Rural Societies and Environments at Risk: Ecology, Property Rights and Social Organisation in Fragile Areas (Middle Ages - Twentieth century) (Rural History in Europe, 9) 9782503544168, 2503544169

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Rural History in Europe 9

COST Action A 35 PROGRESSORE

COST – the acronym for European COoperation in the field of Scientific and Technical Research – is the oldest and widest European intergovernmental network for cooperation in research. Established by the Ministerial Conference in November 1971, COST is presently used by the scientific communities of 35 European countries to cooperate in common research projects supported by national funds. The funds provided by COST – less than 1% of the total value of the projects – support the COST cooperation networks (COST Actions) through which, with EUR 30 million per year, more than 30,000 European scientists are involved in research having a total value which exceeds EUR 2 billion per year. This is the financial worth of the European added value which COST achieves. A ‘bottom up approach’ (the initiative of launching a COST Action comes from the European scientists themselves), ‘à la carte participation’ (only countries interested in the Action participate), ‘equality of access’ (participation is open also to the scientific communities of countries not belonging to the European Union) and “flexible structure” (easy implementation and light management of the research initiatives) are the main characteristics of COST (Web: www.cost.esf.org). As precursor of advanced multidisciplinary research COST has a very important role for the realization of the European Research Area (ERA) anticipating and complementing the activities of the Framework Programmes, constituting a “bridge” towards the scientific communities of emerging countries, increasing the mobility of researchers across Europe and fostering the establishment of ‘Networks of Excellence’ in many key scientific domains such as: Biomedicine and Molecular Biosciences; Food and Agriculture; Forests, their Products and Services; Materials, Physical and Nanosciences; Chemistry and Molecular Sciences and Technologies; Earth System Science and Environmental Management; Information and Communication Technologies; Transport and Urban Development; Individuals, Societies, Cultures and Health. It covers basic and more applied research and also addresses issues of pre normative nature or of societal importance.

Rural Societies and Environments at Risk

Ecology, Property Rights and Social Organisation in Fragile Areas (Middle Ages-Twentieth Century) Edited by Bas van Bavel and Erik Thoen

H

F

EDITORIAL BOARD Gérard Béaur, director Bas van Bavel Rosa Congost Anne-Lise Head-König Socrates Petmezas Vicente Pinilla Jürgen Schlumbohm

This publication is supported by COST (European COoperation in the field of Scientific and Technical Research), CORN (Comparative Rural History of the North Sea Area) and the Centre de Recherches Historiques (CNRS/ EHESS, Paris, France). It is the result of the work launched in the working group 1 ‘Landed property’ of the COST Action A35 “Progressore”. Cover: © Wouter Groeneveld, Moraira, Alicante (2010) Landscape with deserted buildings near Jijona/Xixona in the province of Alicante in the south-east of Spain. This is a highly fragile area, hit hard by erosion, desertification, salinization of agricultural land and fires which destroy the vegetation and result in further soil erosion.

D/2013/0095/30 ISBN 978-2-503-54416-8 Printed on acid free paper.

© 2013 Brepols Publisher n.v., Turnhout, Belgium and COST All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

CONTENTS List of Contributors List of Figures List of Tables

Acknowledgements

The series Rural History in Europe

1. Rural history and the environment. A survey of the relationship between property rights, social structures and sustainability of land use Bas van Bavel and Erik Thoen I

8 10

12 13 15

Property rights and sustainable land use in marginal areas

2. Ecological constraints and property rights in Swedish agriculture, c. 1750-1850 Mats Morell

3. Peasant property, common land and environment in the garrigues of the Languedoc from the seventeenth to the twenty-first centuries Sylvain Olivier

4. A tale of two tragedies. The commons of Serra de Mértola in Alentejo (southern Portugal) and their privatization, eighteenth to twentieth centuries Rui Santos and Maria José Roxo II

7

45 89

115

Property rights in fragile coastal and riverine areas

5. The social distribution of land and flood risk along the North Sea coast: Flanders, Holland and Romney Marsh compared, c. 1200-1750) Tim Soens 6. State, property rights and sustainability of drained areas along the North Sea coast, sixteenth-eighteenth centuries Piet van Cruyningen

147 181

7. River regulation, land use, property and rural society in Hungary from the eighteenth century to 1914 András Vári (†)

209

8. Collective property and environmental concerns. The French case, 1750-1900 Nadine Vivier

241

III

Public, private and common property rights, and sustainable land use

5

9. Forest management and wood exploitation. A comparison between public and private Spanish forests, 1900-2000 Iñaki Iriarte-Goñi 10. Soil conditions and environment versus manorial structure and landownership in Denmark c. 1400-1800 Peder Dam

11. Property rights, ‘good neighbourhood’ and sustainability: the management of common land in England and Wales, 1235-1965 Angus J. L. Winchester

6

261

281 309

LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS Bas van Bavel Piet van Cruyningen Peder Dam Iñaki Iriarte-Goñi Mats Morell Sylvain Olivier Maria José Roxo Rui Santos Tim Soens Erik Thoen András Vári (†) Nadine Vivier Angus J. L. Winchester

Utrecht University, The Netherlands

Wageningen University, The Netherlands Copenhagen University, Denmark

University of Zaragoza, Spain Stockholm University, Sweden University of Caen, France

Nova University of Lisbon, Portugal Nova University of Lisbon, Portugal University of Antwerp, Belgium

Ghent University, Belgium

Miskolc University, Hungary

University of Maine, France

Lancaster University, United Kingdom

7

LIST OF FIGURES Figure 2.1. Historical-cultural provinces (Landskap) in Sweden

Figure 2.2. Harvests on four meadows and Björnö, Frötuna skeppslag, Stockholm county 1696, 1731-1843 Figure 2.3. Yield-to-seed ratios for rye, in the eighteenth century Figure 2.4. Yield-to-seed ratios, in the nineteenth century

Figure 3. 1. Salasc in the post-Revolutionary département of Hérault

Figure 3.2. Relief and simplified land occupation map of the commune of Salasc during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries Figure 3.3. Simplified repartition of acreage in the entire commune of Salasc from 1601 to 1995 (garrigues and fertile lands) Figure 3.4. Total population versus cadastral population, 1791-1999 Figure 3.5. The wooded garrigues of Roquelade in Salasc Figure 4.1. Alentejo and Mértola, location and relief Figure 4.2. Alentejo and Mértola. Soils

Figure 4.3. The municipality of Mértola

Figure 4.4. Population in the municipality of Mértola (total and Serra parishes), 1720-1950 Figure 5.1. Total ‘scot’ payments by Saint John’s hospital in Bruges and lease rate of ‘polder’ land, 1280-1568 Figure 8.1. Importance and nature of commons, 1846

Figure 8.2. Average value of one hectare of collective property, 1846

Figure 9.1. Evolution of timber consumption and extraction as raw material in Spain, 1900-2000 Figure 9.2. Evolution of wooded surface Figure 10.1. Soil type in Denmark

Figure 10.2. Taxation in the 1662 Cadastre Figure 10.3. Taxation in the 1688 Cadastre Figure 10.4. Taxation in the 1844 Cadastre

Figure 10.5 Average taxation of townlands, in the 1688 Cadastre

Figure 10.6. Land use of townlands dominated by one soil type, 1768-1805

Figure 10.7. Size of peasant holdings in townlands dominated by one soil type (> 50%)

8

Figure 10.8. Crown lands by townland and new demesnes Figure 10.9. Establishments of demesnes, 1525-1774 Figure 10.10. Demesnes, 1662

Figure 10.11. Size of demesnes, 1688

Figure 10.12. Size of demesnes and concentration of peasant holdings Figure 10.13. Fields and forests or heathlands

9

LIST OF TABLES Table 2.1. Table 2.2. Table 2.3. Table 2.4.

Table 2.5. Table 2.6. Table 2.7. Table 2.8. Table 2.9.

Proportions of meadows and arable and number of animals per ha of arable, (Uppsala, Örebro and Skaraborg counties), 1865 and 1866 Meadow (Närke, southern part of Örebro county), 1690-1865 Meadow and arable in eastern Småland, c. 1800-1850

Distribution of agricultural land in Ekebyborna, Östergötland, 1790-1850 Meadow and annually used winter fodder area, Ekebyborna, 1700-1850 Arable, meadow and pasture in Selaön, (plains), 1640-1826/1853

Arable, meadow and pasture in Fornåsa parish, Östergötland (plains), 1642-1858/1866 Arable, meadow 1636/1842-1876

in

Kristberg

parish,

Östergötland,

(forested),

Arable, meadow and pasture in Alseda parish, Småland (forested), 1645-1849

Table 2.10. Cattle units per hectar of arable. Närke 1630, c. 1865

Table 2.11. Cattle units per hectar of arable at Selaön, Fornåsa, Kristberg and Alseda various years, c. 1620-c. 1850 Table 2.12. Cattle units among peasant farms, c. 1750-c. 1850

Table 2.13. Draught animals and owen in peasant farms (Skaraborg county), c. 1750-c. 1850 Table 3.1.

Landownership distribution in the commune of Salasc, 1601-1957

Table 4.1.

Partition of the commons in Serra de Mértola, 1926

Table 3.2. Table 5.1. Table 5.2. Table 5.3. Table 5.4. Table 5.5. Table 7.1. Table 7.2.

10

Landownership distribution in the commune of Salasc, 1836

Distribution of landownership in the watering Romboutswerve (north of Bruges, c. 420.7 ha), 1456 and 1545 Distribution of landownership in the watering Moerkerke Zuid-over-deLieve (east of Bruges, c. 2,060 ha), 1470 and 1530 Distribution of landownership in the Oude Yevene-watering (Western Zeeland-Flanders, c. 3,530 ha), 1388 and 1550 Landholdings in the village Ter Aar, 1543 and 1600

Flood problems and investments in water management along the Flemish North Sea Coast and the Western Scheldt Estuary, 1000-1750 River regulation associations on the Tisza up to 1878

Costs of the Tisza regulation borne by the state, 1847-1879

Table 7.3.

Costs of the Tisza regulation borne by the associations

Table 9.2.

Forest property system in Spain

Table 9.1. Table 9.3. Table 9.4. Table 9.5. Table 9.6.

Timber extractions in different European countries, 1929 and 1991 Composition of forests according to kinds of property, 1900-1995

Changes in composition of wooded areas according to kinds of property, 1976-1996 Growth rates and percentage composition of timber extraction as raw material in public and private forests Evolution of hectares with fast-growth species and index of growth. (1959 = 100)

Table 10.1. Size of peasant holdings in townlands dominated by one soil type (One soil > 50% of the area), 1688 Table 10.2. Demesnes 1662 according to ownership

Table 10.3. Peasant estates 1662 according to ownership

11

Acknowledgements

This book is in part based on the discussions we had at a workshop held in Rome in May 2008, organized by the two editors of this volume. We should like to thank COST and the Flemish Science Foundation (FWO) for funding this meeting via respectively COST Action A35 (Progressore) and the research group CORN (Comparative Rural History of the North Sea Area). We want to thank all participants in the workshop, because they helped us with so many valuable comments, as well as the authors who joined this undertaking later on. Unfortunately Andras Vári, one of the original participants, died too soon, and cannot witness this result. May the volume, including his paper, be considered as a tribute to him. We also thank the many anonymous referees, who were an essential part of the refereeing process. We are of course also grateful to Gérard Béaur and the scientific committee of COST Action A35, who have put the work on the right tracks. We want to express our gratitude also to the Academia Belgica in Rome as well as to the Koninlijk Nederlands Instituut Rome, for their kind hospitality when we organized the initial conference on the theme. Furthermore, we are grateful to Eileen Power and Frank Parker for the language corrections, and of course also to Bart Cosyns (Ghent University) and Anne Varet Vitu (UMR 8558) for their work on the lay-out and other practicalities.

Bas van Bavel and Erik Thoen, volume editors

12

The Series Rural History in Europe

Sometimes viewed as the producer of foodstuffs and raw materials, as a garden or a space for the production of energy; sometimes seen as a reservoir of manpower destined to be subverted to the needs of cities and industries or as a peaceful haven which welcomes weary city-dwellers; also regarded as a place of easily incensed ‘backward’ societies or as an idyllic spot close to nature where societies act as guardians of a certain conception of quality of life, the countryside has not ceased to be at the centre of economic, social, political and now environmental concern of governments and public opinion. Pulled between contradictory demands, the countryside of today presents an image of a place and a society in clear transformation, which, in itself, is difficult to decipher. In Europe, the difficulty is that the countryside, which forms a complex and evolving universe, is experiencing ruptures and also exhibits inertias. These complex transformations of the rural world can only be fully understood if they are viewed in a manner which transcends national boundaries and if the discrepancies, which can only be observed by adopting a broad view, in fact at the continental scale, are taken into account. These changes cannot be explained without reference to their past. The question is how to create such a dialogue between researchers which goes beyond national boundaries, crosses chronological barriers and breaks disciplinary boundaries. The main objective of the ‘Rural History in Europe’ collection is to provide just such keys to unlocking the changes experienced by present-day European rural societies in the light of their historical experience. It is to produce the historical knowledge which will allow us to conceptualize the future of European country-dwellers, as they face the kinds of problems which historians have grappled with in examining societies in the past: under-employment and multiple occupations, migrations and rural depopulation, distortion of competition by the marketplace or by the policies established by political authorities, competition with non-European producers, problems of resource allocation (land and water), distribution and redistribution of heritages and land-holding, the future of owner-occupied farms and the function of agriculture as employer, the tensions between private ownership and public access to land, the changes induced by settlement of urban migrants, environment and sustainable development, and so on. In most European countries, rural society and long term change have been the subject of intensive research. Over the last half-century, a lively historiography has developed around questions concerning the factors of growth and systems of agricultural production, as well as the periodization of growth and the impact of agriculture on industrial development. As a result, a body of knowledge has built up on techniques, forms of land-use, levels of production, the differing conditions and nature of the peasantry and the strategies of economic agents. More recently 13

environmental concerns have made a dramatic impact on the consciousness of historians in the field, while previous findings have been questioned in a critical way and new perspectives have been drawn. The field known as Rural History remains very much alive, despite the decline of the agricultural sector over the last several decades. Rural History remains fundamental in a Europe which has for so long been kept together by its Common Agricultural Policy and which now has to face the heavy impact of Brussels-based initiatives upon its rural regions, and an unprecedented revision of current agrarian systems and systems of production in the countries which have recently joined the EU. How can the changes taking place in present-day Europe be understood without taking into account a past which is still very present, and which determines both structures and behaviour? The volumes of this collection are the result of several workshops which have been held during the past years and which have mainly been supported by funds of the European Action COST A 35 and by other institutions like CORN, GDR CNRS Sociétés Rurales Européennes, Universities… The COST Action, which was initiated three years ago, intends to extend the historical analysis of rural society over the last millenium in order to envisage the problems of the countryside in an extended timeframe and also to draw upon the commentary and expertise of specialists from other disciplines (sociology, economics, anthropology). This will enable the first real comparison of Europe from historians from all over the continent, from Scandinavia to the Mediterranean and from the western frontier to the eastern limits. Papers from these meetings are published after a peer-review process, supported by the editorial board and, of course, the work of the authors and editors of the volumes. This collection is constructed upon four main pillars: Landed property; The management of rural land; Peasant societies; The state, government, politics and peasants. Each of these brings new perspectives and produce new tools to better understand the changes which are taking place today. In order to ask the relevant questions about the future of these peasantries and rural spaces in transformation, the books of this collection will deal with the ‘longue durée’ and will present either research in progress or a synthesis on a regional or national scale. The cumulative effect of this approach will be to produce volumes, the geographical coverage of which will be the whole of Europe. The volumes also, of course, take into account the role of history as an explanatory factor for contemporary European Societies. If rural societies have been overthrown, if rural landscapes have been profoundly transformed and if the intervention of the State has considerably strengthened the regulation of production and trade, the contrast between a contemporary rural world in rapid transformation and a traditional rural world with frozen landscapes, petrified societies, immobile economies and lethargic political contexts will be an illusion. It is important, therefore, to detect, to measure and to interpret the range of recent changes by illuminating those that have taken place in past centuries in a European context.

14

1.

Rural history and the environment. A survey of the relationship between property rights, social structures and sustainability of land use Bas van Bavel and Erik Thoen

I.  The environmental branch of rural history In recent decades, scientific interest in the interaction between people and the environment has been growing, not least because of acute environmental problems. Besides the research into the present interaction, this has also fostered research into its historical dimension and has given rise to a new academic strand. Environmental history emerged as a separate discipline from the late 1960s and interest in it continues to grow (McNeill, 2003: 15-21), although perhaps still not as much as it should, in view of its relevance. The field of environmental history studies the historical relation between people and nature in both directions: how did nature in the past influence people and how did people influence nature and natural resources? Environmental history studies inter alia if, when and how humans did or did not take care of the sustainability of natural resources, and when and how catastrophes and changes or depletion of resources occurred. Nevertheless, it is quite surprising that few studies in the field of environmental history investigate the causes and explanations of environmental changes and environmental catastrophes. Indeed, too many studies are just descriptive or give only superficial explanations, or they restrict their focus to natural causes, such as climatic change. The sphere of explanation of environmental changes and events is largely left to the natural sciences. If the human element is included in looking for explanations, this is mostly left to philosophers and sociologists who try to explain people’s behavious in relation to landscapes, resources and nature in general. These studies, on the other hand, often do not place developments accurately in the historical context, frequently put forward ideas which are not sufficiently tested by historical data, and seldom use the opportunities offered by history as a laboratory for testing new ideas in the field. Conversely, as correctly observed by Warde and Sörlin (2007), historians do not make enough use of theoretical models from other disciplines such as anthropology and sociology. This prevents environmental history from becoming more ‘scientific’ and relevant, and is perhaps one of the reasons why the field has been less active and important than might have been expected. Similar problems apply to the now popular field of disaster studies. These to a large extent also deal with the relationship 15

Rural history and the environment

between humans and the environment, but focus more on the extreme events, where hazards or disasters threaten or strike societies (e.g. Blaikie, 1997; Bankoff, 2003). Natural hazards can result from exceptional events, including volcanic eruptions or earthquakes, but also from more common threats like floods. However, threats can also result from increasing tensions between humans and the use of natural resources, as is the case with erosion, for instance. Further, events which at first sight are exceptional and exogenous, like an earthquake, can have a highly diverse impact, a diversity directly linked with the ways in which humans have used the environment where the earthquake takes place and the tensions and risks inherent in this use. Economists and geographers increasingly suggest that wealth, knowledge and technology in themselves do not determine the diversity of impacts. Instead, it is rather the institutional framework that guarantees the use of this wealth, knowledge and technology in a way that makes (or does not make) a long-run contribution to a society’s resilience (pioneering work by Ostrom, 1990). Sociologists, within the new sub-fields of disaster sociology and environmental sociology, and scholars in development studies, have even more clearly entered this line of thinking and have come to study disasters more as social rather than physical-natural occurrences, reflecting the institutional organization and inequalities inherent in society (Tierney, 2007; an early example: Blaikie et al., 1997). Some societies therefore are more vulnerable than others, and the investigation of this vulnerability poses questions similar to those posed in the field of environmental history more generally. However, in dealing with the topic of historical hazards and disasters, historians have again restricted themselves mainly to a descriptive approach, concentrating on reconstructing the events and their direct effects. And although the history of disasters is now developing into a serious and thriving sub-field of history, the work still tends to be highly descriptive in nature and most historical studies continue to treat disasters as separate events (Lübken & Mauch, 2011). Gerrit Jan Schenk and others are in the course of remedying this in one important aspect, namely the perception of disasters and the way cultures cope with them, building on the pioneering work on the human need for reassurance by Jean Delumeau, for instance (Schenk, 2007). This is where historical disaster research has made most progress in recent years and has worked most systematically. However, historical research looking not at the perception but at the causes of disasters, and trying to find the underlying patterns and understand why some societies are successful in preventing disaster or recovering quickly, and others are not has been much more limited. Conversely, the many relevant studies in sociology, economics and human geography in the field of disaster studies and vulnerability have not yet begun to

16

Bas van Bavel and Erik Thoen

utilize the research opportunities offered by history most notably the opportunity for a long-run, systematic analysis. However, such a historical analysis would make it possible to replace studies of separate events with a more structured investigation and would offer an analysis of the role of the various factors in the long run, which is particularly vital in this field where changes are often slow and protracted. It would also use the great opportunities history offers for a comparative analysis. When examining the historical cases one is struck by the differences in the impact of shocks and the responses, offering ample material for comparison. Notwithstanding the many valuable studies – especially in the investigation of separate historical cases – the use of the historical dimension for a systematic, comparative analysis is largely missing. This book seeks to make a contribution – albeit a modest one – in filling this lacuna, by discussing various cases of the relationship between ecology and society in fragile environments of the past. This introduction first offers a succinct survey of the environmental risks and the margins of agrarian production in the past (section II) and next it focuses on these margins in fragile environments (section III). Rural land use in these environments was endangered either because of excess water as a result of river floods or storm surges of the sea, or because of too little water. In other cases, their mountainous location or poor soils created a kind of inherent vulnerability. Because of the difficult circumstances, these areas allow a test to be made at the extreme margin, where the relationship between mankind and ecology is most fragile. As argued in section IV, a major element in better understanding the ways in which rural societies have dealt with the fragility of their environments, and their different degrees of success, is the investigation of the property rights to the land and their exact formulation. Next, section V discusses how the formulation of these property rights, and their effects, in turn, can only be explained when placed in their social context and investigated in the long run. We argue that this should be a main research agenda for the field in the coming years.

II.  The ecological margins of agrarian production in past societies Environmental history is logically to a large extent linked with economic history since economics can be defined as the study of efficiency in the use of resources which determines the wealth of human communities (Persson, 2010: 1). In agricultural economies, land was the most important resource. If we disregard in this context the use of rural resources for industrial production and the extraction of minerals (such as ore digging and mining) and focus here solely on the relation between natural resources and rural land in agricultural production, the relation between people 17

Rural history and the environment

and natural resources, and the use of these resources, is determined by ecological constraints. The ecological margins are agricultural production margins on a given amount of land or in a given area. Technically, this boundary of production is bounded by natural elements and by the limits on the amount of land that could be used, colonized and/or reclaimed for agricultural production – in other words, by the limits of the production factor ‘land’. Indeed, the available land was limited and subject to diminishing returns. This is what could be called in a ricardian-malthusian way the ‘extensive margin of cultivation’ (a clear discussion of this concept: Hatcher & Bailey, 2001: 33-38). Next to the ‘extensive margin of cultivation’, there is the ‘intensive margin of cultivation’, that is, the limit of land productivity caused by ‘intensification’ of rural techniques (Ibid.: 38-43). Intensification is the process of increasing physical productivity of the surface area by way of raising input of the other two production factors, namely labour and capital. The increase of the labour input was actually the major way of intensification in the Ancien Regime. Social and economic limits, however, determined the use of this production factor, since, after a while, increasing labour input would lead to a huge decline in labour productivity. The loss of labour productivity in agriculture only stopped the increase in labour input if there were opportunity costs to agricultural labour in the economic system (as e.g. income available in alternative activities or by migrating), or if the main source of labour input was wage labour. If neither applied, labour input would tend to grow to the limit of its ‘physical margin’. So, labour input had its social margins – which became operative through declining monetary profits or rising opportunity costs most particularly –, but also its ‘physical’ margins, reached when it could hardly be driven upwards any further. Before the introduction of ‘scientific agriculture’ in the nineteenth century, the production factor capital was actually, in terms of ‘production margin’, the major limit, since technical improvements were too small to fundamentally increase production capacity of the surface area. Indeed, a huge change occurred in this respect with the introduction of ‘scientific agriculture’, when scientifically based technical improvements drastically changed the production margins. Before that period, technical improvements were actually triggered by learning by doing, and they could not be pushed to a very high level. During the Ancien Regime, and before, practical knowledge to manipulate nature was at the heart of the ‘physical’ production margins. The scope for technical improvements to increase physical production of the surface area was, and is, mostly ‘technically’ determined by many elements. Most important are, among others, the following aspects which are determined by the

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Bas van Bavel and Erik Thoen

amount of capital input, the efficiency in using this capital, and the labour input and labour efficiency: – The most important capital in preindustrial society was manure. A structural shortage of manure was one of the major problems in many rural societies in preindustrial times. In areas where manure was not, or not yet, a commodity, a good balance between cattle and arable was therefore necessary (For detail on this point, see Morell, this volume). Population pressure, income changes, or land division and reclamation could cause the necessary balance between arable land and the number of manure producing cattle to be broken. In the pre-industrial period, various methods of solving this problem were attempted. A first method was via the introduction of an ‘infield-outfield’ system – with the manure concentrated on the infields – or via a larger ‘open field’ system. Later, the introduction in the crop rotations of fodder plants with a nitrogen increasing effect on the soils, such as legumes and tuberous plants, helped to solve this problem, and this solution was adopted from the Middle Ages onwards in some areas (e.g. in Flanders, Thoen, 1997). From the seventeenth century in England, and also elsewhere, clover or lucerne was introduced in the crop rotations (e.g. Shiel, 1991: 55; Grigg, 1992). Another solution was the large scale use of urban produced manure in extended areas around big towns, a solution open especially to larger farmers with capital available. Horse dung from Paris and Versailles, for instance, was used in the eighteenth century as a return load of the straws and oats carried to the cities for horse fodder, a successful strategy used by large farmers in the Ile-de-France which allowed them to specialize further in commercial arable farming and drive up productivity (Moriceau, 1994: 660-661). – In relation to the lack of manure, in pre-industrial societies, it was necessary for agricultural land to repose to give it the opportunity to recuperate physically. However, a major increase of productivity could be achieved if the land needed to repose (via the use of fallow land or via up and down husbandry) could be minimized without a loss of production capacity. Such intensive crop rotation systems mostly included fodder crops. These crops in their turn made it possible to retain the number of cattle and therefore did not cause a shortage of manure; on the contrary: the balance arable-cattle could mostly be influenced positively and stable feeding often caused the increase of manure, sometimes via the introduction of the practice of sod-manuring. Moreover, as mentioned, the cultivation of these plants in itself could reduce the exhaustive effect of arable farming. – The moisture in the soil was one of the major problems of agriculture as well. Resolving the ‘water’ problems of the soils improved crop yields. The solution for excess water was to use labour intensive or capital intensive drainage techniques. This was especially important in Northern and Northwestern Europe, which have high 19

Rural history and the environment

rainfalls. A well known solution is the ridge and furrow system using a pattern of rather broad ridges and troughs, which was very common in England and Ireland in the Middle Ages due to single sided ploughing. It originated in the late Roman period but only became very common in the Middle Ages (Pounds, 1973). In Flanders, from the late Middle Ages on, the system of narrow and very temporary ridges (‘raised bed cultivation’, made with double sided ploughs or the spade) had the advantage that the troughs in between could be used for weeding (Thoen, 1997). In coastal areas, keeping the water beyond the cultivated land was a major problem. The construction of dikes and sluices was necessary, a technique which was already known in the Roman period but became widespread in the Middle Ages, although in the long run the use of these techniques could lead to environmental problems (see below and the papers of Soens and van Cruyningen, this volume; see also Thoen et al., 2012). In the same areas the drainage techniques were gradually improved, e.g. via the spread of the wind water mills for drainage in Holland and coastal Flanders, especially since the sixteenth century (van Dam, 2002). – Shortages of water on the other hand could be solved via irrigation, which was especially important in the Mediterranean area in antiquity. Irrigation techniques were already often also successfully used by small peasant societies. Even the wellknown irrigation techniques, including those implemented by the Arabs in Southern Spain, were mostly not the result of large scale agriculture but rather they were accomplished by small peasant societies (Retamero, 2008). – The intensification of tillage was perhaps the most important way of increasing agricultural productivity in pre-industrial societies. Weeding was especially important. Intensive weeding was only possible if a sufficient number of hands were available, as was the case in Flanders, for example. Since the late Middle Ages, cereals were sown there in rows to increase productivity (Thoen, 1997). This caused an increased growth of weeds and thus needed a great deal of weeding, which however could be managed within the context of the small holdings and labour surpluses in this area. Although the sandy-loamy soils in inland Flanders were not inherently fertile, perhaps even the opposite, this became the region with probably the highest physical yields per surface area of all of Europe, albeit at the cost of low labour productivity (Thoen, 1997). – As a result of economic changes such as the growing market demand, better transport facilities or changes in property regimes, from the late Middle Ages in some areas peasants developed into farmers who partly shifted their diverse, mainly subsistence-oriented production to a few more specialized crops. This specialization could result in both higher labour productivity and increased physical productivity as

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well, especially when farmers concentrated on those crops which were better suited to the soil conditions and the social agrosystem of the region in question. – Increased land and labour productivity could also be achieved by selecting enhanced varieties of seeds and seedlings. An example of this is the improvement of the quality of the grain in the early modern Languedoc via selection and foreign import of seeds (Le Roy Ladurie, 1990). – The construction of terraces with stones or hedges (Baudry & Perichon, 2007: 2527) was a way of integrating poor soils on hillsides, which formerly were virtually unproductive, into more intensive agriculture systems, for instance for vine growing. Stone terraces, for instance, were used in the Catalan hills in the mid-nineteenth century, in a context of mounting population pressure. The building of these terraces required huge labour inputs: ten-thousands of working days per village were devoted to this task (Garrabou et al., 2010). – Protection of the land against negative effects of over- intensive tillage or erosion (e.g. preventive protection by better ploughing methods or reforestation, protection of fields with hedges and other boundaries). A major acceleration in technical knowledge took place in the nineteenth century, with the ‘green revolution’ and the rise of ‘scientific agriculture’, as artificial, chemical fertilizers and herbicides, and mechanization were introduced (an overview of this ‘transition’ in: Grigg, 1992; compare also Morell, this volume, where this stage corresponds with the fifth evolution stage in the Emanuelsson model). Prevention or control of plant diseases, especially since the late nineteenth century, increased productivity. However, it hardly needs to be remarked that the use of herbicides later became an environmental problem in itself. In this period also new techniques were introduced in irrigation and water management (examples from Hungary: Vári, this volume). The ‘intensive margins of cultivation’ could be pushed up, as never before in history. One of the early examples is England, where wheat yields increased from less than 20 hl per hectare at the beginning of the nineteenth century to almost 30 hl at the beginning of the twentieth (Beckett & Turner, 2011). In Belgium, too, the rise in land productivity in this period was unprecedented. In 1880 the average yields per ha for wheat were 1,635 tons there. In 1984, this had increased to 6,332 tons per ha. For potatoes the figures were 10,504 and 34,649 tons respectively (Blomme, 1992). As mentioned, this was largely due to the use of artificial fertilizers. In 1910 in Belgium 36  kg artificial fertilizers per hectare were used; in 1950 the amount had already increased to 176 kg (Blomme, 1992). In most countries, however, chemical fertilizers 21

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only really overtook natural manure (which of course kept a certain importance) as a source of nutrients in the second half of the twentieth century (Grigg, 1992: 41-42). In recent decades, new species of plants have also been introduced that are more resistant to insects and climate conditions; an example is the mixture between rye and wheat called ‘triticale’ (Stallknecht et al. 1996). Combined with improvements in the physical infrastructure, including bigger irrigation works, and with new equipment and mechanization, these advances could push up physical outputs even in very difficult environments, as in Aragon, a very dry and mostly mountainous area, and already at an early date. There, physical output and output per hectare were substantially increased in the period 1880-1920, although capital investments – and therefore output – declined again in the subsequent decades, as a result of the decline in prices and profitability of agriculture (Pinilla & Clar, 2011). This case shows that, although rises in output were general, the chronology per region differs and the development was not always an unilinear one. In fragile environments like these, but also more generally, the output rise after some time was halted also because new margins were reached, either by exceeding the local ‘ecological’ carrying capacity or by not investing enough in ecological protection measures, as we will see below. The preceding remarks already hint at a logical extension of the Malthusian model, which is an ‘environmental model’ in the narrow sense of the word. A broader approach would stress that these ‘Malthusian margins’ are determined by nature in relation to human knowledge but also by the human input in the production process and the social organization of the production process as a whole, including the property and market structures and their distributive effects, as we will see more in detail below. History teaches that the natural ‘Malthusian’ margin was, despite the knowledge of the above mentioned techniques, very seldom reached. Regional and temporal differences were huge. Since indeed all this is to a large extent regionally different and linked to the way people organize their survival, we could say that this limit or margin is determined not only by nature, but also by the social organization of rural production, the ‘social agro-system’, which includes the organization of property rights and land use, the distribution of these rights and the organization of exchange in the region in question (Thoen, 2004; van Bavel, 2010: passim). Changes in this social and institutional context in which production is embedded, can increase or lower the production margins. We will come back to this issue in later sections of this introduction. Firstly, we would like to note here that also long before the ‘new agriculture’ or the ‘green revolution’ of the nineteenth century, in certain social and production 22

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conditions, production could exceed the local ‘ecological’ carrying capacity and lead to diminishing returns. Even apart from falling labour productivity, this could lead to falling land productivity in some over-exploited parts of the cultivated area. As Mc Neill mentions, this phenomenon is called by ecologists ‘overshoot’, that is, an excess of land use over the carrying capacity with negative physical productivity effects (Mc Neill, 1992: 3). In many areas and periods such ‘overshoot’ was temporary. These gentle and favourable environments can therefore be considered as more or less sustainable, since resources can recover or be easily replenished. Still, we must consider that, according to some estimates, 40 per cent of the agricultural land in the world is currently subject to erosion (Ponting, 2007). This degenerative process was more limited in the past, but by no means absent, even in less harsh environments. An example is the degeneration of the open fields in Drenthe during the nineteenth century (Bieleman, 1997). Since prehistoric times, a well-known long term problem of societies in hot environments has been the slow salinization process via irrigation (Mannion, 1997: 225-231). By using the water from creeks and tidal canals for irrigation, a small but cumulative amount of salt reached the cultivated lands, which eventually decreased the yields in the long term. Today, and especially since the 1960s, agriculture in favourable, gentle areas also causes external environmental costs, that is, costs which are not directly measured within a particular production process (Tietenberg, 2006: 59), as in some areas via soil and water pollution due to excessive manuring, but also caused by industrial pollution or that caused by traffic or technological disasters. Deforestation, which happened on a huge scale since humans became sedentary, but especially during Antiquity as well as the high Middle Ages and the early modern period, was actually the most important form of changing the ‘extensive margins’ of rural production. Deforestation may have caused a lot of ‘external’ environmental costs (perhaps better described as costs in external areas) in the past, some of which may even have become quasi-permanent. External costs may in several cases have been so huge that they have caused a permanent lowering of the production margins in certain ‘external’ areas. Deforestation in hilly areas with stream valleys was, and is, causing dehydration in the higher areas with potential and often intensive erosion as a consequence, and at the same time a hydration of the stream valleys, which could have double effects on agriculture: positive in the valleys when this phenomenon caused e.g. more natural, but in a preindustrial society very valuable meadowlands, and negative effects due to erosion, dehydration and washed away upper soils. On a bigger geographical scale, there is still a major debate taking place on the impact of environmental changes especially due to deforestation in many areas around the Mediterranean during Antiquity. Some

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‘pessimists’ even see the environmental changes as a cause of the decline of Greek and Roman civilizations (Hughes, 1994: 194). Others, however, view these changes as not that negative (Montgomery, 2008).

III.  The vulnerable ‘ecological margins’ of rural production in past fragile areas Although even within rather ‘gentle’ areas the cultivation margins could be limited by damaged environments in the long run and by ‘external’ damage, in many of such favourable areas the temporary damage from ‘overshoot’ could be restored, sometimes even by improving the carrying capacity via new techniques. In some marginal areas, the carrying capacity was equally only temporarily reduced, as was the case in the rough, hilly landscape of the garrigues in the Languedoc during the seventeenth to nineteenth centuries (see Olivier, this volume). However, this was not at all the case in many other fragile areas such as coastal areas, river swamps, cold areas or hot and arid areas or slope areas or mountains that are, in most of the papers, at the core of this book. Here ‘overshoot’ often caused permanent damages, reducing the opportunities for future generations to produce at the same level, in other words, they permanently reduced the carrying capacity of an area or parts of it. The environmental disasters here were often dramatic, as in the Alentejo, in the south of Portugal, where over- intensive use of fragile, thin soils especially around the midtwentieth century resulted in erosion and the carrying away of soils, leaving bare, infertile rock (Santos and Roxo, this volume). In extreme circumstances disasters could happen, people could be killed, and capital goods were destroyed (see many studies for Switzerland, e.g.: Pfister & Brändli, 1999). The long term consequences are and were often even much more negative, as slopes could collapse, upper soils could be flushed away by inundations and storm surges or by extreme erosion. This damage was usually permanent, so it greatly reduced the fertility and carrying capacity of these areas fundamentally, and put severe pressure on the long term sustainability of land use in these areas. There is more. Environmental changes of these rough or unfavourable areas often had, much more than in less harsh environments, an influence on other, neighbouring environments. These side-effects of increasing environmental ‘external costs’ were sometimes foreseen by a well organized society, but sometimes they were due to slow natural phenomena that were triggered unwittingly. For instance, it is argued that the rise of malaria in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries rendered many lowlands in southern Europe uninhabitable, pushing people to the adjacent hilly areas and causing new environmental problems there, as happened in parts of southern 24

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Italy, Greece and Anatolia (Mc Neill, 1992: 350). Similar indirect effects can also be observed in coastal areas. According to natural scientists, it is likely that the medieval embankments with dikes built by the people living near the western arm of the Scheldt river in the Netherlands were indirectly co-responsible for higher tides and more inundations, causing a huge amount of permanently lost villages and fields in the later Middle Ages, which in the longer term reduced the extensive margins of cultivation (see also Soens, this volume). This was caused by the fact that the ‘accommodation space’ became more limited in the river itself. On the other hand, under certain conditions, embankments and new dikes (increasing the margins of production) could in the longer run stimulate the formation of new alluvial deposits and therefore they might also increase the ‘extensive margins of cultivation’. In the same coastal areas of the Low Countries environmental problems were also partly the result of a slow sinking of the surface area due to peat compaction beneath the surface; which was caused by intensive drainage works that were necessary for agriculture (an overview: van Dam, 2001, Thoen et al., 2012). The decline of peat lands, which was a result of this, advanced at a pace of some 1 meter per century, and could not possibly have been foreseen by the people originally undertaking the reclamation of these lands. The destruction of coastal barriers in the Low Countries leading to massive loss of land in the Middle Ages was also partly a result of salt winning and peat winning in the adjacent areas (van Dam, 1996; Soens, this volume; van Cruyningen, this volume). Another example of permanent external costs is the deforestation of the upland regions of Europe in the late Roman era, producing floods and silting up of river arms further downstream, as in the delta of the Rhine and Meuse in the Netherlands (Janssen, 1992). In the literature we often find analyses of the short term dramatic events in these fragile areas. However, as noted above, many studies that focus on these events provide only summary descriptions and lack discussion of the deeper and more fundamental changes that underlie the episodic changes that are more apparent at first sight. Or they tend to focus on technological solutions to ecological threats. However, this approach has recently become discredited, since several recent events show that technology and wealth in themselves are not sufficient to prepare for hazardous events, to buffer their impact or to relieve tensions between economic activities and the environment. An example is Hurricane Katrina in 2005, which was not even very powerful, but had a devastating effect when hitting New Orleans. Although the poorer parts of the city in particular were hit badly, this disaster still took place in one of the wealthiest and technologically most advanced societies in the world, which proved unable to respond adequately (Hartman & Squires, 2006). More generally, trust in technology as the prime solution has waned in recent years, since it is increasingly clear that

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technological solutions can also increase risks, as demonstrated by the growing number of technological disasters, the increasing negative externalities associated with modern production processes and also by the process of technological lock-in, by which technological adaptation to new and future hazards becomes hampered and the burden is shifted to future generations. It is becoming ever clearer that in these ecological catastrophes human action has played a large or even determining part. Human action in turn is shaped to a large extent by the context in which people operate. In part this context is of an economic and demographic nature. Ecologists and environmental historians who focus on the long term causes of ecological problems often associate them with overuse due to overpopulation. Others set this in relation to the growth of market economies (such as Mc Neill, 1992: 2-9). However, the ways in which people use the land in vulnerable areas and respond to demographic and economic opportunities and challenges were, and are in their turn to a large extent dependent on the institutional and political context. What is necessary for environmental sustainability are social rules, institutional incentives for capital investments and rules for the maintenance of necessary infrastructures (slopes in mountain areas; locks and dikes in marine areas; etc.), including their enforcement through formal mechanisms or social control. These rules play a huge role in such fragile environments, probably even more so than in less harsh ones. Within the various social agrosystems or regions, elements like population density and market integration therefore interacted with, and were shaped by, the institutional-political organization of that area. In this organization, property rights play a primordial role. Human action was not arbitrary or coincidental, but shaped and directed by property arrangements, that is, the formulation of property rights and their social distribution. This decided whether or not investments were made, what type of investments were made, what goals the rural society in question wanted to achieve, and what priorities were set. Changes in the organization of property rights, and the use various people and groups made of these, can therefore very drastically change production margins and risks in land use, notwithstanding similarities and continuities in geographical, climatologic or technical respects (an example: van Bavel, 2002) In this book, we will focus especially on the importance of the organization of property rights to land, and of the use of these rights by individuals and groups in maintaining, or not, the ecological and economic sustainability within these fragile environments.

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IV.  The environment and property rights A main element in the analyses offered by the contributions to this volume is the property rights. Research into economic and social history in recent years has put forward property rights – particularly rights to land – as a main constituent of social structure and a main determinant of the development of rural economy and society. The social organization of production processes, the use and formation of the land, the cultural landscape and the environment were to a large extent shaped and directed by property arrangements. These were a major factor in the interaction between humans and environment. In trying to uncover causes and find explanations for environmental catastrophes and changes, one primary target in research, therefore, should be the specific arrangement of property rights, and especially those pertaining to land. Sometimes property rights to land are approached in a narrow way, that is, as the right to sell, alienate and inherit land. Moreover, property rights are sometimes considered as an absolute, exclusive right that is either in the hands of private persons or of the state. Here, however, we will use the concept of property rights in a wider sense. Property rights are understood as the bundle of rights to land, such as the right of access, the right of sale and the right of inheritance, but also the right of use and the rights of profit, the rights of exclusion, the rights of management, and even the rights of prestige. These rights can be distributed between various persons and organizations (Congost & Santos, 2010: 15-23; Ostrom, 2009: 27-29). Even in market economies, several of these rights are partially or wholly in the hands of the state, as for instance by way of the strict zoning rules in many West European countries, or they are partly controlled by associations, and they are never fully exclusive or absolute. Furthermore, this approach requires the analysis of property and property rights as a set of social relations. These rights can be defined as the social legitimacy of specific kinds of actions performed with respect to specific assets, in this case land. This approach comes closer to reality and is more relevant to understanding different historical and present contexts than the simplistic bipartite property model. The relationship between property rights in this wide sense and environmental changes has been discussed by economists. Many of them stress the advantages offered by exclusive, private property rights. For Tietenberg, for instance, efficient property rights must be exclusive, transferable and enforceable. According to him, ‘an owner of a resource with a well-defined property right has a powerful incentive to use that resource efficiently because a decline in value of that resource represents a personal loss’ (Tietenberg, 2006: 59). So, what matters according to many neoclassical economists in the relation between environmental problems and economics is the degree of private property. Within the subfield of ‘institutional economics’,

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the nature of property rights is being examined in order to assess how an efficient balance between pollution and production can be reached. In this debate, pollution as a form of ‘externality’ receives growing interest (Tietenberg, 2006). According to some members of the ‘institutional economics’ school, including one of the founding fathers of New Institutional Economics, Ronald Coase (1960), well-defined private property rights could contribute to ‘internalize’ ‘external’ environmental costs. In other words, private property rights provide the incentive to pay for sustaining the environment in which the property is situated. However, this efficiency is subjective and does not take long term consequences into account (e.g. Tietenberg, 2006: 78). Further in environmental economics, a discipline that has become important within economics during the last decades, property rights are considered of major importance for explaining the current problematic relation between economy and environment. For instance, the discussion on the role of common property versus private property of resources is receiving a lot of attention. Meanwhile, the well known Tragedy of the commons by Garret Hardin (1968), which suggests that common property rights lead to degradation of the natural resources, is at the core of many debates. However, others have contested his theory and argued that Hardin’s argument is actually about resource degradation because of open access and the absence of regulation, not because of common property as of itself (Ostrom, 1990). In her Nobel prize-winning studies, Ostrom shows how common property regimes can actually help in enforcing a sustainable use of natural resources, if regulation is well-defined, knowledge is available and interests of users can be aligned. So, within the economists’ circles as well, discussions about the role of property rights in sustainability are clearly on the academic agenda. The same applies to current environmental debates in the economic, social and political arenas. In these debates property rights are a hot topic. This is understandable because current environmental debates are often linked to political and governmental policy and decision making, in which property rights figure prominently. The views expressed in this debate on the environmental effects of private property rights, or property arrangements in general, are strongly opposed. Right wing thinkers and politicians would stress the favourable effects of having exclusive, absolute property rights in the hands of individuals. This view is expressed, for instance, by the former candidate for the U.S. presidency, Ron Paul, a radical Republican1. For him, the more market and freedom there is, the more private property rights there are, the more environmental sustainability there will be. To quote him: ‘the key to sound environmental policy is respect for private property rights. The strict enforcement of property rights corrects environmental wrongs while increasing the cost of polluting’. 1

 

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Some environmental groups hold similar beliefs. Often, they point the finger at Eastern Europe and the former USSR and the pollution problems which happened there, blaming these on ‘wrong’ property rights. Other environmental organizations, especially those with a more leftist leaning, hold the opposite view and regard private property rights as negative for the environment2. Often the massive deforestation in the tropical rain forests is given as an example. In Brazil, as in many areas of Central America and in Asian countries such as Indonesia, a government policy of granting private property rights seems to a large extent to be responsible for the ongoing deforestation of the rainforests. Poor people were, and often are, the first reclaimers of land, who cut the trees and settled in the forests, and often later have to sell the land to large cattle breeders (infra). The forests are destroyed for ever, since rainforests have the feature that they recover very little (Mannion, 1997: 239), and many would hold that private property rights play a crucial part in this process. The views expressed in the current debate on the environmental effects of private property rights, or property arrangements in general, are thus strongly opposed. A problem with these debates is that they are too politically inspired and ideologically coloured to be scientific. In a way this is comparable to the debate around 1800, in which political convictions and ideological assumptions played a bigger role than knowledge of the real effects of various property arrangements, such as with the negative views of liberal thinkers or reformers on communal property (Vivier, this volume). One of the roots of this problem is another lacuna in the current debate: the neglect of the historical dimension. Investigating historical cases and long-run developments would allow us to empirically test the effect of different arrangements. It would also allow us to assess the effects of changing external or semi-external forces, such as growing market demand, increasing population pressure or a changing composition of the economy. Instead of speculating, we should be able to compare, to analyse and to understand. Long term historical studies, therefore, could certainly contribute to this discussion.

  Compare the viewpoints of the more leftist World Rain Forest Movement with the 29 free market promoting viewpoints of the Australian ‘Property and Environment Research Centre’. See: http:// www.wrm.org.uy/ and http://www.perc.org/index.php (Both downloaded Sept. 2011). 2

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V.  The social context of property rights and how history can contribute In view of the liveliness of the current debates, it is strange that there is so little interest in property rights among those who are studying the environment in historical perspective. The existing environmental-historical literature pays little attention to the relationship between property rights and the environment. In the recent book by one of the current icons of environmental history, J. Donald Hughes, What is Environmental history?, which summarizes the state of the art of the current position of environmental history (2006), there is no discussion of theories to explain environmental problems that take property as a significant variable, nor is the term property rights to be found in the index, although we find words such as ‘timber’ and ‘pigs’ there. Neither do we find such an entry in the interesting book by Ian Whyte, World Without End? Environmental disaster and the Collapse of Empires (2008). Luckily, there are other interesting exceptions. The growth to maturity of the young discipline of environmental history seems to result in a greater interest in property rights and social factors in explaining the relations of people with their environment. It is perhaps not a coincidence that John F. Richards, who wrote the well known book The Unending Frontier. An Environmental History of the Early Modern World (2001a), is also the editor of a book on the subject which is titled Land, Property and Environment (2002). This book stresses that the relation between property rights and environment is a vital one, but also a complicated one, with no specific set of property rights being best able to protect the environment per se. What little historical research there is on the environmental effects of property arrangements is mostly found in studies on the effects of colonization. This is probably because here changes in property arrangements are most dramatic and the effects highly apparent. In India, for example, the British colonization caused higher taxes which stimulated people to the rapid clearing of forests (Bhargava & Richards, 2002). Moreover, Richard Grove in his famous book Green Imperialism (1995) has shown how new property regimes in overseas colonies had huge ecological effects. On the island of St Helena in the seventeenth century, for instance, the influence of the colonists and the English East India Company, the resulting lack of clarity and the confusion between open access, existing common rights, new private property rights and semi-public rights, in combination with the extension of privately owned plantations, led to deforestation and an ecological disaster (Grove, 1995: 95-125). The same diverse effects of different property regimes can also be found in Europe, although changes there were often slower and took several centuries to evolve.

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Environmental history delivers proof that forest clearances in Europe were stimulated already in the Middle Ages by strengthening the property rights of the peasants, just as it happens today in the rainforests. Indeed, low, even nominal customary rents were often used by large landowners, lords and princes to encourage reclamation and deforestation in the classic and later Middle Ages. So, the strengthening of property rights or more exclusive property rights in the hands of peasants here were changing the human-environment relationship to a large extent. In some areas this triggered in the long term an opposite evolution. This was true in coastal Flanders, the Holland peat areas and later the north of Germany in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. Here, from the high Middle Ages, people were pushed to colonize and reclaim the land via the allocation of property rights in exchange for low nominal rents (Van der Linden, 1956). However, as mentioned above, in these areas the reclamation process caused a huge environmental change, if not an environmental disaster. Because the reduction of accommodation space in the tidal canals made storm surges more dangerous, and because the peat area was sinking as a result of overdrainage, the construction of protective dikes against the sea became necessary and still much land was lost to the sea. In other coastal areas over-exploitation by peat digging resulted in the formation of huge, inland lakes. In their turn, these ecological changes affected the prevailing property rights system again. The property rights of peasants were undermined now due to the increased environmental stress, the growing incidence of floods and the even higher water management costs. Smallholder peasants lost their property rights, or had to sell their property to larger landowners and farmers, and leasing systems became common. This form of undermining of peasant property rights again had profound environmental consequences. Because environmental sustainability was now the responsibility of non-residential large landowners who were more interested in short term gains, the environment was once more badly dealt with, since dikes and locks and water systems were not maintained well enough, resulting in frequent storm surges and land losses (Soens, this volume). This shows the ongoing interaction between ecological sustainability and property rights. It also shows that we cannot generalize or assume effects of the nature of property rights by itself. These effects can diverge. In early modern Holland and Zeeland, for instance, the system of private property rights to land offered entrepreneurs and investors a powerful incentive to reclaim land and force back the water (van Cruyningen, this volume). Here fairly exclusive property rights in private hands strengthened sustainability, which shows that there is more in the equation than the formulation of property rights alone.

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In fact, parallels can be drawn with recent and even current developments in the tropical rainforests in the Americas and in Asia. There, cutting the woods was often initially encouraged by giving private property rights to peasant smallholders striving to improve their position. They got plots of land to survive and often they obtained full property rights over that newly-reclaimed land. However, due to the specific structure of the soils of these old woodlands – only a very thin cultivable layer on top – in many cases the productivity of the land went down after a few years so that the peasants had to sell their lands to larger landowners, who changed the land use to extensive cattle ranching. Their large cattle ranches use the cattle for meat production, which is exported to international markets (Lutz, 1989: 312). The environmental degradation here started under the peasant smallholders, but continued when property rights were held by a new class of large landowners who did, and still do not care about this evolution (e.g. Myers & Tucker, 1987; Lutz, 1989). Many more historical examples are available of different outcomes with similar kinds of property rights arrangements. In order to understand such different outcomes, it is important to analyze who or which social groups of the society possessed these rights. Yet another example of this can be given for seventeenth and eighteenth century Provence in France. Here the privatization of the commons due to huge debts of the local communities caused an intensive activity of land reclamation in the commons, not taking care of the environmental sustainability of the reclaimed land (Pichard, 2001). It is clear that we cannot generalize. Undermining private property rights can have a negative effect on the environment, but strengthening these rights can do so as well. In the conclusion of his book The unending Frontier, John Richards underlines this when discussing property rights in the early modern period. Clear property rights can provide security for land managers by giving them and their heirs some assurance of return on their labour and investment and thus lead to sustainable land use, or these rights in a buoyant economy can be saleable at ever rising prices, leading to speculation, to the detriment of sustainability (Richards, 2001a: 621). As we will underline below, we have to look not only at the nature of the property rights themselves, but also and perhaps even more closely at the objectives and the economic strategies of those who hold these rights. Thus, as stated, a simple interpretation of property rights by themselves cannot provide a full explanation of the outcome. Even though they form a main constituent, their effects can be understood only when placed in the wider context in which these rights are used and function. One of the aspects of this context is the economic one, for instance whether or not developments take place in an upward cycle with rising profits. Another aspect is political organization, for instance the extent to which the

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central government exercises an influence on the use of these property rights, that is, holds a share of these rights. The main aspect, however, is arguably the social context. The historical evidence demonstrates that property rights are in a constant flux and, more importantly perhaps, that their effect depends on the context in which they are used. In investigating their effects, property rights must be seen in the context of social structures. What persons or groups held the property rights in question? Who was using the rights and to what ends? What was their relative power in the existing social structure? Where was the decision making process located? This is the reason why social context forms a crucial aspect in the present volume. There is a constant shifting balance of power among those holding parts of the bundle of property rights (sale, usage, etc.), states and public authorities, various interest groups and communities, while interest groups affected by the externalities of the use of property rights also often exerted some influence, or tried to. The resulting power balance among competing actors decided the effects of the use of property rights. If one or two of these players take control over others, and are able to promote their private, short-run interests over general, long-run interests, the over-exploitation of resources can be or may have been the result. This approach is not fully embedded in historical research yet. Although discussions on the importance of property rights have influenced economic history in recent years, the role of the social context of the arrangement of property rights is often neglected. This even despite the fact that, at a more general level, we have become increasingly aware that it also mattered who held these rights and to what end they used them. In this respect, social history can offer a valuable pendant to Institutional Economics. In the resulting analysis it could be investigated how specific arrangements of property rights – particularly rights to land – were directly linked to, and formed a main constituent of, social structure and whether and how, in turn, these social arrangements (rather than simply formal property rights regimes) formed a main determinant of the development of rural economy and society. There is one strand of research where this interaction between property regimes, social context and sustainable outcomes, or lack thereof, is intesively discussed, however, and this is within the research into common property resources. Hardin’s The tragedy of the commons is clearly taken into account in historical research, but more dominant in recent years became models such as those promoted by Ostrom’s Common pool resources. Ostrom clearly calls for taking the overall social context of the commons into account (Ostrom, 1990). Still, the historians of the commons have their own networks, often linked to the sociological networks, and not have the needed impact on the historical discipline yet. Until recently, many studies of the

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commons which use these models or ideas have neglected history and have failed to take sufficient account of the changes in property rights and social contexts of the commons. Furthermore, most of the focus is on present use of forms of commons, including water, air or the internet. Attempts to analyse or compare commons in a historical perspective are far scarcer (examples: De Moor, 2002; Demélas & Vivier, 2003). Moreover, even if these studies take the changing political and ideological context into account, or even put the emphasis on these changes and their effects on common property (see: Vivier, 1998; Serrano, 2005), there is often less attention to the effects of the changing common property regimes on the sustainability of land use. Linking up socio-political context, differences in property regimes and sustainability outcomes (an early example: Van Zanden, 1999), would be the next step in research. In the present volume, the long-run development of commons is dealt with in several chapters (Winchester; Vivier; Santos and Roxo, all in this volume), and these authors clearly do take the wider social and political context, the changes in this context and the effects on sustainability, into account. The social component is vital, in order to better understand the formation of functioning of these institutional arrangements, as most notably property regimes. Institutions are perhaps in part formed in response to economic or ecological challenges, but they are also formed by social bargaining, and dictated by the interests of social groups and persons (Ogilvie, 2007) and their relative bargaining strengths and power resources. This means that they are not necessarily optimally efficient in a general way, but rather only for particular groups within society. This idea has been elaborated and tested recently, using the medieval history of the Low Countries for a long-run analysis (van Bavel, 2010). The evidence presented there suggests that institutional innovation, and the emergence of a favourable institutional framework geared towards the general interest, is found in situations where a balance between social groups exists, and closed off when this balance is lost. In the latter case, dominant groups in society tend to shape or freeze institutions to continue serving their particular interests, even if this conflicts with more general or longterm interests or leads to economic decline or to increased vulnerability. In societies characterized by high inequality in particular the opportunities for the poorer segments to influence institutional arrangements will be slighter, and shocks will hit these segments relatively hard. Even minor shocks can push these vulnerable groups over the edge (Blaikie et al., 1997: 46-61). These authors show how the relevant institutions, and their outcomes, are shaped by disparities in political power and property. This argument is stressed even more persuasively by Ted Steinberg in his Acts of God (Steinberg, 2000), where he forcefully – and polemically – argues that natural disasters in American history not only hit

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the poorer segments of the population disproportionately, but also were far more destructive than would have been necessary, as a result of institutions and decisionmaking skewed to the interests of the wealthy. These examples all show that, in order to increase our knowledge, we have to contextualize and ‘historicize’ the relation between people, institutions and environment.

VI.  The contribution of this volume Research on the problems we have raised so far can be undertaken at different geographical levels. The studies on the ecological effects of new property regimes introduced by colonial powers in overseas areas show that one can investigate this relation even in a world history context. This rather new field, which is even younger than environmental history, has clearly incorporated this topic, as shown by the early, path-breaking studies by Grove (1995), Mc Neil (1992) and Richards (2001). One can also investigate this relationship in broad, almost polemical sweeps, as done by Steinberg (2000). In order to understand more precisely the causality paths and underlying mechanisms, however, we also need to investigate how this relationship worked at a more detailed level. An important task for the future is, therefore, the investigation of the historical relationship between humans and the environment by way of regional or even local case studies. Placing this relationship in the context of their local or regional social agro-system, and using comparison as an analytical tool, will especially enhance our knowledge. A main focus in doing this, as argued above, should be the way in which this relationship was framed by the property arrangements, which in their turn should be interpreted as a part of the wider context of social relations. Only in this way can history inform the current environmental discussions about the relation between humans, and nature and between environment and property rights in particular. There are few studies that work along these lines, such as the case study on the Catalan hills in the second half of the nineteenth century, which highlights the interaction between ecological vulnerability, property rights and the social context (Garrabou et al., 2010). Only through the formulation of property rights, tenancy regimes and marketing links, as the authors argue, can the land-use and environmental developments in this area be understood. Unfortunately, localregional studies of this kind have been rare so far. The present volume aims to investigate this relationship between people, social context, property rights and the sustainability of land use in several cases, all dealing with long-run developments. We focus here on a particular aspect of sustainability, namely that of rural production systems, and particularly their ecological component. 35

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Were societies able to continue to sustain their production systems or to adapt these systems within the ‘natural’ boundaries of production? Did this cause a change in production margins in a positive or in a negative way, via depletion of natural resources in the long run? The authors are careful not to project current values to the past. Was deforestation in the Middle Ages, for instance, seen by contemporaries as negative? Most people in the Middle Ages certainly did not see deforestation as always negative only when it threatened common interest or survival, or the wishes of certain interest groups, as in the protection of hunting rights for the king or nobility. Apart from that, deforestation was probably seen as a sign of progress and increasing use of the agrarian potential. Conversely, the giving up of agriculture in the garrigues of the Languedoc created room for a beautiful landscape, but it was accompanied by the loss of a particular rural society and land-use in the region (Olivier, this volume). In these cases it cannot objectively be ascertained whether changes in land use or landscape were positive or negative, because this ultimately hinges on alternative ends. We can, however, in many cases show that there was concern for the future and with sustainable development, in the sense that natural resources must not be overexploited for economic reasons (see the huge criticism towards Hardin’s axiom on the commons; see Santos and Roxo, Vivier, Winchester, Morell, all in this volume). In other cases, actors were rather too optimistic and they overestimated the fertility and resilience of the soils, and changed the property regimes in order to allow for more intensive use, as it happened with the privatization of property rights in the early-twentieth century Alentejo (Santos and Roxo, this volume). This optimism proved wrong, with disastrous results for the soil fertility and sustainability of agriculture there. This volume approaches the issues mentioned hereby investigating the interaction of property rights to land and environmental development. It investigates this interaction in a dual way, in both cases with a clear emphasis on the social component. Firstly, how did and how does the environment, and the way it is socially perceived, influence the organization and distribution of these property rights to land and their social management (e.g. the chapter by Peder Dam)? Secondly, and more prominently in the volume, the authors investigate how the specific organization of these rights, i.e. their formulation and their social management, affected the environment, both in positive and negative ways. Most papers highlight other factors also, as relevant to the specific outcome. The paper by Mats Morell does not argue that changed property rights in Sweden were the ‘prime mover’ for change in the production margins, but does show that changed property rights under the influence of new market conditions clearly stimulated the further development of agriculture. Others, like Sylvain Olivier, would stress more the influence of population developments, but see this influence

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take shape in interaction with property regimes. Angus Winchester, in his long-run view of common property regimes in England, looks instead at the interplay of these property rights with local governance and cultural values, and places weight on informal institutions, including tradition and common sense. All the authors, therefore, investigate the role of property rights and the importance of the social context, but apart from the social distribution of these rights as a main element, they also emphasize other aspects of this social context, including political power, influence, norms and traditions, and beliefs held by the various segments of society. Furthermore, they show that this constellation of property rights and social context is effective only under specific external forces the development of markets, economic trends, technological change or population movements, although the latter are in part also endogenous developments. One could say that the relationship between people and environment is determined by the way the prism of the property rights within their social context directs these external forces, with positive or negative effects. We have investigated this particularly for the marginal areas of Northwestern, Southern and Central Europe. These are vulnerable areas, including coastal areas, river swamps, cold areas or hot and arid areas. The case studies therefore deal with the extreme margin, where the effect of social property arrangements on sustainability can be observed most clearly. The authors investigate how people, in their specific social organization, tried to cope with this fragility. They dealt with the problem how the specific organization of property rights to land, and the use of these rights by individuals and groups made it possible or not to sustain the use of this land ecologically and economically. This is a slow process, since both the ecological changes and challenges, and the institutional changes and effects, generally unfold only over a long period. In order to observe, analyse and explain the interaction between ecology and institutions, therefore, the long-term perspective is necessary. Short-term analysis leads to description and a focus on events, overlooking the deeper and more fundamental changes that underlie the episodic changes that are more apparent at first sight. Using a long-term perspective allows us to correct the unjustified focus on catastrophes and the neglect of much slower but more profound processes in this field. This is why most authors in this book have explicitly chosen to cover lengthy periods, sometimes of several centuries (Olivier, this volume; Dam, this volume) or even more than half a millennium (Winchester, this volume). Perhaps it is too early to draw any firm conclusions from the material in this volume. Still, a preliminary survey shows that no single way of formulating property rights in itself guarantees sustainability: neither state rights, nor private rights exchanged via

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the market or common rights are favourable per se. Their long-term effects depend on the exact formulation and the social context of the application and use of these rights, and the balances achieved between the various groups and interests/goals involved, including groups affected by the externalities of the use of these property rights. External effects, from outside the area itself, often had negative consequences. External effects are most difficult to control and the incentive to reduce externalities is small. Moreover, in cases where the formulation and use of property rights in an area is ruled by factors originating outside this area, because of external political considerations or the fact that landowners do not live within the area itself, negative effects often prevail. A balance of interests embedded within the area itself perhaps forms the best guarantee for ecological sustainability, to a greater extent than whether private, common or state property rights prevail.

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Bavel, B. J. P. van (2010), Manors and Markets. Economy and Society in the Low Countries, 500-1600, Oxford , Oxford University Press. Beckett, J. & Turner, M. (2011), ‘Agricultural Productivity in England, 1700-1914’, in M. Olsson & P. Svensson, Growth and Stagnation in European Historical Agriculture, Rural History in Europe 6, Turnhout, Brepols Publishers, p. 57-81.

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Blaikie, P. et al. (1997), At Risk. Natural Hazards, People’s Vulnerability, and Disasters, London/New York, Routledge. Bieleman, J. (1987), Boeren op het Drentse zand, 1600-1910: een nieuwe visie op de ‘oude’ landbouw, Wageningen, AAG Bijdragen. Blomme, J. (1992), The Economic Development of Belgian Agriculture 1880-1980. A Quantitative and Qualitative Analysis, Leuven, Leuven University Press. Coase, R. H. (1960), ‘The Problem of Social Cost’, Journal of Law and Economics, 3, 1, p. 1-44. 38

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Congost, R. & Santos, Rui, (2010), ‘Working out the Frame: From Formal Institutions to the Social Contexts of Property’, in R. Congost & R. Santos (eds), Contexts of Property: The Social Embeddedness of Property Rights to Land in Europe in Historical Perspective, Turnhout, Brepols, Brepols Publishers, p. 15-38. Dam, P. J. E. M. van (1996), ‘De tanden van de waterwolf. Turfwinning en het ontstaan van het Haarlemmermeer 1350-1550’, Tijdschrift voor Waterstaatsgeschiedenis, 2, p. 8192. Dam, P. J. E. M. van (2001), ‘Sinking Peat Bogs: Environmental Change in Holland, 13501550’, Environmental History, 6, p. 32-45. Dam, P. J. E. M. van (2002), ‘Ecological Challenges, Technological Innovations. The Modernization of Sluice Building in Holland, 1300-1600’, Technology and Culture, 43.3, p. 500-520. Demélas, M.-D. & Vivier, N. (2003), Les propriétés collectives face aux attaques libérales, 1750-1914, Europe et Amérique latine, Rennes.

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Hartman, C. & Squires, G. D. (eds), (2006), There is no Such Thing as a Natural Disaster. Race, Class and Hurricane Katrina, New York, Routledge. Hatcher, J. & Bailey, M. (2001), Modeling the Middle Ages. The History and Theory of England’s Economic Development, Oxford, Oxford University Press. Hughes, J. D. (1994), Pan’s Travail: Environmental Problems of the Ancient Greeks and Romans, Baltimore. Hughes, J. D. (2001), An Environmental History of the World. Humankind‘s Changing Role in the Community of Life, London and New York, Routledge. Hughes, J. D. (2006), What is Environmental History?, Cambridge, Polity Press.

Janssen, W. (1992), ‘Landnahme and Landesausbau’, in B. Frenzel (ed.), Evaluation of Land Surfaces Cleared from Forests by Prehistoric Man in Early Neolithic Times and the Time of Migrating Germanic Tribes, Stuttgart, Paläoklimaforschung special issue, ESF project ‘European palaeoclimate and man’, 3, p. 181-190. Le Roy Ladurie, E. (1990), Les paysans de Languedoc, SEVPEN Paris.

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Linden, H. van der (1956), De cope. Bijdrage tot de rechtsgeschiedenis van de openlegging der Hollands-Utrechtse laagvlakte, Assen, Bijdragen van het Instituut voor Rechtsgeschiedenis der Rijksuniversiteit Utrecht. Lübken, U. & Mauch, C. (2011), ‘Uncertain Environments: Natural Hazards, Risks and Insurance in Historical Perspective’, Environment and History, 17.1, p. 1-12. Lutz, E. (1989), Agriculture and the Environment. Perspectives on Sustainable Rural Development, Washington.

Mannion, A. M. (1997), Global Environmental Change. A Natural and Cultural Evironmental History, Essex, Longman. McNeill, J. R. (1992), The Mountains of the Mediterranean World. An Environmental History, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. McNeill, J. R. (2003), ‘Observations on the Nature and Culture of Environmental History’, History and Theory 2, 4, p. 5-43. Montgomery, D. R. (2007), Dirt, the Erosion of Civilisations, California University Press.

De Moor, M., Shaw-Taylor, L. & Warde, P. (eds) (2002), The Management of Common Land in North West Europe, c. 1500-1850, Turnhout, Brepols Publishers, CORN Publication Series 8. Moriceau, J.-M. (1994), Les fermiers de l’Ile-de-France. L’ascencion d’un patronat agricole (xve-xviiie siècle), Paris, Fayard. Myers, N. & Tucker, R. (1987), ‘Deforestation in Central America: Spanish Legacy and North American Consumers’, Environmental Review, 11, 1, p. 55-71. Ostrom, E. (1990), Governing the Commons. The Evolution of Institutions for Collective Action, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press.

Ostrom, E. (2009), ‘Design Principles of Robust Property Rights Institutions: What Have We Learned?’, in G. K. Ingram & Y. H. Hong (eds), Property Rights and Land Policies, Cambridge Mass., p. 25-51. Persson, K. G. (2010), An Economic History of Europe, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press.

Pfister, C. & Brändli, D. (1999), ‘Rodungen im Gebirge, Überschwemmungen im Vorland: Ein Deutungsmuster macht Karriere’, in R. S. Sieferle & H. Breuninger (eds), Natur-Bilder. Wahrnehmungen von Natur und Umwelt in der Geschichte, Frankfurt, Campus Verlag, p. 297-324. Pichard, G. (2001), ‘L’espace absorbé par l’économique ? Endettement communautaire et pression sur l’environnement en Provence (1640-1730)’, Histoire et Sociétés Rurales, 16, 2, p. 81-115. Pinilla, V. & Clar, E. (2011), ‘The Modernization of Agriculture under Tough Environmental Constraints. One Hundred Years of Aragonese Agricultural Production, 1885-1985’, in M.  Olsson & P. Svensson (eds), Growth and Stagnation in European

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Vivier, N. (1998), Propriété collective et identité communale. Les biens communaux en France, 1750-1914, Paris, Publications de la Sorbonne. Warde, P. and Sörlin S. (2007), ‘The Problem of the Problem of Environmental History: A Re-reading of the Field and its Purpose’, Environmental History, 12, 1, p. 107-130. Whyte, I. (2008), World Without End? Environmental disaster and the Collapse of Empires, London and New York, I. B. Tauris & co. Wheatley, H. (1997), Agriculture, Resource Exploitation, and Environmental Change, Hampshire, Aldershot/Variorum. Zanden, J. L. van (1999), ‘The Paradox of the Marks. The Exploitation of Commons in the Eastern Netherlands, 1250-1850’, Agricultural History Review, 47.2, p. 125-144.

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I

Property rights and sustainable land use in marginal areas

2.

Ecological constraints and property rights in Swedish agriculture, c. 1750-1850 Mats Morell

I.  Introduction. Five technological levels and five land use systems1 This chapter addresses the question of correspondence between historical types of land use and potential ecological constraints to increased production on the one hand and property rights and social structure on the other. I embark from a schematic model of stepwise evolution of land use systems allowing for more and more people to be fed from a given area, presented by the ecologist Urban Emanuelsson who argues that this evolution is biologically/technically determined ‘by humans having been able to increase the share of nutrients, mainly nitrogen (N), phosphorus (P) and potassium (K), which in a certain area have come to be included in organisms suitable for human consumption, as opposed to the nutrients taking part in the nutritional circulation of the eco-system, without being included in such organisms’. There are according to Emanuelsson five technological levels of land use with different circulation of nutrients, N, P and K (Emanuelsson, 1997: 48; Emanuelsson and Möller, 1990). The nutrients are used by plants in roughly fixed proportions and the one in relative shortfall limits growth. In early modern agriculture nitrogen was the critical nutrient (Allen, 2008). At the first level humans live as hunters and collectors and are able to consume just a small fragment of the nutritive capital prevailing in the ecosystem where they live. Perhaps one human per square kilometer could be fed. The leakage of nutrients out of the system caused by human activity is small. At the second level slash and burn technologies are used. Here we also find nomadic herdsmen. One square kilometer might provide 20 people with food, with the use of this technology of long fallow   I wish to thank Bas van Bavel and Erik Thoen for accepting an earlier version of this paper to the COST-PROGRESSORE workshop on Property rights to land, social structures, environment and sustainable development, which they arranged in Academia Belgica, Rome 22-25 May 2008. I am also grateful to workshop participants who gave valuable comments on spot or later, in particular Carsten Porskrog Rasmussen and Erik Thoen. Thanks also to Anna Dahlström for comments.

1

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periods. It is a wasteful use of land, since the leakage of nutrients out of the system (washing away and de-nitrification, etc.) is substantial2. At the third level humans have divided their agricultural lands into two functionally different parts. On land type 1, arable land, human food is produced intensively. This is possible because nutrients are collected on land of type 2 and concentrated and transported to land of type 1. The nutrient exporting land type 2 are pastures, meadows and woodlands where fodder is produced. The transport of nutrients is performed by farm animals. In Southern Scandinavia this kind of agriculture was established almost two thousand years ago, it was refined through the Middle Ages and had came to an advanced stage in the eighteenth century. At that stage this technology provided perhaps 50 people per square km with food. Leakage of nutrients was probably modest, but the capacity to increase human food production (through enlarging the arable) was ecologically constrained by the necessity to maintain a fodder producing capacity which balanced such an increase. The fourth level is principally similar to the preceding one, but it comes with the agricultural revolution and the difference is fundamental. The level of food production rose dramatically, due to increased possibilities to enlarge the acreages of land type 1 (arable). This in turn is explained by improved technology: potential nutrients were better taken care of through deeper ploughing, improved water management, improved manure handling, introduction of water meadows, etc., but foremost by the spread of fodder cropping on the arable (Emanuelsson and Möller, 1990; Chorley, 1981). The nutrient-exporting lands of type  2 were thus partially and temporarily internalized into the importing arable land through the rotations systems. Different plants grown in the long run establish equilibria of organic nitrogen at different levels in the soil (grass high, grain low) and from this organic nitrogen a few percents is annually transformed into free nitrogen accessible to the growing plants and causing their growth. Legumes, in particular clover, fix atmospheric nitrogen and also free nitrogen in the soil and the nitrogen content in the herbs either passes through the animals and returns to the fields as manure or – as clover is concerned - is made available for the following crop as the clover ‘tissues which have high N content, rapidly break down on death to release N into the soil’ (Lawes and Gilbert, 1895 quoted in Allen, 2008). The introduction of fodder crops involved extensive use of clover, with this double fertilizing effect.3 Convertible husbandry with long rotations between grass and grain, seem to have been a reasonable alternative (Clark, 1992).   Description of the different levels in Emanuelsson (1997) and in Emanuelsson and Möller (1990: 128, 147). 3   Naturally farm animals can through their dung, give only much less nitrogen than they ate due to losses. Allen (2008); Chorley (1981). 2

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With this fourth system perhaps 200 people per square kilometer could be provided with food. In Scandinavia it evolved late: basically from the late eighteenth century, in many cases much later. The fifth system is dependent on massive influx of nutrients (artificial fertilizers) and also fossil fuels from external sources which may be labelled ghost acreages. At this level all land available may be used for production of human food (other areas on other farms may be used exclusively for fodder plants or industrial crops, no mix of crops on individual farms is needed, specialisation evolves). On-farm areas use for exporting nutrients to the arable can be avoided altogether. Increased arable acreages and heavily increased yields enable the support of roughly 3,000 persons per square kilometer. But leakage out of the system into soil and marine environments is substantial and lack of variation of crops necessitates heavy use of pesticides. The system allows for a dramatic increase of non-agricultural populations and, due to its connection to industrial developments, developments of transport facilities and the establishment of a food world market, it has allowed for an almost total dislocation of consumption from production. In terms of its great externalities – emissions, erosion, deforestation, salinisation, etc. of marginal areas and use of finite resources - it is far from sustainable (Safi, 20,04). In southern Scandinavia this fifth level developed from the early twentieth century, and it has evolved fast everywhere after World War II. The evolution of land use is supposed to be stepwise since ecological constraints in each land use system, blocks the possibility to increase production per area unit above certain levels without threatening the functioning of the system. The shift from one level to another implies that the constraints of the previous system are somehow surpassed. The question then arises what determines these shifts, or at least what factors makes them possible. Emanuelsson is inspired by Ester Boserup who claims that population pressure necessitated shifts towards more intensive cultivation (with shorter fallow periods). According to Boserup the need for labour inputs following from intensified farming rose faster than output. This in turn stimulated technological innovation, which was carried out in order to save labour (Boserup, 1965:11-18, 34, 36, 41, chapter 5; Boserup, 1981). However population pressure have led to intensification of land use in varied ways in different parts of the world and neither Boserup nor Emanuelsson ties the different technological levels to any particularly specific social structure or composition of property, or the shifts between technological levels to shifts in social structure or property rights. The early steps ought to be connected to free access to land. More and more restrictions, taking form of increasingly restrictive property rights to land 47

Ecological constraints and property rights in Swedish agriculture c. 1750-1850

would be likely to develop the scarcer the land in relation to the number of humans. In this process social structure would emerge in correspondence with the restrictions/ property right arrangements. But the outcome of such processes may have varied enormously and land-labour ratios cannot easily account for example for how the relations between a landowning class and a state developed and how that development would affect the relations between landowners and land cultivators. Social structures and property rights to land are human to human power relations and thus cultural and social factors rather than only access to land determines them, as well as the more fine variations of the land use systems. It seems probable, that this allows for a strong path dependence of institutional arrangements, so that a social structure, once established, remains influential on both technical innovation and economic performance. Substantial changes of land use systems and technological innovations requires costly investments and actors in different social structures with different property rights may be more or less able and willing to undertake such investments – because they gain socially/economically from doing so. Thus social, political and/or economic developments which altered the social structure and the property right arrangements may have induced changes in the land use system which may have led to ecological constraints being surpassed. It may also appear that the reaching of a potential ecological constraint within a land use system may result not only from general population pressure, but also from the emergence of a certain class of actors, i.e. from social change, or from some kind of institutionalised incentive pattern following from the property right arrangement and governing the behaviour of responsible actors. It may further occur that the manifestation of a constraint makes it fruitful for specific social actors to change system, while others may defend old ways. Thus, changes in social structure or property rights may induce changes in land use systems, but conversely economic constraints which make land use system changes necessary for further increase of production may also induce changes in social structure and property right arrangements.

II.  The third technological level and the shift to the fourth I will focus on Emanuelsson’s third technological level which is believed to have produced ecological imbalances constraining further increases of production within the system, and ultimately the shift to the fourth stage, which is commonly referred to as a reasonably sustainable system – implying that activity according to the system did not in itself threaten the future performance of the activity. To recapitulate, the ecological problem with the third level land use system was the balance between fodder producing land and grain producing land. The increase 48

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of arable at the expense of the fodder areas which followed from population increase tended, it has been claimed, to threaten yields on the arable, since proportionally lesser and lesser nitrogen could be transported from the one type of land to the other. Furthermore it is sometimes claimed that overuse of the arable or the reclaiming of marginal land led to decreasing yields on the arable and that overuse of pastures and meadows may have resulted in decreasing fodder yields. Overuse of land following population pressure and leading to falling yields, is the foundation of the Malthusian interpretation of the long term development of European agricultural history proposed by numbers of prominent historians headed by Wilhelm Abel (1980) and Emmanuel Le Roy Ladurie (1980). Most specifically perhaps it was the foundation of the interpretation of British agricultural development in the century prior to the Black Death brought forth by Michael Postan (1976: 6373)4. This latter interpretation has been vigorously contested. It has been shown that yields neither fell the century before the Black Death, nor rose the century after (Campbell & Overton, 1993: 74). The Postan thesis is revised by Gregory Clark (1992) into a theory, according to which the high rate of interest (a high discount on future gains), short term tenancies and the long time span before a restoration of arable to pasture would contribute to rising yields, explains why Middle Age peasants lacked incentives to go over to convertible husbandry. Still the notion of an ecological constraint following from the balance problem has survived. And it has been connected to the property right setting that prevailed. In much of North Western Europe, the third stage of land use system corresponded to a village community, with defined household rights within this community – a landlord extracting rent and varying degrees of tenancy security for the cultivators. Usually there were private rights to disposition of the arable which was laid out in a multitude of strips in a (number of) open unenclosed fields, but this right was subject to certain restraints from the side of the village community. At certain periods during the year (typically on the stubbles after harvests and on the fallow) this private right of disposition was, as grazing was concerned, transformed into a communal right of disposition. Similarly the meadows even if privately harvested were communally grazed after hay harvest. Finally there was communal right of disposition to outlying lands – woods and pastures. The common grazing on the arable and meadows forced villagers to coordinate their field work, cultivate the same crops, etc. Communal 4   Kjaergaard (1994), in his analysis of an (alleged) ecological crisis in sixteenth-eighteenth century Denmark, brings sand drift and deforestation into the picture, but largely the thesis is the same: overuse of fodder capacity induced by population pressure. Kjaergaard’s analysis may have some relevance to certain areas in southern Sweden as well, particularly the marginal brush land areas in certain parts of Scania. Bohman (2011: 158-171).

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Ecological constraints and property rights in Swedish agriculture c. 1750-1850

regulations (village by-laws) restricted the communal land use in order to prevent overexploitation. Characteristically rights to the same plot of land were held by many different individuals (and communities). In tracing the property rights suitable for growth and for environmental stability focus has largely been laid on the common fields and the enclosures putting an end to them. It was claimed by contemporary writers and early twentieth century historians5 that common field farming was a hindrance to the introducing of new crops, crop rotations and in effect new land use systems which would allow the balance between fodder/dung/draught power producing land and grain producing land to be shifted upwards. Along with these writers a tradition of property right school researchers, Austrian school economists and free market environmentalists has claimed that commons as well as common fields were, or at the very least became inefficient6. In short it has been claimed explicitly or not that the collective arrangement of village agriculture tended to lead to suboptimal production as the common fields system7 obstructed the introduction of crop rotations which made it possible to overcome the ecological constraints of the old system and/or to overuse and threatening environmental disaster (the commons and common pasture of infields). The ecological constraints (and the risk of overexploitation) could be surpassed only by major shift in the property right arrangement, i.e. thorough enclosures, which one the one hand consolidated the arable for each farmer into one (or a few) large fenced fields, allowing them to cultivate whatever they wanted using whatever rotation without paying attention to neighbours, and on the other hand divided and privatized the commons in order to bring private costs for using the pasture resource in accordance with private gains from doing so. However, these views have been disputed. It has been shown by several researchers, from Michael Havinden (1961) onwards, that passages to land use systems which at least partially resembled the fourth stage was perfectly possible within the common field system, and did not presuppose property right changes in the form of enclosures. More recently Gregory Clark has, referring to a number of medievalists, convincingly argued that convertible husbandry could well be introduced at least in some forms,   In the Swedish case foremost represented by works of Eli Heckscher.   E.g. Demsetz (1967); Gordon (1954); von Mises (1998) [1940]. Notably Mc Closkey (1975a, 1975b; 1991), Fenoaltea (1976; 1991) and Dahlman (1991) have explained the virtues of the common fields and the long standing of this system in various ways, but at least Mc Closkey explicitly still claims there was an in-efficiency cost for these virtues (a risk premium), manifested in substantial productivity gains (reflected in rent increases) after enclosure. Alternatively costs for remaining with common fields was claimed to have risen or costs for changing the system for certain reasons to have fallen. 7   On the difference between ‘common fields’ denoting the entire system and ‘open fields’ as one of its physical manifestations, see Fenoaltea (1991:107). 5 6

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within an open field system. A farmer could simply leave a strip unsown for a succession of years, without that inflicting much of his fellow plot holders in the field. Such practices were even regulated in late medieval English village by-laws (Clark, 1992: 67-69). Robert Allen has downplayed the direct productivity gains of enclosures (Allen, 1992; Allen, 2008), spoken of a pre-enclosure ‘yeomen’s agricultural revolution and tended to explain enclosures in other ways. One option would simply be that it resulted from socio-political struggle for power and surplus, another that market changes and relative prices played a crucial part in this process and perhaps induced both the technical changes and the property right changes. Property right changes and the move to the fourth technological level would then likely be interdependent and contextually bound together, with no clear causation in one direction or another. Further, it has been proposed by K. G. Persson (1988) and C. J. Dahlman (1991) that the communal restrictions on land use in the older communal system could be well functioning and explain the slow turn to more clearly defined private land rights in many cases. Most convincingly, Elinor Ostrom has shown, with much empirical support, that locally governed commons may be arranged to work without resulting in overuse (Ostrom, 1990) and indeed Garret Hardin himself – who once in a statement claimed that the enclosure acts ‘did put an end to the tragedy of the commons in this aspects of agriculture’(Hardin, 1977:46) – in the wake of criticism admitted that in order to avoid misinterpretation ‘[t]he title of my 1968 paper should have been ‘The Tragedy of the Unmanaged Commons’ (Hardin, 1991: 178). In short commons with regulated use by the co-owners should not be mistaken for open access. Still the tenancy arrangement, which may affect the possibility for the actors responsible for the decisions on what to grow and how to grow it to grasp and take into account the long term effects of decisions may be of importance. The rest of this chapter discusses the connection between property right changes and the shift from the third to the fourth stage of land use systems. I will do this using the Swedish case. I will try to answer three related questions: 1. Did ecological constraints to increased production manifest themselves in ancient regime Swedish agriculture? 2. If so, how were they overcome? 3. Was the overcoming of the ecological constraints – i.e. the movement from land use system type 3 to type 4 – related to property right changes and if so how?

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Ecological constraints and property rights in Swedish agriculture c. 1750-1850

III.  The agricultural property right structure in Sweden and its development through the eighteenth and nineteenth century In the early eighteenth century a third of the land in Sweden belonged to freeholders. They dominated totally in the north. In the provinces around Stockholm (Uppland, Södermanland and eastern parts of Västmanland – see Figure 2.1) freeholders controlled around 30%. On these plains and in Östergötland and in Scania (Skåne on the map, Figure 2.1) manorial agriculture and tenancy was widespread. The crown, leasing its land to peasants, was the dominating landowner in other parts of south and central Sweden. Less than 10% of the land was in demesne cultivation, although this percentage was higher in the counties with much manorial land. Freeholders paid tax in kind and in money to the state equivalent of the rent paid by crown tenants and largely equivalent to rents paid by tenants of the nobility, the land of which was tax exempt. Freeholders could sell or mortgage their land, but upon sale the crown had an preferential right to buy. They could inherit land but they could not freely sublet or subdivide it. Most crown tenants in practice hade heriditary right to the land they used and from 1789 this was formalised. Tenants of nobility had practically no security to their lands, apart from one year notice upon eviction (Gadd, 2000: 42-45; Morell, 2012; Morell & Olsson, 2010). Most peasants lived in villages or small hamlets, where land was used according to a common field system, with common grazing of individually owned but collectively fenced arable fields and meadows on the one hand and woodland commons used for pastures. Villages were particularly small in east central Sweden and often hosted less than 10 peasant farms. In many forested districts small hamlets or lonely farmsteads were typical. In the north, where agriculture was concentrated around the river valleys, villages tended to grow secondarily though subdivisions. In the plains in the southwest (Västergötland) as well as in Scania, villages were quite large (Sporrong, 1997), sometimes with up to 50 farms or more. Villages were often mixed with some members being freeholders, other tenants of the crown or of the nobility. The main changes in the property right arrangements over the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries meant that freeholders emerged as more or less unrestricted owner occupiers, and that, in the plains, capitalist farms grew out of old, successively enlarged demesnes.

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Figure 2.1. Historical-cultural provinces (Landskap) in Sweden

Source. Taken from Nationalencyklopedien. Cf. Myrdal & Morell (2011), back inner sleeves for relation between counties and provinces.

Firstly, tithes and other taxes on freeholds as well as rents paid by crown tenants were nominally locked to the values determined in the late seventeenth century. In the 53

Ecological constraints and property rights in Swedish agriculture c. 1750-1850

face of rising peasant production and increase in grain prices in the eighteenth and early nineteenth century, the paid tax/rent quotas fell dramatically and the freeholders and crown tenants retained increasing shares of the surplus they produced above reproduction costs (Herlitz, 1974; Olsson, 2005). Secondly, since the early eighteenth century the crown started to sell off its leased out land, mostly to its tenants who thus became freeholders: from 1789 tenants enjoyed an exclusive right to buy their farms for a usual price of six years rent. Successively more and more peasants therefore attainted the status of freeholders. As tax exempt manorial land, previously held exclusively by the nobility, could from 1789 be bought by anyone, freeholders tended to buy such land as well and by 1845 c. 60% of the agricultural land was owned by peasants (Morell, Gadd & Myrdal, 2011: 285). Thirdly, restrictions upon freeholders loosened. Rules on subdivision of freeholdings was successively liberalized from the 1740s, finally making it by the end of the nineteenth century very easy to chop off and sell land parcels in the face of rising demands for smallholdings. A preferential right for the crown to buy land was abolished by 1789 as was the right of the crown to evict freeholders having failed to pay taxes for three successive years. For tenants on manorial land the situation was however not improved at all. Corvée duties increased, particularly in Scania. Eventually, in the late nineteenth century these duties were commuted into cash fees. Evictions became common from the late eighteenth century, foremost in Scania. Landlords sometimes evicted entire villages to enlarge demesnes and take advantage of rising opportunities for market grain production. No laws were ever stipulated against the enlargement of demesnes and no land reform ever gave the right to tenants to buy their land. On the contrary opportunities to form entailed estates, not possible at all to divide were granted, and the entails has remained. Increasingly over the nineteenth century the large estates turned over to use wage labour, largely on one year contracts (Morell & Olsson, 2010). Freeholdings and demesnes/large capitalist estates thus emerged as private properties with successively fewer restrictions. But the property right arrangements concerned not only the tenant landlord dimension, but also the more horizontal relation between fellow villagers, and between individual villagers and the village community. One outcome of the arousing interest in agricultural matters in the mid eighteenth century, provoked by the necessity to regularly import grain, was the creation of 54

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the first Swedish national enclosure act in 1749. It was formulated by the chief land surveyor Jacob Faggot, who had written a programmatic pro-enclosure pamphlet (1746) with dramatic descriptions of the inefficiency of the open fields which has been quoted by generations of Swedish historians. The storskifte (‘large field’) acts of 1749 and later regulated how exchanges of land among villagers should be lawfully carried out. The goal was to consolidate the holdings of each villager in as small a number of individual parts as possible. Effects remained marginal until the request for village concensus was replaced by the rule that it was enough if one (landowning) villager demanded enclosure for the exchange procedure to go ahead. Thus one single landowner could impose re-distribution of land on his fellow villagers. From the end of the eighteenth century and for a few decades, major parts of foremost plain land villages were ‘enclosed’ (Utterström, 1957, 1: 518-532; Gadd, 2000: 277-282; 2011: 151-152). However the storskifte only moderated the open field system. Village communities remained intact, as did the communal fencing and handling of creatures on pasture. Village rules persisted. By 1803 (for Scania) and 1804-1807 (for other parts of the country) new consolidation acts, enskifte acts, were passed. Enskifte, literally meant that each landowner should have his fields in one piece, with direct access from his farm yard. The laga skifte act passed in 1827 replaced all previous enclosure leguislation, and it was somewhat more flexible in the cases of topographical variation. Enclosures according to this later legislation implied enforced dislocation of some of the farmyards and buildings from the village nucleus, i.e. the physical breaking up of villages as well as the administrative breaking up of the village community. The capital saving collaboration concerning the fencing out of animals was done away with and commons were mostly divided and privatized. Enclosures in Sweden were connected to increased importance for grain farming and the frequency of enclosures varied with corn price cycles. The main ingredient was an exchange of lands so that each owner got one (or a few) consolidated lot(s). It did not lead to the dispossession of peasants (apart from tenants of the nobility), but crofters and cotters with unclear rights on the village commons could be evicted in the process. A system of lonely farmsteads succeeded the villages particularly on the great southern plains were villages had been large. In many other cases, like in East Central Sweden villages were small and the redistribution could be accomplished without physical destruction of villages (Utterström, 1957, 1: 535-587; Gadd, 2000: 288-302; Gadd, 2011: 152-153; Olsson, 2005: 125-126). Legislation was important but the national acts still only provided frameworks: someone had to apply for skifte for anything to happen. The right to apply was granted

55

Ecological constraints and property rights in Swedish agriculture c. 1750-1850

to the owner of land; to the freeholder, to the noble owner of tenants’ land but also to the crown land tenants. Recent research has shown, that there were few protests among peasants concerning whether enclosures at all should be carried out and that peasants in many cases applied for enclosures (Morell & Olsson, 2010). With the radical enclosures, enskifte and laga skifte, some reclamation was necessitated as many farmers were relocated in areas with little arable but with large chunks of cultivatable land, on the forest border. Furthermore enclosures and the reclamation that followed spurred population growth and the subdivision of farms. Reclamation of new land and the abolition of strip farming made it possible to feed a household on smaller cadastral units. Particularly in Scania population increase and far reaching subdivision of holdings was intense in freeholding parishes following early enskifte (Gadd, 2000; Olsson, 2005). After the first wave of very speedy radical enclosure in Scania in the first two decades of the nineteenth century, West Sweden was to large extent enclosed in the 1830s and 1840s whereas East central Sweden was somewhat later and basically enclosed from the 1840s onwards (Gadd, 2000: 300). By 1860 67% of all land enclosed with reference to the 1827 act (i. e. excluding foremost Scania) was enclosed and by 1870 the figure was 80%. This implies that around 90% of the agricultural land in Sweden was enclosed by then.

IV.  Ancient regime land use systems in Sweden Sweden is a long country with climatic variations, manifested in the dramatic difference in the length of the frost and snow free season. There are also considerable differences in soil quality, the most evident ones depending on whether land lies above or below the highest coast line. The plains (the areas around Lake Mälaren, lake Vänern, the Baltic Islands and much of Östergötland and southwest Scania) are mostly old sea bottoms and are characterized by sedimentary clays, whereas mostly much more meagre soils dominates in higher altitudes, like in much of Småland and Northern Scania. Soils rich in lime were particularly fertile. This concerned Uppland, central Jämtland, the Baltic Islands and south west Scania which was endowed with a calcareous clay moraine (Myrdal & Morell, 2011, front inner sleves). In the plain land villages in east central Sweden, two course rotation was the rule. Typically a village held two common fields of arable (land type 1) where all peasants had their plots used for grain. These two fields were separately fenced in, so that each one of them could be separately protected from grazing animals and they alternated as fallow. The stubble was grazed, but the fallow was brown and intensively cultivated 56

Mats Morell

and manured. The meadows (land type 2) were also separately fenced. On the meadow winter fodder for the animals – hay and leaves– were collected, but the meadow was also grazed after the harvest of hay. The main pasture was in the outlying land/ forests (also land type 2), which was a common which each villager had the right to use in proportion to his share in the village8. Winter rye, which fitted the climate with dry springs well, was the most important crop here. Markets for rye developed in Stockholm and in the Mid-Swedish mining area, Bergslagen (encompassing southern Dalarna, eastern Värmland, western half of Västmanland, northern Uppland and southern Gästrikland). In this climate zone, cultivation of winter rye (or wheat) presupposed fallow before sowings as autumn sowings in time collided with harvests. However some of the fallow was saved until spring and used for barley. Two course rotation was practiced also in some areas on the plains of Västergötland where climate was wetter. Here spring grains, oats and barley, dominated. Arable fields and meadows were not separately fenced. Instead a simple fence divided the two arable fields (with adjacent grasslands) from each other and the use of them alternated annually. On one side of the fence there was arable with growing grain and grasslands used for hay. On the other side there was green, grazed fallow and grasslands used for pasture. On the Scanian plains three course rotation was practiced, mostly with barley sown in the spring after the field had been in (green and grazed) fallow, and rye sown in late autumn after harvest. This was feasible here as the growing season was much longer than in the Stockholm area. On parts of the plains in eastern Västergötland as well, three course rotations was used, but in large forested areas there and elsewhere, as well as in the far north of the country, systems with no regular fallows were used. In some cases this was combined with swidden cultivation. Forested areas held much more cattle per hectare of arable and the ample supply of manure fitted barley well as did the intensive shorts summers with generous amount of sun hours in the north. Here arable farming was concentrated to coastal areas and lower river valleys. In some northern districts a fourth category of agricultural land (distinct from arable, meadow, and outlying land) was found, svale. On the svale land a form of convertible husbandry with a rudimentary circulation between naturally grown grass (used for hay making and pasture), flax and barley prevailed. The arable in two course rotation was found highest up in the river valleys, further down was the svale and closest to the river the wet meadows. Similar and more elaborated versions of convertible husbandry were used in the mining areas in southern Dalarna where   The formalized village by-laws from eighteenth century Uppland do not regulate grazing on common outlying land areas, whereas they do state very clearly that grazing on meadows after harvest, on fallows, stubbles, etc. was to be done in proportion to each villager’s share in the village corresponding to his proportion of arable land. In a few cases grazing was proportioned to each ones number of winter fed animals. Ehn (1991: 548). 8

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Ecological constraints and property rights in Swedish agriculture c. 1750-1850

demand for draught animals and food for the mining activities created intensified demand for fodder9. Despite all these variation the land use all over the country depended on the balance between land type 2, fodder producing (nutrient- and draught power exporting) areas, and land type 1, areas used for production of human foods (importing nutrients and draught power). The general tendency from the mid eighteenth century at least was that fodder producing land (type 2) was transformed into arable (type 1). The prevailing interpretation is that this simply followed from population increase: More specifically the transformation of meadows into arable has been attributed to rising demand and increasing grain prices (Heckscher, 1949, II.1: 236-240; Morell, 2006). Some twentieth century authors however, stressed natural factors, notably the land elevation which was very strong in parts of the country and tended to dry up watery meadows and ease their transformation to arable (Boëthius, 1950). Given that the best land is cultivated first further land clearance reclamation would lead to diminishing marginal returns to efforts10. Even if both new and old arable land was of unit quality, returns may have diminished if not the amount of manure and draught power was increased proportionally or if nutrients could not be added from other sources (e.g. from leguminous plants). In many forest districts – with high pace of land clearance this was no problem as the proportion of fodder producing outlying lands and the number of cattle heads per hectare of arable was high. But in the plains which were to a much larger extent cultivated already long before the middle of the eighteenth century, further clearance of meadows and pastures decreased the proportion of fodder producing areas to arable to low levels. Consequently, further land clearance risked reducing the number of large animals per hectare and the capacity to fertilize the fields. This threatened to lead to falling yields on the arable land and also (despite alleviating trade) to a more and more one sided vegetabilized diets, strongly dominated by grain, (Vergetreidung), since the fodder capacity was used mainly for keeping the draught animals necessary for cultivation alive and left

  See for overviews of cultivation systems in Lägnert (1955: I) and Gadd (2005: 64-73). For northern Sweden omitted in these studies, see Morell (2011: 183), Utterström (1957, 1: 455), Utterström (1957, 2: 28-30). 10   However this is uncertain, Utterström (1957, I: 453-456) proposed that. Carey’s view, that the land which was easiest to cultivate, rather than the most yielding land was cultivated first, fit well with the Swedish case. Even in plain land districts most of the early used arable was found on hills and hill slopes where the soil was light and naturally drained. The potentially high yielding stiff clays of the proper lowlands were used as wet meadows and in many cases they were ploughed up only in the nineteenth century. They presupposed a heavy iron plough and substantial investments into drainage. Heckscher on the other hand shows examples of contemporary writers making statements conforming to the Ricardian theory of differential rent. Heckscher (1949, II.1: 191-192). 9

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little for the production animals (cows)11. Carl Johan Gadd talks of a ‘land clearance dilemma’ leading to symptoms of ecological crisis (Gadd, 1983: 21-24; 2000: 235239, 315; 2011: 143-145).

V.  Was there a ‘land clearance dilemma’? Land clearance was intensive in the eighteenth century and increased further in pace in the early nineteenth century, when Sweden despite culminating population growth managed to turn from regularly importing to exporting grain, while per capita consumption still increased (Morell, 2012). Much of the growth of the arable was at the expense of meadows. Therefore the relation of meadow to arable land fell. Heckscher calculated an increase of arable land in Sweden as a whole of 63,500 ha in 1739-1771, and 129,000 ha from 1805 to 1815 (an 18% increase if the doubtable official figures concerning the total acreage are accepted). Growth of arable was stronger in northern Sweden and in forested or marginal areas of western Sweden. From Älvsborg county in southern Västergötland, Heckscher reported an average increase of 61% of arable land from the mid eighteenth to the early nineteenth century. In Krokstad a parish in Bohuslän on the west coast, the increase is estimated at 152% from c. 1790 to c. 1840 (Herlitz, 1988: 208). In By, in Southern Dalarna, the arable grew by 7% from the end of the seventeenth century to 1750, but by 325% from 1750 to 1850 (Isacson, 1979: 81). However, in many cases land clearance was considerable in the plains as well. From Skaraborg county in northern Västergötland the arable increased by 11,000 ha between 1756 and 1760 (Heckscher, 194, II.1: 184-187). According to Winberg the increase was around 165% in a sample of parishes in the Skaraborg plains between 1700 and 1865 (Winberg, 1977: 96). Gadd (1983: 23, 98, 107) estimates an increase in the sowings from some other plain land areas in Skaraborg at 80% from 1756 to 1850 to compare with 180% in adjacent forested areas. Hannerberg claims that the arable increased by 260% in Närke (a province mixed by forested regions and plains) between 1700 and 1865 (Hannerberg 1941: 179; 1971: 25, 40). In Scania, finally reclamation of pastures and meadows was intensive in the first decades of the nineteenth century (Olsson 2005: 127-139). According to Heckscher land clearance generally meant that ‘scarce factors of production were spread over excessively increased acreages of land and thereby led to   ‘Vergetreidung’ of diets was concluded already by Forssell (1884), Eli Heckscher (1935, I.1; 1936, I.2; 1949, II.1; 1963). Later discussions and new evidence in Hannerberg (1971: 109-110); Gadd (1983); Morell (1987; 1989; 1990; 2006). Olsson & Svensson (2010: 302-303) shows that the vegetable (grain and potatoes mostly) share of agricultural production value increased strongly in Scania, particularly in the later half of the eighteenth century. 11

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Ecological constraints and property rights in Swedish agriculture c. 1750-1850

diminished results’ (Heckscher, 1949, II.1: 189-190). Some of the eighteenth century writers he depended on, for example Per Tham (1783) more specifically acknowledge the ‘dilemma’. Others like Serenius (1727), who referred to English examples, and Moreaus (1742) who presented the practice in Dalarna, propagated for convertible husbandry. From the mid century onwards several descriptions of modern circulations alternating sown fodder crops and grain spread (Lindroth, 1967, II: 197-198; Högberg, 1961: 150-151). Finally the ‘land clearance dilemma’ was explicitly described by Edward Nonnen, an immigrant agronomist of British-German decent who vigorously advocated fodder cropping on the arable (Nonnen, 1857:1-11). The notion of ‘the land clearance dilemma’ has been questioned by Lars Nyström (1998: 245-261) who focused on the east-west divergence in Swedish agriculture, touched upon above. Firstly he emphasised that not only grain for human consumption was produced on the arable. The fallow and the stubble were grazed and some of the grain (and potatoes) was distilled to alcohol and the draff was used as fodder. Furthermore straw from spring crops, foremost oats grain was used as animal fodder. Therefore reclamation did not necessarily imply that fodder supply was reduced; rather it meant intensification and that on a given area more energy was produced than before and it was a question of choice how it was used. Nyström argues that several features in western Sweden mitigated the unfavourable effects of reclamation. While fallow in the east was normally brown and kept clean, fallows in the west (and in the south) were green. This meant that the increase of the arable at expense of meadows and pastures did not reduce possibilities for grazing as much as might be expected. Furthermore increase of arable in the west-Swedish context mostly took the form of increased cultivation of oats on un-manured land. Manure was spared for the rye and barley fields and the reclamation thus did not compete for manure. Even though oats was traditionally a bread grain in the west, some oats was used as animal fodder. Moreover, oats straw could compensate for the lost hay on the contracting meadows. Rye grain dominating in the east was far too expensive to feed animals with, and rye straw was useless as fodder. Secondly, Nyström considered the prevailing old rotation systems. In the west where either systems with no regular fallow or three course rotation dominated, the clearance of one hectare of meadow into arable, typically gave fields two thirds of a hectare or one hectare sown with grain annually. It was more problematic to transform meadows to arable where two course rotation was used, as in the east. There every hectare of plown up meadow would give only a half a hectare of annually sown arable. The larger the proportion of fallow the less point with land clearance, Nyström argues. As long as market production of bread grain (rye and increasingly wheat) which in the east was associated with two course rotation, was gainful, the transformation of meadows to arable was less rational. Furthermore the ‘dilemma’ 60

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would have occurred earlier in the east, because less fodder grain was produced and as less fodder-usable straw was produced. All this, according to Nyström, contributes to explain that agricultural growth was stronger in the west than in the east in the first half of the nineteenth century – agricultural expansion at that time presupposed land clearance he argues, and this was simply more feasible in the west. In the east large scale land clearance and transformation of meadows into arable was induced only by the increased demand for animal products, particularly dairy products, after 1870. A condition for this argument is the claim that most of the expansion took place within the use of the old types of rotations, before modern circulations become widespread (i.e. within the third level land use system presented above). The spread of modern circulations occurred, Nyström asserts, only around 1850 in the west, and several decades later in the east. A conclusion from Nyström’s argument would be that no threat of ecological constraints or crisis appeared anywhere. In the west reclamation did not threat the fodder-to-arable balance and in the east there was little reclamation, until intensive fodder production was introduced. However, some evidence as that given in Table 2.1 speaks of relatively strong imbalances between fodder production and human grain production in the west as well. Table 2.1 shows more problematic proportions of meadow and arable in the western plain county of Skaraborg (north eastern Västergötland) than in Uppsala county (central Uppland) in the east. Figures for the mixed county of Örebro, highlights the difference between forested areas and plains as point of reference. Differences between west and east remain if figures are disaggregated to pure plain land parishes dominated by peasants in both cases. Although more fodder, according to Nyström was produced on the arable in the west, and despite that animal husbandry traditionally had been of greater importance in the western plains than in the east, the number of cattle units per hectare of arable was with exception of one parish lower in the west than in the east. This suggests that the balance of animal husbandry and arable farming was at least as upset following intensive reclaiming in the west as it was in the Uppland parishes and thus if the Uppland parishes experienced lack of manure for the arable and lack of draught power this should have been the case in the western parishes as well12.   It is emphasized by Sporrong (1985) and others, that the ratio of meadow to arable was critical particularly around Uppsala (in the chosen parishes). Cf. Ehn (1991: 66-71). It could be claimed that the Uppland peasants needed more manure per hectare as they cultivated winter rye to a large extent, for which they used manure, whereas the peasants in the west mainly cultivated oats, for which no or little manure was used. Furthermore the more intensive cultivating of the fallow in the east might have necessitated more draught power in the east and in general cultivation of oats in the west was carried out with rather low inputs of capital and labour per hectare. Finally, as will be commented on later, the modern iron plough which saved draught power, had been introduced in the west by 1850, but not as generally in the east. 12

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Table 2.1. Proportions of meadows and arable and number of animals per ha of arable (Uppsala, Örebro and Skaraborg counties), 1865 and 1866 Region

Type of region

Year Topography Ha of meadow Cattle units per 100 ha per 100 ha of arable arable

Uppsala

County

1865

Vaksala

Hundred 1866

Plains

70.6

83.2

Draught animals per 100 ha arable 24.3

Cows per 100 ha of arable 33.8

Plains

35.2

65.3

20.2

26.3

Danmark

Parish

1866

Plains

44.0

73.6

21.6

30.8

G Uppsala

Parish

1866

Plains

18.9

60.7

18.0

25.2

Vaksala

Parish

1866

Plains

43.6

62.4

21.2

23.5

Skaraborg

County

1865

Plains

27.7

79.4

23.6

33.7

Åse

Hundred 1866

Flo

Parish

1866

Plains

5.1

47.2

12.1

19.1

Plains

10.8

40.2

10.6

17.8

Friel

Parish

1866

Plains

1.2

27.6

6.7

10.4

Håle

Parish

1866

Plains

2.6

55.1

16.0

20.6

Karaby

Parish

1866

Plains

0

31.6

8.8

10.8

Näs

Parish

1866

Plains

13.3

124.7

23.7

64.0

Sal

Parish

1866

Plains

0

42.1

10.7

15.0

Särestad

Parish

1866

Plains

0.5

53.3

14.2

16.6

Tun

Parish

1866

Plains

11.5

54.9

14.0

23.2

Täng

Parish

1866

Plains

1.5

38.7

11.6

13.5

Ås

Parish

1866

Plains

1.0

34.1

10.2

12.2

Saleby

Parish

1866

Plains

2.0

32.6

8.4

13.4

Örebro

County

1865

Mixed

53.0

89.9

22.6

45.6

Örebro

Parishes

1865 Mining area

68.2

329.0

18.9

235.3

Örebro

Parishes

1865

Forested

75.9

115.0

29.3

56.8

Örebro

Parishes

1865

Forested

39.1

74.8

22.2

35.6

Notes. Cattle units (Cu): 1 horse = 1.5 Cu; 1 young horse = 0.75 Cu; 1 bull/cow/oxen = 1 Cu; 1 young cattle = 0.5 Cu; 1 sheep = 0.1 Cu; 1 goat = 1/12 Cu; 1 pig = 0.25 Cu.

Source. BiSOS, serie N 1865, 1866.

Secondly, doubts have been raised concerning the fodder value of straw. According to data put forward by Carin Israelsson it is doubtful to what extent protein in straw is at all digestible for ruminant animals. If it is, then the concentration of digestible substance is so low that cows cannot eat much enough of a diet based on straw to fully compensate for lack of hay (Israelsson, 2005: 211, 223-227).

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Mats Morell

Finally there is a question about the timings of events. Nyström concentrates on land clearance in western Sweden in the first half of the nineteenth century. While it is true that clearance expanded during that era, it was, as referred above, a strong trend already in the eighteenth century and some of the crisis symptoms are generally following contemporary witnesses believed to have developed already before or, around the end of the eighteenth century. What is left is a strong case for path dependence and adaptation to market and climate concerning which crop to grow. In the east there were worked up channels for rye (and wheat), and dry springs promoted winter seed. These crops remained in the foreground until late in the nineteenth century. In the west oats became very important, partially because it suited the wetter climate well and partially because new westward market outlets Britain emerged for oats (Palm, 1997: 176; Morell, 2001: 206-207; 2011a: 184). To conclude it seems not refuted that problematic tendencies of fodder supply followed upon the expansion of grain growing, at least in plain land districts. Did the ‘land clearance dilemma’ point towards ecological constraints of the land use system? Some local and regional statistical data may shed light on the case.

VI.  Evidence of activated ecological constraints VI.1.

Falling meadow/arable quota?

Particularly in south and mid Sweden county mayors and other governmental representatives complained that peasants ploughed up all land to arable ‘with no regard for the necessary supply of hay and manure’ (Quote from Gadd, 2000: 237). Especially from the 1780s and from around 1800 there numerous reports on lack of fodder (Utterström, 1957, 1: 110-117; Heckscher, 1949, II.1: 222). This signifies that fodder resources were close to the margin. While earlier land clearance largely had implied colonisation of outlying land and thus created both new meadows and new arable, reclamation in the eighteenth century and later increasingly involved the transformation of meadows into arable in infield areas of the villages. There were substantial regional differences. Lack of fodder was much more likely on the plains, where little outlying land remained and where the proportion of arable to meadows was already high. (Heckscher, 1949, II.1: 183, 222; Olai, 1983: 143-151, 153-155). According to official statistics, allowing reasonable estimates from 1865 onwards, the proportion of meadow to arable sank from 80 ha of meadow per 100 ha of arable 63

Ecological constraints and property rights in Swedish agriculture c. 1750-1850

in the 1860s to 40 at the turn of the century – on a national level (Morell, 2001: 193, cf. Table 2.1). By then fodder cropping on the arable was fairly common. Older figures are available only on regional and local levels and are normally derived from cadastral maps and maps from enclosure proceedings. With a few exceptions they are collected on village level. All villages in a parish or region were rarely mapped the same year makes and in order to be able to attain data from reasonably large districts, it is necessary to group villages mapped within long time spans. According to Tables 2.2-2.9, culled from such studies, the proportion of meadow to arable invariably fell in the districts with data from the late seventeenth or early eighteenth century to the late eighteenth or early nineteenth century and further to the mid nineteenth century. The trend is the same in plain areas as in forested areas, but there are huge differences in absolute levels. Anna Dahlström, who calculated the figures for Table 2.6-2.9 in her elaborate biological-historical investigation of grazing pressure and the balance between stock keeping and arable farming from the mid seventeenth to the late nineteenth century in four parishes, carefully discusses the complexity of the matter: while meadows were much more reduced in some plain districts, it is also possible that the plain land meadows and pastures yielded better than those in the more forested, shadowed landscape (Dahlström, 2006: 166-172). Still any kind of serious imbalance for the reason of lacking meadows could only have occurred on the plains. Table 2.2. Meadow (Närke, southern part of Örebro county) 1690-1865* Year c. 1690 c. 1780 c. 1865

Whole region 160 170 50

Plains 130 130 40

Forested districts 280 375 80

Transitional areas 180 150 50

Note. *Average in hectares per 100 ha of arable. Source. Hannerberg (1971: 32).

Table 2.3. Meadow and arable in eastern Småland, c. 1800-1850 Year 1795-1806 1845-1846

Arable (ha)

Meadow (ha)

5,679

21,315

3,349

22,240

Arable + Meadow per Meadow (ha) 100 ha arable 25,589

664

26,994

375

Note. Acreage of meadows and arable (hectares) and acreage of meadows per 100 ha of arable Source. Karlsson (1978: 59-50).

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Table 2.4. Distribution of agricultural land in Ekebyborna, Östergötland, 1790-1850 Arable %

Meadow %

Outfield % 44.3

100.0

1775

32.0

25.6

42.5

100.0

1850

41.8

20.8

37.4

100.0

Year 1700

23.0

32.7

Total

Source. Calculations based on Olai (1983: 138-145). Cf. Gadd (2000: 237).

Table 2.5. Meadow and annually used winter fodder area, Ekebyborna, 1700-1850 Year

Ha meadow per 100 ha arable

Ha meadow per 100 ha arable Index 1700=100

Ha annual Ha annual winter fodder winter fodder area area per 100 ha per 100 ha annually annually sown sown arable arable Index 1700=100

1700

142

100

253

100

1775

80

56

160

63

1850

50

36

100

39

Note. In the winter fodder per sown hectare column, regard is paid to the two course rotation of the arable. Source. Calculations based on Olai (1983:138-145). Cf. Gadd (2000: 237).

Table 2.6. Arable, meadow and pasture in Selaön, (plains), 1640-1826/1853 Year

Meadow (ha) Pasture (ha) per 100 ha arable per 100 ha arable

1640

158

557

1698-1724

163

557

1730-1743

158

499

1759-1775

158

499

1776-1805

152

351

1826-1853

126

374

1854

130

306

Source. Dahlström (2006: 316). (Dahlström used cadastral maps and a parish map of 1849).

65

Ecological constraints and property rights in Swedish agriculture c. 1750-1850

Table 2.7. Arable, meadow and pasture in Fornåsa parish, Östergötland (plains), 1642-1858/1866 Year

Meadow (ha) Pasture (ha) per 100 ha arable per 100 ha arable

1642

83

229

1698-1731

78

163

1764-1774

58

125

1854

16

63

1858-1866

14

50

Source. Dahlström (2006: 317).

Table 2.8. Arable, meadow in Kristberg parish, Östergötland, (forested), 1636/1642-1876 Year

Meadow (ha) Pasture (ha) per 100 ha arable per 100 ha arable

1636, 1642

512

4,612

1689-1733

836

3,283

1751-1796

463

1,183

78

491

1876

Source. Dahlström (2006: 318).

Table 2.9. Arable, meadow and pasture in Alseda parish, Småland (forested), 1645-1849 Year

Meadow (ha) Pasture (ha) per 100 ha arable per 100 ha arable

1645

538

3,046

1785-1803

493

1,622

1833-1848

212

796

1849

227

807

Source. Calculated from Dahlström (2006: 318).

VI.2.

Declining yields on meadows?

Contemporary complaints also concerned the quality of meadows. There seem to have been a permanent danger of overuse through hay harvesting and grazing. A viscous circle developed: Winter feeding of stabled animals was the weak point, 66

Mats Morell

and therefore cattle were let out prematurely grazing in the spring on the meadows, badly affecting the grass growing and the hay harvests and thereby the amount of winter fodder. Such practices made meadows sensitive to weather cycles. A tendency of falling hay yields particularly on dry meadows is believed to have occurred, while wet meadows were trampled down and compressed by grazing animals (Heckscher, 1949 II.1: 221; Utterström, 1957 I: 109)13. There are a few long continuous series of yields of specified meadows published. In figure 2.2 one such is shown, stretching for almost one and a half century. Figure 2.2. Harvests on four meadows and Björnö, Frötuna skeppslag, Stockholm county 1696, 1731-1843 700

Summer loads

600 500 400 300 200 100 0 1690

1700

1710

1720

1730

1740

1750

1760

1770

1780

1790

1800

1810

1820

1830

1840

1850

Source. Utterström (1957, I: 123-125).

There is a distinct fall in harvests from the four meadows from the late 1750s to around 1790. From then on there is a slight rise, but yields stagnate again from c. 1810, or even fall from 1820. Utterström (1957, I) tried to explain the short term variation by weather changes, but had problems with the main downturn. There is perhaps a possibility that the long downward trend from the 1730s until the 1840s can be explained by overuse, perhaps augmented by long term natural factors such as land elevation and climate change. But it is far from proven.

  Many economic historians, for example Heckscher (1935, I.1: 122-124), Utterström (1957, I: 113) and ethnologists, such as Matyas Szabo (1970) have argued that peasants tried to keep as many cattle as possible stabled over the winter, feeding them on the margin of starvation, in order to make full use of relatively ample pastures in summer. Cf. Gadd (1983: 24). Recently Cserhalmi (2004: 110-182) has questioned the existence of a deliberate ‘starvation system’. He has been opposed by Israelsson (2005) who has shown considerable weight differences between winter fed and summer fed cows well into the late nineteenth century. 13

67

Ecological constraints and property rights in Swedish agriculture c. 1750-1850

VI.3.

Falling animal/arable quota?

From the literature it is clear that the number of farm animals decreased in the eighteenth century. Using sixteenth and seventeenth century cattle-tax records connected to the payment of the Älvsborg ransom, Forssell showed in 1884 that the number of animals nominally and per capita fell from the sixteenth century until the birth of the first reasonably trustworthy national statistics of the 1860s. Utterström attributed the decay of animal husbandry in eighteenth century Sweden to three factors: development of relative prices promoting grain; climatic change and land elevation which contributed to a drier landscape more suiting for grain farming and contributing to decreased yields from meadows; and finally epizooties coming in regularly and in particularly in Scania killing thousands of heads of cattle14. Long series of data on animal stocks in the eighteenth century are scanty. From large estates there are accounts and Heckscher notes that the animal stock were fluctuating and in the long run stagnant in two of the large estates, Rydboholm in Uppland (c. 1730-1769) and Skarhult in Scania (c. 1720-80) which he studied (Heckscher, 1949, II.1: 224-231). Other than that we are left with occasional figures in connection to cadastral maps and probate inventories. Figures in Tables 2.10-2.12 are derived from studies using such sources. For the mixed (plains/forests) province of Närke (Table 2.10) there are no doubts, the number of cattle units per hectare of arable fell quite dramatically from the 1600s until the mid nineteenth century. For some of the localities studied by Dahlström, the situation is less clear. On Selaön in lake Mälaren, counted as ‘plain’, but with considerable assets of meadows and pastures, the number of cattle units per hectare was stagnant (Table 2.11). From the more typical plain parish of Fornåsa, matching data of arable acreages and number of animals are largely missing, but it seems as the density of animals per hectare of arable fell strongly. In the forested parish of Alseda too, the proportion of animals to arable fell dramatically. However, the level in the mid nineteenth century remained very high. Finally moving to the west of Sweden using figures collected by Carl-Johan Gadd (Table 2.12), it is clear that the number of animals per hectare of arable fell considerably in the pure plain parishes as well as in the investigated forested parish, where, however the proportion remained high15.   Utterström (1957, 1: 128-132). However the drier landscape was mostly man made. Through drainage projects culminating in the late ninteenth century, several hundred thousand hectares of arable land was gained from mores and by sinking lakes. Morell (2001). 15   Gadd also provides data on animals per mansus (mantal) unit (but no figures for seed or acreages) from four parishes in Falbygden, another plain land area. Here the number of cattle units tended to fall in relation to the mansus, implying a strong fall in relation to the arable area, since all evidence points at increased acreages of arable per mansus. Rosengren (2001: 220-222) also shows a distinct fall in the number of cattle units per hectare of arable) in another mixed district in Västergötland. 14

68

Mats Morell

Table 2.10. Cattle units per hectar of arable, Närke 1630, c. 1865 Year

Cu per 100 ha arable

1630

237

1865

88

Source. Hannerberg (1971: 26, 108, 109). Calculation of cattle units as in Table 2.1.

Table 2.11. Cattle units per hectare of arable at Selaön, Fornåsa, Kristberg and Alseda various years, c. 1620-c. 1850 Locality Selaön Selaön

Selaön Selaön

Cu/100 ha of arable

Year, animals

Year, arable

219 171

1620-1641

216

1775-1799

1640

1825-1849

1776-1805

1854

1854

191

Fornåsa

154

1620-1641

Kristberg

528

1620-1641

890

1630

Fornåsa

104

Kristberg Alseda

Alseda

1854

1636, 1642

1891

1891 1645

883

1775-1799

1785-1803

424

1849

1849

377

Alseda

1642

1854

141

Alseda

1826-53

1825-1848

1833-1848

Source. Dahlström (2006: 216-218). Calculation of cattle units as in Table 2.1.

Table 2.12. Cattle units among peasant farms, c. 1750-c. 1850 Year 1748-1757

Cu per 100 barrels Cu per 100 barrels plains forested 137

1770-1774

124

1820-1827

76

1783-1790

1850-1859

106

59

Cu per 199 ha arable plains

Cu per 100 ha arable forested

137

404

303

178 93

124

106

76

59

238

124

Note. Five parishes on the plains and one forested parish, Skaraborgs län. Calculated from figures of seed per 0.25 mantal and animals (horses and bovine cattle only) per 0.25  mantal. Ne/100 ha, is approximately calculated with the schematic condition of 2 barrels seed per hectar, two course rotation on the plain and three course rotation in the forested parish. Rotations from Gadd (1983: 207). Source. Calculated from Gadd (1983: 90, 104, 115, 127).

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Ecological constraints and property rights in Swedish agriculture c. 1750-1850

To conclude, the tendency for the cattle stock to fall through the eighteenth century seem to be established for most kinds of environments in southern and mid Sweden. However the absolute levels of animals per hectare differs a lot from case to case and particularly between forested regions and plain land areas (compare also Table 2.1)16. VI.4.

Falling production animal/draught animal quota?

Whereas forested parishes rarely could produce surpluses of grain, they often produced surplus of meat and dairy products. Therefore we should expect to find not only more animals per hectare of arable land in forested regions compared to the plain areas, but also another mix of animals with more production animals (cows) compared to the number of draught animals (oxen and horses). In the plains where grain production was in focus, farmers would have had to concentrate on keeping draught animals in order to keep production up, if the fodder capacity dwindled17. The data derived from Gadd’s investigation of Skaraborg county (in Västergötland) shows that the number of draught animals per cow increased in all instances, although it seem to have fallen again after the beginning of the nineteenth century (Table 2.13). Table 2.13. Draught animals and owen in peasant farms (Skaraborg county), c. 1750-1850 Year

Draught animals per 100 cows

Draught animals per 100 cows

Draught animals per 100 cows

105

84

Five plain land Four parishes parishes in Falbygden

Forested parish

1748-57

121

1770-74

148

1783-90

146

1820-27

127

119

103

1850-59

128

120

100

Oxen per 100 horses

Oxen per 100 horses

Five plain land Four parishes parishes in Falbygden 105

Oxen per 100 horses Forested parish

34

106

65

39

208

61

121

371

95 81

Source. Gadd (1983: 118, 126, 127).

VI.5.

Falling yields?

The ultimate consequence of imbalances and the ultimate manifestation of ecological constraints being reached is expected to be falling grain yields. If figures for average yields fell during a period when much new arable fields were ploughed    

16 17

70



This is also shown for Scania by Bohman (2010: 96). For Scania, see Bohman (2010: 93).

Mats Morell

up, this could be because the new lands were of inferior quality. On the other hand plentiful harvests could be expected the first years on newly cleared land, since there might have been built up nutritional capital in these new fields. Land clearance may also have altered the composition of grains, and there may have been systematic yield differences between grains of different kinds. Most interesting is perhaps if clearance of new land caused decreasing yields on old fields, by competing for manure and draught power. Normally rye was the most valuable grain and got most of (or all) the manure. This could either imply that increasing shares of the manure was reserved for rye, when manure got scarcer, or that not even the rye got stable amounts of manure when this happened. In the first scenario, rye yields ought to have been kept up while other yields should have fallen, in the other, rye yields should have dropped more than yields of oats if oats were at all not fertilized even at the outset. There are abundant figures with yield-to-seed ratios, but there are few consistent series covering any substantial part of the eighteenth century, other than from certain large estates. Yield-to-seed ratios are problematic in that they depend largely on the density of sowing. Thinner sowing produced higher yield-to seed rations but still resulted in low yields per hectare. However, if we have no reason to expect that sowings became denser and still observe a fall in the yield-to-seed ratio, we may conclude that the hectare yield fell (and vice versa). With these caveats we should inspect the data available. Heckscher showed falling or stagnating yields from the mid eighteenth century for three large estates ( Figure 2.3). He also referred to evidence from Västergötland and Östergötland, pointing at a downturn in the early nineteenth century (Heckscher, 1949, II.2: xviii). However data from two Uppland estates in the first half of the nineteenth century show increased yields up to c. 1820. Thereafter, stagnation or even a fall in yields follows ( Figure 2.4). On a national level yields rose consistently from around 1820 (Morell, Gadd & Myrdal, 2011: 293). There is one case of long term yield-to-seed ratio series for a peasant farm. The case is the farm Djäknebol, in a forested region in Halland (south west) studied by Lennart Palm. There are continuous data on Djäknebol yields for different crops from 1760 to 1865.

71

Ecological constraints and property rights in Swedish agriculture c. 1750-1850

Figure 2.3. Yield-to-seed ratios for rye, in the eighteenth century 30 25 20

Rydboholm

15

Löfstad Skarhult

10 5

1796

1793

1790

1787

1784

1781

1778

1775

1772

1769

1766

1763

1757

1760

1754

1751

1748

1745

1742

1739

1736

1733

1730

1727

1724

0

Source. Heckscher (1949, II.2: xvii).

Figure 2.4. Yield-to-seed ratios, in the nineteenth century 25

20

Bysta 15

10

Björnö 5 0

1802 1805 1808 1811 1814 1817 1820 1823 1826 1829 1832 1835 1838 1841 1844 1847 1850 1853 1856 1859

Source. Utterström (1957, I: 201, 203).

Oats and mixed seed of oats and spring rye was the most important crop at Djäknebol. Together oats and mixed grain usually constituted two thirds of the sown crop. Roughly half of this was oats. The yield trend for oats is distinctly downwards, from around 4 to 3,5. The trend is negative for mixed grain as well, but in a less marked way. For barley there is no trend, but for spring rye, spring wheat and in particular winter rye there are positive trends. However spring wheat in particular, but also rye, were rather marginal crops at Djäknebol. It could be judged that average yields-to72

Mats Morell

seed ratios stagnated or even fell somewhat at Djäknebol For a shorter period, ending in 1810 the yield trend for spring rye was also negative, and the trend for mixed grain was more distinctly negative. The trends for winter rye and spring wheat was positive even during this first half of the long period (Palm 1997: 115-118, 148-149)., Data on yields are not conclusive and it is not possible to directly tie them to the proposed imbalance problems. Palm discusses at some length various factors behind the development at Djäknebol. The supply of manure per acre diminished at Djäknebol, but this hardly explains the falling oats yields since oats hardly was fertilized at all. Perhaps much of the oats was cultivated on newly reclaimed land of inferior quality. Concerning rye, Palm attributes the rise to the introduction of a relatively early sown winter rye (used on swidden land) (Palm, 1997: 135-142).

VII.  Remedies With the exception of certain areas with marginal soils – some brush wood areas in Scania where efforts to increase bread grain cultivation in similar ways as on the richer plains, discussed by Bohman (2010: 149-172) is an example of this – it seems inappropriate to state that the presented data expressed signs of an emerging crisis, implying that the practiced land use system had reached its ecological limit, where further steps on the old path threatened to seriously shake the foundations of the system. Yields cannot safely be proven to have been affected. Nevertheless it seems clear that the fodder situation on the plains deteriorated and the capacity to keep large animal stocks was reduced in many cases and that it would have been problematic to carry on clearing land without some kind of alternation of the land use system. This implied the introduction of systematic fodder cropping using leguminous plants and a move to the fourth Boserup/Emanuelsson level. However there were other temporary solutions. VII.1. Land saving innovations According to Carl-Johan Gadd the spread of new implements made more fully by iron as a way to come to terms with lack of draught animals that reclamation and lack of fodder might have caused. Iron ploughs worked more efficiently and economized on draught power. Thus ceteres paribus they necessitated less draught animals, eased the lack of fodder and saved land as less land had to be devoted to fodder crops. The iron plough with concave board spread from Dalarna where there was a strong blacksmith tradition and easy access to iron to parts of northern Sweden, and also to the west, where simpler wooden ploughs had been used. In eastern Sweden where the ard had been used, the iron plough came later. It seems as

73

Ecological constraints and property rights in Swedish agriculture c. 1750-1850

if the iron plough spread earlier in areas dominated by owner occupying peasants, than in areas dominated by tenancy. Possibly the ard had more advantages in the drier climate in the east, as it exposed the soil less to evaporation than the plough did. Most important however, the iron plough was connected to the introduction of crop rotations with several years of ley: a heavy plough was needed to break the grass turf. It was also necessary for the reclamation of wet meadows. The earlier introduction of the iron plough in the west is thus contextually part of the earlier drive at reclamation of wetter lands and meadows in the west compared to the east. (Gadd, 1983: 232-233; Gadd, 2000: 245-247; Gadd, 2009; Gadd, 2011: 147). One contributing factor behind the spread of these implements was that relative prices on iron (compared to corn) fell in the second half of the eighteenth and early nineteenth century (Gadd, 1983: 286-291; Jörberg, 1972, 2: 104-107). Similarly the introduction of potatoes on a grand scale, firstly in gardens, later as a field crop saved land, as more energy for human consumption could be produced per square meter if it was used for potatoes rather than grain. Potatoes also saved grain, as it replaced grain in distilling. The side product from distilling, draff, was used as fodder (Gadd, 2011: 148-149). Finally the choice of draught animals could save land. Despite some obvious shortcomings, the oxen also had advantages compared to horses. When their years of service were over they were fattened and brought to the market and slaughtered, while horse meat was virtually without value. The oxen could – as have been clearly attested - at least partially be fed on straw, whereas horses required hay, and even grain. Production of oats increased and although some of it was used to feed horses, oats constituted both an export item and a bread grain. However more valuable spring grain straw was also produced and with decreasing supplies of hay from meadows and increasing amounts of straw it could be rational to replace horses with oxen. Finally the oxen fitted well for heavy field work on wet lands. Therefore, while in the long run horses replaced oxen, some farmers actually increased the proportion of oxen amongst their stock of draught animals in the first half of the nineteenth century. On the margin this tended to save fodder areas, and was thus also land saving (Ulväng, 2004: 69-70). Table 2.13, concerning different parishes in Västergötland, shows that it was far from a general trend to replace horses by oxen. The number of oxen per 100 horses fell dramatically in the five plain land parishes, but rose in the other areas. This suggests that other factors than lack or abundance of fodder helped determine the choice between horses and oxen.

74

Mats Morell

VII.2. New Circulations The more advanced crop rotations which ultimately emerged and had become general in Sweden by the end of the nineteenth century commonly took the form of six to eight year circulations with two to three years (up to six years in the north, only one year in Scania) of ley with clover. But there were many steps on the road to this state of the art. Leguminous fodder cropping was tried in the second half of the eighteenth century on large estates particularly in Scania and Västergötland. At the same time peasants commonly fenced in a small area on the fallow, where they grew peas. Later on, in the nineteenth century, they regularly sowed clover as well in the fallow. Commonly also, at least larger estates in Uppland around the turn of the eighteenth century sowed oats on meadows which did not yield well. After a few harvests, they let the grass come back (Ulväng, 2004). The convertible husbandry practised in southern Dalarna (Bergslagen) from the early eighteenth century) and in the North has already been mentioned. More advanced crop rotations emerged in the first half of the nineteenth century on larger estates around Stockholm and in Västergötland and Scania (Gadd, 2005b: 81-82). The new rotations were broadly spread in Scania in the first decades of the nineteenth century. These were boom years for grain prices and the Scanian freeholders and estate owners introduced grain dominated rotation systems with no ley, but with wetch, peas, potatoes and little fallow. Later when animal husbandry expanded, clover was sown into the spring grain and a year of ley was included in the rotation. In the western plains rotations with fodder cropping was general from the 1850s, while in the east central parts of the country, (Uppland, Södermanland, and eastern Västmanland) fully fledged fodder cropping and modern crop rotations were generally introduced on the large estates only by the 1870s and became general among peasants even somewhat later. Here farmers continued to use the two course rotation with intensively prepared brown fallow. Change came only when grain prices started to fall more dramatically and demand for dairy products induced a radical shift towards an economy based first and foremost on milk, butter and pork (Lägnert, 1955, I: 13-67, 127-141, 189-193; Olsson, 2005: 125-130; Gadd, 2005: 8283; Morell, 2001). The introduction of the new crop rotations was in many cases quite gradual. In the western plains it occurred that the old arable fields and the new land which was used more extensively for oats had different circulations. The older rotation was kept longer on the old arable fields, whereas the newly reclaimed land, where oats was sown periodically was allowed to return to grass for some years. Two and three 75

Ecological constraints and property rights in Swedish agriculture c. 1750-1850

course rotations could also be mixed in a transitionary period. When at last, by the final decades of the nineteenth century, wet meadows were ploughed up in east central Sweden as well, the new rotations emerged. On the old fields the traditional two course rotation, allowing large proportions of rye was retained. These fields received practically all manure. On the new land farmers experimented. Oats was sown here and it was alternated by sowings of clover and grasses, which the old fields were considered too dear to bear. Thus here as well, two parallel land use systems emerged, one on the old fields where the large portion of fallow remained, another on the wetter new lands where oats and fodder crops dominated. In time the two systems merged into one. Later on clover was sown into the growing winter grain in the spring (Lägnert, 1955, I: 191, 219-221, 226; Olai, 1983: 184-185). In northern Sweden after one barley harvest the svale land was left for developing natural grass for a number of years, until its turf was broken up and flax was sown – these were important proto-industrial areas concentrating on linen weaving and using locally produced flax – then again barley was sown. As opposed to the regular meadow, the svale was manured. Increasingly in the early nineteenth century northern peasants started to sow grass into the barley in the svale and thus established a more advanced form of convertible husbandry there, while the old arable was still heavily manured and sown only with grain (with or without fallow). Here too, therefore a dual system prevailed for a while, successively to converge (Morell, 1982; Morell, 2001: 200-201; Utterström, 1957, II: 202-218). It seems in all cases the transformation of the crop rotations were induced by (external) demand. In Bergslagen (the mid-Swedish mining area) the early introduction of convertible husbandry was related to the need to get fodder for horses used in the transport service related to the iron making and mining. In northern Sweden, for climate reasons, dairy items was the only agricultural surplus products thinkable and it was important here too, to maximise fodder production. In the vicinity of Stockholm, dairy production requesting more fodder emerged early and after 1870 the general expansion of the dairy industry totally changed the direction of farming in the east central area, and thus stimulated introduction of new rotations. This happened in western Sweden as well, but it is a bit unclear exactly when. Why was there a shift to fodder cropping so relatively early in the west? It is claimed that the early introduction of crop rotation which occurred before 1850, was induced by increasing demand for animal products already by then (Gadd, 2005: 82-83). But while it is true that relative prices had already started to favour animal husbandry by the 1840s (Jörberg, 1972, I: 210), the figures for the animal-to-arable quota on the western plain in the 1860s (Table 2.1) fits badly with this hypothesis.

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While the western plains traditionally had been directed towards animal husbandry and produced surpluses mostly of butter, cheese and livestock, and the east concentrated on bread grain, the processes developing from the mid eighteenth to the mid nineteenth century seem to have left the west more concentrated on grain with less animals per hectare of arable (and less cows per draught animal) than the east. Therefore it is questionable if the shift in the early nineteenth century to fodder cropping was due – yet – so much to increasing demand for an expanding animal husbandry. The engine for change here may in fact have been increasing demand for oats, eventually producing some lack of fodder and provoking fodder cropping in order to at all keep a balanced farming system.

VIII.  The relation between property right changes and the overcoming of ecological constraints How where the changes of rotation system and land saving innovations related to property right changes? We shall first address the relation between the enclosures and the new crop rotations, finally to end up with a discussion of the role of property right changes more generally. VIII.1. Enclosures and the new circulations In as much as the old system created ecological imbalances, deliberate proponents of the property right school would probably state that the communal village regulations could not stop degeneration of the system from an ecological point of view. Instead establishment of ‘absolute’ private property rights implying that costs and benefits of any action by an actor accrued to him and no other would be given importance. This would require enclosures, which did away with village communities and their allegedly inefficient regulations. Clearly the partitioning of the two – three fields in the old rotations laid out in a multitude of strips for each farmer into 6 to 8 fields used in the new rotations was problematic. Changes were made even more complicated as the collective fencing out of animals from the growing crops was an integrated part of the old system and for example in Scania could stretch over several villages. This contributed to make the change expensive and in its fully fledged version probably dependent on some form of consolidation reform, at least if the villages were large and many peasants were involved. Empirically a clear correspondence between enclosures and change of rotation systems seem evident. It is highly probable that the relatively early change to new

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rotations in the Scanian plains were conditioned by the very quick spread of radical enclosures there in the first two decades of the nineteenth century (Lägnert 1955: I) and in particular it has been shown that enclosures highly contributed of the growth of (grain) production in Scania at that time (Olsson, 2005: 125-130; Olsson & Svensson, 2010). However the change of rotation systems and enclosures occurred together with massive subdivision of holdings and reclaiming of new arable land in a period of very high grain prices. The rotations introduced in Scania were directed towards yielding more grain and it is likely that favourable grain prices on the one hand eased credit and helped pay for the investments and on the other motivated the change – it was ultimately demand led. Comparing eastern and western Sweden it has similarly been claimed that earlier change of rotation in western Sweden was connected to earlier enclosures (1830s and 1840s) in the west (Nyström, 1998). This seems to imply that early radical enclosures were needed in the west to accompany the drive for reclamation and change of rotations, whereas eastern Sweden sticking two the two field system did not need enclosures – as yet18. It seems likely however, that enclosures as well as changes of rotations in the west were conditioned by increased demand for oats. It was during these decades the Swedish oats exports from the south and west was established, and generally, as noted, the frequency of enclosures followed grain price cycles. Furthermore the eastwest comparison shows that radical enclosures provided no sufficient condition for a systematic change of rotation. In some cases enclosures were carried out already in the 1830s and 1840s in east central Sweden as well, and in most cases they were carried out well before the 1860s (Utterström, 1957, I: 558). Still around 1880 the majority of farmers in Uppland hanged on to the two course rotations and in fact, so did many large estates in the area at least into the 1860s, although they had much of their land consolidated and did not in any conceivable way need enclosures to make the rotation changes (Lägnert, 1955: 31-43). As already stressed it seems that the immediate reason for changed rotation was in all cases changes in market demand rather than the need to overcome ecological constraints. In the case of Scania and western Sweden the igniting demand change occurred in situations when land was not enclosed, while villages were very large   In one sense this was probably true. In Scania and in western Sweden villages were large and the impracticalities of the open field systems were more substantial. The modified open field system created by the early eighteenth century enclosures storskifte, which left the village community intact, was clearly not enough to create rational units here. In eastern Sweden on the other hand, villages were small, and storskifte brought about a substantial decrease in the splitting of the arable fields for each farmer. The need for further consolidation was less pressing. Gadd (2000: 301). 18

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and when institutional possibilities to enclose land had just been created. Therefore in these cases, the expansion which the changed market conditions provoked, bound enclosures and changed rotations together. In the east central Swedish case we have to search for other factors to explain enclosures: Enclosures were already in most cases a fact since a few decades when rotation changes occurred in response to new demand patterns. Even though enclosures seem to have been needed for full-fledged rotation changes, several British historians have (as noted above) shown that fairly much was possible to do before enclosures: enclosures were thus not a necessary conditions for all such changes. Similarly in Sweden: Where economic circumstances promoted other systems and rotations than those dominating, new versions developed – as the cases of the convertible husbandry in southern Dalarna and parts of northern Sweden demonstrates. And reclamation often involved piecemeal adaptions of the old rotations, as the practice among peasants to sow clover or peas on parts of the fallow or to periodically let the newly reclaimed arable return to grass while keeping the old rotations on the old fields. It does not seem like the old partitioning of land within the villages seriously blocked these developments. VIII.2. Changes of land use systems, property rights and social structure: costs In as much as changes came in a package with enclosure, clearance of bushy meadows, improved drainage, etc. costs became high. New land had to be cultivated, fences to be rebuilt, roads to be constructed, buildings had to be moved. Land surveyor duties had to be purchased, and in many cases, court procedures had to be paid for (Pettersson, 1983; Gadd, 2000: 298). Furthermore information and knowledge of new crops and practices had to be achieved. All this presupposed actors with access to investible funds able to anticipate future private gains from their investments. As shown above social structural changes in the era exactly promoted the creation of such groups of actors through a series of institutional (property right) changes which gave owner occupying peasant farmers on substantial farms more and more control over the surplus production above reproduction. At the same time noble land owners and other estate owners were pretty much left in business. Estate owners remained in control and could act as best they wanted following the market cycles. The general tendency on their part was consolidating: selling out tenant farms that lay far apart, incorporating closer ones to the demesne and going over to large scale farming using wage labour rather than peasants paying labour rent (Utterström, 1957, I; Jonsson, 1983; Olsson, 2002; Ulväng, 2004). This clearly implied a strengthening of private owner control and more narrowly restricting the private property right to land.

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It may be stated that these more omnipotent actors were the potential bringers of the new land use systems, designed to help the farming sector climb over ecological constraints, but they were also the agents activating the constraints of the old system. Their economic expansion manifested in massive reclaiming of new land laid behind the growing imbalances between meadows and arable. They reclaimed land in order to meet internal consumption needs and in order to profit from rising grain prices. And when imbalances had become apparent, they hardly reacted on imbalances per se, but rather on the changes in demand patterns which provoked land use changes that in effect released the constraints. As less and less restricted private actors they did what they were able to do within existing market patterns, reclaiming land for grain cultivation when grain prices rose, buying new ploughs (in order to grow more grain) when iron became cheap compared to grain, growing potatoes to save land and labour costs, but finally changing over into convertible husbandry or fodder cropping when the price structure shifted towards livestock and dairy products. The radical enclosures were an important integrated part of the social restructuring process. On the one hand enclosures helped creating the entrepreneurial farmers, on the other hand enclosures came to be because of their entrepreneurial agency (Svensson, 2001). Land transactions and restructurations on the foundation of village norms had been carried out before, but the rules regulating such trading were cumbersome and hardly made such change easy. The governmental enclosure acts, either stating that one villager had the right to have his land enclosed, or that one applicant for enclosure could determine that the entire village should be enclosed and dissolved as a communal entity, paved the way for faster and more drastic changes and reduced the risk and costs for those entrepreneurs who wanted to have land redistributed for one reason or another (Gadd, 2000: 269-299). The first enclosures acts came at about the same time as communal regulations in village norms were strengthened. A national model village by-law was distributed from 1742, and the villages could choose to follow this and to add new local rules to it which were not present in national legislation. The village by-laws foremost regulated the use of common resources and in particular the rights of grazing on the arable and the meadows in certain parts of the year (Ehn, 1991). As many villages accepted the modelled by-law or adaptations of it, it seems likely that the common standpoint was that the potential problems with over-grazing and the order in which reclamation was carried out (norms implied that if one peasant increased his proportion of the arable in comparison with village norms, a redistribution of the land had to be made) should be handled communally within the village. By the early nineteenth century, when the first radical enclosure acts were taken, this had apparently changed and freeholding villagers dominated amongst those demanding enclosure according to the radical acts (Olai, 1983; Gadd, 2000; Olsson, 2005). 80

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In many cases forestry commons jointly owned by the land owners of the hundred – an administrative regional unit usually consisting of circa 5-10 parishes – survived. They are still active and still use the old mansus norms for dividing costs and gains. Until the turn of the nineteenth century also, a form of alpine transhumance (summer farm system), based on collective use of outfields persisted in the north (Larsson, 2009). The private property rights soon again became more restricted. In the north, much forest land was in the early nineteenth century still not attributed to any private owner but remained loosely publicly possessed. In connection with the radical enclosures, and following widespread contemporary ideas akin to those later formalised by Hardin, these forests were largely privatized. Freeholding peasants land in the north were attributed enormously vast areas of forest lands, the value of which rose dramatically, following the expansion of the timber industry in the latter half of the nineteenth century. Indirectly this led to overexploitation. Forestry companies bought up either cutting rights or entire farms with their large forest allowances and allegedly cut it out, so that by the turn of the century there had developed a lack of wood of timber dimensions. The Norrland question in which ultra-liberals ideologically critical of large companies and combinations as well as of governmental interventions, and propeasant romantic nationalists claiming that the free peasantry was threatened by the companies, united against the industrialist saw mill lobby was a dominant feature of political debate in the late nineteenth century and in the early twentieth century. Eventually it led to enactments prohibiting companies to buy land in the north (1906) and regulating the proper use of agricultural land (1909)19. A law governing forestry, and stipulating replanting was taken in 1903 and a national forestry protection board was founded. The prohibitions of company buying forest and agricultural land were soon extended to the entire country and a rather sharp land acquisition law was inaugurated in 1945 (Morell, 2001: 124-126; Morell, 2011b: 68-69). Similar or harsher restrictions upon agricultural farm land ownership, land trade and land use, emerged in all Scandinavian countries (Morell & Olsson, 2010). Admittedly one goal with this legislation which increasingly restricted private land ownership, was to protect the established owner occupier farm population from speculative attacks, but obviously there was also a great deal of mistrust of how private owners might use land resources. Basically this reflected the time perspective of forest owners. In fact the efficiency of radical privatization solutions as represented by the enclosures – and any proposed solution to the question of sustainable land use   Similarly in Norway a law in 1928 stipulated the possibility for local governments to expropriate unused agricultural land to provide it to potential small holders without land. Almås (2002: 61-62). 19

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depends on how the time perspective is handled. The crux of the matter is the long term perspective needed in the rudimentary cost-benefit analysis an actor makes. If present gains are high, then a private actor in full charge may be very likely to act in a way which is in the very long term detrimental to environment and even the regeneration of the resource. So acted the nineteenth century Swedish forest companies and so did according to Gregory Clark the English villagers in medieval times, when they, because of facing high rates of return, persisted in cultivating only grain, although they knew that some years of pasture would have increased yields in the very long run.

IX.  Conclusions Imbalances in the old, third level land use system developed in Sweden in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century, as more land was cleared in order to increase the grain output. The proportion of meadows and pastures fell. This process was demand led, and largely a reflection of raised relative prices on grain. Ultimately these changes may be traced back to population pressure. The imbalances of the land use system threatened to lead to ecological constraints: production could not in the long run be increased without a system change, although refinement and adaption with better tools and some new crops did help. But – with some exceptions concerning heavily deforested areas with thin sandy soils it was hardly the ecological constraints themselves, manifested in declining yields, erosion or sand drift  which provoked change. Rather the change of the rotation system was foremost demand led. To certain extent the change in rotation was embedded in the land clearance process, which involved a gradual transformation into convertible husbandry on parts of the land, but most often the land use changes followed from increased demand for animal products. Both the reclamation drive and the market induced adaption towards demand for butter and meat involved large investments and presupposed the emergence of actors controlling substantial parts of their produced surpluses, with access to resources and incentives for investments through the prospects of future gains. That is, actors who could rationally respond to market signals, without all positive effects siphoning off as externalities, but also having to take account of the costs for changes. Thus both the emergence of the imbalances and constraints of the old system and the change to the new system were related to property right changes and social restructuration. I argue that the tendencies gradually transforming a heavy tax burdened, and restricted peasantry into a class of owner occupiers owning land 82

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and communally controlling the villages, was the deceive way of creating such entrepreneurial actors able to balance costs and benefits of organisational changes in Sweden – and in various ways in most of Scandinavia (Morell & Olsson, 2010). I argue that the enclosures formed a vital part of the process of creation of this group, but in turn, enclosures were the results of rational actions of these entrepreneurs upon the support from enlightened governmental acts. Naturally other ways of ‘creating’ actors would have been possible. This is also reflected in the Swedish experience. Large estate owners were better educated and better informed and they could recruit experts if needed. They generally introduced novelties much faster. They were more closely bound to the market, they had better possibilities to finance changes and they could arrange operations in large scale making some changes more economically worthwhile than peasants could.20 But they were few and far between. Given the social fabric that had emerged in most of Scandinavia by the early eighteenth century a large estate route as a general phenomenon would have been very unlikely.

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  But principal – agent problems, high monitoring costs and less motivated work forces may have constituted their main problem. These factors later emerged as explanations of the dominance of family farms. 20

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Morell, M. (1990), ‘Studies in the History of Swedish Food Consumption: Food Consumption among Institutionally Supported Paupers 1621-1872’, in E. Aerts & H. Van der Wee (eds), Recent Doctoral Research in Economic History. Proceedings xth International Economic History Congress, Leuven University press, p. 69-77.

Morell, M. (2001), Jordbruket i industrisamhället. Det svenska jordbrukets historia IV, Stockholm, Natur & Kultur/LT.

Morell, M. (2006), ‘From War Time Provisioning to Barbarous Prosperity. Eli F.  Heckscher’s Investigations of Food Consumption in Early Modern Sweden’, in R.  Findlay et al. (eds), Eli Heckscher, International Trade and Economic History, Cambridge Mass, MIT press, p. 457-478.

Morell, M. (2011a), ‘Agriculture in Industrial Society, 1870-1945’, in J. Myrdal & M. Morell (eds), The Agrarian History of Sweden from 4000 BC to AD 2000, Lund, Nordic Academic press, p. 165-213.

Morell, M. (2011b), ‘Farmland: Ownership or Leasehold, Inheritance or Purchase’, in H. Antonson & U. Jansson (eds), Agriculture and Forestry in Sweden since 1900. Geographical and Historical studies, Stockholm, The Royal Swedish Academy of Agriculture and Forestry, p. 56-73.

Morell, M. (2012, forthcoming), ‘Property Rights and Growth in Swedish Agriculture in the Late 18th and Early 19th Century’, in G. Béaur, P. Schofield, J. M. Chevet & M. T. Perez-Picazo (eds), Property Rights, Land Markets and Economic Growth in Europe, Turnhout, Brepols.

Morell, M., Gadd, C.-J. & Myrdal J. (2011), ‘Statistical Appendix’, in J. Myrdal & M. Morell, The Agrarian History of Sweden from 4000 BC to AD 2000, Lund, Nordic Academic press, p. 271-301.

Morell, M. & Olsson, M. (2010), ’Scandinavia 1750-2000’, in B. J. P. van Bavel et al. (eds), Social Relations Property and Power. Rural Economy and Society in the North Western Europe 500-2000, Turnhout, Brepols, p. 315-347.

Myrdal, J. & Morell M. (eds), (2011), The Agrarian History of Sweden from 4000 BC to AD 2000, Lund, Nordic Academic press.

Nonnen, E. (1857), Om cirkulations- eller wexelbruk i Swerige. Lämpadt äfwen förbrukare af smärre jordlotter, Örebro, N. W. Lindh.

Nyström, L. (1998), ‘Mellan marknad och teknik’, in L. A. Palm et al. (eds), Ett föränderligt agrarsamhälle. Västsverige i jämförande belysning, Göteborg, Humanistiska fakulteten, Göteborgs universitet, p. 229-294. Olai, B. (1983), Storskiftet i Ekebyborna. Svensk jordbruksutveckling avspeglad i en östgötasocken, Uppsala.

Olsson, M. (2002), Storgodsdrift. Godsekonomi och arbetsorganisation I Skåne från dansk tid till mitten av 1800-talet, Stockholm, Almqvist & Wiksell.

Olsson, M. (2005), Skatta dig lycklig. Jordränta och jordbruk i Skåne 1660-1900, Hedemora, Gidlunds.

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Ecological constraints and property rights in Swedish agriculture c. 1750-1850

Olsson, M. (2006),‘Storföretaget Vittskövle 1500-1950’, in M. Olsson et al. (eds), Gods och bönder från högmedeltid till nutid. Kontinuitet genom omvandling på Vittskövle och andra skånska gods, Lund, Nordic Academic Press, p. 149-171. Olsson, M. & Svensson, P. (2010), ’Agricultural Growth and Institutions: Sweden 17001860’, Euroepan Reviwe of Economic History, 14, p. 275-304.

Palm, L. A. (1997), Gud bevare utsädet! Produktionen på en västsvensk ensädesgård: Djäknebol i Hallands skogsbygd 1760-1865, Stockholm, Kungliga skogs- och lantbruksakademien.

Persson, K. G. (1988), Pre-industrial Economic Growth. Social Organization and Technological Progress in Europe, Oxford, Blackwell.

Pettersson, R. (1983), Laga skifte i Hallands län 1827-76. Förändring mellan regeltvång och handlingsfrihet, Stockholm, Almqvist & Wiksell International.

Postan, M. M. (1976), The Medieval Economy & Society [Weidenfield and Nicholson 1972], Harmondsworth, Pelican. Rosengren, L. (2001), Jord och folk. Om produktiva resurser o västsvensk balndbygd under 1700-talet, Göteborg, Ekonomisk-historiska institutionen, Götebrogs universitet.

Safi, B. (2004), The Sustainability of Swedish Agriculture in a Coevolutionary Perspective, Uppsala, Dept. of Rural Development and Agroecology, Swedish Univ. of Agricultural Sciences. (Available at  http://epsilon.slu.se/a469.pdf)

Serenius, J. (1727), Engelska åker-mannen och fåraherden, eller: åkerbruks-konstenoch får-skiötseln…, Stockholm.

Sporrong, U. (1985), Mälarbygd: Agrar bebyggelse och odling ur ett historiskt-geografiskt perspektiv, Stockholm.

Sporrong, U. (1997), ‘Odlingslandskapet före 1750’, in B. M. P. Larsson et al. (eds), Agrarhistoria, Stockholm, LT, p. 25-43. Szabo, M. (1970), Herdar och husdjur. En etnologisk studie over Skandinaviens och Mellaneuropas beteskultur och vallningsorganisation, Stockholm, Nordiska museet.

Ulväng, G. (2004), Hus och gård i förändring. Uppländska herrgårdar, boställen och bondgårdar under 1700- och 1800-talens agrara revolution, Hedemora, Gidlunds. Utterström, G. (1957), Jordbrukets arbetare 1-2, Stockholm, Tiden.

Winberg, C. (1977) [1975], Folkökning och proletarisering. Kring den sociala strukturomvandlingen på Sveriges landbygd under den agrara revolutionen, Lund, Cavefors.

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3.

Peasant property, common land and environment in the garrigues of the Languedoc from the seventeenth to the twenty-first centuries Sylvain Olivier

I.  Introduction1 Mediterranean Languedoc and Provence are characterised by a wide diversity of soils. Among them are very fertile lands, further improved by irrigation. But they are situated next to barren lands, made of the rough hillsides named garrigues. The Languedocian garrigues can be defined as low plateaux, most of them chalky, from 50 to 400  metres high. They are a vegetal formation where ilex and kermès oak predominate among other thorny bushes, into vast low-vegetation scrublands. This situation results from the degradation of a primitive forest by human exploitation from the Neolithic times (Billange, 1943 ; Marres, 1956 ; Dugrand, 1964). Nowadays, these outland garrigues are neglected by farmers. But in ancient times, they were used as sheep pastures and, sometimes, even cleared by peasants who needed arable land. The environmental dynamics of these sloping landscapes are less well known to historians than the more fertile lands, because historical sources and documentation focused on the good, arable lands, divided into many little plots near the villages, whereas the garrigues consisted of large almost unproductive pieces of land, which did not leave many textual traces, located on the margins of the communes. Indeed, the garrigues raise many thorny questions, due to their secondary importance. The fluctuations in the exploitation of the garrigues are discussed in some studies on land clearing between the Middle Ages and the nineteenth century. René Baehrel, for Provence, and Emmanuel Le Roy Ladurie, for Languedoc, demonstrated the demographic trend and its results: the fluctuations in the intensity of the exploitation of the garrigues (Le Roy Ladurie, 1966). Furthermore, numerous local case studies have focused on the transitional period between the Ancien Régime and the nineteenth century, because in France, the property status of many parts of the garrigues changed during the Revolution and the post-Revolutionary period (Vivier, 1998). At that time, many possessions of the Church, the Lords and the rural communes were sold. Bernard Bodinier and Eric Teyssier even consider the biens nationaux   Thanks to Alexandra Gajewski who helped me with the first English draft of this article, and to Andrew Dach who worked with me on producing the final English version. However, I am responsible for the scientific content and any of its imperfections. 1

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Peasant property, common land and environment in the garrigues of the Languedoc

sale as the ‘most important event of the Revolution’ (Bodinier & Teyssier, 2000). In Languedoc, most large garrigues belonged to the communes, the nobles and the clergymen. Therefore these spaces were greatly affected by the property changes during French Revolution (Jaudon & Olivier, 1999; Mc Phee, 1999; Chalvet, 2006). These garrigues are among the hills which lie at an intermediary point between the Mediterranean Sea and the mountains of the Massif Central. There, a micro-study based on the commune of Salasc (Figure 3.1) gives some precise data which need to be compared with more general knowledge. A micro-study reveals a more complex reality: a local approach shows concrete situations, sometimes slightly different from what normative and legislative sources say. Figure 3.1. Salasc in the post-Revolutionary département of Hérault

Source. Olivier (2008), according to the map of IGN.

The commune of Salasc, canton of Clermont-l’Hérault, in the Lodévois, covers 900 ha, nowadays composed of one third of arable land (vines and fields) and two thirds of uncultivated garrigues and wooded slopes. Some of these barren lands are chalky dolomitic soils on the south-eastern part of the commune, and other ones are Permian red-ground garrigues named ruffes on the north and west sides. Early Modern texts use the word garrigues – as most people have done and still do, for both 90

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chalky and Permian lands because, even if different geologically, both these kinds of areas have almost the same vegetal characteristics. The population living there is about 200 inhabitants, among whom only a minority cultivates the land. However, at the end of the eighteenth century, Salasc was a peasant village of about 300 people (Motte, Martin-Laprade & Peysson, 1989: 429). It is interesting to study how this demographic evolution affected the use of the garrigues, in Salasc and elsewhere in the Lodévois and more generally in Languedoc, in a long-term perspective, and to set the radical social and legal changes occurring during the pivotal period of the French Revolution in the broad pattern of the trends developing over four centuries. This demographic evolution must be linked with both property rights on land and environmental degradation. Garrigues are marginal and sensitive areas, where the environmental threat (erosion, fire, drought, degradation of soil) following misuse or unsuitable exploitation is the biggest. Therefore, in the current perspective for sustainable development, it is particularly interesting to analyse the interaction between humans and their environment in the garrigues.

II.  Seventeenth and eighteenth-centuries changes in land rights and the environmental evolution of the garrigues II.1.

Usage and measurement of land in the garrigues

Historians usually cannot give a clear delimitation of what constitutes the garrigues in Early Modern Languedoc, because their acreage was rarely noted in the compoix (land registries which shared the royal and communal taxes among the landowners). Only a few woods and garrigues were measured and registered, when they were taxable lands, and when it was easy for the surveyor to get into the hillsides to measure acreage. But in Languedoc, many garrigues (often owned by landlords or the Church) had a fiscal privilege: they were considered as noble lands (i.e. lands that generated no taxes either to the central government or to the rural commune). Many garrigues belonged to the rural communes too, and they were not measured for land registries either (Olivier, 2007: 71). Hence, Emmanuel Le Roy Ladurie was only able to elaborate statistical data about the arable lands. When concerned with the margins surrounding cultivated lands, the compoix remained silent, and thus he had to deduce the existence of the outland garrigues. The global repartition of the nature of the land, including the outlands, can more easily be drawn now, because of new possibilities of cartography (Olivier, 2007). An example of these gaps in the fiscal sources can be found for the commune of Salasc,

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Peasant property, common land and environment in the garrigues of the Languedoc

Figure 3.2. Relief and simplified land occupation map of the commune of Salasc during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries

Source. Olivier (1997-1998: 79-87)

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where a compoix, made by a surveyor in 16012, enumerates and textually localises the possessions of taxpayers. As there was no map, the compoix remains spatially approximative. For the garrigues, this land registry is less exact than for the fertile lands near the village. But it is certain that, next to the uncultivated garrigues which were privately owned, there were also cultivated plots, although ploughed land in the garrigues had low productivity, as suggested by their low fiscal evaluation (Olivier, 1996, I: 64-68). In the garrigue area named ‘Cailaret’ in Salasc in 1601, there was half a ha of arable fields, 1 ha of woods, more than 3 ha of non-arable fallow land and 3,5 ha of mixed plots containing trees, cereals and fallow land (Figure 3.2). The registered acreages in this case are an underestimation, because many large private garrigues had been measured at a rough guess without any land-surveying and, in fact, the plots were truly surveyed only when they were small and easy to measure. Furthermore, the large areas of adjacent common-land garrigues were not registered in this cadastre either, because of their low fiscal value. But, fortunately, they are mentioned in the compoix in order to define the limits of private pieces of land, and we can thus guess their position, even if we cannot measure them. One can find out that common and private woods, rocky areas and dry pastures were about 500 ha, including 160 ha of woods and more than 350 ha of unfertile lands and dry pastures (Olivier, 1997-1998) (Figure 3.3). II.2. The economic and demographic trend and its environmental consequences on the garrigues Contrary to what the above map suggests, the limits between inland and outland areas were not static but unstable. According to Emmanuel Le Roy Ladurie, this flexibility must be linked to the economic trend. In the fifteenth century, the garrigues were abandoned in a Languedoc that was less populated after the Black Death. Vineyards and arable fields regressed and were localised only in the fertile plains (Le Roy Ladurie, 1966, I: 145-146). Later, in the first part of the seventeenth century, the garrigues were ploughed when demographically and economically needed, as the compoix of Salasc in 1601 suggests, with its many fields and grape vines scattered all over the garrigues. This shows a landscape created by the work of numerous people at this moment. Later, the tithe trend reveals that during the 1650s and the 1660s, the production of wine in Salasc increased. This observation suggests that the increasing trend of planting grape vines in the garrigue was sustained. However the production of wine and, above all, wheat collapsed at the end of the seventeenth century and then stabilised at a lower level until the end of the eighteenth (Olivier, 1997-1998; Le Roy Ladurie & Goy, 1982). This was the result of the abandonment of some lands, cultivated for a few years in the garrigues when there were more inhabitants. With the 2

 



Arch. dép. Hérault, 292EDT3.

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Peasant property, common land and environment in the garrigues of the Languedoc

economic and demographic downturn, many farmers let their worst plots lie fallow. Some of them even gave up the individual property rights they held to these lands (Le Roy Ladurie, 1966, I: 533-536; Appolis, 1951: 199-202; Larguier, 1996: 1017-1025). Thus, in Salasc in the eighteenth century, more than 13 ha of land registered in the 1601 compoix no longer had owners. These former arable fields, vineyards and garrigues were recorded as abandoned and hermes. They had been relinquished to the commune either by notarial deed, or more simply, after 3 years of lying fallow. If we are to believe the chiefs of the commune (consuls), this was due to the poor quality of the land which did not produce any income. The reason for this was that the soil had been washed away by flooding3. It was simply not profitable enough to plough these lands and support the increasing tax burden (Le Roy Ladurie, 1966, I: 601-603; Appolis, 1951: 301). Therefore nobody wanted to own or develop these lands. After the relinquishments, the commune usually tried to sell or even to give these lands called vacants to farmers so that they would pay taxes on them. It seems that the deeper problem behind this phenomenon was the economic sustainability of the land. According to the eighteenth-century administrators, the reasons the land had been relinquished were, first of all, the overexploitation of its resources and the falling of yields, and second, the excessive taxes to pay with respect to the low income the lands generated. By the end of the eighteenth century, the central government tried to stimulate farmers to clear abandoned lands in the garrigues, in order to produce wheat to feed the increasing population. Farmers could get fiscal exemptions when ploughing land that had not been cultivated for more than forty years (Dutil, 1911: 107-110; Appolis, 1945: 379-388; Vivier, 1998: 85). It is quite impossible to measure the acreages of garrigues that were truly cleared following the royal declaration of 1770 and onwards – the precision of eighteenth century statistics leaves much to be desired and there occurred some false declarations by farmers. According to Léon Dutil, the acreages that were truly cleared were marginal and limited areas, many of which were soon abandoned because of their low fertility. Indeed, governmental authorities soon feared excessive land clearing, because farmers wanted to get exemptions and cleared too much barren land, so much so that they caused erosion and diminution of dry pastures in the garrigues by damaging the vegetation.

3

 

94

Arch. dép. Hérault, 292EDT1, 25 novembre 1749, f° 88 v°-89 r° ; 292EDT2, 13 juin 1762.

Sylvain Olivier

Figure 3.3. Simplified repartition of acreage in the entire commune of Salasc from 1601 to 1995 (garrigues and fertile lands) 1,000

Hectares Limit between inland and outland

900 800 700 600 500 400 300 200 100 0

1601

1791

1836

woods common land (pastures, rocks and woods) not surveyed in land registries before French Revolution

1913

1957

1995 Year of the land registry

vines with fields and olive-trees

fallow land / pastures

vines

fields, woods and fallow land

fields

brooms

irrigated cultures (kitchen gardens, meadows...)

Sources. Arch. dép. Hérault, 292 EDT 3, Compoix de Salasc, 1601; Arch. dép. Hérault, 292

EDT 10, États de sections de Salasc, 1791; Arch. dép. Hérault, 3 P 2721, Cadastre de Salasc, Tableau indicatif, 1836; Arch. mun. Salasc, 1 G 9, Matrice des propriétés non bâties, 1914; Arch. mun. Salasc, 1 G 13, Cadastre révisé, Matrice des propriétés bâties et non bâties, 1957; Arch. mun. Salasc, Cadastre, microfiche de mise à jour, 1995.

In fact, by destroying pastures, this project, which aimed at increasing wheat production in order to feed people, caused a new decline of land fertility and the diminution of animal manure, also essential for land fertility (Dutil, 1911: 113-117). This land-clearing project was the result of ideas coming from the French agronomists, but it was particularly unsuitable for the specificity of the Mediterranean climate. In 1791, the first fiscal land registry made since 1601 in Salasc, which did not, however, include common land4, reveals difficulties with land clearing in the garrigues,  

4



Arch. dép. Hérault, 292EDT10.

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Peasant property, common land and environment in the garrigues of the Languedoc

because it shows that there were by then less arable fields in the whole commune than in 1601 (Figure 3.3). The explanation may be that some of the low fertile arable fields in the garrigues had been – and still were – abandoned after overexploitation or had been converted into temporary Spanish broom culture to produce textile fibres and to increase the fertility of the land (Olivier, 2005). So, a first period of possible overexploitation of the garrigues at the end of the seventeenth century and a second one a hundred years later can be linked to greater population, the consequences of which were increased by higher royal taxes. But in order to appreciate the situation of the garrigues, we must also consider the complex property rights to land. II.3.

Property rights in the garrigues and the landowners

In the garrigues of Mediterranean Languedoc, peasant small property was always dominant (Dugrand, 1964: 216). Peasant properties were particularly predominant far away from the cities, but in the fertile plains and around the cities the burghers retained more lands. Smallholders owned more than 60% of the acreage of land north of Montpellier before 1789, a rate which rises to 70% further away from the city (Soboul, 1958: 127). In Salasc too, among the 94 landowners who possessed the 920 ha of the commune in 1601, the nobles and burghers had only a very small part, consisting of a few plots. These were very minor areas compared to the accumulated lands owned by peasants, because the towns where they lived were too far away. The burghers’ and nobles’ domains were almost the only ones submitted to temporary leasing contracts. On the contrary, the majority of land was cultivated directly by its owners. All the social distribution of land favourised small-scale peasants, and agriculture in the area was not commercially oriented, neither in the seventeenth nor in the twentieth century (Table 3.1 and Table 3.2). In 1791, the 40 landowners holding the smallest individual plots (each less than 0.5% of the global value of land) retained, when taken together, 8% of the value of the surveyed land. But, cumulated with the people owning between 0.5 and 1.5% individually, they represented more than 40% of the fiscal value of the commune (Olivier, 1996, II: 50). Nearly all the peasants living in Salasc owned some lands in both the inland and outland areas. So every owner, rich or poor, had some fertile lands for harvesting cereals and barren lands for cattle-grazing. The poor could use the resources of common-land garrigues, too. It reveals a model of mixed subsistence farming based on arable fields with vines, livestock and vegetable gardens. Some of the landowners had another activity besides farming, often in the cloth industry. But agriculture was essential to the income of most inhabitants and landowners in Salasc. For 1601, it is better for the historian to measure the social distribution of property by 96

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the fiscal value of the land (Figure 3.4) because of the differences of value of inland and outland plots and because of the inconsistencies in the surveying of garrigues. But, because the same property structure and agricultural model continued into the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, the 1836 Napoleonic ‘cadastre’ is a more viable document for obtaining exact information about acreage per owner (Figure 3.5). The enormous surface area owned by some landowners can be explained by the poor quality of the land they needed to hold in the garrigues to survive. Table 3.1. Landownership distribution in the commune of Salasc, 1601-1957 Rate of global Number of landowners living Number of landowners Number of landowners living in fiscal evaluation in the commune of Salasc living in neighbouring more distant villages and towns of the land of communes the commune 1601 1791 1836 1913 1957 1601 1791 1836 1913 1957 1601 1791 1836 1913 1957 (%) < 0,5

25

30

45

53

25

11

7

0,5-1,5

29

17

23

18

22

4

5

17

10

9

4

3

11

22

21

7

1

4

1

1

4

3

1,5-2,5

6

15

10

11

10

 

1

 

2

1

1

2

2

2,5-3,5

2

5

6

2

4

 

3,5-13

5

4

6

4

3

 

 

 

 

 

2

 

 

1

 

1

2

Total

67

71

90

88

64

15

12

17

18

10

12

6

13

30

28

1

Sources. Arch. dép. Hérault, 292 EDT 3, Compoix de Salasc, 1601; Arch. dép. Hérault, 292

EDT 10, États de sections de Salasc, 1791; Arch. mun. Salasc, 1 G 6, Cadastre « napoléonien », Matrice des propriétés bâties et non bâties, 1837; Arch. mun. Salasc, 1 G 9, Matrice des propriétés non bâties, 1914; Arch. mun. Salasc, 1 G 13, Cadastre révisé, Matrice des propriétés bâties et non bâties, 1957.

Table 3.2. Landownership distribution in the commune of Salasc, 1836 Landowners living in the commune of Salasc Number

Landowners living in neighbouring communes

Landowners living in more distant villages and towns

Acreage (ha)

Number

Acreage (ha)

Number

Acreage (ha)

< 1 ha

28

9.8

8

5.1

5

1.2

1 to 2 ha

11

15.6

4

6.2

2

3.0

3

9.5

2

32.8

1

20.4

13

66.9

2 to 5 ha

11

38.7

2

7.7

5 to 10 ha

17

117.6

2

15.0

10 to 20 ha

12

185.9

1

10.4

20 to 51 ha

11

388.4

Total

90

755.9

17

44.5

Source. 3 P 2721, Cadastre: Tableau indicatif, classement, expertise, 1836. 97

Peasant property, common land and environment in the garrigues of the Languedoc

The farmers paid a feudal rent to the direct lords, reminding the peasants that one or several lords retained a part of the property rights on land. This, because before 1789, there were not clearly defined absolute property rights on land in France (van Bavel & Hoppenbrouwers, 2004: 15; Béaur, 2004: 88). Nevertheless, in Southern France, the impact of feudal authorities was weak. This annual rent (in money or in kind) was low, even if, every time property changed hands, the new landowner had to pay a heavy fee to the feudal lord. There were also numerous allodial lands (freeholdings not subordinated to a lord) (Amalric, 2004: 98-101; Appolis, 1951: 97-112, 127128). In the Lodévois in the eighteenth century, the allodial lands represented more than 20% of the total acreage of the communes. A micro-study has shown that many freeholdings were situated among barren lands, perhaps because they were much less coveted than fertile lands. Furthermore, in many places, like in Salasc, all the nonsurveyed common land belonged entirely to the commune, without any rent due to the lords, this from times immemorial. This fact can be linked to the peripheral location of freehold tenures in the commune of Salasc (Olivier, 2002: 408-410). Perhaps the periodic process in which marginal lands were relinquished made it difficult for the lords to re-establish their rights. When the commune gave relinquished land to a peasant so as to generate increased tax revenue, no lord could claim any feudal rights. Indeed they had no textual proof of these lapsed feudal rights, as the commune had the privilege of not paying feudal rents on common lands. All the farmers living in the garrigue villages were interested in ploughing common land because it was exempted of royal and communal tax until it was registered in a compoix (Soboul, 1958: 25) or in a partial survey of the new land clearings (Pélaquier, 2005: 289). A new compoix was made many decades later – in Salasc, the next registry after the compoix of 1601 was made in 1791! Furthermore, after 1770, new legislation gave further tithe and other tax exemptions to land-clearers. For Salasc, the declarations of land clearing from 1770 to 1789 concern seventyeight plots of land (Arch. dép. Hérault, 292EDT2). They were cleared by 40 people, who lived in Salasc or commuted from neighbouring places. Compared with the land taxes that were paid in Salasc in 1776 (Private archives, Préambule et tailletant), the owners of cleared lands had a complex social profile: some of them were among the poorest landowners of the village (at least 13 paid less than 0.5% of the global land tax), but some others were among the richest (8 of them paid between 2 and 7% of the total land tax). Likewise, in the region around Montpellier, Albert Soboul has noticed that rich peasants as well as poor ones cleared garrigues (Soboul, 1958: 50). Smallholding peasants thus usually also had collective access to outland garrigues. This seems normal when the outlands belong to the commune (in Salasc by example). But in other communes of the Lodévois and more generally in Languedoc, many

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garrigues were owned by the lords, even if peasants held collective access rights by paying a small recognitive rent (Charbonnier, Couturier, Follain & Fournier, 2007: 218). In many villages, as in Salasc, the garrigues were used for hunting, because the commune retained hunting rights5. More generally, they were used for gathering dry firewood and for grazing cattle (Lalanne, 1998; Appolis, 1945: 375-379). Goats were only tolerated on some hillside lands, i.e. mainly on common-land garrigues6, but sheep could graze on many lands, in the garrigues as well as in the cultivated plains. The vineyards and arable fields were usually open to them after harvesting. Landowning did not imply exclusive rights to the land: everyone could set his livestock to pasture on all the unenclosed private lands, according to collective pasture rights (a right called vaine pâture) (Appolis, 1938; Dutil, 1911: 223-229). The management of these collective rights was in the hands of the rural commune who appointed landkeepers, because some breeders did not hesitate to lead their sheep onto someone else’s enclosed or unharvested land, causing damage by eating the vegetation, as some court cases have shown (Olivier, 2005: 154). So the communes governed the collective use of cultivated lands after harvesting, and they also governed the use of permanent common lands as well as the temporary common lands which had been registered in the most recent compoix as privately held but were then relinquished (Appolis, 1945: 371, 385; Vivier, 1998: 31; ADH, C 2966, f° 222 r°-v°). It is very difficult to trace the historical emergence of these common lands as well as the collective rights on individual lands. Our documentation focuses especially on the emergence of urban communes, but it might be different for the less well-known medieval rural institutions. The power of the communes stems from the diminution of the strength of the lords’ power at the end of the Middle Ages. But did collective rights appear at this juncture? Had they existed since the Roman period? In the garrigues, a new distribution of access rights seems to have occurred in the feudal period (Vivier, 1998: 14; Vivier, 2003: 140; Lalanne, 1998: 69). Furthermore, these rights changed between the Middle Ages and 1789 (Charbonnier, Couturier, Follain & Fournier, 2007: 14-15, 17). The Early Modern period was a time of lasting conflict between the communes and the landlords (Lalanne, 1998) which resulted in the progressive victory of the communes, protected by the central absolutist government. However, there were also tensions inside the rural communes. In the eighteenth century, the richest inhabitants tried to exclude the poorest ones from using common land, and they tried to protect their own lands from the cattle of the other inhabitants of their village. This is a revealing sign of the progress of individualism at this time. The communes often reserved grazing rights in common lands only for those    

5 6

Arch. dép. Hérault, C 2966, 292EDT1, 292EDT2. Arch. dép. Hérault, C 2842.

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inhabitants who detained some land. This practice developed in some Languedocian villages in the eighteenth century (Vivier, 1998: 49-50, 85; Appolis, 1945: 375377). An indication in the registry of the municipal debates of Salasc shows a form of this peasant individualism in the common land garrigues. In 1751, a farmer, Antoine Poujol, bought a piece of land that adjoined a plot of vacant common land. He immediately cleared his new land and a part of the vacant common land which was used as a path for the cattle which went to graze in the whole garrigue. In this way, Poujol restricted the right of use of the inhabitants of Salasc in a part of the dispersed common garrigues, reserving them for his own livestock. Shortly afterwards, the rural commune complained and asked Poujol to respect the custom and to let the cattle pass through the contested plot even if he claimed it was his land7. Did he succeed or would the commune manage to maintain the rights of poor people? Without archival evidence, it is difficult to say. Every single case is specific and one cannot say that communal access to common lands in the garrigues was superceded every time a farmer tried to take it for himself. In small villages like Salasc, traditional practises remained in place longer than in villages where an élite was strong enough to confiscate common land. The existence and the extent of this tendency ought to be verified through a cartographic representation of the communes which decided to restrict access rights to their common land. Moreover the acreage of the lands progressively closed off to livestock within each and every commune should be determined. This would be the only way to avoid mere speculation about the intensity of this movement. II.4.

Sustainability in the garrigues?

Were the garrigues really threatened by overexploitation during the early modern period? Was there a serious threat to the environment, as Georges Pichard showed for Provence, due to soil erosion after excessive land clearing? (Pichard, 2001). Crimes against common land resources (wood robberies, prohibited grazing or land clearing, etc.) occurred at the end of the eighteenth century, but this was not new: it had also existed in the seventeenth century (Pélaquier, 1996, I: 427-428). It is impossible to conclude that these cases reveal new environmental strain because land was still feeding people throughout the entire Early Modern period. And it is impossible to mathematically measure the precise physical condition of the land. We do not know exactly the yields in the cultivated garrigues. But even if land clearing developed more and more at the end of the eighteenth century, when accompanied by demographic growth, this process looks like a structural rather than temporary phenomenon: the land clearing movement in the poor common land garrigues was not initiated by the royal decision in 1770 but had existed earlier in Languedoc (Dutil,  

7

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1911: 112; Appolis, 1951: 197-198). The clearings were done cyclically. That is to say that when peasants exhausted the fertility of the land, it returned to its fallow state, thus recuperating an agricultural potential which peasants could then re-exploit. This situation could be considered a form of sustainable use, even if it resulted from cyclical economic and ecological crises arising when land became overused, simply because the practice of abandonment saved soil fertility for the future. Sustainable development is, however, a contemporary concept, and peasants did not have the same ecological consciousness that we have nowadays. Indeed, some declarations of land clearing show that the farmers used the garrigues for a sort of small-scale itinerant agriculture, clearing a new part of their land, leaving the adjoining area fallow after a few years of ploughing8. More evidence of this cyclical culture in the garrigues is found in the growth of the Spanish broom (Spartium junceum L.) culture in the Lodévois during the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. This plant played an important role in crop rotation. From this time onwards, the peasants not only exploited it for making textiles and used the broomfields for pastoral purposes; they also cultivated Spanish broom to fertilise the ground and prepare it for the sowing of cereals (Olivier, 2005). This would explain why the land registries (compoix) of Languedocian hillsides and mountain villages do not separate cultivated and uncultivated land in the same plot. Every plot in the rocky slopes was designed so that it could be partly ploughed and partly kept as fallow land, with peasants expecting that land use would be reversed after a few years. So this expectation can be considered as a form of sustainable land use because it preserved land capacity for later periods by stopping harvesting as soon as the land became exhausted. As long as farmers could find an area for this cyclical rotation, sustainability was guaranteed. Another question that should be asked is about the link between changes in environment and changes in property and land use rights. The modern period gives some new arguments about this issue.

III.  From the French Revolution to the present, from intensive exploitation of the garrigues to abandonment III.1.

The question of common land usurpation

The French Revolution radically changed property rights in certain parts of the garrigues. Common land became national property and so, according to the law, 8   Olivier, Work in progress: Ph. D. on Paysages, environnement et structures agraires en Languedoc méditerranéen du xve au xixe siècle, dir. Pr. Jean-Marc Moriceau, University of Caen BasseNormandie.

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it could be sold (Vivier, 1998: 158). It is, however, hard to judge the extent of the common lands that were actually sold or shared between the peasants (Vivier, 1998: 162-178). After 1796, in Salasc, a social conflict developed over selling part of the common land in the garrigues. This conflict reveals the issues concerning landed property and the environment. Here are the facts: one rather rich inhabitant of the village, François Cartayrade, bought 4 parts of the common land (mainly in the garrigues of la Tiberenque, Roquelade and Sainte-Scholastique: see Figure 3.2)9. Perhaps he needed pastures for his livestock, because he was the biggest owner of sheep in Salasc with 107 head10, and furthermore he was an innkeeper and also needed pastures for his customers’ animals, mostly when they were cattle-dealers walking and stopping for the night in Salasc every week to the important market of Clermont-de-Lodève (Olivier, 1996, I: 15-22). Maybe he also hoped that later he would be able to clear more pieces of land, retaining the soil by terracing. However, the commune contested Cartayrade’s acquisition, calling upon local tradition: common land was essential for poor people who took many resources from the garrigues11. Common land had been excluded from the land registries made in 1601 and 1791, so the administrators of the commune falsified the last land registry. They recorded Cartayrade’s acquisitions with an excessive acreage and an excessive fiscal value and they argued that Cartayrade had usurped a larger territory (about 83 ha) than the acreage he had originally bought according to the sales contracts (less than 12 ha)12. In 1799, a surveyor measured the acreage of Cartayrade’s acquisitions and found it to be less than 39 ha13. But the sales contracts seemed to only make reference to the fertile land, neglecting the very rocky and nearly unproductive parts of the former common land that were nevertheless included in the parcel sold to Cartayrade and doubtlessly made up the majority of the acreage. Therefore, Cartayrade could only keep a little clearly-bounded part of the former common land, leaving the remaining parts to the commune. The Cartayrade affair is one of a series of common land usurpations which became frequent, augmented by the post-Revolution legal context. Comparative analysis shows the same environmental and social tensions in all of Languedoc and indeed France at the end of the Ancien Régime and at the beginning of the nineteenth century (Jaudon & Olivier, 1999; McPhee, 1999). With the triumph of agrarian individualism, François Cartayrade could argue that some dry and rocky lands should be sold to   Arch. dép. Hérault, 1 Q 1135, n.  815, n.  816, n.  817 and n.  818, 13  Brumaire year v/ 3 November 1796. 10   Arch. dép. Hérault, 292EDT2, year II. 11   Arch. dép. Hérault, 292EDT2, without date; Arch. dép. Hérault, 1 Q 1040. 12   Arch. dép. Hérault, 292EDT11. 13   Arch. dép. Hérault, 1 Q 1040. 9

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him without any prejudice to the collective uses of the inhabitants of Salasc. The new demographic, legal and social context favoured private property rights to land, and some farmers considered such rights were better for land development than the traditional system and they thus tried to purchase exclusive rights to common lands. But these tendencies did not immediately nor radically change the rights of use on common lands in Languedoc: only few lands were sold while at the same time the communes resisted in order to manage them collectively. This reveals that the traditional collective use rights of peasants to common land still remained in practice for decades because they conformed to public consciousness. The documents produced during the Cartayrade affair contain some descriptions of the contested lands, which allows us to study it from the perspective of the environment and sustainable development. The sections bought by Cartayrade out of the former communal lands were very poor for ploughing. But the surveyor in 1799 describes places with abundant vegetation, a surprising assessment given the almost desert-like image provided by the royal administration in Languedoc a few years before. According to the surveyor in 1799, there were enormous rocks with ‘shrivelled’ vegetation including wild cypress, thyme, rosemary and other aromatic herbs, some box trees and ilex, fit for the consumption of sheep and goats, and a part of these sections could even be cleared and ploughed. So the soil was rather fertile, and it had not all been eroded away by rain. Some parts of the garrigue of ‘Sainte Scholastique’ were even said to consist of impenetrable woods. Therefore, from the perspective of sustainable development, it looks like this was not a disastrous situation. Woods and bushes still existed in the garrigues because there were lands available to be cleared. This reminds us of Arthur Young’s exclamation when he visited Mediterranean Languedoc in Sauve (département of Gard) : he was impressed when he saw a huge rocky land ‘inclosed and planted with the most industrious attention’. So he argued that if peasants had property right on all the wastes, they would ‘soon turn all the deserts around them into gardens’ (Young, 1792: 36). Nevertheless, there was still a fine line between sustainable development and soil depletion as well as wood shortage. Following the tendency towards privatisation, it is possible that in the first half of the nineteenth century, the shortage of fertile land became more pronounced than half a century earlier. Jean-Marie Amelin, a traveller visiting Salasc and the Lodévois in the early 1820s noticed that the hillsides were nearly entirely cultivated (Amelin, 1827: 453). The Cadastre administration made the same observation in 183614. But these subjective observations are still difficult to substantiate.  

14

Arch. dép. Hérault, 3 P 2721, lettre du surnuméraire des contributions directes, 1836.

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III.2. From the middle of the nineteenth century onwards, the exploitation of common land and new conflicts Despite some gaps, the archival evidence is easier to gather for common lands than for private lands (Vivier, 2003; 149). In Salasc, new usurpation of common land had emerged in the first half of the century. In 1846, the mayor complained that many inhabitants usurped parts of common lands on the margins of their own properties15. This development must be linked to the insistence of the government, during the July Monarchy (1830-1848), on making communes fight against usurpation (Vivier, 1998: 230-232). The rational nineteenth century is a period in which the fights against usurpation were generalised, whereas before 1789 not all the communes reacted immediately to this form of individual aggression against collective goods. So, around the 1840s, this issue caused new debates in many villages of Languedoc. In 1847, some usurped pieces of land in Salasc are listed in a statement made by a surveyor16. The commune wanted seventeen usurpers to pay a retroactive tax starting from the time when their usurpation began. However, determining how long each usurper had been harvesting or cutting wood on the plot he had encroached on was no easy task. Some of the plots enumerated in the document were supposed to have been taken over many years earlier, sometimes before the elaboration of the Napoleonic map Cadastre in 1836. So even the Napoleonic map is erroneous and thus does not establish any reliable proof of the geographical situation of the property. It is certain that some of these encroachments involved the same plots that Cartayrade had tried to buy a few decades earlier. They consisted of woods, pastures and, more rarely, some vineyards, broomfields and arable fields. Two of the usurpers owned very small properties (less than 0.5% of the tax paid in 1845). But one of them was the doctor, Pierre Crouzat, thus not a peasant, and his income did not come only from land. The other ones had medium-sized properties, the value of which amounted to between 1 and 4% of the total land tax. A few were richer, like Pierre Borrelly (8%), or Jean Cartayrade (15%)17. Usurpation was frequent in all the social classes, but the richest people were certainly not the last to usurp... The main factor in making usurpation possible was geography: the usurpers were those whose plots were adjacent to the common land, thus allowing them to progressively take it over. Therefore, it is clear that the rocky and unfertile expanses were not as useless as François Cartayrade argued when he tried to acquire them in the 1790s. A few years later, in 1861, the commune needed money. So, it decided to lease out grazing rights on the common lands with the stipulation that the trees be left standing.     17   15 16

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The beneficiary was also supposed to allow the poor to gather dead wood. Later on, the grazing rights were sold according to new five-year contracts to breeders from Salasc until World War II, but the special clause for the poor had disappeared before 1870. It became a habit to lease out individual rights to the main common lands. This was thus the end of collective-use rights to the common lands. The adjudication contracts of common-land pastures have been preserved for most of the period from 1861 to 1915. The person leasing common-land pastures in Salasc was always a landowner paying a low land tax. Often, the leasing person was a barkeeper or innkeeper, sometimes even a butcher18, i.e. someone who needed pastures for his or his customers’ livestock. For the period between the First World War and 1938, rental contracts became less frequent than before19. Perhaps they were lost, or perhaps the common land had become less coveted such that collective rights were temporarily restored. There is some contradiction in the documentation: in 1857, an administrative inquiry implied that Salasc, indeed all the canton of Clermont-l’Hérault, no longer had common lands used as collective pastures. But in reality some documents show that other villages in the canton still had collective pastures and did not want to suppress them20. The custom was not clear but the right for a breeder to let animals graze in these pastures after an agreement had been reached with the commune generally persisted in the canton into the twentieth century (Nouveau recueil des usages locaux, 1936: 225-227). In 1924, the commune of Salasc decided to sell the right to cut down trees in common woods situated in Sainte-Scholastique and Mon Mas (nearly 12 ha of trees) as well as Roquelade (3 ha of woods in a 32 ha plot). The reasons put forward were the fear of forest fire and the necessity of bringing money into the commune. The mayor wrote that these woods had not been cut for as long as people of Salasc could remember, as they traditionally were maintained so that they could be used by poor people. However, by this time, the increasing cultivation of grape vines had provided a valuable resource to the region so that there was no longer a need to cut down wood21. This provides us with very interesting information about social structure and sustainable development. It means that, with the increasing growth of the wine economy in Salasc (a rather late tendency which started in the second half of the nineteenth century, according to the cadastre), social conflicts over land and their attendant ecological threats were reduced. Indeed, it is well known that winegrowing is a solution to give resources to the poorest farmers. With wine, they no longer needed the resources of the outlands, and so the garrigues became increasingly wooded.     20   21   18 19

Arch. com. Salasc, 1 G 17, 1 G 18. Arch. com. Salasc, 1 N 1. Arch. dép. Hérault, 6 M 1707, 6 M 1607. Arch. com. Salasc, 2 N 1, 10 November 1924.

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World War II was the last period in which common land was exploited in Languedoc, as many motor cars were run by wood gasifiers (Marres, 1956: 68). This created opportunities for wood-cutters in the common lands around Salasc, according to oral testimonies. But these sources did not specify what the rules were concerning this activity and if a verbal or written agreement was made with the commune or, on the contrary, if it was illegal. At the same time, throughout the centre of the Hérault, farmers were incited to once again harvest broom fibres. This was a consequence of the lack of imported textiles because of the war. So the mid-twentieth century was the last period in which the garrigues were heavily exploited, maybe even overexploited, because of the shortages due to the war. III.3.

The disappearance of agriculture in the garrigues

After the end of World War II, the local context had been definitively altered. The population of Salasc had collapsed (Figure 3.4): there were 236 inhabitants in 1946, 181 in 1968, and only 131 in 1975. This was the period in which the population shifted from rural to urban areas. Similarly, the traditional activities of breeding and wood gathering progressively collapsed from the end of the nineteenth century onwards, and even wine growing dwindled after the frost of 1956 (Dugrand, 1964: 208-210). This was also due to competition with other European wine producers, especially after the treaty of Rome in 1957 (Gavignaud-Fontaine & Larguier, 2007: 232-247, 259-262). In this, Salasc was representative of those small villages which were too far away from larger towns and the Mediterranean coast to gain from the growth of new jobs within the tourism and administration sectors. In contrast, villages near the sea had a rapidly increasing rate of demographic growth. The increase of the total number of landowners in Salasc during the twentieth century is deceptive. It is due to the significant number of people who own a house and sometimes one or two plots but do not live there. In reality, the number of professional farmers has considerably lessened22. In fact, during the twentieth century, train and automobile transportation, as well as the growth of leisure consumption, explains why many of these people only come to the villages of the central Hérault garrigues for the holidays. Many of them have their origins there but had to leave the village in order to find a job. By definition, then, they are not agricultural landowners. Therefore, the village entered a period of relative lethargy in which its garrigues were not even exploited for touristic reasons. Nor were they used for grazing, clearing or cutting wood because these traditional activities disappeared with the growth of urban and industrial civilisation. Common and private lands were both neglected.   In Salasc there were only three according to the RGA (General Agricultural Census) conducted in 2000 (http://www.agreste.agriculture.gouv.fr) and four according to the 1999 INSEE (French Statistics Institute) census (http://www.recensement.insee.fr). 22

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Even private wood exploitation became rare. After a significant decrease in their numbers, the last remaining sheep flocks soon disappeared. The gap in the textual sources about common land is confirmed by oral inquiry: these lands were no longer usurped nor rented out. Spontaneous vegetation grew up, so that nowadays common land as well as private land both have the same ecological characteristics, both being covered with dense bushes and trees. Furthermore, some foreign plants have been introduced by man and are spreading throughout the cirque de Mourèze. Five species of pine trees which grow all over the dolomitic garrigues of Salasc and Mourèze now (Pinus halepensis, Pinus pinea, Pinus nigra, Pinus pinaster, Pinus sylvestris) did not exist there fifty years ago23. These deep transformations in the landscape occurred simultaneously everywhere in Languedoc at the same time (Pélaquier, 1995). Figure 3.4. Total population versus cadastral population, 1791-1999 400

Number all inhabitants

350

300

250

200

150

100

landowners living in Salasc

50 landowners living in other places 0 1791

1813

1833

1853

1873

1893

1913

1933

1953

1973

1993

Year

SourceS. Arch. dép. Hérault, 292 EDT 10, États de sections de Salasc, 1791; Arch. mun. Salasc, 1 G 6, Cadastre « napoléonien », Matrice des propriétés bâties et non bâties, 1837; Arch. mun. Salasc, 1 G 9, Matrice des propriétés non bâties, 1914; Arch. mun. Salasc, 1 G 13, Cadastre révisé, Matrice des propriétés bâties et non bâties, 1957; Motte, Martin-Laprade and Peysson, 1989; INSEE (for recentdemographic data).

This vegetation grew because of the decrease of pressure from humans and from grazing animals. In 1836, Salasc had 167 ha of woods, 56 ha of broomfields (used for  

23



Information kindly provided by Philippe Martin, naturalist.

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textile and pasturage purposes), and 250 ha of unirrigated pastures or fallow land. But in 1995, there were 355 ha of woods and 214 of fallow land. The garrigues had thus become more wooded (Figure 3.5). This dominance of wooded land has continued into the beginning of the twenty-first century24. In many communes of the garrigues, the central government had even initiated reforestation programs from the end of the nineteenth century onwards up until the latter half of the twentieth century, which added to spontaneous reforestation and contributed to making Languedoc more ‘green’ and more wooded than before. Figure 3.5. The wooded garrigues of Roquelade in Salasc

Source. © Olivier (2004).

For the geographer Paul Marres, active in the 1950s, the resurgence of woods in the Languedocian garrigues was preferable to the degradation effected by men beforehand. Furthermore, it was a good opportunity to exploit the garrigues from the perspective of ‘sustainable development’, even if this expression was not used in the 1950s. Moreover, Marres would have liked the peasants to resume certain traditional activities that had ceased with the decline of grazing. He suggested, for example, that  

24

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Arch. com. Salasc : 1 G 6, 1 G 9, 1 G 13.

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people should use these lands for bee-keeping, for making fragrances with aromatic plant essences or soap with oil from the cade tree. But he was against the attempts to harvest fibres from Spanish broom, because he considered that they should be preserved so that they might prevent soil erosion while facilitating new forest growth in the garrigues (Marres, 1956: 69-70). Even today, many people in Languedoc still agree with Paul Marres in that trees improve the landscape. According to this, it is more ‘green’, more ‘natural’, and therefore more beautiful. But some naturalists do not agree with this idea at all. They regret that the fires which had been traditionally used to clear land for grazing have disappeared. For example, Philippe Martin, working in the Lodévois, deplores the fact that the vegetation is becoming more dense, and thus the biological diversity more limited. Near Mourèze and Salasc, he fights for biodiversity, given the very real risks of extinction that the flora and fauna appropriate to a dolomitic environment now face. Until the mid-twentieth century, this environment was a dry landscape favourable to Mediterranean and even African animals and plants which do not exist elsewhere in Southern France. New growth and new species make these areas less original than before, with respect to other French landscapes. This change has also had some consequences for tourism. The particularities of the dolomitic hillsides of Mourèze and the red Permian soil in the valley of Salagou attract tourists to the region, but if these were hidden under the forest, the touristic appeal might disappear. This could completely change the local perspective for sustainable development. In earlier times, this perspective rested upon preventing soil erosion either with cultivated vegetation or by building terraces. But now, though the soil is protected by dense vegetation, there is no sustainable development (with the emphasis on development) since the garrigues remain unexploited. As contradictory as it might seem at first sight, the proposition advanced by some naturalists to encourage deforestation could, in fact, lead to sustainable development. This shows, once again, how the definition of sustainable development is very subjective and even contradictory though the reasons justifying a wooded or deforested garrigue vary from period to period. In reality, the agricultural exploitation of the garrigues is still neglected in Languedoc today. The only frequent users of the garrigues are the hunters who walk through both private and collective properties. Some projects aim to create limited local tourism in the perspective of sustainable development, using naturalistic, geographical and historical potentials to create social relations between the inhabitants and the visitors. But individual rights on private lands in the garrigues have not disappeared: they are dormant. Even if the garrigues seem to be neglected by their owners nowadays, the property rights to them have not been forgotten and are still deeply rooted. Even

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though people do not benefit from them, they do not want to get dispossessed of their traditional property rights on their own private lands.

IV.  Conclusion This article gives a vision of Languedoc that is slightly different from other studies because it is focused on a region where commercial agriculture did not develop much in the nineteenth century. In the garrigues situated in the hinterland, after the number of farmers had declined, more and more land was left fallow. Today, such unproductive land has become neglected or is used for recreational purposes, whereas 200 years ago it was highly valued for its resources and a cause of social conflict. From our point of view, over the course of these centuries, the agrarian practices seen as leading to sustainable development have greatly changed throughout this period, from a time when land had to be protected to to be productive, up until a time when farming was abandoned in the garrigues. Since the French Revolution, the various collective rights that farmers possessed to common land or to other farmers’ land has decreased.This moment represented the rise of individual property rights, a growing process which put increasing pressure upon alienated common land. The rights of poor farmers to use common land decreased as a few other farmers obtained these individual rights, through purchase, rent or usurpation. It was the end of these complex collective uses managed by a rural commune whose interest was to preserve resources for the following years. But, if the Revolution was a catalyst in that it modified some rights, it has not been a crucial turning point in the domain of environment. So, if there is a change concerning property rights in the nineteenth century, the real change for the environment is only after World War II. In this context, it is hard to determine whether private or common land is more efficient in guaranteeing sustainable development. In the past as in the present, the difference between private and common land is not the most pertinent concept. Both kinds of land were threatened by human pressure during periods of demographic growth, but they both are neglected today. In fact, the demographic pressure on land seems to be a more efficient explanation for the transformation of the environment. In the past, peasants could clear many plots in the garrigues for harvesting purposes in order to attain economic development. But this economic sustainability was threatened with a risk of yield collapse when the land was overexploited. On the one hand, private property rights and the right to clear and plough common land threatened soil fertility on the fragile margins of the communes. On the other hand, the 110

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preservation of purely common land, used as pastures or for cutting wood, threatened cereal production and thus food needs when the population increased. So, a definition of economic sustainability should include a means of soil preservation that maintains both the social equilibrium and the economic capacity of land. This sustainability was attempted by the periodic relinquishment of the garrigues to preserve soil fertility before it became too depleted. But, at the same time, people could protect the garrigue to preserve its vegetation as well as to have a ready wood supply and access to game. Today, this perspective still aims to preserve flora and fauna, but now it is for the environment and for future generations. Protection can take the form of preserving vegetation or destroying it to maintain biodiversity! This is sustainable development as environmental equilibrium: recreational demand for land has become more important than agriculture.

Archives

Archives départementales de l’Hérault (Montpellier):

142EDT87, Compoix du diocèse de Lodève, 1627-1632. 292EDT3, Compoix de Salasc, 1601, 410 f°.

292EDT11, Matrice de Rôle de la contribution foncière de l‘an 5 Républicain pour la commune de Salasc.

292EDT1, 292EDT2, Délibérations consulaires de Salasc, 1715-1720, 1729-1737, 1740-1788, 1792. 292EDT10, Etats de sections de Salasc, 5 cahiers non reliés, 1791. C 2842, Dépaissance des chèvres, eighteenth century.

C 2966, Amortissements, biens des communautés, diocèse de Lodève, 1687.

1 Q 1135, Procès-verbaux des ventes faites par l’administration centrale du département en exécution des lois des 28 ventôse et 6 floréal an IV, n° 815, n° 816, n° 817 et n° 818, 13 brumaire an V/ 3 November 1796. 1 Q 1040, Vente des biens nationaux, liquidations, period of the Revolution. 3 P 2721, Cadastre de Salasc, 1836.

2 O 292 / 8, Terrains communaux, 1847-1938 : « rôle spécial des détenteurs de biens communaux de la commune de Salasc », 25 octobre 1847. 6 M 1707, Statistique annuelle, questionnaire récapitulatif cantonal, 1857.

6 M 1607, Enquête parlementaire de 1884 sur la situation de l’industrie, du commerce et de l’agriculture : questionnaire par commune, arrondissement de Lodève.

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Archives communales de Salasc: 1 D 4, Registre de délibérations, nineteenth century.

1 G 4, Procès-verbal de délimitation du territoire de la commune de Salasc, 20 mars 1833. 1 G 6, Cadastre « napoléonien », Matrice des propriétés bâties et non bâties, 1837. 1 G 9, Matrice des propriétés non bâties, 1914.

1 G 13, Cadastre révisé, Matrice des propriétés bâties et non bâties, 1957. 1 G 17, 1 G 18, Rôles d’imposition, nineteenth-twentieth centuries.

1 N 1, Biens communaux. Herbages communaux. Ferme de Sainte Scholastique, Roquelade et du champ de la ville : circulaire, PV d’adjudication, bail à ferme, cahier des charges, nomination de deux délégués, extraits de délibérations, 1861-1938.

2 N 1, Bois. Vente de coupes de bois  : PV d’adjudication, extraits de délibération, cahier des charges, avec affiche, 1924-1925.



Private archives, kindly lent by † Mr Marcel Salasc in 1995: Préambule et tailletant de la communauté de Salasc, 1776.

Bibliography Amalric, J.-P. (2004), ‘La propriété de la terre dans l’Europe du sud (Italie, Midi de la France, Espagne) : typologie, utilisation, marché’, in S. Cavaciocchi (ed.), Il mercato della terra, secc xiii-xviii. Atti della ‘Trentacinquesima Settimana di Studi’ 5-9 maggio 2003, Prato, Istituto internazionale di storia economica ‘F. Datini’, p. 97-117. Amelin, J.-M. (1827), Guide du voyageur dans le département de l’Hérault, ou esquisse d’un tableau historique, pittoresque, statistique et commercial de ce département, ParisMontpellier, Gabon.

Appolis, E. (1938), ‘La question de la vaine pâture en Languedoc au xviiie siècle’, Annales historiques de la Révolution française, 86, p. 97-132.

Appolis, E. (1945), ‘Les biens communaux en Languedoc à la fin du xviiie siècle’, Assemblée générale de la commission centrale et des comités départementaux (Paris, 1939), Commission de recherche et de publication des documents relatifs à la vie économique de la Révolution Française, II, Paris, p. 371-397.

Appolis, E. (1951), Un pays languedocien au milieu du xviiie siècle, Le diocèse civil de Lodève, étude administrative et économique, Albi, Imprimerie Coopérative du Sud-Ouest. Bavel, B. J. P. van & Hoppenbrouwers, P. (eds) (2004), Landholding and Land Transfer in the North Sea area (Late Middle Ages-19th Century), Turnhout, Brepols, Corn Publication Series 5.

Béaur, G. (2004), ‘Land Markets in the Parisian Basin (17th-19th Centuries). Changes over Time and Variation in Space’, in B. J. P. van Bavel & P. Hoppenbrouwers (eds), 112

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Landholding and Land Transfer in the North Sea Area (Late Middle Ages-19th Century), Turnhout, Brepols, Corn Publication Series 5, p. 86-100.

Billange, A. (1943), La Garrigue de Nîmes. Étude de géographie régionale, Montpellier, Imprimerie de la Presse. 

Bodinier, B. & Teyssier, E. (2000), L’événement le plus important de la Révolution, la vente des biens nationaux, Paris, Société des études robespierristes et Comité des travaux historiques et scientifiques. Charbonnier, P., Couturier, P., Follain, A. & Fournier, P. (2007), Les espaces collectifs dans les campagnes, xie-xxie siècles, Clermont-Ferrand, Presses Universitaires BlaisePascal, coll. Histoires croisées.

Chalvet, M. (2006), ‘Paysages et conflits en Provence (fin du xviiie-début xxe siècle)’, Rives nord-méditerranéennes, Paysages, environnement, rapports sociaux xviiiexxe siècles, 23, p. 11-26. Dugrand, R. (1964), La garrigue montpelliéraine. Essai d’explication d’un paysage, Paris, PUF. Dutil, L. (1911), L’état économique du Languedoc à la fin de l’Ancien Régime (17501789), Paris, Hachette xxiv. Gavignaud-Fontaine, G. & Larguier, G. (2007), Le vin en Languedoc et en Roussillon. De la tradition aux mondialisations xvie-xxie siècles, Canet, Trabucaire.

Jaudon, B. & Olivier, S. (1999), ‘Le destin d’un site : la colline des châteaux de Lastours du milieu du xiie siècle à la fin du xxe siècle’, in M.-É. Gardel (ed.), Cabaret, Histoire et archéologie d’un castrum, Les fouilles du site médiéval de Cabaret à Lastours (Aude), Carcassonne, C.V.P.M., p. 193-250.

Larguier, G. (1996), Le drap et le grain en Languedoc, Perpignan, Presses Universitaires de Perpignan 3.

Lalanne, J.-F. (1998), ‘Le droit au bois’, in Bois et forêts de l’Hérault. Histoire de la forêt héraultaise de la préhistoire à nos jours. Ouvrage publié à l’occasion de l’exposition « Bois et forêts de l’Hérault », Montpellier, Archives départementales de l’Hérault, p. 69-71. Le Roy Ladurie, E. (1966), Les Paysans de Languedoc, Paris-La Haye, SEVPEN 2.

Le Roy Ladurie, E. & Goy, J. (1982), Tithe and Agrarian History from the Fourteenth to the Nineteenth Centuries. An Essay in Comparative History, Cambridge-Paris, Cambridge University Press-Maison des sciences de l’homme IX. Marres, P. (1956), ‘La garrigue’, Annales de la Société d’Horticulture et d’Histoire Naturelle de l’Hérault, 3, p. 53-70.

Mc Phee, P. (1999), Revolution and Environment in Southern France. Peasants, Lords, and Murder in the Corbières 1780-1830, Oxford, Oxford University Press.

Motte, C., Martin-Laprade M.-E. & Peysson, J.-M. (1989), Paroisses et Communes de France. Dictionnaire d’histoire administrative et démographique. Hérault, Paris, Éditions du CNRS. 113

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Nouveau recueil des usages locaux du département de l’Hérault. Revisés et arrêtés en 1935, Montpellier, Laffitte-Lauriol, 1936.

Olivier, S. (1996), Un terroir du Lodévois à l’époque moderne. Occupation du sol et aspects de la vie agricole à Salasc aux xviie et xviiie siècles (1601-1791), maîtrise, dir. François-Xavier Emmanuelli, Université Paul Valéry-Montpellier III, 2 vol.

Olivier, S. (1997-1998), ‘L’occupation du sol à Salasc d’après les documents fiscaux d’époque moderne’, Études Héraultaises, 28-29, p. 79-87.

Olivier, S. (2002), ‘La seigneurie et l’agriculture en Lodévois d’après deux plans-terriers du xviiie siècle’, in G. Brunel, O. Guyotjeannin & J.-M. Moriceau (eds), Terriers et plans-terriers du xiiie au xviiie siècle, Actes du colloque de Paris (23-25 septembre 1998), Paris-Rennes, « Mémoires et Documents de l’École des Chartes, 62 », « Bibliothèque d’Histoire Rurale, 5 », p. 397-411. Olivier, S. (2005), ‘Le genêt textile (xviie-xixe siècle). Une dynamique agricole en Lodévois’, Histoire et Sociétés Rurales, 23:1, p. 137-168.

Olivier, S. (2007), ‘Compoix, terriers et cadastres. Des données quantitatives et spatiales sur l’environnement rural languedocien (xviie-xixe siècle)’, in E. Pélaquier, L. Dumond & S. Durand (eds.), Cadastres et paysages. Actes de la journée d’étude du 15 octobre 2005, Liame. Bulletin du Centre d’Histoire et d’Histoire de l’Art moderne et contemporaine de l’Europe méditerranéenne et de ses périphéries, 14, VII-XII 2004, p. 63-82.

Pélaquier, E. (1995), ‘Le changement de la végétation dans sa dimension historique’, in A. Dervieux & N. Vakhnovsky, (eds), Friche, garrigue ou forêt ? Les changements du paysage dans la vallée de l’Hérault au cours du xxe siècle, Montpellier, ODAC, p. 13-18. Pélaquier, E. (1996), De la maison du père à la maison commune. Saint-Victor-de-laCoste, en Languedoc rhodanien (1661-1799), Montpellier, Publications de l’Université Paul-Valéry, 2 vol.

Pélaquier, E. (2005), ‘Famille, terre et marchés en Languedoc rural : la mutation du système successoral du xvie au xviiie siècle’, in L. Lorenzetti, A.-L. Head-König & J. Goy (eds), Marchés, migrations et logiques familiales dans les espaces français, canadien et suisse, xviiie-xxe s., Berne, Peter Lang, p. 287-302. Pichard, G. (2001), ‘L’espace absorbé par l’économique ? Endettement communautaire et pression sur l’environnement en Provence (1640-1730)’, Histoire et Sociétés Rurales, 16:2, p. 81-115.

Vivier, N. (1998), Propriété collective et identité communale. Les biens communaux en France 1750-1914, Paris, Publications de la Sorbonne. Vivier, N. (2003), ‘Les biens communaux en France’, in M.-D. Demélas & N. Vivier (eds), Les propriétés collectives face aux attaques libérales, Rennes, Presses Universitaires de Rennes, p. 139-155.

Young, Arthur (1792), Travels in France during the Years 1787, 1788, 1789, London, Richardson viii.

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4.

A tale of two tragedies. The commons of Serra de Mértola in the Alentejo (southern Portugal) and their privatization, eighteenth to twentieth century1 Rui Santos, Maria José Roxo

I.  Introduction As the southern Portuguese province of the Alentejo was carved up in the Reconquista wars during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, new Christian settlements were generally endowed with land for common uses, such as grazing, beekeeping and hunting, collecting shrubs and leaves for manure, firewood and timber, coal making, etc., as well as for temporary private cultivation on parts of it. As the population grew and agriculture extended along the centuries, property rights in some of those lands were privatized, while others have survived as commons to our days. This chapter explores a case of the late privatization of one of those commons, the Baldio da Serra de Mértola, in the light of theoretical debates concerning property rights, social-institutional arrangements and environmental sustainability. Although the case cannot be claimed to be representative of the commons in the region – a claim for which more comprehensive studies are lacking –, we believe it to be relevant as a discussion case that can contribute theoretical insights. More specifically, it is relevant to the topic of this book because it takes place in an environmentally fragile semiarid region. The commons known as Baldio da Serra de Mértola was located in one of the least fertile regions of the province of the Alentejo, a semiarid hilly range of thin schist soils subject to an extreme, continentally enhanced Mediterranean climate. For most of the period that concerns us, it remained largely under a free access commons regime for all uses but temporary cultivation, for which municipal authorization was needed and a modest sharecropping rent was due. Throughout the period under consideration it came under the cumulative pressure of intense population growth, the settlement of a mining operation in the mid-nineteenth century, and policy incentives to wheat growing from the 1890s onwards. It was eventually partitioned into small plots in 1926 and property rights were privatized. Shortly afterwards, additional   The authors wish to thank two anonymous referees and the book editors for their most useful criticism and comments; Gonçalo Antunes at E-Geo, FCSH-UNL for the cartography; and David Hardisty at FCSH-UNL for his thorough language editing. All remaining faults and mistakes are our own. 1

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pressure resulted from further price incentives and subsidies to land clearance, with dire environmental consequences. The rest of this chapter narrates the long term process of environmental degradation in this commons as a succession of two ‘tragedies’. Concerning the first phase, the virtually open access regime in place from the eighteenth century up to its privatization in 1926, the reference is obvious to the ‘tragedy of the commons’ (Hardin, 1968). Concerning the second, the aftermath of privatization, we have borrowed the quip ‘the tragedy of the privates’ from Hann (2000) to use in an obviously different setting. The following section introduces the analytical guidelines under which the case will be presented and discussed, namely concerning the debate about the risk of environmental degradation under common property and the role of social institutions in preventing this. The third section provides a brief overview of the historical geography of the Alentejo and the municipality of Mértola, and the general features of its agrarian structures. The fourth section deals with the main pressures for change concerning the agrarian system and especially the commons, and with the main relevant policies in that respect during the late nineteenth and the early twentieth century. The fifth section moves on to a discussion of the case of the commons of Serra de Mértola, setting it in its geographical and environmental context and describing the population pressure that built up concerning it throughout the whole period, as well as the surrounding agricultural expansion to marginal lands, and presents each of the two tragedies in turn. The final section summarizes the findings and discusses the main theoretical inferences.

II.  On the mechanics of tragedy Hardin’s (1968) argument is well known. In short, it states that assuming the instrumental, self-interested rationality of individual users, in an open access system in which the use of common resources is free to all, each user will tend to overexploit the commons for short-term gain, for want of assurance that others will not. As Ostrom (1990: 3-4) points out, the end result is that of a prisoners’ dilemma game: as each player assumes that the others will take a self-interested course of action and the players cannot co-ordinate their moves, the worst possible state of affairs to all players will result from them freely and rationally pursuing their best interests in a non-cooperative way. The ones who do not discount the future, and therefore refrain from extracting all the advantages they can in the present, will not fully share in the short term gains yet will bear their full share of the long term costs, since the resources will not be there for them in the future anyway. Conversely, those who do discount the future and therefore reap short term advantages will not bear a heavier 116

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share in future costs, since in the absence of exclusive property the full costs will be borne by all. Thus rational actors will tend to discount the future heavily and will use carpe diem as a key deciding rule. The destruction of the common resources becomes unavoidable through excessive use above the carrying capacity of the environment, followed by environmental degradation and the lowering of the carrying capacity. One operative word is actually lacking in the title of the article. In Hardin’s own words, his thesis concerns the ‘tragedy of freedom in a commons’ (Hardin 1968: 1244, our emphasis). The only way out of this tragic process would be to impose external constraints on each actor’s use of resources, that is, coercive and socially sanctioned rules of behaviour which regulate the rights of individuals to use resources. As Hardin later granted his critics, ‘ […] the weightiest mistake in my synthesizing paper was the omission of the modifying adjective ‘unmanaged’ (Hardin, 1998: 683). Even without the adjective, however, his argument was clear enough to begin with: ‘The social arrangements that produce responsibility are arrangements that create coercion, of some sort. […] The only kind of coercion I recommend is mutual coercion, mutually agreed upon by the majority of the people affected’ (Hardin, 1968: 1247-1248). In short, socially legitimate institutions that formally delineate and enforce property rights, and thereby provide incentives for the actors not to discount the future so heavily. It was Hardin’s belief that when dealing with land, private and exclusive property rights have historically proved the most effective way out of the tragedy. Well enforced exclusive property rights would break up the prisoners’ dilemma game, since no two players would share in the use of the same land resources. Private landowners believe that the future of the resources will depend on their decisions alone, and that therefore they will be able to reap the fruit of present restraint. Nonetheless, Hardin did conceive of other possible institutional ways to allocate restricted rights while keeping the resources as a commons, either through political choice or because they cannot by their nature be privatized (Hardin, 1968: 1244-1245). Therefore the bottom line is not the oversimplified dilemma of private versus common property, but rather that of whether or not there are institutions in place that make the users responsible for the future effect of their present choices, be it under a private or a common property regime. Within the latter, this means a decisive difference between common property systems that are effectively regulated by institutions under collective control, and unregulated, free access systems – a most important yet often overlooked point (Stevenson, 1991: 5, 55-59). Two further points must be underlined. The first is that Hardin’s concern was not about the lack of productivity of the common resources, but rather about their pure

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and simple destruction by unchecked overuse. The thesis is not that private property will stimulate investment to make the resources more productive; it is that in the long run it will prevent overuse and ensuing destruction. As we shall elaborate upon in the discussion, this distinction is not at all without consequence to the historical case in hand, nor to further analytical developments. The second point is that the main driver of the tragedy is population pressure on shared resources, which under low population density might remain viable as a commons (Hardin, 1968: 1248). Again, as we shall see this was an important factor in the case of the commons in Serra de Mértola. Hardin’s prescriptions assumed an over simplistic dichotomy between privatization and central-authority ‘socialist’ coercion (Hardin, 1998: 683). Contrary to this view, Elinor Ostrom has written extensively on the development and change of institutions that regulate common pool resources (Ostrom, 1990, 1992, 2005, inter alia). One key step in her argument is to question the prisoners’ dilemma assumption that the game is a one-shot process and that the players neither communicate nor cooperate. In situations of small scale commons, repeated interaction and learning may generate trust, shared norms and reciprocity patterns. These will form social capital on which groups can build both formal and informal institutional arrangements for resolving common resources problems, namely to devise, monitor and mutually enforce access and maintenance rules (Ostrom, 1990: 182-187), in short a common pool institution (De Moor, 2009: 8-10). If such institutionalization does not happen, either because no rules are created or because formal rules are actively resisted by the collective of users without effective external enforcement, for all intents and purposes the commons is freely accessible. (On this much Hardin and Ostrom would agree.) This will be the case even when central management solutions are formally imposed, if the central agency cannot effectively enforce the rules and they are not acknowledged and mutually enforced by the collective of users. The tragedy of the commons is thus best stated as a case of institutional failure, rather than a default inherent to common property. We will argue that institutional failure can also take the form of a tragedy of the privates. Privatization has tended to be seen as the obvious solution when either local or central governance institutions fail in a commons, regardless of which rules and incentives are in place to regulate private property. Yet the institutions that regulate private property, namely the state, may provide ‘incentive systems’ just as ‘perverse’ to private as to collective owners (Ostrom, 1990: 21). We do not just mean that ‘[communal arrangements can be environmentally viable, indeed superior to private systems for both marine and land resources […]’ (Hahn, 2001: 29, emphasis in the original; cf. to the same effect De Moor, 2007: 133-134, 138). As our tale of two

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tragedies will show and we will elaborate upon in the final discussion, under certain circumstances, institutional failure in private and exclusive property rights may prove worse even than failing open access commons, in the sense that they can be even more destructive than the latter. ‘The devil’ – to quote Hardin one last time – ‘is in the details’ (Hardin, 1998: 683).

III.  Alentejo and Mértola III.1.

Physical features

The Portuguese province of the Alentejo spreads through most of the southern half of the country. It is a part of the Iberian peneplain, with extended plains and rolling low hills cut here and there by steeper relief in low mountain ranges called serra (Figure 4.1). The climate is Mediterranean, continentally enhanced, with mild winters and long warm and dry summers. Average rainfall is scarce, concentrated in autumn and winter, followed by a long hot and dry season from May to September that puts severe hydric stress on vegetation, which consequently has sub-xerophytic characteristics2. Rainfall variability is extreme, both annually and monthly, and is often concentrated in a few very violent events such as thunderstorms. Periods of drought, sometimes lasting for years in a row, have critical socio-economic impact, as do the less common extremely wet years. Although there are some areas of plain and deep clay (formed by weathering of eruptive rocks) that are most favourable to wheat production in this climate, the province’s soils are for the most part mediocre, either due to their lack of depth, chemical or mechanical characteristics, or low capacity for water retention (Figure 4.2). The municipality of Mértola is roughly a trapeze-shaped area of c. 1,200 km2 in the south-eastern corner of the Alentejo, bordering with the Algarve to the south and with northern Andalucia (Spain) to the east (Figure 4.1). It is located at the angle of two low mountain ranges: across the south of the municipality runs the northern slope of the Serra de Algarve, which borders the two provinces. Along the easternmost part of the territory north to south runs the Serra de Mértola – the one focused on here –, a part of a wider range which across the northern border takes the name of Serra de Serpa, named after the municipality next to Mértola.

 

2

Xerophites are plants adapted to dry habitats.

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Figure 4.1. Alentejo and Mértola, location and relief

Source. Drawn by Gonçalo Santos Antunes, e-Geo, FCSH-UNL.

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Figure 4.2. Alentejo and Mértola. Soils

Source. Drawn by Gonçalo Santos Antunes, e-Geo, FCSH-UNL.

This is one of the most arid stretches in the province, with the least average rainfall, the hottest summers and the coldest winters. The irregular climate makes for very contingent cereal farming (Feio, [1949] 1983: 23-27, 65-66; Galvão, 1935: 10-11). The morphology and the soils reflect the metamorphic parent material, which is mainly

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A tale of two tragedies. The case of the commons of Serra de Mértola in the Alentejo and its privatization

schist (Lower Devonian red schist and Carbonic yellow schist). Very poor and shallow soils predominate, mostly lithosols 10 to 30 cm in depth and with very low organic matter content (less than 1 per cent). Simple slope profiles seldom exceed 25 per cent, but there are several steep-sloped angle sectors, due to lithology contrast (bedrock outcrops) and to many fault and fracture structures where streams are deeply incised. Thin and impermeable, with low capacity for water retention, such soils are acutely exposed to hydric erosion and are far from ideal for cereals and especially for wheat (Figure 4.2). In 1883, identical schist soils in the neighbouring municipality of Beja were sown at the rate of 64 kg of wheat per hectare, yielding an average seed ratio of 3:1, below 200 kg/ha (Feio, 1998: 61, table xvi)3. III.2. Spatial organization The Alentejo was divided into vast municipal territories after the province was conquered from the Moors during the late twelfth century and up to 1238. Municipalities were administered by urban centres enjoying broad effective power and were made up of several villages and hamlets organized into parishes. This settlement pattern formed the matrix for the growth of population and agriculture for centuries to come. In a von Thünen-like manner, the ager surrounded towns and villages with a ring of intensive and small-scale agriculture, carefully protected by municipal regulations and authorities, followed by an expansion area of very large farms (herdades) with over one hundred, often several hundred hectares, which were mostly used for extensive cereal farming and livestock raising, often taking advantage of woods of cork-oaks (quercus suber) and/or helm-oaks (quercus ilex) interspersed with grain fields. Besides firewood, timber and cork, these woods provided the acorns on which pigs were fattened in open-air herds. This type of land use created a very specific man-made woody landscape, the montado. Some herdades also had olive-tree groves grown from wild olive trees growing spontaneously in the region, also interspersed with grain fields (Boisselier, 1999: 135-171, 552-573; Silbert, 1978: 399-475). The majority of the province’s soils are of mediocre quality for wheat under the prevailing climatic conditions; and quite a lot were unfit for all but very extensive forms of cultivation, with long periods left idle to allow for organic reestablishment and physical stabilization of the soil in between cultivation periods4. This was so even in the better endowed large farms, where on the best soils the balance would lean towards cereal farming with short idle periods, supported by rich sheep droppings   This was before the use of chemical fertilisers became widespread; rotations and technological conditions were then similar to those prevailing in the eighteenth century. According to the 1950s‘ characterisation of land use capacity, 97 per cent of the soils in the municipality ranked as class D or worse, in a scale of A (good) to E (unfit) (Feio, 1998: 66, table xvii). 4   We use the term ‘idle’ in the sense of land left to rest untilled for one or a number of years within a more or less long rotation cycle, as distinct both to ‘fallow’ and to ‘wasteland’. 3

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which accumulated during grazing on stubble and grass; worse soils would be under denser woods and were cultivated for much longer intervals, with this limited only by the time to clean the grazing grounds and the undergrowth of the montado to keep it productive. As such, the border between ager and saltus was a fuzzy and dynamic one. Illkept montado would slide back into wilderness; slash and burn agriculture would cyclically reclaim stretches of wasteland for one or two crops and then move on and leave it alone for a large while, until it had reverted to wasteland. Marginal land would be reclaimed in periods of population growth, and recede into wasteland as demographic pressure dropped. The saltus cut across the large farms, which due to their very size might keep unused margins, or lay in wasteland areas owned by the municipalities, or granted to parishes or specific villages for common use. This common land owned by territorial communities was called baldio, a term that also came to mean wasteland. In the thin soiled or sloped areas where such commons generally lay, the governing body of the community who owned it would temporarily grant some parcels to peasants, often for slash and burn agriculture that took advantage of the organic matter of the spontaneous growth of grass and shrubs, for sowing wheat, barley or rye. Following one or two crops, the ground would be left idle in long cycles, providing herbaceous pasture for common use while shrubs gradually took over and the cycle started all over again. On the whole, this created a landscape that, since at least the sixteenth century, was frowned upon as wasteful and misused land. In fact, it was the basis for a ‘wasteland way of life’, which combined itinerant slash and burn agriculture, sheep and goat raising, apiculture, coal making and hunting to generate complementary resources to settled farming and to the wages which it generated (Silbert, 1978: 442-475). III.3. Agrarian social structure and political organization In spite of considerable internal diversitythe province’s different areas share strong geographical, social and historical traits – not least the dominance of large property and landholding currently referred to as latifundium. Indeed, the agrarian social structure in the Alentejo was defined by a sharply polarized distribution of property rights in land. Large landowners were aristocratic houses, the Church and religious institutions, the Crown and the military orders under its control from the sixteenth century, a variety of Ancien Régime local institutions (namely municipalities) and charities, and the regional gentry. They mostly let the land to farmers either as whole herdades or as lesser plots, which might be autonomous land units called courelas or a part of larger herdades. 123

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The farming landscape was dominated by large farmers (lavradores) who cultivated one and often several farms with their own capital, hiring a few permanent hands who were supplemented by hosts of day labourers during the peak periods of the agricultural cycle. Up until the nineteenth century and in varying proportions in different regions in the province, while some lavradores, especially among local gentry, owned their farms, most took herdades under short term leases from ancien régime landowners. From the late eighteenth and especially during the early nineteenth century, many took advantage of the financial needs of the Crown and the aristocracy to become landowners, by acquiring the useful domain of herdades in emphyteusis. During the second half of the nineteenth century, following liberal property reforms, this stratum of wealthy farmers coalesced with businessmen and capitalists in Lisbon and towns in the region to acquire full property in massive state-led land sales. These property transfers consolidated a landowning-farmer class that dominated the region economically, socially and politically well into the twentieth century. Smaller farmers, owning little capital other than agricultural implements, a couple of draught beasts and whatever seed they could carry over from one year to the next, farmed either autonomous courelas in areas that had not been appropriated in larger farms, parcels within the herdades which the lavradores let or sublet to the smaller farmers, often in precarious one-crop sharecropping contracts, and plots on common land, mostly employing family labour. These small farmers were called seareiros (after the seara, the cereal field that defined their precarious relationship to the land and from which the landlord would collect the rent share). The nexus of large scale entrepreneurial farming based on cheap labour and sharecropping rent remained a feature of the regional agrarian system up until the 1960s, when industrialization and migration undercut the basis of chronic underemployment on which it rested. At the bottom of this sketchy pyramid of agrarian social classes, most of the agricultural population was made of day labourers with only limited access to land (e.g., small gardens, vineyards, a few olive and fig trees, frequently in emphyteusis) or, for the most part, with no access at all, except for entitlements they might have to grazing and gleaning rights according to local usages, and to whatever rights in common land were made available to them by territorial institutions (Baptista, 1980; Cutileiro, 1977: 53-87; H. Fonseca, 1996: 185-225, 349-388; H. Fonseca, 2002; Rocha, 1994: 145-180; Santos, 2003: 19-35; Serrão and Santos, forthcoming; Silbert, 1978: 737-844). In the municipality of Mértola, only about 37 per cent of the people listed in the tax rolls were taxed as farmers in 1765-1770. The tax on farming income was collected according to the number of arados the farmers cultivated, one arado (literally:

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‘plough’) amounting to the extent of land that could be ploughed with a team of oxen. Out of those who were taxed for farming activities, 77 per cent were petty farmers taxed for a half or one ‘plough’, while at the other end of the spectrum less than 2 per cent were lavradores taxed for four to six ‘ploughs’ – large farmers at the local scale, though comparatively rather small by the standards of the richer regions in the province. Only 9 per cent of the enrolled people were taxed as wage labourers, while as much as 30 per cent were declared without occupation and therefore not taxable5 – most certainly making up a substantial part of the seasonal agricultural workforce. While thus reflecting the main traits of the agrarian social structure of the Alentejo that we sketched above, the municipality of Mértola had considerable internal diversity, partly due to the two serras that ran across its territory. In the mid-eighteenth as well as in the early twentieth century, the flatter parishes to the northwest and centre were dominated by herdades, some of which were in lease but often in own-farming by local gentry who made up the lavrador elite. But in the hills and plateaux to the south, into the Serra de Algarve, smaller scale farming in courelas prevailed either in own-farming or sharecropping. To the northeast, in the Serra de Mértola, lay the area with the least population density and where wastelands abounded, including the northern portion of the parish of Santana de Cambas and the entire parish of Corte do Pinto, where the commons of Serra de Mértola was located (Santos, 1987; Silbert, 1978: 425-426, 795-796). The parish of Santana de Cambas has some passable soils, which get worse as it becomes embedded in the Serra towards the north-west. It had one of the lowest population densities in the municipality at the beginning of the eighteenth century: with 12 per cent of the area of the municipality, it had only 7 per cent of the households in 17206. However, it grew steadily during the rest of the century and it already had its fair share of households in 1758 (11 per cent) and of farmers in 1765 (12 per cent). Only about 42 per cent of its population was taxed as farmers in 17657. In fact, the parish encompassed an area of relatively higher population density to the south, with more settlements and land use, and another typical of the Serra to the north-west, akin to that of the neighbouring parish of Corte do Pinto, which was a Serra community in full. In the eighteenth century, Corte do Pinto was a one-village parish, with generally poor soils but with some better ones with milder slopes to the north, part of which at least were in the commons. Within 5 per cent of the area of the municipality dwelt only 3 per cent of the households in 1758, and 1 per cent of   AHMM, AF1/1, AF1/2. Most of the data synthesized here are from 1765. These were completed with the data of a similar tax roll in 1770 where the 1765 document had deteriorated beyond reading, concerning the parish of Corte do Pinto. 6   BPE, Cod cix no. 14, fls [29-38]. 7   ANTT, MP, 8 (58); AHMM, AF 1/1. 5

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all taxed farmers in 1770. Only 15 per cent of its population was taxed as farmers in 17708. In the absence of significant industrial activity at the time, many among the majority of non-farming households in these parishes certainly made part of their living off the commons to supplement wages as day labourers in the herdades, as well as the seareiros who benefited from the availability of common land for temporary cultivation (Santos, 1987; Silbert, 1978: 990-991). Ancien Régime municipal governments were oligarchic, in the Alentejo as elsewhere in Portugal (Magalhães, 1993, 1994). In the cities and the wealthier towns they were dominated by the residing aristocracy and the upper clergy. In smaller towns the leading role was incumbent on the local gentry, clergy and, to a lesser degree, professional elites. The municipal territory was organized for administrative purposes in accordance with the religious parochial divisions. Parishes had juízes de vintena, local magistrates appointed by the municipal government from among the local elites. In theory they acted as local relays for the municipal government, mostly for dealing with petty local disputes and enforcing municipal rules. However, generally there was no form of local self-rule or of formal local interest representation with regard to the municipal government. After the final collapse of absolutism in the 1830s, electoral rules, local influence and patronage, and connections to the national ruling elites kept municipal governments very much in the hands of the landowning elite, allowing no room for local self-rule or formal representation even during the liberal monarchy and the republican regime (Borges, 2000: 297-300; Cutileiro, 1977: 215-229, 253-268; H. Fonseca, 2002; T. Fonseca, 1995: 27-48, 73-76; T. Fonseca, 2002: 163-194, 262-269). The municipality of Mértola was no exception, certainly during the eighteenth century when it was dominated by the local lavrador gentry, who held most of the alderman positions as well as the top ranks in the local militia (Santos, 1993).

IV.  Pressures for change IV.1.

Ideology: the myth of fertility and the push for reform

One perennial stereotype about the Alentejo is that of, largely mythical, untapped natural fertility (Marques, 1968: 26-29; Santos, 1992). The fact that ever since the late Middle Ages it had catered for Lisbon’s growing needs in cereals earned the province the encomious title of Portugal’s breadbasket, a responsibility that became harder to maintain as Lisbon grew and its needs became ever more dependent on imported cereal (Barros, H. 1941: 112-115; Marques, 1968: 157-158), and a conjuncture of critical circumstances during the second half of the eighteenth century made the 8

 

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deficit larger and the political awareness of it more acute (Serrão, 2004: 161-169). As a late eighteenth century writer put it, ‘The Alentejo [was] once Portugal’s granary, but today it bears this name in mockery’ (Barros, J. [1789] 1990: 114, our translation). Diagnostics and prescriptions for this ‘decadence’ were the stock in trade of eighteenth and nineteenth century economic and agronomic writings (Santos, 1992, 2003: 4964). Much was written about its causes, among which were the lack of price incentives, the ill distribution of land and revenue because of latifundia, and the uncertainty of farmers’ property rights because of short-term leases. Especially pertinent here, among these alleged causes was also the lack of technological innovation, namely fertilizing and soil improvement techniques, as well as common lands and common rights impinging on individual property. Advocated prescriptions, besides protectionist policies to correct price incentives, included the obligatory division of large, ill-cultivated landholdings and the stabilization of agrarian contracts, as well as various key technical improvements, the enclosure of farmland to fence off common rights and the partition of the commons into private property. In the words of a ‘political economist’ published in the transactions of the Royal Academy of Sciences of Lisbon in 1798: ‘For [the partition of the commons which were apt for agriculture] to be useful to the peoples, it should not be done year by year, but rather once and for all. […] In [the municipality of] Moura there are commons filled with helm oaks and cork oaks: if the commons were kept with due care, they would be of considerable utility to that people; however, as they are partitioned in sortes [i.e., allotted for a short term and to different people each time, originally at random], people cut them down and burn them, destroying the montado in a few hours […]. Divide the commons as we said [i.e., in parcels permanently allotted to the same persons] and each will take care to improve his lot, which he now fears to do because it is under common property. […] Do so in more commons in the province, and in a few years we will see agriculture increased, and abundance reborn […]’. (Silveira, [1798] 1990: 66-67)

IV.2.

Protectionism, technology and privatization, 1890s-1930s

Following the nineteenth century regime change from absolutism to a liberal monarchy, massive property transfers favoured a coalition between the upper strata of large farmers in the province with capitalists in Lisbon, and this created a powerful agrarian elite with the capacity to lobby the government and possessing effective command over the region (Fonseca, 1996: 185-221, 305-383; Fonseca, 2002; Fonseca & Santos, 2001). Despite the insistence of reformist discourse on the division of latifundia, definite policies were never passed to that effect by either the liberal 127

A tale of two tragedies. The case of the commons of Serra de Mértola in the Alentejo and its privatization

monarchy or the republican regime from 1910 onwards. Later, the authoritarian regime following a military coup in 1926 found a major support base in this large landowning class (Cutileiro, 1977: 253-268; Pais et al., 1978: 355-364). The redistribution of large properties definitely fell off the political chart; hence three main policy avenues remained open: protectionism and price incentives, technical improvements and the privatization of the commons. Agrarian lobbying combined with acute financial strain, foreign trade deficit, and the rise of nationalist feelings led governments, from 1889 on, to adopt protectionist policies concerning wheat and a system of guaranteed prices to producers. Such measures were intensified in 1899. Chemical fertilizers were actively promoted by the industry, the agronomists and the state, as a technological innovation allowing the reclamation of wastelands and making them profitable, especially in the Alentejo (Radich, 1996: 7-8, 47-50; Silva, 1917: 60-62, for example). They became profitable throughout the late nineteenth and the early twentieth century, partly because of the increase in the price of wheat, and partly because of the decline in prices of superphosphate (Reis, 1979: 785-787). Their use became commonplace after a national industry developed during World War I and imports again became cheaper in the post-war period (Marques et al., 1991: 81-82). The overall result was an increase in the national production of wheat, particularly in the Alentejo (Reis, 1993: 755-760), where vast areas of marginal land were reclaimed to take advantage of rewarding prices. Large farmers were led to shift their production agendas towards wheat farming, intensifying rotations, reducing idle and fallow periods and reclaiming wastelands. Small farmers were involved as sharecroppers in the intensification of large farms and by reclaiming newly privatized land when expanses of common lands were partitioned. In August 1913, a general administrative law was passed which encouraged municipal governments to dispose of common lands that were not needed for collective purposes, which could be distributed in plots to heads of family and to indigents in temporary but renewable and inalienable grants. Further decrees reiterated and specified this in 1918, 1920 and 1921. Two decrees in 1924 and 1925 regulated former legislation and finished laying the legal basis for a nationwide privatization of the commons. One of the main aims underlying these norms was to link agricultural growth with the creation of a self-sufficient, land owning peasantry: the 1920 decree specified that the plots should be large enough to support a family of four and that they were to be let in emphyteusis for a period of five years, after which the useful domain would become perpetual if half the surface had been effectively cultivated.

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Under these legal incentives, about 20 commons were partitioned and privatized, including that in Serra de Mértola in 1926 (Marques et al., 1991: 51-54). Shortly afterwards, the authoritarian regime under Salazar stepped up policy incentives for grain production in 1929, including guaranteed prices to the producers, subsidies per hectare of reclaimed land, subsidized loans and massive propaganda, in a process christened Campanha do Trigo [Wheat Campaign] fashioned after the Fascist Battaglia del Grano in Italy. Chemical inputs spread even further, supported by state subsidies, information campaigns and the national chemical industry, very likely involved in the policy design of the campaign in the first place (Pais et al., 1976, 1978: 335-342; Rosas, 1994). This institutional environment set up by state policy defined the main economic incentives available to the actors during the agricultural and environmental process following privatization.

V.  The commons in Serra de Mértola and its privatization V.1.

The setting

The commons named Baldio da Serra de Mértola was located in the northeast of the municipality, mostly in the parish of Corte do Pinto and possibly part to the west, in the parishes of Santana de Cambas and the adjoining portion of the parish of Mértola (Figure 4.3). Unfortunately, we lack cartographic or chorographic records of its precise limits. The total area privatized in 1926 amounted to 7,240 ha9. The entitlement to the commons was granted by the king in the Middle Ages to the inhabitants of the so-called ‘district of Cambas’, which consisted of the part of the municipal territory to the east of the river Guadiana. According to the priest of the town parish of Mértola, in reply to an inquiry by the Crown in 1758, the Serra had a ‘temperament of fire and rocks’ and declared it impossible to farm.10 Yet the village priest of the parish of Corte do Pinto reported to the same inquest that:

‘It is the privilege not only of the inhabitants of this Village, but of all other inhabitants of this district of Cambas as well, which comprehends another parish in this district which is Santa Anna and a few villages in the parish of the Town of Mértola, to use all the Serra, both for sowing and for the fruit of the trees which are cork-oaks, paying nothing but the tenth of the grain they sow’.11

  NAS, Galvão; Roxo (1994). As a term of comparison, this is roughly the size of the entire parish of Corte do Pinto. 10   ANTT, MP 23 (29) (our translation). 11   ANTT, MP, 11 (387) (our translation, our emphasis). The expression ‘the tenth of the grain they sowed’ is misleading. It should be interpreted as the tenth of the produce of the grain they sowed, i.e., a sharecrop ratio of one tenth. The standard sharecrop ratio in the area at that time was one fourth. 9

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Figure 4.3. The municipality of Mértola

Source. Drawn by Gonçalo Santos Antunes, e-Geo, FCSH-UNL.

Thus by the mid-eighteenth century parts of the land were cultivated with cereals in sharecropping, at the rather modest ratio of one tenth, collected by the municipality for the licence to cultivate land in the commons. Notably, other uses, namely that of the cork-oak acorns for grazing and of wood and shrubs, remained under free access to the parishioners of the Cambas district. We have found no direct evidence of how the land was allocated to farmers, although what evidence there is in the region points to temporary case by case grants, rather than systematic distribution (Silbert, 1978: 991); and the report of the Mértola town priest also suggests the absence of regular, settled farming. We do know that the rent was collected by the municipal government, which, as we shall see, strove to gain and keep the property of the commons from local challengers. The availability of common land for ploughing at such a moderate sharecropping rate, as well as access to common grazing and wood resources, would certainly have grown ever more appealing as the population increased. We will now proceed to

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describe that increase in the municipality and specifically in the two Serra parishes of Santana de Cambas and Corte do Pinto, along with evidence of land reclamation12. V.2.

Population pressure and the regression of the wastelands

Between 1720 and 1758, the number of households in the municipality grew by 23 per cent (Figure 4.4). The two Serra parishes, where wasteland abounded and access was comparatively easy, more than doubled their combined number of households, and kept growing even when the households in the municipality eventually declined between 1758 and 1798. In fact, these marginal areas played a major role in absorbing population growth. The share of the two parishes in the municipality’s households almost doubled in the course of the eighteenth century, and given the social structural features sketched above in section III.3, a growing number of people must have depended on the commons for part of their living. The population doubled in the municipality as a whole between 1798 and 1890. As much as half of the municipal territory was still reported as wastelands in 1868 (the definition included areas that were occasionally cultivated, but were left idle for long intervals) (Relatorio, 1868: 137), which continued to provide margins for agricultural growth. These dropped to about 29 per cent before the end of the century, according to field notes collected between 1888 and 189713. From 1890 to 1930, population in the municipality increased by one third, and then by another 12 per cent until 1950. Pushed by population growth and encouraged by protectionism, by land reclamation subsidies and by chemical fertilizers, as mentioned in section IV.2, the area used for cereal farming more than trebled between 1882-1893 and 1950, while areas which were idle and fallow halved. The ratio of idle and fallow to cereals dropped from 2 per cent in 1882-1893 to 0.3 per cent in 1950, a quite remarkable intensification. The dream of virtually full land use on these inhospitable soils had finally been accomplished (Casimiro, 1993: 114-115). Concerning Santana de Cambas and Corte do Pinto, a watershed event caused the Serra parishes to once again bear much of the brunt of the municipality’s population growth: in 1859, a substantial mining operation began extracting and processing copper pyrites in the Serra, which attracted migration from within and outside the municipality, including nearby Spain (Guimarães 2004). Besides direct environmental impacts (Casimiro, 1993: 103-107), the mine had an obvious demographic impact. Overall, the combined population of the Serra parishes quadrupled from 1798 to 1890, grew a further 31 per cent until 1930 and yet another 23 per cent until 1950.   Unfortunately, the sources do not disaggregate the portion of the town parish of Mértola that was also a part of the district of Cambas. 13   E-Geo, Péry field notes. 12

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Figure 4.4. Population in the municipality of Mértola (total and Serra parishes), 1720-1950 35

Headcounts

30

Serra parishes

25 20 15 10 5 0

35

1720

1758

1798

1864

1890

1930

1950

Index (1720=100) (hundred)

30

Corte Pinto

25 20

Serra parishes

15 10

S.a Ana

5

Municipality

0

1720

1758

1798

1864

1890

1930

1950

Note. We estimated the headcounts from 1720 to 1798 at the rate of 4 people per household. Sources. 1720: BPE, Cod Cix no. 14, fls.[29-38]. 1758: ANTT, MP, vol. 2 no. (2), 6 (68), 8 (58),

11 (387), 14 (77), 23 (129), 29 (183), 34 (96), 35 (206), 39 (147). 1798: SERRão (1970). 18641950: CaSimiRo (1993: 109).

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V.3.

A tale of two tragedies V.3.1. A tragedy of the commons (mid-eighteenth century-1926)

Such growth as we have described during the eighteenth and the nineteenth centuries could but put pressure on the commons. Already in 1758, the priest of Corte do Pinto denounced a looming tragedy of the commons: ‘[the parishioners] abuse this privilege in such a way that not only do they bring down all the trees they fancy, but they burn them as well with much harm to the common weal’14. The fact that disputed borders between the commons in Serra de Mértola and those in Serra de Serpa had to be settled in 1759 is a sure indicator that these margins were being appropriated, and that both municipal governments were trying to control the appropriation and to derive income from it15. However, on the side of Mértola such control seems to have centred on collecting sharecrop rent on cereals, since all testimonial evidence suggests that other uses were not being monitored, let alone controlled. Thirty years later, a report on the state of agriculture in the province presented to the Royal Board of Commerce accused charcoal makers and dealers in Mértola of having ruined Serra de Mértola and of being in the course of doing the same to Serra de Serpa, in order to sell coal in Gibraltar and Cadiz16. In fact, the possibility of institutional control was hampered by juridical and political struggles over the property of the commons, between the municipality and the dwellers of the district of Cambas, especially those in Corte do Pinto. A lengthy juridical conflict took place after the municipality appropriated the commons in 1687. Although a court ruling finally granted the commons back to the villagers in 1717 the dispute was not resolved, since it had to be settled again by a convention in 1751, which kept ownership with the Cambas district dwellers but allowed the municipal government to charge the sharecropping rent that the parish priest of Corte do Pinto mentioned in 1758 (Casimiro, 1993: 92-93). However, in 1806 the municipal government once more claimed that the municipality was the sole lawful owner of the commons within its territory, and threatened seditious villagers of Corte do Pinto with punitive action – among whom stood the parish magistrate, the juiz de vintena who had been appointed by the municipal government to mediate with the local community. The municipal government deliberated in April 1806 against ‘[…] the scandalous attempt and seditious behaviour of some dwellers of the village of Corte do Pinto who, despising the law and the authority of this Government have conceived the punishable project to take from its domain the baldios and rocios [common   ANTT, MP, 11 (387) (our translation).   AHMM, AK4/4, election of three representatives from Mértola to settle the border dispute with Serpa. 16   BN, Cod 8714, fl. 24-25, (our translation). 14

15

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grazing grounds] of the said village […] no one has the right to dispose of the said baldios and rocios without express approval and License by this Government. […] all the People of the said Village of Corte do Pinto who behave to the contrary and of their own free will shall infringe this Determination figuring themselves owners of the said baldio will be immediately imprisoned at the mercy of this Government […]’.17

Alas, the available evidence is mute about the social makeup of this protest, and it does not allow us either to determine whether this was an attempt by the villagers at bottom-up privatization, at restricting common access to established dwellers against incomers, or simply at gaining the management and the income of the commons back from the municipal government. But it is clear enough that the property of the commons was long disputed and that its governance became centralized in the municipal government, which, as mentioned in section III.3, had no form of local representation, and whose agent in the village was actually evicted and banned from future appointments for taking the seditious villagers’ stand. No local institution developed to manage the commons; the municipal government failed to do so and apparently enjoyed little legitimacy with the users. This led to governance problems and strongly suggests institutional failure in the management of the commons as a whole. Either clear rules lacked defining individual entitlements to the commons, or no effective enforcement existed of such rules as there were. As a result, apart from land temporarily let in sharecropping – which then concerned a minor part of the commons at any given time, yet was the only way in which the municipality drew income and had a stake in monitoring – there is no evidence of any form of control. Other resources, namely the trees, the shrubs and the grazing fields, were under free access, at least to the ever growing population of the concerned parishes. Later on, the mining operation itself and its working population added to the demand for charcoal and to the continuing plundering of trees and shrubs in the Serra, depleting the resistance of the shallow soils to erosion. The very fact that charcoal remained a popular industry in the late nineteenth and the early twentieth century (Roxo, 1994: 263) shows that the report cited above, which had declared the Serra de Mértola utterly ruined in 1798, must have contained some degree of exaggeration: at least enough of the woods and shrubs in the wastelands had been left to regenerate. On the other hand, the field notes which Gérard Péry collected in the Serra in 1891-1892 allowed Roxo (1994) to estimate that 93 per cent of the commons in Serpa and Mértola was still wasteland at that time, while only 5 per cent was cultivated with cereal or under fallow, and 2 per cent idle and natural grass18. The prevalence of wasteland and the scarcity of idle and grass proves that temporary culture, which let spontaneous vegetation regenerate in between cultures, still predominated over regularly partitioned    

17 18



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lots in shorter rotations, allowing organic matter to recompose and secure the soil against erosion. This was especially important in the particular environment of the Serra, since soil loss rates rise dramatically in the cultivated slopes, as compared to the diversified spontaneous vegetation of the wastelands: over twenty times more soil is lost in wheat fields and at best 27 times more in bare fallow fields19. Much as the commons had decayed and their tragedy had unfolded, this was still a gradual albeit inexorable process. That was about to change with the privatization of the commons in 1926, directly followed by the stronger policy incentives put in place during the Wheat Campaign in 1929, as mentioned in section IV.2. V.3.2. A tragedy of the privates (1926-1940s) The pressure for the privatization and the partition of the commons revived the myth of the fertility of the wastelands. A newspaper article predicted in 1903 that, once the commons of Serra de Mértola had been partitioned and allotted with exclusive property rights, self-interested investments and labour would turn the wastelands ‘ […] which are so apt for cereal culture and for the industry of fattening livestock’ into ‘delicious orchards, luxuriant montados and olive tree groves’20. In 1906, the neighbouring commons in Serra de Serpa was eventually partitioned into six-hectare lots. Political pressure for the division of the Serra de Mértola accrued, forcefully backed by the argument of a pending tragedy of the commons, compounded by the encroachment of outsiders and abuse by powerful people. According to a local newspaper, significantly published in the same month as the law that encouraged the privatization of the commons, ‘precious baldio is devastated under common property, not just by the municipality dwellers but also by new incoming inhabitants, and by the ignorance of those who have always let themselves be allured by the lies of the privileged […] some of whom have helped themselves of truly disproportionate parcels […]. Were the baldio divided amongst the inhabitants of Cambas, who were the ones that have reclaimed it and cleared the land, each would cultivate their own shares and this would become an inhabited region, blooming in the richness of its soil, avoiding acts of vandalism […]. The fertility of the land would have its creative force harnessed by planting productive trees, these valleys and hills might then turn into gardens, and several species of lucrative crops might be introduced, thus transforming all this wasteland in abundance and wealth’.21

Still the commons survived for thirteen more years. When it was finally privatized in 1926, 7,240 ha were distributed in 2,610 plots, nearly 90 per cent of which were six     21   19 20



CEES, field data records; Roxo (1994: 249). O Sul do Alentejo, 10 December 1903 (our translation). O Futuro de Mértola, August 1913 (our translation).

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hectares or less in size (Table 4.1), which were allotted to 2,116 households (Marques 1991: 54). Under the prevailing ecological conditions, these dimensions were well below the threshold of viable cereal farming that would be required to support self-sufficient peasant families, as envisaged by the legal guidelines. It was impossible in such small plots to get enough cereal from traditional extensive rotations. Since the Wheat Campaign began in 1929, this combined with guaranteed wheat prices, the land reclamation subsidy and the availability of chemical fertilizers to stimulate both land clearance and the intensification of cereal farming, in the former commons as well as in other wasteland areas and on poorer soils which traditionally were more extensively used. Besides the lengthy cycles of traditional slash-and-burn, even on more continuously farmed land the rotation cycle evolved from the traditional rotation sequence (bare fallow–wheat–barley or oats–minimum of four years in idle), to intensive two-year rotation (bare fallow–wheat), which was sustained in the short run by fertilizers, but over the years depleted the organic matter in the soil and exposed it to erosion. In 1949, José Mira Galvão, a leading agronomist in the region, wrote that ‘[…] in the areas where exploitation is more fragmented – the Serra de Serpa and Mértola – land in idle has utterly disappeared’ (Galvão 1949: 16). By 1950, over 70 per cent of the area in Santana de Cambas and Corte do Pinto was used for cereals and, more to the point, there were virtually no wastelands left (Casimiro, 1993: 115). Table 4.1. Partition of the commons in Serra de Mértola, 1926. Number of plots according to size Plots Plot size (ha)

Area

no.

%

ha

%

1-3

1,813

71.4

3,218

44.4

4-6

698

27.5

3,291

45.5

7-10

99

1.1

731

10.1

Total

2,610

100

7,240

100

Source. Roxo (1994: 139).

Generalized assarting, using wide scale slash-and-burn, destroyed the vegetable coating in unprecedented proportions in a relatively short time (Galvão, 1949: 8), rendering soils all the more vulnerable to erosion. As soils degraded, so did the crops and the exploitation of small plots became economically unsustainable throughout the 1940s, here as in other poor soil areas in southern Alentejo. ‘The small farmer […] sows as though he gambles in a lottery, in the hope of a ‘good year’ which, when

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it comes, does compensate the hardships, but which […] very seldom comes’ (Feio, [1949] 1983: 90, our translation). While in theory the plots were inalienable, in fact they ended up being more or less informally mortgaged and sold, leading to a classic process of concentration in the hands of the richest or the more fortunate farmers (Galvão 1949: 40), the development of a lease market and the spread of sharecropping, in a setting in which policy incentives led to the alignment of the landowners’ and the sharecroppers’ interests in overusing the land. The association of extensive land clearance with intensive soil mobilization contributed to wide hydric erosion. As Hill (1993: 326) points out: ‘Land degradation processes usually develop in areas where the vegetation cover has been seriously damaged. Since the dry summer periods frequently coincide with or are followed by severe rainstorms, the unprotected topsoil becomes subject to severe soil erosion processes. The excessive loss of soils, nutrients and seeds from the ecosystem hampers the regenerative capacity of the vegetation by disrupting plant-water relations and thus drives a mechanism of sometimes-irreversible environmental damage […]’.

Shallow soils were extensively exposed bare to semiarid climatic conditions, which caused irreversible loss both in soil volume and fertility. The instability of soil aggregates with a large percentage of rock fragments and high clay content was aggravated by continuous ploughing and by the very low content in organic matter, severely depleted by extensive land clearance. Low infiltration rates and feeble capacity for water retention caused high runoff during heavy rainfalls, along highdensity drainage networks due to the presence of impermeable metamorphic rocks. As a consequence, huge amounts of soil were washed away downhill over the years. Thus ‘ […] erosion, facilitated by continuous cultivation, by the acidity of the soil and by the scarcity of organic matter, dragged almost all the arable layer into the river’ (Galvão 1949: 17, our translation). The effects became visible in the filling of valleys and in the silting up of the river Guadiana, a long stretch of which, downriver from Mértola, actually ceased to be navigable by merchant ships. Since the early 1960s and especially after the mining operation ceased in 1968, the area massively lost population to international migration and although some plots are still being cultivated to this day, most were eventually abandoned. However, because of deep and extensive erosion there is no way back to the wastelands of old. Land abandonment was a gradual process, too slow and too late for significant regeneration to take place. Dire environmental consequences are irreversible, namely extended rock-outcropping due to total soil loss in some areas, valleys packed with sediment carried down the slopes, low biomass production and minimum biodiversity as compared with the former wastelands. Soils were irreversibly degraded, especially in sloped areas, and the vegetation coating, which had begun to be compromised by 137

A tale of two tragedies. The case of the commons of Serra de Mértola in the Alentejo and its privatization

the unrestrained use of the commons, was irreversibly destroyed once the land was put under the plough as private property. The tragedy of the privates precipitated the process that the tragedy of the commons had gradually put in motion, leaving behind bald rock outcrops and vast areas of skeletal, dusty soils carpeted with nothing but low herbaceous plants and that tenacious survivor of degraded Mediterranean landscapes, the fragrant rock-rose bush (cistus ladanifer).

VI.  Conclusions and discussion VI.1. Conclusions The privatization of the commons in Serra de Mértola took place under a specific set of assumptions. Firstly, the belief that the commons was being plundered for want of restraint to overuse, fed by the perceptions accumulated over two centuries of growing population pressure without effective monitoring and control of access and use, due to institutional failure. Secondly, the belief that only private property could mend this state of affairs, which had been prevalent in the discourse on economic policy since at least the late eighteenth century. Both beliefs were consistent with the tragedy of the commons thesis in its canonical form. A third set of beliefs was determinant in the outcome of the process. The long lasting and widespread myth of the abundant natural fertility of the wastelands was compounded by the belief that technology, most recently in the form of chemical fertilizers, could sustain soil fertility indefinitely. Both beliefs had been strongly authorized by the public discourse of academic and political elites. The former had been a touchstone of political-economic discourse since the eighteenth century, and the results of temporary cultivation in the wastelands tended to confirm it empirically. The latter was spread by agronomists and enlightened farmers and enjoyed massive propaganda by the state, as well as by the national chemical industry and dealers in fertilizers. Moreover, it was validated by very obvious short term success, while longer term soil erosion processes had not been questioned, let alone tested. Under such assumptions, the situation in the commons was framed as one of waste, plunder and destruction of resources in the present situation of underinvestment, not as an overload of the environment’s potential carrying capacity once labour and investment were brought in. The belief was not only that exclusive private property rights would prevent current abuse, but also that the lack thereof had so far excluded private investment and labour from intensifying land use and taking advantage of potential resources, while replenishing them by proper farming and technological inputs. Ironically, the justified fear of an imminent tragedy of the commons, together

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with the belief that it would automatically be checked once exclusive property rights in land were granted and enforced by the state, precipitated irreversible ecological degradation. In keeping with the dramatic meaning of ‘tragedy’ that Hardin had in mind, the voluntary steps taken to avert doom led to an even swifter downfall. The second-degree tragedy underlying the whole process was in fact that of institutional failure under both property regimes. Failure under common property to create, monitor and enforce rules which would effectively check free riding abuse. This was certainly favoured by the lack of a ‘common pool institution’, some form of effective management structure supported by a community of users, since the municipal government centralized its management and claimed the property of the commons away from the villagers. Failure under private property as well, because ecological and technological optimism led the state to create an array of economic incentives which aimed to further land reclamation and use way beyond the actual carrying capacity of the environment, while the very fact of privatization disposed the farmers to invest in the pursuit of those incentives. VI.2. Discussion The expected efficacy of private and exclusive property rights rests on rational owners having an interest in preventing the future degradation of the resources they privately and exclusively own. It follows that they will not discount the future as heavily in their decisions and will manage their resources more wisely. Our argument is that even if we do assume instrumentally rational actors, the consequent cannot simply be accepted on theoretical grounds, because actors may not discount the future heavily while still making wrong decisions concerning it, for subjectively good reasons which are objectively false (Boudon, 1990: 67-101). The problem lies in the cognitive dimension of institutions, of interests and of rationality. Property rights are socially embedded institutions (Congost & Santos, 2010). Economic sociological theory points out that institutions involve cognitive repertoires – shared beliefs, ideologies and myths which both constrain and facilitate the articulation of interests, choice making and collective action (Nee, 2005: 55; North, 1998: 250-251; Portes, 2010: 69): ‘Cognitive constraints make information imperfect and force decisionmakers to use heuristic devices. Moreover, cultural beliefs and cognitive processes embedded in institutions are key to understanding actors’ perceptions of self-interest.’ (Nee & Ingram, 1998: 30); ‘In thick accounts of rationality, understanding purposive action necessitates interpreting the choices made by actors according to benefits and costs embedded in the institutional environment. The cultural heritage of a society is also important because

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custom, myths, and ideology matter in understanding the mental models of actors.’ (Nee, 1998: 10)

This means that even when postulating self-interested instrumental rationality, one must still take ‘reason with a small r’, that is to say, to understand the cultural beliefs and assumptions underlying the actors’ ‘subjective reason’ (Boudon, 1990: 373, passim). Subjectively good reasons, prompted by ‘cultural beliefs and cognitive processes embedded in institutions’, may cause the actors to, quite rationally, make decisions which are objectively wrong and the effects of which defeat their purposes. One such class of ‘perverse’ good reasons is what we might term the ‘ecological optimism’ embedded in the ‘cultural heritage of a society’: ‘traditional’ beliefs that overestimate nature’s bounty and resilience and the capacity of the environment to regenerate itself cyclically, as well as ‘modern’ beliefs that overestimate the capacity of technological input to maintain or improve the carrying capacity of environments. If one believes that in its present state the environment holds richer resources than it actually does, that it is more resilient than it actually is, and that it can be indefinitely improved by human action and technical devices, rather than discounting the future one actually counts much more on it than one objectively should. ‘[F]oresight – the ability to be motivated by future consequences of action – [may be considered] as a possible explanation for self-restraint’ (Elster, 1989: 42). Yet over-optimistic foresight, in both the individual actors’ decision making and the institutionalized beliefs and incentives underlying it, may well have identical effects to myopia. Under such conditions, privatization will not solve a tragedy of the commons; rather it will replace it with a tragedy of the privates. The future will no longer be heavily discounted, but instead it will be counted on as a misconstrued opportunity for gain. Now, discounting the future has a twin set of consequences. On the one hand it encourages immediate gratification, and on the other it discourages investment. Consequently, the very same mechanism that drives the tragedy of the commons – the fear of free riding by others at one’s cost – has a dual effect: it checks the actors’ willingness to invest for future gain which they will not be able to appropriate exclusively (Stevenson, 1991: 27-31). In this ‘productivist’ doppelgänger of the tragedy of the commons, which had been very much present for a long time in the negative discourse on the commons in the Alentejo, the undesired consequence is perceived as underexploitation rather than overexploitation of resources. As privatization removes this check on investment, and if they have the means and the incentives to invest, actors whose rationality is embedded in ‘ecologically optimistic’ culture and institutions will do so for even higher short term gain and also, to the best of their beliefs, to keep the same capacity for gain in the future and 140

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even to enhance it. Therein lurks a tragedy of the privates, the more destructive as the gap is wider between, on the one hand, the optimistic perception of the environment’s resilience and of the technical capacity to improve it, and on the other hand its objective fragility.

Archival Sources National Agronomic Station of Vale Formoso, Mértola (NAS): Documents of José Martins de Mira Galvão (Galvão).

Arquivo Histórico Municipal de Mértola (AHMM): AB 1/11 Vereações 1803-1816; AK4/4, Eleições, 1753-1760; AF 1/1 Livro de Arruamento das Décimas,1765; AF 1/2, Décimas, 1770.

Arquivos Nacionais–Torre do Tombo (ANTT): Dicionário Geográfico/Memórias Paroquiais de 1758 (MP), vol. 2 no. (2), 6 (68), 8 (58), 11 (387), 14 (77), 23 (129), 29 (183), 34 (96), 35 (206), 39 (147). Biblioteca Pública de Évora (BPE): Cod cix no. 14, fls [29-38], Lista das Cid[ad]es, Villlas, Vigayrarias e Freg[uez]ias q[ue] há neste Arcebispado […] no anno de 1720.

Biblioteca Nacional de Portugal, Reservados (BN): Cod 8714, Gervásio de Almeida Pais, Observaçoens, e exames feitos sobre as cauzas do atrazamento e ruina da agricultura e da povoação na Provincia do Alemtejo... (1789).

Centro Experimental de Erosão de Solos – Herdade de Vale Formoso – Centro de Experimentação do Baixo Alentejo, Mértola, MAMOT (CEES): Field data records. E-Geo Documentation Centre, Faculdade de Ciências Sociais e Humanas, Universidade Nova de Lisboa (E-Geo): Minutes and field notes collected by Gérard Péry for the Mapa Agrícola de Portugal [Agricultural map of Portugal]; Mértola, 1888-1897 (Péry, field notes).

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Hann, C. M. (2000), The Tragedy of the Privates? Postsocialist Property Relations in Anthropological Perspective, Halle/Saale, Max Planck Institute for Social Anthropology, Max-Planck-Gesellschaft. Hardin, G. (1968), ‘The Tragedy of the Commons’, Science, 162, 3859, p. 1243-1248.

Hardin, G. (1998), ‘Extensions of ‘The Tragedy of the Commons ’’, Science, 280, 5346, p. 682-683. Hill, J. (1993), ‘Monitoring Land Degradation and Soil Erosion in Mediterranean Environments’, ITC Journal, 4, p. 323-331.

Magalhães, J. R. (1993), ‘Os concelhos’, in idem (ed.), No alvorecer da modernidade (1480-1620), vol. 3, in J. Mattoso (general ed.), História de Portugal, Lisbon, Círculo de Leitores, p. 175-185. Magalhães, J. R. (1994), ‘As estruturas sociais de enquadramento da economia portuguesa de Antigo regime: os concelhos’, Notas Económicas, 4, p. 30-47.

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Marques, A. H. de Oliveira (1968), Introdução à História da agricultura em Portugal, Lisboa, Edições Cosmos.

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North, D. C. (1998), ‘Economic Performance through Time’, in V. Nee & M. C. Brinton (eds), The New Institutionalism in Sociology, Stanford, Stanford University Press, p. 247257. Ostrom, E. (1990), Governing the Commons, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press.

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Ostrom, E. (2005), Understanding Institutional Diversity, Princeton and Oxford, Princeton University Press. Pais, J. M. et al. (1976), ‘Elementos para a a história do fascismo português nos campos – A ‘Campanha do Trigo’ 1928-1938 (I)’, Análise Social, 12-46, p. 400-474.

Pais, J. M. et al. (1978), ‘Elementos para a a história do fascismo português nos campos – A ‘Campanha do Trigo’ 1928-1938 (II)’, Análise Social, 14-54, p. 321-389.

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Portes, A. (2010), Economic Sociology: A Systematic Inquiry, Princeton and Oxford, Princeton University Press. Radich, M. C. (1996), Agronomia no Portugal oitocentista: Uma discreta desordem, Oeiras, Celta. Reis, J. (1979), ‘A Lei da Fome: Origens do proteccionismo cerealífero português (18891914)’, Análise Social, 15-60, p. 745-793.

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Rocha, M. M. (1994), Propriedade e níveis de riqueza: Formas de estruturação social em Monsaraz na primeira metade do século xix. Lisbon, Cosmos. Roxo, M. J. (1994), A acção antrópica no processo de degradação de solos: A Serra de Serpa e Mértola, Lisbon, FCSH–UNL. Santos, R. (1987), ‘Configurações espaciais agrárias no Baixo Alentejo: Mértola, segunda metade do século xviii’, Revista de História Económica e Social, 20, p. 1-44.

Santos, R. (1992), ‘Do mito à doutrina: Imagens do Alentejo no memorialismo de fins do século XVIII’, in J. L. Cardoso & A. Almodovar (eds), Actas do Encontro Ibérico sobre Hstória do Pensamento Económico, Lisbon, CISEP, p. 203-222. Santos, R. (1993), ‘Senhores da terra, senhores da vila: Elites e poderes locais em Mértola no século XVIII’, Análise Social, 121, p. 345-369. Santos, R. (2003), Sociogénese do latifundismo moderno: Mercados, crises e mudança social na região de Évora, Lisbon, Banco de Portugal.

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II. Property rights in fragile coastal and riverine areas

5.

The social distribution of land and flood risk along the North Sea coast: Flanders, Holland and Romney Marsh compared (c. 1200-1750) Tim Soens

I.  Introduction Coastal wetlands are among Europe’s most endangered ecosystems and more and more subject to nature protection or conservation initiatives in order to preserve what is left of their unique biodiversity. At the same time however many coastal wetlands remain densely populated, highly urbanized, and home to intensive and highly productive farming systems. The combination of an extremely vulnerable natural environment with an intensive human land-use results in a high degree of environmental risk, with repeated and catastrophic flooding as its best known exponent. The impact of these floods is seldom equally distributed among all inhabitants and users of the coastal wetlands: the poorest and socially most vulnerable groups in society usually suffer disproportionably high from environmental disasters. In the aftermath of 2005 Hurricane Katrina in New Orléans for instance sociological analysis of the impact of the Hurricane revealed a tremendous social bias in for instance the chance to be evacuated on time or the opportunity to return home after the water had gone (Allen, 2007). In order to understand these ‘environmental inequalities’ the long-term spatial dynamics of land rights and land allocation are considered of major importance: in New Orléans, the poorest and mostly Afro-American part of the population had been gradually concentrated in the environmentally most vulnerable part of the city, situated well-below sea level from the late nineteenth century onwards and continued to do so during the twentieth century despite the development of progressive public policies trying to counteract this evolution (Colton, 2002). In this article we will explore this link between access to land and flood risk from a historical perspective in order to explain how environmental inequalities in the distribution of flood risk in a coastal wetland were historically produced. We will try to argue that clear relationships existed between the social distribution of landownership and landholding; the way flood management was institutionalized; and the distribution of flood risk. In other words, an unequal distribution of flood risk was often the result of unequal or deteriorating land rights mediated by an unequal or deteriorating access to the decision making process in flood risk management. Our argument is derived from a long-term comparative analysis of property and flooding 147

The social distribution of land and flood risk along the North Sea coast

in three coastal wetlands in the southern North Sea Area: the Flemish Polder Area bordering the North Sea Coast in Northern France, Belgium and The Netherlands; Romney Marsh in Southern Kent (UK) and the Central Holland peat district in The Netherlands. Around 1300 vital peasant societies had developed in all three regions, although with a somewhat different chronology. Major embankment and drainage works had been undertaken in order to make the clay or peat soils suitable for small-scale mixed farming, often combining arable farming with animal husbandry and para-agrarian or proto-industrial activities like peat-cutting, fishery or salt-making. Population densities were high and so was the interaction with urban markets. At different stages in the course of the late medieval and early modern period however, all three regions witnessed considerable flood problems paralleled by major changes in the patterns of landownership and landholding. In the long run however the peasant economies in the coastal wetlands did not survive, although they persisted much longer in some areas – the Holland peat region – than in other – Romney Marsh and the Flemish Polder Area. By analyzing long-term changes in both flood problems and access to land, we hope to shed light on the economic, social and institutional mechanisms that produced social inequalities in the distribution of flood risk, and increasingly jeopardized the physical and economic survival of peasant smallholders in the coastal wetlands of the North Sea Area.

II.  Environment and property rights in coastal wetlands before 1400 AD The medieval coastal marshlands of the North Sea Area were characterized by the extreme diversity and utility of their natural resources (Rippon, 2000). Intertidal saltmarshes provided ideal pasture ground for sheep and cattle whereas tidal channels hosted abundant numbers of migrating fish. When protected from flooding by dams and banks, saltmarshes could be turned into high-value arable land or grazing lands ideal for stock-breeding. More inland the omnipresent peat-bogs too could be used for pasture or arable farming, besides hosting valuable herbs. Increasingly however these peat lands were valorised as sources of fuel in a region where wood was becoming scarce. The dune barriers that protected most of the North Sea Area’s coastal wetlands from flooding provided the ideal starting point for fishing activities, besides offering brushwood and a variety of grasses, once again usable for grazing. The opportunity to make a living out of a combination of all these activities perfectly fitted a nonspecialised peasant economy, which was further stimulated by two characteristics of wetland society from the High Middle Ages on: a large degree of personal freedom, largely untouched by the feudal revolution of the tenth and eleventh centuries, and the 148

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increasing commercial demand for the marshlands’ products – especially wool – by the developing towns. Of course variations on these general characteristics occurred, both with regard to the environment or the social and political evolution. The Flemish polder area, protected from the sea by a rather thin range of sand dunes is nowadays mainly covered by maritime clay soils suited for large scale arable farming. In the thirteenth century however, there were still important stretches of fens and bogs, especially in the northern parts, bordering the Scheldt-estuary. Intensive peat digging during Roman and Medieval periods, followed by maritime inundations and new sedimentation of clay in the late medieval and early modern period, gave the area its uniform soil composition. The drainage and embankment of this area took place at an early date, mostly before 1100, not – as has long-time been thought – by Cistercian abbeys, but mainly by free peasant communities in collaboration with the counts of Flanders (Verhulst, 1995; Tys, 2005). The abundant availability of wool and grain and the commercialisation of other surpluses from the count’s domains, were important elements in the rise of urban centres in the coastal plain: next to the old comital residence Bruges, developing in the course of the medieval period to Western Europe’s prime centre of international trade, a dense network of small to middle-sized cities took shape in the area (Stabel, 1997). From the twelfth century on, the burghers of these towns increasingly joined the rural population in draining and embanking the decreasing number of tidal mudflats left, bordering the estuaries of the Ijzer, the Scheldt and the Zwin. As the counts gave up direct exploitation at a very early stage, most of their demesne lands were subdivided in customary tenures, which made this kind of tenancy next to freehold the dominant way of landholding in the Flemish coastal plain. The strong position of the count of Flanders in this area also blocked the rise of independent feudal lords, and guaranteed in a certain sense the high degree of personal freedom enjoyed by the population of the Polder area. Recent studies by Erik Thoen, Dries Tys and Tim Soens have made clear that from the twelfth to the fourteenth century peasant smallholdings were predominant in the Flemish Polders. Co-existing with a strict minority of big or very big farms, both landownership and landholding were extremely dispersed, with a majority of holdings smaller than 5 ha, and in some parts of the coastal plain even smaller than 2 ha. These small farms practised a mixed agriculture, combining arable farming and cattle breeding with important para-agrarian and non-agrarian seasonal activities: until 1400 there is both evidence for rural textile industry in the surroundings of Bruges (Nicholas, 1971) and for the intensive commercial exploitation of peat, especially along the Western Scheldt (Soens & Thoen, 2009). Fishing villages or hamlets were scattered all over the dunes. For one of these villages – Raversyde

149

The social distribution of land and flood risk along the North Sea coast

– archaeological evidence made clear that many inhabitants combined small-scale farming with seasonal fishing (Tys, 2006). Statistical evidence on landed property and landholding in this period is still scarce. The analysis of the confiscations after the famous Peasant War of 1323-1328, makes clear that 58.6 and 62.8% of landowners in the respective coastal districts of Furnes and Bergues Saint-Winnoc owned less than 2.2 ha of land (TeBrake, 1993: 141, based on Pirenne, 1900). In the 1290s, the Cistercian Abbey Our Lady of the Dunes acquired the property rights to 499 ha of land in Ossenisse in the extreme eastern part of the Flemish Coastal Plain, abandoned by their former owners due to inundation. There were no less than 135 former landowners, 40% of them owning less than 1 ha of land; 71% less than  3 (Soens, 2006). The oldest comprehensive data for a somewhat larger area concern the Oude Yevene-district – an area of 3,143 ha bordering the Western Scheldt in present-day Zeeland-Flanders. In the last quarter of the fourteenth century, this was clearly a peasant society: in 1388 1,228 of the 1,461 landowners in this area owned less than 4 ha of land, whereas only 14 of them owned more than 20 ha (see Table 4.3). In the medieval Romney Marsh in Southern England, the overall environmental and socio-economic conditions quite resembled the situation in Flanders. Romney Marsh, measuring c. 27,000 ha, is protected by the sea by a shingle or gravel barrier (the so-called Dungeness foreland). Behind this barrier marshland conditions with the development of peat bogs existed after the Last Ice Age. Some 3,000 years ago, the water of the sea intruded again in the marsh, covering part the peat with new layers of marine deposits, and creating an environment of saltmarshes and creeks (Tooley, 1995: 2; Hughes, 2006). These tidal inlets created excellent conditions for harbour activity, and Hythe and Romney were two of the original members of the Cinque Ports confederation, the five privileged harbours controlling most of Englands’ Channel trade (and piracy) from the eleventh century on (Rodger, 1995). Embankment of the eastern part of the area took place in the Anglo-Saxon period, whereas the western part – Walland Marsh – was progressively reclaimed in the twelfth and early thirteenth centuries, starting from Rhee wall and moving westwards (Eddison, 2000:  65-70), with an important setback due to storm flooding in the 1280s. Just like in Flanders, there’s evidence of individual and groups of tenants active in reclamation in the twelfth century and before and enjoying a free juridical status. The overlord – the king of England – had a role in the land reclamations as well: medieval English kings pretended landownership in the area, probably based on the royal right to ‘waste land’ and bequeathed parts of this land to local churches (Eddison, 2000: 55-56). The presence of these and other ecclesiastical estates does not imply that the reclamation of the marsh was the direct work of Churchmen. As a matter of fact, some surviving twelfth century contracts between the prior of Christ Church

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in Canterbury and individual tenants or groups of tenants, are very resembling to the similar contracts known for Holland (see below). In the middle of the twelfth century, one of them the leading tenant Baldwin Scadeway and his son were given as much land ‘as he could enclose against the sea at his own expense’ (Eddison, 2000: 69). The landscape resulting from this kind of reclamation arrangements was highly systematic: with linear roads and ditches, and a systematic field pattern. West of Rea Wall, part of Walland Marsh was also reclaimed in the twelfth and the first half of the thirteenth centuries. The exact size of these reclamations is unknown, as heavy storm activity in the second half of the thirteenth century enlarged a tidal inlet in the surroundings of Rye and drowned part of the medieval embankments and also the last surviving raised peat bogs in the area (Long et al., 2006: 324). Until the fourteenth century, Romney Marsh was one of the richest and most densely populated regions within the county of Kent, with important cereal cultivation, witnessed by the high share of land being manured in medieval times (68.3% in the Level of Romney Marsh as a whole and up to 82.6 % in some parishes, following a fieldwalking survey by Reeves, 1995: 89). Manorial accounts further indicate that around a thirth of the demesne arable was sewn with legumes, in particular beans, which might indicate the presence of an intensive animal husbandry, next to the cereal production (Gardiner, 1998; Rippon, 2002: 86). Next to the demesne lands, tenants in late medieval Romney Marsh practiced a mixed agriculture and enjoyed a free status, with little or no restrictions on the inheritance and sale of customary land, and only limited labour services (Mate, 1985). This resulted in an active peasant land market at least until the beginning of the fifteenth century, with peasants buying and selling small and dispersed plots of customary land when needed or when an opportunity arose, but with only little signs of accumulation (Sweetinburgh, 2002: 149). Besides small-scale arable production and animal husbandry, the availability of peat, intensive salt-making (Vollans, 1995) and the important shipping and fishing activities of the Cinque Ports provided ample opportunities for seasonal labour and excellent conditions for the survival of a nonspecialised traditional peasant economy well into the later Middle Ages. In contrast to Flanders and Romney Marsh, peat soils did not disappear in our third research area: the Central Holland peatlands. Here the dune barrier proved to be much stronger and more stable than its Flemish counterpart, and the river inundations were dammed by higher natural levees, consisting of sandy clay. Between the tenth and the thirteenth centuries however, the largest part of the peat area itself was reclaimed. Just like in Flanders, the initiative was taken by free peasant communities and was stimulated by the count of Holland and the prince-bishop of the neighbouring principality of Utrecht. In their most typical form, these reclamations are known as

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The social distribution of land and flood risk along the North Sea coast

cope-reclamations. The cope refers to the contract between a territorial lord and a group of potential reclaimers, headed by a locator (coper) (Van der Linden, 1956). The lord granted the reclaimers – who typically enjoyed a free juridical status – the right to settle in a confined part of the peat area. Starting from a central axis where usually the farmsteads were situated, plots of equal width were set out, and delimited by parallel ditches, necessary to drain the peat bog. Sometimes the rear boundary of the reclamation was left free, and the plots could be extended progressively, until another reclamation unit was reached. The reclaimed land was held by the settlers in exchange of a usually low customary rent, mostly interpreted as a recognition of the authority of the count. In many cases the locator/coper was enfieffed with the office of scultetus (schout), acting as local representative of the count and as such playing a key-role in the organisation of local water management. Until the late medieval period, the peasant-freeholders in the newly reclaimed Holland peat-areas practised a mixed agriculture, with arable farming on the peat, combined with cattle and sheepbreeding. From the fourteenth century on, this would change: drainage of the peat soils made them shrink and increasingly unsuitable for growing winter cereals. Between 1350 and 1500 – the ‘jump-start’ period of the Holland economy as Van Bavel and Van Zanden (2004) labelled it – agriculture in the peat districts underwent a radical transformation. Peasants turned towards a combination of cattle breeding, peat digging (and increasingly peat dredging) and proto-industrial activities. Thanks to this reconversion, the typical small-scale ‘peat and pasture’ farm would persist well into the early modern era (Van Tielhof, 2005). Just like in the Flemish coastal plain, in the medieval Holland peat district manorialism was weak, serfdom almost absent and the position of the count relatively unchallenged. By contrast urban development occurred much later: by 1300 the degree of urbanization of the county of Holland did not exceed 14% (Van Bavel and Van Zanden, 2004: 505). Before c. 1400 the natural resources of all three coastal wetlands in the first place benefited the local peasant smallholders. Regional lords, like the counts of Flanders and Holland, and the abbeys they founded or endowed, also got huge profits from the marshlands, and so did, in an indirect way, the textile industries or tradesmen of the Flemish towns or the Cinque Ports, but in general their involvement helped rather than hampered the development of flourishing peasant societies in all three coastal wetlands during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. In most coastal wetlands along the North Sea coast, manorialism was weak and peasants got strong, clearly defined and easily marketable property rights on their land at a very early stage. This advantageous juridical situation however, would eventually turn to their disadvantage, as it enabled radical shifts in the social distribution of land from the late medieval period on (see below).

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III.  Flood management in traditional coastal wetland economies In the coastal wetlands, the threat of flooding was never completely absent. Paradoxically, the creation of continuous systems of winter dikes increased rather than decreased the risk of catastrophic flooding: the more the tidal system was confined, the higher water levels were reached during storm surges (Behre, 2004: 49-52). In older literature the ability of peasant smallholders to manage this flood risk has often been questioned: peasants are supposed to have lacked the capital, the organisation and the technology to make efficient use of the wetland resources. Large scale drainage or embankment projects, initiated by outsiders, were considered necessary and even inevitable in order to enhance productivity and to solve flooding problems. By focussing on the role of Cistercian monasteries in the medieval reclamation of coastal wetlands in Flanders or Zeeland; or on the role of bourgeois capital and engineering skills in the Early Modern drainage of the East Anglian Fenlands (Darby, 1956) or the Dutch Droogmakerijen, historiography tended to stress that the coastal wetlands offered an environmental challenge that could not be tackled by the peasant societies that had occupied the area in the previous centuries. However when looking more closely to the management of environmental risk in the coastal wetlands of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, one sees a community-based organisation of flood protection and drainage, distributing the cost of protection against natural disasters amongst those who were directly concerned by this protection: the peasant inhabitants. Maintenance and repair works were allotted as much as possible to individual plots of land – each tenant being responsible for the maintenance of his own section of the infrastructure (called verhoefslaging in Dutch: Van de Ven, 2004: 58). The maintenance of larger infrastructure, such as drainage locks, could be arranged by entrusting them to large ecclesiastical landowners – as was the case with the magna slusa (the big sluice) on the Yser near Nieuport in Flanders, transferred in 1183 to the Cistercian monks of the abbey Our Lady of the Dunes (Verhulst, 1995: 48). This kind of organisation was perfectly adapted to the needs of a predominantly peasant society: as we have seen, from the twelfth to the fourteenth century, labour in the coastal plain was abundant and cheap. Peasant households could easily devote part of their (seasonal) spare labour to maintenance and repair activities on dikes and ditches. In emergency situations as well, the dijkwere – an extension of the old-Germanic Lantwere – enforced the rapid mobilization of workers, obliging all inhabitants of a district to attend the dikes in order to counter the imminent dangers of the sea. The crucial element in this early organisation of flood protection and drainage was the inspection of the works. This inspection was performed by local ‘witnesses’ or aldermen, summoned by a representative of the lord, urging all landowners to fulfil their maintenance duties (Verhulst, 1959: 36-37 and Fockema-Andreae, 1950: 9). In 153

The social distribution of land and flood risk along the North Sea coast

Romney Marsh, this inspection was – at least from 1252 on – the task of 24 officials known as jurats, who were elected by the people – presumably the landholders – of the marsh, and summoned by a separate bailiff (Eddison, 2000: 86-87). This type of traditional water management could be very responsive to environmental challenges. In their study of the investments in the marshland holdings of Canterbury Cathedral Priory in Ebony, Agony and Appledore, situated at the edge of Romney Marsh, where the river Rother entered the Marsh, Anthony Gross and Andrew Butcher (1995: 109) noticed a remarkable powerful reaction to the severe storms and the flooding of 1287-88. In the immediate aftermath of the storm, investments tripled in ‘walling’ (dike maintenance and repair) by the Priory at least tripled. According to both authors this rise of expenditure on dike maintenance indicated an ‘interventionist’ management style and a ‘clear willingness to invest’ (Gross & Butcher, 1995: 116) However, this was not just the result of an individual investment strategy by one single ecclesiastical landowner, but rather the product of a communal reaction to the inundations of 1287-1288, in which Canterbury Cathedral Priory was just assigned its share in proportion to the land it owned. In the following years as well the priory was allotted the maintenance of parts of the sea-banks, groynes and jetties protecting the marshes, and had to pay an amount in cash to the jurats for the upkeep of RomneyMarsh’s most important sea-wall, the great wall of Appledore (Smith, 1940: 34-35). In the Flemish Polders a similar pattern of very oscillating but highly responsive investments in flood protection and drainage could be found in the late thirteenth century. In the surroundings of the commercial metropolis of Bruges modern water boards – Dutch: wateringen; French: wateringues – increasingly centralised the maintenance and repair works on dikes and ditches from the 1270’s onwards, thus replacing the old system of allotment to individual landowners. In the first decades of their existence, these water boards mobilised huge amounts of labour, which at that period was cheap and still easily available in the peasant economy of the Polders. In 1354-1355 the water board of Blankenberge, responsible for flood protection and drainage of an area of c. 15,000 ha, even hired the equivalent of 23,788 working days of unskilled labourers to counter the damage caused by a storm surge: in the busiest periods hundreds of workers at a time were labouring literally day and night at the sluices and the sea-walls of the area (Soens, 2006). Until the fourteenth century, it seems that environmental risk in the coastal wetlands of the North Sea Area was countered by allotment systems and massive input of (cheap) labour, making the high risk inherent to a coastal wetland affordable for peasant smallholders, and enabling a responsive attitude towards environmental challenges. It’s off course difficult to measure to what extant this ‘peasant’ way of dealing with

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environmental risk was efficient. In any case, the number of flooding disasters due to storm surges was significantly lower in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, than it would be in the subsequent centuries (see below).

IV.  Commercialisation and changing patterns of landholding: c. 1400-1800 AD Some of the coastal wetlands studied in this paper were among the first regions in North-Western Europe that made the transition towards commercialization, not only implying the exchange of agrarian products on a market – which already took place in many domain or family-based economies of the medieval period too – but also the market exchange of land, labour, and capital, releasing a chain-reaction of competition, specialization, investment and accumulation but at the same time increasing social polarisation (Thoen, 2004). In many (but not all) coastal wetlands short-term lease would become the predominant way of landholding by the late medieval period. With little or no extra-economic pressure by lords and a free market of peasant land, the conditions for an early introduction and success of leasehold were met at an early stage (van Bavel, 2008: 198-207). In the Flemish coastal plain rural commercialisation took off in the fourteenth century, if not earlier. It was first of all characterized by a radical restructuring of the property relations. Statistical evidence for the decline in the number of smallholders in the coastal plain however can only be found from the end of the fourteenth century. As can be derived from the everdiminishing numbers of smallholders recorded in the land-registers of the water boards, it gained momentum in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. In every sample, both the total number of landowners and the number of smallholders owning less than 4 ha shrunk dramatically. By the middle of the sixteenth century, half of the land in each district was owned by a very small number of landowners, ranging from no more than ten in small water districts (Table 5.1) to about 40 in a water district like the Oude Yevene measuring more than 3,000 ha (Table 5.3). In the latter area almost 1,000 small landowners had ‘disappeared’ between the end of the fourteenth and the middle of the sixteenth century. It is not impossible that part of the peasant-smallholders who had lost their property rights to the land continued to work the lands their ancestors had owned, but now in the capacity of leaseholder, paying a full, competitive market rent to the new owners, who in large majority leased out their newly acquired lands (Soens & Thoen, 2008).

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The social distribution of land and flood risk along the North Sea coast

Table 5.1. Distribution of landownership in the watering Romboutswerve (north of Bruges, c. 420.7 ha), 1456 and 1545  

1456

1545

Size (ha)

N

% owners

% acreage

N

% owners

% acreage

202

0

0

0

0

0

0

Total

151

100

100

78

100

100

Source. Bruges, OCMW-archives, Saint John, 5 A 15 and State Archives, Romboutswerve, 99.

Table 5.2. Distribution of landownership in the watering Moerkerke Zuid-over-de-Lieve (east of Bruges, c. 2,060 ha), 1470 and 1530  

1470

1530

Size (ha)

N

% owners

% acreage

N

% owners

202

1

0.3

11.7

0

0

0.0

Total

322

100

100

186

100

100

Source. Bruges, Archives of the Groot-Seminarie, Spermalie, 46 and State Archives, Brugse Vrije, 16036.

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Table 5.3. Distribution of landownership in the Oude Yevene-watering (Western Zeeland-Flanders, c. 3,530 ha), 1388 and 1550  

1388

Size (ha)

202 Total

1550 % acreage

N

% owners

% acreage

84.1

33.7

291

65.0

10.0

9.7

22.4

51

11.4

9.5

77

5.3

24.8

65

14.5

26.5

10

0.7

7.5

27

6.0

22.9

3

0.2

4.7

12

2.7

19.7

0

0.0

0.0

1

0.2

2.9

1

0.1

6.9

1

0.2

8.5

1,461

100

100

448

100

100

Source. Soens (2001).

For the neighbouring castellany of Furnes, Vandewalle (1986) calculated that more than 90% of all land in the polder area was held in short-term lease by the middle of the sixteenth century. In contrast to the declining number of customary and free holdings, the farms held in short-term lease were increasing both in number and in size: in Watervliet for instance – a sixteenth century re-embankment in the Western Scheldt area – only 18.8% of the land in 1544 was still worked by the landowners themselves, the rest had been leased out. No more than 37 of the 138 farms were still fully owned by the people who worked them. With one exception, all of these owneroccupied farms were smaller than 5 ha. In contrast, 58% of the area was cultivated by 25 farms larger than 20 ha, all of them at least partly held in short-term lease (Soens, 2009: Table 2.13). In the parish of Oostkerke, near Bruges, the engrossment of farmholdings was even more outspoken: by 1570, 72% of the land was farmed by 26 large holdings, each cultivating 32.7 ha on average (Soens, 2009: Table 2.14). In the seventeenth and eighteenth century, this evolution continued and the Flemish Polder Area became a region of grande agriculture, with most of the land cultivated by farms over 50 ha (Van Cruyningen, 2000; Vandewalle, 1986: 104). As peasant landowners lost their land, other people could of course extend their landed property. Both ecclesiastical and bourgeois landownership were gaining importance. For instance, in the water district Moerkerke-Zuid-over-de-Lieve, ten kilometres east of Bruges, religious institutions owned 31.5% of the land by 1530 and urban citizens, most of them living in Bruges, another 45%1. Most of the land in 1

 

Bruges, State Archives, Brugse Vrije, 16036.

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The social distribution of land and flood risk along the North Sea coast

the sixteenth century coastal plain was owned by people who did not actually live in the area themselves. They were often joined by a small group of village ‘notables’, often large tenant farmers themselves who increasingly accumulated economic and political power in the village. As a consequence absentee landowners came into control of a large part of the natural resources of the coastal wetland. The impact of this evolution on the social distribution of environmental risk will be discussed in the next paragraph, but it’s clear that these absentee landowners at least escaped the most prominent environmental risk inherent to coastal wetlands: the physical risk of loosing one’s life. The Flemish Polder Area was not the only coastal wetland area where an early transformation of landownership and landholding took place. By the sixteenth century, Romney Marsh – once hosting one of England’s highest population densities – had turned into one of the least populated regions of southern England and underwent an economic switch towards (extensive) sheep breeding, supplying the textile industry of the nearby Weald of Kent (Zell, 1994). The exact chronology of the collapse of peasant society in Romney Marsh is difficult to measure. Although most studies emphasize the disastrous impact of the late thirteenth century inundations, recent studies by Spencer Dimmock (2001 and 2007) and Sheila Sweetinburgh (2002) indicate that peasant society in the Marsh was still quite vital in the fifteenth century, even in a context of general population downturn: on the manor of Dengemarsh, property of Battle abbeys, with c. 121 ha of demesne lands and c. 263 ha of tenancies, the number of family-names in the rental increased from 51 in the 1370s to 64 in 1432 (83 actual landholders in the latter year), with the number of holdings less than 3 acres (1.2 ha), increasing from 30 to 37. The scattered plots of land were held by peasants living in the marsh, but also in the nearby small town of Lydd (at least 36 of the 83 landholders in 1432). It’s clear that peasant society in Romney Marsh survived both the ravages of the Black Death and the storm surges of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. In the mid-fifteenth century however, the scattered property structures in Romney Marsh started to change. In Dengemarsh, an enclosure movement started in the 1460s which was quite violent, with juridical conflicts between the demesne farmers of Battle Abbey who initiated the enclosure on the one hand and the small landholders – both urban and rural, holding their land in very secure tenure ‘by inheritance’, with rents invariable for at least 80 years – on the other hand. Their resistance failed, most smallholders were more or less forced to sell their holdings, and by 1538 the number of farms in the area had diminished to six (compared to 42 in 1432): the enlarged demesne farm and some newly set up holdings (Dimmock, 2001: 9, 15; 2007: 282-283).

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In the middle of the seventeenth century, landownership and land-occupation in Romney Marsh had become ‘two separate worlds’, with just 16% of the land being owner-occupied (Hipkin, 2000: 658). Apart from the institutional (ecclesiastical) landownership, which had become very small by that period (4%), the land in the mid seventeenth century Level of Romney Marsh was owned by 448 landowners, owning on average 20,2 ha. Half of the Level’s almost 9,500 ha were owned by just 49 individuals, owning each more than 40 ha, and largely consisting both local parochial gentry and more ancient Kentish elite families (Hipkin, 2000: 659-660; Merry and Richardson, 2000). As for landholdings, by the end of the sixteenth century almost half of the land was occupied by holdings larger than 40 ha, and by the middle of the eighteenth century, this was the case for almost 70% of the land (Hipkin, 2003: 78). In 1699, the average holding in the broader Romney Marsh region measured 34 ha with 12 holdings even exceeding 200 ha (or 500 acres) (Hipkin, 2000: 674). However, these numbers do not tell much about the nature of agriculture in the early Romney Marsh, and we have to ask if the parallel with the Flemish coastal plain is more than superficies. In his studies of early modern Romney Marsh, Stephen Hipkin is unwilling to apply Brenner’s model of early rural capitalism to this region, largely because of two mean reasons: first, the large farms of the marsh were not consolidated, but scattered in the landscape, and secondly, they were not created by rentiers, but by farmers, who more often than not leased parcels from dozens of small and large landowners (Hipkin 2000, 649-650). In the early eighteenth century, Romney Marsh became the territory of these ‘gentlemen-graziers’, farming extensive marshland holdings on behalf of different landowners, and dominating local officeholding for decades (Hipkin, 2002). Interestingly, more than one of third of them did not actually live in the marsh, but in the upland parishes, just using their marshland holdings for summer pasture. For this reason, the eighteenth century Romney Marsh has been characterized as an ‘absentee society’, with not only the landowners, but even an important share of the landholders living outside the area (Davison, 2002: 191). By contrast, in our third research area, the Central Holland Peatlands, the direct access to land for peasant smallholders survived well into the early modern period. This might seem strange, because urban investment in rural land was very high in sixteenth and seventeenth century Holland, especially after the Dutch Revolt, starting in 1568, when war devastation, high taxation and debts forced man peasants them to sell their land (van Bavel, 2001; 2002). Bourgeois acquisition of land, however, was not a general phenomenon: the share of bourgeois landownership was highest on the sandy dune lands, and on clay lands, with new investments increasingly directed towards large drainage projects, in most cases of lands that had been drowned by the late medieval storm surges and was now drained by the installation of pumps driven

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The social distribution of land and flood risk along the North Sea coast

by windmills. In contrast, in many villages in the Peatlands bourgeois investment did not exceed five percent of the land (see De Vries, 1974: 45-46). The reason for the bourgeois reluctance to buy land in the peat-districts, is linked to the organisation of the peat-industry itself. In the fifteenth century there still were large-scale peat exploitations owned by bourgeois investors, and operated by hired wage labourers in this part of Holland. In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, this kind of large scale peat industries was increasingly moving to the eastern provinces of the Netherlands, where peat bogs had not yet been shrinking by centuries of drainage and intensive occupation. In sixteenth century central Holland, peat needed to be dredged from below the ground water level, and this kind of peat-dredging became a corner-stone of the small-scale, owner-occupied peasant farm in Golden Age Holland. Van Tielhof recently showed how this labour intensive small-scale peat-industry slowed down the transition to large-scale capitalist farming in this region, at least until the middle of the seventeenth century (Van Tielhof, 2005). Both landownership and landholdings became instead increasingly scattered, while population had exploded: in the peat village of Zegwaart for instance, population increased from about 335 in the beginning of the sixteenth century to 2099 in 1622, the largest part of them concentrated on the higher roads and dikes (Van Dam & Van Tielhof, 2006: 170-174). In the above mentioned peat-village of Ter Aar as well, the number of holdings smaller than 4.2 ha (5 Rijnland morgen) increased from 16.9 to 66.7% of all holdings. Table 5.4. Landholdings in the village Ter Aar, 1543 and 1600 1543 Hectares

N

1600 %

N

%

0.1-4.2

21

16.9

264

66.7

4.2-8.4

28

22.6

68

17.2

8.4-21.2

50

40.3

57

14.4

21.2-42.4

22

17.7

6

1.5

42.4 + Total

3

2.4

1

0.3

124

100

396

100

Source. de Vries (1974: 132), converted to hectares.

Although Van Tielhof stresses that peasant smallholders took extreme care to hold on to their land as long as possible, by restricting peat dredging to the lowest parts of their land, in order to safeguard the rest of it as pasture-land, in the end both the destruction of the land and the increasing dependence of the landholders of wage 160

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labour as an additional income could not be avoided. Especially after 1670, when the economic tide was turning, many smallholders abandoned their submerged lands: by 1686 the population of Zegwaart, had already diminished to 1339 people – minus one third compared to 1622 (Van Tielhof, 2005: 104; Van Dam & Van Tielhof, 2006: 314-315). The now abandoned and submerged peat lands were either incorporated in the expanding lakes in the area like the well-known Haarlemmermeer, or they persisted in the landscape as smaller pools, separated from each other by small ridges, witnesses of the former field system. Ultimately, most of them would be drained and devoted to agriculture again, but their former peasant landowners would not return: after drainage, in this region as well large leasehold farmers made their appearance in the former Peatlands (Van Dam & Van Tielhof, 2006: 244).

V.  ‘Managed retreat’ and the social distribution of flood risk, c. 1400-1800 AD. The dramatic changes in land tenure and land holding occurring in the coastal wetlands from the late medieval period onwards, had a profound impact on the way coastal society dealt with flood risk. In all three areas historical references to flooding and water problems were increasing from the late thirteenth century onwards. In the Low Countries inundations following storm surges were much more numerous during the fourteenth, fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, than they had been in the twelfth or thirteenth centuries (de Kraker 2006 and 2008). In England the storm of 1288 is often seen as the onset of a real Age of Storms (Bailey, 1991; Galloway & Potts, 2007). In Flanders and Zeeland more than one hundred villages drowned in the wake of great storm surges like those of 1375; 1404; 1421; 1530 or 1570. The Central Holland Peatlands remained protected from direct intrusion from the sea by its strong dune barrier. However, in Holland as well, water problems increased in the fourteenth century, apparently leading to the abandon of arable farming on the peatlands (van Bavel and van Zanden, 2004). Of course one could point at the bias of the archival record, which is much better for the centuries after 1300 than for the twelfth or thirteenth century. Furthermore, the late medieval water problems could be simply explained by an increased storminess in the later medieval period, related to the beginning of the ‘Little Ice Age’. Apart from the medium to long-term evolution towards a cooler and wetter climate in this period, recent studies also point at remarkable clusters of climatic disruptions coinciding with years of severe economic stress like the Great Famine in 1315-1317 or the Black Death in the middle of the fourteenth century (Campbell, forthcoming). Even though this kind of physical externalities might account for at least part of the environmental problems in the late medieval coastal wetlands, it’s insufficient to 161

The social distribution of land and flood risk along the North Sea coast

explain the changing human reactions to the flood problems. This becomes clear when comparing the data on inundations following storm surges with the investment in drainage and sea-walls in the Flemish coastal plain. Table 5.5. Flood problems and investments in water management along the Flemish North Sea Coast and the Western Scheldt Estuary, 1000-1750 A B. Inundations following Total investment in storm surges water management*

B/A Relative investment per inundation

1000-1050

2

1051-1100

1

1101-1150

2

1151-1200

2

1201-1250

3

1251-1300

5

15.1

3.0

1301-1350

7

11.8

1.7

1351-1400

13

19.3

1.5

1401-1450

17

15.7

0.9

1451-1500

20

11.2

0.6

1501-1550

21

13.2

0.6

1551-1600

24

13.3

0.6

1601-1650

17

32.1

1.9

1651-1700

15

37.0

2.5

1701-1750

5

39.8

8.0

Note. Yearly cost per hectare, converted into liter wheat per hectare.

Sources. The flood data are based on Gottschalk, 1971-1977 and Buisman 1995-2006; investments based on data for the Blankenbergse watering between Bruges and Ostend, c. 1280-1750: Soens (2009: 113-1742).

  Nominal data on yearly investments have been converted into wheat, in order to avoid the disturbing effects of price inflation on the data series. Price inflation was particularly high in the sixteenth century (the so-called ‘price revolution’) and in the late thirteenth and the late fourteenth century, due to coin debasements. 2

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The comparison between inundations and investments in Table 5.5 is not fully accurate, as the regional scope of both series is different: data on inundations refer to the whole of the Flemish North Sea Coast and the Scheldt Estuary, whereas data on investments are derived from one single area, albeit a very large one: the Blankenbergse watering, a huge area of c. 1,7000 ha between the towns of Bruges, Blankenberge, Ostend and Oudenburg, directly adjacent to the North Sea Coast. Especially in the fifteenth and sixteenth century, the direct impact of flooding was considerably lower in this area than in some other parts of the Flemish coast, especially in the Western Scheldt Estuary. As a consequence, investments in other areas might have been higher. The long-term evolution however will remain the same: the remarkable increase in flood problems was not at all matched by increased investments in flood control. On the contrary: investments witnessed a downwards evolution, especially between 1450 and 1600 when flood problems were at maximum strength. Only in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries a remarkable drop in flooding was paralleled by structurally higher investments in drainage and sea-walls. Based on the Flemish data, it seems that the willingness to invest in the upkeep of the sea-defences and drainage system was fading away parallel with the decline of peasant society in the coastal plain. Unfortunately, we do not dispose of similar long-term series for our two other case-studies. Nevertheless both in Romney Marsh and in the Holland Peat lands, there are strong indications that investments were not responding to increasing flood problems. During the 1270s and 1280s we already saw Canterbury Cathedral Priory investing about 4 d. per acre of arable on dike maintenance on its marshland estates, climbing up to 46 d. in the storm year 1288 (Gross & Butcher, 1995). In the 1580s nominal wallscots in the level of Romney Marsh had risen to about 10 d. per acre (Hipkin, 2000: 670). Taking into account that nominal wages for rural labourers were at least six times higher in the 1580s compared to the 1280s (Clark, 2007), it becomes clear that ‘real’ investment was probably much higher before 1300. The late sixteenth century Marsh clearly no longer demanded the same degree of drainage quality needed by the mixed farming economy of the late thirteenth century. This is also confirmed by a recent analysis of late medieval flooding along the Thames Estuary. When flood problems multiplied in the first half of the fourteenth century, the number of commissions De wallis et fossatis issued by the English Crown and organizing the coastal defences, were initially rising, reaching a peak in the 1370s. After that decade, the number of commissions declined significantly, although the flood problems remained the same or increased even further (Galloway & Potts, 2007; Galloway, 2009). In the Holland peatlands, drainage problems due to the shrinking and lowering of the peat were accumulating in the second half of the seventeenth century. However, in

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The social distribution of land and flood risk along the North Sea coast

the central part of these peatlands between Amsterdam, Haarlem, Leiden and Gouda, investments by the regional water board of Rijnland in drainage and flood control remained remarkably stable from the second half of the seventeenth to the end of the eighteenth century. Structurally, these regional water boards did not react to the increased flood problems. In Rijnland the only investments that were structurally rising in this period were the administrative costs (expenses on wages for the water board’s administration, on dinners and drinks, and of course on the maintenance of the prestigious office – Gemeenlandshuis – in Leiden) (Van Dam & Van Tielhof, 2006: 225; 258-261). In what follows we will try to demonstrate that this apparent disappearance of the willingness to invest in flood control, was directly related to the changing access to land, giving the control over the water management to nonpeasant groups in society. The latter of often lacked an interest in proper flood risk management, were prepared to accept a higher flood risk, and often intentionally or unintentionally advocated some kind of ‘managed retreat’, abandoning the intensive use of the most endangered coastal areas. The burden of this increased flood risk was by and large paid for by the smaller peasant landholders. In the twelfth and thirteenth century institutional arrangements concerning flood protection and drainage perfectly fitted a peasant society with lots of labour, but little cash. In the course of the later medieval period and the early modern period, the organisation of water management underwent important changes, largely coinciding with the changes in landownership and landholding described above. By consequence, these institutional changes occurred first in the Flemish Polders and Romney Marsh, where they became visible already in the late thirteenth century and only much later in Central Holland. Essentially the changes concerned a centralization and a monetarization of the water management, and they went hand in hand by a more restrictive access to the decision making process for peasant smallholders. We already mentioned the creation of ‘water boards’ in the Flemish coastal plain from the 1270s onwards. The board members, elected by the landowners, assumed the responsibility over the hydraulic infrastructure in their district. They bought materials; hired people to perform maintenance and repair works on sluices, dikes and drains; outsourced some of the maintenance; kept a separate administration; gathered to make minor decisions; called on the officials of the count of Flanders to inspect the infrastructure; and reported to the general assembly of the landowners. All of their activities were financed by a uniform land tax, the geschot or scot paid in cash by the landowners proportionally with the size of their land (Soens, 2009:  17-57). This new kind of organisation perfectly fitted absentee landowners, who presumably preferred the payment of an amount of cash, in most cases payable

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in the city of Bruges as well as in the polder district itself, over labour services on the ground. For peasant smallholders, such monetarization of labour duties was less favourable. Moreover, the clear and well-defined property rights the peasants enjoyed over their land, now turned into their disadvantage: in case of non-payment, land could easily be expropriated, and handed over to the count of Flanders, who usually transferred it immediately to a third party, who was willing to pay the taxes. Usually the terms for payment were very short: taxes were due within two weeks, after which term a double or quadruple fine was levied, eventually resulting in expropriation within the year. From the late thirteenth century on, an increasing number of peasant landowners lost their land due to these stringent procedures. As we have seen, most of this land was taken over by bourgeois or ecclesiastical landowners, and turned into leasehold. Although by the middle of the sixteenth century almost 90% of the land in the Flemish Polder area was held in short-term lease, the liability for the payment of the scot- taxes and the connected access to the decision making process in the water boards remained restricted to the owners of the land. At least in theory the leaseholders – who were the actual inhabitants of the land and thus were most directly concerned by the flood risk - were excluded from the decision-making process (Soens, 2006). As a consequence, there was an increasing separation of scot payment on the one hand and (direct) interest in an adequate maintenance of the infrastructure on the other hand. In Romney Marsh the same evolution towards leasehold took place before the seventeenth century, but here the responsibility for the payment of the scot remained tied to the usufruct, which meant that the leaseholder had to pay for it in normal years (Hipkin, 2000: 650; 2003: 73; Beck, 1995: 167). The largest of these leasehold-farmers profited from this situation to extend their grip on the water management organisation. In the medieval period, the jurats of the Marsh had been recruited among the better-off smallholders, some of them with a more or less yeoman-status by the fifteenth century as was the case for the jurats in the towns of the Marsh (Dimmock, 2001: 17-18). By the early eighteenth century however, the typical jurat was a gentlemen-grazier like Daniel Langdon, who not only was one of the largest tenant-farmers in the area, but also acted as jurat of the Level and Liberty of Romney Marsh for 45 years (Hipkin, 2002). Both in the Flemish Polders and in Romney Marsh peasant smallholders increasingly lost the institutional tools to intervene in the management of environmental risk. Surprisingly, this was also increasingly the case in the Holland peatlands, where the peasant smallholding survived and even flourished well into the seventeenth

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The social distribution of land and flood risk along the North Sea coast

century. In the fifteenth and sixteenth century, the essential tasks of maintaining and upgrading the flood protection and drainage system in Central Holland were increasingly handed over from local communities to the regional water boards, called Hoogheemraadschappen. The latter had existed already in the thirteenth century, but in the first centuries of their existence their tasks were largely limited to the inspection of the water control system (Van Dam & Van Tielhof, 2006: 43-51). From the sixteenth century onwards, the regional water boards gradually centralized the maintenance of the main elements of the water control system. At the same time the decision making process in these regional water boards was increasingly controlled by the urban oligarchy of Holland’s booming towns. Cities obtained the right to delegate a representative to the regional water boards: in the important water board of Rijnland, four out seven board members in the seventeenth century were directly appointed by cities (Fockema Andreae, 1934: 134-136). Furthermore, in the same sixteenth century important urban landowners started to gather with noblemen and abbeys and formed colleges of ‘main landowners’ (Hoofdingelanden), who could control the investments in the water control system. As we have seen, these urban elites had little or no direct patrimonial interests in the peatlands: their landed property was situated in the river clay area or on the dune lands. The environmental problems faced by the peasant smallholders in the peatlands were of little or no concern to them. In the course of the early modern period, structural solutions for the increasing drainage problems in the Holland peat area’s would not be found. The major cities Leiden, Amsterdam and Haarlem blocked every initiative for centuries. Leiden for instance obstructed the drainage of the ever expanding Haarlemmermeer, in part because the city got considerable income from the fishing on the lake, and above all because she feared that after the drainage of the lake the water would stagnate in and around the city (Van Dam & Van Tielhof, 2006: 290). In an interesting study of the decision-making process in some of these seventeenth and eighteenth century Rijnland polders, Siger Zeischka (2007: 301302) could demonstrate that the short-term conflicts of interests between particular landowners could paralyze the introduction of technological innovations for decades or even centuries, and that this kind of paralyzing clashes happened more in polders predominated by urban landownership, than in adjacent peat districts, where peasant landownership stood strong. Only after the fall of the Republic, selfish obstruction by individual cities and their regents would be overruled by a hence stronger central state. The changing social distribution of landownership in the coastal plain thus transferred the institutional control over the drainage system and the sea-defences to ‘new’ stakeholders – absentee landowners in the Flemish coastal plain, gentlemangraziers in Romney Marsh, urban elites in the Holland peatlands. When confronted

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with flood risk, they pursued coping strategies that were clearly different from those pursued by peasant smallholders in the past. In general, the new stakeholders were only prepared to invest in water control when this benefited their short-term economic objectives. They were not prepared to accept investment ratios depressing the rent income from their estates on a more than incidental base. This becomes clear when confronting rent-income and re-investment in water control in the Flemish coastal plain. Figure 5.1 shows that before 1400 there was no clear correlation between the average lease prices of land in the coastal area and the payments of ‘scot’ for drainage and coastal defences by Saint John’s hospital in Bruges: lease prices plunged, especially in the second half of the fourteenth century, whereas ‘scot’ payments were rising. From 1400 onwards however, both series seem to be positively correlated: scot payments now seemed to follow the downward movement of the lease prices, only to recover slightly from the second quarter of the sixteenth century onwards. Figure 5.1. Total ‘scot’ payments by Saint John’s hospital in Bruges and lease rate of ‘polder’ land, 1280-1568

350 300

in silver (index: 1450-1459=100)

Lease prices per hectare

250 200 150 100 50

Scot payments per hectare

1280 1288 1296 1304 1312 1320 1328 1336 1344 1352 1360 1368 1376 1384 1392 1400 1408 1416 1424 1432 1440 1448 1456 1464 1472 1480 1488 1496 1504 1512 1520 1528 1536 1544 1552 1560 1568

0

Sources. Thoen & Soens (in preparation); Soens (2009:140).

By the second half of the fifteenth century, there was an almost perfect match between lease prices and scot payments. By that time real lease prices per hectare had been falling down from the equivalent of 400 to 700 liters of wheat per hectare 167

The social distribution of land and flood risk along the North Sea coast

to approximately 200  liters (Thoen & Soens, in preparation). In reaction to this evolution, the scot-taxes were equally lowered, although the number of inundations in this period was significantly increasing (see Table 5.5). In Romney Marsh as well a higher risk of flooding became acceptable in the course of the early modern period: agriculture in the Early Modern Marsh became radically oriented towards extensive pasture, with not only the landowners but also a considerable part of the largest farmers living outside the Marsh. The drainage of the area no longer needed to meet the high standards for arable farming. In the landscape, the gradual abandon of arable farming in the marsh, lead to the filling up of the minor ditches that were no longer retained (Eddison, 2000: 101). In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries the water control system was adapted to the needs of the ‘gentlemen-graziers’ and thus to the needs of extensive sheep breeding. As a consequence, investments tended to follow the wool prices. While wool prices were rising until the 1620s, wall ‘scots’ – taxes for the maintenance of the sea-walls – could triple (from an average of c. 10 to an average of c. 30 d. per acre). To these numbers, one should add an additional scot for the maintenance of the drainage system, on average 10 d. per acre in the 1630s. The depression of wool prices that followed first resulted in stagnation of the wall scots and from the 1660s onwards in a pronounced downward evolution. In the 1680s the wall scots had again reached the bottom level of 10 to 15 d. per acre (Hipkin, 2000: 669-670). The more investments in the water control system became related to the evolution of rent income or wool prices, the less they reacted on environmental problems, which often resulted in a higher flood risk. For absentee landowners or gentlemen-graziers flooding however was not the worst-case scenario feared by peasant-smallholders practising mixed agriculture on a family holding. On a macro-level, it could even be profitable to abandon the most endangered lands. In all three coastal wetlands under consideration examples can be found of larger and richer landowners practising what could be labelled ‘managed retreat’ avant-la-lettre: the deliberate giving up of land, returning it to the water. Unlike present-day policies of ‘coastal realignment’, retreating sea-walls and extending the intertidal area in pursuit of ecological or safety goals, pre-modern landowners only aimed at economic rationalisation. Two examples for Flanders might illustrate this. In 1551 the directors and some prominent landowners of the Oude Land Polder on the Flemish Island of Kadzand opposed the reparation of their damaged sea-wall, preferring to build a new sea-wall more inland. They intended to abandon 33 ha of land and through this offer hoped to shorten the length of their sea-wall from 2.6 to 1.3 kilometers3. The famous sixteenth 3

 

168

Ghent, State Archives, Sint-Baafs and Bisdom, K9098.

Tim Soens

century dike expert Andreas Vierlingh fiercely resisted this kind of coastal retreat. In his opinion, the realignment of sea-walls inland only gave temporary relief. After a few decades, the sea would attack the new dike, and time and again a further retreat inland would be necessary. According to Vierlingh this kind of measures was mostly advocated by people wearing lange robben (long dresses), instead of lange vette leersen (long oiled boots) - by elite people, not by practicians (De Hullu & Verhoeven, 1920: 393-398). On another island, Biervliet, in the Western Scheldt estuary, Saint Peter’s and Saint Bavo’s abbey in Ghent – two of the oldest and richest Benedictine abbeys of Flandersdesperately tried to get rid of their landed estates in the fifteenth century. Biervliet was a small port founded by the dynamic count Filips in the second half of the twelfth century and had become famous for its salt-refining industry and herring fishery (Mertens, 1963). However, from the second half of the fourteenth century on, the expanding Western Scheldt estuary submerged neighbouring lands and cut the city from its hinterland. By the middle of the fifteenth century, the city had turned into a remote isle, faced with depopulation, general economic decline and bankruptcy, desperately looking for funding to maintain its harassed dikes. Here, flight of capital clearly came along with environmental trouble. Until the beginning of the 1420s the Ghent abbeys did contribute considerable amounts of money to the upkeep of the seawalls around Biervliet, but first Saint Peter’s in 1421 and at the end of the fifteenth century, Saint Bavo’s tried to abandon their land. During a law suit in 1487 the latter abbey claimed that its gross annual rent income from 28.2 ha of land in Biervliet did not exceed 440 Flemish groten, whereas the cost of dike repair work in 1483 alone amounted to 9600 groten (Soens, 2009: 101-103)4. Remarkably many of the landowners who tried to get rid of landed property too heavily charged with costs for water control, were at the same time investing equally huge amounts of money in the re-embankment of other areas. From the fifteenth to the eighteenth century the inundated polder lands in Flanders, Holland and Zeeland offered great opportunities for re-embankment. After flooding the area was often covered with fertile clay sediments and at the same time ‘liberated’ from peasant smallholders, and the scattered field system they had created during the medieval period. When re-embanked it was possible to design a new field and drainage system perfectly adapted to large scale farming (van Cruyningen, 2005). In this respect as well, flooding could be a rational economic strategy. For non-peasant landowners it was often preferable to leave districts where the upkeep of sea-walls was too expensive, especially as solidarity between districts was  

4

Ghent, State Archives, Sint-Baafs and Bisdom, o2614; Gottschalk, 1958, II: 19-20.

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The social distribution of land and flood risk along the North Sea coast

often absent or difficult to enforce. Throughout the late medieval and early modern period the labour- and capital-intensive upkeep of sea-walls frequently attacked by the sea often remained the task of relatively small communities to whom it had traditionally been entrusted. These communities often begged for financial assistance from larger regions, but often met with very limited success. A good example is the Spaarndammerdijk in Central Holland: the main sea-wall between the cities of Haarlem and Amsterdam, protecting the Rijnland area from the water of the Ij. The maintenance of this dike fell under the responsibility of the communities – ambachten – adjacent to the dike. In the sixteenth century the maintenance became increasingly costly, and the dike breaches more and more frequent. As a consequence, land burdened with maintenance duties on this dike became highly unattractive, and the more well-off landowners tried to get off these lands, which came into the hands of poorer fellows for whom these were the only lands they could afford, or, alternatively, were simply abandoned by their owners. Only after decades of problems and juridical contention, the maintenance of the Spaarndammerdijk was finally handed over to the regional water board of Rijnland in 1579-1581. At least financially, the environmental risk was now spread over a much larger region, but in the meanwhile the communities adjacent to the dike had witnessed a clear downward social evolution (Van Dam & Van Tielhof, 2006: 145-149). In late medieval Holland there was a second evolution that contributed to an increasingly unequal spread of flood risk: the spread of the polder mill. Starting from 1408, when the first windmill for drainage had been build near Alkmaar, the construction of polder mills enabled a much more effective drainage of small areas surrounded by new dikes built for this purpose (Bicker Kaarten, 1990). However, there were some disadvantages too: on the one hand drainage by wind mills accelerated the shrinkage of the peat soils within the polder, and thus necessitated ever more drainage. On the other hand, the surplus water drained out of the private polders, provoked flooding in other parts of the peat area, and contributed to the expansion of peat lakes like the Haarlemmermeer. Especially in poorer regions, who lacked the capital to build their own polder mills, flooding increased due to the introduction of polder mills in neighbouring areas (Van de Ven, 2004: 122-125; Van Dam & Van Tielhof, 2006: 320-321). In Romney Marsh as well the social distribution of the (increasing) flood risk was more and more unequal. We already noticed that an increasing part of the betteroff ‘gentlemen-graziers’ preferred to live outside the marsh, in the upland area. By the eighteenth century the marshlands had become so wet in winter, that the overwintering of lambs on the Marsh was considered too dangerous. Many Marshland

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farmers concluded ‘agistment’-contracts with upland farmers, permitting them to lead their lambs to the uplands in winter. In return, the upland famers could sent their cattle, and in particular bullocks that had to be fattened, to the marsh in summer, the usual exchange rate being five lambs for every bullock (Davison, 2002: 196). Although this seems a perfect example of a symbiotic relationship between upland and marshland agrarian economies, the exchange rate favoured the upland farmers who often earned huge money on meat production enabled by Marshland grazing (Davison, 2002: 191192). Furthermore, the upland farmers did not share the environmental cost of living and working in the Marshland, both in a direct, material, way, and in a more indirect and immaterial way. Directly, the ‘agistment’ permitted them to use the rich summer pasture of the marsh, without even paying for the maintenance cost of drainage and sea-defence system. Indirectly they escaped the health risk of living in a marshland area. This health risk had to do with the occasional danger of storm surges and flooding, but also with the presence of malaria (‘marsh fever’). All over the North Sea Area in the eighteenth and nineteenth century, dead rates were significantly higher in wetland-regions, just because of the presence of malaria (Devos, 2006: 168180; Dobson, 1980). Upland farmers and the increasing share of (larger) marshland farmers holding residence outside the Marsh, avoided these risks, without loosing the economic benefits of the Marshland environment. In all three coastal wetlands the collapse of peasant society not only corresponded with a period of increased environmental problems, but also with a clear social polarisation of environmental risk at the expense of the remaining peasant smallholders, the fate of whom we’re scarcely informed on. For landowning peasants, flooding often meant the loss of their only capital, turning them into landless labourers, or forcing them to compete for holdings on the lease-market. This socially and environmentally unsustainable situation would not persist. In the long term a new environmental equilibrium was found. In the Flemish Polders for instance, the uncontested hegemony of the large farmers and the absentee landowners in the eighteenth century, would be paralleled by a decrease of environmental problems in the area (see Table 5.5). Landowners were increasingly interested in stable long-term relationships with their farmers, and the latter tended to become landowners in the area themselves, which also gave them access to the decision making process in the water management system (van Cruyningen, 2000 and this volume). Probably for the first time since the thirteenth century the interests of most of the people who actually lived in the coastal wetlands and those who owned the land and controlled the decision-making process in the water management were corresponding with each other. However, this new way of sustainability was achieved through the destruction of a previous, perhaps

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The social distribution of land and flood risk along the North Sea coast

also sustainable, peasant society, capable of providing a living to considerably more people. Moreover, the environmental benefits of this new environmental equilibrium were first and foremost enjoyed by a limited group of large farmers in cooperation with mostly absentee landowners.

VI.  To conclude: flood risk and access to land in pre-modern coastal wetlands One of the most promising contributions of environmental history to the expanding literature on environmental justice is the isolation of elements capable of explaining variations in environmental equity over a longer period of time. In this article we tried to argue that access to land is one of these elements. In pre-modern coastal wetlands clear relationships existed between land rights and their social distribution and flood risk and its social distribution. An unequal distribution of flood risk was often the result of unequal or deteriorating land rights mediated by an unequal or deteriorating access to the decision making process in flood risk management. In the three coastal wetlands studied in this article – the Flemish Polder Area, Romney Marsh in Southern England and the Central Holland Peatlands – a vital peasant society, enjoying well defined and freely marketable property rights on their land, had come into existence by the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. In collaboration with local and regional landlords the peasants were the principal instigators of early land reclamation and drainage in these regions. Although environmental risks of working and living in these marshlands have always been higher than in many other regions, the wetlands offered a variety of valuable natural resources like fish, peat and salt besides excellent pasture land. At the same time, they were capable of supporting an important cereal production. The combination of all of these resources and activities could permit the survival of a dense and relatively prosperous population, with often a smaller degree of social polarization than was the case in ‘dryland’ communities (Wareham, 2006:  21). In order to maintain the environmental equilibrium, these societies had to invest heavily in the water control system, but as long as labour was cheap and abundant, all three regions managed to do so. Nevertheless in two of the three area’s – the Flemish Polder Area and Romney Marsh – peasant smallholders did not survive the end of the Middle Ages. Their formerly secure property rights to land were either contested by enclosing landlords and their farmers – as was the case in Romney Marsh – or had to be given up out of economic pressure or environmental misfortune. In both regions landownership became concentrated in the hands of large and mostly absentee landowners roughly 172

Tim Soens

between the fourteenth and the seventeenth centuries, while at the same time a gradual engrossment of farm sizes occurred. The result was a social polarisation of flood risk. Geographically, the areas most prone to inundation and flooding witnessed a downward social evolution; institutionally peasant smallholders were disadvantaged by the increasing monetarization and centralization of a water management organisation more and more closed off to them. This was even the case in Golden Age Holland, where the still flourishing peasant communities in the peatlands lacked access to the vital control over drainage systems and flood protection. Finally, investments in flood protection and drainage were no longer determined by direct environmental challenges but by abstract calculations of profit and loss by large landowners and tenant farmers, and thus increasingly depended on market cycles, not on the environmental needs of the inhabitants of the area. This kind of ‘managed retreat’ allowing higher water levels and higher flood risk might have been an economically rational strategy for capitalist landowners and farmers, but it also brought environmental disaster and economic failure to peasant smallholders. In other coastal wetlands of the North Sea Area less touched by early commercialisation, peasant societies were perhaps better able to maintain their grip on the local water control system and to create a sustainable environment for a larger population. In this respect a further comparison with the less studied coastal wetlands in the eastern part of Friesland or Northern Germany seems very promising (Allemeyer, 2006).

Manuscript sources Bruges, OCMW-archives, Sint-Janshospitaal, 5 A 15. Bruges, State Archives, Romboutswerve, 99.

Bruges, State Archives, Brugse Vrije, 16036.

Bruges, Archives of the Groot-Seminarie, Spermalie, 46. Ghent, State Archives, Sint-Baafs and Bisdom, K9098. Ghent, State Archives, Sint-Baafs and Bisdom, o2614.

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State, property rights and sustainability of drained areas along the North Sea coast, sixteenth-eighteenth centuries Piet van Cruyningen

I.  Introduction Since the twelfth century hundreds of thousands of hectares of marshes, fens and lakes along the southern and eastern North Sea coast have been drained. The first polders were often small, usually measuring less than a hundred hectares. From the later Middle Ages, however, the enterprises became larger, often covering thousands of hectares. More and more capital was required, especially when in the sixteenth century technical progress made it possible to drain lakes, which was much more costly than embanking coastal marshes. Such large projects were financed by groups of urban or noble investors or sometimes by the state. They added a considerable area of land to the states bordering the southern North Sea. For the Netherlands alone this is estimated at 231,000 ha for the period 1540-1815 (De Vries & Van der Woude, 1997: 29). The aim of this chapter is to determine whether these large-scale projects were sustainable in the sense that landowners and farmers were able to prevent the area from flooding and to maintain a viable rural economy and society in the area, and to investigate what role property arrangements played in the degree of sustainability. In the early modern period, the coastal regions of the North Sea area were among the most productive and most highly developed agricultural regions of Europe. At first sight this does not seem surprising because the marine clay soils of the drained marshes are some of the most fertile soils in the world. However, historiography shows that fertile soil is not a guarantee of success. Establishing a viable agricultural system in a recently drained area is not easy. Coastal areas are fragile environments and always remain liable to flooding. Even when an area was successfully drained, maintaining dikes and drains and raising the money to do so remained an onerous task for landowners and farmers. In several cases they failed and had to give up the land. In current historiography, the loss of drained land to the sea has usually been attributed to failing technology, to ecological factors like unexpectedly poor quality of the soil of the drained area or the subsidence of drained peat soils or to storm surges. But as Christopher Taylor has pointed out, social, economic and political 181

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matters are much more important. Of those factors, the economy is probably the most important. As Taylor states: ‘When agriculture is profitable, it is worth draining and reclaiming land’ (Taylor, 1999: 152, 156). But political and social factors are important too. This chapter addresses the success or failure of drainage projects from the social and legal-political perspectives. When land was drained, the rights of various groups of landowners – the state, investors, landowners in adjoining areas – were involved. The way these rights were managed was crucial to the success of the enterprise. Disgruntled landowners or inhabitants of adjoining towns or villages could make the costs of drainage increase enormously by starting endless litigation or even destroying dikes or sluices. Under such circumstances the new land sometimes had to be abandoned. The state could provide the legal framework that was a precondition for successful drainage. One of the reasons why this legal framework was required was that the balance between the property rights of different groups affected by drainage projects could easily be disturbed and cause problems. Property rights are defined broadly here, including several kinds of rights to dispose of land, to have access to it or to use it. At least three groups of interested owners, and in some cases even four, can be discerned: The state itself. This term is also broadly defined, and it includes absolutist states like England or the Southern Netherlands, a federal state like the Dutch Republic and the numerous small principalities and territories along the southern North Sea coast. In general, the state profited from drainage because it had claims on the ‘wilderness’, based on the regalia. Drained land provided the state with more income from land tax or the sale of land in the new polder than marshes or fens did from leasing fishing or grazing rights. However, the state did not always benefit from drainage. For instance, in the border areas in the Low Countries inundated lands were used as lines of defence by both the Dutch and the Spanish government. In that case the state might prefer to ensure these lands remained flooded (De Kraker, 2002). The investors in drainage. They had to be sure that their investment would be rewarded by receiving undisputed ownership of at least a substantial part of the reclaimed land. In the longer term, they were in need of an efficient water board and tax system. Towns, village communities and individuals in the ‘old land’ bordering on the drained area. Their interests could be affected in several ways. The new polder could close off shipping routes to villages or towns or could impede the draining away of excess water from the old land. Furthermore, village communities often had common rights on marshes or fenlands, which they used for fishing, gathering reeds and fuel 182

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or grazing livestock. When the land was drained they lost an important source of income for which they had to be compensated. When land was drained that had in the past been occupied and cultivated, the rights of the former landowners had to be considered as well. Were their rights revived when the area was drained again and if so, did they have to share in the costs of drainage? Only the state had the authority to create a proper balance between the often conflicting interests of all groups affected by drainage projects. Of course the state itself was an interested party. It could profit from drainage and the more pressing its financial problems were, the less neutral its attitude would be. But only the state disposed of the legal means to arbitrate in matters of drainage and only the state could enforce its decisions in these matters. However, the degree to which the state could interfere varied between the several kingdoms and principalities and this influenced the state’s efficiency (Ciriacono, 1995: 301). Once drainage was completed, owners and farmers faced the task of maintaining the new land. To ensure this, the dikes, sluices, canals, windmills, etc. had to be maintained, which meant that the new polder was in need of an efficient board which had the right to levy a tax on landowners and farmers to finance maintenance. The right to levy such a tax was important for the maintenance of the new land, but so also was the way it was levied, and the burden was divided between several groups of landowners. The sustainability of these fragile coastal areas could only be guaranteed by an efficient taxation system that ensured that all landowners contributed on the same basis. Sustainability is defined here as the ability to prevent the new land from flooding and to establish a viable rural economy and society in the area. This requires a taxation system that extracts the surplus from landowners and tenants in an equitable way, dividing the burden of maintenance in such a way that farming and landownership in the new land remain profitable in the long run. If, for example, groups of owners are granted exemption from polder taxes, the burden of taxation might become too heavy for the remaining owners and tenants. In this chapter the issue of sustainability of drained areas will be studied from a comparative perspective, comparing the Low Countries, England and several NorthWest German principalities. This is not easy because there is much more literature on the Low Countries than on Germany and there is even less on England, so the Low Countries will receive most attention. The problem is compounded by the widely differing historiographical traditions. However, enough is known about all countries in the area to make an attempt at comparison worthwhile.

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II.  The state’s claims to marshes and fens The rights to the ‘wilderness’, which had formed part of the domains of the Carolingian kings, had been granted to or usurped by many of the princes along the southern North Sea coast in the Middle Ages. This wilderness included wastelands like fens, but also the rivers and all of the silted-up marshes along the coast of the principality (Gallé, 1963: 31-32). By the thirteenth century, most counts and dukes in the Low Countries and North-West Germany were considered as the possessors of the foreshore and all of the silted-up land within their territory. The count of Holland had already been granted the rights to the wilderness for parts of his territory in 985 and had usurped those rights for the rest of his lands (Van der Linden, 1982: 65). Only in some of the former Frisian ‘peasant republics’ like Groningen, Kehdingen and Dithmarschen did the rights to marshes remain in the hands of the village communities (Knottnerus, 1992: 65-66). There were several exceptions to this rule. In the county of Zeeland, for instance, marshes that were attached to the old land (aanwas), were considered the property of the adjoining manor. Only land that had silted up detached from the old land, like a sandbank at the mouth of a river (opwas), belonged to the count (Beekman, 1905-1907: 1198-1199). In parts of Holland, too, the rights to the aanwas sometimes belonged to the adjoining seigneurie or even to individual landowners (Wouda, 2004: 287-290). Usually, however, wastelands like marshes or fens were part of the domains and those who wanted to reclaim them had to purchase them from the king or prince, or in the Dutch case from the provincial or federal government. This gave the state the opportunity to make certain that its own interests or those of third parties were not damaged by the drainage project. In Schleswig-Holstein, the state claimed the rights to the foreshore exceptionally late, in 1612 (Allemeyer, 2006: 139). Although some examples from the late fifteenth century and the sixteenth century show that sometimes permission for drainage was requested from the duke, the general rule in this Frisian area was that the village communities adjoining the marshes had the right to drain them (Allemeyer, 2006: 139). They made use of this right, but at the beginning of the seventeenth century they did not drain enough land to satisfy the state’s fiscal needs. By his 1612 decision, duke Johann Adolf hoped to attract foreign investors who would be able to raise more capital in order to drain more land that could broaden the basis of taxation in the duchy. The new system, including its terminology (a grant for drainage was called Oktroy, and the Dutch word was octrooi), seems to have been modelled on the Dutch example. This is hardly surprising, since Dutch engineers and investors had been active in Schleswig-Holstein since the fifteenth century.

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In some territories investors even had to request permission from the government when land was reclaimed that did not belong to the domains. The reason for this was that the government wanted to make sure that the project did not harm the general interest. In the county of Zeeland this had happened around the middle of the fourteenth century (Beekman, 1905-1907: 1199). By the early seventeenth century the practice had become common in Flanders, Zeeland Flanders, Brabant, Zeeland, Holland, Friesland and in North-West German principalities like Ostfriesland and Oldenburg. Investors were happy to submit to this practice. In giving permission for drainage the state usually made provisions like exemption from taxes for several years that made drainage more lucrative. But also – if it did its work well – the state could prevent lots of problems for the investors by finding the proper balance between the rights of all the affected parties and by providing the new polder with an efficient organisation. How popular this state interference was, can be observed in North-West Brabant, where powerful local lords were under no obligation to apply for a patent for drainage. But from the early seventeenth century they did apply for it to the StatesGeneral of their own free will1. Apart from some small territories in North-West Germany there was one notable exception to the rule that the foreshore belonged to the regalia: England. Here siltedup lands were considered to belong to the adjoining manor. It was not until the 1570s that Queen Elizabeth I was advised to claim ownership of the foreshore of her kingdom. However, she did not succeed in enforcing these claims and at the time of her death in 1603 the issue remained undecided (Thirsk, 1992: 310-314). Because the Crown owned many manors, it was involved in most the large drainage projects that were executed in England in the seventeenth century. But this involvement differed crucially from that of the states on the other shore of the North Sea. The English Crown was involved as a ‘private’ entrepreneur, while at the same time as the state’s highest authority it had to deal with the conflicts that arose as the result of these projects. As we will see, this was not a happy combination. In the next sections I will discuss how the property rights affected by drainage were managed by various states. Section III deals with the short term: the period preceding and during draining and reclamation. In this period the state played a crucial rule in balancing the interest of all the parties involved. In section IV the longer term will be addressed. After the new land had been settled, the state’s part became less important, although it still exerted influence. But more important was the internal organisation of the new land. Finally, section V gives an overview of the   As is evidenced by several patents, for instance; National Archives, The Hague, StatenGeneraal nr. 12300 f. 132v (11 November 1609), 169 (27 April 1609) and 408v (10 May 1613). 1

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degree of sustainability of early modern drainage projects along the North Sea coast in the long term.

III.  The state and drainage In most of the Low Countries, those who wanted to drain land had to request a patent (Dutch: octrooi) from the count or duke. Originally, these patents were documents in which the prince granted some wastelands to one of his vassals for reclamation. These vassals often lacked the knowledge or capital to perform this task, so they looked for investors and technical specialists to do it for them (Beekman, 1905-1907: 1198). The count of Holland and Zeeland made drainage attractive by installing a seigneurie (ambacht) in the new polder, with lucrative rights, like those to fishing and fowling or to levy tithes. At least since 1361, the count also granted exemption from county taxes, usually for seven years (Beekman, 1905-1907: 1201-1205). The count of Flanders for a long time was less generous. The first time exemption from taxes was granted in Flanders was in 1487 and even after that year patents for drainage were sometimes issued which did not contain tax exemption (Soens, 2006: 441-442). This difference can still be observed after the Netherlands had been split up between the Dutch Republic and the Spanish Netherlands. In the seventeenth century, the States-General and the States of Holland and Zeeland always granted fiscal immunity to new polders for periods up to 27 years (Beekman, 19051907: 1214). Archduke Albert and Archduchess Isabella (1598-1633) and after them the King of Spain usually granted tax exemptions as well, but in some cases they did not2. By granting tax exemptions the state served its own interest as well as that of the investors. It stimulated drainage, thus contributing to an increase of the land area and of the population, in the longer term resulting in a broadening of the fiscal base of the state. Usually, state and investors had the same interests, so the state took good care of the investors. Only the demands of warfare sometimes caused the interests of state and investors to diverge. This was especially so in the border areas between the Northern and Southern Netherlands in the seventeenth century. Flooded lands formed a very efficient and inexpensive line of defence for towns and fortresses. However, these lands were often also very fertile and interesting for investors in drainage. The States-General, which granted the patents for drainage in the border areas of Zeeland Flanders and North Brabant, had by the beginning of the seventeenth century a standard procedure to deal with this potential clash of interests. Each time a patent was requested, the military authorities in the area were asked for their advice. This   See the patent for drainage of the Polder van Namen, 19 December 1612, National Archives, Raad van State nr. 2145 I. 2

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often resulted in the States-General obliging the investors to make some changes to plans, for instance by changing the line of the projected dike. Sometimes the investors were even obliged to construct fortifications in the new polder3. In this way, conflicts between economic and military interests could be avoided. So we can conclude that in the Low Countries the state took good care of its own rights and those of the investors, but what about the rights of third parties that were somehow involved? The texts of medieval patents for drainage projects do not contain many references to such issues. However, as county and central bureaucracy became more efficient from the later Middle Ages, patents contained more and more clauses concerning the general interest and the interests of adjoining towns, polders and landowners. Patents for the drainage of lakes (droogmakerij) in the county of Holland always contained a clause obliging the investors to give contentement (satisfaction) to villages, towns and water boards to the extent that the removal of excess water, shipping, roads and bridges were affected by the drainage project (Beekman, 1905-1907: 1221). Usually, it was left to the parties concerned to reach an agreement about the required arrangements. It was only when very important interests were concerned, that the States of Holland intervened by including specific clauses in the patent. The standard clause about contentement was certainly not a dead letter. In 1607/08 the investors in the drainage of the enormous Lake Beemster in North Holland needed several months of serious negotiations to reach agreements with villages, towns and water boards about the way their project would be implemented (Borger, 2004: 81-90). Of course this was also in the investors’ own interest. If they did not satisfy the demands of their neighbours, they ran the risk of long-drawn-out and very costly litigation. Whereas the States of Holland left these arrangements mostly to the parties concerned, in the same period the States-General followed a somewhat different policy: it issued much more detailed patents (Van Cruyningen, 2005-2006: 129). This was probably the result of the fact that the States-General in many cases asked for advice about the project from the local authorities. Often the investors were compelled to construct canals or sluices that were meant to serve adjoining areas or towns. In 1637, for instance, a consortium that wanted to reclaim a polder near the town of Oostburg in Zeeland Flanders had to build a sluice to ensure that ships would still be able to reach Oostburg4. This may have cost the investors some money, but it also guaranteed them that no costly conflicts with the town would arise.   National Archives, Staten-Generaal nr. 4930, patent for drainage of Henricuspolder, 21 March 1615. 4   Zeeland Archives, Middelburg, Handschriftenverzameling nr. 1405/d, patent for drainage of Henricuspolder, 15 July 1637. 3

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Especially in the South-Western Netherlands, many thousands of hectares of land had been flooded during the fourteenth, fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. This had been caused by violent storms or by the military inundations of the 1580s. Around 1600 these flooded lands had silted up and had become potentially very fertile land, so many people were interested in reclaiming them. But how were the heirs of the former owners of the flooded lands to be dealt with? In Holland inundated land that was not re-embanked reverted to the count, or from the end of the sixteenth century, to his successor, the States of Holland. In Zeeland this land was also claimed by the count or by the lord of the adjoining seigneurie if it was not re-embanked within ‘a year and a day’ (Beekman, 1905-1907: 29-30). So here the situation was clear. When the investors received their patent for drainage, they would not be troubled by claims from heirs of former landowners. In Flanders, the situation was more complicated. Here, the rights of former landowners remained intact. This could cause conflicts between investors and the heirs of former owners. Worse still, these conflicts could not be solved easily because after several decades it was difficult to reconstruct the patterns of past ownership. The States-General tried to solve this problem by adding a special clause to each patent for drainage of flooded land in the part of Flanders under its jurisdiction. The drainage consortium had to publish its plans in several towns in the Low Countries. Those who thought they could claim land in the new polder had to make their claims known to the consortium within six months. After that, they had another six months to produce sufficient evidence. If their claim was accepted, they received the area of land they had claimed, and they had to pay for the cost of draining their land plus 10 per cent interest (Beekman, 1905-1907: 1212). The ‘vacant lands’ for which no substantiated claims had been made became the property of the investors in drainage. A comparable procedure operated in the Southern Netherlands at least since the first half of the sixteenth century (Fockema Andreae, 1950: 22; Korthals Altes, 1925b: 157). Very probably the States-General had been inspired by these Flemish arrangements. In general, this arrangement seems to have functioned very well. Often the only claimants who could produce sufficient evidence of their rights were institutions like abbeys or hospitals and usually they were prepared to sell to the investors. In many cases they had even already sold their lands to the investors before they had requested a patent for drainage. By 1650, however, the system seems to have functioned less smoothly. According to an address from the drainage consortium of Bewestereede Polder in Zeeland Flanders, many people made unjustified claims, based on little or no evidence. In the case of their project the total area claimed was larger than the whole polder they were planning to drain. In such cases the States-General appointed Delegated Judges who had to arbitrate. According to the consortium, the

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claimants just speculated that their claims would be accepted by these judges. If this did not happen, nothing was lost and if they succeeded, they acquired ownership of drained land without having had to share in the risks of the enterprise. Afterwards, of course, they had to pay their share of the costs plus interest, but normally the value of the acquired land was much higher than that. The States-General reacted to this complaint by deciding to raise the interest rate to 12 per cent, plus a sum of just over one guilder per hectare to compensate for the costs of the Delegated Judges5. Still, this does not seem to have deterred people from taking a gamble by making dubious claims. Delegated Judges were often appointed to settle conflicts about ownership of land in new polders in Zeeland Flanders in the 1650s. However, it seems that once they had given their verdict, the parties accepted it because there are no examples of litigation afterwards. There was one problem the authorities in the Low Countries did not have to worry about. No commons existed in the marshes and fens. Fishing and fowling took place there and herders grazed their livestock in the marshes, but they had leased the right to do so from the federal or provincial government. When the government decided to issue a patent for drainage that put an end to the lease, herders and fishermen were replaced by arable farmers. Protests against this arrangement seldom occurred. This is quite remarkable, because as engineer and dike reeve Vierlingh had already stated in the 1570s the embankment of the marshes meant a considerable loss for the inhabitants of the old land, especially since most people who grazed cattle or sheep on the marshes belonged to the poorer strata of rural society (Vierlingh, 1920: 287288). How remarkable this easy acceptance was, will become clear when we compare it with the reactions of the English commoners to the consequences of drainage. Generally speaking, the way in which property rights of wastelands were managed in both the Northern and Southern Netherlands contributed to the success of drainage projects. Ownership was clear. Usually the state or some smaller territorial unit was the owner of marshes or fens. Commons that might have complicated drainage did not exist. All rights of use of or access to wastelands depended on the state. When individuals could make some claim to marshland because their ancestors had once owned it, procedures existed to deal with that. When necessary, the States General helped by appointing judges who gave everyone his share. When drainage was completed, property relations in the new land were clear and uncontested. This was an important precondition for investment and development of agriculture in the polder. The fact that the Low Countries, both North and South, had a relatively efficient bureaucracy that had several generations of experience of dealing with patents for  

5



Zeeland Archives, Vrije van Sluis nr. 459, 8 April 1650.

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drainage, contributed to the efficient way these projects were handled. That the verdicts of this bureaucracy were in most cases accepted by all parties may be ascribed to the Dutch habit of hearing everyone whose interests were somehow affected. This may have made the decision-making process slower, but it contributed to acceptance of the outcome. This is not to say that everything always went smoothly. Every scholar of the history of water management in the Low Countries knows that the world of polders and water boards was rife with conflict. But in general property rights were dealt with fairly efficiently during the transition from wasteland to polder. In the case of the Dutch Republic, its archaic political system, demanding intensive negotiations between federal, provincial and local government on decision-making, contributed to the successful management of all rights and interests affected by drainage. All parties had to be heard and account had to be taken of their interests. This made decision-making slow, but in the end it was efficient because the chance of obstruction or costly litigation was very much reduced. The methods of modern absolutist states discussed next in this section may have been quicker, but they caused more resistance and often greater costs for the entrepreneurs. German historiography on drainage projects is less abundant than that of the Low Countries. Yet it is possible to produce a sketch of the way some North-West German principalities dealt with drainage and property rights. The county of Ostfriesland followed the Low Countries model. This is not surprising. Ostfriesland borders the Netherlands and at least until 1744, when it became a part of Prussia, it had close political, economic, and cultural ties with the Dutch Republic. Here the state granted patents for drainage to private investors following procedures like those in the Low Countries (Uphoff, 1995: 53-54; Knottnerus, 2005: 165). Further east, in principalities like Harlingerland, Jever and Oldenburg, the situation was somewhat different. Here the role of the state was much more prominent. In the Low Countries the state left drainage to private initiative and limited itself to regulating these projects through the patent procedure. Only Archduke Albert and Archduchess Isabella in the Southern Netherlands sometimes participated in drainage projects themselves (Korthals Altes, 1925b). In the German territories absolutism was developed more strongly and therefore the state exerted more influence. A clear example is the county of Oldenburg. Here drainage projects were carried out by the state in order to improve the fiscal basis of the absolutist state by increasing the taxable land area and the number of inhabitants. In this spirit count Johann of Oldenburg executed fifteen large-scale drainage projects between 1574 and 1596 (Knollmann & Bauer, 1995: 47). Oldenburg had intended to finance these operations from the receipts of a toll on the river Weser, but these were not sufficient so the projects had to be financed

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with borrowed money (Knollmann & Bauer, 1995: 48). It was possible to reduce labour costs by using Zwangsrekrutierung (forced recruitment), which meant that peasants from the area were forced to do most of the work. This, however, had very negative effects for the local economy, because dikes had to be constructed in spring and summer, when peasants ought to be sowing and harvesting. Another negative effect of Zwangsrekrutierung was that the labour force was not motivated and the dikes might not be ready in time. So in Oldenburg this method was not used for the construction of new dikes (Uphoff, 1995: 51). Lack of capital forced count Anton Günther of Oldenburg in the 1650s to leave drainage to local and Dutch investors. The contracts between the count and the investors show similarities with the patents from the Low Countries. In 1658, for example, a group of six local investors made an agreement with the count to drain a polder of 118 ha. Their efforts would be rewarded with ownership of the land and exemption from tithes, but from 1660 they would have to pay a land tax to the count (Tenge, 1999: 67). The Dutchman Anthony Studler van Zurck who in 1649 made an agreement with the count to drain the large polder of Schweiburg was to receive ownership of the land, exemption from taxes and civil jurisdiction over the new polder (Tenge, 2003: 82). The Low Countries’ model was very clearly followed in Schleswig-Holstein, where Dutch entrepreneurs were attracted to drain new land and to repair damage done to the islands by the storm surge of 1634. From 1612, investors were granted exemptions from taxes for ten to fifteen years, hunting and fishing rights and jurisdiction over the new land (Allemeyer, 2006: 141). The consortium of Dutch investors that was granted a patent to re-embank the island of Nordstrand in 1652 would become owners of the drained land plus the foreshore of the island, and did not have to pay land tax for fourteen years (Müller & Fischer, 1936: 27). The inhabitants of the island that had been flooded in 1634 were treated harshly: they lost all of their property rights without compensation (Müller & Fischer, 1936: 14, 27). This treatment was cruel but efficient. Property relations were clear, which made the project attractive for investors, and the island was re-embanked and drained successfully. However, it will come as no surprise that the relations between the Dutch investors and the local population were strained, to put it mildly, and not just on Nordstrand (Allemeyer, 1995: 152-153). As in the Low Countries, the states in North-West Germany could base such measures on their rights to the foreshore and wastelands (Uphoff, 1995: 51; Knollmann & Bauer, 1995: 76). It was only in the former ‘peasant republics’ of Kehdingen and Dithmarschen, where this was not the case, that peasant resistance prevented the draining of these lands (Knottnerus, 1992: 66). The contents of the patents the German princes issued closely resembled those of Low Countries. This raises the question whether they had been inspired by Dutch examples. Since German princes

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attracted Dutch entrepreneurs and engineers from the late sixteenth century it seems logical that this indeed was so, and some authors have answered the question in the affirmative (Knottnerus, 2005: 165-166). In spite of some regional variations, by the first half of the seventeenth century most states on the eastern shore of the North Sea dealt with drainage in the same way, which may have spread eastwards from the Low Countries, and they did so quite efficiently. In England, the situation was different. Several important drainage projects were executed here during the first half of the seventeenth century, but it is difficult to discern anything close to a coherent government policy on drainage. This is not to say that no important initiatives were taken. The General Draining Act of 1600 made it possible to attract investors for large drainage projects by creating the opportunity to grant a substantial part of the drained land to the ‘undertaker’ and his ‘adventurers’ (Taylor, 1999: 147). It is very likely that this Act was inspired by the example of the drainage companies of the Low Countries. But mostly the English Crown was involved in drainage as a private entrepreneur, which had to deal with the rights of other landowners in the area and with those of the commoners. Property relations in the English marsh and fen districts were much more complicated than on the continent. The state could not freely dispose of the fen areas as the states on the continent did: it had to take into account the rights of landlords and commoners. This made drainage an extremely complicated affair. It also complicated the implementation of the General Draining Act, because the grant of land to the adventurers meant that landowners and commoners had to be partly dispossessed. Naturally, this was not accepted without resistance. In the Low Countries and Germany the state or some smaller territorial unit could dispose of the marshes and fens situated within its area. There were very few commons and the state or lord could overrule private landowners. In England the state was not in such a strong position. When it engaged in drainage projects in the first half of the seventeenth century to increase the income from its estates it had to do so as a private landowner and it had to negotiate with other landowners and commoners, or force them to cooperate (Hoyle, 1992: 377). It did not really succeed in doing so. The large drainage projects the Crown was involved in from the 1620s ended in disappointments due to the successful resistance of other landowners and commoners. In English historiography most attention has been paid to the drainage of the c. 300,000 acres (120,000 ha) of the Great or Bedford Level of the Fenlands to the north of Cambridge between 1630 and 1653 (Harris, 1953; Darby, 1956). Here I would like to discuss another project, the draining of Hatfield Chase and the Isle

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of Axholme, a fen area on the border of Yorkshire and Lincolnshire. In 1626 King Charles I reached an agreement with the Dutch engineer Cornelius Vermuyden to drain this area. In return for his efforts, Vermuyden would receive one-third of the 77,000 acres of drained land (Hoyle, 1992: 382). Vermuyden, the ‘undertaker’ of the project, raised capital for the operation by selling parts of his third of the land to Dutch investors6. According to Sir William Dugdale, who first told the story of this project, the area was successfully drained within five years. The village of Sandtoft was founded and the 24,500 acres allotted to the adventurers were cultivated by 200 families, most of them French and Walloon protestants (Dugdale, 1772: 145). If we can believe Dugdale, all went well until 1642. Then a group of local lords and commoners, making use of the political unrest in the country, started to destroy fences, crops and houses. Later part of the drained area was inundated and in 1650 the village of Sandtoft was destroyed. As a result of these actions, the costs to the participants rose enormously. Until completion of drainage they had spent some 56,000 pounds, and by 1645 they claimed they had already spent about 200,000 pounds (Dugdale, 1772: 145-147). According to Dugdale, an initially successful project ended in financial catastrophe because of the resistance of the commoners. But Dugdale has painted a very rosy picture of the period until 1642. He ignored the technical mistakes made by Vermuyden and the quarrels between the undertaker and the Dutch investors over the financial aspects of the affair (Korthals Altes, 1925a). But he was right in assuming that the conflict between the participants and the commoners was the cause of the disastrous end of the project. To the Crown, investors and engineers, the fens were unproductive wastelands that had to be improved. But the commoners, who had rights of usage of the fens, viewed these lands differently. The area provided them with fish, fowl, reeds and fuel and they grazed their sheep and cattle in the fens. Areas like these were attractive for smallholders, who could make a living from exploiting the diversity of resources the commons in the fens offered them. The loss of up to two-thirds of their commons often put an end to their habitual way of living. Drainage could mean the destruction of the local economy (Thirsk, 1967: 38-40; Hoyle, 1992: 354-355). Of course the improvers thought this was replaced by something better, but one cannot blame those who were dispossessed from disagreeing with that view. The rights of the commoners and those of the owners of land on the dry areas within Hatfield Chase had not been ignored. The King had appointed commissioners who had to reach agreements with landlords and commoners about their rights. They   Of the eighteen original participants at least fourteen were Dutch. See Korthals Altes (1925a: 70). 6

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were to be compensated in money or land for their losses. With the commoners of several manors agreements were reached, but others were just summoned to hear what had been allotted to them. For the commoners of Epworth Manor, for example, this meant that they were deprived of 7,400 of their 13,400 acres of commons without having had any chance to defend their interests (Dugdale, 1772: 144; Korthals Altes, 1925a: 111). It is not surprising that it was exactly the commoners of this manor who were among the fiercest opponents of the drainage plans. Of course, the investors reasoned that they were compensated for this loss because the remaining land owned by the commoners was improved considerably as a result of drainage. But to the commoners it meant the loss of a large part of their means of living and the destruction of an economy that had guaranteed them subsistence. Basically, both here and in the East Anglian Fenland, two different views of the environment and the economy clashed. To the commoners and local landowners, the fens formed the indispensable basis of a successful subsistence economy of smallholders based upon stock raising, dairying, fishing and fowling (Thirsk, 1953; Spufford, 1974: 128, 133-134). To the Crown and the investors the fens were wastelands that had to be improved to make them suitable for commercial arable farming. Their attempts to destroy a well-established, successful farming system naturally met with fierce resistance from the villagers who had a strong sense of community and selfgovernment caused by the high level of organisation demanded for the management of the common fens (Spufford, 1974: 122). But why did such conflicts seldom arise on the continent where villagers also lost valuable resources by drainage? We should take into consideration that English fen villages were stable inland communities that enjoyed common rights to the fens for generations. Coastal villages on the eastern shore of the North Sea seldom had common rights and were accustomed to periodic change. The villagers here were used to the fact that once in every one or two generations marshland was drained and their environment was completely changed. They not only adapted to these changes but often even caused them, as in Schleswig-Holstein and other Frisian areas where village communities drained marshes themselves. This may also explain why in England in the seventeenth century authors tried to provide drainage and reclamation with an ideological underpinning by declaring it a work of God (Lord, 1996). In the Low Countries, for example, very little was written on the subject, and it was not considered necessary to convince the population of the benefits of drainage. The differing economies caused a different attitude towards drainage. But there were other factors that contributed to the problems of the drainers of Hatfield Chase. One of them was that Vermuyden’s design was far from flawless.

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He did manage to drain the area, but by doing so he caused flooding of the land of several adjoining villages. The construction of a dam and insufficient capacity of the basin for excess water created by Vermuyden had disastrous consequences. One of the villages hit was Epworth, where the inhabitants were already dissatisfied at the loss of most of their commons (Korthals Altes, 1925a: 34-36). Contrary to what Dugdale suggested, the resistance of the commoners to drainage did not begin in 1642, but was already in place in 1628 (Korthals Altes, 1925a: 53, 106). The violence committed by the commoners in the years 1628-1630 had clearly been triggered by the flooding caused by Vermuyden’s drainage scheme. In 1633, a court upheld the complaint of the villagers by forcing Vermuyden to dig a new canal, the Dutch River, which cost him and his adventurers another 33,000 pounds (Korthals Altes, 1925a: 109). Many problems might have been overcome if the commoners and other affected parties had been given an opportunity to participate in the decision-making process, as happened in the Low Countries. If they could have done so, a better balance between the interests of all parties involved might have prevented much bitterness and violence. As it was, only the rights of the King and the investors were taken into account. Vermuyden was given as much freedom as possible to ensure the financial success of the undertaking (Harris, 1953: 44). The way in which he used this freedom was the cause of much of the conflicts. One cannot really blame the English Crown for this, because it could not profit from centuries of experience in drainage matters like the authorities of the Low Countries. After all, the draining of Hatfield Chase was the first project on this scale in England. But Vermuyden should have known better. However, even Korthals Altes, whose book about Vermuyden is rather hagiographic, had to admit that his hero – in spite of all his excellent qualities – was very good at making enemies (Korthals Altes, 1925a: 106). But the basic problem was that, as Darby said about the drainage of the Fens, Vermuyden ‘laboured before a host of conflicting rights’ (Darby, 1956: 70). Complicated property relations made drainage an even riskier enterprise in England than on the continent. This did not change in the next two centuries. After the problematic projects in Hatfield Chase and the Fens, the English state lost its interest in drainage and left it to private initiative. However, since the state did not provide a stable legal framework, private entrepreneurs were always confronted with the same problems and conflicts about property rights (Gritt, 2008: 2).

IV.  Administration and taxation in drained areas In the 1570s the Dutch estate agent, engineer and dike reeve Andries Vierlingh wrote in his Tractaet van dyckagie (Treatise of drainage) about the risks incurred by those who invested their capital in drainage. When the land was finally embanked and drained, the danger was still not over. The dikes might break, the soil might be 195

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infertile, worms might eat the crops, good tenants were hard to find, because only ‘scum and rascals’ wanted to farm new land, etc. (Vierlingh, 1920: 117-119). Because of these dangers he advises people not to involve themselves in drainage and then rather inconsistently continues to write several hundreds of pages on how to do it. Vierlingh was right about the risks, but in spite of them profits on investment in the draining of land could be enormous, both when the new land was sold and when it was leased to tenants (Van Cruyningen, 2005/2006: 133-134). Several clauses in drainage patents contributed to this, especially those on exemption from taxes. Exemption from paying taxes assisted landowners and pioneers in the new land in getting through the extremely difficult first few years. In the long run, it was important for the polder to have an efficient board that could levy taxes to maintain the dikes and drains and could spread the costs of maintenance equitably over landlords and tenants. Medieval patents for drainage in Holland and Zeeland usually created a seigneurie (ambacht) in the new polder. The lord of this seigneurie had the right to appoint officials to oversee the maintenance of the dikes. The very large drainage project of Zwijndrechtse Waard in South Holland (drained 1331/32) was divided into sixteen seigneuries, one for each participant in the project. In other cases the new land became part of an existing seigneurie. In all of these cases jurisdiction and water management were administered by the seigneurie (Beekman, 1905-1907: 1201-1210). From c. 1600 hardly any new manors were created. New polders were added to existing manors, but the maintenance of the dikes and drains was detached from the seigneurial court. New polders had their own independent boards. Seventeenth-century patents stipulated that the investment consortium could appoint a board presided over by a dike reeve. This board had the right to issue regulations on the maintenance of dikes, sluices, etc. in the polder and to levy a tax from the landowners. When a landowner did not pay his tax, the board could confiscate and sell his land (Beekman, 1905-1907: 1212-1213). The organisation of water boards as described in the previous paragraph was first introduced in Flanders at the end of the thirteenth century. Flemish wateringen, as they were called, levied a tax on the landowners within their jurisdiction, which they used to pay for maintenance works that were carried out by day labourers or contractors (Soens, 2005/2006: 37-38). This form of water management by a specialised board, financed by a uniform land tax, was called gemeenmaking in Dutch and Kommuniondeichung in German. Both terms indicate that the responsibility for maintenance of the dikes rested with the community of landowners, not with individual owners. It could be translated as communalization of water management. This was far from common in the Middle Ages. In the Northern Netherlands and North-West Germany the system

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of verhoefslaging or in German Pfanddeichung or Kabeldeichung prevailed7. This meant that maintenance was performed by the individual landowners, and each had a portion of dike allotted to them for which they were responsible (Beekman, 19051907: 821). The only thing the water board did was inspect the work the landowners had done. Gemeenmaking was a more efficient system than verhoefslaging. In the latter system maintenance depended on individual landowners, whose efforts were dependent on the economic situation. When times were hard, landowners tended to neglect their task or even abandoned their plot altogether. Also the burden was often spread unevenly between the owners. Some lands were even exempt from contribution to dike maintenance. A uniform tax for all landowners levied by a water board that was itself responsible for maintenance guaranteed more continuity and uniform quality of work. Although gemeenmaking was not perfect (Soens, this volume), it was more efficient and also more just, because all landowners paid the same tax, based upon the same standards, differing only in relation to the size of their estate. But it took a very long time before other areas adopted the Flemish system. On the island of Walcheren and Putten, not far from Flanders, gemeenmaking was introduced in the second quarter of the sixteenth century, two hundred years later than in Flanders (Gallé, 1963: 155; Van der Gouw, 1967: 123). Elsewhere in the Dutch Republic it was introduced in the late sixteenth century or even later (Beekman, 1905-1907: 668). The old system of verhoefslaging was useful in an economy in which money was scarce. The new system fitted better in a rural economy given over to commercial farming where it was more efficient to use labour for better cultivation of the land than for dike maintenance. When we look at it this way, it becomes clear why Flanders was the first to introduce the new system. In the Middle Ages this county was the most highly developed part of the Low Countries and its agriculture was already commercial in the thirteenth century. Further north, agriculture was commercialised from the end of the Middle Ages, so it is not surprising that gemeenmaking was introduced here in the sixteenth century. At present, we know very little about the pace at which gemeenmaking was adopted in the Low Countries outside Flanders. There are only occasional references that indicate it started in the second half of the sixteenth century. As far as we know, water management was organised on a communal basis in all new polders from the beginning of the seventeenth century. Most references concern communalization of dike maintenance on the old land, where vested interests and conservative courts   Verhoefslaging literally means to divide (slaan) the maintenance of portions of the dikes between the farmsteads (hoeven) in the area.

7

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often opposed the introduction of the new system for decades (Van Tielhof & Van Dam, 2006: 150). Such conservatism was probably not found in new polders, and we know that at least in the seventeenth century all new polders practised communal dike and water maintenance. But we do not know when this was first introduced in a new polder. The oldest example known in the South-West of the Netherlands is the polder of Nieuw Beijerland, drained in 1582 (Baars, 1973: 35). It seems likely that most polders from the sixteenth century and later adopted this system, because they were usually drained by companies who already used a similar system to divide the costs of drainage between the participants (Van Cruyningen, 2005/2006: 130-132). It would be very useful to have a timetable that could tell us where and when gemeenmaking was introduced. Then we might perceive how it spread across the Low Countries. What we do know is that communalization of water management had reached the German county of Ostfriesland in the early seventeenth century (Knottnerus, 1992: 67). However, for a long time it did not spread further eastward. In Oldenburg Pfanddeichung was only gradually abolished in the eighteenth century. In this principality the problems were worsened by the fact that many landowners were exempt from contributing to dike maintenance. The count, people who had bought land from the count, civil servants and clergymen did not have to contribute, and by the seventeenth century many wealthy farmers had also freed their land from contributing to dike maintenance by bribing officials. In 1634, in the area of Butjadingen, a quarter of the land was exempt from the burden of dike maintenance (Norden, 1984: 222). The remaining owners, often the poorer peasants, had to carry the whole burden. Despite protests from the population and falling standards of dike maintenance, the county of Oldenburg did not succeed in changing the system. Those owners who had acquired exemption defended their rights successfully. In 1681, when Oldenburg had come under Danish rule, the new administration was partly successful in introducing a new regulation. It installed a dike reeve to oversee maintenance and a Deichkasse (dike fund) to which all owners from the area had to pay a yearly tax to maintain sluices and repair particularly vulnerable parts of dikes. The Danes did not succeed in introducing complete communalization of water management, but at least part of the maintenance became independent from the exertions of individual landowners. Later, between 1752 and 1762, the system was introduced in several districts, but it took until 1855 to provide the whole of the coastal area of Oldenburg with an efficient and uniform taxation system for water management (Norden, 1984: 223225). Landowners stubbornly resisted what they perceived as an infringement of their property rights and the state was not able to break this resistance. Even the fact that in 1681 the Danish administration was willing to give up its own privileges could not convince other landowners to do the same.

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In Schleswig-Holstein, communalization of dike and water management was the norm in most of the so-called oktroyierten Köge (patented polders) that had been embanked since 1612 with permission from the duke. As in the Low Countries, it was logical to introduce this system of financing dike maintenance in new polders because initial drainage had been financed by companies that apportioned the costs between the investors in the same way (Allemeyer, 2006: 142). Attempts by the duke in the first half of the seventeenth century to introduce the system in all of the coastal areas failed. The local population resisted because they preferred contribution in kind (labour) over monetary contribution, which they considered a heavy burden (Allemeyer, 2006: 129-132). This seems to indicate that farming in Schleswig-Holstein was less commercialised than in the Low Countries. Kommuniondeichung was only introduced in Schleswig-Holstein in 1803. The old system of Kabeldeichung seems to have functioned here better than in Oldenburg, because exemption was seldom allowed (Allemeyer, 2006: 118, 128). In England, communal maintenance of dikes and drains was already in place in Romney Marsh in the thirteenth century. There, twenty-four ‘sworn men’ were responsible for maintaining dikes and drains and could levy a tax to finance the repairs (Cook & Williamson, 1999: 7-8). However, this principle was not generally applied. In 1622 Joost Croppenburgh, a Dutchman living in London, and a relative of Vermuyden, reached an agreement with the main landowners of Canvey Island (Harris, 1953: 39). He was to embank this island in the Thames estuary to protect it from further encroachment of the sea. In return, he would receive one-third of the lands recovered, the ‘Third Acre Lands’ as they were called. With support from Dutch investors he succeeded in doing so, but then the problems began. The original landowners were of the opinion that the maintenance of the new embankment would have to be paid for by the owners of the Third Acre Lands and they refused to contribute themselves. Left to pay for all the expenses, the Dutch investors gradually abandoned their land on the island and the embankment fell into disrepair8. In Hatfield Chase all did not go well either. A Commission of Sewers that had been set up to oversee maintenance of the drains had great trouble in collecting the tax from which repairs had to be financed. This was caused by irresponsible behaviour from both Vermuyden and the King. Vermuyden had made the mistake of selling portions of his land ‘free from lock, dam, scotts, water dues and other charges’ (Korthals Altes, 1925a: 82). The purchasers of these lands refused to pay tax, basing their refusal on this clause in the deed. The Commission could then impound and sell their land, but it was sometimes prevented from doing so by Charles I. When the lands of John Gibbon and Sir Filibert Vernatti, two of the principal investors in 8

 



G. Barsby, ‘Canvey’s history’ on www.canveyislandhistory.com, retrieved 6 March 2008.

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Hatfield Chase and favourites of the King, were impounded, the King ordered the Commission to withdraw its decision (Korthals Altes, 1925a: 124). Together, between 1628 and 1637, Vermuyden and the King created a financial chaos in Hatfield Chase that led to the ruin of several of the original investors. It will come as no surprise that after experiences like those in Hatfield Chase and Canvey Island, the Dutch lost interest in drainage in England. They first lost trust in Vermuyden, with whom they refused to cooperate in 1630 in the drainage of the Great Level of the Fens. Because of this Vermuyden was replaced as undertaker, but even then no Dutch investors dared to participate in the enterprise (Knittl, 2007: 2930). In this case organisation and financing of maintenance were well guaranteed. Arrangements made in 1649 were tacitly confirmed by the General Drainage Act of 1663, which installed the Corporation of the Bedford Level. This corporation had a board that was elected annually by all landowners with more than 100 acres, a professional staff, and it could levy a tax on all owners of drained land within the level (Darby, 1956: 78). Although it was confronted with tremendous problems, the Corporation of the Bedford Level served the interests of the area and its landowners until the twentieth century.

V.  Sustainability of drained areas How sustainable were the drained areas along the North Sea coast? To determine that, this section gives a broad overview of the success and failure of drainage projects, this time beginning on the western shore. At first sight, the reclamation of marshes and fens in England of the early modern period does not seem to have resulted in the creation of sustainable agricultural land. On Canvey Island, the sea wall was left to fall in disrepair after 1623 because of the failure to install an efficient taxation system to maintain it. This was only remedied after devastating floods in 1791 had threatened to destroy the whole island. Joan Thirsk pronounced a clear verdict on the draining of fenlands some forty years ago: ‘Most of the drainage projects of this period failed in the end, and none produced any fundamental change in the economy of the region’. Much later, the former fen areas were to become Lincolnshire’s richest arable regions, but that was not to Vermuyden’s credit (Thirsk, 1967: 40; idem, 1953: 28). All of this seems to confirm the thesis of this chapter on the importance of the arrangements of property rights for the success of drainage projects. But we have to be careful. In 1992, Richard Hoyle remarked that English historians of drainage projects have been more concerned with the disorder they provoked than with the degree of success of these attempts at improvement (Hoyle, 1992: 353). And recently, Tom Williamson was clearly more positive about the draining of the East Anglian Fens than Joan Thirsk. He stated that ‘the achievement of Vermuyden and his fellow countrymen was a great one’. 200

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He does not deny that problems existed with the drainage works and that large tracts of the Fens remained in common grazing. But some of the land was exploited as arable, and pasture was less liable to inundation (Williamson, 2005: 111-112). Hatfield Chase offers some interesting evidence. There is no doubt that this project resulted in financial disaster for the original investors. But technically the record was better; the area was successfully drained. This success should not be overestimated. In 1631 one of the Dutch adventurers complained that of his 600 acres only 30 were in use as arable (Korthals Altes, 1925a: 80). But that Vermuyden and his adventurers did have some degree of success is proved by the fact that the resistance of the commoners continued until about 1720 (Korthals Altes, 1925a: 116). Had drainage not been successful, there would have been no reason for the commoners to continue their struggle for almost a century. However, it has to be admitted that the heyday of arable agriculture in the fens only came after the introduction of steam pumps in the nineteenth century (Williamson, 2005: 115-116). Until that time, sustainability in these areas was problematic. The way property rights were managed in North-West German principalities like Oldenburg did have negative consequences for the sustainability of the land. Butjadingen, an area in Oldenburg consisting largely of late medieval and early modern polders, was on the brink of economic collapse by 1680. This was caused by a series of no less than fourteen devastating floods during the seventeenth century alone (Norden, 1984: 212, 223; Allemeyer, 2006: 121). Of course, all low-lying coastal areas are liable to flooding, but a comparable area like the South-Western Netherlands experienced in the seventeenth century only one flood with such disastrous effects, in 1682. That a relationship existed between this recurrent flooding and the ways in which different categories of landowners were treated and dike maintenance was financed, became clear after the reformation of water management by the Danish administration in the 1680s. In the 150 years after this reformation only two floods hit Butjadingen, in 1717 and 1825, and these two floods wreaked havoc in many areas along the southern North Sea coast, not just in Butjadingen (Norden, 1984: 226). In the South-Western Low Countries most land that had been drained since the fifteenth century has remained dry until the present, although sometimes not without interruptions. In the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, the area was severely hit by several storm surges (for example in 1404, 1421, 1530, 1550, 1552). After the All Saints’ Day flood of 1570, however, natural disasters no longer caused much damage. Much more damage was caused by the military inundations in the border area of Zeeland Flanders by the Dutch in the 1580s (De Kraker, 1997: 129-144). But around 1660 most of this damage had been repaired and even most of the land that had

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been lost in the late medieval floods was cultivated again. The only major disaster that hit this area in the seventeenth century was the storm surge of January 1682, but it is surprising how fast the damage done by this storm was repaired. Western Zeeland Flanders for example, an area of some 20,000 ha that had been almost entirely submerged, was drained again within a year. Only some small marginal polders remained flooded or were only partially drained again. In general, then, the drained land in the South-Western Netherlands proved to be sustainable. But there were exceptions. Polders on severely threatened parts of the coast often were not able to cope with the task of maintaining their dikes. The costs often exceeded the yield of the land. This was not just a marginal problem. If these polders were submerged, the adjoining polders in their turn would run the same risk and a chain reaction might be set off that could threaten the whole area. The endangered polders tried to get subsidies from polders situated further inland with the argument that the latter were indirectly protected by the threatened dike. This of course was a valid argument, but it seldom convinced the boards of those other polders, who were happy to let the seaward polders bear the whole burden of maintenance. This free-rider problem also occurred on the German coast (Norden, 1984: 225). In 1791 the Provincial States of Zeeland solved the problem of the so-called ‘calamitous’ polders by introducing a subsidy system. Comparable arrangements were introduced in Schleswig-Holstein in 1803 and in Oldenburg in 1855 (Schorer, 1897; Norden, 1984: 226; Allemeyer, 2006: 135). It had taken decades and in some cases even centuries to break the resistance of inland polders to such arrangements. In spite of their apparent fertility and prosperity, the polder areas along the North Sea remained fragile. Only by spreading the costs of dike maintenance over the whole polder area could the polders adjoining the sea be maintained.

VI.  Conclusion This paper has demonstrated that the arrangement of property rights was crucial in two ways for a successful ecological transformation from wetland to sustainable farmland. In the first place, property rights had to be clear prior to draining, guaranteeing that the entrepreneurs could execute their projects without endless conflicts and litigation. On most of the eastern North Sea coast this could be achieved because the state or some regional lord had successfully claimed the rights to silted-up land, which enabled him to grant uncontested property rights to investors in drainage. In England, however, property rights to wetlands were much more complex and the conflicts arising between investors and commoners were probably the most important causes of the financial problems during the draining of the Fens and Hatfield Chase. The English Crown had not managed to claim ownership of all of the wetlands within 202

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its realm and neither did it succeed in managing the complex property rights to the satisfaction of all interested parties. In the second place, after completion of drainage a system was required that divided the costs of maintenance of dikes and drains in an equitable and uniform way between all landowners in the newly drained land. The most efficient system was gemeenmaking or communalization of water management, which had already been introduced in Flanders in the thirteenth century. In this system all landowners paid an equal land tax, which was levied by a water board. This board was responsible for maintenance and employed technicians and contractors to carry out the work required. Older systems, in which each individual landowner was responsible for maintenance of a part of the dike, were less efficient. This was especially so when large groups of landowners had managed to become exempt from ‘dike duty’, leaving the rest of often less wealthy landowners to carry the burden of maintenance. It could result in insufficient maintenance of dikes and drains and decreasing profitability of farming. In German Butjadingen it almost led to collapse of the regional economy, which might have resulted in flooding of the whole area. Equal fiscal treatment of landowners was an important condition for sustainability of these fragile drained wetlands. The state created institutions that were beneficial for the investors in drainage projects. This is not surprising, because both the state and the investors profited from drainage. Investors made profits by selling or leasing the new land, and the state’s tax income was increased. So the state primarily served the interests of the ‘adventurers’. The interests of other affected parties were treated less well: it was only in the Low Countries that procedures were in place that made it possible to take the interests of others into account. Indirectly, investors in the Low Countries also profited from this, because there was less costly litigation by adjoining towns, villages or landowners. However, the state’s role may have been important, but its power was limited. Local and regional social structures influenced the state’s effectiveness. In Oldenburg, the resistance of privileged landowners to a more fair and uniform taxation system that would have guaranteed better dike maintenance was successful. In the English fenlands smallholders, often supported by local landlords, managed to obstruct largescale drainage schemes. To the existing stable communities of smallholders, drainage meant the destruction of a viable local economy. Thus, the failure of fen drainage was caused not only by the failure of the English state in managing property rights, but also by the central function ‘wastelands’ had in the fenland economy, whereas on the continental marshland economies these lands were merely a source of some additional income.

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Another conclusion of this chapter is that the Dutch Republic with its archaic confederal political system was more successful in managing the complex of rights and interests surrounding drainage than modern absolutist states like England or Oldenburg. To some extent, this was caused, of course, by the fact that the Dutch had centuries of experience with drainage. However, the archaic political system was also a cause of the Dutch success. This system required intensive negotiations between federal, provincial and local authorities, thus guaranteeing that all interested parties were heard and limiting the risks of obstruction and litigation. In the complicated world of water management, where conflict was always rife, this slow and oldfashioned way of decision-making was in the end more efficient than the methods of the modern bureaucracy of the absolutist state. An observer who surveyed the polders and fenlands on both shores of the southern North Sea in the nineteenth century would probably have concluded they were fertile and prosperous agricultural regions. This was the result of private investment and state intervention. But the history of the early modern drainage projects shows that state, investors, and not least the farmers in the new land, had had a narrow escape. The marsh areas on the eastern North Sa coast had been constantly threatened by conflicts over financing the maintenance of dikes and the English fen areas only became prosperous farming regions in the nineteenth century after the introduction of steam pumps. The institutions that had been created were sufficient to maintain their fragile environment, but only just.

Bibliography Allemeyer, M. L. (2006), ‘Kein Land ohne Deich...!’. Lebenswelten einer Küstengesellschaft in der Frühen Neuzeit, Göttingen, Veröffentlichungen des MaxPlanck-Instituts für Geschichte, 222.

Baars, C. (1973), De geschiedenis van de landbouw in de Beijerlanden, Wageningen, Pudoc.

Beekman, A. A. (1905-1907), Het dijk- en waterschapsrecht in Nederland voor 1795, ’s-Gravenhage, M. Nijhoff, 2 vol.

Borger, G. J. (2004), ‘De Beemster – ideaal of compromis’, in R. M. van Heeringen et al. (eds), Geordend landschap. 3000 jaar ruimtelijke ordening in Nederland, Hilversum, Verloren, p. 75-102. Ciriacono, S. (1995), ‘Land Reclamation. Dutch Windmills, Private Enterprises, and State Intervention’, Review 18, p. 281-304.

Cook, H. & Williamson T. (1999), ‘Introduction: Landscape, Environment and History’, in H. Cook & T. Williamson (eds), Water Management in the English Landscape. Field, Marsh and Meadow, Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press, p. 1-14.

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Cruyningen, P. van (2005/2006), ‘Profits and Risks in Drainage Projects in StaatsVlaanderen, c. 1590-1665’, Jaarboek voor Ecologische Geschiedenis, p. 123-142.

Darby, H. C. (1956), The Draining of the Fens, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press (2nd ed.).

Dugdale, W. (1772), The History of Imbanking and Draining of Divers Fens and Marshes, London, reviewed et edited by Charles Nalson Cole (firt ed. 1662).

Fockema Andreae, S. J. (1950), Studiën over waterschapsgeschiedenis. V. ZeeuwsVlaanderen, Leiden, Brill.

Gallé, P. H. (1963), Beveiligd bestaan. Grondtrekken van het middeleeuwse waterstaatsrecht in Z.W. Nederland en hoofdlijnen van de geschiedenis van het dijkbeheer in dit gebied (1200-1963), Delft, Meinema. Gouw, J. L. van der (1967), De Ring van Putten. Onderzoekingen over een hoogheemraadschap in het Deltagebied, ’s-Gravenhage, Zuid-Hollandse studiën, 13. Gritt, A. (2008), ‘Making Good Land from Bad: The Drainage of West Lancashire, c. 1650-1850’, Rural History 19, p. 1-27.

Harris, L. E. (1953), Vermuyden and the Fens. A Study of Sir Cornelius Vermuyden and the Great Level, London, Cleaver-Hume Press. Hoyle, R. W. (1992), ‘Disafforestation and Drainage: the Crown as Entrepreneur?’ in R. W. Hoyle (ed.), The Estates of the English Crown 1558-1640, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, p. 353-388.

Knittl, M. A. (2007), ‘The Design for the Initial Drainage of the Great Level of the Fens: an Historical Whodunit in Three Parts’, Agricultural History Review 55, p. 23-50.

Knollmann, W. & Bauer, H. (1995), Die Oldenburger Seekante im 17. Jahrhundert. Zur Geschichte des II. Oldenburgischen Deichbandes, Oldenburg, Isensee.

Knottnerus, O. S. (1992), ‘Deicharbeit und Unternehmertätigkeit in den Nordseemarschen’ in Th. Steensen (ed.), Deichbau und Sturmfluten in den Frieslanden, Bredstedt, IsenseeVerlag, p. 60-72.

Knottnerus, O. S. (2005), ‘Die Verbreitung neuer Deich- und Sielbautechniken entlang der südlichen Nordseeküste im 16. Und 17. Jahrhundert’ in C. Endlich (ed.), Kulturlandschaft Marsch. Natur Geschichte Gegenwart, Oldenburg, p. 161-167.

Korthals Altes, J. (1925a), Sir Cornelius Vermuyden. The Lifework of a Great AngloDutchman in Land-reclamation and Drainage, London, New York, Arno Press, 1977 (reprint ed. London, 1925).

Korthals Altes, J. (1925b), ‘De eerste bedijking der Groote en Kleine Moere in WestVlaanderen’, Annales de la Société d’Émulation de Bruges 68, p. 155-198.

Kraker, A. M. J. de (1997), Landschap uit balans. De invloed van de natuur, de economie en de politiek op het landschap in de Vier Ambachten en het Land van Saeftinghe tussen 1488 en 1609, Utrecht, Matrijs.

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Kraker, A. M. J. de (2002), ‘Zeeuws-Vlaanderen als strategisch manipuleerbaar landschap’, NEHA Jaarboek 65, p. 32-48.

Linden, H. van der (1982), ‘Het platteland in het Noordwesten met nadruk op de occupatie circa 1000-1300’, in D. P. Blok et al. (eds), Algemene Geschiedenis der Nederlanden, Haarlem, Fibula Van Dishoeck, 2, p. 48-82. Lord, E. (1996), ‘Reading the Landscape: the Moral, Political and Cultural Construction of the North Sea Landscape in the Early Modern Period’, in: J. Roding & L. Heerma van Voss (eds.), The North Sea and Culture. Proceedings of the International Conference Held at Leiden 21-22 April 1995, Hilversum, Verloren, p. 64-77. Müller, F. & Fischer O. (1936), Das Wasserwesen an der Schleswig-Holsteinischen Nordseeküste, Berlin, Reimer, vol. II.3. Norden, W. (1984), Eine Bevölkerung in der Krise: Historisch-demographische Untersuchungen zur Biographie einer norddeutschen Küstenregion, Hildesheim, Quellen und Untersuchungen zur Wirtschafts – und Sozialgeschichte Niedersachsens in der Neuzeit 11.

Schorer, J. A. (1897), De geschiedenis der calamiteuse polders in Zeeland tot het reglement van 20 januari 1791, Leiden, Eduard Ljdo.

Soens, T. (2006), Waterbeheer in een veranderende regio. Een ecologische, sociaaleconomische en politiek-institutionele studie van de wateringen in het Vlaamse kustgebied tijdens de overgang van de middeleeuwen naar de moderne tijden, PhD dissertation, Ghent. Soens, T. (2005-2006), ‘Explaining Deficiencies of Water management in the Late Medieval Flemish Coastal Plain, 13th-16th Centuries’, Jaarboek voor Ecologische Geschiedenis, p. 35-61.

Spufford, M. (1974), Contrasting Communities. English Villages in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press.

Taylor, C. (1999), ‘Post-medieval Drainage of Marsh and Fen’, in H. Cook & T. Williamson (eds), Water Management in the English Landscape. Field, Marsh and Meadow, Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press, p. 141-156.

Tenge, O. (1999), Der Jeversche Deichband. Geschichte und Beschreibung der Deiche, Uferwerke und Siele im dritten Oldenburgischen Deichbande und im Königlich preußischen westlichen Jadegebiet, 1898, reprint Bockhorn. Tenge, O. (2003), Der Butjadinger Deichband. Geschichte und Beschreibung der Deiche, Uferwerke und Siele im zweiten Oldenburgischen Deichbande und im Königlich preußischen östlichen Jadegebiet, 1912, reprint Bockhorn.

Thirsk, J. (1953), ‘The Isle of Axholme before Vermuyden’, Agricultural History Review 1, p. 16-28.

Thirsk, J. (1967), ‘The Farming Regions of England’, in H. P. R. Finberg (ed.), The Agrarian History of England and Wales, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, IV, p. 1-112.

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Thirsk, J. (1992), ‘The Crown as Projector on its Own Estates, from Elizabeth I to Charles I’, in R. W. Hoyle (ed.), The Estates of the English Crown 1558-1640, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, p. 297-352.

Tielhof, M. van, & Dam P. J. E. M. van (2006), Waterstaat in stedenland. Het hoogheemraadschap van Rijnland voor 1857, Utrecht, Matrijs. Uphoff, R. (1995), Die Deicher, Oldenburg, Isensee.

Vierlingh, A. (1920), Tractaet van dyckagie, in J. de Hullu and A. G. Verhoeven (eds), Rijks Geschiedkundige Publicatiën, Kleine serie 20.

Vries, J. de & Woude, A. van der (1997), The First Modern Economy. Success, Failure and Perseverance of the Dutch Economy 1500-1815, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press.

Williamson, T. (2005), ‘Dutch Engineers and the Draining of the Fens in Eastern England’ in H.S. Danner et al. (eds), Polder Pioneers. The Influence of Dutch Engineers on Water Management in Europe, 1600-2000, Utrecht, Koninklijk Nederlands Aardrijkskundig Genootschap, p. 103-119. Wouda, B. (2004), ‘Rendabiliteit van buitengronden. De ingelanden van de Zuidpolder op IJsselmonde als investeerders en aandeelhouders’, Holland 36, p. 279-303.

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7.

River regulation, land use, property and rural society in Hungary from the eighteenth century to 1914 András Vári (†)1

I.  Introduction. Water: two-way pressures of property rights and sustainability Our starting point here is the fact that there were enormous areas in Hungary, those periodically under water, where economic activity was radically transformed in the nineteenth century. In the valley of the Tisza and its tributaries, containing perhaps the greater part of the wetlands, there were in the 1830s 476,000 ha constantly under water and the total of constantly and periodically inundated areas amounted to 1,964,000 ha (Fodor, 1957: 265; Lászlóffy, 1982: 171-180). What changes occurred in different periods, what motivated these changes, who carried them through, who stood to gain and who to lose by the changes and what role did the institutions and concepts of property play in all these changes in the different periods? The problem indicated by the above questions is too complex, and research on them is still inadequate. Therefore, this paper does not address one specific problem, but gives a compressed general sketch of what we know up to now. Yet it does strive to show the contemporary uses and workings of two concepts, the first of which is the historical change in the concept of property rights. I suggest that the active agents working for water regulation, first the absolutist government, then the landed gentry, and then the modern state government, repeatedly reformulated these ideas of property rights, not only in order to legitimize changes in water use, but as a more general policy. These reformulations did help to push through the enormously costly and complex water regulation schemes. On the other hand, sustainability arguments were used consistently by the opponents of the changes, having a delegitimizing force. By looking at changes in the concept of ‘property rights’ not as a final cause, but as a field or dimension of institutional change, this paper is implicitly taking issue with concepts of property rights that consider the modern notions of property rights as inherently superior and as a final aim of historical development – without arguing against this concept explicitly.   Due to his premature death in 2011, András Vári was not able to finalize this paper. However, he left some very detailed comments on the second draft of his paper, which allowed us to make the final revisions. We will remember András as a pleasant, good-humored colleague and a fine scholar.

1

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II.  The period before 1807 II.1. The starting point: ecosystems of flooded areas, peasant land use and ‘property’ In eighteenth century Hungary, the areas threatened by water were far from being uninhabited spaces. They were utilized in a number of ways. There were regionally different types of wetland economic systems (Makkai, 1985: 29-30). One was in the great swamps around the edges of the lowlands. As the rivers coming from the Alps or Carpathians reach the plains, their flow has slowed down, deposited much of their sediment, barring their own way and forming extensive swamps, mostly around the outer edges of the plains. Though these swamps had hardly any settlements and their sour grasses and reeds were poor pastures, the neighbouring villages did let their cattle graze there. There were meadows on the higher ground that gave good hay, too. In times of drought the swamps were important reserve feeding areas where the cattle could find something to munch on even after everything else was parched. The other scene of wetland economy was in the valleys of the great rivers, the Danube and the Tisza. These had dug a number of parallel beds in the lowlands, depositing sediments which formed higher banks along the edges of the river bed. However, these banks were of uneven height and the meandering river was constantly changing its course, sometimes building up, sometimes eroding its banks. Thus, during a flood the water left the river bed at the lower parts of its banks and inundated huge areas, literally the whole hinterland, since at flood time the normally dry ancient river beds filled up and distributed the flood over hundreds of thousands of hectares. That, however, also meant that the floods were tamed and slowed by the enormous natural reservoirs that were formed by their own inundated side-valleys. Thus, the low-lying inundated areas were not devastated by torrents of water flushing away the topsoil, but rather gently watered and resulting in rich grazing grounds. The pronounced rhythm of high water and low water conditions sets these areas apart from the swamp lands described above, which, though their water levels were not at all stable, did not have these alternating currents of invading and receding waters. There were regional variations in these water systems, according to which stretch of the rivers we look at, what were the soils, the terrain, the precipitation, etc. These factors determined that the higher banks, the woods along the rivers and the periodically inundated areas developed as one integrated system of land use on more or less dry and wet lands (Andrásfalvy, 1973; Viga, 2007). The high ground on the banks of the rivers was suitable for settlement and supported intensively cultivated vegetable gardens or orchards. Where this predominated, grain was either bartered or bought from further afield. But on larger and drier pieces of high ground on the 210

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banks grain, too, could be grown – sometimes intensively, with manure and careful cultivation, just as if it were garden produce, since even the wider banks usually supported only a much smaller field than the land in a ‘normal’ three-field village economy, so the little space that there was had to be intensively used. The more intensively cultivated these gardens, the more unconditionally individualistic their ownership was. The periodically inundated areas beyond the banks were used either for grazing or as meadows and their use was regulated by the village community just like any other commons. The two pillars of the system of land-use in the river valleys, the dry ground on the high banks and the low-lying areas beyond them, sometimes even formed a sort of infield-outfield system of intensively worked, individually held garden plots of dry land on the banks producing fruits and grain and of huge tracts of low-lying lands beyond and beneath the river banks that were used for communally regulated grazing. In between there were some other forms of land use, like the meadows or the woods of willow that were sometimes flooded, but these, too, were mostly individually used, regularly cut back to provide wicker. These pieces of land were similar to the gardens of the dry banks, but proprietary relations were more varied. The customs and use-rights governing economic activities in these areas had a radically different character from modern property rights. Regulations on land use pertained not just to the area in question, but also to the particular activities and to the persons concerned. Use-rights constituted a matrix of socially determined regulations of economic activities. So for example the cutting of wicker or the picking of fruit was restricted to the ‘proprietor’ of the individually held piece of wood or garden, but the grazing there was free for all other members of the village, though not for outsiders. Even fruit-picking might be free for certain people (such as pregnant women) if they observed certain customs, etc. On the other hand, individual skill and work gave rise to individual ‘proprietorship’. If someone took the trouble of pruning a fruit tree standing in the middle of pastures used communally, it was considered to be his tree, situated in the middle of common ground. Individual property and communally regulated land use were interwoven. They could even overlap. Fishing was a very important sideline of the wetland economy. Ethnographers have found that the villagers living in these areas did not leave it to chance to determine when and where the rising waters leave the river bed, but dug the lower ground, the gap between two stretches of banks at times deeper, while at other times or places they blocked the natural gaps in the banks, constructing something like semi-natural sluices. In the lower reaches of the rivers minimal differences of height in the banks could serve to determine whether the

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waters overflowed at one place or at another, maybe ten miles further down. Villagers tried to determine not only the place of inundation, but its course as well, and to direct the flood water through a series of connections – again very much like natural sluices – between lower lying areas so that the downstream areas would be flooded first and the upstream lands afterwards. One of the reasons for this was to prevent the flushing out of the land, the erosion of the soil. The other reason was fishing. For at all these gaps and connecting points there was excellent fishing – partly with great locks and fish traps that were built by the villagers across these narrow points, partly with smaller nets individually used and owned, partly with whatever was at hand for use by the poor, the children, the needy. The interesting aspect of the use-rights in connection with fishing is the fact that the use of the same resource at the same place was differently regulated, either communally prescribed or left to individual exploitation, depending on the implements used and the person employing these implements (Szilágyi, 1978; Szilágyi, 1975). The result is not just a great variety of interwoven structures of communal and individual land use, but a constant process of negotiation between individuals and the village community, as to what area and particular economic activity should be regulated in what way. It seems that the wetland economy and a strong role for the village community go together. There were indeed favourable circumstances for the flourishing of village autonomy and lessening of dependency on the lords in the early eighteenth century. Hungary was devastated by the Turkish occupation of the greater part of its territory and by the periodic wars taking place on its soil as it was a theatre of war for most of the time between 1526 and 1711. Peace came to Hungary in 1711, but for the lowlands, the so-called Plains, which had borne the brunt of the Turkish attacks and whose population is estimated to have been literally decimated, it took almost another century to reach the probable population size of these areas at the beginning of the sixteenth century (Fügedi, 1985: 52-54). There followed a laborious re-occupation of a depopulated wilderness, almost comparable to the original medieval conquest of this land. This process was still not complete in all major regions by the end of the reign of Maria Theresia in 1780. In this process, attempts were organized by the crown and by landlords to settle foreigners or peasants from the less depopulated mountain areas, while the villagers themselves also migrated and settled of their own accord. Settlement contracts used to include the right of the newly settling village community to elect its own judge and have a measure of local autonomy (Wellmann, 1980). This peasant autonomy was not restricted to the newly settled villages on the devastated lowland plains. Some of the old villages of the wetlands could enjoy a similar sort of factual, if not legal, autonomy and for a while a certain freedom from the feudal

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burdens. Both the factual autonomy of the villages and the limitations on the feudal dues diminished as re-occupation of the lands proceeded in the second half of the eighteenth century. The twin reasons for this development were the diminishing of lords’ need for new settlers and their diminishing inclination to be lenient as resettlement and re-population had progressed on the one hand and the slowly widening market outlets for grain which the demesne could produce or which the lords could collect from the peasants in the latter part of the century on the other hand. A further factor contributing to the improvement of peasant status was the almost total absence of manorial production (that is, within manors having serfs and using corvée labour) not just in the wetlands, but in the whole of Central Hungary. With the Danube and the Tisza flowing south and east, the roads being what they were, most of the land had no access to export markets and not enough population to generate sufficient internal demand for the manorial grain production to develop until about the last third of the eighteenth century. But as time went by, with growing population and with the beginnings of economic development in the adjacent Austrian territories, the manorial economy started to expand in the second half of the eighteenth century in western Hungary, and elsewhere during the war-boom at the end of the century. Manorial grain production as well as the production of the peasant farmers was growing nationwide – but not in the wetlands. One of the differentiating factors of the economic systems in the wetlands was the specific match between wetland and dry land economy. This can be shown in the area where the wetland economy was most widespread – the Tisza valley for the 1820s (Dóka, 1982). On the higher reaches of the Tisza, in contrast to the low population densities still prevailing elsewhere, there was already substantial population growth in the villages along the river with their relatively poor soils. Consequently, the arable land was extended by the villagers from the high ground to the lower lying areas, with intermittent inundations and catastrophic harvests. This is where the floods hurt most and regulation of the rivers seemed most attractive. The middle parts had rich lands and were the areas that because of the physical properties lent themselves most easily to the building of the semi-natural sluices mentioned above. This was then the classical land of water management by the villages and agro-towns on the banks of the Tisza2. On the lower reaches, in sparsely populated southern Hungary, there were relatively big agro-towns with great vacant spaces, and pastures between them, so cattle raising was combined with the use of the wetlands. But it is not clear whether the wetlands here constituted an economic system just as they did further upstream.   Agro-towns were bigger settlements, larger than villages, where the great majority of the inhabitants had land and lived off it. Most of these agro-towns had a certain feudal subjection to a landlord, but a measure of legal autonomy as well; they were not royal cities or boroughs, but ‘lordly’ towns, in Latin oppida, in German Mediatstädte. 2

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Anyhow, already in the early nineteenth century, there were some regions where there was pressure on the land to sustain a larger population and, therefore, some pressure for reclamation of wetlands. The regional pattern is further complicated by the numerous gardens, documented all along the higher banks of all the rivers. Their produce was exchanged, bartered or sold – the facts of certain villages selling great volumes of fruit, mostly apples, plums, prunes, peaches, are recorded both in the royal inquiries and in the statisticaltopographical literature, but the precise mechanism of exchange is unclear. Yet this, as the analogy of the better known vineyards suggests, could have provided a cash-crop and with that, at least an interface with the commercialized sector of the economy. But this in itself is still no guarantee of modernization of agriculture in the wide sense of agro-technical development and concomitant individualization of property as well as deepening reliance on markets. In the early nineteenth century the garden plots on the lower reaches of the Danube started to produce and market paprika besides onions, cabbage and garlic – paprika being a major cash-crop. Individual proprietorship of gardens remained the rule. But the communes of villages and agrotowns actually extended control over these individually held plots, establishing, for example, pre-emptive rights of kin and neighbours to buy these properties. In this way, new products and increasingly market-oriented production were coupled with the introduction of new rights of the communes (e.g. pre-emptive rights of buying the gardens when offered for sale (Bárth, 1974: 219-220). Market is not a synonym for individualism. II.2. Late eighteenth and early nineteenth century water regulations. Royal authorities, county gentry and wetland communities The first attempts to regulate the rivers were connected to the plans and projects of the royal authorities to construct a national system of navigable waters, or at least one that could be used by rafts. This was not just for timber, but for salt quarried in the north-eastern Carpathians, where the Tisza had its source. On the Danube, there was a growing upstream traffic in grain supplying Vienna from the Napoleonic period onwards (Belitzky, 1932; Orosz, 1971; Benda, 1973). But over and above the practical advantages, the political science of absolutism (in contemporary terms Polizeywissenschaft) and the contemporary economic doctrine of cameralism were both obsessed with facilitating and controlling movements of goods and people (Knittler, 1981). The first stage of reclamation projects was accordingly dominated by the royal interest in facilitating and controlling movements of goods and people. The arguments of the royal decrees referred to the public good in the first place, though there was 214

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often a reference to the river regulations furthering the wealth of the country, too. This meant, I think, primarily commerce and mining. The mining of salt and the management of its distribution, being a state monopoly in the Habsburg lands, was very much on the mind of the royal government. Although river regulation was not meant as an economic revolution at all, support for the projects also involved large scale attacks on feudal property rights based on privilege. A case in point is the necessity of tearing down some of those mills that used weirs (Károlyi and Zoltán, 1973: 205, 261, 263, 267) and the building of some embankments and river walls to contain the floods and to provide towpaths. This was costly. From the 1760s to the 1820s a number of major projects started, where the royal authorities regularly tried to pass on as much as possible of costs to the counties and municipalities along the rivers, which, however dodged the burdens fairly successfully. The demolishing of the mills with weirs was more or less carried through, but few embankments or cuts were actually constructed. High costs might have been offset by eventual advantages. At the time of the high prices of the French wars the initiators of such projects as well as the landholders of the counties might have actually thought that it would be possible to sow the land that was gained. For example, the hope of an increase in arable land might have been a major consideration with regard to the plan to drain Lake Balaton in western Hungary (Bendefy, 1964) But landlords supporting these projects had to readjust themselves quickly. For example, the great river regulation and swamp reclamation project of north-aastern Hungary, that of the Ecsed moors and of the River Szamos, never yielded so much as an acre of arable land before the late nineteenth century (Takáts, 1899; Nyárády, 1908). The early projects were generally beset by periodic breaching of the embankments, and moreover, after embankments had been erected, the fields behind them were ruined by the high inland waters, which were unable to flow off fast enough. In actual fact, the reclaimed land could be used at best as meadow, only rarely for arable. Beyond the problem of costs, these early projects between the 1760s and the 1820s became mired in two kinds of conflicts over property and use rights. Both reflect legal structures and practices of feudal society. The first series of conflicts arose with the neighbouring landowning gentry, with the lords of the mills and the holders of various other privileges grounded in feudal law. The agencies of the central government instructed the autonomous regional units, the counties, and appointed royal Commissioners to coordinate the efforts. But Hungary was a dually structured country where the absolutist policies could not ignore the self-governing bodies of the gentry, the counties. These gave their full backing to those gentlemen who

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thought their rights were being trampled on. Indeed, the very nature of such projects necessarily involved such cases. The fact that the regulation projects could almost never fulfil the hopes and promises, for the rivers and moors that were purportedly regulated and lands that were reclaimed never really stayed the way the engineers hoped, fuelled the opposition. The county of Szatmár, with Count Károlyi as the high sheriff, ordered its inhabitants to do vast amounts of corvée labour for the reclamation of the Ecsed moors and the regulation of the Szamos and the Upper Tisza. Then the mounting resistance of the neighbouring counties toppled Károlyi. After the death of Joseph II, the nobility of the county of Szatmár instructed the deputies elected by the county to the Diet to accept only such measures or acts of water regulation where the royal authorities paid the costs – all other forms being unauthorized taxation (Bagossy and Domahidy, 1908). Although there were ‘peasant-mills’, too, a detailed examination of the regulation project of the Szamos and the Upper Tisza in the 1780s shows that the vast majority of the mill-owners came from the county gentry (Vári, 2009.). The county administration had usually a double character: on the one hand, if there was a large aristocratic landholder with a public interest in the county, the county offices tended to go to his clients. In all late eighteenth century reclamation projects the royal authorities actually relied on such a great landowner of the particular counties, making him royal commissar. If this aristocrat was pushing ahead with water regulation, the county administration, most of them being his clients, helped a lot. But since the county was a self-governing body of the gentry, the elected county officials could not go against a decided local public opinion. This public opinion was incited by the mill-owners everywhere against the regulation projects. It did not help that the counties as well as the royal authorities distributed the corvée labour necessary for the works among all the villages of the county, including those that were far from the moors and rivers and could not profit from the projects. That alone could ensure majorities for the anti-regulation parties at county assemblies. The royal authorities had little choice but either to forgo the projects or to try to intimidate and control assemblies and, if necessary, try to curb the feudal rights obstructing the water projects. The costs, too, were regularly underestimated by the engineers, giving rise to a sort of continued haggling with the counties. This cost problem was connected to the basic technical problem of the early regulations: how to carry through water regulation, that effects a complete water system, on a piecemeal basis? The engineers realized already in the 1760s and 1770s that they had to address large water systems and the best solution would be to tackle the problems in one big sweep (Tenk, 1936). But even aside from the difficulty of rapidly reaching a compromise with local interests, there was no way of building embankments, cuts, spurs throughout the course of a river

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during just one autumn of low water. If, however, not all of the works were finished within these couple of weeks, then the engineers had to reckon with the impact of the altered river flow on the still unregulated reaches and areas. They rarely succeeded. Since the works have never taken less than decades of continuous and costly efforts, it usually happened that the one new stretch of a project ruined the results of the previous ones, or conversely, the new stretch could not succeed because of the effects of what been built years before. All this made the early regulation projects rather unsuccessful. But let us remember that the priority of the royal authorities was to improve the transport, and the development of the lands on the sheltered side of the embankments was only a secondary aim. However, for the county gentry this was what mattered most. Not surprisingly, the opposition argued on grounds of sustainability against the regulation project. For contemporaries sustainability was not yet a general concept of economic growth coupled with preserving the quality of the environment for future generations, but a much more immediate concern for the safety of their lands from flooding in the vicinity of the enormously costly and complex regulation works. The county gentry were genuinely sceptical of the possibility of regulating complex water systems and considered – though they never said so – the royal authorities to be irresponsibly experimenting at the cost of the taxpayers, and the engineers to be after quick profits from fees. Neither in the planning of the royal authorities, nor in the arguments of the opposing gentry, did the peasants, who had been using the wetlands extensively, play any role. But there was peasant resistance as well to the water regulation projects. This had different effects on the river flood control projects and the attempts at swamp reclamation. Since for the fishing and irrigation of the river valleys, as described above, the functioning of the whole complicated system of ‘managed’ natural waterways was necessary, the start of the flood regulation projects on the rivers already wrought havoc with the old wetland economy of the peasants. Embankments on and cuts through the river bends are not something that could be sabotaged effectively, so there was little the peasants could do here – though they could and did risk complaints, in the form of petitions to the royal authorities (Andrásfalvy, 1973). This was a tall order, since the wetlands were regularly described in the royal records and throughout the statistical-topographical literature of the day as barren, as a green desert, without any profit for anyone. Locals kept their silence over the possible profitable uses of wetlands and landlords assisted them in their cover-up, thus avoiding at least a part of the royal tax burden.

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But the drainage of the swamps was a different matter. In the 1780s on the moor of Ecsed, the newly dug canals were obstructed by trees felled so that they would lie astride the canal in places where the fishing was good. In the winter, there were earth dams thrown into the canals to make it easier for the peasant wagons to fetch the hay left on the higher meadows in the moor (Vári, 2009). The county officials had the canals guarded by soldiers, but there is also positive evidence that they reached an understanding with the peasants. The peasants needed the hay from the moor, the county needed to keep the peasants solvent, the royal authorities and the Counts Károlyi sat in Vienna... In spite of this ‘realistic’ attitude of the chief officials of a county in the 1780s, there is no sign that the ‘educated public’ had noticed the existence of wetlands, save perhaps for the statistical-topographic literature, which considered these en passant as underused resources. It seems, then, that it was the will of the absolutist state to develop a comprehensive system of waterways and its policy of stimulating the economy by enlarging the areas usefully employed that dominated the picture in the first period of water regulations. The peasants’ water use was something that needed to be accommodated to the results of water regulation projects decided upon with the least of consideration for them. On the other hand, the dimly lit picture of the peasant use of the wetlands does not really allow us to put questions regarding the development, the dynamics of these peasant land-use systems. How stable were these systems actually? Were there already, as we have seen for the 1820s on the upper reaches of the Tisza, any sections of the peasantry, who worked towards enlarging their grain production and who might have supported river regulation? This would have meant the end of the mixed – communal and individual – management of the wetland economy described above. One needs to recall that extensive cattle raising in the wetlands that knew nothing of winter shelters was a system that admirably fitted the natural conditions but it was one with very unstable economic results. Dry years as well as very wet years that caused the pasture areas to contract caused massive losses of cattle. That was the reason why in 1754 an association of large agro-towns with very substantial wetland areas on the middle parts of the Tisza started to fill the gaps and construct short embankments. In 1786 in the wake of the repeated failures and renewed efforts there was an inquiry into the uses and disadvantages of blocking the outflows. At that point, the majority of the agro-towns were for the embankments, but because of a desire not for more grain, but for hay (Szilágyi, 1998). That is interesting, because it shows some peasant interest in river regulation arising out of the dynamics of the extension of peasant agricultural production itself. Since it was the agro-towns as collective bodies

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which have undertaken these projects, there is no information as to which strata the beneficiaries of these projects belonged to. However, being largely confined to cattle and sheep, this peasant economy of the agro-towns would probably have been unable to pay for river reclamation. The complaints of the counties about the poverty of their peasants, who were unable to perform their excessive corvée duties, and the unfinished character of the projects of the cattle-raising agro-towns both point in this direction.

III.  The second period from 1807 to 1879 III.1. An outline of the changes in the legal and political framework and the course of water regulation The spectacular failures of the previous period resulted in an Act on waterworks (No. 17) by 1807. For the first time this act subjected water regulations to specific legal provisions other than the common law. It did not yet amount to much: when landowners with the preliminary consent of the authorities erected water works, though they could not force free riders to share the costs, they had the right to exclude non-payers from the benefits of the works. This suited the needs of shipping canals rather than of works for flood control. Indeed, the act may have resulted from the spectacular success of one undertaking, which was carried through between 1792 and 1803: the building of a shipping canal more than a hundred kilometres long between the Danube and the Tisza by a society which actually made a handsome profit (Károlyi and Zsigmond, 1973: 68-72). Although the royal government kept its interest in developing water transport, its ability to act was severely curtailed by the wartime conditions prevailing for a quarter of a century to 1815. On the other hand, high grain prices might have set some of the landowners thinking about land reclamation, but conditions (above all, the legal framework which still extremely strongly protected the rights of any noble or gentleman landowner) did not permit large scale private projects. Some opponents will always be found to such projects, in this context, and the problem was their excessive protection. Traditional law in all of its forms inordinately favoured holders of any rights, and tiny minorities of landowners could therefore effectively block any river regulation project. In the 1810s and 1820s grain prices slumped and the absolutist state of Francis I was much less active than that of Joseph II. The new age of water regulations set in with rising prices for grain and wool as well as the increasingly determined attempts of the lords to build up a manorial economy and to expand sheep rearing in the 1830s. A further impetus was provided in the 1850s with the coming of the railways, which finally turned the large cattle raising areas of 219

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eastern Hungary towards grain – all of which created conditions that worked against a wetland economy. Therefore, in this period there was piecemeal river regulation by the peasant communities as well as regulation projects by the gentry and aristocratic landowners. Their aim was both flood control and some land reclamation, turning pastures into meadows and arable land. The projects of the gentry took the form of companies of shareholders. The shares entitled their holders to a share in the benefits of the undertaking and also in its costs, too, but limited liability was not yet practised in any form. Before 1848, most or all of these companies applied for a royal charter or at least permission of the Governing Council (Consilium Locumtenentiales), but this only provided moral backing and tax exemption at most, and until the new act of 1836 it did not give any special rights vis-à-vis third parties. Therefore, the problems were similar to those of the previous period. First, how could one make freeriders, virtually the whole world on the sheltered side of the embankments, pay a share of the costs? How could one divide the costs fairly? How could the previous work carried out upstream or downstream be harmonized with any given project? The first problems were addressed by the Act on waterworks of 1836 and then by the act on waterways and canals (No. 10) of 1840. The first act stated only that the costs of waterworks should be borne by those enjoying their benefits and that freeriders must be forced to pay by the officials of the counties, who should start a lawsuit in the county court against the nonpayer. This act was given more bite by the second act, which outlined the proceedings against the wrongdoers, cancelling most of the feudal rights that could have protected them. Even this was not a perfect solution, for these summary proceedings could only be initiated by the county. County officials might have had quite a number of other considerations than the profits of some waterworks. But, curiously enough, the occasion for a detailed legal prescription of how to proceed against the wrongdoers was not the non-payment of costs of new embankments. This procedure was defined for the cases where the county officials needed to proceed against ‘structures, which obstruct the flow of natural waters’. One might think, that the old culprits, the mills were meant, but no, ‘newly constructed embankments’ are explicitly mentioned in the text, mills are not. That should serve as a taste of the tremendous amount of often misguided experimentation with embankments and reclamation projects, which the years between the 1840s and 1870s must have seen. It was not just economic considerations that drove people to build embankments. In the period leading up to the 1848 revolution, the cause of water regulation became equated with nation-building. Part of the reason why these seemingly unrelated issues 220

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were linked lay in the attitude of the absolutist Vienna government – suspecting a liberal effort for political mobilization behind every movement within Hungarian society, whether they focused on starting theatre companies, organizing associations for the introduction of sports, of silk-worms or whatever else, the government itself succeeded in turning the various issues of social and economic reforms, which did not relate to the contentious issues in its German lands, to highly ideological matters in Hungary. There is a spatial link as well – the counties of the Tisza valley of eastern Hungary, being the biggest supporters of large-scale river regulation, were Hungarian counties with large or predominant Calvinist populations and gentry steeped in traditional opposition to Vienna. There was such a tremendous appeal in constructing a nationwide system of waterways and embankments that also turned the endless pastures into profitable plough land, into a base for a new national civilization that in 1846 a Tisza Valley Association was formed, an undertaking for the whole river valley collecting waters from 157,000 square kilometres and inundating an area of 2 million ha (Lászlóffy, 1982: 27, 171-180). That association started work in the same year on a scheme of regulating the whole of the Tisza Valley including the tributaries at a then estimated cost of 4 million forints (Károlyi and Zsigmond, 1973: 111). These decades witnessed radical changes in property rights. Peasant holdings held in feudal law (what the medieval English called yardland, the eighteenth century German Hufe ) had been defined and delineated in 1767 by the law of the absolutist government protecting its tax base, the so-called Urbarium. In 1848 those peasant holdings defined as such in the 1767 Urbarium were decreed the free property of the peasantry – but peasants living on demesne land or on the commons, on land cleared from forests were left empty-handed. On the other hand, the legally defined peasant holding contained garden, arable and meadow, but no pasture or woodland was delineated as belonging to it. The already cited legal framework, the 1767 Urbarium, stated only that peasants had the rights to use the pastures and woodlands, that is, the commons of the village together with their lords and in proportion to their holdings. An 1836 law made the division of the former commons possible by way of legal processes of landlords and peasants. This, of course, was little help to peasants settled on demesne land or on the commons – the situation being somewhat similar to the English enclosures, which are said to have been lenient not only towards copyholders, but even towards cottagers, but harsh on squatters (Mingay, 1968). The 1836 Hungarian law on division of commons, however, could also mean substantial supplementing of peasant holdings in areas where the lords’ demesne lands were insignificant or non-existent. Thus, the redefinition of property rights was inextricably linked to actual land-use systems. One of the latter was the old system of peasant use of the wetlands – what happened to this, we will see in the next section.

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It can be stated, however, that the redefinition of property rights was the work of a liberal elite of gentry landholders partly acting on their own plans, partly in response to mounting peasant unrest. So the actual property rights were not devised in any way by the peasants, but were handed down to them. Both politically and economically, it was the liberal gentry, who had a vision of the future, and accordingly they were the driving force behind the land-reclamations and river-regulation schemes as well. Although in the pre-1848 era it had become a national-liberal topic, the political backing for land reclamation had not been lost even after the 1848-49 national war of independence, in which Hungary was defeated by the united armies of Austria and Russia. The Austrian military rule did not stop the Tisza regulation, but simply transformed the Society into a Commission. The basic rule established in 1846 was upheld, too. Therefore, the cuts, the deepening of the river bed and everything pertaining to the flow of the river was carried out at the expense of the state, all kind of embankments, embankments and works on the banks of the rivers had to be executed at the expense of the private interests, landowners benefiting from these. The different regulations with regard to who pays for the cuts and who pays for the embankments were part of the basic concept. The original, 1846 concept of the biggest project, that of the Tisza regulation, sought to accelerate the flow through a number of cuts shortening the meandering rivers. This faster flow would allow embankments to be constructed not very far from the small-water river bed, on the ridges of the river banks, which would save costs, since the ground further away would usually be lower lying and thus more expensive to build embankments on. It was even supposed that the narrowing of the inundation area and the cuts together would take care of the meandering of the river. This task could not have been solved by the embankments alone if they were placed far from one another, since if the river develops a curve that meets an embankment at right angles, nothing can protect the embankment from being swallowed up. But this basic concept was fraught with danger, too. While the cuts and embankments kept the waters in the river bed, both of these making the bed deeper and deeper, the same embankments had to withstand ever higher floods. For the cutting off of the natural reservoirs that the wetlands had previously provided for the great river valleys meant that the floods arrived faster and by coming all at the same time from different tributaries, their peak levels kept rising throughout the period – in fact, they still do today. A revision of this original plan opted for embankments somewhat further from one another and for a larger inundation area in between them, but still not wide enough to hold all the floodwaters3. 3

 

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The landlords had lost substantial parts of their incomes through the emancipation of peasants and the supply of credit froze for the economy in general, but particularly for agriculture under the military rule of neo-absolutism – the country was thought to be unstable, on the verge of another rebellion, unsafe for any investment. Still, with regard to water regulation there was some steadily progressing work in the 1850s, so in 1860 68% of the embankments existing in 1880 were already in place (Ordódy, 1880: 57). The early 1860s were a drought period, so the restart of the river regulation projects on a large scale coincided to some extent with the AustroHungarian Compromise and the establishment of the Dual Monarchy in 1867. This was partly a reflection of exceptionally good earnings of agricultural producers in the late 1860s as a result of a combination of big harvests and good prices. It might also have been a consequence of the change in the general business climate to one of trust and optimism following the establishment of a parliamentary system and the Compromise with Austria. In the meantime, there were dozens of water regulation companies or associations formed between the 1830s and 1867. These were mostly local, but one, the Tisza Valley Association, was an umbrella organization of the associations of the whole river valley. The work done in the decades up to 1878 can be gauged by the pattern of formation of new regulation associations: Table 7.1. River regulation associations on the Tisza up to 1878 Period of founding pre-1850 1850-1866 1866-1878 Total

No. of associations No. of associations Inundation area originally in 1878 of associations founded after mergers (ha) 10 8 461,720 18

18

Average area per association per period (ha) 46,172

357,129

19,862 13,658

3

2

27,317

31

28

846,166

Source. Ordódy (1880: 9-10).

With the passing of time, the average area of the associations diminishes radically – the lighter jobs were taken earlier, and the associations of areas where for some reason the costs of defence needed to be borne by a smaller area were established rather slowly. The difficulties of the pre-1848 water works with freeriders have been touched upon. After 1849, though the available literature is silent on this point, my guess is that the Austrian neo-absolutist-bureaucratic reorganization of courts and public administration may have helped quite a lot. The vestiges of legal procedures that protected the incumbent, the actual holder of any right or property, that reflected

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the basic needs of the feudal society, were done away with. This had already started in earnest before 1848, but the military rule must have sped it up. After the 1867 Austro-Hungarian Compromise, a proper legal framework was provided by the act of the Hungarian parliament in 1871 on water-regulation associations – after the latter had already been running for two decades in much the same way on the basis of the Austrian patents of 16 June 1850 and 09 October 18564. Basic legal features of these associations included the ability of a majority interest to force the minority into participating in the association, the careful measuring of the extent of lands liable to be flooded as well as the income and value of these lands at the founding of the associations. The participation and voting rights in the associations were proportionate to the amount of land held by the individual owners. There were wide supervisory rights for both the county authorities and the central government over the associations. The associations had very strong powers to get their financial claims accepted, either against their own members or against third parties. The claims of the water regulation associations were given priority (after the state taxes) in the land registrars, so other claims could not be satisfied out of the assets of a landowner as long as these claims were not settled. But the 1871 act upheld the right of appeal of an individual landowner to a normal court against decisions of the association or of the authorities supervising it. Therefore individual landowners were still autonomous participants in the water regulation efforts. Thus, although there was a substantial rewriting of the legal system in 1848, I tend to think of this period as one unit – governed from beginning to end by the popular ideal of the rational individual proprietor within his ever more clearly defined property. Some liberal gentlemen at least thought they could turn into such figures. III.2. What were the results, who participated and what were the benefits for the participants? By the end of the 1870s, there was a virtually continuous line of embankments along both great rivers, though not along the tributaries. The fact that the whole burden of regulations, apart from the cuts and the works in the river bed, rested on the shoulders of the local landowners, and that the state had not yet the coercive power it later acquired, ensured that the gentry acquired a say in what works were built and how they were constructed. The costs of the Tisza regulation were as follows:

  Earlier they were considered to be a kind of associations and the rules regulating the associations were applied to them. 4

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Table 7.2. Costs of the Tisza regulation borne by the state, 1847-1879 Costs of river cuts (florins)

c. 1847-1877

1878-1879

6,200,000

2,100,000

Source. Ordódy (1880: 29).

The enormous acceleration in spending on construction was due to the catastrophic floods of 1876 and 1877, that we shall refer to later. Table 7.3. Costs of the Tisza regulation borne by the associations Period Up to 1878

Total area of flood control Area for which data Total cost of construcby the associations on costs is available tion and expropriation (ha) (ha) (florins) 813,469

771,569

20,427,576

Cost per ha (florins) 26.47

Source. Ordódy (1880: 52-54).

To keep costs in check and to distribute them in a fair and/or politically opportune manner, the technical aspects had to take a back seat. This meant that the pressure of the participating landowners for lower costs on the one hand and for seeing results as fast as possible clashed with the technical concepts of the engineers, which themselves were contradictory. The less-than-perfect solutions sometimes proved to be catastrophic. In March 1879 a large town, Szeged, with a population of over 70,000 was washed away overnight by the icy floods. This provoked a heated public discussion and new legislation. We shall return to the new legislation below. As for the heated public discussion, there emerged at least three possible culprits to blame for the tragedy, which seemed to be a result of the previous haggling over what works should be built at whose cost: the incompetent city administration, the large estates of the Counts Pallavicini in the immediate vicinity of the city and the chief of the engineering works in the ministry, who had a running feud with the city for decades (Emlékirat, 1879). The public criticism brought charges of incompetence and of unsatisfactory coordination. But the fact that there were three culprits and that the haggling between them was described in unkind details, may at the same time reflect some sort of unease with the above outlined, nicely liberal system of meticulously apportioned responsibilities and profits, rights and duties between state government, municipalities and private parties. This, then, may be a foretaste of the late nineteenth century anti-liberal criticism of the capitalist economy in general and of the gigantic, costly and seemingly unsustainable water-regulation efforts in particular.

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Despite tragic setbacks, the benefits of the flood control projects were substantial. Even though the reclaimed land was mostly unsuitable for growing grain at once, in terms of costs and benefits the land reclamation must have been very profitable. For the value of land that was not liable to flooding exceeded the values paid for wetlands by a factor of ten and more. Profits, of course, were reckoned as the rise in the price of land minus the costs of reclamation, and the latter were substantial. Disregarding the two extreme figures at both ends of a scale made up of the costs per acre of 48 river regulation associations incurred from the founding of the associations up to 1876, the values ranged from 5.8 florins to 137 florins per hectares, with the bulk located between 25 and 75 florins – that is, the yearly rent of 1 ha of arable (Dékány, 1879: 46-48). At the end of the 1890s, the best contemporary encyclopaedia brought data on costs per area of the river regulation associations, without the outlays by the state – these, too, ranged between 25 and 90 florins per hectare, with the Tisza valley associations having the highest costs (Ármentesítő társulat, 1893). This is a very wide range, and the upper limit of costs already reaches half the price for poor arable land. Since most of the inundation area was not arable, but meadow and pasture, both before and after reclamation, and this fetched only about a quarter of the price of arable land, this level of costs was, indeed, very substantial. What motivated landowners was, of course, the possibility of conversion of pasture to arable, which varied widely but showed some very spectacular gains, too. Since land prices differed widely according to local conditions, the alleged 100-fold rises of value given in the publications of the water regulation associations are probably unrepresentative peak values. However, there is no denying the profitability of the enterprise. Even if one reckons with the interest on the outlays, the rise in the value of the land resulting from flood control when the reclamation was completed, must have exceeded the costs 2-5 times for an association with approximately average costs5. But who did profits go to? Former wetlands and the reclaimed land were mostly considered to be part of village commons which had been transformed into outright private property by the 1848 legislation. The economy (demesne) of the landlords was invariably on high ground, the wetlands were never part of it, though formerly, in feudal times they had been legally part of the manor. Now the area of wetlands was mostly considered as commons awaiting the legal decision on how to divide them between lord and   There are some scattered price data on arable at the end of the 1880s, showing a range between 150-450 florins per hectare, while the pastures did not fetch more than 25-100 florins. However, there are some problems with this data, furthermore, we have nothing on the rise in value that accrued to land that was previously waterlogged and after reclamation was good pasture. Therefore, the above guess is based on the value differences in the classifications of the lands that the river regulation companies themselves established for the purpose of the fixing the shares of costs to be borne by their members. For this data cf. Kvassay (1900: 102-113). 5

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peasants. Thus, the eventual profits from any river regulation and land reclamation accrued to the owners of the lands, but the lands were caught in the process of a prolonged legal transition. Since after the 1848 emancipation of peasants no legal disability of the peasantry has remained and smallholders were represented in the river regulation associations through their village communities exercising voting rights proportional to the land held by their members, one could perhaps expect that in this period the smallholders should have come to influence the water regulation projects. On a national average, the former peasants, now emancipated smallholders, held rather more than half of all arable land, and that seems like a factor that could have given them muscle. There are, indeed a few river regulation projects consisting entirely of peasant villages in the rich wheat producing areas. But I do not think that a lot of river regulation projects had active participation of the peasantry. In the few associations for which I have both a list of shares and the positions in the leadership, the smallholders were not represented at all on the board of the association (Földes, 1999: 130-135). The latter was dominated by the landowners. But this reflects not just some timidity of the peasants, but the fact that with a restricted franchise and a political tradition of running the affairs of the country, the public administration remained in the hands of the gentry. For the people sitting on the board of a water regulation association were often members of local landowning families. Alternatively, they themselves might have either no shares or just a few, but they were elected on the board of the association because they were county officials. Needless to say, the two groups formed one large network of friends and relatives. Thus, discounting special circumstances, peasants seem to have had neither the resources, nor the economic outlook, nor the power in local politics necessary to be able to gain from the potentially very profitable but complex and costly game of water regulation. Even without the active participation of peasants, the pattern shown by the initiators of and participants in these projects is certainly different from that of the late eighteenth century, where the royal authorities and some public-minded aristocrats dominated. In the second period, the large landholders and the gentry take over, while the state authorities step back. What is really missing, if one compares the large-scale reclamation works in Hungary with comparable contemporary North-West European developments, is the figure of the entrepreneur who reclaims land for a profit. That this structure, based on associations of individual landholders, found it difficult to solve the problem of how to regulate a large water system on a piecemeal basis, we have already seen. But the enormous amount of acrimony that this situation generated needs further discussion. At times of floods, it was the duty of the particular

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associations to maintain and defend the embankments that were legally defined as theirs. However, as the conditions of one stretch of the river directly influenced the next, there was not only a tremendous amount of bickering, but frequently acts of violence, too. The problem was no longer either the attitude of the peasants or sabotage, but one county administration supporting ‘its’ association and letting the embankments elsewhere be cut through in broad daylight to save its own lands. Within the associations the same sort of thing kept happening: in times of distress, instead of cooperation, every large landowner and every village fended for itself. Between the associations and the landowners further afield conflicts broke out not just in times of great danger, but became continuous. There is at least one example of a water regulation association on the Upper Tisza feuding with the association of the inland areas seeking to channel their standing waters towards the Tisza, where the fighting associations repeatedly damage, demolish or fill up the works of one another (Virágh, 1900). For this situation involved more than the freerider problem sketched above. The lands further inland had their difficulties, because the floods kept rising, inundating lands that did not have this problem before and aggravating the problem of standing waters. Landowners in these areas tended not only to refuse to join the water regulation associations on the grounds that from time immemorial their lands were not flooded, therefore, by the letter of the law, they need not join, but had even taken the view that they were entitled to compensations for the damages caused by what they saw as misguided attempts at regulation of the rivers. Indeed, the flood levels kept rising, just as tempers did – the minister of transport had given the startling numbers in his report, at the same time seeking to counter the view that the steady rise since 1830 would be a result of the regulation projects (Ordódy, 1880: 56-59). III.3.

The possible effects on distribution of property and on economic relations

Uncertainty was the result even in the areas behind well-built embankments. In some places it was possible to reclaim ploughland right after the erection of embankments, but the new lands were mostly pastures or meadows. These were communally used by the villages even though the peasants were now proprietors of their lands unencumbered by feudal restrictions. The remodelling of the peasants into modern small proprietors was not a fast success either. The 1848 and 1853 laws on the emancipation of the peasantry and the redefinition of their property as well as the 1871 law on the division of commons left the courts a lot to decide, and they tended to favour landlords over villages (Für, 1965: 109-124). In a set of examples of court rulings from widely differing parts of 228

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the country it was found that courts typically apportioned the pastures as follows: two-thirds for the former lord, and one-third for the community of small proprietors, leaving nothing for the cottager without land. The cases differed according to the legal precedent as well as the scarcity of land in the particular region. Another set of data from the valley of the Berettyó showed that a set of 12 villages was given a fair deal, though mostly after protracted litigation. The real losers were the peasants formerly having the legal standing of cottager (Latin: inquilines) (Oláh, 1989). In regions of scarce land or in cases where the feudal legal precedents favoured them, the lords sought to expand their lands and take in as much as possible of the commons – at least before the grain crises of the 1880s. But they often preferred to expand their own productive organizations on the old arable land, rather than on new land with lingering danger of floods, so the aggressive tactics of the lords in the old arable land might have been coupled with some leniency with regard to the former wetlands. Thus the addition in the areas of the former wetlands also served as a sort of buffer for the small proprietors – having lost a part of the pasture and arable elsewhere, here they found an alternative. The court decision on the division of the pastures between the villages and the landlords would settle the question of the disposal of these resources. But the actual utilization of these lands was not yet determined by the outcome of that struggle. In fact, even if they remained in the hands of the peasants, pastures were not turned into individually used property. They were grazed on a communal basis even in the liberal age, in which the village community existed only as an organ of the state. The owners of grazing rights formed so-called grazing associations everywhere. Even the usual village field systems (three- or two-field) were retained unimpeded until 1894. Only then was a law passed strongly favouring, though not coercing, the consolidation of the smallholdings in the village. Whether pasture or arable, the redefinition of legal notions had not necessarily transformed peasant society, and the attitudes towards property among peasant families were not markedly changed by the projects of flood control and land reclamation or by the struggle for the appropriation of the results of these projects. The peasant society and economy may even have been preserved by the additional land removing some of the pressure of population on land occupied and tilled up to then (Borsos, 2000). But this aspect of the story is certainly something that needs further research. The same can be said of the gardens. I tried to show the contrast of the system of wetlands economy which I have described above in section II, as a sector of relatively intensively cultivated, more or less individually owned patches of land, with the extensive economy of the grazing grounds in the wetlands. This was done in order to

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highlight the fact that several starting points for commercialization may have existed within a pre-modern rural economy. This fact might often go unnoticed in agrarian history because the extremely varied natural surroundings and the relative weakness of absolutist government of the eighteenth century let this sector of peasant economy go untaxed, and as a result it has left us with little source material. Although garden produce could be traded as barter on a base of reciprocal relationships, the sheer amount of this produce makes these gardens prime suspects for a market connection of peasant economy in the late eighteenth-early nineteenth centuries. Now, when one looks at the same areas of intensive gardening in the former wetlands in the late nineteenth century, not much prosperity can be seen anywhere, though the gardening did continue in some of these areas after the river regulation, too. The reasons vary. The arrival of cheap and good distilling methods first from grain, then from potatoes, too, deprived the most fertile gardens of a major market. More generally, late nineteenth century traders already wanted more or less steady and uniform qualities, but the peasants, on the other hand, regularly cultivated dozens of different trees. Only when the peasants had easy access to big city markets more or less without capitalistic intermediaries was the former significance of market production preserved6.

IV.  The third period from 1879-1914: a short overview The new wave of record floods in the wet 1870s drove associations deeply into debt. After the 1879 catastrophe of Szeged, a case that attracted even the attention of the king, who came and viewed the destruction himself, public opinion felt strongly about both the regulation associations and the government. This is where the aspect of sustainability re-entered the stage. In the second stage of water regulation the sceptics’ voice was somewhat muted by the general urge to get more profit out of land reclamation. Inasmuch as sustainability was a topic at all, it was only as criticism of particular actions and decisions on certain projects. Contemporary criticism culminated in allegations of irresponsibility in a similar way as in the eighteenth century. However, this had changed in the 1870s. In the wake of the drought period of the early 1860s and the subsequent series of floods of the 1870s a radical and generalized scepticism started to prevail in some sections of public opinion with regard to the feasibility of large scale refashioning of nature. To a certain extent, this can be correlated with differences and rivalries among different groups of engineers, but beyond that, this criticism of the apparently unsustainable   This information was culled from the monographs of 21 counties produced in the series edited by Samu Borovszky around 1900. 6

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undertaking of regulating complex systems fitted into a general mood of scepticism towards capitalism and the brave new world of liberal politics. This in turn contributed to the passing of legislation on water regulation associations. The government legislated in three steps on financial advantages for the regulation and reclamation associations. First, the law on land tax allowed rebates for the individual landholders on account of improvements. Then an amendment determined that the rebates on account of improvements in the form of flood control and land reclamation should go straight to the associations (Kvassay, 1900). The second step created favourable conditions for the associations to obtain loans from banks and also established a programme of state loans. The third programme made it compulsory for those, who would maintain or operate industrial or communications installations in the areas defended by the regulation associations which would have had to be protected from the floods anyway, but whose protection was actually facilitated and its costs reduced by the work of the regulation associations, to pay some contribution to the associations. In effect, the railway companies were made to pay a share, and sometimes the owners of paved roads, too (Kvassay, 1900). All the financial help, though important, was still not the end of the matter. First in 1879, then in a series of later acts, the pillar of which was the general law on water of 1885, the government vindicated a power, where associations could be forced to form, unite or dissolve, to carry through works defined in detail by the government engineering agencies formed at the same time and to refrain from undertaking even minor works not allowed by these agencies. What remained was a semblance of autonomy, mainly the decision about who would be elected to the leading bodies of the associations to carry through the work dictated by the state authorities. Not infrequently, it was the peak of county officialdom. But even this semblance was lost with the last legal measure, which gave the government powers to appoint commissioners to direct the associations instead of their directorate. The last remaining freedom for the landowners was the freedom to pay. In the aftermath of the series of catastrophes of the 1870s, with hostile public opinion and with financial aid reaching them, the associations acquiesced in these measures. There was a second round of building activity that strengthened and reinforced the existing embankments, built new ones and started to tackle the problem of stagnant water behind the embankments. From the point of view of the landowners the new situation came close to having to pay a substantial state tax on land in and even beyond the inundation areas, without being able to determine how the revenue from this tax should be spent.

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River regulation, land use, property and rural society in Hungary from the eighteenth century to 1914

For us, the most interesting question is how this situation came about and what forces maintained it. Landowners were the political class of the country, very unlikely to be trampled on and bullied by the government. In all economic matters, they were impeccably liberal-minded, with a special mistrust of the government born out of their experiences during the neo-absolutist period of the 1850s. Why did they accept this government power grounded in the need to restrain the water? The answer must lie partly in the continued, general profitability of the water regulation and land reclamation undertakings to landowners, probably greater than for the smaller landowners or the peasants, since the latter might not have been able to shoulder the costs and wait for the advantages for a longer period. The power relations between national government and county elites on the other hand might have played a role, too – both through the curtailment of the powers of the counties in and after the 1876 reform of county administration and through the growing power of the central government to pressure and to reward local elites through its vast widening of its agenda, budget and competence. This specific handling of the water regulation associations at first sight seems to have had no immediate repercussions on the concept of property rights as expounded in contemporary works or in parliamentary speeches, although the wide control of resources by the government was something radically new and it was naturally criticized and commented upon. Specifically, flood control was constantly an issue in parliament. At the same time, however, other legal powers of the government were similarly expanded and this process did, indeed, have repercussions for property rights. But the fact that, up to the 1890s the government clung to the fig-leaf theory of interfering in the economy in only a few cases in the interest of the public instead of developing an interventionist economic policy probably helped to mask and cover the wide area, where it in fact, did interfere in a much more profound manner. Of this covertly interventionist turn the issue of water regulation is a prime example. But the public also tended to accept the new role of the government as a contrast to the previous age of unsatisfactory coordination of regulation works – the new policy seemed to be manifestly helping river regulation, the great national project of the pre-1848 reform era, saving it from utter chaos and disarray. Thus, the contradiction of this new government role and the original, mid-century context of river regulation as an aspect of building a free and integrated national society and economy did not become apparent.

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V.  Conclusion Looking at the whole process, it seems that in the first period the river regulation, flood control and the like were pet projects of the absolutist central agencies of the crown, intent on facilitating and controlling transport. This was taken up occasionally by an aristocrat intent on proving his concern for the welfare of the public and the progress of the state. Separate from these projects and for different reasons, there were occasionally agro-towns, villages and landowners trying some piecemeal embankment-building and flood control, nowhere with any measure of success. Property rights were not influenced in any substantial way. Yet this must have been one of the ways in which the absolutist state agencies came to realize the necessity of modifying and reformulating the traditional legal framework, so it brought them into a similarly fundamental opposition to the feudal landholding class as the question of the peasants’ burdens. Parallel to these processes there was a peasant ecosystem in the wetlands with a typical combination of individual and communally determined use rights which did not noticeably hinder the individual, market-oriented segments of the peasant wetland economy. This may be taken to show that within certain – unknown – limits the institutions of modern individualistic property rights cannot be considered a conditio sine qua non of market-oriented production. In the second period of the development of river regulations, there was a very substantial effort, in terms of inputs, though the success was not always commensurate with the efforts. The main participants were the landowners, their main mundane object being land reclamation and protection from the floods, though this has been symbolically enhanced to the level of nation building. From 1807 onwards their efforts were aided more and more by legislation on the establishment and operation of associations. Property rights showed the characteristic entanglement of use rights between lord and peasant and among the peasants themselves. This state of affairs did not cease in 1848 or in 1853, as first the Hungarian revolutionary laws, then the Austrian neo-absolutist laws on peasant emancipation were promulgated. It was preserved up to the end of court processes about the division of the common pastures in the 1870s and in some cases even later. The notions of property were, however, radically redefined in 1848, doing away both with the idea of a peasantry subjected to the lords’ rule and the claims of relatives on the incumbent of a privileged ‘feudal’ property, and establishing legal equality at least in property relations. Here again, it is not the legal institution of property rights on its own that chiefly determines outcome. On the other hand, the demolition of the system of courts

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and of the feudal procedural law that heavily defended the incumbents, the people actually holding or enjoying the particular right in question, might have made a major difference. For any such development as river regulation by necessity touched upon the rights of a number of different persons, and the excessive power to defend the property and the rights of any particular individual was liable to prevent anything that required prolonged and multifaceted negotiations and compromises. But this particular set of feudal legal procedures and features which served the defence of incumbents was not immutable within the feudal legal and court system. As a matter of fact, before 1848 a number of acts aimed at precisely this type of change – making procedures faster, unwarranted resistance to claims of third parties more difficult – had already been passed by the ‘feudal’ diet itself. Although redefinition of property rights was not a precondition for the river regulation and land reclamation projects of the period between the 1820s and the late 1870s, there is a certain consonance or harmony between the notion of unencumbered individual private property and the way these regulation associations went about their business. In both cases the basic unit was thought to be the autonomous and responsible individual acting within the precise limits of freedom and responsibility set by formal law. The new legal concepts of property encompassed the peasants as well – but they seem to have always found a way out and preserved much of what was previously communally managed just as tenaciously as they preserved their market access in places and at times when this suited them. In the mid and later nineteenth century smallholders seem to be passive participants of the river regulations. Even if they benefited from it, reaping the benefits did not necessarily involve legal institutions. Economic advantage on the peasants’ level consisted of a switch from pastures to arable land, which in this period was a widely taken option. But the peasants’ use of both pasture and arable had a number of communal elements, not matching the notion of individual property and responsibility. It has been shown that there was a major resurgence in the water regulation efforts of the central government from 1879 onwards, partly because the complexities of the regulation efforts of the great water-systems were in constant conflict with the liberalindividualistic approach of the landowners, partly as a result of a more general etatist tendency. The government then appeared to be much more efficient than the agents of the crown in the late eighteenth century. Though the legal base for this new role of the state was described in acts of parliament, the cornerstone of this role was not to be found in legislation. What the laws actually contained were a type of emergency

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option that the government was entitled to take if and when a certain situation arose. But whether it arose or not was mainly for the government to decide. Taken broadly, the offensive posture of the government rested, first of all, on an enormously enhanced level of taxation. Secondly, the rude trampling on hitherto sacrosanct private spheres of associations and the ‘nationalizing’ of their property was only possible with a mandate from a large majority of contemporary public opinion acknowledging the necessity and the right of the government to operate complex systems of infrastructure for the public good. The ‘public good’ was an expandable conception, the core of which was in this case the facilitating of inland water transport, of land reclamation and of flood control. The easiest way to expand this concept, which the government then repeatedly used, was to argue for greater scientific and technical perfection of the regulation works if carried through under government supervision. The general law on waters of 1885 established regional offices of engineer-inspectors, who supervised the work of the individual water regulation associations, and once this network was created, its scope and legal powers grew with every new act – acts which were at the same time hailed as new steps towards technical excellence. It is easy to see that the professionalization project of engineers was a powerful ally of the government and a mighty factor influencing public opinion as well. The overview above seems to lead to a two-pronged observation: that the operation of water-use systems was on the one hand enormously complex and sustained substantial populations on very different terms from the contemporary ‘mainstream’ economy, on the other hand, precisely this complex and hardly controllable sphere seems to have repeatedly presented a challenge to redefine both the property rights and the institutional set-up of water use. This could perhaps be called a ‘frontier’ situation of both land use and property rights.

Bibliography Andrásfalvy, B. (1973), A Sárköz ősi ártéri gazdálkodása [The Ancient Economy of the Sárköz Inundation Area], Budapest, Vízügyi Történeti Füzetek.

Ármentesítő T. (1893-1897),‘Ármentesítő társulat’ in A Pallas Lexikona, vol. I of vols. I-XVI, Budapest. Bagossy, B. (1908), ‘Domahidy, István: Szatmár vármegye története’ [‘History of Szatmár county’], in S. Borovszky (ed.), Szatmár vármegye, Budapest, Országos Monográfia Társaság. Bárth, J. (1974), ‘Kalocsa környéki ártéri kertek a xviii-xix. Században’ [‘Gardens in the Inundation Area around Kalocsa in the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries’], Agrártörténeti Szemle, 16, 1-2, p. 213-233.

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Belitzky, J. (1932), Magyarország gabonakivitele 1860-ig [Grain Exports of Hungary till 1860], Budapest.

Benda, G. (1973), ‘Production et exportation des céréales en Hongrie (1770-1780)’, in B. H. Köpeczi & É Balázs (eds), Paysannerie française – paysannerie hongroise, xvixxe siècle, Budapest, Akadémiai Kiadó, p. 187-197. Bendefy, L. (1964), ‘Vízmérnöki munkálatok a Balaton környékén a xviii-xix. Században’ [‘Water Engineering Works around Lake Balaton in the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries’], Agrártörténeti Szemle, 6, 3-4, p. 437-452.

Borsos, B. (2000), Három folyó között. A bodrogközi gazdálkodás alkalmazkodása a természeti viszonyokhoz a folyószabályozási munkák előtt és után (1840-1910) [Between Three Rivers. The Adaptation of the Economy of the Bodrog Area to the Natural Environment before and after the River Regulation Works], Budapest, Akadémiai Kiadó. Dékány, M. (1879), Vizügyeink, különösen a Tiszaszabályozás és ármentesítés fejlődéséről [On the Development of our Water Management, Particularly the Regulation and Flood Control of the Tisza], Budapest, U. ott. Dóka, K. (1982), ‘Gazdálkodás a Tisza árterein a xix. század első felében’ [‘Husbandry in the Inundation Areas of the Tisza in the First Half of the Nineteenth Century’], Agrártörténelmi Szemle, 24, 3-4, p. 277-302.

Emlékirat a szegedi árvíz tárgyában [Memorandum on the Subject of the Szeged Flood], Szeged 1879.

Fodor F. (1957), Magyar vízimérnököknek a Tisza-völgyben a kiegyezés koráig végzett felmérései, vízi munkálatai és azok eredményei [The Water Works, Surveys and their Results Performed by Hungarian Water Engineers in the Tisza Valley up to the Age of Compromise], Budapest, Tankönyvkiadó. Földes, G. (1999), ‘Felső-Csallóköz árvédekezésének története’ [‘The History of the Protection of the Upper Csallóköz from the Floods’], Két könyv a csallóközi árvédekezés történetéről, Pozsony, Stampfel K. Fügedi, E. (1985), ‘The Demographic Landscape of East-Central Europe’, in A. Maczak, H. Samsonowicz & P. Burke (eds), East-Central Europe in Transition, Cambridge/Paris, Cambridge University Press, p. 47-58.

Für, L. (1965), ‘Jobbágyföld – parasztföld‘ [‘Serf Land – Peasant Land’], in I. Szabó (ed.), A parasztság Magyarországon a kapitalizmus korában 1848-1914, Budapest, Akadémiai kiadó. Knittler, H. (1981), ‘Das Verkehrswesen als Ausgangspunkt einer staatlichen Infrastrukturpolitik’, in H. Matis (ed.), Von der Glückseligkeit des Staates. Staat, Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft in Österreich im Zeitalter des aufgeklärten Absolutismus, Berlin, Duncker & Humblot, p. 137-160.

Károlyi, Z. (1973), ‘Az egyes vízvidékek szabályozási munkáinak története: A Dunavölgy vizeinek szabályozása’ [‘The History of the Regulation Works of Particular Water Systems: The Regulation of the Waters of the Danube Valley’], in D. Ihrig (ed.), A magyar vízszabályozás története, Budapest, VÍZDOC, p. 151-279. 236

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Károlyi, Z. (1973), ‘A magyar vízi munkálatok rövid története különös tekintettel a vizek szabályozására’ [‘Short History of the Water Works with Special Emphasis on the Regulation of Waters’], in D. Ihrig (ed.), A magyar vízszabályozás története, Budapest, VÍZDOC, p. 23-147. Kvassay, J. (1900), A Duna- és Tiszavölgyi ármentesítő társulatokra vonatkozó statistikai adatok [Statistical Data on the River Regulation Associations of the Danube and the Tisza Valleys], Budapest.

Lászlóffy, W. (1982), A Tisza. Vízi munkálatok és vízgazdálkodás a tiszai vízrendszerben [The Water Regulation Works and Water Management in the Water System of the Tisza], Budapest, Akadémiai Kiadó.

Makkai, L. (1985), ‘Economic Landscapes: Historical Hungary from the Fourteenth to the Seventeenth Century’, in A. Maczak, H. Samsonowicz & P. Burke (eds), East-Central Europe in Transition, Cambridge/Paris, Cambridge University Press, p. 24-36.

Mingay, G. E. (1968), Enclosure and the Small Farmer in the Age of the Industrial Revolution, London/Basingstoke, Macmillan.

Nyárády, L. (1908), ‘Vízszabályozás és ármentesítés’ [‘Water Regulation and Flood Control’], in S. Borovszky (ed.), Szatmár vármegye, Budapest, Országos Monografiai Társ.

Oláh, J. (1989), ‘Határrendezés a Sárréten’ [‘Division of Commons on the Sárrét’], in I. Rácz (ed.), Parasztság és magyarság, Debrecen, A Történelmi-és Klasszika-Filológiai Intézet, p. 25-34.

Ordódy, P. (1880), Előterjesztés a Tisza és mellékfolyóinak szabályozása valamint a Temes-Béga vizszerkezetben előforduló lényegesebb kérdések tárgyában [Report with Regard to the Regulation of the Tisza and its Tributaries as well as the more Important Questions Concerning the Temes-Béga Water Systems], Budapest. Orosz, I. (1971), ‘Die landwirtschaftliche Produktion in Ungarn 1790-1849’, Agrártörténeti Szemle, 13 (Supplementum), p. 1-24. Szilágyi, M. (1975), ‘Halászati üzemformák a Tisza vidékén a xviii-xix. században’. [‘Forms of Fishing around the Tisza Valley‘], Ethnographia 86:4, p. 521-536. Szilágyi, M. (1978), ‘A halászat jelentősége a paraszti önellátásban és árutermelésben’ [‘The Significance of Fishing for the Peasants’ Subsistence and for their Commodity Production’], Agrártörténelmi Szemle, 20, 1-2, p. 81-100.

Szilágyi, M. (1998), ‘Az áradások és a gazdálkodás összefüggései az ármentesítések előtt’ [‘The Connections between the Floods and the Economy before the Completion of Water Regulation Works’], lecture at the ‘Történelemtanárok 8. országos konferenciája’ [Eighth National conference of history teachers], 3. October 1998. Takáts, S. (1899), ‘Az ecsedi láp eresztése a mult században’ [‘The Reclamation of the Moors of Ecsed in the Last Century’], Magyar Gazdaságtörténelmi Szemle, 6, p. 1-34.

Tenk, B. (1936), A vízszabályozások Tolna megyében a xviii. században [The Water Regulations in County Tolna in the Eighteenth Century], Pécs, Akadémiai Kiadó.

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Varga, J. (1965), Typen und Probleme des bäuerlichen Grundbesitzes in Ungarn 17671849, Budapest, Akadémiai Kiadó.

Vári, A. (2009), ‘Herrschaftsvermittlung in Ungarn des späten 18. Jahrhunderts. Ein Magnat, der technische Fortschritt, die Bauern, der Komitatsadel und ein Komitatsbeamter zwischen allen Fronten’, in M. North (ed.), Kultureller Austausch. Bilanz und Perspektiven der Frühneuzeitforschung, Böhlau Verlag Köln-Weimar-Wien, Böhlau Verlag & Cie, p. 203-218. Viga, G. (2007), ‘Changes in the Landscape and Traditional Peasant Farming’, Publicationes Universitatis Miskolcinensis, Sectio Philosophica, Tom. XII, Miskolc, p. 147-156.

Virágh, L. (1900), ‘A felső-szabolcsi Tisza ármentesítő és belvíz-levezető társulat’ [‘The Tisza-valley Water Regulation Association of Upper Szabolcs‘], in S. Borovszky (ed.), Szabolcs vármegye, Budapest, Országos Monográfia Társaság. Wellmann, I. (1980), ‘Die erste Epoche der Neubesiedlung Ungarns nach der Türkenzeit (1711-1761)’, Acta Historica, 26, 3-4, Budapest, p. 241-303.

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8.

Collective property and environmental concerns. The French case, 1750-1900 Nadine Vivier

I.  Introduction1 Historically, the debates concerning common lands regarded them as poor and of no value. It was said either that common wastes were inherently associated with infertile land, or that the infertility of commons stemmed from their collective ownership. Economists, agronomists and politicians at the end of the eighteenth century, and the physiocrats in particular, denounced the mismanagement of commons and proposed that they be divided up or sold. According to these theorists, all collective use of land unavoidably led to overexploitation. Recently, there has been a resurgence in this long-lasting debate. In considering the contemporary situation, some economists have adopted this traditional view (Hardin, 1968) and have spoken of ‘the tragedy of the commons’, stating that common property is inherently deficient, results in mismanagement and overexploitation, and cannot be respectful of sustainability. Nonetheless, other analysts provide a much more positive view. Elinor Ostrom (1990) argues that common-pool problems are sometimes solved by voluntary organizations, rather than by a coercive State. All these studies focus mainly on the state of the commons today throughout the world. Can an historical case-study offer new insights for reflection? This paper focuses on the social perception of the environment and its influence on attitudes towards collective property. Studied are the discourse on the economic efficiency of common land and the effects on the environment during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. The argument developed here is that, in France, the way of managing access rights to common land usually succeeded in avoiding overexploitation, with the use of the land seeming to have been largely determined by social and economic structures. The evidence of sustainable land use and the norms surrounding it are discussed in the first section (I). At the end of the eighteenth century, within the context of a food shortage and legislation for a new rural code, the idea of suppressing collective property developed. At this point, environmental   Comments by Bas van Bavel, Erik Thoen and Noelle Plack on the first version of the paper are gratefully acknowledged. 1

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concerns were weak, but these increased during the 1840s. This had important consequences on property rights: new laws were passed in 1860 which introduced a new conception of property rights and the notion of public utility of the land. These issues are discussed in the second section (II).

II.  Collective land use rights and sustainability concerns: norms and reality II.1. The Ancien Régime: communities fear overexploitation Common land possessed by the communities of inhabitants was very unevenly distributed throughout French territory2. It was managed by the parish council, acting according to customary laws. Nonetheless, historians cannot always rely on those customary laws; many of them were silent on this issue and in such cases each community decided its own rules. ‘In France, about 450 customary laws can be counted [...], around only 100 of which are concerned with the ownership and administration of these commons’ (La Maillardière, 1782: 302). Taking into account this diversity, a typology of the main cases is presented. In the richest agricultural areas, only a small amount of common land survived. In the plains around Paris and the surrounding Northern provinces (Picardy, Artois, Flanders, etc.), commons had virtually disappeared by the eighteenth century. There were some wet pastures along the rivers, whose drainage would be very expensive, some marshes or swamps providing peat (Picardy) and some arable land leased out in small plots for cultivation (Flanders). They were managed by the community according to custom, and every inhabitant had a use right. Small plots were leased out by auction. This, however, was not the case for the rest of France. The hundred customary laws concerned with the management of common land most often reserved access to them to landowners in the parish. This was the case in Normandy and Brittany, in the Massif Central and Provence – regions of huge wastes and some wet pastures. The market value of this common land was low (see maps). In these regions, the commons were considered an annex to private property; hence use was given only to landowners or their tenants. Most often, grazing rights were granted strictly in proportion to the amount of land owned. In some provinces such as Auvergne and Languedoc, and in   The first reliable data were produced in 1846 from the completed cadastres. At that time, common lands covered 9% of the territory or 4.7 ha. For the 1760s, it can be estimated that they covered roughly 16% of the territory or 8 million ha. During the years 1770-1800, shrinkage occurred mainly in the Parisian basin and in southern France (Languedoc). Having this in mind, we can use the nineteenth century data. See the Figures 8.1 and 8.2. 2

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western France, the rule of straw and hay (foins et pailles) was written custom and strictly observed: the farmer (whether the landowner or his tenant) was allowed to send onto the commons only those animals that had been fed during winter with the straw and hay he harvested on his own holding in the village. This meant that the inhabitant who possessed no holding had no right to use the commons or woods. And if he had an animal, he could graze it only on the verges of the roads. In the Alps (Dauphiné), Jura (Franche-Comté) and Lorraine, the commons were often extensive and their value varied greatly. There were the dry forests and mountain pastures located on the slopes and summits of the Alps, essential in summer for cattle breeding, but of low value; in the Jura were fine timber trees of high value, and, in the underwood, pasture for cattle and important production of boxwood (buxus sempervirens) used by the local industries; in the north-eastern part of France (Lorraine), commons covered over 20% of the territory before the Revolution: some plots of arable land were leased to inhabitants (e.g. around Nancy), and everywhere common pastures and huge forests (beech and oak) provided pasture for cattle, horses and pigs. Provincial customs in these regions were silent on the commons. Each community decided its own rules, which consequently varied from one village to the other. In a vast majority of cases, the use rights were restricted to landowners. The poor had either no access (Burgundy) or limited access that could be free for between two and eight small animals. Wood rights were usually shared equally between all households (affouage for fire wood). These rules of management were rounded out by the parish council which every year appointed a man to review compliance with the by-laws. Analysis of these by-laws shows that the purpose of commons was to provide for the vital needs of the inhabitants: firewood or peat, pasture (Fréminville, 1763: 54; Vivier, 1998: 50). There was always concern to avoid overexploitation. When grazing was important for the village economy, it was strictly controlled. In Normandy, medium-sized cultivator-owners coexisted with large landowners leasing to farmers. Landowners were the only permitted users of the commons; grazing was granted for only one sheep per arpent (around 1/2 ha) of land owned, the clear reason for this being the fear of large farmers taking advantage of the commons. In Briançonnais (Hautes-Alpes), social structures were quite different. Since the grant of liberties in 1343, there had been no more landlords. Although there were noticeable differences in wealth, cultivators were poor and none of them possessed more than 10 ha3. Each family had a free right to graze its livestock on the vast mountain pastures: for a nonlandowning family, two animals; for landowners, one cow and eight sheep per pound of tax paid on landed property. Beyond this quota, a tax was paid for every animal  

3



Those who grew richer did so through trade and migrated.

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sent to graze on communal pastures. Everywhere, the inhabitants vigilantly observed these rules and excluded any foreign animals from being pastured on their commons. This reveals the preservation of economic interests, as well as the preservation of the village territory (Vivier, 1992: 60-69). It was only when those needs were satisfied that the community could consider producing revenues from the commons: selling wood, hay, or hiring out to flocks moving to summer pastures. The only exception occurred where a special feudal right had been granted to the lord. In Lorraine, for example, landlords had the right to send a flock or a herd grazing on its own, separate from the common herd (droit de troupeau à part); this right could be exercised either by the landlord or his tenant, or leased to anyone, even a stranger to the community. The abolition of this right was one of the main claims in the cahiers de doléances (list of grievances) drawn up in Lorraine on the eve of the Revolution. People called the right ‘the right to devastate the village’4. This claim originated in opposition to an excessive feudal right, as well as from a concern for the sustainability of communal pastures. A striking contrast can be seen between the norms put in place by the communities, aiming at preserving their lands, and the discourse of the elites (agronomists and administrators), which spoke of the ‘tragedy’ of collectively held land in the eighteenth century and beyond. Were these collective properties really in a state deserving the term ‘tragedy of the commons’? Or were the norms being strictly implemented? No doubt was left in the discourses of the agronomists and administrators. The Agricultural Society of Bourges concluded a report about commons in the following terms: ‘The title of commons itself refers to the most neglected land’5. This sentence was representative of the leading and indeed core idea of eighteenth century economists’ thought: that collectively held land had no value. The fashionable model in agriculture was England, with her intensive farming and the ongoing enclosures (Neeson, 1993). The idea that collective use rights were impediments to the freedom of landowners, a pernicious pillage and a cause of low farm output seems to have overtaken the whole of Europe. From Sweden to Spain, from France to Austria, the whole of continental Europe sought to follow the English example (Demélas &Vivier, 1998). There, enclosure was supposed to have brought about the disappearance of both commons and use rights on private land, particularly common grazing. The   Archives Nationales (AN), DXIV, 6, mémoire anonyme de la Meurthe   AN H 1501, year 1767. Historians readily repeat this statement: ‘L’usage des communaux donne lieu à une foule de contestations, surtout quand les territoires voisins appartiennent à des seigneurs différents, et il ne faut pas croire qu’ils enrichissent l’agriculture ; bien au contraire, ils sont un obstacle sérieux à toute espèce d’amélioration, dans l’impossibilité où se trouvent les paroisses d’entreprendre quoi que ce soit en vue de les rendre productifs’. (Calonne, 1883: 120). 4 5

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agronomists’ texts prescribed that common land should disappear because it was harmful. They presented those areas in collective use as places where anyone could pick up anything they wished, in spite of the existing norms. Hence, the result could only be a ‘tragedy’. This discourse, heavily influenced by leading economic theory, has to be put into perspective, all the more so because that criticism was also applied to private properties. All land in regions of poor agriculture was said to be in a neglected condition. Moreover, commons aroused cupidity in everyone: poor, rich and lords; hence a discourse against their current state could help to bring about their suppression. Is there any evidence of what the reality was? Can we know the actual state of commons? In fact, we know very little. There is little evidence from legal proceedings: these were very numerous but dealt only with juridical property litigation and did not pay attention to the quality of the land. The enquiries launched in the 1760s gave only literary answers, no statistical data, and they followed the conventional discourse. Some cahiers de doléances of 1788-1789 were concerned with common land, but they spoke only of use rights or property conflicts between the inhabitants and the lord, or claimed a right for the landless. The enquiry led by the Assemblée legislative in 1792 reveals the same faults, albeit that, it produced some valuable information. Evidence exists for certain villages and we can assume that there were cases of overexploitation and cases of good management. Overexploitation was to be found in areas where social inequalities were important, either the stock-owners were powerful enough to impose their use rights (the lords in Lorraine), or the community did not manage the common lands, as was the case with small pastures. Rather than overexploitation, cases of poor exploitation existed, just as poor as on private properties: this might have been the case in regions of more traditional subsistence agriculture, as in the Massif Central or in Brittany6. On the other hand, cases of good management are also documented, i.e. when the majority of inhabitants could use the commons and get an important revenue from them, which was the case when plots were leased for cultivation, or when cattle breeding was the main source of revenue (mountain pastures). II.2.

After the Revolution of 1789

Following the Revolution of 1789, the State administration imposed uniform access to the commons in every French village: an equal right was granted to every   In Brittany, huge commons had a special status and were not counted as such. Hence the map does not show them, even though they could extend to up to 1/3 of the superficies. They could be shared among those with use rights, and this was put into practice during the years 1850-1880. 6

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inhabitant of the village and firewood was shared between households. The municipal council decided the management of common land. From 1831 on, municipal councils were elected by a voting system based on taxation; after 1848, by a universal male suffrage. Nonetheless, the municipal council’s decisions concerning the management of common land was always under the prefect’s control (State administration). These new rules should have changed behaviour, but did they? Since this period of State intervention, there have been many documented examples: beyond the discourse, practical measures provide us with evidence. Let us take one example which gives an answer. Wetlands and marshes in the Somme river valley were opened to grazing either all the year round or only from June to March: spring was excluded because hay was then harvested by the municipality. These commons were usually reserved to cows and calves. Many villages decided to exclude sheep and goats from grazing, because they cropped the grass too closely; they also excluded pigs, which rooted the soil, and geese, whose droppings were bad for the soil and for other animals (Bouthors, 1857). These rules of management could be interpreted in a dual sense in that they show sustainability concerns as well as social concerns. The exclusion of some types of animal was justified by the necessity of maintaining the pasture in good condition, without spoiling the grass or the soil. In the village of Favières where pigs were allowed, the Administration complained about the very bad conditions of the pastures cut up by holes and overgrown with weeds. Thus, the exclusion was justified by the needs of sustainability. Every nineteenth-century document in this respect recalled the necessity of maintaining the commons for the next generation. They were not supposed to be the property of the living but had to be passed down from generation to generation. This was also the argument of the Administration in opposing the demands for the sale or sharing-out of the commons, which would have benefited only the immediate generation. The usual term: ‘to cultivate like a family man’ could be considered a nineteenth-century interpretation of the concept of sustainability. When a municipal council forgot this and seemed to be wasting its heritage, the Administration had a close look and opposed it, because it was believed that such a course of action would rob the next generation of its heritage. This was the case in the villages in the canton of Ailly-le-Haut-Clocher where peat was sold (Vivier, 1996: 212-215).

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Figure 8.1. Importance and nature of commons, 1846 Arable land

Part of commons in the superficies of departement

Wastes

25% 14% 9% 3.5% 0%

?

Woods

Proportions of commons of this nature 100% 50% 0.1%

Source. AN, C 913. Map by Anne Varet Vitu.

Although sustainability was a real concern, it is evident that the requirements of good management also worked in favour of peasants who ran medium-sized farms and who were usually elected to the municipal councils. Was it essential to exclude sheep from the pasture? It was usually the case, but a part of the pasture could have been reserved for them. Sheep were reared either on large farms, where they were fed with sugar beet cakes and grass on fallow fields, or could be kept by poor people. In fact, documents give evidence of the domination of modest peasants-owners in the 247

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Somme valley villages. They ran their farms according to traditional methods; not wanting to spare a part of their farm for fodder crops, they used the commons to feed their cows (one to four, never more) needed for dung. Those peasant-owners took advantage of being members of the municipal council to vote by-laws that, in fact, reserved the commons for their use, hence for their cows. This explains the exclusion of sheep. They could have spared a part of the pasture for sheep or have decided to let out plots for cultivation, subscribing to the demands of the Administration. They did not and poor day-workers had no access and were not present on the grazing tax documents. As long as the municipality was not in debt, the Administration did not intervene. However, a few kilometres away, on the plateau of the eastern part of Picardy, large farms were dominant; they used modern techniques, cultivated wheat and sugar beet, and raised cattle in their sheds on fodder crops. Their concern was the workforce. In order to provide stability for day-workers, they asked for the commons to be let out by auction in very small plots, in order to give these workers the opportunity to cultivate gardens. Figure 8.2. Average value of one hectare of collective property, 1846

In francs/ha > 750 400-750 399-150 35-149

Source. AN, C 943. Map by Anne Varet Vitu.

This example shows a certain concern for the environment, but it shows also the important part played by the growth of the market. During the nineteenth century, some areas turned to high-yield production and needed a constant supply of day248

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workers. In order to attract and retain them, the opportunity of sharing out common land in small leased plots was seized (for gardening around towns, Paris, Nancy, and Strasbourg). Economic conditions were quite different in mountain regions. There, the population reached a peak in the 1840s and then decreased severely. The more profitable activity would have been cattle breeding on common pastures. The forestry administration provided both encouragement and infrastructures for this, but the now inadequate level of population during the second half of nineteenth century, coupled with the insufficiency of available capital, precluded development of the more profitable farming activities (Vivier, 1992: 237). Legislation ought to have brought about a change in the management of use rights on collective properties after the Revolution of 1789, but there seems to have been much continuity. Maps of 1846 detailing common land value may have been roughly the same one century before. In northern France, scarce commons were often leased and privately cultivated, or, in the case of forests, managed by Eaux & Forêts. In southern France, the value of common land was low because of poor agriculture and poor demand on the land market. There was always a dual concern in evidence, i.e. avoiding overexploitation and satisfying the inhabitants’ needs. It seems that management rules were influenced mainly by social structures and economic constraints. In spite of an equal right for every inhabitant, people holding local power took advantage of the situation to keep the largest part of or the whole benefit for themselves; these people could be certain (former) lords, or big or small farmers looking out only for their own interests and scorning the public interest. But usually, the ruling classes limited exploitation, in order to preserve the commons in their then current condition. The idea of preserving the heritage for transmission to future generations was always present in documents. To a certain extent, it was purely a discourse justifying the management practices, but it revealed a deeply rooted view. Inhabitants aimed at preserving the commons in a stable condition, which can be considered a concern for sustainability. Moreover, the attitude of the central State also changed, as can be seen in the State’s appreciation of the value of common land. During the first half of the nineteenth century, the value of a hectare was determined according to the capacity of the land to produce cereals or timber (Figure 8.2). From 1850, statistics gave no precise value, but classified lands in terms of their being productive or non-productive: all pastures, even in mountain areas, were then considered productive and hence had to be protected.

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III.  The transformation of collective property: a concern for the environment? Around 1760, essays were published denouncing the poor condition and low production of the commons, an issue of increasing importance in the years of food shortage (1787-1792). After 1770, several agricultural works were devoted to common land, such as those of the comte d’Essuiles, the vicomte de la Maillardière, and Cretté de Palluel. The idea that common rights were harmful was well established and was further disseminated by the Abbé Rozier in his Cours complet d’agriculture ou Dictionnaire universel d’agriculture, in which he summed matters up in a strident manner: ‘are common lands any use? They were, but are no more.’ (Rozier, 1783: 443). Inhabitants may have managed to preserve commons in a stable condition, as seen above, but this was while private property was being improved. Improvement of collective property was not possible because of lack of capital, lack of initiatives and above all lack of consensus for change. Rozier clearly meant that even with careful management, collective property could not do any good. This idea spread widely. The central Administration and lawyers entirely agreed and this accounted for their stance from 1750 to 1800; during the nineteenth century, however, their attitude gradually changed and environmental concerns came to the fore, because of erosion and flooding. III.1.

1750-1800: An environmental concern limited to mountain inhabitants

The first Revolutionary Assembly, the National Constituent Assembly (1789-1791), created a Committee on Agriculture and Commerce. Four of its members dealt permanently with agriculture and commons. They were well known agronomists: Herwyn had worked for the improvement of the landed properties of Hondschoote (Flanders); Meynier and Heurtault de Lamerville put new methods into practice on their own estates; and Hell, in a small book, upheld his ideas, on which the three others agreed (Restauration de l’agriculture en France, et moyens de prévenir toute disette. Paris, 1790). Hell’s main demand was liberty, which should govern all agricultural activity; the primary goal here was to increase wheat production, as indicated in the title (‘prevent any dearth’). The following Assembly, the Legislative Assembly, elected in 1791, established a new committee for agriculture, chaired by Broussonnet, secretary of the Royal Agricultural Society of Paris. Some other members of the committee also had a seat in the Society. Moreover, members of the Society sent mémoires to be discussed in the Assembly and most of them were followers of the physiocrats’ theory. The debates around the rural code, voted on September 1791, manifestly revealed economic concerns and were accompanied by the legal battle for an ‘absolute right’ of property, i.e. the total liberty of the landowner on his land, 250

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free from any use right, freely to enclose and cultivate what he wished. Collective use rights and collective property had to disappear; liberty was a necessity for agricultural progress and for increasing wheat production. A shift in the evolution of ideas took place in the next Assembly, the Convention (elected in 1792), in which lawyers won considerable influence. Fabre, a deputy from Montpellier, became president of the new Committee on Agriculture. A few months before, as a local administrator, he had written a very clear answer to the enquiry launched by the Legislative Assembly about the commons: ‘The constitution recognizes one corporation only, the one representing all the French; it has one single interest, that of the Nation, which consists of the sum of all the citizens’ individual interests. In its eyes, only two kinds of ownership can exist, national and individual property. Nothing can be more opposite to these beliefs than the commons, non-transferable lands. They are the cause behind the destruction of administrative unity. They isolate citizens from the larger community by moving their focus from general interests to partial local interests’.7

Some of the deputies were more offensive still. Lozeau proposed a bill in July 1794 which began as follows: ‘Article 1: The Assembly enacts as a principle that there are only two categories of property: national property and individual private property’. He considered collective property as ‘a kind of monster which should be eagerly destroyed’8. Four years later, the same ideas were still dominant. Another deputy, Delpierre, wanted ‘the disappearance, all over the French territory, of those illegitimate properties, the existence of which cannot be anymore reconciled with the organization of our political regime’.9

The members of the Assembly had theoretical ideas: in accordance with physiocratic thinking, they wanted more production of wheat and so asked for larger superficies to be cultivated; they also wanted the law to be amended in accordance with the principles of the Declaration of the Rights of Man10. It is to be noted that the two main concerns were the law and agricultural production; concerns were also expressed on the fiscal front, but not as strongly.     9  

AN, F10 333A. Lozeau, Rapport sur la nécessité de supprimer la propriété communale, Thermidor an II. Rapport de Delpierre, 29 pairial an 6 (17 juin 1798). 10   Article 17: ‘since property is an inviolable and sacred right, nobody can be deprived of it, except in case of public necessity, legally certified, and on condition of a fair and prior indemnity’ [‘la propriété étant un droit inviolable et sacré, nul ne peut en être privé si ce n’est lorsque la nécessité publique, légalement constatée l’exige évidemment et sous la condition d’une juste et préalable indemnité’].  7 8



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Members of the Legislative Assembly may have been sidelining environmental concerns, but what did provincial elites and the masses think? Many petitions were being written and sent to the assemblies, most of them aimed at the eviction of lords and protesting against usurpations of these last (real or not). Others aimed at dividing up and cultivating the commons according to the ideas spread by the agricultural societies. Very few petitions were against division, people in the main not feeling that it was useful to petition for the preservation of the statu quo; those that did used economic and social arguments. For example, a mémoire sent by a member of the agricultural society of Évreux referred to a case in the German State of Hanover. There the commons had been shared out in order to be cultivated, but this triggered ruin, because it left insufficient pastures, and wage-workers lost their animals11. The only documents giving evidence of a certain environmental concern come from the Legislative Assembly’s enquiry about common lands in 1792, whereby the assembly of each department had to provide opinions on the question of dividing up common land. Five departments in mountainous areas (Ardennes, Ariège, Ardèche, Alpes and Var) were opposed to the idea and their statements can be considered sincere, because it needed courage to diverge from the answer expected by the Legislative Assembly. The assembly of the Hautes-Alpes Department wrote: ‘For the safety of our habitations and fields, we have taken particular care until now to maintain the woods and undergrowth that has dominated our property in order to shield it from water devastation caused by thawing snow and abundant rain. [...] According to those observations, it seems to us that it would be dangerous to share out the commons: the desire of enrichment would soon lead to clearances that would deprive us of our fields and pastures, and of the grazing rights for our herds’.12

In the eastern part of the Massif Central, in the Ardèche Department, the response was the same, although individual property was highly praised (‘it is only out of individual property that the activity to enlarge it arises’). And the members of the assembly of the Drôme Department ‘pray the National Assembly to vote without delay a decree to allow division of all the commons in the municipalities requesting it, notwithstanding the exception of commons in wood or pastures, the clearance of which would be dangerous on account of their straight and mountainous condition’13. Inquiring into popular rural attitudes towards forests and the environment in 1789, Peter McPhee (2001) found similar statements in the cahiers de doléances, particularly in Languedoc. In spite of a légende noire of environmental damage, predicated by the elites on the assumption of the destructive mentality of rural   AN, F10 330.   Letter from the Directoire des Hautes-Alpes, 31 March 1792, AN, F10 330. 13   Letter from the Directoire de la Drôme, 27 mars 1792, F 10 330; Ardèche, 2 December 1791, F 10 333.

11

12

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masses, those masses were well aware of the links between clearance and erosion (see as well, Plack, 2005). According to the inhabitants, collective property might be the only solution in a fragile ecosystem. The municipal council would be the more competent to manage commons in order to preserve them, whereas erosion would increase under a private landowner. It can also be noticed that, in mountain areas the preservation of the environment was the main concern, for the immediate safety of inhabitants. On the whole, politicians were not receptive to these arguments and went on encouraging the sharing-out of the commons and their cultivation. Was this a specific attitude regarding commons? The comparison of the issue of the commons with that of fish ponds may give some clues. Fish ponds were usually private property, part of farm production. Once prepared, the pond was stocked for fish breeding (carp and pike). After three years, it was drained, the fish sold and the soil cultivated for a year, when the cycle could begin again. Some physicians said that ponds were unhealthy, that they generated bad air because of dampness and ‘putrid pathogenic germs’. Hence, people and animals in the surroundings were very weak; the mortality rate of inhabitants in these areas high and this generated the fear of human degeneration. But this theory was not proved and some books went on praising the qualities of ponds. In 1766, under the entry ‘pond’, the Encyclopédie adopted this latter view. The Lyon Académie des Sciences et Belles Lettres held a competition in 1778 on the question ‘Are ponds, studied from the point of agriculture and population, more useful than harmful?’. The members of the Académie seem to have been convinced of the harmfulness of fish ponds. They rewarded two books arguing for the suppression of ponds on the grounds of these being unhealthy and harmful for humans and for agriculture. Nonetheless, the direction the debate took in the following years and during the Revolutionary period shows that environmental concerns took a back seat. A law was passed in 1794 which ordered the draining of ponds and the cultivation of cereals. Economic concern within the context of food shortage took on a political motivation, ponds coming to be regarded as a symbol of the feudal system, because rich lords and monks grew richer through the sale of expensive fish that peasants could not afford (Abad, 2006; Boutier, 1987: 289-91; Derex, 2006). In the case of both commons and ponds, legal and political considerations took precedence. Some inhabitants saw collective property as a way to preserve the environment, but members of the assemblies were not won over by this argument and were in fact strongly convinced of the contrary. Straddling these two groups was the Administration, which, from 1800 onwards, proved remarkably efficient. The prefect had regard for the municipalities’ decisions, particularly in the management

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of commons. State policy aimed first of all at making the commons productive in terms of both agricultural and fiscal revenue: there were, thus, economic concerns regarding food production, as well as concerns regarding the generation of revenue for municipal budgets (1800-1815). III.2. The reflection of rising environmental concerns in legislation When did environmental concerns begin to appear in legislation? One issue that progressively arose was that of of erosion, always present in the daily life of mountain inhabitants. Although devastation by torrential flows of water and through deforestation was an old anxiety, the importance attached to these twin dangers grew during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, as demonstrated by the laws passed aiming at the protection of forests. These forests laws, however, were considered insufficient and reforms were discussed during the years 1797-1799 by the Revolutionary Assemblies, although they were never achieved. Focus was henceforth on the torrents of rainwater that rushed down barren hillsides, a focus exemplified by the Essay on the theory of torrents written by the engineer Fabvre in 1797. This particular anxiety was, however, always secondary to the fear of scarcity. The issue may have been influenced by sentiment rather than by reality, but the Revolutionary period undeniably witnessed a true degradation of the forests: there were no survey or maintenance, some people stole wood and the army needed supplies. Forests required to be restored and a bill aimed at this was prepared during the 1820s. The arguments presented in the debates on it were to the effect that forests had to answer economic needs and particularly provide the Navy with timber and industry with firewood for metallurgy. Up until this time, forests had also provided pasture for livestock, as well as resources that inhabitants drew on to meet their needs (i.e. the firewood, mushrooms, fruit and acorns, etc. that could be gathered). Inspired by the German forestry school, French foresters wanted forests consisting only of full-grown trees for timber; animals were regarded as harmful for tree regeneration. These principles explain the content of the Forestry law passed on 21 May 1827 (Code forestier). All forests and woods had now to be overseen by the national forestry administration (Eaux et Forêts): these included wooded commons belonging to the municipalities, as well as forests possessed by the State, the Crown and public establishments. All use rights in the forests were reduced or suppressed: gathering dead leaves, heather or fruit was forbidden and the grazing of animals was subjected to a yearly fixed quota, which was very small in comparison to what rural inhabitants had previously been accustomed to. Over the next ten years, the number of animals allowed in forests was severely cut, before a total exclusion was introduced around 1840. The outcome of this policy could be quickly seen, with many inhabitants of forested areas migrating to cities and towns. The content of the debates and the law 254

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highlights that economic and industrial needs in terms of full-grown trees triumphed over traditional agricultural practices; this also reinforced State and private exploitation to the detriment of rural communities (Corvol, 1987). Environmental concerns appeared only in article 225 of the 1827 law, whereby planting trees on slopes was encouraged by a tax exemption of twenty years. However, sensitivity to the erosion issue continued to grow and, in 1837, there was a proposal in the Chamber of Deputies to encourage planting. The important date, however, was 1841, when a civil engineer, Alexandre Surell, published a book Étude sur les torrents des Hautes-Alpes. This aimed at proving that vegetation was the best defence against flooding and against the devastation caused by torrential flows of water. ‘Agriculture and inhabitant life depend on the forests covering mountains. Forestation is a public welfare work, an issue of to be or not to be’14. Surell’s text was clever, presenting scientific arguments and romantic descriptions. Religious sentiment paid homage to God for the most beautiful part of creation, the tree (particularly the oak). Deforestation generated drama and it could be thought that Nature took revenge for the trespasses inflicted by peasants. The book won an award in 1842 from the Academy of Sciences and it had very long-lasting influence. In 1882, during a debate about a new forestry law, a member of the Assembly said Surell ‘deserved the name of Humanity’s friend’. However, his scientific data were not always reliable and his conclusions would be questioned by another civil engineer, Briot, in 190515. The debate launched by the book resulted in more intense efforts to draft a new bill, which was prepared during the years 1841-1845 and 1847-1848. In 1843, fifty-three of the eighty-five conseils généraux (general councils of the departments) demanded measures in favour of the reforestation of mountains. A law passed on 28 July 1860 regarding the reforestation of mountains was soon followed by one of 1864, which required the sowing of mountain slopes with grass (gazonnement) (Fourchy, 1963). The State supported the municipalities in the reforestation or the re-grassing, doing so through grants of seed, plants or money. The newer and less-accepted part of the law concerned property rights. Where slopes were in very poor condition, an ordinance might be issued obliging work to be carried out and declaring it to be of public utility. The procedure gave some guaranties. First, an enquiry was conducted by engineers; then a commission consisting of the prefect, engineers and foresters gave its advice; lastly, the municipal council, enlarged to include the main taxpayers, was required to debate and vote on the works. If an ordinance compelling work was published at the end of the procedure, the municipality had three options:   Mougin (1931), summarizing in these terms the contents of the book, with which he agreed.   Some other studies were published that contrasted with Surell’s: e.g., Adolphe Blanqui, Du Déboisement des montagnes, rapport lu à l’Académie des Sciences morales et politiques en novembre et décembre 1843, Paris: Renard, 1846. 14 15

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1. to do the work itself; 2. to conduct a private sale of the lands to the State, which would carry out the work; 3. to leave the State do everything, the State being reimbursed by taking possession of part of the forested areas. This law introduced two major questions. Environmental concerns had enlarged the notion of public utility and that had fostered a debate about who should finance the reforestation, insofar as this aimed at protecting the plains from flooding. Did reforestation fall within the responsibility of the mountain municipalities or within the scope of national public utility?16 Surell concluded his study on the Hautes-Alpes (1841: 221-223) with the words, ‘It is impossible that such a poor county as the HautesAlpes could alone bear such a burden. You would in vain attempt to prove that its own salvation ensues from this sacrifice; the effort required is beyond its capacity, it will not be able to do it... It is not up to rural people to make provision... The State has to meet its obligations. Is not the Administration answerable to future generations for the heritage under its protection?’. The general council of the department said the financial burden was far too much for the mountain municipalities and asked for contributions from municipalities in the plains or valleys. In fact, the cost was all the more heavy for the inhabitants, because reforestation meant that areas were lost for grazing and consequently an important loss for peasants, since the only profitable occupation was cattle breeding (Ministère des Finances, 1868; Mougin, 1931). The second question had an effect on the conception of property rights. Could an external authority (the State) intervene and force a landowner to behave in a certain way or expropriate his land if he did not? The Enlightenment economists’ idea of the complete liberty of the landowner, granting an absolute right of property, triumphed in 1789 with the Declaration of the Rights of Man. From this time on, expropriation was not accepted, even in urban areas between the 1840s and the 1860s. The 1860 law was the first official manifestation of such a conception of public utility17. As such, it was criticized: ‘this process was in opposition to the juridical consciousness of the Nation. It wounded the population in its interests as well as in its juridical notions’18. The Third Republic came back to this issue and revised the 1860 law, which was considered harmful, just like every law made by the previous regime of Napoleon III. In the slightly revised law of 1884, the 1860 dispositions were kept, the revision altering the processes by which works were declared compulsory: henceforth, the vehicle for that   Annales forestières et métallurgiques, 1842.   This has to be qualified with the laws about development of Sologne (June 1852) and Landes (June 1857), and the improvement of the wetlands there. 18   Recueil des lois, par les notaires et jurisconsultes (1882: 425-443, 426). 16 17

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declaration would be a law voted by the National Assembly, instead of an ordinance issued by the Administration; this was a better guaranty of property rights.

IV.  Conclusion The perception of the environment was quite different, depending on who was involved. The environment was an important and daily concern of peasants. It meant for them the maintenance of the land in its current condition, in order that their survival might be ensured and that the land might be passed on to the next generation. Environmental concerns could only be secondary; satisfying the necessities of survival came first. This was an age-old issue for the inhabitants of fragile mountain areas. The protection of slopes against erosion and avalanches was always kept in balance with the inhabitants’ immediate economic interests. Those outside these fragile ecosystems, as well as the urban elites, were unfamiliar with these ideas. It became an issue for the Administration and the lawyers when theoretical views saw reforestation as a means to protect the plains from flooding. It is important to note that it was in 1860 that measures to foster environmental protection were enforced, at the very time when the fear of scarcity was fading. Once cereal production was no more the point, mountain agricultural activities could be sacrificed; from that time on, the preservation of the environment then prevailed over food production. The concern for preservation triggered the intervention of the State and introduced the notion of the public utility of land. Was the peasants’ concept of sustainability, gleaned from their eighteenthnineteenth century discourses and by-laws, different from the concept today? There are obviously common themes: the preservation of the environment as a survival technique, the interdependence of man and nature and the question of heritage to be passed to future generations. Today, of course, these ideas are much richer, because they are based on theoretical principles. Mankind is seen to be bound to Nature by an implied contract. It is significant that rural people were at first concerned only with the preservation of the village ecosystem; then, in the 1840s, sustainability came to be considered within the context of a larger geographical region; today, environmental concerns focus on the entire planet. Was collective property harmful for the environment? The dual administrative control (national by the prefect and the forestry administration, and local by the municipalities) might have offered a valuable guarantee for their stability. Nonetheless, this question has been at the heart of a long debate conducted since 1760, and the answers have always been passionate. On the one hand, the theoretical views of economists and politicians condemned collective properties; all the more so 257

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as a result of the strong influence of the physiocrats in the governmental sphere. On the other hand, most of the people living in fragile ecosystems saw in collectivity the only responsible way to manage vital areas that should be preserved. However, the idea of collective properties was rehabilitated by some theoreticians – conservative or socialist – during the years 1880-1900 (Vivier, 1998: 281-85), albeit that this was only a short period. Soon after 1917, socialists and communists could no longer contain themselves and praised collective lands only if they were State property and under State administration. There was a new shift in the 1980s, with supporters of collective use and management now proclaiming their opinion, and social science research leaving the question open (International association for the study of the commons, International Journal of the Commons, etc.). The report World Resources 2008 found that well-designed, community-based sustainable enterprises could improve the way the rural poor draw from their area’s natural resources19. Today, rural people’s knowledge of the local ecosystem, in conjunction with State management, seems to be appreciated as the best way to exploit collectively held lands, an option which recalls the nineteenth-century system.

Bibliography Abad, R. (2006), La conjuration des carpes. Enquête sur les origines du décret de dessèchement des étangs du 14 frimaire an ii, Paris, Fayard. Bouthors, A. (1857), Les usages locaux du département de la Somme, Amiens, Jeunet.

Boutier, J. (1987), Campagnes en émoi. Révoltes et révolution en Bas-Limousin, 17891800, Treignac, Les Monédières. Briot, F. (1905), Les torrents des Hautes-Alpes. Du reboisement des montagnes en général, Poitiers, Imprimerie de Blais et Roy.

Calonne, Baron A. de (1883), La vie agricole sous l’Ancien Régime en Picardie et en Artois, Paris, Guillaumin. Corvol, A. (1987), L’Homme aux bois. Histoire des relations de l’homme et de la forêt, 17e-20e s., Paris, Fayard.

Cretté de Palluel, F. (1790), Mémoire sur l’amélioration des biens communaux, le desséchement des marais, le défrichement des terres incultes et la replantation des bois, Paris, Imprimerie royale. Demélas, M.-D. & Vivier, N. (2003), Les propriétés collectives face aux attaques libérales, 1750-1914, Europe et Amérique latine, Rennes, Presses universitaires de Rennes (contributions on European countries by J. Neeson, P. Warde, S. Brakensiek, A.-L. HeadKönig, M. De Moor, N. Vivier, G. Corona, M. Sobral Neto & M.-T. Perez Picazo).

  World Resources 2008 was produced by the World Resources Institute (WRI), the United Nations Environment Programme (UNEP), the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) and the World Bank.

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Derex, J.-M. (2006), La production des étangs du Moyen âge à l’époque contemporaine, Paris, groupe d’histoire des zones humides. Essuile, J.-F. de Barandiéry-Montmayeur, comte d’ (1770), Traité politique et économique des communes, ou Observations sur l’agriculture, sur l’origine, la destination et l’état actuel des biens communs..., Paris, Desaint. Fourchy, P. (1963), ‘Les lois du 28 juillet 1860 et 8 juin 1864 sur le reboisement et le regazonnement des montagnes’, Revue de géographie alpine, tome LI, p. 19-41.

Fréminville, C. de la Poix de (1763), Traité de jurisprudence sur l’origine et le gouvernement des communes, Paris, Valleyre père.

Hardin, G. (1968), ‘The Tragedy of the Commons’, Science, 162, 1243-1248. International Association for the study of the commons, website: http://iascp.blogspot.com/ McPhee, P. (2001), ‘The Misguided Greed of Peasants? Popular Attitudes to the Environment in the Revolution of 1789’, French Historical Studies, 24-2, p. 247-270.

La Maillardière, C.-F., vicomte de (1783), Le produit et le droit des communes et terres vagues,..., Paris, Imprimerie de Quillau. Ministère des Finances, direction générale des Forêts, (1868), Reboisement des montagnes, compte rendu des travaux, Paris, Imprimerie impériale. Mougin, P. (1931), La restauration des Alpes, Paris, ministère de l’agriculture.

Neeson, J. M. (1993), Commoners: Common Right, Enclosure and Social Change in England, 1700-1820, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press.

Ostrom, E. (1990), Governing the Commons, the Evolution of Institutions for Collective Action, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press.

Plack, N. (2005), ‘Agrarian Reform and Ecological Change during the Ancien Régime: Land Clearance, Peasants and Viticulture in the Province of Languedoc’, French History, 19-2, p. 189-210.

Rozier, Abbé (1783), Cours complet d’agriculture ou Dictionnaire universel d’agriculture, Paris, rue Serpente.

Surell, A. (1841), Étude sur les torrents de Hautes-Alpes, Paris, Carilion-Goeury et V. Dalmont (2e éd.), Paris, Dunod, 1870-1872. Vivier, N. (1992), Le Briançonnais rural, Paris, L’Harmattan.

Vivier, N. (1996), ‘Salariés agricoles et notables face aux usages collectifs au 19e siècle en Picardie’, in R. Hubscher & J.-C. Farcy (eds), La moisson des autres, les salariés agricoles aux 19e et 20e siècles, Paris, Creaphis, p. 201-218. Vivier, N. (1998), Propriété collective et identité communale. Les biens communaux en France, 1750-1914, Paris, Publications de la Sorbonne.

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9.

Forest management and wood exploitation. A comparison between public and private Spanish forests, 1900-2000 Iñaki Iriarte-Goñi

I.  Introduction The objective of this paper is to investigate whether the differing property rights established over Spanish forests (i.e. those pertaining to publicly administered forests and those pertaining to private forests) had different environmental effects during the twentieth century. As Araujo et al. (2008) pointed out, there are many works that have investigated the relationships between property rights and the environmental effects on forests. The majority of these studies have been carried out in developing countries, and have established a direct relationship between insecurity of property rights and the destruction of forests (e.g. Deacon, 1999; Mendelsohn, 1994). However, scant attention in this respect has been paid to the countries of Western Europe, perhaps because the implication is that the modern property rights established in this part of the world from at least the nineteenth century on avoided such problems. Greater attention nevertheless deserves to be paid to that relationship in especially Mediterranean countries such as Spain, which has experienced serious erosion that can be connected, at least in part, to the disappearance and degradation of many wooded areas over the course of her history. Available data confirm that, between the middle of the nineteenth century and the 1970s, Spain saw her forested areas reduced by some 6 million ha (around 20% of the total forested acreage that existed in 1859). From this perspective, it seems appropriate to ask to what extent the property rights established over the Spanish woodlands influenced this process. In the course of the nineteenth century, Spain underwent a profound and complex redefinition of property rights over land, which in a general way was very similar to what was happening in the rest of Western Europe. During the process, more particularly, the property rights specific to a feudal system were substituted by a new structure of rights that gave greater emphasis to individually held (private) property and to State-held property. Thus, from the middle of the nineteenth century, the majority of Spanish forest land was subjected to either of two legal types of ownership, a situation that continued into the twentieth century. On the one hand are the private forests, which have been managed by their owners with a high degree of freedom, albeit theoretically subject to of use imposed by changing forestry regulations. On 261

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the other hand are the public forests (State- or village-owned), in respect of which the State has attempted to establish regulatory systems in order to control their use. This legal frame hides a more complex situation, as each category may include diverse combinations of rights of use of the forests. However, analysis allows us to evaluate whether the environmental effects of private management differ from those of public management. In Spain, the debate about the environmental effects of forest property regimes is currently focused on public forests. Certain works, such as those by Bauer (1980), who accepts (although not explicitly) the approach by Hardin (1968) about ‘the tragedy of commons’, are very critical of the historical forms of the common management of forests and support the notion that, since the mid-nineteenth century, it has been State management and, more precisely, the actions of the forest engineers linked with forest administration that prevented greater destruction of these natural spaces. In similar fashion, the works by Gomez Mendoza (1992), Gomez Mendoza & Mata Olmo (1992) and Manuel (1996) undertake a positive valuation of the Spanish States’s historical management of public forests, emphasizing the work aimed at their conservationput in hand especially during the second half of the twentieth century. Conversely, other works, such as those by Cruz et al. (1992), Ortega (2002), Serrano (2005), and Soto et al. (2007), raise the point that historical community management of forests had a sustainable nature, and that it was precisely the process of forest community deregulation and State intervention, begun in the mid-nineteenth century, that introduced norms and incentives leading to resource over-exploitation. In the same sense, the works by Rico (2001 and 2003) and Carpintero (2005) support the idea that, throughout the twentieth century, State intervention in respect of forests was aimed mainly at increasing their economic production, neglecting key environmental aspects. Forest repopulation with fast-growth species, carried out during the Franco era, is the most outstanding example of such management focused on economic productivity. Within this general context, the present work attempts to join the debate by analyzing the evolution of timber exploitation in Spanish forests throughout the twentieth century. Its main contribution is that, for the first time, it uses a long-term indicator (covering the entire twentieth century) that permits an evaluation of the timber-exploitation results in private forests and compares them with those of publicly administered forests, in order to establish the differences between the two kinds of management. The main hypothesis upon which this comparison is based rests on of authors such as Ostrom (1990) and Hanna and Munasinghe (1995). From their viewpoint, the generic regime of property (public or private) is not deterministic in the evaluation of the relationship existing between property rights and environment. They suggest that the

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most deterministic aspects are the incentives and particular norms regulating access to resources within those regimes. From such a viewpoint – provided the norms are well-defined – any set of property rights may guarantee a sustainable use of resources, but may not do so if well-defined norms are not in place. The paper is divided into five sections. The second section explains both why timber exploitation is an appropriate indicator to analyse the problem raised, and how the evolution of timber exploitation can be interpreted in Spain from the environmental point of view. The third section shows the basic forms of property rights established over Spanish forests and traces their development over the long term. The fourth section analyzes the evolution of timber exploitation in public and private forests, and also attempts to formulate an initial approach to conservation in both cases. The final section gathers some initial conclusions and directions for future research.

II.  Timber exploitation as indicator Timber has traditionally been considered by forest technicians to be the forest raw material par excellence (Zapata, 2001), so that it can be said that the historical development of forests is determined to a large extent by timber consumption. Within this general context, several recent studies (Iriarte-Goñi & Ayuda, 2007; Iriarte Goñi, 2008) have made scope for the reconstruction of Spanish timber consumption – measured in physical units (cubic metres with bark) – for the entire twentieth century, via an estimation for the 1900-1935 period and through the use of official information sources for the 1946-2000 period1. Data from such reconstruction are presented in Figure 9.1, which shows the evolution of Spanish timber consumption   The lack of official statistics regarding timber consumption and extraction for the entire twentieth century requires data reconstruction through different methods, according to different periods. For the period before the Civil War, the lack of official statistics regarding timber production and consumption has been offset with estimates. To that end, we have followed the method used by Zapata (1998 and 2001), who followed Robert (1957), although we have adjusted the coefficients used by both authors to elaborate a long-term continuous series: Iriarte & Ayuda (2006 and 2007b), so that we have taken only its last part, which corresponds to the first third of the twentieth century. Imports and exports for this first period have been extracted from the Spanish Foreign Trade Statistics for the years between 1900 and 1935. From such figures, we have calculated national extractions according to the following formula: Extractions (1900-1935) = consumption – imports + exports. For the period after the mid-1940s (1946-2000), the calculation method is different, since it takes as base those data regarding total timber production and the data of Spanish foreign trade in timber. Both groups of data have been extracted from the Spanish Forest Statistics (for the years between 1946 and 1971) or from the chapters devoted to forests in the Yearbooks of Spanish Agrarian Production (for the years between 1971 and 2000). The figures contained in these sources have been corrected according to the method proposed by GEHR (2003). Timber consumption has been calculated according to the following formula: Consumption (1946-2000) = extractions + imports – exports. 1

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(upper line), the evolution of such raw material in Spanish forests (lower line) and, by default, the evolution of timber imports (shaded area). As can be observed, timber consumption in Spain increased almost tenfold between 1900 and 2000. Moreover – although especially in the final decades imports accounted for a certain degree of that increasing consumption – Spanish timber production multiplied sixfold over this long period, from barely 2.5 million cubic metres in 1900 to approximately 15 million cubic metres in 2000. Figure 9.1. Evolution of timber consumption and extraction as raw material in Spain, 1900-2000 30,0

Million cubic meters with bark

Consumption

25,0

Extraction

20,0 15,0 10,0 5,0

2000

1996

1992

1988

1984

1980

1976

1972

1968

1964

1960

1956

1952

1948

1944

1940

1936

1932

1928

1924

1920

1916

1912

1908

1904

1900

0,0

Sources. See footnote 1. Personal compilation.

Table 9.1 compares the evolution of timber consumption in several European countries between 1929 and 2000, and shows the impressive increase in Spanish timber extraction in the twentieth century. In the initial period, Spain contributed around 9.5% of the total amount of timber of the countries considered in the sample; by 1991, that proportion had exceeded 20%. As regards timber production, Spain thus became second only to France among the countries considered in the sample. In short, timber exploitation of Spanish forests underwent considerable growth in both Spanish and European terms. This suggests that intervention in Spanish forests had had to be intense and seems to justify the adoption of this variable as a very appropriate indicator to gauge the environmental effects of different property regimes.

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Table 9.1. Timber extraction in different European countries, 1929 and 1991  

Millions of m3

Growth

Percentage

1929

1991

1929

1991

1929

1991

France

24.2

28.2

100

117

53.0

43.7

Italy

12.0

9.0

100

75

26.3

14.0

Portugal

5.3

7.5

100

142

11.6

11.6

Spain

2.7

13.0

100

483

5.9

20.2

Great Britain

1.3

4.3

100

331

2.8

6.7

Greece

0.2

2.4

100

1263

0.4

3.7

45.7

64.5

100

141

100

100

Sample total

Sources. 1929, Lleó (1929), Iriarte & Ayuda (2007b); 1991, Prada Blanco (1991); personal compilation. Figures from 1929 should be considered as provisional, since they ought to be compared with other international sources from that time.

The environmental impact produced by this great increase in timber exploitation is difficult to evaluate using the available data. However, in noting the expanse and quality of the forests, it is possible to attempt an approximate assessment. Regarding expanse, in a country like Spain, which has been subject to severe processes of erosion and even desertification, the reduction in forested lands is logically considered to be negative. This negative judgement could even be extended to include many cases where the disappearance of forests has resulted in an increase of cultivated land. In fact, much of the land cultivated at the expense of forests is less than ideal for agriculture, providing very low yields per hectare and aggravating the problems of erosion and degradation of the soil (Elorrieta, 1931; Ortega Hernandez-Agüero, 1989). The subject of the quality of forests is even more complex and difficult to evaluate (Ibero & Dudley, 1995), but the kind of reforestation carried out over time can be considered an indicator. In this sense, reforestation with native species well adapted to the territory and maintaining the biodiversity of the woodland could be considered more suitable than mono-specific reforestation applied over large areas, with rapid-growth species designed for timber production. In short, the evaluation of the environmental impact of timber exploitation on both public and private forests depends on how the area evolved and on the reforestation with one or the other species.

III.  Forest property systems in Spain The issue of property rights in Spain from the beginning of the nineteenth century has been widely studied by economic historians in recent years (Congost, 2006; Jimenez Blanco, 2002). Regarding forests, we know that a complex process 265

Forest management and wood exploitation. A comparison between public and private Spanish forests

of redefinition of property and rights of use was characterized by a double trend. On the one hand, between 1859 and 1900, approximately 3.97 million ha of forest were privatized in Spain (GEHR, 1994). On the other hand, those forests that did not become private were subject to considerable changes, in which localcouncils and the State – as institutions strengthened after the nineteenth-century liberal reform – achieved a high degree of regulation over forests. In general terms, such changes ended up generating two types of legal property regime in forests, denominated as private and public, although such denominations could involve very different situations within each category (see Table 9.2). In fact, in both public and some private forest, there was a continuing rights-of-use overlap (a concurrence of rights) with different actors and institutions involved in forest exploitation. In parallel, there was also a process of progressive hierarchization of the rights of use, which led to some rights (and the actors involved) predominating and to others being subordinated (Iriarte & Lana, forthcoming). Table 9.2. Forest property systems in Spain Property system PUBLIC

Owners

Main management system

State

Public utility

Villages

Local control

Main decision-making systems Shared decisions: State/municipalities/ communities/individuals

Contracts PRIVATE

Individuals

Private control

Individual decisions

Note. See Tables 9.3 and 9.4 for more details.

Public forests were those that remained in the hands of one or other public institution, especially the State or village councils. Among them, three main groups can be distinguished, according to the hierarchization of rights established. First come the State forests, which were those previously a part of royal domains and which were later extended through State purchases. From 1901 on, all State forests were declared to be public-utility forests, which stemmed from the assumption by government that it had a positive influence on environmental conservation2. In many of these forests, it could be that use rights were exerted by some neighbouring communities, although the decision-making process had traditionally been within the competence of the State   From the middle of the nineteenth century, the Spanish forest engineers had defended the importance of wooded forest in the prevention of floods and landslides and also their influence in rainfall and climates regulation (ICONA, 1987 and 1993). 2

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Forest Administration3. Secondly, there were the woodlands that fell mostly within the boundaries of forest villages and that were owned by municipalities, but supervised by the State. This group, too, was declared to be of public utility from 1901 on, for the same reasons as the State woodlands had been. In these spaces, local communities had traditionally enjoyed a wide range of use rights, although – due precisely to their character – they had been subject to the supervision of the State Forest Administration. The basic form of operation had been that local councils requested specific uses for each year, and the State Forest Administration approved or disapproved the requests after studying their feasibility. The third group, finally, consisted of ‘free disposition’ forests: that is, those forests owned by local councils, but not considered of public utility, whose exploitation could be freely decided on by councils. Most of them were unwooded spaces, traditionally devoted to fodder for cattle. Private forests, on the other hand, were much more homogeneous. Although in some of them certain rights of way or even community obligations may still have existed, decisions regarding their exploitation came within the competence of a private individual or company and, unlike public forests, they were not shared. During the nineteenth century, within a liberal economic context, there were no restrictions on the use of private forests, which were managed or transformed into cultivated fields in total freedom by their owners, though this situation began to change, at least nominally, in the early years of the twentieth century. From 1908 on, a series of laws was established that focused especially on the prohibition of total deforestation without supervision by the State (Fenech, 1917). Although this type of regulation remains to be analyzed in depth, it seems that the ability of the State to detect abuses and force compliance with the restrictions was very limited, and that consequently the freedom of use by owners continued to be quite substantial during most of the twentieth century. It was only in the 1980s that regulations governing the use of private woodlands and the monitoring of compliance with them gained greater strength as the supervision of woodlands passed from the central government to the Autonomous Regions (Fernández García, 2004). The exception to this general behaviour was represented by the montes concertados (referred to further as ‘forests under contract’); these were contracts concluded between the State and some private individuals in the 1950s. By means of them, owners of woodlands shared decisions with the State over timber exploitation and the required reforestation. The granting of economic assistance for exploitation and reforestation depended on compliance with the norms established in the contracts. Forests of this type, despite being held in private hands, can be considered to be   Since 1986, forest statistics have integrated within the same group of State forests the forests that are the property of the Government of the various Autonomous Regions of Spain. 3

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shared-management areas, seemingly more like the system of public ownership than the system of the strictly private, since their use was very much determined by public decisions (see column 4 of Table 9.1). Following the development of these different combinations of property rights through the twentieth century is complex, since the information sources available have in many instances changed their classification criteria. For the period between 1900 and 1972, forest statistics show the evolution of total forest area (wooded and wooded forest), disaggregated by different kinds of property. Since the 1970s, however, such statistics included only the data from the National Forest Inventories (IFN1 and IFN2), which did not disaggregate property kinds for all forests, but only for those wooded. Despite the difficulties involved with these statistics, Tables 9.3 and Table 9.4 allow us to follow the evolution of forests according to nature of property. Table 9.3. Composition of forests according to kinds of property, 1976-1996 in hectares  State (1) Villages (2) Total Public (1 + 2)

1900

1935

1955

1972

295,247

367,360

545,000

830,000

7,223,014

6,707,175

7,282,000

8,854,000

1995

7,518,261

7,074,534

7,827,000

9,684,000

Private (3)

22,524,119

19,007,645

18,601,000

16,780,000

Total (1 + 2 + 3)

30,042,380

26,082,179

26,428,000

26,464,000

27,459,478

%

%

%

%

%

  State

1.0

1.4

2.1

3.1

Villages

24.0

25.7

27.6

33.5

Total Public

25.0

27.1

29.6

36.6

Private

75.0

72.9

70.4

63.4

 

100.0

100.0

100.0

100.0

100.0

Total

Sources. For 1900 and 1935, GEHR (1994); for 1955 and 1972, Spanish Forest Statistics for each year; for 1995, IFN2 (1996).

As can be seen in Table 9.3, a significant reduction in forest area took place during the first third of the twentieth century. This reduction can be explained by the great expansion of the cultivated area, which occurred throughout the whole country during this period (GEHR, 1994). The reduction affected mainly private forests, which shrank by almost 4 million ha (13% of the total in 1900). Also contributing to the diminution was the limited ability of the State to enforce the laws passed since 1908. Public forests, on the other hand, were subject to a series of norms that hindered their cut-out and ploughing, and that, in general terms, prevented their disappearance. 268

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In the subsequent period (1935-1972), the trend changed, the total forest area ceasing to decline and even showing a slight recovery, albeit that its composition according to kinds of property continued to alter. The shrinking of private forests progressed further, although at a pace slower than in the preceding period. Such a reduction may be explained by both the adoption of more powerful agrarian machinery, capable of cultivating previously marginal land, and the expansion of urbanization processes due to the growth of city centres and tourism during the 1950s and 1960s. In parallel, within the context of the Franco regime, public forests tended to expand consequent on the purchases undertaken by the Patrimonio Forestal del Estado (National Forest Heritage), as well as by the recovery of lands developed by local councils4. The depopulation process that took place in many mountainous areas during the 1960s (Collantes, 2004) may have contributed to such land recovery by local councils. Table 9.4. Changes in composition of wooded areas according to kinds of property, 1976-1996 IFN1

IFN2

IFN1

Hectares

IFN2 Index

IFN1

IFN2

Composition

State

471,768

825,694

100

175

8

5.9

Public

2,70,600

2,565,894

100

118

18.4

18.5

Under agreement

1,331,339

1,438,418

100

108

11.3

10.3

Public + Agr.

3,973,707

4,830,006

100

122

33.7

34.7

Private Total

7,817,891

9,074,654

100

116

66.3

65.3

11,591,798

13,904,660

100

118

100

100

Note. *The hectares in this table differ from those in Table 9.3 (columns 1972 and 1995) because, as explained in the text, the National Forest Inventory of the 1970s and the 1996 included only wooded forest, that is forest with mainly tree cover. Sources. IFN1 (1976) and IFN2 (1996).

The data available on wooded surface for the last quarter of the twentieth century (Table 9.4) seem to show a clear trend of change vis-à-vis previous stages. Between the 1970s and the 1990s, in fact, there was a clear tendency for both the total forest surface and the wooded surface to increase. Furthermore, this expansion took place across the entire range property types, albeit that it was much more intense in State forests (data for this also included forests owned by the Autonomous Regions), which appear to have enjoyed a significant increase in surface area and reforestation. That said, the wooded surface had also expanded – although more moderately – in the   A part of such recovery is in fact very likely to be simply statistical; that is, that the area of villages forests grew due to the application and use of more advanced measurement systems. 4

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Forest management and wood exploitation. A comparison between public and private Spanish forests

remaining forests, including private ones. The main explanation for such change can be found in the application of the Common Agricultural Policy (CAP) to Spain and, more generally, of the various directives of the European Union (EU). Agrarian re-conversion, which accompanied the integration of Spain into the EU, may have influenced the abandonment of cultivation of less profitable lands. At the same time, grants to convert agrarian production lands into forest production areas also provided a relevant incentive (Sumpsi, 1991). The internal political decentralization that took place in Spain in the 1980s meant that the administration was more amenable to measures favouring forest conservation and regeneration (Fernandez Espinar, 1991). To sum up, one could say that, throughout the twentieth century, the Spanish State tried to increase its ability to manage woodlands, doing so by means of three complementary channels. First, the establishment of the concept of public utility in most of the public woodlands created a legal framework that allowed the State to intervene directly in decisions about their use, negotiating with other entities (towns and communities). Secondly, the conclusion of agreements with some private owners in the second half of the twentieth century made a significant State presence possible in the decision-making process regarding the woodlands concerned. Finally, through the establishment of forest laws, the State also attempted to in decisions on private woodlands, albeit less directly. So, how did all this translate into the management of timber exploitation?

IV.  Timber extraction and reforestation Once we have observed the evolution of forest surface according to property regime, we can analyze timber exploitation, with the aim of assessing how different generic kinds of property responded to the increase in extractions. In this sense, the available information sources offer more systematized information covering the entire century; from an estimation for private forests between 1900 and 1935, it is possible to extract an annual series of disaggregated production as between public forests and those under agreement with the State, on the one hand, and private forests, on the other. Table 9.5 provides a summary of such information, showing the rates of annual growth and the percentage composition of the extractions. The basic difference between them can be found in the process of decision-making regarding forest exploitation. Whereas in most private forests decisions were individual and could be made with very few institutional restrictions, in the case of public forests and those under contract, there were specific legal channels to follow, apart from the fact that the institutional levels involved in decision-making were peopled by various actors.

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If we focus on the case of public forests and those under contract, we can see that extraction increased at a good pace from the beginning of the century until the end of the 1970s, although different stages can be differentiated. The especially strong growth of extraction between 1900 and 1935 (more than 6% annually) may be explained as a result of the forest regulations put into practice since the end of the nineteenth century (affecting some forests of public utility, both State and municipal), in order to meet the growing demand for timber from the urban and industrial centres. Although the number of forests falling under this regulation never exceeded 10% of total forests, the forestry treatment to which they were subjected greatly accelerated extraction, so that extraction far exceeded that of the public forests (Iriarte-Goñi, 2005). After the First World War, however, the pace of extraction in public forests slowed, probably due to the fact that regulations were weakened by legislative changes, even though rates of growth were clearly maintained above 2%5. The strongly authoritarian political regime that emerged after the Civil War and that held Spain in its grip between 1939 and 1975 brought considerable changes in the exploitation of Spanish public forests. The Franco regime deployed an autarchic policy during its first years and, as in many other sectors, it attempted to achieve timber self-sufficiency and thereby avoid having to resort to imports. With that purpose, it applied a policy that has been described as productivist (Rico, 2001; Carpintero, 2005) and, as can be observed in Table 9.4, very significantly increased extraction from public forests and those under contract during the 1940s, 1950s and 1960s. The increase turns out to be really impressive if we take into account that the timber from those forests represented 8.6% of total extraction prior to the Civil War, and somewhat more than 29% in the 1970s. These figures show how the Francoist State had the capacity to develop a forest project in public forest, whose main objective was to increase timber production. To this end, the Francoist regime developed a large-scale reforestation programme that in many cases represented a severe constraint on the traditional uses of the forest by local communities. The coercion capacity of the Forest Administration within the authoritarian framework of dictatorship, and the weakening of rural communities caused by both repressive policies and rural exodus in many mountainous areas, may explain such trends. On the other hand, we know that, from the 1950s on, contracts for replanting had been concluded between the National Forest Heritage and several owners, especially in those areas in which companies to do with ground timber for board and paper-pulp manufacture had been established (Rico, 2001 and 2003; Ortega Hernandez-Agüero, 1989). It seems logical to think that this reforestation   Regarding forest regulations in the first third of the twentieth century and their productive effects, see Iriarte Goñi (2005a). 5

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programme would have produced a profit since the mid-1970s (that is, tenor twenty years after getting under way), favouring the increase of extraction in forests under contract. Subsequently, the end of the Franco era coincided with a clear reduction of growth rates from the mid-1970s on in extraction from public forests and those under contract, turning negative from the 1980s until the end of the century. This suggests very important changes in the understanding and application of forest policies within these spaces, coinciding with the establishment of democracy and the development of the model of Autonomous Regions. Although this issue should be analyzed through a study of the policies developed by the various utonomous Regions, which received powers related to forests, everything seems to point to the fact that, within this new political framework, conservationist criteria prevailed over productive. Table 9.5. Growth rates and percentage composition of timber extraction as raw material in public and private forests Growth rates

Composition (%)

P & Cont.

Private

Total

P & Cont.

Private

Total

1900-1913

6.22

1.63

2.00

7.8

92.2

100

1914-1919

2.96

3.22

3.20

8.1

91.9

100

1920-1935

2.64

0.38

0.64

8.6

91.4

100

1935-1946

4.39

-0.51

0.35

1946-1955

4.38

2.03

2.52

22.6

77.4

100

1956-1963

5.12

0.20

1.44

26.1

73.9

100

1964-1975

1.95

5.52

4.54

29.1

70.9

100

1976-1985

-0.80

2.36

1.60

22.6

77.4

100

1986-2000

-1.30

-0.54

-0.69

18.7

81.3

100

1900-2000

3.32

1.96

2.11

20.3

79.7

100

Note. P & Cont. = Public and under contract. Sources. For 1900-1935, Iriarte & Ayuda, (2006); for the rest, Spanish Forest Statistics; personal compilation.

Regarding private forests, extraction shows much more irregular behaviour, which to a large extent seems to respond to market-generated impulses. In fact, some of the periods during which private extraction grew the most were those in which forest prices were more clearly profitable, that is the years corresponding to the First World War (GEHR, 2002; Sala, 2003) and the final period of autarchy – 1946-1955 – (GEHR, 2003). In spite of this, timber extraction from private forests reached its maximum rate (higher than 5% annually) in the final years of the Franco era, a time 272

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when, as has already been pointed out, forest prices declined in relative terms. This situation could be related to the development of Spain’s timber grinding industry (to obtain cellulose or paper pulp) and the economic policies (not solely related to forestry) linked to the development of these industries within the framework of Francoist desarrollismo (fast economic development). Although this is an issue which has not yet been analysed in depth, it can be argued that, since the 1970s, economic policies may have offered private individual owners of forests a series of incentives to promote planting and exploitation of fast-growth tree species, devoted to timber production for grinding purposes. Thus, for instance, forest owners were offered the possibility of advantageous credits for replanting with fast-growth species (Tejada Gonzalez, 1969), which coincides with an increase of replanting in private forests, especially throughout the 1960s (Sumpsi, 1991). In short, there have been incentives that may explain why private initiative had greater predominance in timber extraction from the 1970s on, rather than public forests which, since the transition to democracy, seem to have been relegated to playing a secondary role in timber extraction. Information to hand, albeit incomplete, may provide us with certain evidence to help us appreciate the effects that such exploitation had on forests. First is information about the evolution of the wooded surface, which, in the case of public forests, can be reconstructed for the entire century and, in the case of private forests, for the period since the 1950s. Figure 9.2 shows the evolution in both cases, and how the wooded surface of public forests has grown almost constantly, whereas that of private forests has been subject to more alterations, with a trend towards shrinkage during the 1970s, and subsequently a recovery. Although these figures need to be refined, they suggest that timber exploitation in public forests and in those under contract was accompanied by a replanting process which, as a whole, achieved an expansion of the surface area of forests. However, the absence of replanting programmes in private forests, at least in the 1960s and 1970s, may have produced a loss of forest mass. This agrees with the information in Figure 9.1, and suggests that the private property regime was more likely to result in forest disappearance. For the period after the 1950s, it is also possible to see the evolution of this surface area, disaggregated into the main tree species. This issue may turn out to be important, since it allows reconstruction of the introduction into Spanish forests of fast-growth species linked to timber exploitation, which in general terms can be associated with a productive forest of inferior quality to that of autochthonous species (Ortega Hernández-Agüero, 1989). In this sense, Table 9.6 shows the evolution of the three periods for the four fast-growth species most widely used for replanting purposes, disaggregated according to property regimes.

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Figure 9.2. Evolution of wooded surface Million hectares 14,0 12,0

Public

Private

10,0 8,0 6,0 4,0 2,0 0,0 1900

1930

1955

1975

1995

Sources. GEHR (1994); Spanish Forest Statistics (1955); IFN1 (1976) and IFN2 (1996).

Table 9.6. Evolution of hectares with fast-growth species, and index of growth (1959 = 100) Forests of Public Utility P. Pinaster

Private Forests

1959

1975

1999

1959

1975

1999

300,007

568,107

414,837

481,842

639,837

775,963

P. Radiata

6,082

82,295

49,910

81,227

159,337

162,458

Eucalyptus

25,694

72,349

26,955

93,128

115,538

372,493

Poplar

1,698

5,622

7,832

140,578

63,396

77,738

333,481

728,373

499,533

796,775

978,108

1,388,652

P. Pinaster

100

189

138

100

133

161

P. Radiata

100

1,853

821

100

196

200

Sum

Index (1959=100)

Eucalyptus

100

282

105

100

124

400

Poplar

100

331

461

100

45

55

Sum

100

231

150

100

133

174

Note. P. Pinaster = Pinus Pinaster; P. Radiata= Pinus Radiata. Source. Spanish Forest Statistics for each year.

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As can be seen, the existing differences between forests of public utility and private forests are not radical, since in both types of forest the space devoted to fast-growth species expanded throughout the second half of the twentieth century. Nevertheless, this shared trend was not synchronous and there were differences regarding the rate and the species introduced. In the case of public forests, the huge increase that took place in the 1950s and 1960s is striking, coinciding with the high level of production achieved during the Franco era that we have already seen in terms of timber extraction. The main emphasis was placed on the pinus radiata, a species that adapts well to the climatic conditions of Mediterranean woodlands and that is especially suitable for the production of ground timber. It is also clear that, in the most recent period, the production trend slackened somewhat, since the figures corresponding to all fastgrowth species (except the poplar) tended to be on the decline. In other words, since the end of the Franco era, replanting programmes largely abandoned fast-growth species, in order to re-establish traditional autochthonous species. Problems related to the forest plague that affected the large plantations of pinus radiata, as well as forest fires, especially significant in coniferous woodlands, could have been behind those decisions. In private forests, on the other hand, reforestation with fast-growth species began only some time later, although it has continued at a gradually increasing rate up to the present time. It may be inferred from this that the planting undertaken in public forests might have set the scene for the reforestation of private forests, in the sense of the years of knowledge and experience that were passed on to the private owners. Of course, the continuous expansion of this type of reforestation beyond the 1970s can be explained by the business opportunities that the sale of this kind of wood offered private forest owners, as is borne out by the increase in the quota of timber extraction from private woodlands in the most recent period (see Table 9.5). The species with the greatest growth rate – greater even than that of the pinus radiata – is the eucalyptus (blue gum tree), which posted a fourfold increase in size between 1959 and 2000 and which is also especially suitable for the production of wood destined to be ground. On the other hand, it is the species most criticised by the ecological movement in Spain, due to the detrimental effects that it has on the soil (acidity, loss of nutrients, erosion), as well as its being a fast-spreading species that can generate losses of biodiversity. Scientific studies regarding this are not conclusive (Sisa, 2004); in any case, it seems that environmental claims have had a greater resonance in public forest administration than in private management.

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V.  Concluding remarks Although there are still many aspects to be researched in greater depth, the trends observed so far allow us to suggest certain provisional conclusions, albeit that these have to be confirmed, clarified and extended. First, the long-term viewpoint strengthens the idea pointed out in a previous paper (Iriarte & Lana, forthcoming) for the 1860-1935 period, which is now confirmed for the entire twentieth century: i.e. that the different forms of concurrence of rights (the overlapping of the rights of use of various actors and institutions involved in forest exploitation) were a constant, and even grew in importance in surface terms; since the 1950s, and through different contracts, this has included private forests. This concurrence was accompanied by changes in the hierarchy of rights of use, which benefited mainly the State, so that the Forest Administration progressively gained the capacity to establish criteria for timber exploitation, both in forests of its own and in the majority of village forests and those under contract. At the same time, the State also established forest laws in an attempt to influence use in the remaining woodlands. Within this context, and in accordance with the approaches of Ostrom (1990) and of Hanna & Munasinghe (1995), it can be said that two distinct systems of incentives and regulations were established, each having different environmental effects. In the case of woodlands subject to direct public intervention, the State put a series of rules in place that attempted to make conservation and the increase of forested area compatible with the increase in timber production. However, this combination went through different phases, determined by the composition of the State itself and by its own general objectives. In the first third of the twentieth century, environmental and productive criteria remained fairly balanced, unlike the situation during the Franco era when the predominant economic criteria were linked especially to the development of industries producing ground timber. Finally, in the last two decades of the century, environmental criteria predominated, tending more toward conservation. Against this background, it is obvious that no deforestation process took place in forests under public intervention, which, on the contrary, gained in surface terms. However, the strong growth of timber extractions during the Franco era forced the development of reforestation processes with fast-growth species, which are very likely to have affected the environmental quality of the forests. In this sense, it should be pointed out that the great political changes that took place in Spain in the transition from a dictatorial centralized system to a decentralized democratic system coincided with a quite radical change in both timber extraction and reforestation policies, which confirms that State management may vary according to the particular norms it enforces.

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Regarding private forests, it can be emphasized that the attempts of the State to regulate their use by means of forest laws were by and large failure. This was probably due to the lack of available human and material resources to enable the enforcement of compliance with the regulations established. This lack of institutional control resulted in the disappearance of a considerable amount of private forest between the beginning of the century and the 1970s, a development that was involved in the decrease in the biodiversity and that in some cases could be related to losses of soil and to desertification. It remains clear that strong individual property rights, if not accompanied by other institutional arrangements, do not guarantee good environmental outcomes. Rather, it seems that private initiative is related to market impulses, which in the Spanish case resulted in a mass loss of private forest during the first three quarters of the century, and in an increasing specialization in timberproductive forests from then onwards. In any case, a relevant lesson to be learned from this long-term viewpoint is that environmental trends do not necessarily move in the same direction, but may vary according to changes in economic, social and political contexts. Surface recovery in private forests and the reduction of fast-growth species in public forests during the last decades of the twentieth century, are good examples of this. The environmental effects of these changing trends should be monitored in the future.

Bibliography Araujo, C., Araujo Bonjean, C., Combes, J.-L., Combes Motel, P. & Reis, E. J. (2009), ‘Property Rights and Deforestation in the Brazilian Amazon’, Ecological Economics, 68, p. 2461-2468.

Bauer, E. (1980), Los montes de España en la Historia, Madrid, Ministerio de Agricultura.

Carpintero, O. (2005), El metabolismo de la economía española. Recursos naturales y huella ecológica (1955-2000), Madrid, Fundación César Manrique. Collantes, F. (2004), El declive demográfico de la montaña española (1850-2000) ¿Un drama rural?, Madrid, MAPA. Cruz Conde, F. (1967), ‘El sector forestal en relación con la balanza comercial agraria’, Revista de Estudios Agro-Sociales, 59, p. 91-107. Cruz, S. Cobo, F. & Gonzáles De Molina, M. (1992), ‘Privatización del monte y protesta campesina en Andalucía Oriental (1836-1920)’, Agricultura y Sociedad, 65, p. 253-302. Deacon, R. T. (1999), ‘Deforestation and Ownership: Evidence from Historical Accounts and Contemporary Data’, Land Economics 75-3, p. 341–359.

Elorrieta, O. (1931), Problemas de la tierra: la colonización interior de los montes, Madrid, Tipografía Artística.

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Fernandez-Espinar, L. C. (1991), ‘La legislación forestal en el estado de las autonomías’, Revista de Estudios Agrosoaciales, 158, p. 107-131 Gehr (1994), ‘Más allá de la propiedad perfecta. El proceso de privatización de los montes públicos españoles (1859-1926)’, Noticiario de Historia Agraria, 8, p. 99-152. Gehr (2002), ‘Política forestal y producción de los montes públicos españoles. Una visión de conjunto, 1861-1933’, Revista de Historia Económica, XX-3, p. 509-541.

Gehr (2003), ‘Bosques y crisis de la agricultura tradicional. Producción y gestión de los montes españoles durante el franquismo (1946-1979)’, in S. Amarilla & U. Ayo, Historia y economía del bosque en la Europa del sur (siglos xviii-xx), Zaragoza, SEHA, p. 293-370. Gomez Mendoza, J. & Mata Olmo, R. (1992), ‘Actuaciones forestales públicas desde 1940. Objetivos criterios y resultados’, Agricultura y Sociedad, 65, p. 15-64.

Gomez Mendoza, J. (1992), Ciencia y política de los montes españoles (1848-1936), Madrid, ICONA.

Groome, H. (1990), Historia de la política forestal en el Estado Español, Madrid, Agencia de medioambiente. Hanna, S. & Munasinghe, M. (1995), Property Rights and the Environment, New York, Beijer International Institute of Ecological Economics, World Bank. Hardin, G. (1968), ‘The Tragedy of the Commons’, Science, 162, p. 1243-1248.

Ibero, C. & Dudley, N. (1995), ‘Criterios para valorar la calidad de los bosques’, Quercus, 113, p. 10-15.

ICONA (1987), Comentarios y actualidad del informe de la Junta Consultiva de Montes (ley 1 de mayo de 1855), Madrid, MAPA.

ICONA (1993), Catálogo de los montes y demás terrenos forestales exceptuados de la desamortización por razones de utilidad pública, (facsimil Edition 1901), Madrid, MAPA. IFN1 (1976), Primer Inventario Forestal nacional, España, Madrid, Ministerio de Medioambiente.

IFN2 (1996), Segundo Inventario Forestal Nacional, 1986-1996, España, Madrid, Ministerio de Medioambiente. IFN3 (2006), Tercer Inventario Forestal Nacional, 1997-2000, Madrid, Ministerio de Medio Ambiente (www.mma.es/portal/secciones/biodiversidad/inventarios/ifn/ifn3).

Iriarte-Goñi, I. & Lana Berasain, J. M. (forthcoming), ‘Concurrence of Rights and Changes in the Hierarchy of the Rights to Property The Case of the Public Lands of Spain’, in G. Béaur, P. Schofield, J.-M. Chevet, (eds), Property Rights, Market in Land and Economic Growth in Europe, Turnhout, Brepols Publishers.

Iriarte-Goñi, I. & Ayuda, M. I. (2006), ‘Una estimación del consumo de madera en España entre 1860 y 1935’, Documento de trabajo AEHE, DT.

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Iriarte-Goñi, I. & Ayuda, M. I. (2007a), ‘Wood and Industrialization. Evidence and Hypothesis from the Case of Spain’, Ecological Economics, 65, p. 177-186.

Iriarte-Goñi, I. & Ayuda, M. I. (2007b), ‘Protección e importaciones de madera en España (1880-1935)’, Investigaciones de Historia Económica, 9, p. 45-78.

Iriarte-Goñi, I. (2008), ‘Consumo, importaciones y extracción de madera en españa en el siglo XX’, Córdoba, Comunicación al XIV Congreso de la SEHA.

Lleó, A. (1929), Las Realidades, las Posibilidades y las Necesidades Forestales de España, Madrid, Estudios políticos sociales y económicos, 6. Manuel, C. M. (1996), Tierras y montes públicos en la sierra de Madrid (sectores central y meridional), Madrid, MAPA. Mendelsohn, R. (1994), ‘Property Rights and Deforestation’, Oxford, Oxford Economic Papers, New Series 46, p. 750-756.

Ortega Hernández-Agüero, (ed.) (1989), El libro rojo de los montes españoles, Madrid, Adena, W.W.F. Ortega, A. (2002), La tragedia de los cerramientos, Valencia, Biblioteca Historia Social.

Ostrom, E. (1990), Governing the Commons. The Evolution of Institutions for Collective Action, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press.

Prada Blanco, A. (1991), ‘Política forestal y circuitos de la madera: Galicia y España en los contextos europeos’, Revista de Estudios Agro-Sociales, 158, p. 165-187. Rico Boquete, E. (2001), ‘La política autárquica y la industria de la celulosa en España’, Documento de trabajo.

Rico Boquete, E. (2003), ‘El papel del Estado en la creación e industrialización de las masas forestales. Los eucaliptales del suroeste y la empresa nacional de celulosas de Huelva, 1940-1975’, in S. Amarilla & U. Ayo (eds), Historia y economía del bosque en la Europa del sur (siglos xviii-xx), Zaragoza, SEHA, p. 463-494.

Robert, A. (ed.) (1957), ‘La Producción Forestal y el Crecimiento Económico’, in Estudios Hispánicos de Desarrollo Económico. España. Madrid, Instituto de Cultura Hispánica.

Sala, P. (2003), ‘Estructura y coyuntura de los precios forestales (maderas, corchos y combustibles en la Cataluña del nordeste, 1850-1930)’, in J. A. Sebastián Amarilla & R. Uriarte Ayo (eds), Historia y economía del bosque en la Europa del Sur (siglos xviii-xx), Zaragoza, SEHA- PUZ, p. 257-293. Serrano, J. A. (2005), ‘La defensa comunal y de los usos colectivos, León (1800 1936): ¿una ‘economía moral’?’, Historia Agraria, 37, p. 431-463. Sisa, J. (2004), ‘El Eucalipto’, www.ecoaldea.com/plmd/eucalipto.htm.

Soto, D., Herrera, A., González De Molina, M. & Ortega, A. (2007), ‘La protesta campesina como protesta ambiental, siglos xviii-xx’, Historia Agraria, 42, p. 277-301. Sumsi Viñas, J. M. (1991), ‘Crisis agraria y política forestal’, Revista de Estudios AgroSociales, 158, p. 57-81.

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Tejada González, L. (1969), ‘El carácter social del crédito agrario a través de sus precedentes legales’, Revista de Estudios Agro-Sociales, 68, p. 39-76.

Zapata, S. (1998), ‘Historia económica de la madera en España, desde mediados del siglo XIX a 1936. Un primer esbozo’, Memoria de Cátedra, Badajoz, Universidad de Extremadura.

Zapata, S. (2001), ‘La madera en España (c.1850-c.1950). Un primer Esbozo’, Revista de Historia Económica, XIX-2, p. 287-343.

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10. Soil conditions and environment versus manorial structure and landownership in Denmark, c. 1400-1800 Peder Dam I.  Introduction This chapter examines the environmental influences on the level of rural production, on manorial systems and on landownership in Denmark during the period from c. 1400 to 1800. The three topics are necessarily studied together, since they are highly interrelated. For example, the connection between the environment and landownership is not only direct, but also strongly indirect through the relationships of both with the level of rural production and the manorial systems. Several environmental factors will be discussed, but most of the chapter will focus on soil conditions. The reason for this is not because I consider soil conditions to be the only factor, but because I consider them to be one of the most important factors within a Danish context1. I concede that, as regards the level of rural production, the manorial systems and landownership, numerous factors were at play, including several environmental factors, economic systems and socio-cultural factors. These factors are impossible to explore in depth within the scop of this paper, which is why I have decided to concentrate on soil conditions. Nonetheless, other factors will also be mentioned and discussed, but not to the same degree. After describing the three main types of information and source used in this article (landownership, soil types and historical land taxation) the article sets out to answer the following two questions. How, and to what degree, was the impact of the environment on the level of agricultural production manifested in Denmark from c. 1400 to 1800? And how, and to what extent, did the environment and the level of agricultural production influence manorial systems and landownership?   This article is based on selections and modifications of my MA thesis on farming productivity (2004) and my PhD thesis on manorial structure and land rent (2008). However, it is also a result of a huge job of digitizing historical data from Early Modern Times. Some of the data used for this paper I have digitized myself over the past seven years (such as those in respect of the cadastres from 1662 and 1688); others have been created in co-operation with other partners (such as Videnskabernes Selskabs kort 1768-1805 [The Royal Danish Society of Sciences and Letters’ maps] and ejerlavskortene [cadastral maps] from the 1680s); yet other data have been borrowed from colleagues. The primary focal point of my work these last years has been to map the interaction between natural conditions and settlement/ farming in the Middle Ages and Early Modern Times. 1

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This article has a primarily nationwide focus. Owing to the lack of sufficient and reliable information on agricultural yields from the period, the bulk of the information on the level of agricultural production derives from three, large, Danish, nationwide cadastres from the Late Middle Ages and Early Modern Times. Digital-map versions of these will be correlated with a soil-type map, and both soil map and cadastre maps then correlated with the size of peasant holdings and demesnes – mostly larger holdings where agrarian production was managed by the landlord himself or by an appointed agent; often, most of the work on the manor farm was done by local peasants owing labour services on the basis of villeinage. Finally a look is taken at the ownership and the structures of the manorial systems: how the total land estate of a landlord, consisting of both peasant holdings and one or several demesnes, was ordered.

II.  Landownership in the Late Middle ages and Early Modern Times Although no statistics for the medieval period exist – all we have are scattered and local sources – there is general agreement among historians that the number of landowning peasants in Denmark dropped dramatically between the Late Middle Ages and the seventeenth century, though from then on there are precise data. Erik Ulsig estimated that landowning peasants comprised roughly half of all peasants in the middle of the thirteenth century and only 10-15% in 1536, during the Reformation. In 1688, the landowning peasantry amounted to only 2% of the peasant class as a whole. In the Late Middle Ages and in Early Modern Times, most peasants were tenants, and most of the land was owned by the Crown and the nobility, although, prior to the Reformation, a number of large estates were in the hands of the Church, including many monasteries. This land was confiscated by the Crown in 1536. After 1660, the growing middle class was also allowed access to land property (Ulsig, 1968: 49, 376); Pedersen, 1928). The decimation of the landowning peasantry, primarily during the 1241-1340 period, was partly due to the tax system. Only landowning peasants regularly paid taxes in the Middle Ages, unlike tenants, who were exempt from ordinary taxes; moreover, the taxes on landowning peasants could often be higher than the land rent paid by tenants to their landlord. Another reason for the decimation, one perhaps of even greater importance, was the growing power of landlords. By surrendering their land to a landlord, peasants placed themselves under his protection, which could be of great importance during periods of unrest, war and weak central authority. Given these two factors, it is not surprising, that several sources show that peasants, apparently voluntarily, surrendered or sold their holdings to a landlord. To such a sale was often attached an agreement guaranteeing that the peasant and sometimes the next generation, too, could remain on the land as tenant, and allowing a reduced rent 282

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to be paid for a time. On the other hand, there are also several sources that show that landowning peasants were forced to hand over their land because of debt or pressure from the landlord (Ulsig, 1968: 47-54, 376). However, it was not just that landowning peasants were few in numbers; in reality, their situation was not very different from that of tenants. Already in the fourteenth century, they were forbidden to split up their holdings, just as they were not allowed to sell their land to nobles or the Church and thereby gain tax-exemption; they were allowed to sell only to other peasants or to the Crown. These prohibitions must be understood within the context of the Crown’s interest in high taxation on such holdings. Still, there are sources showing that the prohibitions were breached several times by landlords, just as there are several examples of the Crown, when it was in the interest of the king, indeed ‘selling’ the landowning peasant’s land to a landlord or –to put it more accurately – selling the right to collect taxes and the right to negotiate with the peasant on buying the holding. The point is that, in Denmark, compared to the situation in other parts of Europe, even landowning peasants had only very weak rights to their ‘own’ land in the Late Middle Ages and the Early Modern Period. The weak property rights, in combination with generally low economic and agricultural development, heavy taxation of the peasantry and the use of commons, which hindered the establishment of new holdings on uncultivated land, must be seen as the main explanation behind the low number of new peasant holdings established in this period. Erland Porsmose have shown that, on the island of Funen (Fyn), the number of peasant holdings was ‘remarkably stable’ (Porsmose, 1981: 460) at about 7,000 c. 1800 and as far back as there are reliable sources, i.e. to c. 1425. A few peasant holdings, around 5% of the total number, were established during that 400year period, mainly in hitherto uncultivated forest areas and in the coastal zones – in the latter, often in combination with fishing – though these few new holdings more or less corresponded in number with peasant holdings dismantled around expanding demesnes (Porsmose, 1981: 460)..

III.  Danish soil types With some justification, it is possible to divide the country into three main regions, according to soil conditions. The islands and East Jutland east of line 2 in Figure 10.1 have primarily clay and lime-rich moraine soils – mostly formed by the Young Baltic Ice. North Jutland and parts of Central Jutland have a more average moraine soil, formed primarily by the Northeast Ice (Nordøstis). West Jutland, west of line 1 in Figure 10.1, which was not covered with glaciers during the last Ice Age, has the most sandy soils. One region in particular differs from all these: the western part of 283

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the area of the Limfjord, west of the line 3 in Figure 10.1, which consists primarily of clayey soil, which was entirely on a par with the Young Baltic moraine soil in the east of Denmark. Figure 10.1. Soil types in Denmark

Source. Dansk Jordbrugsforskning 2002. Map originally published on a scale of 1:50 000.

The landscape in the Soil Type Map of Figure 10.1 is divided into six soil categories, FK1 to FK5-6. FK1 denotes the sandiest soils in the country, FK2-FK6 the gradations as the soil becomes more clayey. Breuning Madsen et al. (1992: 17-19), Landbrugsministeriet (Ministry of Agriculture) (1976: 60-64).

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Note. Three major geological features (lines) are marked on the map: (1) the Main Stagnation Line, (2) the Harderian Ice-Edge Line and (3) the border of the special clayey soil in the western part of the Limfjord area.

As mentioned at the start of this article, there are only scattered, reliable sources for agricultural yields in the c. 1400-1800 period. Not only are the sources few, those that exist are often problematic, since the data in them were gathered as part of the collection of church tithes, which peasants often tried to reduce by giving a lower estimate of their corn production. The latest and one of the most extensive pieces of research on this topic was conducted by Jørgen Rydén Rømer and published in a paper in 2004. The first nationwide statistics from 1837 were mapped for each parish and the attempt subsequently made to sum up all existing local studies from Early Modern Times, mostly from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The problem with the 1837 sources is, of course, that they reflect the situation after the agrarian reforms, which had a huge effect on the Danish agricultural landscape and agrarian production. However, it could be discerned that the relative regional differences in 1837 varied very little from what was indicated in the scattered local sources from Early Modern Times. Perhaps the yields listed in the older sources are somewhat too low and the yields in the 1837 sources reflect a more highly developed agrarian system, but what is most important within this context is the general tendency for yields in the most clayey areas, such as the island to the southeast of Denmark, to be more than double those in the most sandy areas (Rømer, 2004: 41-59). Although many other factors were in play, the tendency for clayey areas to be more fertile and have a higher production level both before and after the agrarian reforms is quite clear. For a closer examination of the production level in the Late Middle Ages and Early Modern Times, however, we must turn to the cadastres from the period.

IV.  Soil taxation and soil quality from the fifteenth to the nineteenth century Although Denmark cannot claim to have a very rich body of medieval sources, there are several excellent cadastral surveys from Early Modern Times. The detailed cadastres must be viewed in the light of strong Royal power as a result of the introduction of absolutism, coupled with the need for a large standing army and a considerable fleet. During this period, Denmark was one of the most militarized nations in Europe, seen in relation to her population size (Lind, 1994: 112-113). Since, at this stage, she was still a decidedly agrarian society, the main burden of taxation would have had to fall on the peasant population and rural production. 285

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In what follows, three agrarian cadastres from Early Modern Times and the nineteenth century will be presented and their average taxation explained through maps on a national scale. The first two cadastres have townlands, typically an area belonging to one village, a group of solitary peasant holdings or a demesne, as the base unit, whereas the last has the parish as its base unit2. After yet another lost war (1657-1660) against the contemporary superpower, Sweden, the need arose for additional taxation of the agrarian population. Previous levies had been based on a fixed tax for each peasant holding unit. The additional taxation demanded that a differentiation according to productive potential be introduced. As the State was in need, it was decided to collect information about the land rent of the peasant holdings, on the basis of which the additional tax would then be subsequently set. The idea behind this was that the yearly rent would provide a good foundation for assessing the size of the land, whereby a decision could be made on how much it was possible to tax. It must be emphasised that land rent in Denmark had already been fixed in the medieval period and, with few exceptions, had not been increased since the fifteenth century, and were not until c. 1800. Some exceptions can be demonstrated, as certain landlords did indeed try to raise land rent. Several times, however, it was proved in court, on the basis of customary law, that the level of land rent was an age-old prescriptive right and could not be increased (Gissel, 1968: 152-158). The average level of taxation reflected in the 1662 Cadastre thereby mirrors the late-medieval intensity of production rather than seventeenth-century production levels. A system based on land rent was not ideal as a basis for taxation. Land rent naturally depended on the size of the peasant holding, but it could also vary from region to region and from estate to estate, and even from one peasant holding to another within the same village. This was due not least to the fact that the level of taxation had been fixed in the fifteenth century. The result was that peasants who were hardest taxed by land rent were subsequently taxed even harder. The State was not oblivious to this problem and a genuine and detailed survey inspired by the Swedish taxation model was undertaken between 1681 and 1688 throughout the Kingdom of Denmark. The new cadastre, today known as Christian V’s Cadastre or the 1688 Cadastre, can be seen as one of the most important sources casting a light on the agrarian society of the time, as it set out to value cultivated land in a detailed, objective and systematic manner. Danish agrarian reforms and the fragmentation of villages and enclosures, which took place primarily in the 1780-1810 period, led to an improvement in cultivation   Townlands and parishes 1688 and 1820 have been mapped in co-operation with Kort- og Matrikelstyrelsen (The Danish Survey and Cadastre). Dam (2005b). 2

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methods and a substantial new cultivation of former non-arable land and it became obvious that a new survey and valuation of the agricultural land was needed. A third, nationwide cadastre – the 1844 Cadastre – was drawn up, this time in combination with national and detailed cadastral mapping on a scale of 1:4 000. The taxation figures based on this cadastre were compiled and digitized at parish level by Per Grau Møller in 1997. The average taxation of the 1844 Cadastre by parish is seen in Figure 10.4. Figure 10.2. Taxation in the 1662 Cadastre*

Note. Average by townland per km2 (6,180 townlands in all).

Source. The 1662 Cadastre, which is based on the land rent of individual peasant holdings largely fixed in the fifteenth century and largely unchanged until the Early Modern Times. Dam (2008). 287

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Figure 10.3. Taxation as reflected in the 1688 Cadastre*

Note. Average by townland per km2 (7,018 townlands in all). Source. The 1688 Cadastre, which was created on the basis of land survey and land classification between 1681 and 1688. Dam (2004).

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Figure 10.4. Taxation in the 1844 Cadastre*

Note. Average by townland per km2 (7,018 townlands in all). Source. The 1844 Cadastre, which is based on mapping and land classification between 1806 and 1822. Digitized by Per Grau Møller (1997).

All three of the following maps of the average taxation levels recorded in the cadastres use the local Danish unit tønder hartkorn/km2. In the Late Middle Ages, this unit was originally defined in terms of an amount of peasant land subject to a yearly land rent of one barrel (tønde in Danish) of barley or rye (hartkorn – ‘hard grain’ – in Danish) – or goods of a corresponding value. In the cadastres, however, 289

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this unit developed into a general unit of land value. Tønder hartkorn cannot be converted into a modern unit, since it does not determine a certain area of land, but rather a certain land value based on the production value of the land. In 1662, the average Danish peasant holding was valued at 6.5 tønder hartkorn, and 66.6% of the 59,000 holdings registered were valued at between 4 and 10 tønder hartkorn. The use of this unit makes it difficult to compare the size of holdings directly with that of holdings outside Denmark, but it does open up the possibility of obtaining a relatively precise insight into what environments and what landscapes were considered to be the most productive, based on contemporary valuations. When the three maps of average taxation are compared, it can be seen that the overall picture is one of substantial continuity. The high and the low values are found in principally the same areas in all three maps. Some smaller developments and some minor shifts can be noted: the growth in production over this period was slightly higher around municipal towns, some areas were hit by advancing sand dunes and thus declined in value, and, finally, the impact of the cultivation of heathlands started to be seen (Dam, 2004: 115-119; Dam, 2008). But even though it is possible to detect differences, there was manifestly greater continuity during the period.

V.  The Environment’s influence on the production level The environment had a huge influence on the production level, which in turn influenced both the manorial systems and landownership. In order to gain an understanding of the production level and of the taxation levels shown in Figures 10.210.4, and thereby of the stability of agricultural production, it is necessary first to look at soil conditions. The high taxation values in the eastern part of the country and the low taxation values in the western part coincide to a great extent with respectively the clayey and sandy areas. The main line of demarcation between taxation values followed the Harderian Ice-Edge Line (see line 2 in Figure 10.5). The clay and lime content of the plough layer seems to have been the primary soil-condition factor: the greater the clay content, the higher the taxation in general. The 1688 Cadastre shows that average taxation was more than five times higher on the most clayey (FK5/FK6) soils than on the sandiest (FK1) soils. That taxation was highest on the clayey soils is due primarily to three factors. Firstly, clay soil was better to cultivate, as it retains nutrients better, whereas these to a larger extent filter down into subsoil water on the sandy soils. Secondly, soil conditions also indirectly affected agricultural intensity, and thereby taxation, in two ways: sandy soils demanded to be rested for longer periods than clayey soils, and sandy-soil regions

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were to a large extent used for grazing; consequently, that intensity was lower. In the clayey regions, the use of agricultural land was much more intensive. Figure 10.5. Taxation of townlands in the 1688 Cadastre Average taxation 1688 (tdr. hartkorn / sq. km.)

25

20

15

10

5

0

Coarse sand (FK1)

Fine sand (FK2)

← Most sandy

Loamy sand (FK3-S)

Loamy sand (FK3-L)

Soil types

Loam (FK4)

Clay (FK5/FK6)

Most clayey →

Note. Only townlands with at least 50% of one soil type are shown, i.e. 3,976 of a total of 7,018 townlands.

Source. The 1688 Cadastre.

Figure 10.6 shows the percentages of three types of land use in relation to soil type. The data for the cultivated area is taken from the 1688 Cadastre, but the cadastres are not immediately suitable as sources for other types of land use, in which respect it is necessary to go to the oldest national topographical survey, the maps of The Royal Danish Society of Sciences and Letters (Videnskabernes Selskabs kort), which date from the end of the eighteenth century (Bill, Dam, Dam & Nielsen, 2003). On the most clayey areas (both FK4 and FK5/6), an average 45% of the area was used for cultivation (i.e. was arable land), whereas only 13% of the area of sandiest soil (FK1) was cultivated. Large proportions of these sandy soils were covered by substantial stretches of heathland, where the heath and marginal grass vegetation was only used for very extensive grazing.

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Figure 10.6. Land use of townlands dominated by one soil type, 1768-1805 100

Land use 1688/1768-1805 (%)

Others

90

Heathland

80

Forest

70

Cultivated land

60 50 40 30 20 10 0 Coarse sand (FK1)

Fine sand (FK2)

Source. Bill, Dam, Dam & Nielsen (2003).

It should be emphasized that a number of other conditions and factors were also at play. For instance, taxation was generally lower in the more rugged areas, where cultivation was either not possible or at least not very appropriate, and where land use was often more extensive and focused more on forestry. On the other hand, it can also be established that, around municipal towns, cultivation was generally more intensive, with higher taxation as a consequence. However, these factors did not affect agricultural production nearly as much as soil conditions, since Denmark, within a European perspective, is a relatively flat country and only 171 metres above sea level at her highest point. Additionally, the country did not have any large cities, the only medium-sized city being Copenhagen, with approximately 41,000 inhabitants in 1676; all other towns had less than 6,000 inhabitants (Fritzbøger, 1998: 36). Nonetheless, it is clear that the agricultural systems, the settlement types and the size of peasant holdings were highly adapted to the landscape and not least to the soil types. In the sandy areas, the peasant holdings were generally large in size, in terms of both total size and cultivated area. But since the soils were unfertile and the land could be used only extensively, the total production level and therefore the taxation 292

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levels of the cadastres were generally low. The average area of the land of a peasant holding on the sandiest soils was almost five times the size of that of one located on the most clayey soils, although total taxation in hartkorn was still somewhat lower for the peasant holding on the sandy soil. In Denmark, unlike the situation in many regions to the south and to west, this state of affairs was not affected by the existence of larger cities or by a large-scale splitting-up of larger farms into smallholdings making specialist and intensive use of the land. The agrarian, the economic and the political situation, where the strong Crown had the power to hinder the splitting-up of farms, were part of why production in Denmark was more strongly related to the environment than in other European countries. Indeed, one might even say that Denmark was not as developed in both an agricultural and economic sense. Table 10.1. Size of peasant holdings in townlands dominated by one soil type (One soil > 50% of the area), 1688 Soil types:

Average size of peasant holding 1688

Total area (hectares)

Cultivated (hectares)

Taxation (tønder hartkorn)

FK1

Coarse sand

162.6

21.3

4.4

FK2

Fine sand

77.0

17.0

4.8

FK3-S

Loamy sand, sandy subsoil

67.6

19.5

5.5

FK3-L

Loamy sand, loamy subsoil

49.1

18.3

5.7

FK4 FK5/6

Loam Clay

38.4 34.5

17.2 15.6

6.4 6.4

Since, in sandy areas – as opposed to clayey areas – peasant holdings were generally large in terms of geographical extent (hectares), but small in terms of production level (tønder hartkorn), a simple correlation test would show that geographically large holdings generally had a low production level, and that, overall, geographically small holdings had a high production level. In my opinion, this was due, at least primarily, to production levels in both cases being highly affected by the environment and especially soil conditions: where resources were few and the land infertile, it was necessary under normal circumstances for the holding to encompass a large area.

293

Soil conditions and environment versus manorial structure and landownership in Denmark

VI.  Growth in the number and size of Demesnes During Early Modern Times, the demesnes dwere extended at the expense of peasant holdings. Whereas demesnes in the Middle Ages were normally only the size of a couple of ordinary peasant holdings, they expanded to an average of 42.8 tønder hartkorn – as the 1688 Cadastre shows – corresponding to a size over seven ordinary peasant holdings3. The extension of the demesnes was the focal point of Gunnar Olsen’s thesis, in which he shows that the dismantling of peasant holdings reached a peak in the latter half of the seventeenth century, when almost 1,000 were broken up over a 50-year period (see Figure 10.6). The ensuing dramatic fall in that dismantling Olsen sees partly as a result of the prohibition of the practice in 1682 – even though this was not strictly enforced – and partly as a result of demesne production having by then reached a level where it was not possible to expand more, yet still have all the work done by local peasants on the basis of villeinage (Olsen, 1957: 240). Gunnar Olsen assumes that, overall during the 1525-1774 period, the demesnes expanded by an area corresponding to 3,000-3,500 peasant holdings, whereas only 600-700 new tenant holdings were created from the dismantling of demesnes. In general, peasant holdings seem to have been reduced by 4.5-5%, particularly in the eastern part of Denmark; they were reduced by 6.7% and 6.8% respectively in Zealand and LollandFalster, and by just 2.1% in Jutland; at 4.4%, the reduction in Funen was close to the national average (Olsen, 1957: 172-175, 240). In 1688, however, the proportion of land under demesnes was only 8.7% of total tønder hartkorn. Seen in a European perspective, the expansion of manorial production must be viewed as having been moderate – at least in relation to that in the countries southeast of Denmark, where a regular Gutsherrschaft developed in Early Modern Times, that is a manorial system where income derived entirely or primarily from manorial production, peasant involvement consisting mainly of labour services due under villeinage. The opposite of this was Grundherrschaft, where manorial income derived entirely or primarily from land rent paid by tenants. In Schleswig, the duchy to the south of the Kingdom of Denmark, and which was thoroughly researched by Carsten Porskrog Rasmussen in his doctoral thesis of 2002, the eastern part – Angel, Svans and Dänischwohld – was entirely dominated by Gutsherrschaft. In these three areas, respectively 49%, 57% and 47% of peasant holdings were dismantled between 1543 and 1760 (Rasmussen, 2002: 383). In the Kingdom of Denmark itself, the manorial system must be seen as being Grundherrschaft, albeit developing towards a greater emphasis on production on demesne land, at the expense of peasant estates, and on income from land rent. With the manorial economy coming increasingly to   land. 3

294

Calculated on the basis of Pedersen (1928), by division of land into demesne land and peasant

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depend on the demesne’s own lands, the importance of soil conditions also grew: in other words, the manorial economy became more directly dependent on having good soils to produce a higher yield than previously, when the economy was based mainly on fixed income from the peasantry. Figure 10.7. Size of peasant holdings in townlands dominated by one soil type (> 50%) 1,000

Number of farms abolished by manor expansion

800

600

Jutland Funen Lolland-Falster Sealand

400

200

0 1525-1549

1550-1599

1600-1649

1650-1699

1700-1749

1750-1774

Source. Table material in Olsen (1957: 166-169).

The development towards more production on the demesne was never linear in time, nor evenly distributed geographically, as can be seen from both Figure 10.6 above, showing the number of peasant holdings dismantled and Table 10.1 below, which includes a mapping of demesnes newly established during the 1525-1774 period. Until the time of the 1662 Cadastre, newly formed demesnes were relatively evenly distributed across the country; thereafter, they cluster in certain regions. There are two main explanations for this. Firstly, the great sale of Crown lands during the 1650-1780 period meant that there was ample room for establishing many private demesnes and manors. Whereas, in 1662, Crown manors had an average of 250 peasant holdings attached to them, the average private manor had just over thirty. When the Crown sold a manor, it did so typically by means of segmentation of the estate, allowing several private manors to be established, each segment typically containing one new demesne and between twenty and fifty peasant holdings. The majority of the new demesnes that came into existence 295

Soil conditions and environment versus manorial structure and landownership in Denmark

Figure 10.8. Crown lands by townland and new demesnes*

Note. Percentage of crown lands according to the taxation in the 1662 Cadastre; scattermap of new demesnes 1525-1662 and 1663-1774 according to size in the 1688 Cadastre or succeeding surveys on the same principles. Source. Table material in Olsen (1957: 289-313).

296

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during the 1662-1774 period were therefore in old Crown-land areas; in those areas, the manorial structure came at least partly to have the same characteristics as those of the old noble-estate areas. This tendency to establish new demesnes primarily in old Crown-dominated areas was strengthened by the 1682 prohibition on dismantling peasant holdings, unless the Crown gave dispensation. This dispensation was mostly given where it was possible to sell off Crown lands only if the new landlords were allowed to establish new demesnes on them (Frandsen, 1988: 173-178, 193). Figure 10.9. Establishment of demesnes, 1525-1774* 100

Taxation of the new demesnes by soil types (%)

90 80 70 60 50 40 30 20 10 0 1525-1549

1550-1599

1600-1649

1650-1699

1700-1749

1750-1774

Clay (FK5/FK6) Loam (FK4)

Loamy sand (FK3-S)

Loamy sand (FK3-L)

Fine sand (FK2)

Note. According to soil conditions and based on taxations in the 1688 Cadastre. Out of a total of 386 demesnes, only 278 are taken into account, owing to missing data from manorial accounts and the map of soil types.

Source. Taxation levels reflected in the 1688 Cadastre and table material in Olsen (1957: 289-313).

The second explanation has to do with soil conditions, which have to be taken into account in order to gain an understanding of the regional concentrations of demesnes newly established during the 1663-1774 period. As can be seen from the map in Figure 10.8 above, relatively large areas in Jutland, for example, were dominated 297

Soil conditions and environment versus manorial structure and landownership in Denmark

by Crown lands, but only few, and typically small, demesnes were established. This was a general feature in the sandy-soil regions; on the sandiest soils, as illustrated in Figure 10.9, there was a general tendency for fewer and fewer demesnes to be established during the 1525-1774 period. The number of new demesnes established on clayey soils of the FK4 and FK5-6 types during the first twenty-five years (1525-1549) of that overall period accounted for only a third of the total taxation of new demesne land, but grew steadily to account for more than three-quarters in the overall period’s final twenty-five years (1750-1774). The development was not in line with the situation on the sandiest soils (FK1 and FK2), which shows that the changing geographical distribution of the number of demesnes, not least of Crown lands, naturally constituted the framework for establishment. Within a larger perspective however, it is clear that soil conditions were of greater importance for the location of new demesnes being established, as the economy came to a greater extent to be based on the demesne’s own production, rather than on fixed land-rent income.

VII.  Manorial structure In what follows, the overall manorial structure in the seventeenth century will be examined, in order to get a better understanding of changes in landownership over time and of the regional variations in landownership. Table 10.2 shows the number and average size of Crown, private and other demesnes in 1662. As the 1662 Cadastre rarely reflected the taxation of demesnes, because these did not pay manorial land rent, unlike ordinary peasant holdings, the 1688 Cadastre figures for taxation are used here (Pedersen, 1928). Table 10.2. Demesnes 1662, according to ownership Demesnes owned By the Crown

Number 55

Average taxation in the 1688 Cadastre (in tønder hartkorn) 68.2

Privately

637

39.3

By others

6

73.3

Source. Taxation levels reflected in the 1688 Cadastre, Pederson (1928).

The Crown owned only fifty-five demesnes in 1662, whereas the nobility and the growing middle classes owned more than ten times that number: all in all, 637. On the other hand, Crown demesnes were on average 73% larger. This situation of a few, but large Crown demesne units becomes clear when the largest and smallest demesnes are compared on a national scale. The Crown owned only three of the 100 smallest 298

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demesnes, whereas it owned four out of six of the largest: Antvorskov (294.4 tønder hartkorn), Frederiksborg (268.9 tønder hartkorn), Vordingborg (206.7  tønder hartkorn) and Abrahamstrup (194.4 tønder hartkorn). Table 10.3 shows the number of peasant holdings and the amount of hartkorn due on them, seen in relation to ownership. About two-thirds can be related to demesnes, both Crown and private. No less than 20.9% are classified as owned by private persons, and among these feature a number of scattered estates of private demesnes. The category ‘School estates’ covers the estates of a number of municipal schools and the University of Copenhagen, as well as the two private schools (large estate owners), Sorø Akademi and Herlufsholm. The final category ‘Other/not included’ contains vicarages, deaneries, hospitals, estate holders that could not be placed within the other categories, and estate owners outside the investigated area. Table 10.3. Peasant estates 1662 according to ownership Types of owner:

Numbers

Percentage (%)

Peasant holdings

Tønder hartkorn

Crown manor

13,998

102,629

26

27.3

Private manor

20,658

145,881

38.3

38.8

Private person

11,388

78,718

21.1

20.9

School estate

1,665

14,376

3.1

3.8

Other / not included

6,212

34,803

11.5

9.2

53,921

376,407

100

100

Total

Peasant holdings

Tønder hartkorn

Source. See Figure 10.2.

In combination, the data in Table 10.1 and 10.2 reveal the following. Even though there are more than ten times as many private demesnes as Crown demesnes, the Crown demesnes had almost as many tenant holdings as demesnes owned by private persons. Within these two ownership groups, the Crown share amounted to 7.9% of demesnes and 13% of the demesnes’ hartkorn, whereas no less than 41.3% of peasant holdings belonged to a Crown demesne. Crown manors had mostly large demesnes and there were significantly more peasant holdings for each demesne. On average, each Crown demesne had 254.5 peasant holdings attached to it, as against only 32.4 for each private demesne. For each tønder hartkorn demesne land (1688) under the Crown, there were 27.4 tønder hartkorn tenant holdings (1662); for private demesnes, there were only 5.8 tønder hartkorn tenant holdings. Furthermore, even though Crown

299

Soil conditions and environment versus manorial structure and landownership in Denmark

demesnes were nominally large, the demesne lands amounted to a significantly smaller proportion of the entire manor than in the case of private manors. Figure 10.10. Demesnes 1662*

Source. Dam (2008: 85), on basis of 1662 Cadastre and 1688 Cadastre.

300

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Figure 10.10 shows a scatter map of the geographical location of demesnes, grouped according to size and type of owner. It can be seen that the large Crown demesnes were typically situated on their own, whereas the mostly smaller private demesnes usually lay clustered, geographically speaking. Apart from differences between types of owner, it is possible to see a more general adaptation to the landscape. There were fewer demesnes in the marginal West Jutish areas, those there were being usually small. Most demesnes were situated on the clayey and thus fertile lands. Figure 10.11. Size of demesnes 1688* 50

Average size of demesnes 1688 (tønder hartkorn)

45 40 35 30 25 20 15 10 5 0 Coarse sand (FK1)

Fine sand (FK2)

Note. Average according to the 1688 Cadastre.

Already in an article by Henrik Pedersen from 1915, it was convincingly established that demesnes were small in the marginal areas, where peasant holdings were also small. The poor soils were, however, only part of the explanation. Another and more important part becomes clear when the size of demesnes is compared with the concentration of peasant holdings in the surrounding area, as is shown in Figure 10.12.

301

Soil conditions and environment versus manorial structure and landownership in Denmark

Figure 10.12. Size of demesnes and concentration of peasant holdings* 300

Demesne size 1688 (tønderhartkorn)

250

200

150

100

50

0 0,0

0,5

1,0 1,5 2,0 2,5 3,0 Concentration of peasant holdings 1662 with in 15 km (farms / sq. km.)

3,5

4,0

Note. Size of demesnes, in 1688 (tønder hartkorn) and peasant holdings per km2 within a distance of two Danish miles. Only 674 out of 698 demesnes are included, due to missing data.

Where the concentration of peasant holdings was less than 0.5 per km2, demesnes never exceeded 50 tønder hartkorn; here the concentration was less than 1 per km2, demesnes were never larger than 100 tønder hartkorn; and where the concentration was less than 1.5 per km2, demesnes never exceeded 150 tønder hartkorn. It is thus possible to establish an upper limit, but no lower one, as the demesne size in the figure is evenly spread as the farm-concentration rise. Or, put in another way, in areas where peasant holdings were situated close together, demesnes could be both large and small, whereas they were always small in areas where the peasant-holding concentration was low. The manorial systems could well be organized differently, depending on the strategies of the local landlord; however, owing to the great dependency of tenant lands held, for example, in villeinage, the demesnes had necessarily to remain small in areas with few peasant holdings. The effect of soil conditions on demesnes and manorial structure was thus both direct, in terms of soil quality, and indirect, in relation to the surrounding concentration of peasant holdings. Even though the higher values must also be expected to have existed around the demesnes, cadastres and the maps of the Royal Danish Society of Sciences and Letters show that, as late as the seventeenth century, demesnes still had a greater 302

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focus on extensive utilization of the landscape. The average demesne had two to three times as much forest in its townlands (17.4%) as peasant holdings did. The proportion of fields was average (24.8%), and there was only relatively little heathland (11.6%). Part of the explanation was that demesnes were often situated in rather fertile and clayey areas; contrary to peasant holdings, though, the focus of their economy, at least in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, was on extensive usage – such as timber production and the export of oxen – where the yield by area might have been low, but where the surplus in relation to invested capital was high. In Figure 10.13, the special orientation of demesnes towards production is seen both in the Forest percentage and probably also in the Other percentage, which covers, among other things, both meadows and fields for grazing. A detailed study of the seventy demesnes in the central part of Jutland shows that the grass and hay hartkorn constituted 29.8% of the entire hartkorn, which was almost double the proportion of the grass and hay hartkorn of peasant holdings (Schacke, 2007: 128 and 184). Figure 10.13. Fields and forest or heathlands*

Peasant holdings

Demesne Fields 26.7

Other 43.2

7.2

Fields 24.8

Other 46.2 17.4

Forest

22.9

Forest

11.6 Heathland

Heathland

Note. Percentage of fields (1688 Cadastre) and of forest and heath land (1768-1805). Townlands consisting of peasant holdings or demesnes. Townlands consisting of both peasant holdings and demesnes have been left out. Source. 1688 Cadastre; Maps of the Royal Danish Society of Sciences and Letters (17681805).

This shows that fertile land, such as the clayey soils in Denmark, were not necessarily used for intensive arable production – production on Danish demesnes was based on other priorities than those on the typical peasant holding. This last had to maximize total production, doing so by turning to the most intensive arable production that the land gave scope for. The landlord, on the other hand, had the economic freedom to 303

Soil conditions and environment versus manorial structure and landownership in Denmark

focus on other forms of production: forest land had a recreational value (hunting, for instance), besides offering scope for timber production, and grazing land could be used for oxen production; these two last forms of production were not substantially labour intensive and therefore could generate a higher surplus on invested capital. Peasant holdings, however, had to focus on the overall production level, in order to be able to feed the larger and rising population – to a greater degree, they tried to maximize total output through as high a level of corn production as the land’s fertility would permit.

VIII.  Conclusion During the 1400-1800 period, the Danish landscape was primary cultivated and used by a peasantry with very limited property rights. Only few peasants owned their land, most peasants being tenants under a manorial system in Crown or aristocratic hands. Landowning peasants became fewer and fewer, and by 1688 amounted to only 2% of the peasant class – but even these peasants were subject to several restrictions on their land and on their property rights, so that, in reality, there were only minor differences between them and tenant farmers. Firstly, they were heavily taxed, meaning that, although they did not pay land rent, the amount they paid in annual taxes could be just as high as the tenant farmer’s dues. Secondly, there were already several restrictions in place in the fourteenth century on the property rights of landowning peasants – most significantly the ban on splitting-up peasant holdings and the ban on selling land to nobles or the Church to gain tax-exemption. The first part of the 1400-1660 period was characterized by the growing strength of the manorial systems of the Crown and the nobility at the expense of the peasantry. Not only did landowning peasants lose most of their property rights, the demesnes also expanded physically: During the Late Middle Ages, the size of a typical demesne corresponded to no more than a couple of peasant holdings; in consequence of the dismantling of several thousand peasant holdings, however, demesne size grew to the equivalent of an average of seven to eight peasant holdings by 1688. A further characteristic of this period was therefore a significant increase in the villeinage duties the peasants had to fulfil on demesnes. In 1660, Denmark became one of the most absolutist kingdoms in Europe, the period from 1660 to1800 being characterized by an extremely powerful Crown. Most Crown land was sold, mostly to the up-and-coming middle class and to the new nobility; the reason for the sale being partly the need for quick money to pay for the costly wars with Sweden. However, the Crown was now also in a position where it had the power to raise taxes; in the centuries to come, the State’s finances were based chiefly on rising taxes rather than on land rent. The Crown had less land, but more 304

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power, which was also the main reason for the prohibition in 1682 on the dismantling of peasant holdings to expand demesnes. Had the dismantling of peasant holdings continued, the result would have been a decrease in tax income. Nevertheless, the Crown several times granted dispensations from the ban when it was in the king’s own interest: the selling-off of Crown lands was in most cases also accompanied by special permission to dismantle a number of peasant holdings, so that the new landlord could establish his own new demesne. That special permission increased the value of the land significantly. The balance of power between the Crown and other landlords, mostly nobles, changed over time, but a further feature of the entire period was the weakness of the peasantry, which had only very tenuous rights to the land. That weakness, coupled with generally low economic and technological development during the period – at least compared to the situation during the previous and the subsequent period – resulted in extremely slow expansion in peasant agriculture. Over the period, very few new peasant holdings were established, almost all that were being established on previously uncultivated land. Splitting up peasant holdings, as seen in several other European countries, was not common in Denmark during the 1400-1800 period. Peasant agricultural production and settlement structure just before the the beginning of the Agricultural Revolution in the late eighteenth century did not differ significantly from the situation in the Late Middle Ages. A certain degree of displacement and some smaller developments can be discerned, but the overall picture was one of continuity and stagnation in the peasant world – again, at least compared to what had gone before and what came after. Both agriculture and the settlement structure were highly adapted to the physical landscape: the size of peasant holdings in the most fertile regions was small, but large in the most infertile regions. Based on the taxation levels recorded in hartkorn in the 1688 Cadastre, the overall production values of peasant holdings were much of a muchness. A typical peasant holding in the infertile regions had large unfertile lands with large uncultivated areas, whereas a typical peasant holding in regions with good soils had a smaller area of fertile land, but with most of it cultivated. Soil texture was one of the most important factors in agriculture in Denmark. The most clayey areas (FK5-FK6 soils) were valued more than five times higher than the most sandy areas (FK1 soils) in the 1688 Cadastre. The clayey areas gave a higher yield and allowed more intensive cultivation with short fallow periods. In sandy areas, only a small part of the land could be used, and then only for less intensive cultivation with long fallow periods, and thus much of the land was used for grazing.

305

Soil conditions and environment versus manorial structure and landownership in Denmark

Demesnes were in several ways different from peasant holdings. Not only were they on average seven to eight times the size of peasant holdings, with the work being mainly done on the basis of villeinage, but their size and location was due principally to a rapid and dynamic development in the Early Modern Period, mainly in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. In the Late Middle Ages, the economy of most manorial systems was based chiefly on land rent from tenants; during Early Modern Times, however, the significance of the demesnes’ own production grew, resulting partly in demesne expansion through the dismantling of peasant holdings, but also, over time, in a concentration of demesnes in the most clayey and fertile areas. Of the new demesnes established during the 1525-1549 period, only a third were situated on the best clayey soils (FK4 and FK5-6); this share increased steadily to more than three-quarters during the 1750-1774 period. The fact that demesnes were established increasingly on the most fertile land did not necessarily result in more intensive cultivation. In contrast to peasant holdings, where the most fertile land had been cultivated most intensively since the Middle Ages, the great majority of demesnes focused on extensive use of the landscape, although the soils were fertile enough for intensive cultivation. The demesnes had not only 2½ times as much forest as peasant holdings, but also more grasslands in the same type of landscape. Extensive usage, taking in timber and oxen production, did indeed give a low yield by area, but the surplus on invested capital was high.

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Rømer, J. R. (2004), ‘Foldudbyttet i Danmark fra 1600-tallet til 1837’, Landbohistorisk Tidsskrift 1, p. 41-59. Schacke, A. T. (2007), Gods, gårde og kulturlandskab: besiddelsesforhold og godsstruktur i den sydlige del af Nørrejylland 1570-1788, Odense, Landbohistorisk selskab. Ulsig, E. (1968), Danske adelsgodser i middelalderen, København, Gyldendal.

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11. Property rights, ‘good neighbourhood’ and sustainability: the management of common land in England and Wales, 1235-1965 Angus J. L. Winchester I.  Introduction1 Common land in England and Wales was and remains a category of land which is subject to a highly distinctive property rights regime. Unlike many other European commons, it is neither communally owned nor ‘no-man’s-land’ (terra nullius); rather it is privately owned land over which others possess use rights, giving them legal access to particular resources. Land subject to common rights was very extensive in England and Wales until the eighteenth century and fell into two main categories: first, the open arable fields and meadows, productive farmland held in unenclosed strips in private ownership but subject to common grazing rights after the crop had been taken or when lying fallow; second, ‘manorial waste’, the semi-natural land, usually lying on the margins of a community’s landed resource, which formed an important grazing resource and also a source of fuel and other necessities. In general, most commons of the first type were found in the great swathe of open-field villages which covered much of lowland England from the central southern counties to the Midlands and extending into north-east England. Although manorial waste was also found in these areas, it was nowhere near as extensive as in wetland areas like the Fens or in the uplands, including much of Wales and northern England, where it often formed the bulk of the land surface. A long process of land reform, culminating in a great surge of enclosure by acts of Parliament in the century between c. 1760 and c. 1860, swept away almost all the open fields and much of the manorial waste, extinguishing common rights over 2.75 million ha. of land – 21 per cent of the total land area of England – and reducing the surviving extent of common land in England and Wales to c. 554,000 ha (Turner, 1980: 178-181; Aitchison, 1990: 273). Most of   This paper owes much to discussions with my co-researchers on the ‘Contested Common Land’ project (http://commons.ncl.ac.uk) at the universities of Newcastle-upon-Tyne and Lancaster, funded by the Arts and Humanities Research Council (Award Reference: AH/E510310/1) from 2007 to 2010. I should like to record particular thanks to Christopher Rodgers, Eleanor Straughton and Margherita Pieraccini for commenting on an early draft of this paper and to the volume editors and anonymous referees for subsequent suggestions for improvement. An abridged version of the paper was read at the workshop on ‘The Contribution of the Commons: the effect of collective use and management of natural resources on environment and society in European history’, held at Pamplona-Iruñea, Spain, in November 2009. The themes discussed in this paper are explored further in C. P. Rodgers, E. A. Straughton, A. J. L. Winchester & M. Pieraccini (2011). 1

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the common land which survived the tide of privatisation and enclosure falls into the category of manorial waste and may be thought of as ‘left-over’ land, incapable of conversion to intensive agricultural use. It is this type of common land that forms the central focus of this paper. In ecological terms, surviving common land often possesses a high conservation value. It includes extensive tracts of fragile environments, such as the mountains, hills and moorlands of upland England and Wales, sandy heaths of lowland England, and wetlands, including both fen and coastal marshes (Hoskins & Stamp, 1963: 104-110, 134-136). These ‘wastes’ formed an integral part of the traditional rural economy. Their prime use was as grazing for livestock, particularly in the summer months, but they also yielded a wide range of other resources. Fuel, in the forms of firewood, peat or vegetation such as gorse, was pre-eminent, but other resources from common land – as diverse as fish, berries, nuts, sand, clay, gravel, stones, bracken, heather, rushes and reeds – often played an important part in local customary economies until the nineteenth century (Neeson, 1993, 158-184; Woodward, 1998; Winchester, 2000a, 123-442). This paper takes a long view of the history of common land in England and Wales. Its central focus is the interplay between the legal framework of property rights and the day-to-day reality of negotiating the sustainable use of a communal resource. It thus aims to explore the dynamics along the interface between law, local governance and changing cultural values from the medieval period to 1965 (when the Commons Registration Act effectively swept away the previous legal framework on common land), with a view to assessing the impact of this dynamic on sustainable use. It is important to note that common land in England and Wales has not, since 1235 at least, been subject to an unregulated free-for-all of the sort assumed in Garrett Hardin’s ‘tragedy of the commons’. Limitations to use have been in place to rein in the unrestricted exploitation of resources. The fact that common land continued to yield a supply of essential resources to rural communities in England and Wales from the medieval to the modern period implies a degree of success in achieving sustainable management. Conversely, many areas of common land are now deemed to be in ‘unfavourable condition’ in ecological terms, suggesting that they have suffered ecological damage as a result of long-term over-exploitation (Rodgers, 2007: 26; Pastoral Commoning Partnership, 2009: 26-27).

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II.  The legal framework: property rights on common land The use of common land in England was underpinned from the thirteenth century until the later twentieth by a firm and stable framework of property rights, which vested ownership of ‘waste’ in the hands of the seignior (the lord of the manor), while recognising the use rights of the local community, both freeholders and unfree tenants2. Applicable, in theory, to the whole of the kingdom of England and (from 1535) the principality of Wales, it was founded on a clear set of firm principles but these were mediated by the role of local custom, with the result that patterns of property rights on common land differed in detail between localities. The legal framework can be traced back to two thirteenth-century royal statutes, the statutes of Merton (1235) and Westminster II (1285), which confirmed the lord of the manor’s rights in the soil of the manorial waste (the ‘residue’ of the manor) but also required lords to respect the use rights of free tenants within the manor3. That Merton articulated and clarified a pre-existing understanding of the balance between the lord’s rights in the soil and the use rights of the local community is made clear by early thirteenth-century evidence from Worcestershire (Dyer, 2006: 29). Indeed, the phrase ‘residue of their manors, as of wastes, woods and pastures’ assumes that lords possessed ownership rights over all land within manorial boundaries; while use of the terms ‘sufficient pasture’, ‘common of pasture’ and ‘as much pasture as sufficeth to their tenements’ shows that the concept of common use rights was already recognised. The import of Merton and Westminster II was to give lords power to approve the waste, that is to enclose sections of it and to rent them out for agricultural use, but also to restrict their freedom to approve by recognising the legal validity of the use rights of commoners. As owners of the soil, lords generally retained a wide range of property rights, including mineral and game rights and a right to any residual grazing over and above the use rights of commoners. The law developed a sophisticated classification of commoners’ use rights, describing both the basis of the right and its nature and purpose. Most rights were ‘appurtenant’, that is attached to holdings of land as a subsidiary right, but individuals could possess use rights independently of a holding of land (rights ‘in gross’) and the law also recognised customary use by people from neighbouring settlements (common pur cause de vicinage). Of the six legal categories of use rights, by far the   The legal basis of property rights on common land in England was substantially modified by the Commons Registration Act 1965 and the Commons Act 2006. The law on common land after the 1965 act is analysed in Gadsden (1988); the contemporary legal situation, taking account of the 2006 act, is discussed in Rodgers (2007). 3   The framework laid down in the statutes of Merton and Westminster II (sec. 46) was confirmed by the Act for the Improvement of Commons, 1549 (Statutes, 3 & 4 Edw. VI, c. 3). 2

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most significant was common of pasture, the right to graze livestock on the common. Two other rights were also almost as ubiquitous: common of turbary, which gave access to peat and turf; and common of estovers, which gave the right to take wood or other vegetation for necessary purposes (Gadsden, 1988: § 3.28-3.85). Where rights were attached to land, a clear set of principles governed the exercise of these rights. First and foremost, they were only to be used in support of the ‘dominant tenement’, the holding of land to which they belonged. From this flowed certain clear limitations. Produce from the common was not to be sold or taken out of the manor and there was a presumption that the quantity of the resource which could be taken should be limited to what was necessary. This was explicit in the case of estovers, (a term derived ultimately from the Latin est opus, ‘it is necessary’) and was implicit in other rights. It was articulated by the author of The Law of Commons and Commoners, published in 1720, whose starting point was that tenants required access to the resources needed to enable them to pay rent and perform services. They could not do this without cattle; cattle required pasture; therefore it was necessary for them to feed their cattle on the manor’s waste. Likewise, tenants could not live without fire; therefore it was necessary for them to have access to firewood or peat (Anon, 1720: 6-7). But that was the limit of their right: livestock were not to be brought into the manor by way of agistment; commoners could not exercise their turbary right in order to dig peat for sale to fuel-hungry townspeople nearby, for example. The legal framework structuring the use of common land was thus clear and based on strong principles. However, there existed a number of grey areas, where the definitions, both of common land and of those having use rights, might shade off into uncertainty. The concept of ‘manorial waste’ did not encompass all commons . Some areas of waste remained undivided between adjacent manors and intercommoned by the livestock of more than one manor until well into the post-medieval centuries. In northern England a few such cases were a legacy of early-medieval ‘shire moors’, where ownership of waste land was vested in a superior lordship and the rights of lords of manors adjoining the waste did not extend beyond the manor’s fields. More numerous were areas of waste intercommoned by the tenants of two or more adjacent manors, where no individual lord could claim sole ownership until seigniorial rights came to be divided. The process of partition between manors was attenuated, boundary disputes and ensuing lawsuits, particularly in the decades before the Black Death and in the sixteenth century, often resulting in the fixing of ownership boundaries across wasteland. In a handful of cases, uncertain manorial boundaries survived until the nineteenth century (Winchester, 2000b; Dyer, 2006: 24; Shannon, 2009: 259-266).

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There were also two categories of land that were for all practical purposes almost identical to manorial waste – areas of semi-natural vegetation over which grazing rights were shared – yet were legally distinct. The first were parts of some former hunting forests or chases in upland northern England. Although common rights existed over wastes within forests and chases, some sections of waste were deemed to be private seigniorial pastures in the medieval period. Grazing rights over such land originated as agistment or licensed use, rather than common rights sensu strictu, although the distinction had often been forgotten by the sixteenth century and the waste in question was treated as normal common land (Winchester, 2000a: 84, 94). The second category included those sections of manorial waste which had been separated by a physical enclosure for use as a communal cow or ox pasture, a type of land found in numerous communities by the sixteenth century. They represented a distinct category of communally-used land, in which individuals had rights to graze specific types of livestock. In many cases, rights in such shared pastures were legally ‘sole rights’, as opposed to common rights, as the lord of the manor retained no residual interest: the land had been granted away and the grazing rights represented fixed shares of the whole (Gadsden, 1988: § 1.27-1.28; 1.60-1.61). A similar gloss needs to be added when it comes to those who possessed common use rights. In theory, as has been noted, most use rights were attached to a holding of land and were therefore built into the structure of tenancies within a manor. But by custom in many areas, common rights might be held by ‘the inhabitants’, in other words by virtue of residence rather than land holding. These less formal conceptions of ‘ownership’ did not sit comfortably with the legal basis of use rights on common land. The law attempted to exclude them, Gateward’s case of 1607 ruling against rights claimed by inhabitancy (see Thompson, 1993: 130). Yet the concept of common rights by inhabitancy survived, and grazing rights belonging to landless cottagers in lowland England continued to be recorded in the eighteenth century (Neeson, 1993: 61-62, 6869; Shaw-Taylor, 2002: 71-72). In Norfolk some parish authorities sanctioned access to the resources of common land by the poor – particularly for fuel, but also for limited grazing – even where the paupers in question did not possess a formal entitlement (Birtles, 1999: 83-86, 91-94). But informal custom, operating outside the law, was almost certainly more widespread. On the forest commons in Northamptonshire, cottagers assumed and exercised fuel-gathering and grazing rights, even though only a minority dwelt in common-right cottages. Furthermore, the resources of a common might be exploited by the poor as raw materials from which to make a livelihood: ‘furze’ (i.e. gorse, Ulex species) as fuel for sale, or rushes from which to weave mats, for example (Cowell, 2002: 151; Neeson, 1993: 176-177). As Steve Hindle puts it, the poor were often ‘agents in the fabrication of their own economy of makeshifts: inventing traditions where there were none, claiming rights by virtue of residence, 313

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manipulating custom in their own interest’ (Hindle, 2003: 48). That wider body of informal custom and practice, which lay beneath formal conceptions of common right, no doubt gave rise to the association between common land and the poor in the minds of many eighteenth-century commentators. Even in the late twentieth century, the registration of a range of minor rights on coastal common land in Norfolk (the right to gather seaweed, samphire and shellfish, for example), which it is difficult to fit into any of the recognised categories of common right, implies a persistent tradition of customary use4. This introduces a central theme of this paper, the reciprocal roles of national law and local custom in creating the law governing common land.

III.  ‘Good neighbourhood’: the local governance of common land The framework of property rights over common land was no more than a skeleton of legal principles at national level, providing an overarching structure around which local management rules could be built. For day-to-day purposes, local systems of governance were necessary in order to regulate the exploitation of resources by those possessing use rights. Commons varied greatly in extent, fertility and ecological character, as did the level of exploitation allowed by the particular pattern of use rights. Matching the exercise of common rights to the resources of the common required a management regime to take account of local conditions. This task was undertaken until c. 1800 in England and Wales by local seigniorial courts, to which the shorthand term ‘manor courts’ may be applied. These were local meetings called by the lord of the manor and presided over by his steward, which those holding land in the manor were required to attend. Manor court juries, composed of landholders in the manor, made byelaws and orders governing communal affairs. Maintaining good order within the manorial community included overseeing the management of communal resources and negotiating a way through the tensions between the conflicting demands of different uses and interests which were a perennial feature of the history of common land (Winchester, 2000a: 33-48). Not only was there an inherent potential for conflict between the interest of the lord of the manor in exploiting his ownership of the soil and the use rights of his tenants; within the community of commoners lay a tension between individual self-interest and the communal good. Such tensions could be mitigated by the manor courts’ aim to take account of the interests of both lord and neighbourhood. Indeed, it could be argued that lord and commoners had a joint interest in devising sustainable patterns of use on common land: the destruction of pasture or other resources on the common would have a negative impact on both private gain and public good in the longer term. Moreover, a key element of the courts’ policing role was to uphold the territorial integrity of the   Norfolk County Council Commons Register, e.g. CL 41, CL 56 (Thornham); CL 124 (Brancaster).

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manorial community, as witnessed by the ubiquity of penalties recorded in manor court records against outsiders accused of infringing common rights. The corpus of orders and byelaws recorded by manor courts dates largely from the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, when the courts enjoyed a flowering, functioning as local ‘parliaments’ in governing the affairs of the manorial community (Harrison, 1997; Winchester, 2000a: 33-42; Dilley, 1967). Sufficient examples of manor court byelaws have been published to gain an overview of the local mechanisms they devised for governing the management of common land in the medieval and early-modern periods (for examples of byelaws from open-field villages, see Ault, 1965; from fen parishes, see Cunningham, 1910; Hallam, 1963; for upland northern England see Winchester, 2000a: 152-175 and sources cited 176-180). At the heart of the courts’ decisions were the twin touchstones of ‘good neighbourhood’ and ‘ancient custom’. ‘Good neighbourhood’ meant the maintenance of friendly relations between neighbours; it was ultimately a moral and spiritual precept, flowing from the recognition that living and working alongside others requires the acceptance of mutual obligations and hence the fettering of individual liberty (see Wrightson, 2007). It also tended to be an ideal, just out of reach somewhere in the past: ‘our forefathers ... lived in friendshippe, and made merrie together, nowe there is no good neighbourhood: nowe everie man for himselfe, and are readie to pull one another by the throate’ (Gifford, 1582: 5). In the agrarian world, the heart of ‘good neighbourhood’ lay in the day-to-day behaviour of individuals in an environment with many shared resources and few physical boundaries, where the actions of one individual were likely to impinge directly on others. Maintaining ‘good neighbourhood’ involved the control of livestock and the upkeep of fences, to keep animals out of the growing crops of corn and hay; it also required the neighbourly management of common land. In consequence, manor courts concerned themselves with mundane practical matters, such as herding practices, the marking of livestock, and the gathering of vegetation and other resources from the common, putting in place systems of regulation aimed at fostering good relations (Winchester, 2000a: 45-47). As E. P. Thompson noted, ‘at the interface between law and agrarian practice we find custom’ (Thompson, 1993: 97). In order to determine what constituted ‘good neighbourhood’, manor court juries turned to ‘ancient custom’, the way things had been done in the past, so that the taproot of the body of byelaws ran deep, drawing on the notion of customary law in local communities (Bonfield, 1996). Where the manor did not coincide with the unit of agrarian organisation (a village might be divided between two manors, or a manor might embrace several villages), the wellspring of local custom often lay in local meetings, such as the non-manorial village meetings recorded in midland, open-field England and in fen parishes, or the ‘byrlaws’ of

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upland, northern England, where groups of farmers made decisions at grassroots level (Ault, 1960; 1965: 40-54; Cunningham, 1910: 259; Winchester, 2008). It is likely that the body of customary law governing the use of common land evolved orally through local meetings such as these, long before being recorded in the records of the manor courts. On the one hand, the corpus of manorial byelaws incorporated a body of common custom – commonsense solutions to recurrent problems – found in agrarian regulations from communities across medieval western Europe, but, on the other, the grassroots nature of decision-making in the village meeting or the hamlet byrlaw enabled custom to respond sensitively to local conditions and to create unique byelaws to meet particular challenges. How, then, did the corpus of manor court byelaws, drawing on, creating and refining local custom, put the ideal of good neighbourhood into practice? Three broad strategies can be identified. As we have seen, the quantity of a resource which could be taken from the common was limited by the concept of ‘necessary use’. The first strategy available to custom and byelaw was to define ‘necessary use’ by articulating quantitative limits. The imposition of a numerical ‘stint’ to limit the size of a grazing right (discussed below) is perhaps the most immediate example, but restrictions on quantity were also widely applied to the exercise of other common rights. Across lowland England the cutting of gorse, a valuable fuel resource for the rural poor, was regulated by what seems to have been a widespread customary quantitative restriction, whereby it was only to be taken from common land by being carried in bundles; carting it away on a wheeled vehicle was forbidden (Thompson, 1993: 145; Neeson, 1993: 175; Shaw-Taylor, 2002: 76). Secondly, although legal theory conceived of use rights as being general to the whole of a common, complex spatial allocations and restrictions were often introduced for the purposes of day-to-day management, particularly on extensive upland commons. Topography and environmental factors could result in marked ecological contrasts between different parts of a common, making some more valuable than others or restricting the distribution of particular resources to certain areas. Distance from the holding to which a common right was attached also played a part: there would be an assumption, not always stated explicitly, that it would be most convenient for a commoner to exercise rights on the section of the common closest to his land. Then there were the practical considerations of managing livestock or cutting peat or vegetation on the common. Good neighbourhood could be better served by systematic organisation of the exercise of rights, keeping the flocks and herds of individual commoners separate, for example, or assigning sections of a fuel resource

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to individuals to reduce the potential for conflict (see Winchester, 2000a: 109-113, 129-131, 135; Whyte, 2009: 113). Finally, seasonal limitations could be imposed, specifying dates before or after which a common right could or could not be exercised. As with other restrictions, a range of factors might lie behind such rules, including the desire to conserve the resource in question, to reduce the potential for conflict (by synchronising movement of livestock, for example), or to ease competition between conflicting demands for a particular resource. Seasonal restrictions of grazing rights illustrate the twin aims of optimal management of pasture and the reduction of potential conflict. In both uplands and fenland, dates might be fixed to limit grazing by different classes of livestock and a closed season imposed, when all livestock were forbidden, in order to allow the pasture to recover. The precise dates specified in such byelaws were intended to ensure that all neighbours synchronised the movement of livestock, a desire particularly apparent in the transhumance practices which survived in parts of northern England until the early seventeenth century (Ravensdale, 1974: 66; Winchester, 2000a: 72-73, 85-90). Seasonal restrictions were also used to manage competition between conflicting uses. Bracken (Pteridium aquilinum) was a highly prized resource which had three principal uses in the early modern period: as litter for livestock when kept indoors during the winter; as thatch for roofing; and for burning into potash for sale, breaching the concept of ‘necessary use’ – and thus, strictly speaking, not a valid use of the right of estovers– but an accepted and widespread practice nonetheless, particularly in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Burning increased the demand for the plant and led to potential conflict with domestic exploitation. Sophisticated rules were formulated, drawing a distinction between careful harvesting of fronds for thatching and wholesale gathering for bedding or burning, and differentiating between these in the dates dictating when the plant could be gathered (Winchester, 2006). The customary rules and byelaws created by the manor courts in the pursuit of maintaining good neighbourly relations illustrate both the variety of factors they sought to address and the consequences the quest for good neighbourhood had on the day-to-day management of use rights on common land. The corpus of manorial byelaws can be read as a canon of management measures designed to limit damage to communal resources (Pretty, 1990: 15). At one level, the local customs and byelaws were instruments that enabled rights to be exercised effectively in a particular locality and environment, putting flesh on the bare skeleton provided by the legal abstractions in which the property rights regime on common land was expressed. But custom and

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byelaw themselves altered conceptions of ‘ownership’ of rights on common land, and were an integral part of the dynamic by which property rights evolved.

IV.  A tendency towards privatisation? The interplay between property rights and ‘good neighbourhood’ It is therefore necessary to examine the interface between property rights on common land and the regulations which sought to ensure that the exercise of use rights upheld the ideal of ‘good neighbourhood’. Taking the long view, the interplay between the legal framework and local custom and byelaw can be thought of as a dynamic relationship, in which developments in the one area affected the evolution of the other in a series of feedback loops. Distinctive aspects of the exercise of use rights, created by custom or byelaw, could provide an opportunity to test or challenge elements of the legal framework, leading to an unintended evolution of property rights. Changing conceptions of property rights would, in turn, affect local management regimes, with consequences for ‘good neighbourhood’. Two areas, in particular, illustrate the interplay between property rights and local governance and suggest a tendency towards increasing privatisation and commodification of common rights in the early-modern centuries. Perhaps the most striking examples of local governance mechanisms feeding back into legal conceptions of property lay in the quantitative limitation of pasture rights (discussed further in Winchester & Straughton, 2010, from which the following paragraphs are drawn). By the later medieval centuries a baseline governing the numbers of livestock which could be turned out on to the common was provided by the legal concept of ‘levancy and couchancy’. This did not impose an explicit numerical limit; rather it stated that only animals which were kept over winter on the produce of the dominant holding could be grazed on the common in the summer. It was thus based on an implicit acceptance of an obligation to guard against overexploitation. The thinking behind the rule of levancy and couchancy was that the size of an individual’s grazing right should be proportional to the size (or, more strictly, the production) of his landed holding. It thus sought to ensure equitable access to the common, in the interests of maintaining ‘good neighbourhood’ in the community. Since it took no account of the amount of grazing available, its primary aim could not be to match grazing intensity to the carrying capacity of the common. An alternative mechanism was to express grazing rights in numerical terms, each commoner having the right to graze a certain number of livestock. In this system – known as ‘stinting’ – the livestock-carrying capacity of the common could be calculated and then apportioned between those having grazing rights. Although 318

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the apportionment of stints between individuals was usually carried out to ensure equitable access (by linking the size of the stint to the value of the holding, for example), the fact that the global number of stints on the common could take account of the carrying capacity of the common enabled stinting to act as a mechanism for sustainable management. The relationship between these two systems for limiting the size of an individual’s pasture right illustrates the interplay between a variety of processes. First, as might be expected, there is some evidence for a broad correlation between the level of grazing pressure on a common and the system of controlling livestock numbers found there. Where commons were extensive and grazing pressure was low, unstinted commons governed by the rule of levancy and couchancy were frequently found; where livestock numbers were high and the available grazing on the common small, stinting was the norm. However, other factors also came into play. Some stinted rights in upland northern England appear to have originated not strictly as common rights but as licences to graze on private seigniorial pastures in medieval hunting forests. In other words, they represented a distinctive property right over land that, though later indistinguishable from common land, had a different origin. Such stinted rights may have originated in a desire to limit by licence the number of livestock grazing mountainous game reserves but they were not part of a communal attempt to manage grazing rights sustainably, nor to foster good neighbourhood. Other drivers behind the introduction of stinting systems probably included the greater certainty and ease of policing numerical limits and the fact that, by the sixteenth century, farming realities (the trade in livestock and cattle droving, for example) sat increasingly uncomfortably alongside the assumptions underpinning the rule of levancy and couchancy (that a farm had a fixed stock of animals, over-wintered from year to year on fodder grown on the farm). Expressing a grazing right in terms of a stint not only gave it a fixed size, it could also change its legal character. By the mid-nineteenth century the precise legal nature of stinted rights (often termed ‘cattlegates’ or ‘beastgates’ in the vernacular) was being debated by the courts of law: since they gave a tenant a form of exclusive possessory right over a fixed share of the common pasture, it could be argued that they gained a substance and a quantifiable value quite different from an unstinted common right (Getzler, 1997: 218-220). Once quantified, it became possible to sell stints separately from the dominant tenement to which they had originally been attached. Trading in stints which were not attached to land seems to have been widespread. In northern England it is recorded by the seventeenth century; in lowland England grazing rights which had formerly been attached to cottages were being separated by the eighteenth (Winchester & Straughton, 2010; Shaw-Taylor, 2002: 74; Neeson, 1993: 83-4). On the

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urban common belonging to the town of Clitheroe, Lancashire, grazing rights were, in theory, attached to properties in the town, yet a flourishing trade in beastgates had developed by the later eighteenth century, to the extent that few of those exercising grazing rights also possessed property to which a right was attached (French, 2003). The consequences of severing pasture rights from land could be significant. Loosening the tie between common right and the tenure of land in the community fractured the communal basis of use rights on the common, which made for successful policing. The common might cease to ‘belong’ to the neighbouring resident community in any real sense. Severance could also lead to monopolisation, as an individual sought to buy up stints to acquire a controlling share in the use rights. In extreme cases, a common could cease to be common land in all but name and might be subject to a major change of use, as alternative management strategies were imposed. Instances of this can be seen in commons in the Pennine hills of northern England in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, when stints were bought up with a view to gaining control of the common in order to convert its prime purpose from communal pasture to heather moorland managed for the raising and shooting of grouse. Quantification of grazing rights could thus have far-reaching consequences through altering the legal conception of the right. The second area in which local regulations governing the exercise of common rights might lead to a significant shift in the conception of property was the spatial definition of a right. On many commons in the hills of northern England and in Wales, the allocation of grazing rights to individuals created an invisible web of boundaries – not physical enclosures but acknowledged lines across the open hills dividing the common into sections used by different commoners. Eskdale common in the steep and rocky terrain of the Lake District of north-west England, for example, was divided into three categories for grazing purposes by a manor court ruling of 1587, which continued to underpin the organisation of pasture rights until the twentieth century. Each holding was assigned a cow pasture on the hillside rising steeply behind the farmstead, and a sheep heaf, a distinct bank of pasture on the higher mountainsides. In the centre of the manor’s common, a saddle in the hills was reserved as a pasture for the whole community’s bullocks, heifers and horses. The result was that an individual’s pasture right was, in practice, fragmented and restricted to certain sections of the common for different categories of livestock. By gaining exclusive rights to a section of the common as a cow pasture, many tenants had been able to enclose part of the lower hillside by 1700, converting it to private property and reducing the area of the common. Presumably through collusion and the willingness of the lord of the manor to turn a blind eye to these encroachments, the allocation of defined areas of common land for individual use led to a partial privatisation of the common resource. That,

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in turn, had an impact on ‘good neighbourhood’: in 1701 it was claimed that some of the commoners who had enclosed their cow pastures continued to put the same number of cattle on the remaining common, increasing pressure on grazing reserves (Winchester, 1987: 88-90; 2000: 109-113)5. Comparable spatially-defined use rights were found widely in the hills of midWales, where it had become the custom by the eighteenth century for each holding to have exclusive grazing rights for sheep over a section of the common, which was recognised as the ‘sheepwalk’ belonging to that holding. In a Cardiganshire manor it was said in 1744 that the sheepwalks had been recognised ‘time out of mind’ and that ‘the shepherds through boldness or ignorance claime [them] as their own right and sometimes chase other people’s cattle away’ (quoted in Davies, 1980: 11). Whether the Welsh sheepwalks were allocated by manor courts or appropriated by individuals through customary usage is unclear but, again, the division of common land into sections used exclusively by each farm had an impact on property rights. Sheepwalks were, in the words of rights holders in the Elan Valley, Radnorshire, in 1902, ‘for all practical purposes treated as ... private property ... no one else exercising any right over the land and this has been the custom from time immemorial’6. Their legal status was tested in 1875, in a case that confirmed that they represented use rights over common land rather than freeholds 7. However, exclusive use rights and the precision with which it was possible to draw sheepwalk boundaries, led to some being registered under the Commons Registration Act of 1965 as separate units of ownership, creating of ‘a series of sub-commons, each with one rights holder’ in some areas (Gadsden, 1988: § 3.108-3.112). Such patterns of use sat uncomfortably with legal terminology, which conceived of use rights as being general to the whole common. By giving individuals exclusive access to resources on particular sections of the common, they resulted in a change in conceptions of ‘ownership’ which led, in effect, to informal privatisation of patterns of use. In these areas, the common had little integrity as a grazing ground; rather it consisted of a patchwork of defined blocks, each subject to the exclusive use rights of individuals. Indeed, the allocation of sections of the common to individual commoners may have been a factor in preserving common land in the face of the tide of Parliamentary enclosure. Where local custom had created a system of private use rights, the boundaries of an individual’s heaf or sheepwalk being maintained by   Copies of the award of 1587, known as the ‘Eskdale Twenty-Four Book’, are preserved in Cumbria Record Office, D/Ben/3/761 and YPR 4/18. 6   National Library of Wales, Mayberry (3) 7201: brief for petitioners, 1902, p. 1. 7   Ecclesiastical Commissioners v. Griffiths and Others, Cardiganshire Assizes, 1875, Westminster, Nichols & Sons (1875). 5

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the territorial instincts of the sheep, the advantages would have outweighed the costs of enclosure. In both stinting and the spatial limitation of use rights we see local governance mechanisms creating the potential for a partial privatisation of common land, whether through the commodification of use rights, as in the case of stinting, in the exclusive use of a section of the common, or in partial enclosure. These trends can be paralleled in open-field villages in Midland England, where communally-sanctioned partial enclosure, nibbling away at the margins of the common fields, became widespread by the eighteenth century (Turner & Woodward, 1996: 61). In each case, the shifting notion of rights on common land occurred during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries in the cultural context of the growing dominance of a drive towards ‘improvement’, which was tied inextricably to the primacy of private property. It could be argued that the greater certainty afforded by numerical and spatial limits may have contributed to the sustainable use – and, indeed, survival – of the common land in question.

V.  Conclusion. The end of ‘good neighbourhood’? Sustainable use of common land after the collapse of the manor court governance This creeping ‘privatisation’ can be thought of as merely an outer ripple from the much greater revolution in property rights which accompanied the disappearance of common land on a massive scale during the century between c. 1760 and c. 1860. But where common land survived, the developments discussed above were of some significance. This final section turns to examine the management of those commons which remained unenclosed across the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Not only were these commons now viewed as mere remnants of an obsolescent property regime, they increasingly survived in a governance vacuum. Another casualty of the ‘age of improvement’ was effective management by manor courts – the vehicles by which the principles of ‘good neighbourhood’ were upheld – which tended to collapse across the eighteenth century. What were the consequences of the collapse of manor court governance on sustainable management of common land? Before attempting to answer this question, it will be helpful to stand back and consider the relationship between both property rights and manor court governance and sustainability, bearing in mind the three distinct aspects of ‘sustainable use’ (see Turner, Beckett & Afton, 2003: 125-127). The dominant modern paradigm of ecological sustainability (the desire to protect ecosystems and to maintain biodiversity) is a comparatively recent concept. Before the twentieth century, the twin aims of economic sustainability (devising management regimes which would not destroy 322

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the resource in question and hence damage the economic interests of those using it) and social sustainability (ensuring equitable access to resources) predominated. Inherent in the property rights regime was a tension between the interests of lord and tenants, which contained both positive and negative potential for fostering sustainable use. On the one hand, both lord and tenants were constrained in the use they could make of common land, the lord being required to respect the tenants’ rights; the tenants being able to do no more than to exercise those rights. Furthermore, the principle that common rights were attached to a house or holding of land and, implicitly, limited to necessary use should, in theory, have limited the risk of over-exploitation by the tenants. On the other hand, the separation of use rights from rights in the soil on common land might both reduce the tenants’ sense of ‘ownership’ and, consequently, their willingness to engage in stewardship of the common, and also lessen the lord’s inclination to devote energy to ensure that land over which his rights were fettered was managed sustainably. Once the dominant paradigm of ‘improvement’ took hold and common land acquired a higher potential monetary value, the division of interests between lord and tenants and the tensions they contained paved the way to enclosure. The use rights of the commoners came to be seen by improving landowners as untidy obstacles to progress, leading one late eighteenth-century surveyor to comment on ‘the ruinous Effects of a Mixture of opposite Interests in the same Property’ (quoted by Thompson, 1993: 106-107). The role of the manor court as the local governance institution also had both positive and negative aspects. It was a body with teeth, the byelaws it made being recognised as customary law which would be upheld by higher courts. The manor courts fulfilled many of the design principles proposed by Elinor Ostrom as being necessary for longterm success in managing common resources: the regulations they imposed were able to take account of local conditions; decisions were taken by a jury composed of commoners with use rights; regulations were policed by officers answerable to the court; graduated sanctions could be imposed against those who violated the rules; conflicts between individual commoners could be resolved effectively by the courts (Ostrom, 1990: 89-101; De Moor et al, 2002: 52-53, 251). However, regulatory systems are only as good as the structures through which they are enforced. Manor court byelaws had the potential to – and often did – create practical, down-to-earth regimes, nuanced to fit local conditions, and capable of flexibility in the light of changing circumstances. But the effectiveness of the governance mechanisms was dependent on the effectiveness of manorial administration in holding manor courts. The pressures on common land and on the principles which underlay manor court control were building from the seventeenth century. Economic growth increased the

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pressure on resources. Cases of overcharging the common with livestock are numerous and widespread in manor court records from the sixteenth century. Overgrazing and consequent environmental damage through erosion are recorded in seventeenthcentury Norfolk; shortages of livestock fodder leading to piecemeal enclosure and a consequent reduction in the resources of the remaining commons occurred in the same century in the Midlands (Whyte, 2009: 118-119; Turner & Woodward, 1996: 6162). In this context, demographic growth and its corollary, increasing demand for fuel, piled on further pressure. Such material pressures coincided with a shift in conceptions of neighbourliness. There is considerable evidence that manor courts, their juries composed in general of tenants who possessed the economic power which came with holding land, tended to construct narrower definitions of ‘neighbourhood’, which excluded, or at least restricted, the landless poor. Orders prioritising the common rights of the landed over those of the landless had the effect of restricting the use rights of one section of local society. ‘Neighbours’ became a more closely defined group, which might exclude a significant proportion of householders. (Winchester, 2000a: 132-133; Wrightson, 2007). This brings us back to ‘good neighbourhood’ and its relationship with sustainable use of common land. ‘Good neighbourhood’ was more likely to be maintained where individuals were treated in ways that were seen to be just; consequently, the rules established by the manor courts aimed primarily to achieve equitable access to resources and only implicitly sought sustainability. A desire to achieve economic sustainability can be assumed and was sometimes stated explicitly: after all, overgrazing would result in livestock which were in poor condition and hence less valuable. Ecological sustainability for its own sake was rarely mentioned, yet we may imagine that the consequences of a focus on sustaining economic return in the longer term would often have been beneficial to ecology. Manor court records often show an implicit awareness of the potential loss of a resource and a desire to take action to preserve it. For example, in environments as different as the Lake District mountains and the Cambridgeshire fens, local management regimes sought to prevent environmental damage: orders aimed to prevent the loss of grazing and the danger posed to livestock through the flooding or erosion of upland peat diggings; and the drowning of fen pastures through failure to maintain banks and drainage ditches or though poaching by the hooves of livestock (Winchester, 2000a: 132; Ravensdale, 1974: 64-68). The consensus among historians is that, ultimately, custom and byelaw failed: in the face of the rising dominance of private property and individual self-interest across the eighteenth century, traditional systems of common land governance often collapsed, leaving a management vacuum by the nineteenth century. The processes by which

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this came about were probably complex. On the one hand, there is some evidence of communal collusion to subvert the legal principles underlying common rights: in some northern English manors an acceptance of such practices as wintering livestock out of the manor and of buying in hay as supplementary feed (both of which broke the principles of the rule of levancy and couchancy) is recorded from the sixteenth century (Winchester, 2000a: 81, 96-97). On the other, ineffective manorial administration contributed to ineffective policing of byelaws. Failure to hold regular courts would lead to a collapse of confidence in them among the local community, which could turn comparatively quickly into contempt and a refusal to accept the regulations they imposed. This is what appears to have happened in Cumbria during the eighteenth century, where manor court control over common land collapsed, leading to severe problems of overgrazing and opening the door to enclosure and privatisation (Dilley, 1967: 132; Searle, 1993: 135-144, 149; Straughton, 2008: 124-160). Yet this is to paint an unduly negative picture: effective governance sometimes survived. First of all, the collapse of local governance regimes was by no means uniform. It is possible to cite examples of enduring successful local management of common resources, as in the Cambridgeshire fens, where local officials (‘fen reeves’), working under the direction of a committee of ‘ordermakers’ continued to manage the complex and fragile resources of the fens until enclosure in the mid-nineteenth century (Ravensdale, 1974: 66-9, 82-84). Likewise, grassroots meetings of stintholders on commons in the Ingleton area of the Yorkshire Pennines continued to make and police grazing regulations and to organise communal shepherding and environmental management (such as mole-catching) well into the twentieth century8. In both cases, these were areas in which the day-to-day management of common land had passed from manor courts to the tenants themselves. Indeed, at Cottenham in the fens, where landownership was divided between three separate manors, co-ordination at village, rather than manorial, level was vital and the village meeting was a ‘powerful and effective all-purpose authority’, eclipsing the power of the manor courts (Ravensdale, 1974: 83). Even where manor court governance broke down, as in much of upland northern England, attempts were made to devise new governance systems in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Some of these were at local level, either through informal commoners’ meetings or, more rarely, through the civil parish authorities making some attempt to manage common land in the parish. Others took advantage of

  Examples include the Scales Moor stintholders’ meetings, for which minute books survive from 1884-1898 and 1901-1991 and the Ingleborough Fell commoners’ meetings, for which records survive from 1927 (records in private hands). 8

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statutory regulation, by establishing boards of conservators to regulate common land under the Commons Act 1876, for example (Straughton, 2008: 161-260). Meanwhile, the place of common land in national life was changing as the essentially local concerns of ‘good neighbourhood’ in rural communities were replaced by wider issues of environmental conservation and public access. This transformation in perceptions occurred in the middle decades of the nineteenth century, prompted initially by the desire for recreational access to suburban commons. The Commons Preservation Society, founded in London in 1865, sought to reinterpret the public interest in common land, by seeking a communal recreational right of access, in contrast to the traditional individual right to use and take resources (Cowell, 2002). By the later twentieth century, the twin aims of ecological conservation and public access had come to dominate debates over the management of surviving commons. Concern over the environmental condition of many areas of common land has led central government to impose statutory management standards in an attempt to restore ecological sustainability (see Rodgers, 2007). But, despite the claims of national ‘ownership’ of common land, management decisions have remained at the local level. Custom and communal memory remain strong in farming communities using common land. This can be illustrated vividly in the case of Eskdale, Cumbria. After the collapse of effective manor court governance, the manor court byelaws of 1587 were copied in 1840 into the chapelwarden’s account book, symbolising a transfer of ‘ownership’ of custom from one local institution (the manor) to another (the parish). A second copy, kept in the hands of a local farmer, remained as the touchstone of custom on the common in the later twentieth century: indeed, when a commoners’ association was established in 1967, one of its first actions was to acquire a photocopy of the byelaws laid down almost four centuries before9. Informal, personal and local methods of management, driven ultimately by the desire to preserve ‘good neighbourhood’, continue to be preferred to the formal and impersonal, particularly when imposed by external authority. In many farming communities, particularly in the uplands, a strong sense of communal ownership and inherited tradition in the use of common land survived the collapse of manorial control10.

  Cumbria Record Office, YPR 4/18; Eskdale Commoners’ Association Minute Book (19671980: 7) (document in private hands). 10   This conclusion is based on interviews with commoners in northern England and mid-Wales undertaken as part of the Contested Common Land project in 2008-2009. In contemporary debates over the future of common land, the importance of a desire to preserve traditional hill farming culture is highlighted by comments in Pastoral Commoning Partnership (2009: 16, 133-134; Appendix D: xxix, xxxvi, l). 9

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