1861, supplementing his modest income by making shoes and cultivating the land around his cottage. Päivärinta’s first legal document, an estate inventory deed written in Finnish, dates from 1856.39 According to Päivärinta’s semi-fictional memoir written in the early 1900s, until then, the local bailiff had had the monopoly of these services. If documents written by peasants were submitted, the bailiff sued them, which led the common people to believe that only the bailiff had the right to act as a scribe.40 An avid reader of newspapers since his youth, Päivärinta had started to send local newsletters and write articles for Oulun Wiikko-Sanomat (“Weekly News from Oulu”) in 1859. He also sought positions that would bring him more income. In 1860, he became cantor of Oulunsalo, which made it possible for him to meet with “enlightened men” in the nearby town of Oulu. Naturally, contacts with people who shared his interest in increasing the status of the Finnish language were of great importance. A report of a committee preparing the Language Act had stated that Finnish- speakers would not able to understand legal documents even if they were written in their own language. In April 1863, Päivärinta contradicted this argument in Oulun Wiikko-Sanomat.41

38 Lukkari is another word used for the occupation. It refers to church bells (klocka in Swedish), originating from a former duty, tolling the church bells. Kaarlo Jalkanen uses the term precentor in the English abstract of his study. See Jalkanen (1978), pp. 318–320. 39 Havu (1921), p. 23. 40 Päivärinta (1903), pp. 14–15. 41 Päivärinta (1863). See also Havu (1921), pp. 33–34. IDEAL TYPES AND ODD MEN OUT: LEGAL LITERACY AND SOCIAL… 129

On the behalf of a meeting held in Oulu, he composed a letter to the Emperor of Russia, under the rule of whom Finland still was, suggesting improvements in the proposed law. For example, model texts for mortgages, land registrations, and penalty payments were to be provided, and judges writing verdicts in Finnish were to be recruited.42 The Language Act given in 1863 finally decreed that documents written in Finnish could be used in government offices and law courts. In addition, governmental bodies were to produce Finnish-language texts themselves. The change was to be realised within 20 years, but in practice it took longer before the Finnish language achieved the position to which it was entitled as was decreed in the Language Act. According to Päivärinta’s semi-fictional memoir, there was great partiality at the courts, resulting from the dominance of the Swedish-speaking officials. He painted a picture of a bailiff who had become rich by charging high fees for looking after the peasants’ affairs in court. This bailiff influenced the judges so that the guilty ones usually won their cases.43 The incidents related in Päivärinta’s memoir were based on his own experiences, but they were said to have happened to Aapeli, a fictional male character.44 A case in which Aapeli sued the former employer of his wife for having neglected to pay her wages is depicted in detail. Arriving at the courthouse, Aapeli heard a rumour that the respondent had bribed the bailiff. According to Aapeli, “a common man comes to the courthouse to get justice,” but “it is the same kind of injustice, corruption, wickedness and partiality as everywhere else, caused by those evil villains without any conscience.”45 The judge and the bailiff spoke in Swedish at the beginning of the hearing, and Aapeli saw the bailiff pointing his finger towards him. The judge refused to hear Aapeli’s witnesses, and when he protested, they threatened to throw him out like a dog. Aapeli lost the case but appealed to the supe- rior court. Now the tables were turned: a new hearing was ordered, and Aapeli’s witnesses were allowed to testify, which resulted in him winning the case. Päivärinta used harsh words to describe the bailiff: “with the power that an educated man has over the uneducated he had enslaved and

42 Teperi (1986), p. 231. 43 Päivärinta (1903), p. 14. 44 Havu (1921), p. 155. 45 Päivärinta (1903), p. 17. 130 A. KUISMIN skinned the common people.”46 Undoubtedly, the story cut corners—it dated back some 50 years and was laden with anger. However, it reflects the distrust of common people towards the judiciary and the situation in which the officials used Swedish, a language that the common people often did not understand. Jouko Teperi has noted the change that Päivärinta experienced in confronting the officials: he was no longer a subservient subject but a citizen.47 Päivärinta was elected cantor in Ylivieska in 1868, and he soon became chairman of the local administrative board. As he later stated, during the first years in Ylivieska he wrote many estate inventories, estate divisions, and sales contracts of landed property, among other documents.48 Good governance and fearless personal conduct with his superiors made him a remarkable man, whose fame reached the neighbouring parishes and the town of Oulu. He was chosen as a representative of the Peasant Estate in 1882, 1885, and 1891. He actively participated in the social life in the capital, being on first-name basis with the gentlemen members of the Finnish party—but like Antti Puhakka, he did not abandon his peasant identity.49 Towards the end of his life, Päivärinta started to question the boundaries of class. For example, why did gentlemen have separate pews in the church? After all, this kind of arrangement was not decreed in ecclesiastical law, he wrote in his memoir.50 Composing legal documents was a passing phase in Päivärinta’s life, as the success of “My Life” made him concentrate on writing stories and novels.51 In the 1880s and 1890s, Päivärinta was the most prolific Finnish- language author, depicting life around him, with a moralistic twist. Some of his stories were translated into Swedish, German, and Russian. In short, Päivärinta gained a great amount of cultural and social capital during his life.

Zefanias Suutarla, a Man of Many Ventures It is likely that the autobiography of Zefanias Suutarla (1834–1908), published anonymously in 1898 by Werner Söderström, a major Finnish- language publisher at the time, was inspired by Pietari Päivärinta’s “My

46 Päivärinta (1903), p. 22. 47 Teperi (1986), p. 148. 48 Päivärinta [1877] (2002), p. 89. 49 Havu (1921), p. 72. 50 Päivärinta (1903), p. 63. 51 Päivärinta [1877] (2002), p. 89. IDEAL TYPES AND ODD MEN OUT: LEGAL LITERACY AND SOCIAL… 131

Life.” Suutarla’s book, entitled Suomalaisen Talonpojan elämänvaiheet: Kertonut tosielämän pohjalla Suomalainen Talonpoika (“Life of a Finnish Peasant Farmer: A True Story Told by a Finnish Peasant Farmer”), is nar- rated in the third-person singular. It bears traits of an exemplary narrative with a political end, presenting an individual who seeks learning, progress, and the common good. However, it is more personal than Päivärinta’s life story, and includes more episodes in which shortcomings come to the fore. The protagonist Vani (a shortened version of Zefanias) was born into a poor family. Eager to learn, he got hold of a little guidebook on writing and a Finnish grammar, and also taught himself arithmetic and some Swedish. He was criticised by his peers for taking up “gentlemen’s tricks” in order to show that he was better than everyone else. Already as young man Vani started to question the point of his efforts: what was the use of writing at the time when “not a single meagre document could be written in Finnish”?52 According to the narrator, “[t]he more his understanding deepened and his vision widened, the more bitter he felt when he thought about the oppression that Finnish-speakers faced by the small number of Swedish-speaking nobility and civil servants.”53 It came as a surprise to Vani to learn from the newspapers that the Fennoman movement included Swedish speakers who had become advocates of the use of Finnish in education, administration, and law. Another discovery was caused by the publication of the constitutional laws of the Grand Duchy of Finland, translated into Finnish in 1862.54 Vani’s sentiments are depicted in the following way:

Many learned men, devoted to the causes of enlightenment and freedom, had tried to make the common people understand their identity and the state of our country. An important step in this process was the translation of the constitutional laws of the Grand Duchy of Finland. This book was donated to select individuals in all parts of the country. The bailiff in Vani’s parish was asked to give the book to a peasant farmer who was interested in reading. Vani received this book, as he was the only one of this kind that the bailiff knew. Vani was astonished when he read this precious volume. Until then, he had not realised that Finnish people did have rights of their own. But now he could read from a printed text that they legally had rights in national affairs.55

52 Suutarla (1898), p. 16. 53 Suutarla (1898), p. 16. 54 It is interesting to note that the translation was initiated by Tuomas Taittonen (1817–1915), a country tailor who had become a bridge bailiff and supervisor in projects such as the reclaiming of swamps and channelling rapids for floating timber. Ojajärvi (1952), p. 189. 55 Suutarla (1898), p. 17. 132 A. KUISMIN

Before becoming a farmhand, Vani worked at his father’s croft. In 1858, he married a widow, the mistress of a rustitila.56 The idea was planted in his mind by a maid working at this farm—and previously, by his father whom he had heard say that Vani was a man whom any land-owning peasant would welcome as a son-in-law. Naturally, the union of a young farmhand and a widow ten years his senior gave rise to much talk in the community, even though the narrator emphasises that the marriage was based on mutual attraction. At first Vani had a difficult time in achieving authority over his farmhands and assuming his position among other land-owning farmers. Instead of working in the fields as he had imagined, he succumbed to his wife’s wishes and refrained from hard physical labour, thus fulfilling the role that masters of big farms were taking at the time. Instead, he continued his self-learning, as he had more money to buy books and time to read them. He also studied music and learned to play the organ.57 The Language Act of 1863 brought Vani great joy and happiness—he felt that Finnish-speaking people had finally become “human beings and citizens.”58 According to Suutarla’s biography, the young farmer’s influence on local matters took some time to have an effect. Even though Suutarla was one of the few literate men in the parish and interested in public affairs, it was not until 1866 that he was elected to serve on a municipal body as chairman of the board looking after the guardianship of orphans. His first public speech was given to promote the establishing of a primary school.59 From 1869 to 1871, Suutarla was the acting chairman of the municipal board, and in 1872, he was elected chairman and was rewarded a yearly fee for his services.60 According to Suutarla’s autobiography, Vani’s company was sought by local gentlemen, “and he has many friends among the common people who trusted him and asked for his help.”61 The rumours of the possible gathering of the Diet made Vani think that perhaps he would be able to become a representative of the Peasant Estate.62 The dream was realised.63 These new duties made Vani more

56 A rustitila (originally in Finnish: ratsutila; in Swedish: rusthåll) was more prestigious than an ordinary farm. Rusthollari or rustitilallinen was the owner of an agricultural estate under legal obligation to equip a cavalryman. Stark (2016), p. 44. 57 Lähteenmäki (1974), p. 164. 58 Suutarla (1898), p. 18. 59 Suutarla (1898), p. 55. 60 Lähteenmäki (1974), pp. 157–158. 61 Suutarla (1898), p. 57. 62 Suutarla (1898), p. 17. 63 Suutarla was elected for the Diet as a representative in 1877–1878, 1885, 1888, 1894, 1897, 1899, and in 1904–1905. Lähteenmäki (1974), p. 170. IDEAL TYPES AND ODD MEN OUT: LEGAL LITERACY AND SOCIAL… 133 eager to continue his language studies so that he would be able to read parliamentary papers written in Swedish.64 According to Suutarla’s biography, he took part in the work of the judiciary committee at the Diet. In a letter to his wife written in 1895, he reported on heated disputes with the Swedish-speaking representatives who were “professors, assessors and other judges.”65 Even though Suutarla wrote about the difficulties he faced in the Diet concerning the issues with which he was dealing, his mention of the educated people and professional lawyers reflected the pride a self-taught man felt in having achieved a position that enabled him to advance the causes close to his heart. From the 1870s onwards, peasant farmers profited from selling timber, and there were loans for new ventures.66 Suutarla was involved in founding a milling plant, a dairy, and a sawmill. He also participated in shipbuilding cooperatives. These activities made him one of the leading men in the area. Compared with Puhakka and Päivärinta, Suutarla climbed higher on the social ladder, and he also gained much cultural capital. However, some of his shipbuilding ventures brought him debts. He also faced a problem concerning the ownership of the Suutarla farm, which resulted in a complicated lawsuit against his stepdaughters.67 Another dis- appointment concerned his son, whose education had come to nothing. The Swedish language and treacherous officials went hand in hand in Vani’s story. For example, the narrator depicts an incident about the treacherousness of officials during Vani’s first years as a master of the farm. At that time, farmers had a right to distil alcohol but not to sell it. One winter’s day, two unknown gentlemen had come to the farm. A hospitable person, Vani’s wife had offered them coffee and a drink, as they were cold. The guests wanted to pay for the service, and even though Vani had for- bidden his wife to do so, she succumbed to the visitors’ pleas and accepted the money, saying that she charged only for the coffee. According to Suutarla, these men had deliberately set a trap for peasant farmers. Vani’s wife was sued for illegal selling of alcohol. As Vani, who appeared at the court on his wife’s behalf, was not familiar with legal proceedings, she was fined. Vani felt that he had become a “marked man,” having received a blow on his reputation. “Is this the way justice and truth are given?” he asked himself. The case had shown that it is not easy for an ordinary citizen to have

64 Suutarla (1898), p. 53. 65 Lähteenmäki (1974), p. 179. 66 Lähteenmäki (1974), p. 138. 67 Lähteenmäki (1974), pp. 139–141. 134 A. KUISMIN justice. An old proverb proved to be true: Laki on niinkuin luetaan ja asia niinkuin ajetaan (“The Law is as it is interpreted and a legal cause is as it is conducted”).68 Suutarla’s interest in legal matters continued throughout his life. In 1895, the Society for Popular Education published his book on the constitution of Finland, entitled Suomen perustuslakien historiallinen kehitys (“Historical Development of the Finnish Constitution”). It was also translated into Swedish. The book consists of three parts: (1) the development of the constitutional laws up to 1772, (2) the same from 1772 to the beginning of Finland’s autonomy in 1809, and (3) the situation during the autonomy. The book, based on lectures that Suutarla had given in his municipality, reflected the worry over the pressure from the Russian authorities to lessen the privileges enjoyed by the Grand Duchy of Finland in the Russian Empire.69 Undoubtedly, Suutarla’s treatise is a great achievement for a man who had never had any formal education. His biographer has summed up the course of his life: “like rings, his fields of conduct widened to more and more activities. […] He might have been motivated by the desire for social mobility, but one can also think that the dynamics of his time fed his unconscious urges, which resulted in his social ascent.”70

The Odd Men Out: Legal Literacy Without Social Ascent The case of Aleksi Huotari (1841–1882), a peasant farmer from Kuhmo, North-Eastern Finland, tells a different story from those discussed above. Contrary to Puhakka, Päivärinta, and Suutarla, he did not have to struggle to obtain writing skills, as his grandfather and father were fully literate. The family was respected in the parish: Huotari’s grandfather had been a churchwarden and his father a juror. In 1863, Huotari was elected chairman of a newly established fire insurance committee, and in 1866, he became chairman of the municipal government. Besides farming, he was also a shopkeeper and a buyer and seller of grain and timber. In 1865, Huotari wrote a newsletter for Oulun Wiikko-Sanomat in which he wel-

68 Suutarla (1898), pp. 41–42. 69 Lähteenmäki (1974), pp. 204–206. 70 Lähteenmäki (1974), p. 213. IDEAL TYPES AND ODD MEN OUT: LEGAL LITERACY AND SOCIAL… 135 comed the municipal reform and celebrated the improvement in the language situation in a flowery patriotic style.71 In 1867, he represented the municipality at a meeting held in Oulu, the purpose of which was to find means to alleviate the problems caused by crop failures.72 Next year he was faced with the investigation on the embezzlement of the fire insurance committee’s funds. Another fraud was also discovered: Huotari had been entrusted with the supervision of gathering trees that had fallen in a storm, but he had made the workers fell trees that were still growing. The last straw leading to his decision to flee is the shameful fact that he had been diagnosed with syphilis.73 Huotari was caught using a false passport, aiming to start a new life in St. Petersburg. Interestingly, a witness at a court session had heard Huotari compare the court with a card table: a clever player could lead the game into a favourable result.74 The hubris was unfounded, as Huotari was given a prison sentence. The prosecutor appealed to a higher court to have it changed into flogging, because this punishment would better represent the sentiments of the local people. According to the prosecutor, Huotari had been playing the role of an honest and respected man, gaining the trust of “extremely simple common people” and causing the municipality great losses. In 1868, the Court of Appeal in Vaasa sentenced Huotari to flogging. He appealed to the Senate, claiming that his crime was not theft but forgery. The final sentence was 28 days of imprisonment.75 What made Huotari act the way he did is not known. According to Antero Heikkinen, Huotari lived in a time of transition that offered new possibilities, from which he cold-bloodedly profited. Many peasants in Kuhmo were taken to court for stealing wood from forests owned by the government, as the new regulations given by the governor in 1862 were not internalised.76 However, this does not explain Huotari’s embezzlement of the fire insurance money. Naturally, there were individuals who had acquired at least some degree of legal literacy but did not prosper or rise on the social ladder, at least to any considerable degree. Kustaa Roslöf (1831–1898), son of a village smith, was one of them. Roslöf tells his story in Muuan heikon ja paljon

71 A H-ri [Huotari, Akseli] (1865). 72 Heikkinen (2000), pp. 8–11. 73 Heikkinen (2000), pp. 12–15. 74 Heikkinen (2000), p. 15. 75 Heikkinen (2000), p. 16. 76 Heikkinen (2000), pp. 32–33. 136 A. KUISMIN puuttuvaisen kristiveljen omakirjoittama elämänkertomus (“A Life Story: Self-Written by a Weak and Lacking Christian Brother”), published by himself in 1892. Eager to learn, the boy got hold of a model alphabet, made ink from soot, and used a sharpened wooden stick as a pen and birch bark as paper. A retired sea captain taught him arithmetic.77 He was elected an ambulatory schoolmaster, spending short periods in each village, teaching children to read. Roslöf was much more proficient than most schoolmasters at this time, but this did not have an effect on the pay he received. As his family was growing, it was difficult to manage on his meagre salary. Roslöf threatened the parish to resign if he was not given a raise. The gamble was not successful: the schoolmaster lost his job at the age of 46. He was without a post for a while, but in 1879, he was elected chairman of the municipal executive board and given a modest salary. He wrote the minutes of various boards and answered official letters, as well as looked after the municipal finances and bookkeeping. According to Ulla Heino, Roslöf seems to have kept his own opinions to himself, which probably reflects his position—after all, he was not a land-owning peasant like most of the other representatives.78 Roslöf taught himself Swedish and translated a religious book from Swedish to Finnish. He composed petitions and other legal documents for his peers.79 A great part of his autobiography focuses on his religious development and the beseecher movement that was prominent in his parish. In addition to the usual topics of a country newspaper correspondent, Roslöf wrote on religion, nation building, temperance, and women’s position in society in his articles.80 Even though Roslöf’s social ascent was a modest one, he had gained much cultural capital. A similar case is that of Adam Ivendorff (1814–1897), a farmer’s son from Central Finland. He had attended a primary school where he had learned to write. Having previously lived at his brother’s farm, he became an ambulatory schoolmaster in 1846, but the school ceased to function the following year because of lack of funds. After this, Ivendorff started to teach reading at his home, but his main occupation was that of a churchwarden. According to Mikko Kylliäinen, Ivendorff probably started to write legal documents at the end of the 1840s. If his clients were poor, he

77 Roslöf (1892), pp. 6, 24. 78 Heino (2006). 79 Heino (2006). 80 Heino (2006). IDEAL TYPES AND ODD MEN OUT: LEGAL LITERACY AND SOCIAL… 137 did not charge much for his services. A literate man, he was elected as acting chairman of the municipal board in 1868.81 His son became a priest. Ivendorff gained esteem in his community, and his son experienced social ascent. Kustaa Brask (1829–1906), a crofter from Joroinen in Eastern Finland, was a man who did not rise socially nor gain financial rewards for his literacy skills. According to family lore, he helped his neighbours by writing documents. He was an active contributor of readers’ letters to at least two newspapers for 20 years (1858–1877). The topics he discussed were typically the yearly agricultural cycle and matters dealing with municipal administration, such as the care of the poor and the advancement of popular education. Later in his life he sent a vast amount of his writings to the Finnish Literature Society. His manuscripts add up to about 5700 pages of texts about religious, philosophical, and societal matters, as well as agriculture, popular education, and history. Brask occasionally dealt with the question of social mobility, considering the possibilities an individual had for crossing the divide separating the gentry from the “bread-labourers.” In his essay written in 1888, Brask approved of those who sought to rise in station by working towards an occupation of higher status—as long as the individuals in question had demonstrated a natural ability for the work and acquired the necessary training. According to Kaisa Kauranen, Brask also made note of individuals entering the civil service only through birth and with a desire to take advantage of the benefits:

If their inherent talents were insufficient for carrying out the work, the common people suffered due to the ineptitude of those more powerful than themselves. Brask’s writings also reveal the belief in human equality: obligations and rights should be equally shared, and no one should be excluded from the “ownership and enjoyment” granted to another. Interestingly, many of Brask’s writings contain statements invalidating his previous position, thus returning to a stance upholding the ideology of the old hierarchical society.82

Surprisingly, legal literacy can also appear in stories of people whose position in society was marginal. Adam Honkanen (1835–1913), son of a crofter, had used birch bark as paper and a piece of coal as a pen, or carved texts with a knife on a piece of wood. He is said to have lived without a

81 Kylliäinen (2006), pp. 29–30. 82 Kauranen (2013), p. 127. 138 A. KUISMIN permanent domicile, working for his keep.83 An avid reader, some regarded him as the village fool because of his talk about chemistry, physics, and astronomy.84 According to local lore, he wrote petitions and other documents, but did not charge for these services.85 An interesting detail concerns a case in which he had accused an owner of a manor house for misconduct in looking after municipal finances, but was deemed insane.86 He is said to have written a letter to Emperor Nicholas II (r. 1894–1917) around 1902 and personally taken it to Governor-General Nikolay Bobrikov (1839–1904), but there is no record of this in the Governor- General’s archives.87 It is difficult to know the truth value of these stories, but it is interesting that some of them touch upon legal literacy skills.

Conclusion Antti Puhakka, Pietari Päivärinta, and Zefanias Suutarla were exceptional in their communities and each an individual in their own right, but seen from a larger perspective, they represent an ideal type. Suomen talonpoikia, a volume of biographies of Finnish peasants published in 1952, includes men who struggled to achieve literacy, were involved in municipal administration, contributed to newspapers, founded schools and libraries, and promoted popular education, among other things. The use of Finnish in the judiciary was one aspect of the language struggle in which practical and ideological aspects of the question were equally important. Puhakka, Päivärinta, and Suutarla used their literacy skills to produce many kinds of texts. In addition to legal documents and newspaper articles, they wrote poems (Puhakka), stories (Päivärinta), and a book on the constitution in Finland (Suutarla). All were representatives in the parliament and in this way involved with legislation, and had acted as advocates in local district courts. The Fennoman movement was instrumental in their development. Suutarla, in particular, contributed to the Finnish-language legal literature with his book on the constitution of Finland. Modernisation opened up opportunities for cooperative business ventures, which also increased the need for legal and administrative literacy. Päivärinta and Suutarla rose high

83 Honkanen (1998), pp. 17–20. 84 Honkanen (1998), pp. 24–25. 85 Honkanen (1998), p. 25. 86 Honkanen (1998), pp. 25–27. 87 Honkanen (1998), p. 27. IDEAL TYPES AND ODD MEN OUT: LEGAL LITERACY AND SOCIAL… 139 above their original status. All three gained cultural capital from contributing to the nascent Finnish-language literature, among other things. The Fennoman movement was decisive in their development. During the nineteenth century remarkable changes occurred in the legislation and in the position of the Finnish language. The use of Finnish in administration and post-elementary education improved considerably. At the end of the century, Finnish was used side by side with Swedish in administration and the judiciary. The reform of the municipal administration in 1865 was important in many ways. It empowered the peasantry and opened more opportunities for literate or semi-literate people to engage themselves with writing. According to Laura Stark, knowledge of the law was one of the tools needed to arm oneself against others’ fraud and deception and to move closer to the real centres of power in the countryside.88 In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the working-class movement started to have an effect on legal literacy. Täällä Pohjantähden alla (translated by Richard Impola into English as Under the North Star), a trilogy written by Väinö Linna and published between 1959 and 1962, follows the life in a Finnish village from the 1880s up to the early 1950s. Legal literacy comes up at the point when Janne Kivivuori, the son of a mason, was given a task by the chairman of the workers’ association to find out how to organise a legal demonstration against the eviction of a crofter family. The incident takes place around 1907. Kivivuori was given funds to obtain legal texts, and he soon learned how to achieve the desired effect without obstructing the law. In addition, he had an eye for effective strategies: the lunatic son of the crofter family was to be let loose to provide a shocking detail for the journalist who was to report on the eviction. Adolf Halme, the chairman, was impressed by the young man’s work: “You’ll go far with that kind of trickery, my boy. Read those legal books a little more and even the devil will be ashamed of you.”89 Kivivuori started to receive assignments from his neighbours to compose petitions. After the first request, one followed on the heels of another, until he gained a kind of reputation as a penman. Even Halme used him when the association needed to draft an official document.90 Later, Janne Kivivuori was elected a municipal councilman and chairman of the social

88 Stark (2016), p. 49. 89 Linna [1959–1962] (2001), p. 235. 90 Linna [1959–1962] (2001), p. 315. 140 A. KUISMIN board. By his clever interviewing methods, he managed to make the fathers of illegitimate children pay alimony for their offspring. An avid supporter of the Social Democrat Party, he finally became a member of the parliament. The story of Janne Kivivuori—even though it depicts a later era in Finnish history—encapsulates the process familiar from the lives presented above. In nineteenth-century Finland the acquisition of legal literacy skills was an important step in the process that led to the participation in local administration and finally to a seat in the parliament. However, the story has its alternative variant: using one’s legal literacy skills did not always lead to upward mobility. The case of Aleksi Huotari shows how literacy skills and a trusted position were also used for criminal purposes. Religion, rather than social mobility, was the driving force in Kustaa Roslöf’s life. Kustaa Brask’s clientele consisted of people living in the vicinity, and it is probable that he charged very little for his services. Legal literacy skills could also belong to an eccentric like Adam Honkanen who had deliberately chosen a life without a permanent domicile. According to Laura Stark, “[b]y the 1870s and 1880s, Finnish-language newspapers, active local governments, civic organisations and voluntary movements had created an increasing number of arenas for practicing and utilizing one’s writing skills, but the transformation was slow, and writing did not have the same impact on all social groups.”91

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Kuismin, Anna. 2012. Building the Nation, Lighting the Torch: Excursions into the Writings of the Rural Common People in 19th Century Finland. Journal of Finnish Studies 16 (1): 5–24. ———. 2013. From Family Inscriptions to Autobiographical Novels: Motives for Writing in Grassroots Life Stories in 19th-Century Finland. In White Field, Black Seeds: Nordic Literacy Practices in the Long Nineteenth Century, ed. Anna Kuismin and M.J. Driscoll, 101–119. Helsinki: SKS. ———. 2015. Kiertokoulun ja kansakoulun välissä – Jacob Ahlsmanin kutsumus ja kriisi. Kasvatus & Aika 8 (2): 40–55. http://www.kasvatus-ja-aika.fi/site/ index.php?lan=1&page_id=626. Accessed 1 July 2018. ———. 2016. Ploughing with the Pen: Metapoetic Elements in Finnish Nineteenth-Century Peasant Poetry. In Reading and Writing from Below: Exploring the Margins of Modernity, ed. Ann-Catrine Edlund, T.G. Ashplant, and Anna Kuismin, 9–24. Umeå: Umeå University and Royal Skyttean Society. Lähteenmäki, Olavi. 1974. Zefanias Kustaanpoika Suutarla Rymättylän pitäjästä: Valistunut talonpoika maaseudun heräämisen murroksessa. In Turun historiallinen arkisto 29, 114–215. Turku: Turun historiallinen yhdistys. Laine, Esko M., and Tuija Laine. 2010. Kirkollinen kansanopetus. In Huoneentaulun maailma: Kasvatus ja koulutus Suomessa keskiajalta 1860-luvulle, ed. Jussi Hanska and Kirsi Vainio-Korhonen, 258–306. Helsinki: Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura. Laitinen, Kai, and G.C. Schoolfield. 1998. New Beginnings, Latin and Finnish. In A History of Finland’s Literature, ed. G.C. Schoolfield, 56–63. Lincoln/ London: University of Nebraska Press. Laurikkala, Saini. 1951. Perukirjan laatijoista Varsinais-Suomen maaseudulla 1700-luvulla. In Turun historiallinen arkisto 11, 259–291. Turku: Turun historiallinen yhdistys. Laurila, Vihtori. 1956. Suomen rahvaan runoniekat sääty-yhteiskunnan aikana. Helsinki: SKS. Leino-Kaukiainen, Pirkko. 2007. Suomalaisten kirjalliset taidot autonomian kaudella. Historiallinen aikakauskirja 105 (4): 420–443. Liakka, Niilo. 1913. Pietari Västi, edusmies Porvoon valtiopäivillä. Kotiseutu 13 (2): 54–55. Linna, Väinö. (1959–1962) 2001. Under the North Star. Trans. Richard Impola. Ontario: Aspasia Books. Lyons, Martyn. 2013. A New History from Below? The Writing Culture of European Peasants, c. 1850–c. 1920. In White Field, Black Seeds: Nordic Literacy Practices in the Long Nineteenth Century, ed. Anna Kuismin and M.J. Driscoll, 14–29. Helsinki: SKS. ———. 2014. The Power of the Scribe: Delegated Writing in Modern Europe. European History Quarterly 44 (2): 244–262. 144 A. KUISMIN

———. 2017. The Future of the History of Writing. In Approaches to the History of Written Culture: A World Inscribed, ed. Martyn Lyons and Rita Marquilhas, 225–238. Cham: Palgrave Macmillan. Mäkinen, Ilkka. 2016. ‘The World Will Be Turned Upside Down, When Even the Maids Are Taught to Write’: Prejudices Against Teaching All People to Write in Nineteenth Century Finland. In Reading and Writing from Below: Exploring the Margins of Modernity, ed. Ann-Catrine Edlund, T.G. Ashplant, and Anna Kuismin, 25–39. Umeå: Umeå University and Royal Skyttean Society. Oja, Aulis. 1952. Antti Härjänsilmä. In Suomen talonpoikia Lallista Kyösti Kallioon, ed. Esko Aaltonen, 1142–1147. Helsinki: WSOY. Ojajärvi, Aulis. 1952. Tuomas Taittonen: Kyytirättäri, kirjastomies, kulttuurihen- kilö. In Kytösavut 5, ed. Aulis Ojajärvi and K. Lamminheimo, 184–198. Vaasa: Etelä-Pohjanmaan Maakuntaliitto. Rantanen, Arja. 2014. Pennförare i periferin: Österbottniska sockenskrivare 1721–1868. Turku: Åbo Akademi. Schoolfield, George S. 1998. Introduction. InA History of Finland’s Literature, ed. G.C. Schoolfield, xvii–xxxx. Lincoln/London: University of Nebraska Press. Soikkanen, Hannu. 1966. Kunnallinen itsehallinto kansanvallan perusta: Maalaiskunnan itsehallinnon historia. Helsinki: Maalaiskuntien liitto. Stark, Laura. 2016. Motives for Writing and Attitudes Regarding Writing Ability Among Rural Commoners in Finland 1840–1900. In Reading and Writing from Below: Exploring the Margins of Modernity, ed. Ann-Catrine Edlund, T.G. Ashplant, and Anna Kuismin, 41–57. Umeå: Umeå University and the Royal Skyttean Society. Sulkunen, Irma. 2004a. Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura 1831–1892. Helsinki: SKS. ———. 2004b. Kultala, Keckman ja Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura. In Henrich Zschokke, Kultala: Hyödyllinen ja huvittava historia, yhteiselle kansalle annettu, trans. Carl Niclas Keckmann, intr. Irma Sulkunen, vii–xviii. Helsinki: SKS. Teperi, Jouko. 1986. Elämää maaseudulla sata vuotta sitten: Suomalainen yhteiskunta Pietari Päivärinnan kuvaamana. Porvoo: WSOY. PART II

(Popular) Legal Literature as a Means to Legal Literacy Legal Literates in Eighteenth-Century Swedish Towns: Evidence of Book Ownership in Estate Inventories (Helsinki, Oulu, Porvoo, and Kokkola)

Mia Korpiola

Introduction Studies on book ownership in Sweden during the eighteenth century have long indicated in passing that not only nobles and various civil servants but even peasants in relatively peripheral areas owned law books to a high degree. While legal literature more generally was rarer, the vernacular printed laws formed the third most popular group of books after psalm books and Bibles. In addition, law books and statute collections were the biggest group of literature after devotional literature. These results have been confirmed in several studies from different provinces and towns in the Swedish Realm.1 In households with less than five books, these tended to be psalm books, catechisms, prayer books, and other devotional litera-

1 E.g. Grönroos (1947), pp. 114, 116; Lext (1950), pp. 220–223, 245–247; Carlsson (1972), pp. 71–79.

M. Korpiola (*) University of Turku, Turku, Finland e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s) 2019 147 M. Korpiola (ed.), Legal Literacy in Premodern European Societies, World Histories of Crime, Culture and Violence, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-96863-6_7 148 M. KORPIOLA ture. However, small individual libraries with six to ten books already included useful manuals such as law books.2 These analyses have mainly been based on estate inventories for inheritance purposes (Sw. bouppteck- ning, Fi. perukirja). The statistics have been compiled from this source material supplemented, in certain cases, also by book auction catalogues furnishing researchers with information on book ownership.3 But who were the people who owned legal books and what kind of literature did these people possess? Can we discern certain types of people with different legal book collections? What does book ownership tell about legal literacy and its possible changes in the course of the eighteenth century? In this chapter, the ownership of law books, legal commentaries, popular legal manuals, and other legal works in some provincial towns of early- modern Sweden, namely, Helsinki (Sw. Helsingfors), Oulu (Sw. Uleåborg), Porvoo (Sw. Borgå), and Kokkola (Sw. Gamlakarleby, nowadays Karleby), will be investigated systematically. These towns happen to be in the Finnish part of the Swedish Realm of the time,4 but the results can probably cautiously be generalised to other provincial towns of similar size and condition in the Swedish Realm.5 These towns have been selected because their estate inventories—especially concerning book ownership in general—have been printed.6 Estate inventories in which a dead person’s property, including books, are listed form the main source material. In this case, the estate inventories contain 681 entries of legal books. Two are from the joint estate inventory of married couples, while 95 come from women’s inventories. The rest, 584

2 Laine (2006), p. 274. 3 E.g. for the auction catalogues of Turku (1737–1750), see Grönroos (1958), and for Stockholm (c. 1780–1800), see Ankarcrona (1989). 4 I have used the expression “Swedish towns” when talking of all the towns in the Swedish Realm and more specifically “Finnish towns” for those that were situated in present-day Finland. Yet, this is not meant to cloud the fact that Finland had been an integrated part of the Swedish Realm ever since the Middle Ages, and so also the Finnish estates sent representatives to the Swedish diets. Finland remained a part of Sweden until conquered by Russia in 1809. Thus, there is no doubt about the fact that Finnish towns were Swedish towns. 5 Researchers have observed that the evidence of books owned by eighteenth-century town dwellers in major Finnish towns largely correspond with the most frequently owned books in Gothenburg. See, for example, Grönroos (1958), pp. 107–108. 6 Brenner (1963–1965) will hereafter be referred to as “Oulu” with the number of the estate inventory and page in the edition; Åkerman (1934) [hereafter: “Porvoo”]; Björkman and Åkerman (1935) [hereafter: “Kokkola”]; Grönroos (1937) [hereafter: “Helsinki”]. LEGAL LITERATES IN EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY SWEDISH TOWNS… 149 entries, come from male estate inventories. The books of the chosen towns of Helsinki, Kokkola, Oulu, and Porvoo have been discussed in connection to other Finnish towns, as accounted for in Henrik Grönroos’ and Ann-Charlotte Nyman’s work Boken i Finland (“The Book in Finland”) from 1996 and in other smaller studies.7 In the Realm of Sweden, all towns were dwarfed in comparison with the capital Stockholm, which in 1747 had almost 60,000 inhabitants. Next came the international maritime town of Gothenburg and the mining town of Falun (9426 and 6799 inhabitants respectively in 1747). Turku, the administrative capital of Finland, was the sixth biggest town of Sweden with its 4984 inhabitants. Oulu had received its town privileges in 1605, and in 1747, it was the second largest town in Finland, making it the most populated town of the sample with its population of 1606. Next came medieval Porvoo with 1478 and Helsinki (privil. 1550) with 1080 inhabitants. Kokkola, established in 1620, had slightly less than 1000 inhabitants. All in all, there were 33 towns in Sweden with 1–2000 inhabitants.8 Of these four towns, Helsinki and Oulu went through economic booms resulting in rapid growth in the latter part of the eighteenth century, but for different reasons. In the early eighteenth century, the export of beams and sawn timber formed the backbone of the Helsinki trade.9 By 1800, the population of Helsinki had become almost three-fold, 3022 inhabitants, because of the building of the sea fortress of Suomenlinna (Sw. Sveaborg), which had begun in 1748. First the construction works, when as much as thousands of soldiers toiled at the site, led by officers, and later also the garrison boosted the market considerably.10 Porvoo suffered from the competition with Helsinki, and various agricultural produce (for example linen cloth, meat, grain, flour, and butter) formed its export products.11 Oulu also burgeoned in the period, thanks to the growing tar production and export trade. In 1765, Oulu and Kokkola obtained the so-called staple rights that Helsinki and Porvoo had had for centuries, that is, the right to engage in foreign trade directly. Small towns without staple rights

7 E.g. Grönroos and Nyman (1996); Grönroos (1947); Grönroos (1958); Laine (2006); Parland-von Essen (2008); Hakapää (2011). See also the HENRIK database: Books and Their Owners in Finland up to 1809. 8 Fällström and Mäntylä (1982), pp. 178–181, table 1. 9 Aalto (2015), pp. 351–378; Hornborg (1950), pp. 124–128. 10 Hornborg (1950), pp. 213–231. 11 Hartman (1906), pp. 289–293. 150 M. KORPIOLA had to trade through a major Swedish town, often Stockholm or Turku, forcing them to use middlemen. Tar, salmon, and butter were the major export products of Oulu, while Kokkola also exported tar. In 1776, Oulu became the residence of the provincial governor with his administration. This brought more lawyers and civil servants to the town.12 Until the same year, Helsinki, again, was similarly the residence of the provincial governor and his administrative staff, but Hämeenlinna (Sw. Tavastehus) was made the residential town in 1776.13 Thus, despite the vicissitudes of the wars, all four towns of this study were growing in size, wealth, and importance during the period. Consequently, the town administration was developed and litigation and other legal business increased. Townspeople and civil servants were required to manage the affairs in both fields and to acquire as well as improve the necessary administrative and legal skills. Legal literature played an important role in supplementing their basic literacy, knowledge, and skills acquired in schools (and possibly university) as well as through their work and experiences. This is also reflected in the book collections of the inhabitants of these four towns as the auction catalogues and—as analysed here—the post-mortem estate inventories demonstrate.

Estate Inventories as Sources of Book Ownership When using estate inventories drafted for estate division purposes as source material, there are certain caveats to consider. Making inventories after the death of a deceased person in anticipation of a division of property between the heirs theoretically became obligatory by the 1734 law code that came into force in 1736.14 Yet, this does not mean that inventories were necessarily made after all townspeople. Inventories were very rare after children or young people under 20 years of age, and people belonging to lower social groups and the poor were also largely underrepresented. In fact, in some localities, practically no books were mentioned in estate inventories even if other sources prove the existence of books in households. In fact, affluence was no guarantee that an inventory was made, even though they

12 Halila (1953), e.g. pp. 174–232; Satokangas (1989), pp. 102–106, 113; Nikander (1944), pp. 49–55. 13 Hornborg (1950), pp. 72–75, 260–261. 14 9:1, Chapter on Inheritance, Sveriges Rikes Lag. LEGAL LITERATES IN EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY SWEDISH TOWNS… 151 were more numerous among the wealthier segment of the population.15 For example, in the estate inventories of the town of Helsinki, the officers stationed at the emerging sea fortress of Suomenlinna just outside the town are almost completely absent.16 In general, the wealth and population of all Finnish towns had suffered considerably during the Great Famine of 1696–1697, when at least a quarter of the Finnish population perished, and by the ravages of war, first during the Great Northern War 1700–1721 and then the Russo–Swedish war of 1741–1743 (also known as the “Hats’ Russian War”). Russian military forces occupied Finland during two periods, known as the “Great Wrath” (1713–1721) and the “Lesser Wrath” (1742–1743). The wars were supplemented by other calamities. In 1710, Helsinki had been struck hard by the plague that killed two-thirds of its population, and the destruction was completed by the conflagration in 1713 during the war.17 The population of Oulu had been halved during the Great Famine, and much of the town was burnt down in 1705, while crop failure and the plague hit the town in 1708 and 1710 respectively. In 1714, the town was looted by the Russians, and at the end of the Great Northern War in 1721, it was largely in ruins when the majority of its remaining inhabitants started to return from Sweden, where they had fled to during the war. Much the same applied to Kokkola.18 The impoverishment and the loss of books through war-time lootings were recorded in estate inventories all over the country, not only in the towns of our study.19 Like many towns, Porvoo was burnt in 1708 by the invading Russians before being hit by the plague in 1710. In 1760, the town was again destroyed by a fire.20 However, in practice, with few exceptions, its series of estate inventories began after the “Lesser Wrath,” during which the ecclesiastical records were taken by the Russian troops. Occasionally, the destruction of the estate inventory during the occupation was expressly mentioned.21 In addition, the ravages of war and

15 Pleijel (1944), pp. 6–7; Markkanen (1988), pp. 52–54. 16 Grönroos (1983b), pp. 70–72. 17 Aalto (2015), pp. 485–487, 491–504. 18 Halila (1953), pp. 1–21; Nikander (1944), pp. 1–16; Vahtola (1987), pp. 98–99; Satokangas (1987), p. 111. 19 E.g. Koivisto (1937), pp. 125–126. 20 Neovius (1897), pp. 59–61, 87; Hartman (1906), pp. 251–265, 281–287, 347–348. 21 Neovius (1897), p. 80; e.g. Porvoo, no. 25 (Hinrich Kökström d. 1736), p. 13. The town records were almost completely destroyed in 1708, while they were evacuated to Sweden during the “Lesser Wrath,” Neovius (1897), pp. 60, 78–79. 152 M. KORPIOLA fires had much affected the wealth—especially the immobile property—of the inhabitants of Porvoo, which was also occasionally mentioned in the inventories. For example, the estate inventory after master turner Anders Sundberg (d. 1743) and his widow Maria Höök (d. 1765) noted that the estate of Sundberg had not been listed because the enemy had destroyed everything, while the “Great Fire of 1760” had destroyed all property for the second time.22 Moreover, as an estate inventory represents the terminus of a person’s life, they provide us only with a snapshot of the moment of death. They tell nothing about the property owned before this. Religious literature is possibly overemphasised in the material, as it was considered useful and conso- latory in old age or illness, while a retired person may have given or sold away books deemed unnecessary at this point of life.23 For example Zacharias Bonge, merchant and town councillor of Oulu, had given his law book with commentary to his son before his death as the estate inventory noted.24 We also learn that merchant Johan Niclas Myhr (d. 1774) of Helsinki had bought several legal books at auctions, but only three works remained at his death: the law book, five volumes of a statute collection and a volume with decisions of the Diet (possibly edited by Anders Anton von Stiernman [1695–1765, formerly From and Stiernman]).25 Similarly, town councillor Carl Jacob Dobbin (d. 1783) of Helsinki, who owned one of the most substantial legal book collections in our towns, would have had an even more extensive one had he not auctioned away several of his legal books (including the Corpus Iuris Civilis and many other legal works) in 1776.26

22 Porvoo, no. 202 (Anders Sundberg 1771), p. 67. See also Porvoo, no. 12 (Thomas Harberg 1735), p. 10; Porvoo, nos. 51–52 (Johan Udd and Johan Saxberg, 1760), p. 21. 23 Parland-von Essen (2008), pp. 11–12, 22–23; Hakapää (2011), pp. 57–59. 24 Oulu, no. 294 (Zacharias Bonge, d. 173?), p. 125. 25 Parland-von Essen (2008), p. 21; Helsinki, no. 557 (Myhr), p. 318. According to the HENRIK database: Books and Their Owners in Finland up to 1809 (search “Myhr,” category “Buyer (auctions)” on 2 July 2018), Myhr had bought legal books at several auctions between 1749 and 1767. In 1749, Myhr bought a bunch of statutes, the Articles of War, and the Church Law from advocate Kiölhman. Two years later, he acquired the German jurist Andreas Gaill’s (1526–1587) Practicarum Observationum on the procedure at the Imperial Chamber Court from provincial treasurer Arvid Carlstedt. In 1759, he bought the 1734 Law Code from the library of Captain H.A. Cederstolpe. Four years later, at the auction of vice notary Karl Fredrik Forsström, he purchased the law book in Swedish and Finnish and the Acta publica or the Swedish fundamental laws, and in 1767, he bought the old law book and several volumes of statutes. 26 Hakapää (2011), p. 57; HENRIK database: Books and Their Owners in Finland up to 1809, search “Dobbin,” category “buyer at auction” on 29 May 2018. LEGAL LITERATES IN EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY SWEDISH TOWNS… 153

Estate inventories are also incomplete as records. For example, two Helsinki officials, who are very likely to have owned several legal works, are provided with teasing mentions of unspecified works. Johan Gustaf Sundling (d. 1797), secretary of the lower town court (kämnersrättsnota- rie), had “divers old books.” When Frederik Mattens, assessor and administrative burgomaster (politieborgmästare), was contemplating remarriage three years after losing his wife Catherina Christina Dobbin (d. 1797), the inventory of the estate, also containing “divers books,” was made for inheritance division purposes.27 Similarly, the wealthy estate of customs manager Isac Finerus of Kokkola included diverse Swedish, French, and German books worth 150 dalers.28 In some cases, the deceased had owned so many books that there were separate inventories for them, and these have unfortunately been lost. At least in certain instances, the persons were such that one can expect that they had owned books dealing with law as well. Military judge and provincial secretary (länssekreterare) Salomon Cederwald (c. 1712–1790, formerly Stichaeus) owned 317 books, assessed at 20 riksdalers. The items of his book collection were listed separately, but unfortunately this inventory has not survived. Yet, one can only imagine that his son Arvid, secretary at the Turku Court of Appeal, may have inherited some of his legal books.29 The separate lists of the books of some teachers of Porvoo have also been lost: for example, magister Mårten Lundbeck (d. 1771), vice rector (kon- rektor) of Porvoo, lector Anders Kraftman (d. 1791) of the Porvoo gymnasium, and his successor magister Sigfrid Porthan (d. 1798). In addition, the listings of two other major book collections, that of Bishop Paul Krogius (d. 1792) and of the wealthy merchant Erich Nilckan (d. 1772), are no longer available to us.30 In both instances, one can assume that the books in their possession would have resembled those of their colleagues and included many legal books. In case of married persons, it is often impossible to know which spouse was the actual owner of the items listed. As both spouses had equal rights

27 Helsinki, no. 1050 (Johan Gustaf Sundling, 1801), pp. 241, 359; Helsinki, no. 1041 (Catharina Christina Dobbin, 1800), pp. 238–239, 338. 28 Kokkola, no. 450 (Finerus 1775), p. 136. 29 Helsinki, no. 802 (Salomon Cederwald, 1790), pp. 182–183, 338. See also Grönroos (1947), p. 107. 30 Porvoo, no. 196 (Mårten Lundbeck, 1771), p. 65; Porvoo, no. 307 (Anders Kraftman, 1791), p. 98; Porvoo, no. 327 (Paul Krogius, 1792); Porvoo, no. 400 (Sigfrid Porthan, 1798), p. 121; Porvoo, no. 205 (Erich Nilckan, 1772), p. 68. 154 M. KORPIOLA to the immobile property of the household,31 this was usually listed in its entirety in anticipation of the division of the property between the heirs and the widow(er) or the new marriage of the widow(er). This is especially marked in the case of book collections.32 For example, the 1738 estate inventory after the death of Margaretha Kolbeckia (d. 1735), lists a library of several hundreds of largely Latin books—including 22 legal volumes— that obviously belonged to her widower Johan Forsskåhl (1691–1762), rural dean (prost), vicar of Helsinki and a major book collector.33 After Forsskåhl’s death, the volumes belonging to his “beautiful theological library,” by this time, a much bigger collection of 1440 items and 54 bound compilation volumes, were listed and auctioned in Stockholm. Some of the auctioned legal works in Forsskål’s collection were published after 1738, proving that he added to it when new works came to the book market.34 How about women as owners of legal literature? Were they simply transmitting inherited mobile property on from a man to another man? Or, should we understand these women as active users of the law in private capacities? We can speculate on either possibility. Women could and did acquire legal books by purchase or inheritance. We know from sixteenth-century property inventories that noblewomen, who could be major landowners, owned law books. At this time, these were manuscripts containing the medieval Swedish law possibly together with some other legal texts.35 Moreover, some widows of burghers and merchants successfully continued their husbands’ trade and needed legal knowledge for

31 In the towns, both spouses had equal shares in the communal moveable property of the married couple. 32 The books listed by Tuija Laine (Laine [2006], pp. 292–293, 298–299) in the estate inventory after the death of Margareta Catherina Sjöman (née Tjäder) (1769–1798), wife of navy ensign Carl Erik Sjöman, contained more than 40 items. However, even here it is likely that several of these actually belonged to—or were used by—the widower, at least the books on nautical topics, as well as the copy of the 1734 Law Code and the recently (1796) published formulary by Magnus Sellander. 33 Helsinki, no. 79 (Margaretha Kolbeckia, 1738), pp. 285–290. 34 Förteckning på framledne kyrkoherdens, herr doctor Forskåhls […] bibliotheque (1762). 35 1530, Hausen (1935), no. 6557, p. 343: Margareta, widow of district judge Anders [Gustavsson] Slatte of Brödtorp in Pohja (Sw. Pojo), owned a law book (en lagbok), as did the unmarried aristocrat Filippa Fleming (d. 1578), Hausen (1917), appendix A [Förteckningar öfver jugfru Philippa Eriksdotter Flemings kvarlåtenskap på Yläne gård 1578 (?) samt 1582 (1591)], p. 458, mentions a law book (Gamble lagh booch aff perckementt – 1 st:e). LEGAL LITERATES IN EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY SWEDISH TOWNS… 155 this. Several widows of merchants, artisans, and civil servants are known to have been in the possession of law books in the four towns being studied.36 In our material, for example, apothecary Jacob Karberg’s (d. 1782) law book went to his unmarried minor daughter Albertina as his only child and heir.37 Moreover, we know that midwives in Finnish eighteenth- century towns were centrally trained municipal officials, who had taken special oaths and who could act as expert witnesses in court cases related to women’s medicine or childbirth. They may have needed legal literature in their work.38 Yet, in certain cases, the role of women appears mainly to have been to pass on legal literature from one man to another—regardless who the official owner of the books was. In our sources, for example, the Church ordinance or law in the estate of Margareta Forsman was expressly in her possession to be transmitted from her father to her minor brothers.39 In another example from Raahe (Sw. Brahestad), a copy of the 1734 Law Code of Sweden, printed in 1754, was first owned by merchant and ship- owner Baltzar Freitag (1720–1795), who also represented the town at the Swedish Diet in Stockholm. The book contains Freitag’s signature and under it, his daughter Anna’s (1764–1838) son-in-law, sea captain Johan Leufstadius’ (1795–1867) and grandson Hans Johan Leufstadius’ (1829–1906) signatures. As Anna’s or her daughter Catharina Christina Hallberg’s (1806–1889) names are not in the book marking their possession of it, it seems that they were seen more as channels transferring the book from man to man.40 Nevertheless, despite these all cautionary remarks, the books listed in the inventories are generally the best sources to indicate what books were thought relevant and who in the Swedish towns could be considered legal literates, having knowledge of (or least access to knowledge of) and skills in the law and legal matters.

36 E.g. Helsinki, no. 1030 (Christina Nordberg, 1800), p. 359; Helsinki, no. 1052 (Anna Christina Öhman, 1801), p. 360; Oulu, no. 1137 (Anna Katarina Engman, 1789), p. 467. 37 Oulu, nos. 946 and 959, Jacob Karlberg, 1782, 1783), pp. 407, 413. 38 Vainio-Korhonen (2012); E.g. the HENRIK database: Books and Their Owners in Finland up to 1809 indicates that, for example, certain books on forensic medicine were owned by women (search “Kiernander,” category “Author” on 2 July 2018). 39 Oulu, no. 143 (Margareta Forsman, 1715), p. 575. 40 Turunen (2007), p. 24: Anna’s daughter Catharina Christina Hallberg (1806–1889) was the fruit of Anna’s second marriage to sea captain and merchant Hans Hallberg. 156 M. KORPIOLA

What Can We Learn from Numbers? Analysing Language, Time, and Place The legal books appearing in the estate inventories of the Swedish towns were predominantly written in Swedish. Latin works formed the next largest group, while German and Finnish laws were also mentioned.41 The 12 works in Finnish were the Church Law and/or Church Ordinance (6), the 1734 Law Code (5), and the Articles of War (1).42 The 1686 Church Law had been translated into Finnish in 1688 by vicar Henricus Florinus (1633–1705) of Paimio, and the first edition consisted of 280 copies for the use of parishes and individual priests.43 The 1734 Law was translated through the initiative of the Turku Court of Appeal. The translation work had begun in 1741, but, interrupted by the “Lesser Wrath,” the book was finally published by Georg Salonius (1705–1760), registrar of the Turku Court of Appeal in 1759.44 The estate inventories mention few German-language legal works, and these were mostly translated Swedish laws: the Articles of War (2) and the 1442 Law with a commentary.45 In addition, there was a work called Processus Juris in German and Latin, possibly Benedict Carpzov’s (the Elder, 1595–1666) Processus Juris in foro Saxonico.46 Merchant and town councillor Petter Schwartz’s (d. 1793) rich book collection contained a volume with Russian, Danish, and Dutch statutes, and the estate inventory of Johanna Gustava Sinius of Kokkola also listed the Danish maritime law, probably belonging to her husband, burgomaster Charles

41 On the language of books in Finnish towns, see also Grönroos (1947), pp. 115–116. 42 For the Church Law and/or Church Ordinance, Kokkola, no. 57 (Matts Pehrsson Klemmer, 1731), p. 23; Helsinki, no. 79 (Margaretha Kolbeckia, 1738), p. 285; Oulu, no. 329 (Mathias Dan. Blohm, 1742), p. 583. Oulu, no. 357 (Samuel Hornæus, 1744), p. 594; Kokkola, no. 348 (Christina Lithén, married Rahm), p. 109; Kokkola, no. 522 (Johan Rahm, 1783), p. 157; the 1734 Law Code: Helsinki, no. 380 (Carl Friedrich Forsström, 1763), p. 305; Oulu, no. 719 (Maria Sipelia, 1770), p. 326; Helsinki, no. 811 (Henric Carberg, 1790), p. 339; Helsinki, no. 938 (Petter Schwartz, 1794), p. 351; Oulu, no. 1416 (Nils Celsius, 1800), p. 620; and the Articles of War: Porvoo, no. 332 (Georg Eberhard Ekholtz, 1792), p. 105. 43 Laine (2006), pp. 118–119; Laine (1997), p. 284. 44 Laine (1997), pp. 284–286. 45 For the Articles of War: Helsinki, no. 124 (Claes Heidenstrauch, 1746), p. 298; Helsinki, no. 861 (Lorentz Lythberg, 1790), p. 342; and for the Law of 1442, Helsinki, no. 125 (Hedvig Procopaea, 1746), p. 298. 46 Helsinki, no. 868 (Johan David Tilliander, 1791), p. 343. LEGAL LITERATES IN EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY SWEDISH TOWNS… 157

Sovelius.47 The Finnish towns do not list any legal titles in French, unlike the Book Auction Rooms of Stockholm catering to the needs of the more aristocratic and cosmopolitan public at the end of the eighteenth century.48 The overwhelming predominance of Swedish-language (and, to a smaller degree, Finnish-language) legal books is not surprising considering the strongly vernacular Swedish legal culture and its reliance on Swedish written law. During the seventeenth century, foreign law and jurisprudence had had some importance in the practice of appellate courts. After the 1734 Law Code, however, foreign jurisprudence and natural law lost their role in legal argumentation in law courts.49 This change in the legal culture is visible in the division between the ownership of more theoretical Latin legal literature—often natural law—and more practical Swedish law books, statute collections, and legal literature. It also coincides with the decreasing popularity of law studies abroad among Swedish law students.50 Swedish lawyers, men of law, and legal literates did not need foreign legal books in their daily business, even if they sometimes owned such works, while an interest in Latin legal literature was proportionately greater among members of the learned estate. In this respect, the Swedish legal book ownership patterns compare with those of legal books in certain eighteenth-century Danish-Norwegian book collections. These have been observed “to reflect the general climate of legal discourse in the twin monarchy [… emphasizing] domestic law codes, decrees and recesses, and […] commentaries on these works by Danish-Norwegian authors.” While works based on Roman law were no longer as popular as before, natural law was still favoured.51 As for natural law in Sweden, both the Dutch Hugo Grotius (1583–1645) and the German Samuel Pufendorf (1632–1694), whose works appear in the estate inventories, were in Swedish service. Natural law was discussed in some Swedish dissertations and works as well.52 By analysing the temporal spread of the ownership of legal books based on our sources, we can distinguish between two different periods. From

47 Helsinki, no. 938 (Petter Schwartz, 1794), p. 349; Kokkola, no. 780 (Johanna Gustava Sinius, 1796), p. 227. 48 Ankarcrona (1989), pp. 120–121, table B1, 205–206. 49 Vepsä (2013), esp. pp. 637–638; Björne (1995), esp. pp. 261–267. 50 Vasara-Aaltonen (2017). 51 Dahl (2013), p. 201. 52 Björne (1995), pp. 38–39, 91–93. 158 M. KORPIOLA

1704 to 1760, the ownership of legal books was not very common as they were mentioned in only 53 estate inventories. The overall legal book collections were relatively small, the median being one legal book per estate inventory. All in all, 33 persons owned one legal item, while 18 persons had two to six legal books. However, omitting the extraordinary book collection of rural dean Forsskål discussed below in more detail, which would distort the results, the average was 2.2 books. During the period, only two persons possessed bigger legal book collections with ten books each. These were notary and town councillor Sigfrid Brumerus (1675–1743) of Kokkola and Claes Heidenstrauch (d. 1746), the Helsinki customs manager (tullförvaltare) who had moved there from the town of Hamina (Sw. Fredrikshamn) after it had been annexed to Russia after the Russo–Swedish war of 1741–1743.53 The second period, 1761–1806, clearly shows that the number of legal books had grown considerably. During this time, 160 estate inventories listed legal books, which probably not only testifies of a heightened frequency of making inventories for inheritance purposes, but also of a growing frequency of actually possessing them. Books were also more readily available. In Sweden, as in many other countries, the last third of the eighteenth century heralded the rise of the reading middle class. Especially novels and entertaining reading became fashionable.54 During the so- called reading revolution of the latter part of the eighteenth century, even middle- and lower-rank civil servants and burghers started to collect books, and certain enthusiasts amassed libraries of some hundreds or even thousands of books.55 The reading practices started to spread even to more provincial towns, and from there, to the surrounding hinterland through elite networks. Consequently, reading fashions and books trickled to the Finnish countryside, where a growing number of books have been reported in the latter half of the eighteenth century.56 During the whole period, a substantial majority of books owned in the Finnish towns on the shores of the Gulf of Bothnia were religious (Bibles, psalm or hymn books, collections of homilies, etc.). In the book collections of burghers, the proportion of secular books had started to grow since the 1770s and could be more than a third. The more individual

53 On Brumerus, see Kotivuori (2005), Brumerus, Sigfrid. 54 Ankarcrona (1989), pp. 50–55. 55 Ankarcrona (1989), pp. 87–91; Mäkinen (1997), pp. 19–49, 85–109. 56 Koivisto (1937), p. 128. LEGAL LITERATES IN EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY SWEDISH TOWNS… 159 choices and the increase of secular literature reflect the influence of the Enlightenment in the elites of the towns.57 As has been shown in book historical studies, the bigger the book collection studied, the more likely it was that it included at least the law book and—in bigger collections—a legal reference library. In the 160 estate inventories studied, 541 entries concerning legal books were made. While the median was still one, indicating that most people only possessed one such volume, the average had risen to 3.4. More remarkable is the number of big legal book collections (ten or more titles). While there were two of them in the period 1704–1760, the number had multiplied to 14 between 1761 and 1806. This means that the proportion of big collections had increased from 3.64 per cent to 8.75 per cent of the estate inventories with legal books. In addition, the bigger collections had become more voluminous. In the first period, both of them had 10 works, while in the second, their size ranged from 10 to 37, the average being 17.57. It is also worth noticing that of the 14 men with bigger legal book collections, three were burgomasters, two judicial burgomasters, two administrative burgomasters (politie- och commerceborg- måstare), one judicial town councillor, two town councillors/merchants, one town councillor, one town councillor/town secretary, one provincial secretary, and one provincial treasurer. Ten out of the 14 of them lived in Helsinki.58 This general trend coincided with an increasing legal professionalisation. The nascent specialisation and division between administrative and judicial affairs in urban administration is visible during this period. The development started in the previous century in the most important towns as men with university law studies and/or law degrees were increasingly appointed as judges (“judicial burgomasters” or “judicial town

57 Mäkinen (2007), p. 9. 58 Helsinki, no. 395 (Jonas Carlstedt, 1764 – 10 items), p. 306; Helsinki, no. 414 (Anders Ignatius, 1765 – 13 items), p. 308; Helsinki, no. 432 (Nils Larsson Burtz, 1766 – 13 items), p. 309; Oulu, no. 678 (Mathias Ulander, 1767 – 15 items), p. 311; Kokkola, no. 342 (Erland Noreen, 1768 – 16 items), p. 107; Porvoo, no. 166 (Gabriel Hagert, 1774 – 24 items), pp. 55–56; Helsinki, no. 631 (David Bergenfelt, 1779 – 14 items), p. 321; Helsinki 651 (Isaac Lindeberg, 1781 – 24 items), pp. 322–324; Helsinki, no. 703 (Carl Jacob Dobbin, 1784 – 21 items), pp. 327–332; Helsinki, no. 768 (Abraham Magnus Alfthan, 1788 – 10 items), p. 337; Helsinki, no. 810 (Johan Kuhlberg, 1790 – 21 items), pp. 338–339; Kokkola, no. 733 (Henric Gabriel Peldan, 1793 – 15 items), p. 213; Helsinki, no. 938 (Petter Schwartz, 1794 – 37 items), pp. 349–354; Helsinki, no. 1051 (Gustaf Sacklén, 1801 – 13 items), pp. 359–360. 160 M. KORPIOLA councillors”). The royal letter of 1749 (10 March 1749) proclaimed that a person could not be appointed burgomaster, town prosecutor (fiscal), military judge (auditör), or provincial secretary (landssekreterare) if he could not demonstrate with a university testimonial that he actually possessed a sufficient knowledge of the law.59 Yet, this did not amount to requiring a degree in law. Moreover, this rule, which was to be supervised by the provincial governors who were to confirm the candidate nomina- tion going to the king, was not always followed in practice. Yet, as a rule, lawyers were given a bigger role in the list of propositions of the candidates.60 In addition to Turku, in the Finnish part of the Swedish Realm, only Helsinki had two burgomasters, a judicial and an administrative one, since 1757.61 In 1760, the judicial burgomaster who presided over the Helsinki town court received 700 silver dalers per annum while the administrative burgomaster only received 400. In addition to four town councillors with an annual salary of 150 silver dalers, there was a fifth, who was the president of the lower town court, the so-called kemner’s court, receiving 200 dalers. Ordinarily, towns had between four and six town councillors, mostly elected from among the wealthier merchants. However, in major towns, men who had studied law were increasingly appointed as town councillors (judicial town councillors) to sit in the town court. In Helsinki, two were appointed in 1769, whereas in the smaller towns any merchant with university studies was perceived as a suitable candidate. In addition to these, Helsinki had a town secretary, a town notary, a notary of lower town court (kemner’s court), a town prosecutor (fiscal), a town bailiff, a town treasurer, four town servants, and a town midwife. By contrast, Porvoo had only one burgomaster and four town councillors (receiving 150 silver dalers per year), a notary, a town bailiff, a treasurer, and two town servants. In the small town of Hämeenlinna, established in 1639 next to the Castle of Häme, one only found a burgomaster/notary, four town councillors (receiving a nominal 5 silver dalers a year), a prosecutor (fiscal), a town bailiff/treasurer, and a town servant. This must be contrasted to the pop-

59 Nikula (1981), pp. 211–212, 224; 10 Mar. 1749, Modée and Lindhjelm (1754), p. 2857. This was supplemented by the royal letter of 9 March 1750, Modée and Lindhjelm (1756), pp. 2936–2938; Björne (1995), pp. 95–96. On the range of tasks belonging to the duties of town secretaries, town prosecutors, and various other civil servants, see Nikula (1981), pp. 207–209; Fällström and Mäntylä (1982), pp. 193, 221–224. 60 Cederberg (1947), pp. 239, 246; Halila (1953), pp. 24–45. 61 Nikula (1981), p. 193. LEGAL LITERATES IN EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY SWEDISH TOWNS… 161 ulation of the town which in 1751 was 649 persons. Being a town councillor meant participating in a broad range of administrative and judicial tasks, and thus the salary did not correspond to the work load even if service charges augmented the income.62 Generally, the education of provincial civil servants continued to improve. In the course of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, locals in positions of trust were being replaced by full-time administrators. The civil servants had increasingly studied at university and taken degrees. Instead of only ordinary reading, writing, and, counting skills or general university studies focusing on theology, Latin, and rhetoric, the positions increasingly required also specialised skills. The ability and skills of the applicants were more strictly monitored, while a royal letter from 1799 required an official degree of those aspiring for most administrative (Sw. kameral) posts involving land and taxation. In return, the civil servants wanted recognition of this, as well as a more elevated status.63 During the eighteenth century, especially in the periods of 1730–1760 and 1780–1792, the opportunities for commoners in general and non-noble persons of standing to advance within the central administration took a positive turn.64 Specialised education became even more worthwhile.

Learned Books in Latin for the Learned Estate: Latin Jurisprudence and Natural Law Priests and teachers were important book owners in our towns. Three of the four towns were centres of education in their region. Both Helsinki and Oulu had secondary schools (Sw. trivialskola, lit. “trivial schools”), established in 1641 and 1682 respectively. These seats of learning had several schoolmasters who had studied at universities, namely, at the Academy of Turku and the University of Uppsala, and some had even taken master of arts degrees there.65 The schools had also housed scholarly libraries, even if these were completely destroyed during the Great Northern War. Many scholarly libraries went up in flames or were

62 Nikula (1981), pp. 193–194, 197–199, 213; Cederberg (1947), pp. 240–241; Hornborg (1950), pp. 262–264, 268–276, 375–389; Fällström and Mäntylä (1982), pp. 189, 200–201, 216–221; Hartman (1906), pp. 451–454. 63 Cavallin (2001), pp. 217–218; Walta (2005), pp. 30–32. 64 Carlsson (1973), esp. pp. 72–77, 245–248, 254–261. 65 Aalto (2015), p. 25; A.H.W. (1911), pp. 15–31; Asunmaa and Vilpa (2009). 162 M. KORPIOLA looted: three books remained of the library of the secondary school of Pori (Sw. Björneborg) and only one of the cathedral school of Turku.66 The Oulu school was the most northern of the Finnish ones, and its scholarly level seems to have fluctuated considerably in the seventeenth century, and even after. The modest salary of the schoolmasters made them move on to vacant curacies in the region as quickly as possible, and their pedagogical careers in Oulu tended to be short.67 The school of Porvoo was originally only a primary school (pedagogio), just like in Kokkola. However, in 1723, Porvoo became an episcopal town, after Viipuri (Sw. Viborg) had been permanently lost to Russia in the Peace of Uusikaupunki (Sw. Nystad) in 1721. This meant that Porvoo came to house a bishop with his administrative staff and a cathedral chapter with relatively well-educated clerics, together forming an ecclesiastical court that decided, for example, certain matrimonial causes. At this time, the school of Porvoo was elevated into a gymnasium to replace the one in Viipuri.68 Comparing the book ownership of teachers and priests, one is struck by a certain difference in the profile of book ownership and its language. Even though the number of clerics and school teachers is not very big in the sample, the legal books owned by the learned estate tended to be in Latin and deal with natural or international law slightly more often than in other groups. Yet, considering that the Swedish higher education system mainly taught future priests, knowledge of Latin, natural law, and moral theology was still relevant for university students. The most popular natural law thinker represented in the material was Hugo Grotius with his De Jure Belli ac Pacis (5) and De imperio summarum potestatum circa sacra (1),69 while Samuel Pufendorf (5) is represented by two works: Elementorum Jurisprudentiae

66 Laine (2006), pp. 168–169. 67 Halila (1953), pp. 577–593; Asunmaa and Vilpa (2009), pp. 12–15; A.H.W. (1911), pp. 29–31. In 1682, the teachers of the Oulu school were awarded 378 silver dalers for their salaries all in all: 150 silver dalers to the rector, 100 to the co-rector, 50 to the so-called apologist and 39 to each of the two junior teachers or “colleagues,” A.H.W. (1911), p. 18. On the low wages of school teachers, also see Björkman (1992), p. 95. 68 Hartman (1906), pp. 312–321, 337–342; Neovius (1897), pp. 70–71; Nikander (1944), pp. 259–263. 69 Helsinki, no. 79 (Margaretha Kolbeckia, 1738), p. 285; Helsinki, no. 549 (Erik Höök, 1774), p. 317; Porvoo, no. 285 (Erik Byman, 1790), p. 91; Helsinki, no. 814 (Erik Byman, 1790), p. 340—this may be the same book mentioned twice in two separate inventories in neighbouring towns after the death of the same man; Kokkola, no. 733 (Gabriel Henrik Peldan, 1790), p. 213. LEGAL LITERATES IN EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY SWEDISH TOWNS… 163

Universalis Libri II (2) and De jure naturae et gentium libri octo (3).70 John Selden’s (1584–1654) De jure naturali et gentium juxta disciplinam Ebraeorum, Libri VII was found in the library of three persons, while Johannes Balthasar Wernher’s (1677–1743) Elementa juris naturae et gentium merited two mentions in the estate inventories.71 Apart from dissertations, most of Swedish legal works were written in the vernacular. However, the Latin-language works of the German-born jurist Johannes Loccenius (1598–1677) are an exception. Four of his works can be found in the sources; his Lexicon juris sveo-gothici was mentioned three times and his Leges provinciales twice. There are four mentions of Synopsis iuris, possibly referring to his work Synopsis juris ad leges Sveticas adcommodata, and two that specify the work Synopsis juris publ. Svecani.72 Out of the clerics and teachers in the material, rural dean Johan Forsskål’s library, listed after the death of his first wife, was by far the biggest. His wide interests also extended to his legal library. The works can be grouped into three main areas: natural, ecclesiastical, and Swedish secular law. The first group consisted of Grotius’De iure belli et pacis and Caspar Ziegler’s (Junior, 1621–1690) commentary on the same work (Casp. Ziegleri Notae ad Hug. Grotium de J. b. et pacis, first published in 1666), John Selden’s De iure naturae et gentium, Johann Gröning’s (1669–1747) Bibliotheca iuris gentium europaea and Johann Michael Lange’s (1664–1731) Epitome juris naturalis.73 The second group, ecclesiastical law, included Justus Henning Böhmer (1674–1749) Jus ecclesiasticum protestantium, Grotius’ De imperio summarum potestatum circa sacra, and Ziegler’s “Jus canonicum cum notis Casp. Ziegleri,” which can probably be identified as hisCommentarius in Joh. Pauli Lancelotti Institutiones Juris Canonici. Forsskåhl also owned Christian Thomasius’ (1655–1728) Cautelae Circa Praecognita Jurisprudentiae in two volumes and a volume with a number of Thomasius’ and Ziegler’s dissertations. International

70 For the Elementorum Jurisprudentiae, see Oulu, no. 108 (Klas Jenderjan (1704), p. 571; Helsinki, no. 938 (Petter Schwartz, 1794), p. 351; for the De jure naturae et gentium see, Helsinki, no. 549 (Erik Höök, 1774), p. 317; Helsinki, no. 703 (Karl Jacob Dobbin, 1784), p. 327; Helsinki, no. 889 (Carl Henric Brunous, 1791), p. 344. 71 For Selden, see: Helsinki, no. 79 (Margaretha Kolbeckia, 1738), p. 285; Helsinki, no. 549 (Erik Höök, 1774), p. 317; Helsinki, no. 703 (Karl Jacob Dobbin, 1784), p. 327. For Wernher, see: Oulu, no. 290 (Johan Snellman, 1739), pp. 578–579; Oulu, no. 730 (Gabriel Enckell, 1770), pp. 600–601. 72 Helsinki, no. 79 (Margaretha Kolbeckia, 1738), p. 290. 73 Helsinki, no. 79 (Margaretha Kolbeckia, 1738), p. 285. 164 M. KORPIOLA ecclesiastical law was supplemented by domestic ecclesiastical statutes: a volume of synodal statutes, the 1571 Church Ordinance, and the 1686 Church Law in both Swedish and Finnish.74 The third group, domestic secular law, contained the some of the most important legal sources of early eighteenth-century Sweden: the Town Law with the comments of Israel Arnell (d. 1733), the 1442 Law commented by Petter Abrahamsson (1668–1741) and another volume with the register by Henrik Drysell (c. 1693–1738), and the new Code of the Realm, printed in 1736. Even the Maritime Code was included, as well as volumes on statutes and decisions of the Diet.75 The results correspond with other evidence of actively book-collecting priests living in the countryside. For example, the estate inventory after magister Jacob Estlander (1713–1785), vicar of Lappfjärd, reveals that he owned 326 books. In addition to Johannes Gezelius’ (the Elder, 1615–1690) Casuum Conscientiæ (1689), his library included works on natural and divine law: Thomasius’ Fundamenta Juris Naturæ et gentium, Samuel Pufendorf’s De Officio Hominis et Civis iuxta Legem Naturalem, and Frederik Christian Friis’ (1722–1802) book on the ius talionis divi- num. His secular legal books consisted of the 1686 Church Law and the 1442 Law, Stiernman’s collection of decisions of the Diet (Samling af Riksdagars och Mötens Beslut), and Johan Stiernhöök’s De Jure Sueconum et Gothorum vetusto. Estlander also owned two formularies (brefställare)— possibly Johan Biurman’s work—and Sven Hof’s (1705–1786) anonymously published work on the privileges on the clerical estate of Sweden.76 The legal books of the library (with its over 500 works) of rural vicar Gabriel Holmudd (1720–1795) of Malax followed largely similar principles: the collection was a combination of Swedish law, Latin legal literature, and natural law.77 Returning to our sources, Johan Snellman’s (c. 1711–1738) promising career in the clerical estate after his studies in Turku and Uppsala was cut short immediately after his marriage and MA degree. Despite his young age, he had been a junior teacher in Oulu 1733–1737, after which he became the senior teacher.78 His books included Johannes Loccenius’ dic-

74 Helsinki, no. 79 (Margaretha Kolbeckia, 1738), pp. 285, 293. 75 Helsinki, no. 79 (Margaretha Kolbeckia, 1738), pp. 285–286. On Drysell, see Kotivuori (2005), Drysell, Henrik. 76 Estlander (1934), esp. pp. 134, 140, 155, 159, 161, 186, 197. 77 Ahlbäck (1987). 78 Kotivuori (2005), Snellman, Johan. LEGAL LITERATES IN EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY SWEDISH TOWNS… 165 tionary Lexicon juris sveo-gothici (1651) of Swedish legal words into Latin with some feudal legal terms explained at the end. He possessed a relatively recent book on natural law, the German Johannes Balthasar Wernher’s work Elementa juris Naturae & Gentium (1704). The third work, written by a Swedish cleric, Magnus Sahlstedt (1686–1752), and was religious but legal: Aprosopolepsia judicialis seu forensis (1721–1723), a sermon on justice and the impartiality of judges given at the Church of Riddarholm in Stockholm at the beginning of the Svea Court of Appeal session in 1721.79 Gabriel Enckell (1728–1770) was a junior teacher (kollega) at the school of Oulu, after his studies at the Academy of Turku and a MA exam in 1760. Son of the curate of Kauhava, he had been appointed a teacher of the trivial school in Oulu in 1765, and he held this position until his death five years later.80 His book collection included three legal books, including Benedict Carpzov’s Jurisprudentia ecclesiastica seu consistorialis and what is probably Wernher’s Elementa juris Naturae & Gentium.81 In Enckell’s collection, the third was a Swedish book: Johannes Loccenius’ Synopsis juris publici suecani.82 Synopsis iuris was also owned by Johan Nohrmarck (d. 1729), a junior teacher (kollega) at the secondary school of Helsinki.83 Erik Byman (c. 1733–1790), originally a burgher’s son from Porvoo, had also pursued studies at the Academy of Turku, but apparently without taking any degree. He had a long career in teaching first at Porvoo, and then in Helsinki, first (1767) starting as a junior teacher kollega( ) and later as a senior teacher.84 His two legal books were both international: Hugo Grotius’ De jure belli et pacis, first published in 1625, and Melchior Kling’s (1504–1571) older Roman law work, Enarrationes in quatuor Institutionum libros, first published already in 1542.85 By contrast, Erich Höök (c. 1727–1774) had taken a MA degree in 1757 and, after this, studied in Uppsala. Because of mental instability, however, he had apparently not pursued any career, but died in his home town in possession of

79 Oulu, no. 290 (Johan Snellman, 1739), pp. 578–579. 80 On Gabriel Enckell, see Kotivuori (2005), Enckell, Gabriel. 81 Oulu, no. 730 (Gabriel Enckell, 1770), pp. 600–601. 82 Oulu, no. 730 (Gabriel Enckell, 1770), p. 603. On Loccenius and his works, see Björne (1995), pp. 26–30. 83 Helsinki, no. 39 (Johan Nohrmarck, 1729), p. 281. 84 Kotivuori (2005), Byman, Erik. 85 Helsinki, no. 814 (Eric Byman, 1790), p. 340. 166 M. KORPIOLA many books.86 In addition to Grotius’ De jure belli et pacis and Balthasar Klammer’s (1504–1578) Promptuarium iuris (1608), Höök also had several works on natural law: Samuel Pufendorf’s De jure naturae et gentium (1672) in two volumes, Michael Heinrich Gribner’s (1682–1734) Principiorum Jurisprudentiae Naturalis Libr. (1710), and John Selden’s De jure naturali et gentium juxta disciplinam Ebraeorum (1640).87 Karl Henrik Brunou (Carl Henric Brunous, 1761–1791) came from a family of civil servants, and after taking the MA at the Academy of Turku in 1782, he became co-rector at the school of Helsinki in the following year. He became rector of the school in 1785, the same year he took an exam in land surveying which again enabled him to simultaneously work as the municipal engineer of Helsinki, starting in 1787.88 His few legal books are evidence of his dual interests: Samuel Pufendorf’s De jure naturae et gentium (1672) was supplemented by a copy of the Code of Sweden of 1734 and Anders Botin’s (1724–1790) Beskrifvning om svenska hemman och jordagods (first published in 1755–1756).89 Botin’s (later, nob. af Botin) Beskrifning Om Svenska Hemman och Jorda-Gods 1–2 has been assessed as a groundbreaking work on real estate law—especially from a fiscal and administrative perspective.90 The first part of the book—originally meant to become a series of perhaps five volumes—deals mostly with estates and their taxation. The second volume deals with land taxable by the crown and its perspective is even more legal historical.91 At his death, Samuel Hornæus (c. 1696–1742) held offices both as headmaster of the Oulu school (since 1727) and as a military preacher of the Infantry Regiment of Ostrobothnia (since 1740). He had studied at both the Academy of Turku and the University of Uppsala, earning his MA degree from the latter in 1722. He had then returned to Finland, which was recovering after the ravages of the Great Northern War and the long Russian occupation, and become ordained there in 1726. He had simultaneously held offices in Turku as deputy secretary of the Academy of Turku, notary of the Turku Cathedral Chapter, and acting vicar of

86 Kotivuori (2005), Höök, Erik. 87 Helsinki, no. 549 (Erich Höök, 1774), pp. 317–318 88 Kotivuori (2005), Brunou, Karl Henrik. 89 Helsinki, no. 889 (Carl Henric Brunous, 1791), p. 344. 90 Naumann together with Beckman (1925), pp. 566–574. See also Björne (1995), pp. 90–91. 91 Botin (1755–1756). LEGAL LITERATES IN EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY SWEDISH TOWNS… 167

Paimio.92 Again the versatile career of Hornæus is reflected in his legal books. As so many Swedish scholars, Samuel Hornæus possessed a foreign book of natural law. His was Institutiones Juris Naturae et Gentium ad Methodum Hugonis Grotii (1734) of Johann Jacob Vitriarius (1679–1745).93 He also owned two copies of the Church Ordinance (possibly the 1571 Church Ordinance) and a Finnish version of the 1686 Church Law. In addition, he possessed 13 copies of police ordinances as well as Johannes Loccenius’ Synopsis juris publici suecani.94 The existence of unbound—and bound—copies of individual statutes and decrees in libraries can be explained by the fact that many of them were delivered to the local churches to be read at parish meetings and divine services as well as at court sessions in Swedish and/or Finnish.95 Members of the town elites were also elected as representatives of the burgher estate to the diets and, consequently, they possessed the decisions of the diets.96 Teachers belonged to the clerical estate and some of them, like Samuel Hornæus, had a dual career as both preachers and teachers. Correspondingly, in addition to Hornæus, certain other teachers such as Sven Björnström (d. 1754), junior teacher (kollega) of the school of Oulu, possessed a copy of the Church Law.97

Laws and Statute Collections: Swedish “Proto- legalism” on the Grassroot Level The medieval laws had been disseminated through manuscripts before the law for the countryside (from 1442) and the Swedish town law (from c. 1350) were printed in several editions since 1608 and 1617 respectively. The 1734 Swedish Law Code (Sveriges Rikes Lag, lit. Law of the Realm of Sweden) which came into force two years later replaced the earlier laws. The 1734 Code appeared in many editions in the course of the eighteenth century: at least in 1736, 1754, 1764, 1780, and 1797. The “law book,” meaning the Law of the Realm of 1442, Magnus Eriksson’s Town Law, or the Code of 1734, was by far the most common

92 Kotivuori (2005), Hornaeus, Samuel. 93 Oulu, no. 357 (Samuel Hornæus, 1744), p. 588. 94 Oulu, no. 357 (Samuel Hornæus, 1744), pp. 586, 590, 592, 594. 95 Laine (2006), p. 132; Laine (1997), pp. 286–288, 294–296. 96 On the parliamentary representation of the towns, see, e.g. Fällström and Mäntylä (1982), pp. 228–237; Nikula (1981), pp. 204–206; Hornborg (1950), pp. 302–312. 97 Oulu, no. 473 (Sven Björnström, d. 1754), p. 599: Kyrkolagen (gambl.). 168 M. KORPIOLA item, forming more than a third of all entries, that is, 233 entries out of 681. In itself this is not surprising, and this result confirms those of earlier studies that the law book was the most popular non-religious book in Sweden.98 The estate inventories often just mentions the “law book,” but occasionally they add “the old law book” or “the new Swedish law book” suggesting that the older law books did not disappear from circulation during the investigated period. As has been observed by earlier research, also artisans owned copies of law books and not only the members of the learned estate (priests, teachers) and the town elite including burgomasters, town councillors, merchants, and major office-holders such as town notaries. In our sources, we find as owners of (only) the law book, for example, a master dyer (or his wife),99 a saddle maker (or his wife),100 a master ropemaker,101 a master potter (krukslagarmästare),102 two brothers who were both in turn aldermen of the tanners (garvarålderman),103 a cordovan leather maker (karduansmakare),104 as well as a printer/wallpaper maker.105 We find other more modest town dwellers such as a bookkeeper,106 but even professional men such as an apothecary/restaurant owner (traktör)107 and master builder.108 Law book owners also included military civil servants such as a “cloth-guard” (tygvaktare)109 and a regimental barber surgeon110 as well as other civil servants such an inspector of the royal distillery of Oulu,111 a town treasurer (stadskassör),112 and a superinspector

98 Grönroos (1947), pp. 114, 116; Lext (1950), pp. 220–223, 245–247; Carlsson (1972), pp. 71–79. 99 Helsinki, no. 125 (Hedvig Procopea, 1746), p. 298. 100 Helsinki, no. 916 (Catharina Charlotta Frisk, 1792), p. 347. 101 Helsinki, no. 1001 (Erik Röö, 1798), p. 357. 102 Kokkola, no. 527 (Michel Peitzius, 1783), p. 160. 103 Helsinki, no. 979 (Johan Dahlman, 1796), p. 356; Helsinki, no. 1113 (Gabriel Dahlman, 1806), p. 364. 104 Helsinki, no. 665 (Michael Bohm, 1781), p. 326. 105 Porvoo, no. 233 (Petter Pettersson Solitander, 1775), p. 76. 106 Helsinki, no. 1024 (Johan Collan, 1800), p. 358. 107 Helsinki, no. 946 (Sven Dahm, 1795), p. 354. 108 Porvoo, no. 301 (Daniel Sjöström, 1790), p. 97. 109 Helsinki, no. 901 (Jacob Fischier, 1792), p. 345. The “cloth-guard” was a military civil- ian civil servant administering cloth and materials. 110 Oulu, no. 1129 (Fredrik Ståhlberg, 1789), p. 464. 111 Oulu, no. 1101 (Daniel Brander, 1788), p. 612. 112 Helsinki, no. 626 (Johan Axel Bäck, 1779), p. 321. LEGAL LITERATES IN EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY SWEDISH TOWNS… 169

(överinspektör).113 It is worth noting that these artisans, professionals, and civil servants owning law books appeared mainly in the Helsinki inventories from the 1760s onwards. This may reflect the growing commercial activities and wealth of the Helsinki townspeople due to the construction works of the sea fortress Suomenlinna and its garrison. Considering the urban environment with its merchant and seafaring inhabitants, it is not surprising that the Swedish maritime law (sjöartiklar, sjölag) was mentioned 33 times. However, sometimes the nautical connection is less obvious like in the cases of a master pewter-caster (tenngjutarmästare)114 and apothecary.115 The 1686 Church law (or the 1571 Church Ordinance) was also relatively popular with its 21 mentions. Military law, “the Articles of War” (krigsartiklar), was listed in 15 estate inventories. Understandably, maritime law was important in the towns, and merchants and captains understandably owned such volumes. In addition to merchants and judges, officers also owned copies of the Articles of War. After the law books, statute collections formed the second biggest group of legal books. Such books were published in Sweden since the 1690s, and the collection of Johan Schmedeman (1652–1713), known as the Justitiae Wärk, was the first of these. In our sources, Schmedeman’s collection focusing on the judiciary was indeed one of the most frequently owned ones (16). Its popularity did not dwindle even if Otto Fredrik Ståhlhammar’s (1695–1753) statute collection Swenska justitiæ- och politiæwärket was published in the mid-eighteenth century, which then became frequently mentioned (11). Anders Anton von Stiernman was one of the most important editors of norms, royal letters, and parliamentary decisions. His two collections, one including all the parliamentary decisions of Sweden and the other on all the commercial and police ordinances, were also relatively popular. The series of statutes Utdrag utur […] publique handlingar, placater, förord- ningar, resolutioner ock publicationer started by Reinhold Gustaf Modée (1698–1752) in 1730, and later, after his death, continued by his widow and others, covered all official acts, statutes, and resolutions since 1718. The series became an important reference work for civil servants and appeared 17 times in the inventories. Among the owners, one can find burgomasters (7) and town councillors (4), but also others such as mer-

113 Helsinki, no. 618 (Henric Johan Erhardh, 1778), p. 321. 114 Helsinki, no. 360 (Jonas Tillberg, 1763), p. 304. 115 Helsinki, no. 33 (Christoffer Wilhelm Tiede, 1726), pp. 279–280. 170 M. KORPIOLA chants and burghers (3) and other civil servants (provincial treasurer [landskamrerare], prison custodian [stockhusvaktmästare], and provincial secretary [landssekreterare]/notary of the lower town court). Johan Gabriel Jusleen’s (1699–1716) and Samuel af Ugglas’ (form. Uggla, 1750–1812) editions of royal letters were relatively regularly mentioned (10 and 5). Both collections focused on royal letters that specified the contents of the law and had value as leading cases, but the former collection (Samling af Kongl. Maj:ts bref, hwilka på inkomna förfrågningar om lagens rätta förstånd) ended in 1759, while the latter (Samling af Kongl. Maj:ts Bref och Förklaringar) started from 1760. Consequently, there is no overlapping and those who owned Ugglas’ collection also possessed that by Jusleen. Petter Hedengran’s (d. 1769) alphabetical register on statutes and ordinances 1719–1728, printed in 1729, had been acquired by eight persons.116 Despite its ambitious name, Emanuel Christoffer Drangel’s (1734–1808) Anmärkningar Til Sweriges Rikes Lag has been interpreted as a law collection summarising the law and statutes rather than as a legal commentary on the law.117 It can be found in nine inventories.118 The most popular of the topical collections of statutes was that of the circulars of the Turku Court of Appeal, Kongl. Åbo hof-rätts universaler, edited by Georg Salonius.119 Considering the specialised contents of the book, the seven men who owned the book unsurprisingly all had judicial careers.120 By contrast, the five owners ofActa publica collections on Swedish constitutional law (Acta publica, hörande til Sweriges rikes

116 Helsinki, no. 124 (Claes Heidenstrauch, 1746), p. 297; Helsinki, no. 245 (Petter Bäckman, 1746), p. 301; Helsinki, no. 395 (Jonas Carlstedt, 1764), p. 306; Helsinki, no. 414 (Anders Ignatius, 1765), p. 308; Helsinki, no. 496 (Lars Johan Wendelius, 1770), p. 314; Helsinki, no. 703 (Carl Jacob Dobbin, 1784), p. 327; Helsinki, no. 784 (Nils Wallerman, 1788), p. 338; Helsinki, no. 938 (Petter Schwartz, 1794), p. 349. 117 Björne (1995), pp. 86–87. 118 Helsinki, no. 631 (David Bergenfelt, 1779), p. 321; Helsinki, no. 651 (Isaac Lindeberg, 1781), 322; Helsinki, no. 768 (Abraham Magnus Alfthan, 1788), p. 337; Oulu, 1107 (Samuel Heikel, 1788), p. 461; Porvoo, no. 304 (Magnus Jacob Levander, 1790), p. 97; Helsinki, no. 810 (Johan Kuhlberg, 1790), p. 338; Kokkola, no. 733 (Gabriel Henric Peldan, 1793), p. 213; Helsinki, no. 938 (Petter Schwartz, 1794), p. 349; Helsinki, no. 1051 (Gustaf Sacklén, 1800), p. 360. 119 Laine (1997), pp. 291–292. 120 Helsinki, no. 382 (Matts Forssman, 1763), p. 305; Helsinki, no. 414 (Anders Ignatius, 1765), p. 308; Helsinki, no. 651 (Isaac Lindeberg, 1781), p. 324; Helsinki, no. 784 (Nils Wallerman, 1788), p. 338; Helsinki, no. 810 (Johan Kuhlberg, 1790), p. 338; Kokkola, no. 733 (Gabriel Henric Peldan, 1793), p. 213; Helsinki, no. 1051 (Gustaf Sacklén, 1801), p. 360. LEGAL LITERATES IN EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY SWEDISH TOWNS… 171 fundamental-lag) differed more from each other.121 Sven Wilskman’s ecclesiastical statute collection, Ecclesiastique Wärk, was also popular (6). Apart from one copy, this collection was owned only by burgomasters, but no inventories of priests contained the work in these sources.122 While this observation may seem strange, it is probably accounted for by the fact that Wilskman’s work had been ordered in advance by the Turku diocese in large quantities. The Turku chapter had recommended that the work be acquired to all churches and, in fact, 92 copies had been ordered of the first edition in 1760, 132 copies of the first volume of the second edition (1780), and 169 copies of the second volume.123 Thus, Finnish clerics could largely consult the work in the small local church libraries, which could also possess some other collections of norms and jurisprudence.124 A somewhat parallel, but rare, work was Stiernman’s collection of royal statutes and letters on religion (Samling utaf åtskillga […] kongliga stadgar, bref och förordningar angående religion).125

Legal Literacy in Swedish Towns: Practical Books for Practical Men? After discussing laws and other normative texts we will move on to jurisprudence. What works were owned and by whom? The period 1704–1761 reflects the general situation in Sweden when not many works dealing with Swedish law were available. Former judge Petter Abrahamsson’s “modest” commentaries on the Town Law (printed in 1702) and the 1442 Law (printed in 1702 and 1726) were owned by 12 persons (occasionally the inventories specified which book and edition was meant especially during the first period).126 After the 1760s, once the 1734 Law Code had spread,

121 Helsinki, no. 380 (Carl Friedrich Forsström, 1763), p. 305; Porvoo, no. 166 (Gabriel Hagert, 1774), p. 56; Kokkola, no. 469 (Reinhold Fredric Wittstock, 1781), p. 141; Kokkola, no. 563 (Christopher Holst, 1786), p. 169; Oulu, no. 1416 (Erik Wåhlberg, 1800), p. 556. 122 Helsinki, no. 432 (Nils Larsson Burtz, 1766), p. 309; Porvoo, no. 166 (Gabriel Hagert, 1774), p. 55; Porvoo, no. 278 (Elias Agander, 1778), p. 89; Oulu, 1107 (Samuel Heikel, 1788), p. 461; Helsinki, no. 810 (Johan Kuhlberg, 1790), p. 338; Kokkola, no. 733 (Gabriel Henric Peldan, 1793), p. 213. 123 Laine (2006), p. 212. 124 Laine (2006), p. 222. 125 Helsinki, no. 810 (Johan Kuhlberg, 1790), p. 338. 126 On Petter Abrahamsson’s commentary, see Björne (1995), pp. 70–71. 172 M. KORPIOLA the work was probably seen as old-fashioned or obsolete. The same can be said of burgomaster Israel Arnell’s commentary on the town law, published in 1730 shortly before the 1734 Code, that was mentioned in two estate inventories in the first period, but not during the later period.127 In addition to Johannes Loccenius’ Latin-language works, already discussed above, some of the most frequently owned books were such that have been described as “legal books for laymen,” both published already in the 1670s. Town secretary and councillor Claudius Kloot’s (c. 1612–1690) Lagfarenheetz spegel, written as early as in the 1650s, was mentioned seven times in the studied estate inventories. Baron Claes Rålamb’s (1622–1698) Observationes juris practicæ was also intended as a practical manual, even if it was more learned and contained more Latin phrases than Kloot’s work. Thus, Rålamb’s book was probably aimed at a better-educated audience than Kloot’s which, again, made for easier reading for the intended lay audience.128 It has been assessed that because Rålamb had a higher social standing, and he had written more learned work than Kloot, also his work was probably more widespread and more influential. While the difference in popularity was not drastic in our sources, this is correct according to the Database Henrik.129 Of the eighteenth-century general introductions to the law, Anders Westdahl’s (1747–1802) Uttydning öfwer Sweriges rikes lag in two volumes, discussing marriage, inheritance, and land law as well as the law on buildings, was one of the most popular works of jurisprudence in our towns and was found in seven inventories.130 By contrast, Christian König’s

127 Helsinki, no. 79 (Margaretha Kolbeckia, 1738), p. 285; Helsinki, no. 124 (Claes Heidenstrauch, 1746), p. 297. On Arnell’s commentary, see Björne (1995), pp. 71–72. 128 For Kloot, see: Kokkola, no. 9 (Carl Forsman, 1715), p. 9; Oulu, no. 678 (Mathias Uhlander, 1767), p. 311; Kokkola, no. 342 (Erland Noreen, 1768), p. 107; Helsinki, no. 631 (David Bergenfelt, 1779), p. 321; Kokkola, no. 596 (Jacob Rahm, 1788), p. 178; Helsinki, no. 938 (Petter Schwartz, 1794), p. 351. For Rålamb, see: Oulu, no. 329 (Mathias Daniel Blohm, 1742), p. 582; Kokkola, no. 129 (Johan Westring, 1744), p. 41; Helsinki, no. 395 (Jonas Carlstedt, 1764), p. 306; Helsinki, no. 397 (Johan Gnospelius, 1764), p. 307; Kokkola, no. 342 (Erland Noreen, 1768), p. 107; Helsinki, no. 479 (Gudmund Bergklint, 1769), p. 311; Helsinki, no. 651 (Isaac Lindeberg, 1781), p. 324; Oulu, no. 1112 (Erik Julin, 1788), p. 614; Helsinki, no. 1015 (Anders Polviander, 1799), p. 358. See also Björne (1995), pp. 32–38; Landqvist and Rogström (2016), pp. 68–76. 129 Björne (1995), p. 35. HENRIK database: Books and Their Owners in Finland up to 1809, searches “Kloot” (19) and “Rålamb” (36) on 28 May 2018. 130 Oulu, no. 807 (Carl Frese, 1775), p. 356; Helsinki, no. 631 (David Bergenfelt, 1779), p. 321; Helsinki, no. 651 (Isaac Lindeberg, 1781), p. 322; Helsinki, no. 703 (Carl Jacob LEGAL LITERATES IN EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY SWEDISH TOWNS… 173

Lärdoms-öfning was an encyclopaedic work of law and trade, and its first four parts discussed various fields of the Swedish law. It was mentioned nine times, even if it seems obvious that not all references were to the volumes discussing legal matters. This suggests that the work had found its readership even if modern scholars have considered König to be without greater legal talent and Lärdoms-öfning as heralding the downhill of Swedish later eighteenth-century jurisprudence.131 David Nehrman (1695–1769, later ennobled as Ehrenstråle) was clearly the most authoritative legal author of the eighteenth century. The 23 references to his several different works were mostly to printed books, but also some to works in manuscript. His most frequently mentioned works were his lectures on chapters on inheritance and marriage (5) as well as his books on criminal procedure (Inledning til then swenska processum crimi- nalem, 4) and civil procedure (Inledning til then swenska processum crimi- nalem, 4).132 Of various specialised books, Jonas Kiernander’s massive Utkast til Medicinal-Lagfarenheten on forensic medicine—meant for judges, doctors, and midwives—enjoyed a larger audience (six all in all). In addition to the usual burgomasters, town councillors, merchants, and civil servants, an apothecary and a wigmaker also owned it.133 The men who owned the largest collections of legal books and literature in the sample towns largely belonged to the urban administrative elite—which often also corresponded to the economic elite. We find several burgomasters and town councillors as well as many merchants among

Dobbin, 1784), p. 328; Helsinki, no. 768 (Abraham Magnus Alfthan, 1788), p. 337; Oulu, 1107 (Samuel Heikel, 1788), p. 461; Helsinki, no. 810 (Johan Kuhlberg, 1790), p. 339; Björne (1995), p. 35. 131 Helsinki, no. 414 (Anders Ignatius, 1765), p. 308; Helsinki, no. 549 (Wendela Catharina Bock, 1774), p. 316; Kokkola, no. 469 (Reinhold Fredric Wittstock, 1781), p. 141; Helsinki, no. 651 (Isaac Lindeberg, 1781), p. 324; Helsinki, no. 744 (Herman Hornborg, 1786), p. 335; Helsinki, 756 (Helena Sophia Printz, 1787), p. 336; Helsinki, no. 913 (Johan Burtz, 1792), p. 346; Helsinki, no. 932 (Jacob Pachalén, 1794), p. 348; Helsinki, no. 1051 (Gustaf Sacklén, 1801), p. 360. Björne (1995), pp. 80–82. 132 On Nehrman as the “leading Swedish jurist of the eighteenth century,” see Björne (1995), pp. 69, 72–79. 133 Helsinki, no. 810 (Johan Kuhlberg, 1790), p. 339; Helsinki, no. 913 (Johan Burtz, 1792), p. 346; Kokkola, no. 733 (Gabriel Henric Peldan, 1793), p. 213; Helsinki, no. 938 (Petter Schwartz, 1794), p. 352, Helsinki, no. 966 (Carl Gustaf Ekström, 1796), p. 355; Kokkola, no. 816 (Petter Wennersten, 1798), p. 238; Kiernander ([1776]). The book discussed, for example, various violent and sexual crimes, contagious diseases, and the investigations of corpses. 174 M. KORPIOLA them. In addition, local civil servants such as customs officials, town scribes, or town bailiffs often owned books, as did men involved in the administration of military justice (military judges or assessors).134 Other groups of civil servants owning legal books were those belonging to the provincial and fiscal administration. Such men could have titles like provincial treasurer (landskamrerare), provincial secretary (landssekreterare), and town and provincial prosecutor (stads- och landsfiskal). This confirms the conclusion in previous research that jurisprudence was owned mainly by civil servants of various social rank.135 The estate inventory of land-surveyor Gustaf Adolph Tuderus (1766–1817) of Tampere (Sw. Tammerfors) reveals a booklover whose book list had 1049 entries and over 2100 volumes. While Tuderus had a special penchant for history, plays, novels, and theology as well as morals, some of his works also reflect his professional interests. Among his books, one finds Botin’sBeskrifning om svenska hemman och jorda-gods, a copy of the 1734 law, and diverse assorted statutes. Moreover, his legal interests included some more specialised works: law professor Lars Tengwall’s (1746–1809) book on trusts (Afhanding om Fidei Commissa) and law professor Henrik Frosterus’ (1727–1773) celebrated guide to military law (Inledning til svenska krigs-lagfarenheten).136 Jacob Åkerhielm’s book on the law of Sweden in verse form (Sveriges rikes lag, stäld uti Alexandrinisk vers, 1748) probably represents more of a curiosity than a practical reference volume in addition to a printed sentence of the town court of Turku involving a testamentary case after a local merchant (Åbo, 1789). Tuderus’ interests also ranged to ecclesiastical (Lars Hambraeus’ Pastoral-kurs i hvarjehanda, särdeles till jurisprudential ecclesiastika hörande ämnen) and Jewish law (Nathanaël Joëlsson’s Judiska lagstiftningen and Johan Widén’s Den mosaiska stats- och kyrkoförfattningen), but even politically more radical works such as Thomas Paine’s (1737–1809) Rights of Man (in its Swedish translation Menniskans Rättigheter, 1792). As Tuderus owned two formularies (Bref Ställare), two volumes on “diverse documents on court cases” (Diverse Rättegångs Handlingar), and a book with “diverse records” (Diverse Protocoller), in Tampere he was probably considered a legal literate, who may occasionally have been active in doing other legal work besides surveying in the locality.137

134 Grönroos (1947), pp. 101–102. 135 Ankarcrona (1989), p. 155. 136 On Tengwall and Frosterus, see Björne (1995), esp. pp. 85–86, 91, 389–390, 405. 137 Mäkinen (2005), pp. 32–33, 44, 74, 106–108, 117, 137, 145. LEGAL LITERATES IN EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY SWEDISH TOWNS… 175

Namely, even if there was an increasing number of truly professional lawyers who had degrees in law and owned substantial collections of both law books and jurisprudence, there were still many who possessed some— or even considerable—legal literacy, albeit without official studies, degrees, or exams. As the lawyer Magnus Sellander (1743–1828), auditor and town councillor of Landskrona, observed, in addition to the these learned lawyers and the growing jurisprudence there was a need for more basic works: “Yet, most people among us are equally content with even smaller works of law, but have more need of some guidance and surveillance than their theses and writings mostly ought to contain.”138 Sellander wrote his formulary with both model legal documents and a small commentary with references to laws, norms, and larger works for the benefit of such people. In these four towns, at least seven formularies (brevställare) were listed in the inventories, out of which one was expressly mentioned as being Biurman’s and another as being Gottlieb Wilhelm Rabener’s (1714–1771) work, possibly translated into Swedish.139 Judging by the frequency of the mentions of both in eighteenth-century Finland, Biurman’s 34 times and Rabener’s 7, it is more likely that the books only called brefställare in the sources refer to Biurman’s formulary.140 Sellander’s own formulary was more legal than Biurman’s, but it is not mentioned expressly in our sources even if it circulated in Finnish towns, being a much later work (first published in 1787).141 The popularity of law books and formularies clearly shows that the emergence of full-fledged legal professionals did not cause the varying scale of legal literates to disappear in towns. Almost all town dwellers had previously mostly lacked university training in law, and while this was slowly changing in the course of the period, the number of university-trained lawyers stayed limited in these provincial towns. Moreover, as literacy rates grew and more law books, legal literature,

138 Sellander (1796), preface, non-paginated: “Bland oss äro de fleste likwäl belåtne med ännu mindre Lagwärk, men uti mer behof af någon wägledning och eftersyn, hwad deras Afhandlingar och Skrifter hufwudsakeligen böra innehålla.” 139 Kokkola, no. 367 (Maria Ahla, 1771), p. 115; Porvoo, no. 173 (Eric Solitander, 1775), p. 59; Kokkola, no. 462 (Michael Lybeck, 1777), p. 139; Kokkola, no. 469 (Anders Telin, 1778), p. 141; Kokkola, no. 469 (Reinhold Fredric Wittstock, 1781), p. 141; Porvoo, no. 332 (Georg Eberhard Ekholtz, 1792), p. 105; Kokkola, no. 780 (Johanna Gustava Sinius, 1796), p. 227. 140 Grönroos and Nyman (1996), pp. 416–417, 466; Hakapää (2011), p. 65. 141 Grönroos and Nyman (1996), p. 496. 176 M. KORPIOLA and formularies were printed, the urban legal literates rather obtained new tools for acquiring the required degree of knowledge in law to be developed into skills by acting in court and drafting documents. This probably also explains the popularity of (legal) letter formularies that could be used by any man and woman who was able to read and write. Indeed, some of the men whose books were listed in the estate inventory may have been involved in advocacy. When deputy military judge (viceauditör) Nils Wallerman (d. 1788) died, he was in possession of “various papers and documents that were the property of different individual persons.” He also had the 1442 law, Petter Hedengran’s popular word register to the law, two volumes of statutes, and a copy of the circulars of the Turku Court of Appeal.142 If the households possessing legal books were to be systematically compared to those persons who acted as legal representatives or pursued advocacy in our towns and their surroundings, many more would likely be identified.143 This is hardly surprising as Swedish eighteenth-century lower-rank civil servants considered themselves grossly underpaid and their salaries eaten up by the decreasing monetary value. They complained that they and their families could not live on their wages and that their salary did not cover the expenses required by their status. “The civil servant,” it was said, “who neither pursued his self-interest or secondary occupations would sooner or later freeze or starve to death.”144 In smaller towns, the low wages did not attract enough competent applicants for the positions of, for example, town secretaries and notaries. “Multiofficing,” one person holding several administrative offices at the same time, was a problem in several towns, as it could lead to negligence and delays, on the one hand, and a concentration of too much power and conflicts of interest, on the other. This caused complaints in various towns and these were discussed at the Diet of 1769–1770. The king resolved this in his letter forbidding those town officials who received a yearly salary of more than 250 silver dalers from having two or more

142 Helsinki, no. 784 (Nils Wallerman, 1788), p. 338: “Åtskilliga papper och handlingar som tillhör div. enskilda personer.” 143 This having been said, it must be observed that the “royal court-of-appeal advocate” Johan (Jean) Sadeel (c. 1714–1760) and former school teacher (kollega) Karl Sund (d. 1747), the two men known to have practiced advocacy in Helsinki, are not mentioned in the Helsinki estate inventories. The former died in Turku and while the latter died in Helsinki, no books were listed in his estate inventory, Hornborg (1950), p. 573. Both had studied at the Academy of Turku, but neither had taken degrees there. 144 Cavallin (2001), pp. 207–227, quotation p. 213. LEGAL LITERATES IN EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY SWEDISH TOWNS… 177 offices. Minor civil servants were still allowed to have multiple offices, while extraordinary gratuities were also occasionally paid.145 However, there were no major restrictions regarding the free occupation of advocacy in Swedish law, as Petteri Impola has discussed in his chapter in this volume. According to the 1734 Law Code those who wished to “speak and answer for others” were to be “of good reputation, honest, decent, and sensible men.” Nobody could “commonly be used [as an advocate] if the court in which the case is pursued has not accepted him and given permission thereto.” The right to use one’s relatives or servants was expressly mentioned, in addition to people in general trusted by the principal. Royal officials were allowed to pursue advocacy, provided they had the permission of their superiors, did not neglect their duties thereby, and there was no conflict of interest.146 According to Impola’s research on seventeenth-century Oulu, in the latter part of the seventeenth century, using a representative or attorney became increasingly common in civil litigation. Especially the wealthier segment hired attorneys, often town councillors or officials and civil servants, to conduct litigation for them even if professional advocates were a rarity. The same trend continued for some centuries, and even during most of the nineteenth century, many Finnish civil servants still pursued advocacy as a sideline providing their household with extra income.147

How Were the Books Acquired? In early modern Sweden, book printers were only permitted to sell the books unbound at established prices per page, while bookbinders, who bought the printed unbound books from the printers, had the privilege to sell bound books. This privilege was first granted in 1630 and confirmed in 1720. Yet, the bookbinders lost their monopoly to sell bound books in

145 Cederberg (1947), pp. 240–241; Halila (1953), pp. 42–45; Nikula (1981), pp. 201–202; Hornborg (1950), pp. 276–279; Fällström and Mäntylä (1982), pp. 189–193. 146 15:2, Chapter on Procedure (Rättegångsbalken), Sweriges Rikes Lagh: “The, som för andra måge tala och swara, skola wara oberychtade, ärlige, redelige och förståndige män. Ej bör någor almänneliga ther til brukas, som af Rätten, ther saken drifwes, ej godkänd är, och lof ther til fått. Wil parten bruka til fullmächtig sin skyldeman, eller then, i hans tienst är, eller han eliest hafwer förtroende til; stånde thet honom fritt. Konungens Betiente, som Kronones upbörd ej hafwa, måge ock för sina wänner tala, när theras Förmän thet tillåta, och the sin tienst thermed ej försumma, eller thet emot theras embetes plicht ej strider.” 147 Impola (2017); Pihlajamäki (2011), pp. 389–390. 178 M. KORPIOLA

1787. Ordinary merchants could sell books only if there were no resident bookbinders. Before 1752, foreign booksellers did not have to pay any customs for any imported books and this was perceived as having distorted the competition.148 At the beginning of our period, law books, though direly needed in our towns, were not readily available everywhere. To compensate for this, for example the Oulu magistrate coordinated the preordering of the Swedish Town Law in the town in 1730.149 Later, the situation improved. During much of the eighteenth century, all our four towns had a bookbinder, who probably also sold books, during much of the eighteenth century.150 When Karl Hedman (d. 1779), a bookbinder from Oulu, died, he left behind ten unbound copies of the 1734 Law Code located in a ship lying at Sundsvall for the winter.151 As for the Finnish-language version of the 1734 Code, published as a private enterprise on the initiative of the Turku Court of Appeal and its registrar Georg Salonius, the Court of Appeal had in 1741 approached the Cathedral Chapter of Turku in an attempt to have priests preorder the book. Judges had also been encouraged to preorder copies.152 During the period, there were some bookshops (boklåda) in Turku that had legal books on sale. In the 1770s and 1780s, Magnus Svederus of Uppsala kept a bookshop there, advertising especially books in theology, economy, and law.153 For example, in 1785, a collection of the decisions of the Estates at the Diet from 1779 were on sale, while Wilskman’s Ecclesiastique wärk, volumes of Modée’s Utdrag ut ur … Publique handlingar, and Salonius’ Åbo hovrätts universaler were also advertised in the weekly Turku journal Tidningar Utgifne af et Sällskap i Åbo.154 The same journal also occasionally published notices of legal books that individuals wanted to purchase, such as David Nehrman’s Jurisprudentia Civilis and Processus Criminalis.155 However, as a whole, from 1782 on, the Turku

148 E.g. Laine (2006), pp. 59–60, 68–70, 181–185, 197–198. 149 Laine (2006), p. 163. 150 Laine (2006), appendix 2, pp. 316–317 151 Oulu, no. 884, p. 609. See also Laine (2006), pp. 242, 316. 152 Laine (1997), pp. 285–286. 153 Laine (2006), pp. 190–192. 154 Tidningar Utgifne af et Sällskap i Åbo, 5 June 1783, no. 23, p. 8; Ibid., 20 Jan. 1785, no. 3, p. 8; Ibid., 5 Aug. 1784, no. 31, p. 8; Ibid., 28 Oct. 1784, no. 43, pp. 7–8. For Wilskman, see also Åbo Tidningar, no. 36, 4 Sep. 1797, p. 3. 155 Tidningar Utgifne af et Sällskap i Åbo, 16 Dec. 1784, no. 50, p. 8. LEGAL LITERATES IN EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY SWEDISH TOWNS… 179 journals regularly advertised legal books, even if novels, theology, economy, and history were more popular in this field.156 In the mid-1790s, book printer Joh. C. Frenckell in Turku advertised many legal books, for example, Nehrman’s Jurisprudentia criminalis and two books by Professor Lars Tengwall—Twistemåls Lagfarenheten and Anmärkningar til Giftermåls Balken. In addition, the 1734 Code of the Realm, a new version of the Articles of War, sumptuary regulations, and certain statements belonging to travaux préparatoires on treason and con- spiracy could be bought at his shop.157 In 1800, his shop stocked five legal books: the Articles of War from 1798, Botin’s Beskrifning om Svenska Hemman och Jordagods (1–2, prob. 1798–1799), two books by Lars Tengwall (Tankar om Fängelse å Personer och qvarstad på gods and Lagfrågor 1–2), and Ugglas’ collection of royal letters and explanations between 1760 and 1766.158 In 1803, Frenkell also advertised Judge Carl Johan Norell’s (1729–1803) collection of royal letters (Sjette samlingen af kongl. maj:ts bref, rescripter och förklaringar,[…] sedan martii månads slut 1792, til 1798 års utgång […]).159 To supplement the selection available in Turku, books could also be purchased directly in Stockholm or abroad. Especially the townspeople of the region of Ostrobothnia bought books in person when visiting Stockholm or commissioned them from burghers or acquaintances.160 Many legal books exchanged owners through private sales and auctions and neither activity was against the book-selling privileges.161 While lists of law books sold on public auctions can supplement the estate inventories, their information is much more limited. For example, out of the books sold in the Stockholm Book Auction Rooms, established in 1703, in 1782–1801, only about four per cent were legal, such as statute collections, trial material, or jurisprudence.162 Yet, as about 15,000 books per annum were sold at the Stockholm Book Auction Rooms, approximately 600

156 Laine (2006), appendix 6, pp. 322–323. 157 Åbo Tidningar, 29 Sep. 1794, no. 39, pp. 3–4; Ibid., 29 June 1795, no. 26, p. 4; Ibid., 23 May 1796, no. 21, p. 4. 158 Förtekning På böcker och skrifter, Som […] finnas til salu hos Joh. C. Frenckell i Åbo (1800), pp. 2, 7, 11–12. On Frenckell, see Laine (2006), pp. 261–265. 159 Åbo Tidningar, 26 Oct. 1803, no. 86, p. 4. 160 Laine (2006), pp. 238–239. 161 Laine (2006), pp. 199, 267–268. 162 This comprises of two of Ankarcrona’s (1989) categories: acts (including laws, statute collections, and court records) and jurisprudence, pp. 108–109, 113. 180 M. KORPIOLA legal books changed owners there every year.163 The Auction Rooms were also used by people living in the provinces, such as Turku law professor Matthias Calonius (1738–1817), who used intermediaries to make bids and finalise book purchases.164 At the general auction house of Turku, established in 1686, books were frequently sold: at 65 auctions in 1737–1750.165 In Helsinki, books were also regularly auctioned from the mid-eighteenth century onwards.166 However, direct sales may have been a more common means of acquiring books in smaller towns.167 For example, the law book with its commentary in the estate inventory of Erik Uhlbrandt and Kristina Nyman had also formerly been owned by the widow of H.H. Ekeblom in Oulu.168 Similarly, the widow of David Bergenfelt (d. 1779), town councillor of Helsinki, sold his popular statute collection Justitiae wärket by Johan Schmedeman to his younger colleague Petter Schwartz.169 Schwartz’s interest in law continued, and he came to possess by far the best legal library in Helsinki, as the estate inventory after his death demonstrates.170 In the course of the eighteenth century, it became possible to preorder also some legal works, and the list of subscribers was published together with the book. For example, Twistemåls Lagfarenheten utur Sweriges Rikes Lag och Stadgar by Lars Tengwall,171 first published in 1794 by Professor Johan Lundblad in Lund, contains a list of more than 300 subscribers, some of which were undoubtedly of Finnish origin. It is noticeable that the Nils Bilmark [Billmark] (1728–1801), professor of history and morals at the Academy of Turku, had ordered 30 copies of the work.172 It is

163 Ankarcrona (1989), pp. 84–85. 164 Ankarcrona (1989), pp. 87, 165. 165 Grönroos (1958); Laine (2006), pp. 71, 199. 166 Grönroos (1983b); Parland-von Essen (2008), pp. 11–24. 167 See also Laine (2006), pp. 71–72. 168 Oulu, no. 87 (Erik Uhlbrandt and Kristina Nyman, 1730), p. 75. 169 Helsinki, no. 631 (David Bergenfelt, 1779), p. 321. 170 Helsinki, no. 938 (Petter Schwartz, 1794), pp. 349–354. 171 Tengwall (1794). The book discussed various aspects of private law, persons, things, contracts (incl. marriage), and non-contractual family law. 172 Tengwall (1794), unpaginated, at the beginning of the work. It is relatively easy to identify at least three Finns among the subscribers in addition to Professor Nils Bilmark. The two Hisingers from Vasa, judge and notary of the Court of Appeal in Vasa respectively, can be identified as father and son, Karl Hisinger (1738–1805) and Jakob Vilhelm Hisinger (1767–1843), who both made their career as judges. On the Hisingers, see the articles by Kotivuori (2005), Hisinger, Karl and Hisinger, Jacob Vilhelm. The third is Johan Jakob LEGAL LITERATES IN EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY SWEDISH TOWNS… 181 possible that he had collected orders from Turku or sold on some copies of the book. Certain town courts possessed their own legal reference library. The books of the Oulu town court vanished during the Great Wrath, and in 1726, the court bought two new law books from the widow of burgomaster Groop. An additional acquisition was made in 1762, when the statute collection by Modée was bought from the town’s burgomaster Degerman.173 These books could be consulted by the members of the town administration. In addition, town dwellers frequently borrowed books from and lent them to their acquaintances. Sometimes, these lent- out books even started to circulate more, forcing the owners to announce in the local newspapers for their return.174 This also applied to legal books, as the estate inventory of the merchant Anders Ingman of Tammisaari (Sw. Ekenäs) shows: he had borrowed the law book from his mother-in-law.175 In our material, one legal book is mentioned as borrowed. Even if Isaac Lindeberg (d. 1781), the provincial secretary (landssekreterare)176 of Uusimaa, who had also held the office of the notary of the lower town court (kämnerrättsnotarie), had many books, he had also borrowed one, Christian König’s Lärdoms-öfning, from the local district notary (häradsskrivare) Amner.177 Johan Amner (1735–1784) lived in neighbouring Espoo and was registrar of the district of Porvoo 1773–1774 and of the eastern district of Raasepori from 1774 until his

Polviander (1769–1823), born in Oulu, but was working as an extraordinary clerk of the justice department (Justitie Expedition) in Stockholm at the time of the subscription, but who later became a district judge in the region of Oulu, Kotivuori (2005), Polviander, Johan Jakob. The subscriber, vicar Joel Jakob Petrejus (1732–1804), was of Finnish origin, but had permanently resided in Stockholm since 1770, Kotivuori (2005), Petrejus, Joel Jakob. On Bilmark, see Klinge (2003), pp. 607–608; Schybergson (1924), pp. 402–404. 173 Halila (1953), p. 53. 174 On this, see Lext (1950), p. 193; Grönroos (1983a), pp. 39–40; Grönroos (1983b), pp. 76, 78. 175 Grönroos and Nyman (1996), Ekenäs, no. 27, p. 228. 176 The provincial secretary was the right-hand man and deputy of the provincial governor, and in charge of the provincial secretariat. He, in turn, was aided by the vice-provincial secretary, the provincial notary, and the provincial clerks. 177 Helsinki, no. 651 (Isaac Lindeberg, 1781), p. 324. The district notary of a bailiwick was in charge of local crown taxation. He kept records on land, collected taxes and taxation lists, kept lists on the assessment units of land, and so on. He also supervised the duties of the local crown bailiff, and wrote lists of fines and tithes. He reported on the crown revenues and answered for the kept records of the bailiwick to the central government. 182 M. KORPIOLA death. While Amner had probably not studied at university, he was without doubt one of the few lower-rank civil servants who were legal literates.178 In Amner’s case, for him, books may to have been a means to acquire legal literacy. Moreover, this brings insight into the local networks between legal literates and means to acquire legal knowledge. In the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, the elites of many Swedish towns established reading societies (Sw. läsesällskap) with private libraries. These book collections were funded through yearly membership fees, and they focused on historical and geographical literature, novels, and foreign periodicals.179 For example, in 1760, the library at the gymnasium in Gothenburg was expanded into a subscription library.180 Of our sample towns, reading societies were established in Kokkola (1800) and Porvoo (1806). The people behind the latter were members of the so- called burgher nobility, leading civil servants and merchants of the town. Its charter observed that no scientific literature, history and geography excepted, was to be included in the library.181 Apparently, legal literature played only a marginal role in these early reading society libraries. The same applies to the book collections of commercial circulating libraries (lånebibliotek), first established in Stockholm in 1783. Although the biggest of these had a huge number of volumes (up to more than 8000), a diminutive part of the books were legal, unlike history, geography, and novels. In Turku, the first commercial circulating library, with a selection of 1333 volumes, was established in 1801, and the one in Helsinki in 1807.182

178 Walta (2005), p. 151. Amner is not mentioned in the database of Turku University students 1640–1852. 179 Nurmio (1947), here esp. pp. 2–9; Gardberg (1938), esp. pp. 265–274: such Swedish towns include Stockholm (1784), Vaasa (1794) Karlskrona (1796), Turku (1799), Tornio (1805) and Viborg (1806, 1808). Similar reading societies and libraries were also established in other towns and even in the countryside later in the nineteenth century. See also Mäkinen (1997), pp. 159–180. 180 Lext (1950), pp. 190–193. 181 Gardberg (1938), pp. 267–268, 277–278, 289. 182 Björkman (1992), esp. pp. 20, 26, 91–118. LEGAL LITERATES IN EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY SWEDISH TOWNS… 183

Conclusion The spread of Swedish law books in the vernacular (Swedish, but also to a lesser degree Finnish and German) indicates that early modern Swedes had access to legal knowledge in a language that they could understand, provided that they could read. The Swedish laws, first and foremost the medieval laws and after 1736 also the Law Code of 1734, were widely spread not only among the town elite administering the town, but also among the more middling sort. To a lesser degree, the Church Law as well as the maritime and military laws also circulated in the towns. The court proceedings at the local level were relatively simple, and one could manage with a secular law book. Combined with the fact that the ordinary court sessions at local tribunals both in towns and in the countryside were largely oral and open to the public, attending court sessions was a learning experience. In the course of the latter half of the eighteenth century, more legal books—including jurisprudence and law commentaries—were available in the Swedish language and were also probably more affordable for the people. Moreover, legal literature, and especially law books, became more widespread in the communities. Statute collections and legal literature were mostly owned by those with administrative/judicial duties: the upper class and civil servants of various kinds. Not unsurprisingly, some of the largest legal book collections belonged to burgomasters and town councillors, who increasingly had law studies and exams. Also burghers involved in town administration had wider collections of legal books. Simultaneously, in the course of the eighteenth century, the judiciary of Swedish towns was moving towards a more professional regime. The size of the legal book collections grew, and the new professional and university-trained administrators of justice owned the biggest law libraries. The legal books of clerics and teachers were a mixture of Latin-language ius commune jurisprudence and natural law as well as practical Swedish law. If one considers the group of legal literates in our four Swedish towns through book ownership as displayed by the estate inventories, it is clear that those who owned the most legal literature were on the more learned scale of literates. It also resounds with the ongoing professionalisation of Swedish town administration and judicial office-holders during the eighteenth century. Around the same time, it has been observed that in the Finnish countryside, the number of estate inventories made by local “lay” civil servants, peasants, and other non-elite groups multiplied during the 184 M. KORPIOLA latter half of the eighteenth century.183 This suggests that these groups were developing their legal literacy by doing legal writing. The growing literacy combined with the spreading of law books and legal literature may have provided people of the middling sort with better possibilities to improve their legal skills and knowledge. Book ownership and reading had become relevant means to acquire and improve one’s legal literacy, and further research may provide more insights into the role of self-study and books in learning law by doing.

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Vainio-Korhonen, Kirsi. 2012. Ujostelemattomat: kätilöiden, synnytysten ja arjen historiaa. Helsinki: WSOY. Vasara-Aaltonen, Marianne. 2017. Learning for the Legal Profession: Swedish Jurists’ Study Journeys ca. 1630–1800. LL.D. thesis, Faculty of Law, University of Helsinki. Vepsä, Iisa. 2013. 1700-luvun perintö- ja testamenttioikeutta oikeuskäytännön valossa. Lakimies 111 (4): 624–638. Walta, Matti. 2005. Virkamiehiä: Lääninhallinnon virkamiehet 1721–1808. (Suomen sukututkimusseuran julkaisuja 56.) Helsinki: Suomen sukututkimusseura.

Electronic Resources HENRIK database: Books and Their Owners in Finland up to 1809. http:// dbgw.finlit.fi/henrik/henrik_english.php. Accessed 1 July 2018. Kotivuori, Yrjö. 2005. Ylioppilasmatrikkeli 1640–1852 [Academy of Turku/ University of Helsinki Student Register 1640–1852]. https://ylioppilasmatrikkeli.helsinki.fi. All accessed 1 July 2018. Brumerus, Sigfrid: https://ylioppilasmatrikkeli.helsinki.fi/henkilo. php?id=4189. Brunou, Karl Henrik: https://ylioppilasmatrikkeli.helsinki.fi/henkilo. php?id=9572. Byman, Eric: https://ylioppilasmatrikkeli.helsinki.fi/henkilo.php?id=7898. Drysell, Henrik: https://ylioppilasmatrikkeli.helsinki.fi/henkilo. php?id=5127. Enckell, Gabriel: https://ylioppilasmatrikkeli.helsinki.fi/henkilo. php?id=7075. Hisinger, Jakob Vilhelm: https://ylioppilasmatrikkeli.helsinki.fi/henkilo. php?id=9900. Hisinger, Karl: https://ylioppilasmatrikkeli.helsinki.fi/henkilo.php?id=7785. Höök, Erik: https://ylioppilasmatrikkeli.helsinki.fi/henkilo.php?id=7292. Hornaeus, Samuel: https://ylioppilasmatrikkeli.helsinki.fi/henkilo. php?id=5206. Petrejus, Joel Jakob: https://ylioppilasmatrikkeli.helsinki.fi/henkilo. php?id=7145. Polviander, Johan Jakob: https://ylioppilasmatrikkeli.helsinki.fi/henkilo. php?id=10228. Snellman, Johan: https://ylioppilasmatrikkeli.helsinki.fi/henkilo. php?id=6326. Popular Legal Manuals as Sources and Mechanisms of Acquiring Legal Literacy

Annamaria Monti

Introduction This chapter deals with popular legal manuals that were published in Western countries during the nineteenth century. These formed a very interesting kind of popular legal literature, which shared similar features. The chapter presents a few specific examples coming from different legal systems. In particular, it highlights the role of these popular legal manuals as methods of acquiring legal literacy.1 In Continental Europe at the time, the reach of such popular legal manuals seemed to be especially bound to the nineteenth-century codification of the law, despite some of them being published even before the codes. The Vade mecum Juridicum, oder, Der sich selbst rathende Advocat can be mentioned as an example. This work was edited by Johann Christian Lünig (1662–1740), publicist and historian,2 and Franz Theophilus Freuler (d. 1764), doctor of laws and teacher (Privatdozent) at the University of Basel.

1 On the definition of legal literacy, see Mia Korpiola’s introduction in this volume. 2 Teichmann (1884), p. 641; Roeck (1987), pp. 468–469. See also Lünig (1725).

A. Monti (*) Bocconi University, Milan, Italy

Here, the 1753–1754 Basel edition has been used.3 This manual was written in German, and it explained the law in force in the German-speaking regions of this time, in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries. It dealt with the most common issues arising around family law and ownership. It also contained a series of forms to be used in courts, enriched with legal advice and case law. It was a practical book, with no theoretical aims. It was addressed to the general public and each chapter presented a legal issue as if it were a real-life case decided by a judge. In addition to the contents, the title of the book, Der sich selbst rathende Advocat (“Everyman his own lawyer”), is one of its most intriguing features. The title was very apt, and it was to be imitated several times in the course of the following centuries, in many different countries. In my research, the choice was made to widen the outlook from Continental Europe to the common law countries to demonstrate how such manuals spread in very different legal traditions in the age of codification. One might talk of a “transnational” legal literary genre addressed to a non-professional, or lay, public of readers. In other words, these manuals, while elucidating how a specific legal system functioned, were an expression of the common need for legal literacy, which took similar forms not only across the English Channel, but also across the Atlantic Ocean. Therefore, this chapter will give an overview of these manuals both in nineteenth-century Italy and in the contemporary Anglo-American world, comparing these very different legal systems, which nevertheless shared similar popular legal manuals. The aim of the chapter is to identify some common features of this kind of legal literature, as they can be considered both sources for acquiring and mechanisms for using legal literacy, legal literature, which flourished in completely different political, social, and economic contexts. For the analysis, two Italian legal systems and two common law systems were chosen to be scrutinised in more detail, starting with the Kingdom of Lombardy-Venetia, a nineteenth-century Italian State under Habsburg domination. Then, the focus will be on a couple of examples of legal manuals that gained great success in Italy after the Unification, when the Italian nation-building process started. Finally, a few other examples of popular legal manuals that were published in England and in the United States will be discussed. These manuals will also form the main source material of the chapter.

3 E.g. Lünig (1753); Freuler (1754). On this Vade mecum Juridicum and its various editions, see Frey (1830), pp. 165–167. On Freuler, see Meusel (1804), p. 487. POPULAR LEGAL MANUALS AS SOURCES AND MECHANISMS… 193

Popular Legal Manuals in Nineteenth-Century Italy As we know, the use of Latin remained prevalent in Italian legal literature until the end of the eighteenth century.4 As António Manuel Hespanha has observed, “legal learned knowledge is embodied in written pages” and in the Italian literary tradition, law books were written in Latin.5 Thus, one could ask when the diffusion of law manuals and books written in Italian, and specifically intended for non-jurists, actually started. In 1673, Cardinal Giovanni Battista de Luca (1614–1683) published his Dottor Volgare (roughly translated: “Learned Italian-speaking Jurist”].6 This scholarly work was a kind of a synthesis, in the Italian vernacular, of de Luca’s Theatrum Veritatis et Iustitiae (“The Theatre of Truth and Justice”) which has been called “one of the most important early-modern legal encyclopaedic work.”7 Dottor Volgare was addressed to a general public of learned people, but it was read also by learned jurists who were used to Latin. It remained an unparalleled masterpiece, republished and re-edited for centuries.8 Apart from de Luca’s work in the Italian vernacular, manuals of practical legal advice written in Italian for the “general” public seem to have started appearing only around the mid-nineteenth century. Let us now focus on the example of the Kingdom of Lombardy-Venetia. It was created at the Congress of Vienna (1814–1815) and put under Austrian rule, which lasted until 1859, when Lombardy was annexed to Piedmont, which at the time belonged to the Kingdom of Sardinia. In 1861, King Victor Emanuele of Sardinia was proclaimed King of Italy, unifying much of Italy, while Venetia was annexed to the Kingdom of Italy in 1866.9 Under Austrian rule, the Austrian codes were introduced and political freedom was denied. In addition, the Austrian government strictly controlled access to the bar, and the new procedural rules limited the role of professional advocates, in both civil and criminal litigation.10

4 Fiorelli (1957), pp. 261–291; Fiorelli (1994), pp. 553–597; Fiorelli (1984), pp. 127–154. See also Monti (2008), pp. 31–82. 5 Hespanha (2008), pp. 12–50. 6 de Luca (1839–1843). See also de Luca (1980), p. 18. 7 Mazzacane (2016), pp. 214–216. 8 Mazzacane (2010), pp. 340–346; Dani (2012b); Dani (2012a), pp. 177–180; Birocchi and Fabbricatore (2013), pp. 685–689. 9 Raponi (1986), pp. 91–157; Meriggi (1987). 10 Gigli Marchetti et al. (2004); Storti Storchi (2004), pp. 459–495; Danusso and Storti Storchi (2006). 194 A. MONTI

In my opinion, these are the reasons why this example is interesting from the viewpoint of the mechanisms of acquiring legal literacy in a wider European perspective. Despite a strong dislike for the Austrian domination, and notwithstanding the success encountered by the French Code civil of 1804, which had been in force in those areas from 1806,11 the Austrian civil code, the Allgemeines bürgerliches Gesetzbuch [hereafter: the ABGB], was well accepted from its introduction in 1816 by the governors of Milan and Venice.12 Actually, the ABGB was based on the premises of natural law doctrines like the Code civil and dictated the private law rules for peaceful living.13 At a certain point, it had to be popularised and made “available” to all subjects. Concerning the aspect of the popularisation of law, some years ago, Jean-Louis Halpérin wrote about a general movement of popularisation of the codes, pursued even in a pedagogical sense. According to Halpérin, this movement started around the mid-nineteenth century through different “cultural” and artistic means. In particular, he mentioned the diffusion of popular legal manuals aimed at stimulating interest in the laws in force among the general public. This diffusion flourished throughout Europe, from Baden to France, from Prussia to Italy.14 Within the limitations of this text, the judicial and administrative system or the social and economic context of the period in Kingdom of Lombardy-Venetia cannot be expanded on. Nevertheless, around the mid-eighteenth century, times here were favourable, too, for the development of a publishing market of popular legal literature to make law texts “understandable” to the Italian subjects of the Austrian empire. More precisely, a specific type of popular literature of law gained great success: the legal guides for laymen, a sort of collection of legal manuals that had titles like “Everyman his own lawyer” or “My practical counsellor in the law.” There are several factors contributing to this, and among the most important is the partial increase in adult literacy in the region. Consequently, the number of people belonging to the emerging bourgeois class interested in reading both books and newspapers was growing.15 Moreover, the publishing process started to become industrialised, and steam was intro-

11 Cavanna (2007), pp. 1079–1136. See also the recent work by Solimano (2017). 12 Di Simone (2006); Caroni and Ferrante (2015). See also Dölemeyer and Mohnhaupt (2012). 13 Dezza (2000). 14 Halpérin (2002), pp. 223–261. 15 Meriggi (1992); Meriggi and Schiera (1993). POPULAR LEGAL MANUALS AS SOURCES AND MECHANISMS… 195 duced in the printing systems in Milan and in Venice, allowing lower prices on printed works. Book historians speak of a “book merchandising phenomenon” which also concerned legal literature.16 So, in 1857, a family of Milanese typographers, the Manini family, who had been running a family print shop in the town since 1819,17 started publishing a book that proved very successful, the L’avvocato di se’ stesso: manuale contenente le norme da osservarsi in qualsiasi affare di diritto con module e formularj per la stesa di atti, istanze e ricorsi in volontaria e contenziosa giurisdizione, that is, “One’s own lawyer.”18 This was a practical manual useful to laymen, written by a pool of legal practitioners, with an appendix of forms and models of contracts and other common legal acts. As the editors clearly announced in their preface, the prospective readers were educated citizens without a juridical background, willing to better manage their properties, businesses, and family affairs, following the Austrian codes of private law and civil procedure. According to the specific aims of this manual, any theoretical questions were excluded from the book, which instead focused solely on practical topics and examples. As mentioned above, this manual was to become a bestseller: it was published and re-edited at least 12 times in half a century, until 1912. Its contents changed following the laws in force, but the general structure and the goals were the same, that is, to make the law accessible to everyone interested in actively managing his own business and in avoiding unnecessary recourse to professional lawyers and legal advice. The Restoration was indeed a favourable time for popular literature also in Italy, and, compared to other parts of the country, Milan was especially active and precocious.19 Legal manuals for laymen started to be published in the Kingdom of Lombardy-Venetia, and this type of publication conquered a position of favour in the publishing market, spreading to the rest of the country.20 Furthermore, the movement of “familiarising” people with the law, which started in these times, expanded after the Unification of Italy, as did the publishing market of popular literature.21 Continuity was evident, even in a different political context.

16 Berengo (1980). See also Ragone (1999), pp. 3–109; Cadioli (2001). 17 Caccia (2004a), pp. 639–640. 18 [Anonymous.] L’avvocato di se’ stesso (1857). See also Monti (2009), pp. 383–424. 19 On specifically the publishing market in Milan, see Gigli Marchetti (1983); Scarpellini (1995), pp. 578–632; Colombo (1998). 20 For further information on the Italian publishing market, see Borghi (2003), pp. 100–135. 21 See Cadioli and Vigini (2012). 196 A. MONTI

In fact, after the Unification of Italy, the same Milanese print shop of the Manini brothers, who published the Avvocato di se stesso, added another title to its catalogue, side by side with the older bestseller. The new title was known as Il mio consulente legale: manuale pratico, contenente i codici e tutte le principali leggi speciali e relativi regolamenti, spiegati e commentati con casi pratici alla portata di tutti, that is, “My own legal consultant.” The publishers first released this new publication in the 1880s, when Italy, unified since 1861, was first caught up in the industrial revolution. This manual was published in at least six editions, all after 1882.22 Like the Avvocato di se stesso, it was written in accessible language by an anonymous pool of legal practitioners. Among its few innovations, the wider range of laws taken into consideration (including criminal and commercial law) and also the better speci- fication of the targeted public of readers can be mentioned. So, even if the publisher dedicated this book to all Italian citizens, he included a list of “social classes” or professional groups to which the manual was specifically addressed, such as physicians, pharmacists, and veterinarians. A kind of parallel (or comparison) was drawn with the practical manuals of medicine, which were also very successfully published in those times and useful to non-professionals. Indeed, the very old controversy about the “arts,” which opposed studies in medicine and law in a competition for leadership in the sixteenth century, found an unexpected outcome in the field of popular literature: a nineteenth-century publisher offered both popular legal books to doctors and popular medical books to jurists! However, Il mio consulente legale, the legal manual discussed here, also targeted other classes of citizens—factory owners and farmers in particular. Thus, it was addressed to both the emerging entrepreneurial class and the older land-working class. The publisher was surely well aware of the changes under way in Italian society and knew where to find readers for his books. Other publishers followed the Maninis’ example: in 1866, in the collection entitled Biblioteca utile (“Useful Library”), also edited in Milan, a lawyer called Enrico Rosmini (1828–1898) published a small work, Compendio popolare del nuovo Codice civile del Regno d’Italia, devoted to the new Italian civil code of 1865.23 Here, in the introduction of this com-

22 [Anonymous] Il mio consulente legale (after 1882); [Anonymous] Il mio consulente legale (1886). 23 Rosmini (1866). POPULAR LEGAL MANUALS AS SOURCES AND MECHANISMS… 197 pendium, written by the author himself rather than by the publisher, the patriotic spirit was clearly visible, and the rhetoric of the new unified Italy was emphasised, looking for real unity through the national codification of the law, especially that of private law.24 Nevertheless, its framework, which followed the parts of the civil code, the common language employed, as well as the use of forms and models of contracts and legal acts, made this compendium very similar to the other manuals already mentioned. So, in parallel with a legal literature aimed at lawyers, devoted to presenting to them the differences between the old codifications and the new ones, popular literature was engaged in familiarising ordinary Italian citizens with the new codes. Amongst others, a Lombard publisher named Pagnoni, who was not at all specialised in legal works, decided to entrust Francesco Giarelli (1844–1907) with the task of writing a legal manual for businessmen, able to compete with similar books edited by his competitors. Giarelli was an eclectic lawyer and journalist from Piacenza, who was well known in the artistic and literary Milanese milieu of the times.25 Pagnoni, a Milanese publisher, typographer, and bookseller between 1842 and 1900, who was working in connection with publishers from Naples, presented the range of his publications in a very rich catalogue. In this catalogue, one finds dictionaries, atlases, and a commented edition of the Divina Commedia.26 From 1877, a legal manual for laymen in three volumes by the name of L’indispensabile consigliere di sè stesso per le persone d’affari (“The indispensable consultant for oneself for businessmen”) was added.27 In this work, the idea of addressing legal explanations to the general public of “Italian families” was even more developed. Indeed, at least the idea of an Italian society was gaining ground. Certainly, the fact that this book was sold both in Milan and in Naples, that it could find a place in the library of a mid-upper-class Lombard family as well as on the shelves of a Neapolitan (educated) home, contributed somehow to the nation- building process, a process which actually was not to be completed until the First World War. Only in the trenches from 1915 to 1918, Italian

24 See Solimano (2003); Cazzetta (2012). 25 In particular, as a journalist, Giarelli specialised in reporting about trials: Giarelli (1896). On his life and works, Borgese (1930), pp. 36–38, 109; Zavalloni (2000), pp. 595–597. 26 Caccia (2004b), pp. 792–793. 27 Giarelli (1877). See also Giarelli (1876); Giarelli and Carcano (1879). 198 A. MONTI youths learned, among other things, to speak, read, and write Italian, and to come to know each other from north to south.28 Actually, one should consider how the diffusion of these “popular” works, as well as their editorial success, was strictly connected to the adult literacy rate. For example, at the time of Unification, the rate was very low,29 as less than 24 per cent of the Italian population could read and write. Moreover, the difference between north and south was enormous.30 However, the general literacy rate grew after a new scholastic system was put in place to improve the schooling level across the country.31 To summarise, I would like to highlight how the success of legal manuals for laymen in Italy seems to be particularly interesting after the Unification of Italy, and especially around the end of the nineteenth century. This presupposed the simultaneous coexistence of different elements, namely: achieving national unification of the country in 1861; the promulgation of new unitarian codes, which was linked to the need of creating a common core of juridical rules that the citizens could understand and in which they could identify themselves; the will of expanding popular education, linked to the socialist movement, and the will of expanding the publishing market nationally.32

The Anglo-American Experience of Popular Legal Manuals For a Continental European legal historian used to Continental legal sources and mechanisms like myself, it is very interesting to take a look across the Channel and even across the Atlantic. Especially in the case of popular legal manuals, the effort seems to be worth it. Moreover, looking at the common law world helps to relativise and better understand the Continental European experiences of popular legal manuals. In fact, the English-speaking world experienced the same kind of popular legal literature as Continental Europe. Actually, in the Anglo-American legal tradition, the diffusion of legal manuals for laymen flourished earlier

28 Gibelli (2014). 29 Bartoli-Langeli and Toscani (1991); Roggero (1999); Fragnito (2005); Messerli and Chartier (2000). 30 Zamagni (1978), pp. 137–178. See also Cipolla (1971), pp. 68–96. 31 Lacaita (1984), pp. 222–244; Leuzzi (1998); Vasta (1999). 32 Turi (1997); Ragone (2005), pp. 37–49. POPULAR LEGAL MANUALS AS SOURCES AND MECHANISMS… 199 than in Italy, and it was not bound to the codification of the law. Firstly, I will give some examples from England and then move on to present some from the United States. Before going into details, it should be highlighted that the diffusion of popular legal manuals in the English legal world seems to have been connected with the original spirit of the common law, very close to practice and people’s needs.33 Moreover, as historiography has pointed out, during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries there was a massive increase in the quantity and variety of legal literature, and the typical forms of literature were collections of statutes and cases. Therefore, it is not surprising that The Practical Counsellor in the Law from 1671, edited by William Sheppard34 in London, was mainly intended to put statutes and case law in order.35 However, the diffusion of popular legal manuals in the English legal system also seems to have been connected to major constitutional innovations. In England, legal manuals devoted to familiarising the general public with their rights and duties appeared during the eighteenth century. As an example, I can mention the Tenant’s Law: or the Laws Concerning Landlords, Tenants and Farmers, whose sixteenth edition was published in 1768. Landlords and farmers could profit from this manual, which explained in plain English what tenures and leases were, which problems usually occurred and what statutes and case law had decided. This same manual could also be useful for solicitors dealing with legal matters concerning land transfers.36 To exemplify and highlight what might be considered a kind of archetype of similar manuals published in Continental Europe, at least in France and, later, in Italy, I have chosen the English Lawyer; or, Every Man His Own Lawyer. Its tenth edition was published in London in 1824, edited by John Gifford. It dealt with civil injuries and their remedies, public offences, the rights of persons, and the rights of things. It contained forms and models of acts and contracts, and a few supplements concerning taxes and custom laws.37

33 Baker (2007). 34 Sheppard published also other legal works. In particular, he authored the collection of cases Action upon the case: see Simpson (1981), pp. 637–638. 35 Sheppard (1671). 36 [Anonymous.] Tenant’s Law (1768). 37 Gifford (1824). 200 A. MONTI

Also the two nineteenth-century volumes of Cassell’s Family Lawyer Being a Popular Exposition of the Civil Law of Great Britain by a Barrister- at-Law were well known. The work was attributed to an anonymous barrister, and it was divided into six sections: the Law of the Family Man, the Law of the Householder, the Law of the Businessman, the Law of Borrower and Lender, Inheritances and Trusts, and the Law of the Citizen.38 Criminal law was outside the scope of this popular legal manual, which focused instead on labour law, contracts of carriage, and corporation law. Its ideology seems to have been the idea that people could have at least some notion of their own rights, duties, and obligations. Of course, common people could not expect to become lawyers, but they could acquire a minimum of legal literacy. Before moving on to present the popular legal manuals published in nineteenth-century United States, it should be pointed out that adult literacy had always been very high in the former British colonies. Moreover, during this period, economic development was moving fast here, and the law was considered a starting point for building a new society, as the Declaration of Independence, the Bills of Rights, and the Constitution had clearly expressed.39 These could be some of the reasons why the law books published in twentieth-century America were, for the most part, legal manuals for the layman and the official.40 Worth mentioning here is The Law, without the Advice of an Attorney, or Every Man His Own Counsellor, devoted to the laws of Pennsylvania and published in 1831 by Benjamin Franklin Hancock (1800–1867), an attorney at law from Norristown (Pennsylvania).41 Another title was The Little Lawyer, or the Farmers’, Mechanics’, Miners’, Laborers’, and Business Men’s Adviser and Legal Help, which contained “a concise statement of the manner of making statutory laws, and the manner of putting them in practice” and practical forms of complaints in all ordinary suits at law. It was edited in San Francisco in 1880 by Henry Alexander Gaston (1823– ?), a former politician and attorney at law in Napa and San José in California.42 This handbook offered plain and safe explanations of the most common legal issues and rules, starting from the Decalogue to the

38 [Anonymous.] Cassell’s Family Lawyer (189?). 39 Tushnet et al. (2015). 40 For further information on the publication of law books in the United States and a com- prehensive booklist, see Parrish (1979). See also Hoeflich (1997–1998), pp. 415–431. 41 Hancock (1831). 42 Gaston (1880). POPULAR LEGAL MANUALS AS SOURCES AND MECHANISMS… 201

Californian Constitution of 1879, passing by Roman law, to a wide public of “workers.” The appendix of forms and models of contracts and other common legal acts reflected the rapid economic growth and the social life of a very young country—the State of California—in the late nineteenth century. So, one could find out how to change one’s family name, check the forms of complaints to litigate in front of the Justice of the Peace, a lay magistrate, for the payments of cattle (cattle deals) or goods, such as lumber and other building materials or fruits of the earth. In addition, one chapter was devoted to the legal rules concerning mining exploitation and another to patents. A very interesting section of The Little Lawyer concerned “[t]he public lands of the United States.” The Far West was the frontier, and every citizen, “head of a family, widow, or single person” could settle down, occupy, and buy at a reduced price, according to the official price list, lands on which the rights of the local Indian populations were considered expired. So, in this section of the manual, one could find pre-emptions and homestead legal forms for acquiring property by squatting or settling, according to the Homestead Act (1861) and the Timber Culture Act (1873).43 Moving very quickly to the East Coast, one could mention The American Agriculturist Law Book, published in New York in 1886. It offered a compendium of basic legal rules concerning contracts, copyright, maritime law, family, and inheritance law. In addition, it contained very useful tables of comparative legislations, for example, on divorce, as the rules on divorce were different in each state. A dictionary of legal terms in Law French44 and Latin45 was included in an appendix. These are just a few examples of legal manuals for laymen published in England and in the United States in very different contexts and aimed at offering a minimum of legal literacy to their readers. Certainly, on the one hand, they proved the success of this kind of legal book and, on the other, the demand for such popular legal literature. A citizen had to know the laws governing his or her life and how to act as a citizen in everyday life.

43 Toninelli (1993). See also Milner (1996). 44 For an interesting comparison, see Baker (1979). 45 Corey and Haigh (1886). 202 A. MONTI

Conclusion This chapter argues that we can include very different discursive forms and types of law manuals aimed at a wider public of non-jurists among the sources and mechanism of acquiring legal literacy. More precisely, most popularising written works might be considered a specific form of literature in the field of law, like the legal manuals for laymen. This specific legal literary genre had—and still has—a number of common features: a practical approach, no theoretical presentation of the issues, a list of practical examples taken from everyday life, plain language, and common legal forms. Generally speaking, these popular legal manuals did not want to present themselves “under the delusive pretence of qualifying every man to be his own lawyer.”46 Finally, what seems to be the most interesting feature is the idea hidden beyond these publications, that to master the law was to read books, and this idea came from the Western learned lawyers.47 More precisely, these popular legal manuals were presented as sources and mechanisms of acquiring legal literacy, readable by everyone who could read. In fact, referring to adult literacy as a key of the success of this popular literature could also explain why this kind of literature spread earlier in the Protestant world—mainly in the English-speaking and the German- speaking world—than in Catholic countries. Even if popular literature also existed in ancient times and especially during the ancien régime, it was not until during the nineteenth century that it flourished in Southern European countries such as Italy. This was certainly partly due to the movement of codification of the law, but also to increased adult literacy, as the Italian case clearly shows. Moreover, the editorial success of works popularising the law does not seem to be connected with any specific political form of government. On the contrary, it was bound to the need to make common people familiar with the legal rules. This trend can first be perceived in the English legal world at least from the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries on. Such works became a “must” in Continental Europe when the codification processes were initiated, and later on, when the new economic processes took place. In the United States, it was considered part of the “spirit” of the Constitution.

46 Dole (1887), preface. 47 Hespanha (2008), pp. 12–13. POPULAR LEGAL MANUALS AS SOURCES AND MECHANISMS… 203

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Laetitia Guerlain and Nader Hakim

After all, in social matters, to ‘know’ and to ‘make known’, ‘to understand’ and ‘to be understood’ are much better means of preparing oneself and helping others to be prepared to act in a reflective and efficient manner. (Édouard Lambert)1

To speak of a “popular legal literature” is not self-evident. It is equally legitimate to ask just what this literature may be. If, a priori, “legal” literature is something that can easily be grasped, then how can it be “popular”? Is the law something that is in the interests of everybody? Is it not destined for all—if for no other reason than that it is a set of prescriptions, sanc- tioned by an authority, and not the reserved domain of a particular social group? The problem is complex. There can be no question of affirming, ab initio, that legal writings are an area reserved for an elite. An analysis of French popular legal literature can serve as an example. In France, didactic, scientific, or practical works, such as the collections of jurisprudence

1 Lévy (1926), Préface, p. xvi.

L. Guerlain (*) • N. Hakim University of Bordeaux, Bordeaux, France

© The Author(s) 2019 211 M. Korpiola (ed.), Legal Literacy in Premodern European Societies, World Histories of Crime, Culture and Violence, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-96863-6_9 212 L. GUERLAIN AND N. HAKIM and the journals in the legal field, form a specialist literature that is practically written and read by jurists, exclusively.2 A visit to law school libraries, courts, law firms, or notaries is enough to show that these texts are not intended for laymen, but for the reserve of professionals. The style, the typography, and other details show a technical literature, restricted for the specialists, without any explanation or invitation to open it to others. Yet, it is customary to write about the history of law by taking into account this literature alone. It reveals the state of law as it was thought of and practised in a particular country, France, which accorded the law faculties a monopoly over legal graduation. Furthermore, as a country, France held a large class of accredited and licensed lawyers, notaries, academics, and an entire industry that gravitated around them: from counsellors and legal assistants to clerks, secretaries, and “runners.”3 However, housed within cellars, attics, or municipal libraries were books that were neither scientific nor the exclusive reserve of lawyers. They formed a “popular” literature of law, insofar as they were neither reserved for professionals of the law nor were they necessarily written by jurists. The laypeople, to whom these publications were targeted, were, almost exclusively, those who were avoided by the traditional literature stricto sensu. Thus, a grey area within the literature exists, which is hardly given an iota of attention from historians of law. One which, nevertheless, conveyed the law to an entire demographic of diverse and varied professionals, to those curious as to the working of the law, and to users including artisans or architects—from “the person on the street” who had never set foot in a law school, to law firms, and even to certain courts themselves! This “popular” literature, as opposed to that aimed towards jurists,4 became the showcase by which the non-specialists understood the law; or, alternatively, what legal knowledge they were likely to learn, by themselves, through their own endeavours. Nonetheless, such knowledge about the law did exist. We must look at the multitude of daily operations that had legal consequences without being carried out by, or in the presence of,

2 Arnaud (1975). 3 In the mid-nineteenth century, France counted 6000 law students. Among them, 2000 studied law at the Faculty of Law of Paris (in 2016, there were 200,000 law students in France), but the legal practitioners were by far more numerous. See Audren and Halpérin (2013), pp. 31, 63. 4 In the sense that it is not addressed towards the “people” as a political group, the “people” being opposed to economic and social “elites.” ACQUIRING LEGAL LITERACY BY READING: POPULAR LEGAL LITERATURE… 213 legal counsel, or any other such practice which solicits legal reaction from the authorities. One knows that, potentially, the law was there; that the public authority could be called upon to compel everybody to respect the rules. The concerned party wanted to know what awaited;5 wanted to be able to foresee the organised social reaction against them; or to plan their future professional and personal activity, in order for their acts to produce the desired effect.6 At the frontiers of jurists’ knowledge, there was a marginal legal knowledge which was solely the affair of the masses. However, this legal knowledge, even minimal or approximate, did not come from education or professional practices alone. They were also the fruits of having read publications which were addressed to those who had neither the desire, the time, nor the competence to seek justice as it had been presented to the jurists. Many books were targeted at these “laymen” because publishers understood that there is a market.7 To satisfy the demands of a large number of readers, the publishers and authors—be they jurists or otherwise—responded by producing a targeted and formatted literature. Whether it fulfilled itsraison d’être or not, meaning the dissemination of law, is a question that should be avoided from the outset. Its quality, or lack thereof, is not a central element. The fact that it existed at all should be enough to attract the curiosity of the legal historian who wishes to leave the well-trodden paths of the legal libraries and enter another world that has often been neglected, despite its predominance and deter- mining position, as all were able to read up on the law at any given moment. One cannot, therefore, be satisfied with the current historiographical vacuum and it seems necessary to look at this unexplored content. Taking advantage of the current scientific field of law and literature,8 or more specifically law as literature,9 an analysis of published works on the law,

5 See Holmes (1897). 6 For an example of a political and social instrumentalisation of the law, see Israël (2009). 7 See mostly: Mollier (1984); Mollier (1988); Mollier (1999). See also Vaillant (2003a); Vaillant (2000), pp. 169–185; Vaillant (2003b), pp. 75–97; Vaillant and Térouanne (1999), pp. 15–34. 8 French legal scholars and historians now take a strong interest in law as literature and law in literature (being late in this regard compared to their American colleagues). For an example, see Dissaux (2012) and the new law journal Revue Droit & Littérature, no. 1 (2017). 9 See Mollier (2005), pp. 137–147; Brissaud (2005), p. 34; Normand (2005), pp. 1–29; Normand (2017), pp. 425–456; Hakim (2010), pp. 147–168; Giavarini (2010a, b); Hakim 214 L. GUERLAIN AND N. HAKIM which were intended for non-lawyers, is proposed. To better understand this literary phenomenon seems enlightening, in and of itself, but would also prove useful for the understanding of the knowledge created by the jurists. Furthermore, this will explain more regarding the representations of law in society. What non-lawyers wrote about law or what jurists said about the law to the non-initiated illustrates just what the law was, at a given moment and within a social group. Furthermore, the representations that were formed and their diffusion will be investigated. In other words, as John H. Baker writes: “The literature produced by a profession is often the clearest guide to the state of its intellectual development.”10 Let it be added that the same could be said of its social and cultural importance. Before undertaking an analysis of this literature, it would be judicious to try to understand its place within a wider legal literature. This historical system is constructed and predetermined in nature and was built on a framework provided by a contemporary legal, editorial, literary, economic, and intellectual context.11 From a historical point of view, since legal texts can no longer be considered as pure semantic universes, they become a field of investigation that cannot be limited to the classic legal works of the past or to an antiquarian museology.12

(2014), pp. 171–187; Chambost (2014); Chambost (2015); Barenot (2014); Richard (2016, forthcoming). See also the colloquium recently held in Paris, dedicated to the history of legal edition: L’histoire de l’édition juridique (xvie–xxie siècle): Un état des lieux, Paris, 25–26 Jan. 2018. On legal periodicals, see Canto (1999); Cherfouh (2017); Hakim (2007), pp. 123–152; Audren et al. (2018, forthcoming). 10 Baker (2007), p. 176. 11 On this, cf. Audren and Halpérin (2013); Audren (2014), pp. 337–345. We do agree with Audren and acknowledge that an intellectual work cannot be studied separately from its context. Therefore, historians must study the “concrete practices that the legal production demands [debate, read, write, travel, edit, etc.]” (pratiques concrètes que la production juridique exige [débattre, lire, écrire, voyager, éditer, etc.]), p. 338. 12 For a similar diagnosis about literature in general, and a bright insight into this question, see Vaillant (2003b), p. 550. The author invites us to “suggest historical hypothesis about the evolutions of the writing of literature, on the birth and transformation of the forms, the methods, the writings practices and the genres” (proposer des hypothèses historiques sur les évo- lutions du faire littéraire, sur la naissance ou la mutation des formes, des procédés, des pratiques d’écriture, des genres), p. 561. ACQUIRING LEGAL LITERACY BY READING: POPULAR LEGAL LITERATURE… 215

Popular Legal Literature as a Literary Subgenre: Are We In or Out? After briefly characterising legal literature, it will be necessary to focus more attention specifically on the “popular” elements of this literature.

A Very Secondary Literature For a large part of the jurists, the so-called legal literature texts fall into two categories. This seems to be an issue on which there is relative consen- sus: on the one hand, there are the legal texts themselves. These are texts that express or contain the applicable, positive law. On the other hand, there are the lawyers’ texts, which do not directly express positive law but rather its interpretation, complement, or an explanation. The former can be qualified as primary, or normative literature, and the latter can be placed under the name of secondary or non-normative literature. It is accepted that the legislator, the judges, or the administrators speak the language of law when addressing the citizen-litigant through their texts. They create, formulate, and enact. A law or a judgement, whatever it may be, cannot be confused with a commentary upon a judgement or a treatise of legal doctrine. This primary literature is intended for a captive and abstract audience, because, much according to the adage “No one is supposed to ignore the law,” everyone is the subject to the law and, therefore, to legal texts. Equally, many jurists see it as evidential that the law exists socially and economically since it is promulgated, precisely because it is positive law, and no one can escape it based upon the pretext of igno- rance or inaccessibility. However, one can make the objective observation of the impossibility of such knowledge or, at least, of an illusion of the direct immediacy of such knowledge. In other words, the primary legal literature remains mostly for those who are in charge of applying or explaining the law in force. This presupposes a medium, a form of intermediary, between the primary texts and those to whom it is addressed; be it to inform, train, help, or turn the questions of users into judicial formulas. It is here that the tasks of the jurist become truly apparent: to train the other jurists; to decide (administrations, judges); to draw up acts (notaries); and to advise and defend (lawyers). All these social functions suppose the acquisition of a specific culture, a professional practice, and mediation. Between the transmitter and the receiver, various activities take place, 216 L. GUERLAIN AND N. HAKIM including commenting, exhibiting, and broadcasting this knowledge. Jurists produce reams of texts, and write varied and abundant literature. Thus, the primary texts are complemented by new texts ranging from the editions of law books or the judicial decisions, such as forms and acts, to the gloss and the scientific analysis. Primary literature, therefore, presupposes any secondary literature which forms an extension to make contact between the law and its recipients. This secondary literature is, intrinsically, an interpretation: in the Western legal tradition, the jurist is very often conceived as an interpreter, an inter partes, a messenger, and an oracle. Between the law and the citizen stands the jurist. The example of the French Revolution illustrates the failure of the revolutionary attempt to suppress those who were supposed to shield the impersonal law. The Napoleonic codification was an act in establishing a normative system and the restoration of the mediating function of the jurists in the society, resulting from the new political, economic, and social order. Nevertheless, even if we admit the existence of these two types of literature, primary and secondary, the meaning of the latter remains to be clarified. This task is facilitated by the existence of textbooks and other legal treatises, aimed at law students, that exist alongside the corpus of texts that speak of law. These secondary texts most often contain references to primary texts or extracts of varying lengths. They are part of a transtextual relationship to the primary texts. Thus, to speak of the law is almost always to refer to law as expressed by a third party, including when it refers to a creative act (e.g., where the judge is significant). It is, therefore, important to distinguish intertextuality, which is the presence of one text within another, such as a quotation or reference, and metatextuality, which is a “trans-textual relation that unites a comment to the text upon which it comments.”13 This is important because any legal literature tends to be composed of texts in tandem with others, in a relationship of intertextuality and metatextuality. Moreover, it is rare to find a text pertaining to the legal without it containing any link to a primary and/or secondary text. Whether it refers to a court decision, or a law in the formal sense, or discusses a comment, the legal text only speaks of law when it is founded in text. Equally, we can talk about a transtextual chain uniting the legal texts.14

13 Genette (2004), p. 80. 14 Hakim (2018, forthcoming) and the Italian translation: Hakim (2017). ACQUIRING LEGAL LITERACY BY READING: POPULAR LEGAL LITERATURE… 217

Moreover, from a material point of view, these texts are written to allow the reader to visualise this chain of authority. Notes, references, and quotations form the basis of validating the authoritative nature of those who wrote the text.15 Publishers, authors, and readers have historically built the formal textual norms that qualify as “legal,” at least if their authors have respected the set of constraints. In this case, legal literature does not escape the modus operandi of any literature that is constructed, just as with any historical system.

A Legal Literature (Despite Everything) It is possible, a priori, to admit that all the texts which speak of the law without being legal by nature belong to the secondary legal literature. However, one must characterise the popular literature of law. Here, the question of education in law is decisive because the arguments are most often placed from the perspective of the lawyers themselves. In France, lawyers are trained in law schools, which helps to give them a specific acculturation. During their education, students learn to read and understand, but also to recognise a book or a legal text, as well as distinguish whether it is primary and secondary in nature. There is nothing that is evident about this, and legal knowledge is acquired by the reproduction of a culture. However, this recognition of legal texts is two- fold. The first is the language and type of speech used in the text; to talk about the law as if it were written supposes the use of a compatible and recognisable style. The legal style not only includes a particular vocabulary, a language, but also a style that cannot be too journalistic or “literary,” as the law does not support sensationalist language, event narration, or even stylistic additions. The law corresponds to suitable and accepted literary genres; a recognisable discourse within each legal culture. However, a secondary aspect of legal texts must not be forgotten: respecting the conventions relating to references to primary sources, quotations, methodology, or literary genres. This paratext is decisive in that through it “a text becomes a book and offers itself as such to its readers and, more generally, to the public.” Full-text references or footnotes, for example, make it easy to distinguish a novel or journalistic account from a “legal” text, and students quickly identify what they can easily use in their own textual production.

15 See in particular Foucault (1971); Foucault (1969); Latour (1987). 218 L. GUERLAIN AND N. HAKIM

However, staying within the domain of the law schools and the world of jurists prevents us from thinking about these margins of the secondary literature. To explore them, an investigation is needed into the addressees of texts that speak about law. How can a text whose purpose is to describe, explain, or comment on the law be translated to a common language for a non-lawyer? How can the law be written outside the conventional frameworks of the legal education, thus outside of French law faculties?16 In other words, can secondary legal literature escape its usual confines when it addresses the layman? From a strictly rational point of view, the fact that non-lawyers were addressed or the fact that the author may be a non-jurist should imply total freedom. In other words, outside the culture of the specialised social group of lawyers, stylistic and textual conventions should no longer be applicable. Still, this would require fresh reflection emerging from the particularly semantic universe of legal discourse. It should also be possible to escape the community of “authorised” readership, composed of jurists, that “constructs” the admissibility of a text, based upon the quality of the author or its intertextuality. Finally, this would imply renewing the trans- textuality in the rest of legal literature. Nonetheless, a text, irrespective of to whom it is addressed, should be “legal” from the moment it speaks upon the subject and whoever may be the recipient. Therefore, it cannot be considered that either the legal literature or the judicial world is a closed community, whose rules are set by the interpretative jurists themselves. What they think on law and what they classify as law cannot be disregarded, even if these texts do not necessarily originate from texts that are not usually integrated into the corpus of legal literature. In this way, whether popular or not, all literature becomes “legal” from the moment that it intends to explain, comment on, or dis- sect any of the mysteries of law. The fact that it exists and that books and pamphlets have been published on the subject suffices to give it body, and its object makes it possible to add the term “legal” to this literature. Composed of secondary texts, it integrates all legal literature and only dif- fers because it tries to address those who are not the usual recipients of legal texts. It is only by mapping the legal literature as a whole that we can draw its contours and understand it better.

16 On the quite different German case, see Jacob (1994), pp. 5–20. For comparison, see also Altehenger (2018). ACQUIRING LEGAL LITERACY BY READING: POPULAR LEGAL LITERATURE… 219

The Popular Legal Literature: An Attempt at a Photofit There is a myriad of writings belonging to the genre of popular legal literature, and they form an extremely populated publishing space. The colossal Bibliographie générale des sciences juridiques, politiques, économiques et sociales de 1800 à 1926 by Aimable-Auguste Grandin allows a “law course for the use of the primary and secondary schools (civic instruction, ordinary law, political economy)” or “ordinary commercial law,” to appre- ciate the immensity of this virgin space, under the heading “Ordinary Law.”17 The very fact that there are such dedicated sections attests to the contemporary jurists’ awareness of the existence and specificity of such a literature. Is it possible to establish a “photofit” profile of the literature? To put it differently, this study highlights the question of the identity of a “law for all.” To do this, an analysis of a body of writings of a hundred titles has been undertaken; analysing substantial elements (A) as formal (B) constitutives of this separate legal literature.

Substantial Elements Know the Law; Know Your Rights. The prefaces of popular literary works provide useful information on the objectives of the same works. In general, these books aimed at initiating people who had not undertaken legal studies. Popular law literature had an educative function. What is, then, the common denominator of such works? The readers were necessarily “laypeople” to the subject. This general statement calls for nuance, nonetheless. Who was this “Public”—embellished as it was with a capital letter by Antoine-Grégoire Daubanton (1752–1815), in the preface to his Dictionnaire de Code civil, published in 1806?18 The diversity of the target readership makes it possible, at the same time, to highlight the plurality of objectives of this literature. Contrary to the title of the Dictionnaire, claiming to be for everybody, such publications were rarely “for all.” Some opuses are certainly addressed to all French people without distinctions made to social class, wealth, profession, age, or sex.19 This is the emblem-

17 Grandin (1926). 18 Daubanton (1806), p. v. 19 See, for instance: Chabrol-Chaméane (1845); Bergerre (1852); Bonne (1863); Saint- Bonnet (1872); Benoît (1875); Saudemont (1875); Benoît (1876); Bonvallet (1879); Delahaye (1879); Masson (1880); Le Moutier (1889); Legrand (1904); Moullard (1908); 220 L. GUERLAIN AND N. HAKIM atic case of the Vulgarisateur des sciences commerciales, industrielles et agricoles (1877), whose author explained how to address “all classes of society, children, and hard-working mothers, as well as men with fortune and high status.”20

Nonetheless, it must not be forgotten that a large part of the popular legal literature was addressed towards the elites, those with some type of traditional interest to defend. This may have been the industrial and commercial elite,21 but, more generally, were citizens or heads-of-households with an inheritance to manage and administer. Moreover, the works were often addressed indifferently to both categories22—in short, to everyone and, particularly, to gens du monde.23 It should be noted that these works in question were, for the most part, published in the first half of the nineteenth century, at the time of the golden age of the liberal bourgeoisie who invested in business. These publications studied concern themselves, essentially, with private and commercial law.24 The prefaces of these books explain their purpose: to allow everyone to manage their own affairs, without the assistance of a lawyer. The progress of education allowed this literature to become open to a growing number of people, without formal studies in law. These works were intended to give some basic notions of legal science or, in any case, to facilitate research “to all those who need to know the law or at least to know their duties and their rights.”25 Some

Griolet and Vergé (1909); Adam (1910); Parisot (1911); Michel (1912); Boistel and Foignet (1919); Charmolu (1924). 20 Fernand (1877), Préface, p. iv. 21 One of the very first popular legal books we know about, written in the eighteenth century, indeed addresses merchants: L., A. (1749). For the nineteenth century, see Rondonneau (1822); Giraudeau (1836); Celliez (1836); Doublet (1854); Campenon (1865); Schaffhauser (1888); Coqueugniot (1892); Clément (1893); Chailley-Bert (1896)—this book addresses children; Chiché (1885); Duchier (1901). The books that address merchants or manufacturers clearly predominate this popular legal literature, as can be observed in Aimable-Auguste Grandin’s Bibliographie générale des sciences juridiques, politiques, économiques et sociales de 1800 à 1926 (1926). This bibliography contains a section devoted to merchants, entitled droit commercial usuel. 22 Cantareuil (1844–1845); Denizart fils (1846); Sambucy (1855); Mazincourt (1855); Charton de Meur (1887); Droit usuel du siècle (1901) (issued for the Bon Marché stores); Moride (1901). 23 Durand de Nancy (1881), Préface, p. v. 24 Apart from a few exceptions, criminal law is quite absent from this popular legal literature. Yet, for an example, see Vibert (1890). 25 Campenon (1865), Avertissement, non-paginated. ACQUIRING LEGAL LITERACY BY READING: POPULAR LEGAL LITERATURE… 221 books explicitly deal with certain delicate family situations, such as caring for a person under their responsibility26 or having to write one’s own will.27 In the same perspective, some works of popular literature on law were useful guides for individuals who made their profession from the public good: officials and elected officials of the Republic,28 or judges.29 This is particularly the case of the book Les lois à la portée de tout le monde (1890), published under the direction of Gaston d’Hailly and Emile Quétant.30 This work intended, according to its authors, “for the use of Messrs. the mayors and town councillors of the communes of France, secretaries of town hall, police commissioners, agents of the administration.” The book, released in the centenary year of the French Revolution, could be called a “Dictionary of Public Life,” as it constitutes a true “Vademecum of all French citizens that each should own before any book,” according to its publisher. In the foreword, the Parisian publisher, F. Roy, insists, at length, on the political responsibility of citizens, electors, and their eligibility. There can be no question for the French, he argues, of ignoring the language and formulas of the law,31 “a thousand times more useful than grammar.”32 The argument, certainly of a commercial nature, entertains a certain level of bad faith, the courses—and, correlatively, the textbooks— of civic education having developed considerably since the Ferry laws of 1881–1882.33 In fact, it should be noted that the number of works of popular legal literature published each year decreased from the turn of the

26 Valentin (1835). 27 Thévenin (1908b). 28 Le Moutier (1889), Avertissement de l’éditeur, non-paginated. 29 See for instance, Boucher d’Argis (1822) and De Foulan (1833). 30 D’Hailly and Quétand (1890), Avis de l’éditeur, pp. i–iii. 31 D’Hailly and Quétand (1890), p. iii. See also Griolet and Vergé (1884), issued by the publishing house Dalloz. The goal of the book was to inform the mayors of the changes induced by the Law of 5 April 1884. For another example of a legal book addressed to civil servants or local politicians, see Felix (1926). 32 D’Hailly and Quétand (1890), Avis de l’éditeur, p. ii. 33 On this topic, see Mougniotte (1991). The question of children’s legal education (starting with Louis-Antoine-Léon de Saint-Just, who thought that children should learn the laws) and the French Revolution could be a whole research topic. Books on civic education can be considered as a part of legal popular literature, inasmuch as they address children. Even today, the Initiadroit association, created in 2005 and declared of public utility, annu- ally gathers 800 lawyers willing to make law accessible to the youngsters (ouvrir le droit aux jeunes), by intervening in middle and high schools. The goal is to “initiate to ‘law in action’, that is the law that is experienced by everybody on a daily basis without being conscious of 222 L. GUERLAIN AND N. HAKIM century onwards, when the 1880 generation became adult. Civic education began to provide the minimum legal education that most of these works intended to propose to their readers prior to the Third Republic. Certainly, the works of popular legal literature often hid their political aims poorly: after the introduction of universal male suffrage in 1848, these works were used to educate citizens concerning the public life in which they were now invited to participate. Civic duty is often promoted in certain cases, military service34 or juries,35 for instance. The versatile political context at the beginning of the nineteenth century, particularly concerning individual liberties, which were closely linked to the multiplic- ity of political regimes, explains the publication of certain works, which adopted a militant tone. These works were intended to inform people who were victims of abuse at the hands of the police36 and other representatives of justice.37 Other publications are addressed to those excluded from the Republic, such as women38 or the working classes.39 Regarding the latter, legal education books or pamphlets were frequently the reproductions of it” (initier au ‘droit vivant’, c’est-à-dire celui que chacun pratique au quotidien sans en avoir toujours conscience). http://initiadroit.com/qui-sommes-nous/. Accessed 1 July 2018. 34 Beaugé (1874) and Manceau (1889). 35 Bascle de Lagrèze (1854). 36 Franque (1830) and Cabet (1842). Cabet was the famous author of Voyage en Icarie (1840) and a strong opponent of monarchy. Lawyer for a time, he was a member of the “Association libre pour l’éducation du peuple,” which issued Cabet’s Guide du citoyen with the help of the democratic newspaper Le Populaire, created in 1833 but banned for a time before being issued again from 1841 onwards. 37 Charrier (1845). 38 See, e.g., Beaupré (1844), a conservative book, published during a period of intense development of feminism, and intended to protect women from their inexperience regarding business by providing them with a limited and selected legal education, and Butel (1910). On law written for women, see Beck Varela (2016), pp. 171–189. 39 See, e.g., Dabot (1868); Cadet (1869). Cadet’s book was republished nine times before 1911. It is the publication of a course of législation usuelle, founded by the Association philotechnique pour l’instruction gratuite des ouvriers in 1861. This course was the idea of lawyer Ernest Cadet, who taught it. See, also, much later, Grigaut (1914). Léon Bourgeois’s preface in the book states that “the book is a guide that one can refer to whenever encountering some difficulties in everydaylife, intended for the workers to improve themselves by experiencing associative life, financial savings, individual cover, and solidarity” il( s’agit là vraiment d’un manuel à consulter à chaque difficulté rencontrée dans la vie, d’un guide de tous les jours destiné à permettre au travailleur de s’élever peu à peu par l’association, l’épargne, la prévoy- ance, les actes de solidarité), Grigaut (1914), Préface, p. ii. One must also mention Georges Scelle’s Le droit ouvrier (1922), Avertissement, p. v. This small book explained labour law to laymen. ACQUIRING LEGAL LITERACY BY READING: POPULAR LEGAL LITERATURE… 223 courses or lectures given by the popular education movement.40 An example would be the conferences which were organised by the Work of the Catholic Workers’ Circles (Cercle catholique des ouvriers), the Society for the Simplification of Teaching for People Société( de vulgarisation pour l’enseignement du peuple), the Philotechnical Association for the Free Instruction of the Workers (Association philotechnique pour l’instruction gratuite des ouvriers), and Popular Action (Action populaire).41 Far from any political consideration, a whole series of popular works progressively became more specialised, addressing themes, or fields, of law, sometimes in connection with the profession of individual readers. It was a question of offering an overall summary and targeted legal knowledge towards professionals, in particular, relating to the clergy, medical law,42 career soldiers,43 the service sector,44 inventors,45 industrialists,46 bankers,47 prison professionals,48 and civil servants.49 Other works related, on a more exceptional basis, to leisure activities, such as travel or hunting.50 In the 1930s, the development of the automobile explains the publication of a popular legal dictionary dedicated to the subject.51 It should be noted, in all the aforementioned cases, that these thematic works were

40 On popular and industrial education in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, see, among a vast literature, Christen and Besse (2017). 41 Apart from Ernest Cadet’s Dictionnaire (1869), published by the Association philotechnique pour l’instruction gratuite des ouvriers, one must mention: Bernard (1874); Chairgrasse (1877); Petit manuel d’éducation syndicale (1920); Reverdy (sine anno). 42 Casset (1902). 43 See, e.g., Notions de droit international destinées à MM. (1887); Julliot (1913). 44 Delorme (1876). 45 Perpigna (1834); Armengaud (1891); Lavoix and Mosès (1912). 46 See, e.g., Dufour (1857). 47 Fontaine (1924). The author was a lawyer, former judge, and doctor at law. He was the head of the Revue juridique des opérations de bourse et des sociétés. 48 Notions de droit administratif (1923); in the mid-twentieth century, Notes sommaires de droit penal (1950). 49 It is the case of the Dictionnaire juridique de O. Masselin (1888). This 1400-page book was the work of the public works contractor Onésime Masselin, who collaborated to the Bulletin de jurisprudence des travaux et du bâtiment. The Dictionnaire was published under the supervision of lawyer Camille Bazille (1854–1900), qualified to act before the Supreme Court of Cassation and the Council of State. See also a few decades earlier: Toussaint (1833); Brunet-Debaines (1841). 50 See, e.g., Lajoye (1889); Byasson (1899); Chenu (1890). 51 Perraud-Charmantier (1935). This legal dictionary was published by the Revue des agents du cycle, de la motocylette et de l’automobile. 224 L. GUERLAIN AND N. HAKIM involved in areas that generated significant litigation.52 This is the case, for example, in the relationships between landlords and tenants.53 Everyday relations in rural areas were also the subject of a large number of publications,54 explained by the absence of a codification of rural law, mainly due to localised practices, therefore making them difficult to manage despite their partial drafting.55 With the help of this bibliographical cartographic sketch, a continent divided into two regions emerges: the works intended to help a citizen to know the law, and those intended for them to know their rights. These are two very different aims, one participating in a propaedeutic in public life, the other focusing on the everyday life and the defence of everyone’s interests. One emblematic, and possibly caricatural, work should not be omitted. It is titled Comment embêter ceux qui vous embêtent: Petit manuel pratique pour défendre ses droits en toute circonstance.56 For the authors, law as a civic virtue, a principle, and a necessary condition for living in harmony is pitted against instrumentalised law, which is law serving particular interests.

“Nobody Is Supposed to Ignore the Law”: Reproaching the Science of Law and Lawyers. Reading the prefaces, the very existence of the works of popular legal literature is often justified by the regrettable lack of intellectual accessibility of the law. The accusation is not new. Despite its civic vocation,57 law generally gives rise to a feeling of strangeness among neophytes. The forewords of the works bear the unanimous mark. In these forewords, in a relatively virulent way, the sibylline58 and arid59 nature of the legal vocab-

52 The Petit dictionnaire de jurisprudence à l’usage des chasseurs starts with a few official statistics as to the number of trials involving hunters. 53 See, e.g., Bourguignon (1860); Thévenin (1908a). 54 Bourguignon (1851–1852); Rousset (1863); Ysabeau (1865); Ledru (1885); Watrin (1900); Petit (1905); Chalamel (1914). 55 Assier-Andrieu (1990). 56 Comment embêter ceux qui vous embêtent (1923). Other books exist, similarly entitled. Yet, it is impossible to know if their authors are the same and if those books are only reeditions. See Brissot-Bonnetain (1911); Comment embêter ceux qui vous embêtent (1931); Comment embêter ceux qui vous embêtent (sine anno). 57 Sourioux and Lerat (1975), pp. 9–10; Cornu (2003), p. 952. 58 Moullart (1908), Préface, pp. 5–6. 59 Moride (1901), Préface, p. i. The author refers to the science aride du droit and compares legal science with Hebrew. The same expression can be read in Benoît, Manuel de lég- islation française (Prospectus, pp. v–vi) and in Cantareuil (1844–1845), Introduction, p. 3. ACQUIRING LEGAL LITERACY BY READING: POPULAR LEGAL LITERATURE… 225 ulary and the complexity of an abundant legislation are criticised, especially when they are not codified.60 Without any particular critical will, other rarer works simply draw the conclusion of the overall technicity of this “legal science.”61

Many books underline their denunciation of the abstruse nature of legal language with the adage “no one is supposed to ignore the law,” which appears a dozen times in the prefaces or on the cover page. Written by the authors or their publishers, the aim of popular law literature was to create, using an adage, what is known as “legal fiction.”62 The authors reveal the original meaning of the formula, which initially referred to the material access to the law, as opposed to its intelligibility. Once the law was published, it was deemed immediately enforceable, regardless of any knowledge concerning its existence, and, a fortiori, its understanding by the litigant.63 Without it being possible to determine the extent to which this misinterpretation is intentional or fortuitous, it must be noted that the authors of popular legal literature draw the maxim from the stand- point of the democratisation of the law. This was especially true under the Third Republic; everyone had the right to know the law and their rights. Beyond the legal vocabulary, however, it was frequently the lawyers that were chastised. The works of popular legal literature are presented by their authors as a means to avoid the professional jurists and their hustle. This is eloquently attested through several telling titles, such as La clé des affaires: Pratique du droit usuel sans l’homme de loi (1855, 3rd ed.), written by Gustave de Sambucy; or Le droit usuel ou l’avocat de soi-même (1860, 13th ed.) by Durand de Nancy. Moreover, this phenomenon is not an entirely French affair and similar titles can be found in Italy and in the United States.64 The reasons given by the authors to explain this mistrust

60 Sambucy (1855), Introduction, non-paginated: the author refers to l’affreux dédale de notre législation; d’Hailly and Quétand (1890), Avis de l’éditeur, p. ii (the authors mention the “dédale de nos lois”) and Valentin (1835), Avant-propos, p. 8. The latter compares the French Civil Code to a maze (a labyrinthe). The same word can be found in Saint-Bonnet (1872), Préface, p. iii. 61 Crivelli (1825), Au lecteur, p. v; Denizart fils (1846), p. v. 62 Delahaye (1879), Introduction, non-paginated. 63 On this adage, made up in 1819 by French civil-law specialist Claude-Étienne Delvincourt (1762–1831), see Bernabé (2012), p. 48 and Weidenfeld (2004), pp. 165–166. For a broader perspective, see Puigelier (2015). 64 About the Italian case, see Monti (2009), pp. 383–423 and her chapter in this volume. 226 L. GUERLAIN AND N. HAKIM vis-à-vis lawyers reiterate centuries-old clichés: lawyers are portrayed, throughout the prefaces, as nefarious swindlers who are rendered unflinch- ingly as profiteers through their price-gouging practices.65 The low price of the works, varying from 3 centimes to 6F50, with an average price fall- ing at 1F to 2F,66 is regularly advanced as an important argument by the preface writers, who declare themselves as wanting to relieve the purse of the humblest by making legal knowledge financially accessible.67 One merely needed to mention the over-priced nature of voluminous “classical” law books; furthermore, savings could be engendered through the saving of a consultation fee, or for avoiding lawsuits through better legal knowledge. Knowing one’s rights and the law would enable the person to win trial cases easily.68 On this last point, the revolutionary utopias of Louis-Antoine-Léon de Saint-Just (1767–1794) inch ever closer. Other, more cynical, works pushed the analysis further: the neophyte, uninitiated in law, was not always able to understand a lawyer or a judge. “How many litigants hear a judgment without knowing exactly if they won or lost their case?” asked one author.69 With more nuance, some books explained that in case of legal difficulty, one was not to avoid taking the advice of a professional lawyer: this literature was not, in this case, presented as a means to replace professionals of the law, but simply as a way of premeditative learning, to enable a better presentation of their case to a solicitor or barrister.70 For good reason, it would seem: the argument pro- posing indifference to legal professionals seems specious, with the overwhelming majority of authors themselves being former legal practitioners.

65 Baudoin and Mazincourt (1855), Avertissement, p. 5; Boitel and Foignet (1901), Préface, p. vi. 66 These prices were far more attractive than those of the multi-volume legal treatises of the nineteenth century. 67 Valentin (1835), Avant-propos, p. 9; Saint-Bonnet (1872), Préface, p. ii; Laroche (1892), Préface, p. vi. 68 Cantareuil (1844–1845), Introduction, p. 3; Sambucy (1855), Introduction, non-paginated; Baudoin and Mazincourt (1855), Avant-propos, p. 5; Bonne (1863), Préface, p. v; Chairgrasse (1877); Delahaye (1879), Introduction, non-paginated; d’Hailly and Quétand (1890), Avis de l’éditeur, p. i; Lajoye (1889), Préface, pp. 1–2; Gavard (1909), Préface, p. 5. 69 Moullart (1908), Préface, p. 6. 70 Bonne (1863), p. vii: “contrary to some authors of practical guides who want their readers to avoid seeing a lawyer, we believe that the most well-spent money is the one one spends consulting a lawyer on the verge of a legal trouble” (contrairement à l’avis de certains auteurs de manuels et de guides pratiques qui croient devoir inspirer à leurs lecteurs une sainte horreur des avocats, des notaires et des huissiers, nous pensons que l’argent le mieux placé est celui que l’on consacre à payer une consultation à la veille d’une difficulté) and La rédaction (1894). ACQUIRING LEGAL LITERACY BY READING: POPULAR LEGAL LITERATURE… 227

Jurists and Non-jurists: The Authors of Popular Legal Literature. The vast majority of the authors were legal practitioners, mainly lawyers (55 per cent), but they also included notaries, magistrates, clerks, and bailiffs. Frequently self-proclaiming their quality as practitioners in order to assert their reputation and knowledge of practical or ordinary law in the prefices, they displayed a strong tendency to place themselves in opposition to the “classical” legal doctrine. They actively stated their motivation to spread the popularisation of legal knowledge as opposed to science. Few law professors engaged in such enterprises, as the isolated case of legal professor and lawyer, René Foignet (1864–1927)71 shows, in his writings with Julien Boitel, doctor of law and associate of the law faculty. Some did follow this educative path, but it remained a relatively infrequently chosen option. The Amiens professor Achille-Alfred Moullart did not allow himself this flight of fancy until he retired—a sign, no doubt, that the writing of this type of work was more seen as cerebral “recreation” than a “serious” scientific activity. Although many law professors also lectured in various city halls and patronages (for workers, as referenced above), they did not necessarily publish for this particular audience. When, out a sense of adven- ture, “celebrities” of legal science published such works, it was clearly done with political motivations. The comparatist Édouard Lambert thus directed two popular collections at Giard and Brière, guided by the ideal of the law being a weapon in the hands of the strong.72 Émile Acollas (1826–1891),73 professor of law in Berne with probable democratic lean- ings, also wrote law books “for all.”74 Equally, Professor Georges Scelle (1878–1961), expert on public international law and close to the Radical Socialists, intended to make known “the workers’ rights” to the general public.75

71 The latter (1864–c. 1927) specialised in educational legal books, both for primary- and middle-school pupils and for law students, written both alone and together with Julien Boitel: Foignet (1892); Foignet (1893); Foignet and Boitel (1895); Foignet (1895); Boitel and Foignet (1901); Foignet (1903); Boitel and Foignet (1919); Boitel and Foignet (1929). 72 These two collections (L’oppression des humbles par le droit et les méfaits de l’individualisme: Essais de critique législative et de politique juridique and Collection internationale des juristes populaires) seem to be more essays than popularising works. Yet, it can be argued that essays are a kind of popularisation. On legal essays as a literary genre, see Hakim (2014). 73 On Émile Acollas and his political views, see Audren (2011), pp. 239–261. 74 Acollas (1885); Acollas (1886). 75 Scelle (1922), p. v. In his foreword, the author explains that his goal is to “initiate the laymen to the basics of labor law in France and to the social interest of its book” (faire 228 L. GUERLAIN AND N. HAKIM

Even if some writers engaged in such ventures with a militant spirit, it seems to have been, mostly, only a career strategy, or a second-best choice, or even just a livelihood. How can we ignore that, among our authors, 17 had doctorates in law, five of whom did not have a profession? For these doctors, did this intellectual investment show failed academic ambition? Could it simply be a financial expedient while waiting for better days? Without being able to provide firm answers to these questions, it can, nevertheless, be noted that, with the exception of the few illustrious names mentioned above, the authors of popular legal literature do not correspond to the authors of the classical legal doctrine. Could the preponderance of author-practitioners of law be explained by their gradual removal from the classical legal doctrine during the nineteenth century?76 Since the 1820s, legal practitioners gradually lost the doctrinal hegemony that they owned in the first half of the nineteenth century. Following this hypothesis, one could interpret the rise of such alternative legal literature as a practical reaction to the discursive “coup de force”77 of law professors. Another profound originality of this popular literature was that many of the authors were not jurists. There is little surprise to see such a large number of primary and secondary school teachers, who were responsible for universal education and used to educating children. More generally, the authors frequently worked in a profession that was directly linked to the theme or the addressees of the book. Without exaggerating the examples, an allusion could be made to a doctor who wrote a medical law book,78 or a civil engineer who published a book on construction law.79 It is, however, significant to note that these authors were frequently assisted by lawyers when writing their works,80 except when they were familiar with the

toucher du doigt, même aux non-initiés, ce qu’est la législation du travail en France et l’intérêt social que présente son étude). 76 See, on this point, the major work of Barenot (2014) and, also, Barenot and Hakim (2012), pp. 251–297. 77 Audren (2015), p. 72. 78 Casset (1902). 79 Masselin (1888). 80 This is very often the case for authors of civic education textbooks, one being a jurist and the other a teacher. For a few examples, see: Gavet and Petit (1911). Gavet was a law professor at the University of Nancy as well as in the primary school of the same town; Mabilleau et al. (1913). Mabilleau was the head of a research institution called the Musée social, Levasseur taught economics at l’Ecole libre des sciences politiques, and Delcourtie was a Parisian lawyer. ACQUIRING LEGAL LITERACY BY READING: POPULAR LEGAL LITERATURE… 229 judicial world, as forensic experts,81 for instance. Finally, attention should be paid to the close links maintained by some authors with the publishing industry, irrespective of whether the publishing houses in question were specialising in legal or general literature. Some had experience as publishers or editors-in-chief. The lawyer Henry Celliez (1806–1884) is an example. He was the author of the series of Codes populaires and Code annoté de la presse, as well as the main editor of the newspaper La loi. In the same vein, the lawyer P. Moride edited the Codes français vulgarisés. Gaston d’Hailly, a member of the French Academy, assumed the duties of editor- in-chief of the Revue des livres. Finally, Louis Rondonneau, former owner of the Dépôt des Lois, published the Collection générale des lois françaises depuis 1789 jusqu’en 1819.82

Formal Elements The formal elements that constitute this popular legal literature belong to what Gérard Genette calls “architextuality,” which is understood as the set of general categories, or transcendental types of discourse, manners of enunciation, literary genres, and so on—into which each singular text falls.83

The Constellation of Editors. It seems difficult to draw solid conclusions from the identities of publishing houses that printed popular legal literature, as they were characterised by their extreme diversity. The distribution of publishers between Paris and the province shows a clear preponderance of Parisian publishers, to the tune of around 50 in total, set against about 20 provincial publishers. On the whole, we notice the presence of a small number of small and unknown publishers, but also of all the major publishers of the time, be they legal or general.84 However, none of these

81 Camille Sicre, architect and a court expert, was the author of Gérance pour tous, compt- abilité des propriétaires… à l’usage des propriétaires, architectes, entrepreneurs, gérants et locataires (1913). 82 Moride (1901). 83 Genette (2004). 84 That is, Félix Alcan, Belin, Charles Delagrave, Chevalier-Maresq (who merged with Pichon to create LGDJ in 1904), Cotillon, Dalloz, Durand-Auzias, Fayard, A. Fontemoing, Garnier, Giard et Brière, Hachette, les Imprimeries administratives, Larose, Victor Lecoffre, Marchal et Billiard (publishing house of the Cour de cassation), Albin Michel, Nathan, Pedone et Lauriel, Plon, Arthur Rousseau, and Thorin (which later became Fontemoing). 230 L. GUERLAIN AND N. HAKIM publishers published more than one or two works of this subgenre. Some jurists also published works at their own expense. It is interesting to ask whether we should see in this phenomenon a type of disaffection with the publishers. It is true that, at the time of the explosion of the publishing market in the second half of the nineteenth century, it became essential for legal publishers to have books by renowned professors, thus permitting them an important symbolic capital. By attracting these big names in the field, publishers tended to favour a “safer” audience, primarily students and practitioners.85

Should legal works for laymen have been published at all? Financially speaking, the bet was probably risky for publishers, who remained visibly hesitant. In the absence of archives, it is very difficult to evaluate the success of such works. Nonetheless, the examination of some nineteenth- century periodicals reveals the existence of reviews of these publications, in journals as famous as the Revue générale du droit,86 the Bulletin de la Société de législation comparée,87 the Revue critique de législation et de jurisprudence,88 and the Séances et travaux de l’Académie des sciences morales et politiques.89 Aside from these meagre clues, there is almost nothing known about the circulation and number of sales of these monographs. Only the many reeditions testify to their existence,90 even if the majority of these works were only printed once. In any case, no publisher seemed to think that this was a fertile seam to exploit, with the notable exception of a few, who published dedicated collections. The generalist publisher

85 We are following Richard’s (2016, forthcoming) brilliant analysis. 86 Compte rendu de Baudoin (1890), p. 366; Compte rendu de Gaure (1891), p. 176; Compte rendu de Bonpaix (1892), p. 174; Compte rendu de Dévot (1895), p. 382; Compte rendu de Watrin (1903), p. 470; Compte rendu de Ch. Girault (1910), p. 511; Compte rendu de Girault, Notions de droit usuel, par Loubers (1911), p. 273. 87 Daguin (1884–1885), pp. 593–594; Guérin (1885–1886), p. 539; Guérin (1886–1887), p. 263; Daguin (1889–1890), pp. 603–604; J. d’Anethan (1900–1901), pp. 267–268. 88 Compte rendu de Ch. Girault (1910), p. 511. 89 Franck (1888), p. 758. 90 Among this popular legal literature, several books became classics and were republished sometimes more than ten times, this fact reflecting their success. For instance, in 1860, Durand de Nancy’s Le droit usuel ou l’avocat de soi-même was republished for the thirteenth time. In 1911, Ernest Cadet’s Dictionnaire usuel de législation was republished for the ninth time. This was also the case for Baudoin and Mazincourt’s Le Bon conseiller en affaires, ou Manuel de législation pratique, which was republished in 1854 for the fifteenth time. ACQUIRING LEGAL LITERACY BY READING: POPULAR LEGAL LITERATURE… 231

Armand Colin published two collections of popular works, although not specifically legal: the collection Tu“ seras…” (“You will be…”)91 and Les petits manuels du foyer (“Small Textbooks of the Home”),92 which did include some legal developments. Charles Delagrave published a collection entitled Le droit mis à la portée de tous (“The Law Made Available to All”), including two books written by Émile Acollas.93

Literary Genres and Editorial Forms. Is popular legal literature a specific literary genre forming a “recognisable and identifiable set”?94 A simple superficial analysis suggests that this should be contested. Firstly, popular legal literature took various forms. The vast majority of this literature is unquestionably composed of works that conformed to distinct genres. If we rely on their titles, there were large numbers of works entitled “Notions of Law” or “Elements of Law.”95 Moreover, the textbooks, dictionaries,96 guides, and, lastly, treaties came on the market. However, these titles do not seem to correspond to the generally accepted typology of genres. Whereas a textbook is usually shorter than a treatise, this is not the case in popular legal literature. This confusion of genres is corroborated by the fact that these works often claim two genres at the same time. Two works published at each end of the nineteenth century are investigated: the Nouveau guide du commerçant, ou Traité élémentaire sur la forme, l’objet et l’usage des lettres de change (1822) by Louis Rondonneau, and the Nouveau dictionnaire-formulaire pratique ou Manuel alphabétique de droit usuel, civil, commercial, administratif et judiciaire (1889) by Jean- Marie Le Moutier. In the former, the juxtaposition of the genre of the guide and that of the treaty is particularly striking by its contradictory character. In the second case, dictionary and manual are used to describe a work based on alphabetic form but composed of entries that are longer than simple definitions.

91 See, for instance: Nicoles (1891); Ganneron (1892); Chailley-Bert (1896). 92 In this collection, Armand Colin published Henri Michel, La loi au foyer: La famille, le patrimoine: notions extraites des «Éléments et notions pratiques de droit» (1912); Grigaut (1914). 93 Le droit mis à la portée de tout le monde. Les contrats et les obligations contractuelles (1885) and La propriété littéraire et artistique: le droit mis à la portée de tout le monde (1886). 94 Hakim (2010), p. 148. 95 This is particularly the case for civic education books. 96 For a case study of popular legal dictionaries, see Guerlain (2018, forthcoming). 232 L. GUERLAIN AND N. HAKIM

This semantic floating gives credence to the idea that popular legal literature navigates fluidly between several genres. In the end, however, these genres speak little of the relative similarities between the contents in the books. The genre normally determines, at least in part, the reaction of the reader, as the words “manual,” “treated,” and “precise” imply a particular expectation, precisely because they link the reader to the author within a common culture—in this case legal. This, however, cannot be the case with popular law books, which sought to bridge the gap between laypeople and the law. Therefore, did the qualifiers chosen for the titles of these books hold little weight? At most, they served to reassure publishers, who were accustomed to such a nomenclature. However, note that, beyond the typology of works, most titles—this is a unique example of this kind—were accompanied by an epithet marking the purpose of these publications. The treaties were “for the use of all,” “ordinary” or “elementary,” “practical” textbooks and dictionaries, “ordinary law,” or “made available to everyone.” These qualifiers indicated that the works of popularisation of the law did not belong to any recognised legal type. However, the choice of titles is still interesting, as it reveals both a desire to attach the popularisation of the law to forms of classical legal literature, known to publishers through textbooks, treaties, and so on, and a desire to stand out by using selected adjectives, to target a readership, somewhat unnatural, that must not be frightened: the laymen. The second literary genre in which writings on legal demopedia can be found are the periodical publications. Here, we must note the existence of a few rare legal journals. First, there was the famous Questions pratiques de législation ouvrière et d’économie sociale, published by the great reformist lawyers and professors Paul Pic (1862–1944) and Justin Godart (1871–1944), who wanted to produce an inspirational journal, half scientific journal and half popular magazine, which would be accessible to the working public. Similarly, the Journal du droit administratif was founded in 1853 with the explicit purpose of popularising this branch of law for citizens. While these two journals enjoyed a certain longevity, the press dedicated to popular legal literature was distinguished by relatively ephemeral editorial projects, hardly exceeding a few years. The weekly newspaper Le droit populaire thus appeared from 1880 to 1883. Even more fleeting was the weeklyLe plaideur: Journal de droit pratique pour tous, paraissant tous les dimanche, published every Sunday, which appeared only during 1894. With their evanescent and secre- tive nature, such publications cannot be identified in the catalogues and databases with any degree of certainty. Thus, the weekly Le Journal-Avocat: ACQUIRING LEGAL LITERACY BY READING: POPULAR LEGAL LITERATURE… 233

Droit pratique, revue des tribunaux: consultations gratuites, contentieux seems to have been founded by lawyer Paul Roué in the late 1890s, but it is not known exactly when the publishers stopped the presses (probably between 1904 and 1908). The information seems somewhat more reliable concerning the weekly periodical Mon avocat: Journal de jurisprudence financière, politique et commerciale. It was published from 1910 to 1917 before being rebranded to become Le droit nouveau: Jurisprudence politique, commerciale et financière. Finally, two monthly magazines must be mentioned. First, Le Petit avocat, founded in 1905, was a publication with exceptional fortitude. It continued until 1963, when the title changed to become Droit et Vie, a new journal, which continued until 1970. This professional publication was sometimes subtitled La police d’assurance: Revue documentaire des assureurs-conseils, and had, all in all, 775 issues. Second, Le conseiller judiciaire et mondain, was founded in 1905, by Count Léon de Méritens (1872–1965), lawyer and doctor in law, and continued, a priori, until 1914. The very brief life of the specialised press is hardly surprising; if one can easily imagine a neophyte consulting a book or a dictionary when they are occasionally confronted with a legal problem in their daily life, sub- scribing to a weekly or monthly newspaper would make little sense.

Stand Out at All Costs. It has already been stressed that legal literature proliferated generally throughout the nineteenth century, due to the progress of education and the legislative inflation. “What’s the point of writing a regular law book? There are already so many,” the author asks rhetorically.97 In fact, reading the prefaces, both autographs—written by the author—and allographs—written by other persons—one can see a real, clear desire for each release to stand out. It was expensive to publish legal texts. A war raged between textbooks and dictionaries. The former sharply criticised the latter, on the pretext that the “dictionaries, entirely devoid,” “[had] no link other than the alphabetical order.”98 It is true that some books did not justify their methods and were contented to sharply announce their choice of an alphabetical classification of the main concepts exposed, without further explanation. Such a lacuna is not without inconvenience: the form of the dictionary does not lend itself to the resti- tution of the logical and self-referential system that constitutes law. For

97 Moullart (1908), Préface, p. 5. 98 Sambucy (1855), Introduction, non-paginated. 234 L. GUERLAIN AND N. HAKIM their part, the dictionaries defend themselves by essentially putting for- ward their “convenient form,”99 allowing the reader to find the information sought more easily.

Beyond the competition between dictionaries and books, the authors also tried to stand out from their competition. An author could thus write a voluntarily generic work, in opposition to the large production of specialised and sectoral publications100 that already existed. Some preferred to mark their methodological singularity. One author explained that they had written a book taking a particular form—not of an opus that could be consulted on occasion, but a real book, intended to be read.101 This strategy of distinction and demarcation between the works of popular legal literature was also exerted externally, even if it mostly played out internally. For this literature, it was more important to fundamentally stand out from classical legal literature, by striving to write and transmit the law. This was no longer the reserve of lawyers, but truly of all.

Discursive Strategies: The Art of Writing Law for All. “To popularise law,”102 “to bring the elementary notions and the primordial rules of the French legislation to everybody,”103 “to expose the law in ordinary language,”104 “to offer the public a collection of practical law, within the reach of all intellects by its simplicity and clarity,”105 to present the law “in a condensed and intelligible form for all,”106 “within the reach of all intel- ligences and all fortunes,”107 or to write “a book which would bring within reach of everyone that our legislation is thornier and more abstract.”108 The forewords contained in books or periodicals are not lacking in great statements of intent. How was this announced transmutation of the technical language of law into secular language then undertaken? Moreover, was it possible? Christian Atias notes that “legal knowledge is unusable by

99 Pilet des Jardins (1871), Avertissement, p. v. 100 Laroche (1892), Préface, p. v. 101 Ysabeau (1865), Préface, p. ii. 102 Delahaye (1879), Introduction, non-paginated. 103 Moride (1901), Préface, p. iv. 104 Moullart (1908), Préface, p. 6. 105 La rédaction (1894), p. 1. 106 Armengaud (1891), Préface, non-paginated. 107 Cantareuil (1844–1845), Introduction, p. 4. 108 Denizart fils (1846), Avertissement, pp. iv–v. ACQUIRING LEGAL LITERACY BY READING: POPULAR LEGAL LITERATURE… 235 those who ignore the methods of reasoning, interpretation, analysis and argumentation that any jurist often uses unconsciously.”109 In other words, the law would not be reduced simply to a question of knowledge; it would also imply a savoir-faire, a “knack,” or a change of mind. How can a layman be introduced to the peculiar universe of jurists through a simple book that, by definition, they, alone, will use? The authors of popular legal literature at this time did not bother themselves with such questions, even when they would naturally affect the commercial nature of their business. This question, however central it may be, is largely obscured by the prefaces, which paid little heed to the subject. At the same time, they also conveyed the myth of a legal science, accessible to all, without any effort required.

First of all, writing about law for everyone clearly implies distinguishing the authors from their competition in classical legal literature. There were many who opposed the science and the practice of law: authors of popular works, wishing to occupy a place within the already well-marked doctrinal genres.110 They frequently proposed a differentiation of skills, in the interests of editorial strategy. They regularly had to defend themselves for wanting to do science. There claimed to have no doctrinal pretensions whatsoever. This, however, is a rhetoric that regularly appears in the prefaces, whereby authors explain leaving science to law professors, and more modestly claiming to do practical work which is useful to the public111 and which could be qualified as “philanthropic” work.112 This is somewhat surprising, since the law is supposed to constitute an applied or practical science in itself. There seemed to be two different laws: one for lawyers and one for the laypeople. The study of popular legal literature thus leads to avoiding presenting the legal doctrine as an intermediary between the normative text and the citizens, as obliged by the latter. It certainly “talks” in the language of normative texts, but the comments are meant for other lawyers. Furthermore, especially following the beginning of the Third Republic, the authors of these works of popular education presented themselves as more efficient translators of the primary literature, as being

109 Atias (2002), p. 12. 110 Hakim (2010). 111 Cantareuil (1844–1845), Introduction, p. 4; Avis au lecteur, in Barots (1850), non- paginated; Le Moutier (1889), Avertissement de l’éditeur, non-paginated; d’Hailly and Quétand (1890), Avis de l’éditeur, p. iii; Griolet and Vergé (1909), Avertissement, p. v. 112 Préface, in Laroche (1892), p. vi. 236 L. GUERLAIN AND N. HAKIM capable of lifting the veil on the “language barrier”113 separating the law from its recipients, reconnecting the latter with their civic duty. This is due to prefaces regularly denouncing the opacity of doctrinal literature. In the nineteenth century, the authors of dictionaries contested the role of intermediaries, including translators. This, they argued, is hardly clearer than the normative texts upon which they commented. Furthermore, added confusion was ensured by the use of excessively long comments. The criticism was sometimes harsh and did not hesitate to underline “the insufficiency of works whose lack of method, clarity, and precision discourage the reader,” this “multitude of writings that have appeared since the promulgation of our codes which, for the most part, serve only to disgust the study of the law; instead of making it easy and accessible to all minds.”114 Other prefaces were less acrimoni- ous, paying homage to the scholarly comments of jurisconsults of the nineteenth century, while reproaching them for their lack of intellectual accessibility. In fact, jurisconsults generally addressed a specialised audience of lawyers.115 Therefore, M. Saint-Bonnet explained, “few people have enough taste to read the collections of jurisprudence and the folio of our authors, vast and admirable monuments of science and reason, sought only by jurisconsults and magistrates.”116 In the same way, but on a rarer basis, the teaching of law itself needed to be questioned for its dry nature.117 Be that as it may, the authors of the prefaces intended to stand out from their “classical” counterparts. How could it be of any use to the layman, who had yet to be initiated into the “particular terms” of the legal “science”118 and was thus unable to profit from such publications? In terms of writing, this search for differentiation is demonstrated through different strategies by the authors. They claim that the pro- scribed terms are too technical, as much as were the scholarly discussions and doctrinal controversies.119 In short, it was a question of

113 Cornu (2003), p. 952. 114 Cantareuil (1844–1845), Introduction, pp. 3–4. 115 See, e.g., Barots (1850), Avis au lecteur; Sambucy (1855), Introduction, non-paginated. 116 Saint-Bonnet (1872), Préface, p. ii. 117 Cantareuil (1844–1845), Introduction, p. 3; Saint-Bonnet (1872), Préface, p. ii. 118 Crivelli (1825), Au lecteur, p. v. 119 Perpigna (1834), Avertissement, p. v; Cantareuil (1844–1845), Introduction, p. 4; Préface, in Bonne (1863), pp. vii–viii; Bernard (1874), Avant-propos, non-paginated; ACQUIRING LEGAL LITERACY BY READING: POPULAR LEGAL LITERATURE… 237 leaving to one side the excessively theoretical developments, drawing from the legal codes “all that experience has shown us as being necessary for everyone, in the usual relations of life.”120 Beyond these prin- cipled declarations, an immersion in their content shows that the authors of these works made no particular effort to adapt the legal lexicon. Nevertheless, there is use of synonyms121 and a clear desire to underline the concrete issues122 of a given legal concept.123 Sometimes, the authors showed a certain originality in their way of making the law accessible. Therefore, the necessity of teaching law to children implies that there were adapted teaching techniques. “Making it work before their eyes”124 leads to an increased usage of example-led learning.125 The playful format of the reading book126 was also acclaimed by some authors. The use of the interrogative form, common for other non- legal popular works, operated under a format of a question-answer game. What was the purpose of such formalised efforts? To make learning the law, previously deemed dry, more attractive and recreational. This desire to embellish the subject is coupled with the desire to make it as concrete as possible. One of the most notable characteristics is the reproduction of the formulas and models of the most common acts. This is an extreme boon when compared to the usual doctrinal literature, and acts as a serious selling point for people wishing to have a template of an act of opposition to the sale price of the objects seized, or to easily draw up an act showing power of attorney, a contracted visit at the end of a lease, or a petition to obtain communal dispensations.

Masson (1880), p. 3; Ganneron (1892), Avant-propos, p. iii; Watrin (1900), Préface, p. vi; Moride (1901), Préface, p. iv; Legrand (1904), Préface, non-paginated; Griolet and Vergé (1909), Avertissement, p. v. 120 Bonne (1863), Préface, p. viii. 121 “Bilatéral” instead of “synallagmatique,” for instance. 122 Thus, in their texts, the authors often wonder what should become of someone’s property when the owner is missing, and how to properly manage a patrimony. 123 See, on this point, Guerlain (2018, forthcoming). 124 Ganneron (1892), Avant-propos, p. iii. 125 Lechantre (1895), Préface, non-paginated. 126 Ysabeau (1865), p. ii. It is also the case of the «Tu seras…» collection, published by Armand Colin. 238 L. GUERLAIN AND N. HAKIM

A Few Concluding Remarks: The Epistemological Interest in Popular Legal Literature The law for all. This subject—at its worst, indifferent, at its best, ready to begin. The historiographical vacuum is, indeed, present. Whereas studies of popularisation have taken place in other fields,127 law research has been particularly late to study this issue.128 Legal scholars have, up to this point, naturally preferred to concentrate on the great authors129 and the important texts,130 as popular literature lacks the nobility that scholars often attach to their subject. Another reason for this disaffection is that popular literature fails to enable law historians to place it alongside prestigious ancestors and masterpieces of reference. However, the neglect of this great unknown seems highly regrettable. Far from being a comfortable juridical interlude, the popular literatures of law lead to questions on the central themes that concern the jurists’ community, such as the history of democ- racy, citizenship, or the relationship between knowledge and power. For a long time, these questions have been overshadowed by the persistent myth that “enacted law need not worry about communication.”131 Yet, this is contrary to what has been revealed by this brief immersion in a barely mapped landscape. The written analysis of the law must be reinserted into the political and social upheaval of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Legal literature has much to gain, in terms of comprehension, from avoiding a strictly internalist view. The contextualist approach132 seems more effective, in this instance. Popular legal literature leads to the recognition of the fundamental failure of legal writing, which attempts to become situated “at the crossroads of historical, legal, political, and social issues.”133 To give the popular legal literature full intelligibility, it seems necessary to take into account the intentionality of its

127 On this topic, see Béguet (1990); Bensaude-Vincent (1997); Raichvarg and Jacques (1991); Raichvarg (2005) and Jurdant (2009). 128 Apart from one explicit exception regarding labour law, see Cam and Supiot (1984). 129 For a reflection on this topic, see Fontaine (2012). 130 Malaurie (2001); Cayla and Halpérin (2010); Benetti et al. (2017). 131 Bourcier (1992), p. 21. 132 For a recent contribution to this debate between the internalist and contextual approaches within the history of ideas, applied to the legal field, see Halpérin (2017), pp. 31–48. 133 Giavarini (2010b), p. 13. ACQUIRING LEGAL LITERACY BY READING: POPULAR LEGAL LITERATURE… 239 authors as well as the mental universe of its recipients.134 From the authors’ side, writing about the law sought to give answers to multiple societal challenges: notably, supporting the development of business law, dealing with the social issue by explaining the laws to workers, and responding to the growing demand for democratisation, among other things. Here, the lawyers went beyond their primary professional function of mastering a technique. At the same time, popular legal literature brings to light the social function that some jurists, struggling with the challenges of their time, intended to play. In addition, as for the readers, they were not to fall into passivity when reading. Conversely, they acted as text-makers and members of an inter- pretive community, alongside the author.135 Nonetheless, it is not a case of questioning the readership and their intentions. The historian studying the literature must venture beyond this, further than simply reading the legal text for themselves, purely as a scriptural exercise. One must, nevertheless, be willing to admit that the meaning of words cannot be reduced to purely lexicographical debates. In short, the question of the appropria- tion of the legal knowledge is at stake within this debate on popular legal literature. In other words, it is time to ask questions on the cultural uses of language. From thereon, between the sacred world of the jurists and the pagan world of the profane, popular legal literature could become a bridge to help scholars participate in the vast cultural history of the law, which is still to be written. This will be the great challenge for legal historians in the twenty-first century.

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A Amsterdam, 79 Abrahamsson, Petter (1668–1741), Apothecaries, 155, 168, 169, 173 164, 171 Apprenticeship, 4, 21, 25, 28–32 Acollas, Émile (1826–1891), 227, 231 See also Internship Adler, Edward A., 30 Arnell, Israel (d. 1733), 164, 172 Administrative literacy, 125, 138 Artisans, 30, 55, 155, 168, 169, 212 Adultery, 110 Atias, Christian, 234 Advocacy, 91–100, 103n36, 105–107, Attorneys, 1, 47, 51, 91, 177, 200, 108n45, 109–111, 109n48, 176, 237 176n143, 177 Auctions, see Book auctions Advocates, 1, 2, 6, 11, 13, 14, 46, Autobiographies, see Biographies 46n11, 55, 89–113, 124, 126, 131, 138, 152n25, 177, 193 Agency, 89–113 B Åkerhielm, Jacob, 174 Baden, 194 Aldermen, 168 Baden-Württemberg, 55 See also Town councillors Bailiffs, 10, 22, 73, 90, 90n4, 128, Allgemeines bürgerliches Gesetzbuch 129, 131, 131n54, 160, 174, (1816), 194 181n177, 227 Amiens, 227 Baker, John H., 25–27, 214 Amner, Johan (1735–1784), 181, 182 Bälinge, 68

1 Note: Page numbers followed by ‘n’ refer to notes.

Baltic Sea, 97 Brussels, 46 Barton, David, 121 Burghers, 13, 60, 67, 68, 90, 93, 96, Basel, 71n43, 192 98, 103–105, 103–104n36, Beoff, John, 34 108n47, 110, 126, 154, 158, Bergenfelt, David (d. 1779), 180 165, 167, 170, 179, 182, 183 Berne, 227 Burgomasters, 68, 97, 104, 159, 160, Bernegger, Albrecht Friedrich von 168, 169, 171, 173, 183 (1736–?), 54, 55 See also Mayors Bilder, Mary Sarah, 6 Business schools, 8, 25–27, 33 Bilmark, Nils (1728–1801), 180, Byman, Erik (c. 1733–1790), 165 180–181n172 Biographies, 113, 120, 138 Biurman, Johan, 164, 175 C Björnström, Sven (d. 1754), 167 California, 200, 201 Bobrikov, Nikolay, Governor-General Calonius, Matthias (1738–1817), 180 (1839–1904), 138 Canon law, 2, 7n23, 25, 60 Boccalini, Traiano (1556–1613), 79 Carew, Peter, Sir (c. 1510–1575), 32 Böhmer, Justus Henning Carl Christoffersson, moneyer, 72 (1674–1749), 163 Carpzov, Benedict (the Elder, Boitel, Julien, 227, 227n71 1595–1666), 66n26, 156, 165 Bonge, Zacharias, town councillor of Cederwald, Salomon (c. 1712–1790), Oulu, 152 153 Book auctions, 148, 157, 179 Celliez, Henry (1806–1884), 229 Borgå, see Porvoo Chamberlains, 7, 31, 32, 34 Botin, Anders (af) (1724–1790), 166, Chancery, 2, 7, 22, 23, 30, 35, 61 174, 179 Charles IX, King of Sweden (r. Bount, John (d. 1404), 34 1604–1611), 67 Boxhornius, Marcus Zuerius Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor (r. (1612–1653), 79 1519–1556), 50, 51 Bracton, Henry de, 33, 33n49 Cheshire, 3, 35, 35n60 Brahe, Abraham, Count (1569–1630), Children, 4, 54, 110, 120, 127, 136, 67 140, 150, 155, 220, 221n33, Brand, Paul, 3, 4, 27n26 228, 237 Brandenburg-Küstrin, 51 Christopher of Bavaria, King of Brask, Kustaa (1829–1906), 137, 140 Sweden (r. 1441–1448), see King Bristol, 34, 37 Christopher’s Law for the Bro, 68 Countryside Brömsebro, 69 Church law, see Canon law Brook, J., judge, 30 Churchwardens, 68, 134, 136 Brumerus, Sigfrid (1675–1743), 158 Circulars, 170, 176 Brundage, James A., 2 Cities, see Towns Brunou, Karl Henrik (1761–1791), Citizens, 13, 21, 55, 103, 104, 107, 166 112, 130, 132, 133, 195–198, INDEX 255

201, 216, 220–222, 224, 232, de Nancy, Durand, 225, 230n90 235 Debts, 22, 47, 107n42, 108, 109, Civic skills, 5, 13 109n50, 125, 133 Clanchy, Michael, 10 Defamation, 97, 107, 108, 112 Clergy, see Priests Delagrave, Charles, 229n84, 231 Clerks, 8, 11, 20, 21n9, 24, 25, 27, Denmark, 61, 63, 69, 72, 76 28, 30, 31, 31n44, 33, 34, 91, D’Hailly, Gaston, 221, 229 99, 181n172, 181n176, 212, 227 Dictionaries, 165, 197, 201, 223, See also Notaries; Scribes; Scriveners; 223n51, 231–234, 236 Town scribes; Town secretaries Diets, parliamentary, 126, 132, 133, Code civil (1804), 194 152, 164, 176, 178 Codice civile (1865), 196 Diplomas, 51, 52 Codification, 191, 192, 197, 199, Diplomats, 61, 66n26, 72 202, 216, 224 District courts, 60–62, 67–69, 74, Colin, Armand, publisher, 231, 97–99, 107, 108, 122, 138 231n92 Dobbin, Carl Jacob (d. 1783), 152 Cologne, 7, 32 Dobbin, Catherina Christina (d. Common law, 2, 25, 27, 27n27, 36, 1797), 153 45, 192, 198 Dober, Hans (c. 1564–1627), 9, 59, Commonplace books, 35, 36 60, 66, 67, 67n29, 70, 71, 73 Contracts, 102n30, 124, 125, 128, Dorpat, 63, 72, 79 130, 195, 197, 199–201 Drangel, Emanuel Christoffer Conveyancing, 8, 26, 27 (1734–1808), 170 Coquillette, Daniel, 5 Drysell, Henrik (c. 1693–1738), 164 Counting skills, 161 Dubb, Michill Olofsson (d. 1674), 70, Court of Common Pleas, 23, 27n26, 71 29 Court of King’s Bench, 23, 26, 27n26, 33 E Courts of appeal, 59n1, 60–63, 66, Early modern period, 9, 12 71, 74, 76, 90, 92, 94, 94n13, Ecclesiastical courts, 2, 10, 11, 162 96, 97 Edward III, King of England (r. Creutz, Ernst Johan (1619–1684), 79 1327–1377), 27n28, 27n30, 34 Creutz, Lorentz (c. 1615–1676), 79 Eekman, Anders, procurator, 108 Cultural capital, 120, 133, 136, 139 Ehrenstråle, David, see Nehrman, David Ekeblom, H.H., 180 D Enckell, Gabriel (1728–1770), 165 Dalarna, 67 Enfeoffment, 69 Daubanton, Antoine-Grégoire Engelhard, Simon, procurator, 8, (1752–1815), 219 49–51 De Luca, Giovanni Battista, Cardinal England, 2, 3, 7–10, 19–38, 95n16, (1614–1683), 193 192, 199, 201 256 INDEX

Enlightenment, 12, 13, 131, 159 From, Anders Anton, see Stiernman, Erik XIV, King of Sweden (r. Anders Anton von 1560–1568), 61 Frosterus, Henrik (1727–1773), 174 Ernest, Margrave of Baden-Durlach (1482–1553), 50 Estate management, 10, 26, 36 G Estlander, Jacob (1713–1785), 164 Gabriel Abrahamsson [Rauthia], 6, Estonia, 72 89–113 Exemplar formulae, see Legal Gamlakarleby, see Kokkola formularies Gaston, Henry Alexander (1823–?), Exeter, 7, 31, 32, 37 200 German, languages, 9, 50, 105, 124, 130, 156, 183 F Germany, 8 Falun, 149 See also Holy Roman Empire Fennoman movement, 9, 122, 131, Gezelius, Johannes, 164 138, 139 Giarelli, Francesco (1844–1907), See also Nationalism 197 Finerus, Isac, of Kokkola, 153 Gießen, 54 Finland, 1n1, 9, 63, 69, 79, 91, 94, Gifford, John, 199 97, 112, 119–140, 148n4, 149, Glanville, Ranulf de (c. 1112–1190), 151, 152n25, 155n38, 166, 175 33, 33n49 Finnish Literature Society, 123, 137 Godart, Justin, 232 Florinus, Henricus (1633–1705), 156 Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von Foignet, René (1864–1927), 227 (1749–1832), 43, 44 Formularies, see Legal formularies Göta, 63, 70n43 Forsman, Margareta, 155 Gothenburg, 148n5, 149, 182 Forsskåhl, Johan (1691–1762), 154, Gråå, Johan, pastor, 107 163 Grandin, Aimable-Auguste, 219, Forsström, Ferdinand (1817–1903), 220n21 124 Great Council of Mechelen, 76 France, 12, 46, 79, 93n11, 194, 199, Greek, Johan (d. 1648), 106 211–239 Greifswald, 8, 47, 64, 66n26 Frankfurt am Main, 43 Gribner, Michael Heinrich Freitag, Anna (1764–1838), 155 (1682–1734), 166 Freitag, Baltzar (1720–1795), 155 Groningen, 79 French Revolution, 3, 13, 216, 221, Grönroos, Henrik, 148n5, 149 221n33 Grotius, Hugo (1583–1645), 157, Frenckell, Joh. C., bookprinter, 179 162, 163, 165, 166 Freuler, Franz Theophilus (d. 1764), Guilds, 2, 21, 28, 32 191 Gulf of Bothnia, 158 Friis, Frederik Christian (1722–1802), Gustav II Adolf, King of Sweden 164 (r. 1611–1632), 63, 69, 71, 72 INDEX 257

Gustav Vasa, King of Sweden (r. Höök, Maria (d. 1765), 152 1523–1560), 60, 61 Hooker, John (c. 1527–1601), 7, 31, 32 Gyllenkrok, Maria (d. 1737), 111 Horn, Andrew (c. 1275–1328), 34 Hornæus, Samuel (c. 1696–1742), 166, 167 H Huguccio, Italian canonist (d. 1210), Hallberg, Catharina Christina 27 (1806–1889), 155 Humanism, 47, 48, 77, 79 Halpérin, Jean-Louis, 194, 212n3, Huotari, Aleksi (1841–1882), 134, 214n11 135, 140 Hambraeus, Lars, 174 Häme, 103n34, 110, 160 Hämeenlinna, 101n28, 150, 160 I Hamilton, Mary, 121 Ilmajoki, 122 Hamina, 158 Imperial Chamber Court, 8, 11, Hancock, Benjamin Franklin 43–56, 74–76, 80, 82, 152n25 (1800–1867), 200 Imperial Diets, 47, 50 Härjänsilmä, Antti (1705–1779), 122 Industrialisation, 194 Hedengran, Petter (d. 1769), 170, Ingman, Anders, merchant, 181 176 Inheritance, 36, 107n42, 148, 153, Hedman, Karl (d. 1779), 178 154, 158, 172, 173, 200, 201, Heidenstrauch, Claes (d. 1746), 158 220 Heikkinen, Antero, 135 Inns of court, 7, 23, 25n21 Heino, Ulla, 136 Internship, 43, 44, 47–50, 53, 54 Helsingfors, see Helsinki See also Apprenticeship Helsinki, 89–113, 147–184 Ireland, 32 Hemminki, Tiina, 122 Italy, 9, 12, 46, 79, 192–199, 202, Hengham, Sir Ralph de (1235–1311), 225 27, 27n26 Ius commune, 7, 7n23, 72, 75, 76, Hert, Richard, Master, town clerk of 183 Exeter, 7, 31, 32 See also Canon law; Roman law Hespanha, António Manuel, 193 Ivendorff, Adam (1814–1897), 136, Hoechel, Johann, Dr., lawyer, 48 137 Hof, Sven (1705–1786), 164 Ives, E.W., 4 Hohenlohe-Bartenstein, 55 Hollola, 99, 107 Holmudd, Gabriel (1720–1795), 164 J Holy Roman Empire, 8, 43, 45, 51 Joëlsson, Nathanaël, 174 See also Germany Johan Gabrielsson [Rauthelius/ Honkanen, Adam (1835–1913), 137, Rauthia] (d. 1714), 89n2, 111 140 Johann of Hohenzollern, Margrave of Höök, Erich (c. 1727–1774), 165, Brandenburg-Küstrin 166 (r. 1535–1571), 51 258 INDEX

Jönköping, 63 L Joroinen, 137 Lagermarck, Johan, see Wassenius, Journalists, 124, 139, 197, 217 Johan Judges, 1, 3, 9, 11–13, 29, 30, 44–47, Lagermarck, Maria (d. 1698), 111 50, 55, 56, 59–82, 96, 104, 111, Lambert, Édouard, 211, 227 126, 129, 133, 153, 154n35, Land law, 8, 26, 27n28, 34, 172 159, 160, 165, 169, 171, 173, Land ownership, 103 174, 176, 178, 180–181n172, Landskrona, 175 192, 215, 216, 221, 226 Lange, Johann Michael (1664–1731), Jurors, 3, 10, 13, 30, 36, 122, 134 163 Jusleen, Johan Gabriel (1699–1716), Langley, Philip (c. 1525–1592), 34 170 Lappee, 111 Lappfjärd, 164 Latin, 4, 9, 12, 20, 22, 23, 32, 33, K 35n60, 45, 49, 79, 127, 154, Karelia, 123 156, 157, 161, 172, 193, 201 Karl Filip, Duke (1601–1622), 69 Law books, 34, 102, 102n32, 147, Karl of Södermanland, Duke, see 148, 152, 152n25, 154, 154n35, Charles IX, king of Sweden 155, 157, 159, 167–169, 175, Karlberg, Jacob, 155n37 178–181, 183, 184, 193, 200, Kauhava, 165 200n40, 216, 226–228, 232, Kauranen, Kaisa, 137 233 Kiernander, Jonas, 155n38, 173, Law Code of 1734, Swedish, 94, 173n133 152n25, 155–157, 166, 167, King Christopher’s Law for the 171, 177, 178, 183 Countryside (1442), 74 Law French, 9, 201 King Magnus Eriksson’s Town Law, Law studies, 7, 43, 54, 60, 62, 64, 167 75–77, 79, 82, 157, 159, 183 Kingsmill, William, teacher at Oxford, Lay advocacy, see Advocacy 26–28, 37 Le Moutier, Jean-Marie, 231 Klammer, Balthasar (1504–1578), 166 Lecturing law, 26, 27n26, 227 Kling, Melchior (1504–1571), 165 Legal formularies, 11, 22, 25, 175 Kloot, Claudius (c. 1612–1690), 172, Legal languages, 9, 225 172n128 Legal literacy, 1n1, 4–7, 9, 13, 14, Kokkola, 161–167 19–23, 37, 38, 95n16, 98, 100, Kolbeckia, Margaretha (d. 1735), 154, 101, 110, 112, 113, 119–140, 156n42 148, 171–177, 182, 184, König, Christian, 172, 173, 181 191–202, 211–239 Kraftman, Anders (d. 1791), 153 concept of, 3, 5, 6 Krogius, Paul, Bishop (d. 1792), 153 Legal literates, 4, 6–11, 14, 21, 120, Kuhmo, 134, 135 121, 126, 147–184 Kylliäinen, Mikko, 136 Legal literature, 10–14, 36, 102, 138, Kyminkartano, 111 147, 150, 154, 155, 157, 164, INDEX 259

175, 182–184, 191–195, 197, London, 2, 7, 21, 23–26, 23n13, 198, 201, 211–239 25n21, 28, 28n32, 33, 34, 37, Legal manuals, 10, 25, 148, 191–202 199 Legal periodicals, 214n9, 232 Lönnrot, Elias (1802–1884), 123 Legal profession, 1–4, 6, 10, 12, Loppi, 101, 101n28, 103, 103n33, 21–24, 35, 81, 175, 226 103n34 Legal representatives, 91–94, 92n7, Low Countries, 76 93n10, 94n12, 96–101, 96n18, See also Netherlands 102n30, 103–105, 107–110, Lund, 180 107n42, 108n47, 112, 113 Lundbeck, Mårten (d. 1771), 153 See also Advocates; Attorneys; Lundblad, Johan, Professor in Lund, Proctors; Procurators; 180 Solicitators Lünig, Johann Christian (1662–1740), Legal treatises, 32–36, 216 191 Leiden, 70–71n43, 78, 79 Lyons, Martyn, 120 Leipzig, 43, 66n26 Letto-Vanamo, Pia, 92n7, 95, 95n16, 102n30, 107n42, 108n45, M 108n47, 109n48 Magnus Eriksson, King of Sweden (r. Leufstadius, Hans Johan 1319–1364), see King Magnus (1829–1906), 155 Eriksson’s Law for the Leufstadius, Johan (1795–1867), Countryside; King Magnus 155 Eriksson’s Town Law Libraries, 33, 35, 102, 124, 126, 138, Makkonen, Pietari (1785–1851), 123 148, 152n25, 154, 158, 159, Manninen, Antti (1831–1866), 124, 161–164, 167, 171, 180–183, 125, 125n27 182n179, 197, 212, 213 Maritime law, 156, 169, 201 Lindeberg, Isaac (d. 1781), 181, Mats Olofsson, fisher, 102 181n177 Mayors, 24, 44, 47, 55, 89, 94n12, Linna, Väinö (1920–1992), 139 105, 221, 221n31 Literacy, 4–6, 10, 19, 20, 32, 37, See also Burgomasters 119–121, 128, 137, 138, 140, Medieval period, see Middle Ages 150, 175, 184, 194, 198, 200, Meijsners, Daniel, hatter, 107 202 Melanchthon, Philipp (1497–1560), Litigants, 2, 8n27, 11, 21, 24, 45, 47, 48 48, 51, 225, 226 Mercantilism, 90 Littleton, Thomas, Sir (1422–1481), Merchants, 9, 13, 32, 47, 61, 68, 106, 34, 35 110, 152–156, 159, 160, Livonia, 63, 72, 73, 74n54 168–170, 173, 174, 178, 181, Loccenius, Johannes (1598–1677), 182, 220n21 163–165, 167, 172 Méritens, Léon de, count and lawyer, Lombardy-Venetia, 192–195 233 260 INDEX

Middle Ages, 4, 7n23, 9–11, 26, Notaries, 2, 11, 24, 168, 176, 212, 92n7, 148n4 215, 227 Midwives, 155, 173 See also Clerks; Scribes; Scriveners; Milan, 194–197 Town Clerks; Town secretaries Military law, 169, 174, 183 Numeracy, see Counting skills Modée, R.G., 169, 178, 181 Nyman, Ann-Charlotte, 149 Model texts, see Legal formularies Nyman, Kristina, 180 Monopoly of legal work, 212 Moride, P. lawyer, 224n59, 229 Moullart, Achille-Alfred, 227 O Myhr, Johan Niclas (d. 1774), 152, Officers, 90, 105, 149, 151, 169 152n25 Oral hearings, 104 Ostrobothnia, 121n10, 166, 179 Oulu, 128–130, 135, 147–184, N 148n6, 156n42, 159n58, Napa, California, 200 162n67, 163n71, 170n118, Naples, 197 171n121, 171n122, 181n172 Napoleonic Code, see Code civil Oulunsalo, 128 Nationalism, 122 Oxford, 7, 8, 25–28, 30, 32, 35, 37 See also Fennoman movement Natural law, 157, 161–167, 183, 194 Nehrman, David (1695–1769), P 71n43, 173, 178, 179 Pagnoni, publisher, 197 Netherlands, 78 Paimio, 156, 167 See also Low countries Paine, Thomas (1737–1809), 174 Newspapers, 120, 123, 124, 126, 128, Päivärinta, Pietari (1827–1913), 131, 136–138, 140, 181, 194, 127–131, 133, 134, 138 222n36, 229, 232, 233 Paris, 79, 212n3, 214n9, 229 Newton, Humphrey (1466–1536), 3, Parlements, 76 35, 36 Parliamentary representatives, 133 New York, 201 Peasants, 13, 95, 96, 100, 103, 104, Nicholas II, Russian Emperor (r. 121–136, 138, 147, 183 1894–1917), 138 Pegues, Frank, 30 Nilckan, Erich (d. 1772), 153 Pencaer, David, teacher at Oxford, Nilsson, Oloff (d. 1652), 67–69, 71, 26–28 73 Pennsylvania, 200 Nobles, 63, 65, 66, 69, 71, 75, 77–80, Pforzheim, 50 89n2, 93, 96, 97, 106, 147 Philipp I, Duke of Pomerania-Wolgast, Nohrmarck, Johan (d. 1729), 165 50 Norell, Carl Johan (1729–1803), 179 Piacenza, 197 Norristown, 200 Pic, Paul, 232 INDEX 261

Piedmont, 193 Rålamb, Claes, Baron (1622–1698), Pomerania, 47, 50–52, 55, 64, 72 172, 172n128 Pomerania-Wolgast, 50 Rastell, William (c. 1508–1565), 35 Popular education, 122, 127, 134, Rauthia, Abraham Henrici, pastor, 137, 138, 198, 223, 235 89n2, 101, 111 Pori, 162 Reading revolution, 158 Porthan, Sigfrid (d. 1798), 153 Reading skills, 101n28, 127 Porvoo, 109, 147–184, 148n6, See also Literacy 156n42, 159n58, 170n118, Reading societies, 182, 182n179 171n121 Reformation, 47, 49, 73 Pownall, 35, 37 Reichskammergericht, see Imperial Priests, 119, 122, 126, 137, 156, 161, Chamber Court 162, 164, 168, 171, 178 Reichstage, see Imperial Diets Printing, 11, 195 Reiffsteck, Friedrich, Dr. lawyer, 8, 48, Privileges, 78, 90, 110, 134, 149, 164, 49 177, 179 Reijer, Märta (d. 1681), 106, 107n42, Proctors, 2 109 Procurators, 1, 2, 8, 8n27, 46, 47, 49, Religious literature, 152 51, 53–55, 92–94, 92n7, 92n9, Richard I, King of England (r. 93n10, 94n12, 99, 108 1189–1199), 36 Professional regulation, 3, 92, 94 Richardson, H.G., 25 Prosecutors, 70, 90, 90n4, 98, Riddarholm, 165 103n36, 104, 135, 160, 160n59, Riga, 72 174 Robertson, William, 20 Prussia, 194 Roman law, 7, 7n23, 32, 34, 60, Publishing, 194, 195, 198, 219, 65n22, 72, 157, 165, 201 221n31, 229, 229n84, 230 Rome, 48, 79 Pufendorf, Samuel (1632–1694), 157, Rondonneau, Louis, 229, 231 162, 164, 166 Roslöf, Kustaa (1831–1898), 135, Puhakka, Antti (1816–1893), 123, 136, 140 126, 127, 130, 133, 134, 138 Rosmini, Enrico (1828–1898), 196 Pyhtää, 107 Rota Romana, 9, 48 Roué, Paul lawyer, 233 Roy, F. Parisian publisher, 221 Q Russia, 122, 129, 148n4, 158, 162 Quétant, Emile, 221

S R Sääksmäki, 69, 111 Raasepori, 181 Sahlstedt, Magnus (1686–1752), Rabener, Gottlieb Wilhelm 165 (1714–1771), 175 Saint-Bonnet, M., 236 262 INDEX

Saint-Just, Louis-Antoine-Léon de Self-education, 101, 113 (1767–1794), 221n33, 226 Sellander, Magnus (1743–1828), St. Petersburg, 135 154n32, 175, 175n138 Salaries, 64, 136, 160–162, 162n67, Sheppard, William, 199 176 Sheriffs, 30, 31, 31n44 Salonius, Georg (1705–1760), 156, Sidenius, Daniel (1592–1666), 65, 170, 178 65n22, 66n26 Sambucy, Gustave de, 225, 225n60 Simon O, teacher at Oxford, 26, 27 Sampson, Thomas teacher at Oxford, Sinius, Johanna Gustav, 156 26, 27 Snellman, Johan (c. 1711–1738), San Francisco, 200 163n71, 164 San José, California, 200 Socialism, 198 Sardinia, 193 Social mobility, 10, 97, 109–112, Sastrow, Barholomäus von 119–140 (1520–1603), 8, 9, 11, 44, Soldiers, 91, 95, 96, 100, 103, 110, 47–52, 55 149, 223 Sastrow, Johann (1515–1545), 47 Solicitators, 8, 8n27, 47–51 Sastrow, Nicolaus (1488–?), 47 Sovelius, Charles, burgomaster, 157 Saur, Abraham, 11 Sparre, Erik Larsson (1550–1600), 69 Scelle, Georges (1878–1961), 222n39, Sparre, Ture (1593–1664), 65, 69, 71, 227, 227n75 77 Schmedeman, Johan (1652–1713), Specimens, 26, 33 169, 180 See also Legal formularies Schools, 9, 21, 22, 27, 55, 100, Speyer, 8, 44, 46–48, 50–53 101n28, 120, 121n10, 124, 126, Ståhlhammar, Otto Fredrik 132, 136, 138, 150, 161, 162, (1695–1753), 169 165–167, 212, 217–219, Stark, Laura, 139, 140 221n33, 228n80 State formation, 95, 96, 112 School teachers, 27, 162, 162n67, Statute collections, 147, 152, 157, 176n143, 228 167–171, 179–181, 183 Schwartz, Petter (d. 1793), 156, 180 Stichaeus, Salomon, see Cederwald, Scribes, 1, 2, 8, 9, 22, 24, 28, 37, 49, Salomon 50, 52, 55, 56, 70, 73, 95, Stiernhöök, Johan, 164 102n30, 121n10, 122–130 Stiernman, Anders Anton von See also Clerks; Notaries; Scriveners; (1695–1765), 152, 164, 169, Town clerks; Town secretaries 171 Scriveners, 1–3, 6–10, 19–38 Stockholm, 59, 61, 63, 67–69, 92, 93, See also Clerks; Notaries; Scribes; 149, 150, 154, 155, 157, 165, Town clerks; Town secretaries 179, 181n172, 182n179 Scriveners’ Company, 8, 24, 28, 37 Stockholm Court of Appeal, 94 Selden, John (1584–1654), 163, See also Courts of appeal; Svea Court 163n71, 166 of Appeal INDEX 263

Stralsund, 44, 47, 52, 55 105–107, 108n47, 110, 153, Strasbourg, 32, 43, 79 160, 174, 181 Sundberg, Anders (d. 1743), 152 Town officials, 68, 69, 176 Sundling, Johan Gustaf (d. 1797), 153 Towns, 2, 24, 43, 59, 89, 128, Sundsvall, 178 147–184, 195 Surrogate judges, 62 Town scribes, 52, 67, 67n29, 70, 73, Suutarla, Zefanias (1834–1908), 174 130–134, 138 Town secretaries, 11, 159, 160, Svea Court of Appeal, 59–61, 59n1, 160n59, 172, 176 63–70, 66n26, 70n43, 72, 74, Trainee system, 62 75, 76n60, 77–81, 165 Trapp, Robert (von) (1804–1875), Svederus, Magnus, of Uppsala, 178 124 Sweden, 9, 60–63, 67n27, 71, 72, Treasurers, 31, 90, 152n25, 159, 160, 74–80, 91–97, 102, 111–113, 168, 170, 174 122, 147–149, 148n4, 151, 157, Tuderus, Gustaf Adolph (1766–1817), 158, 164, 167–169, 171, 174, 174 177 Turku, 1n1, 63, 70, 91–94, 97, 98, 101, 107–109, 111, 149, 150, 160–162, 164–166, 171, 174, T 176n143, 178–182 Taipale, Matti (1825–1868), 124 Turku Court of Appeal, 71n43, 91, Tallinn, 103, 109 111, 153, 170, 178 Tammisaari, 107 See also Courts of appeal Tampere, 174 Teachers, 25–27, 30, 37, 54, 121, 127, 153, 161–165, 167, 168, U 183, 191, 228, 228n80 Ugglas, Samuel af (1750–1812), 170, Tengwall, Lars (1746–1809), 174, 179 179, 180, 180n172 Uhlbrandt, Erik, 180 Tennilä, 99, 107 Uleåborg, see Oulu Teperi, Jouko, 130 Unification of Italy, 195, 196, 198 Thomasius, Christian (1655–1728), United States of America, 5, 13, 192, 163, 164 199–202, 225 Town clerks, 7, 22, 27, 31, 31n44, Universities, 1n1, 2, 7, 7n23, 8, 25, 32 44, 46, 47, 52–55, 59, 60, Town councillors, 13, 51, 60, 61, 68, 62–66, 67n27, 69–71, 73, 75–81, 89, 94n12, 97, 102n32, 104, 92, 101, 121n10, 150, 160, 161, 152, 156, 158–161, 168, 169, 175, 182 173, 175, 177, 180, 183, 221 Uppsala, 60, 62, 65, 70, 73, 80, 92, See also Aldermen 164, 165, 178 Town courts, 60, 61, 65, 68, 71, 90, Uusikaupunki, 162 91, 94n12, 97, 99, 102, 103, Uusimaa, 79, 181 264 INDEX

V Wetzlar, 43, 44, 46, 53–55 Västerås, 61, 67, 67n29, 70 White, James Boyd, 5 Västi, Pietari (1751–1826), 122 Widén, Johan, 174 Vehkalahti, 111 Wills, 21, 22, 34, 64, 121n10 Venice, 194, 195 Wilskman, Sven, 171, 178 Vernacular languages, 4 Women, 12, 48, 93, 106, 107n42, Viborg, see Viipuri 121, 136, 148, 154, 155, 222 Victor Emmanuel II, King of Italy (r. Worms, 45 1861–1878), 193, 229n84 Writing skills, 4, 10, 120, 121, 124, Viipuri, 109, 162 125n27, 134, 140 Vitriarius, Johann Jacob (1679–1745), See also Literacy 167 Writs, 11, 29, 30, 32, 33, 36, 90n4 Vossius, Gerardus Johannes (1557–1649), 79 Y Ylivieska, 127, 130 W York, 28, 30, 37 Wallerman, Nils (d. 1788), 170n116, Youngs, Deborah, 35, 36 170n120, 176 Wassenius, Johan (c. 1622–1691), 111 Z Waxala Wernher, Johannes Balthasar Ziegler, Caspar (Junior, 1621–1690), (1677–1743), 163 163 Westdahl, Anders (1747–1802), 172 Zwichem, Viglius van (1507–1577), Westminster, 2, 7, 23, 25, 27n27, 36 46