Town Life in the Fifteenth Century, Volume 2

It was in 1511 that the struggle between rulers and burghers culminated. In the August of that year the council seems to have violated the ancient custom, and leased common pastures by the authority of “the mayor and burgesses,” the witnesses being six aldermen and six of the common council[687]– a style which had not been used before in dealing with these lands. This meddling with the rights of the community apparently heralded an outbreak of revolt. At the next Court Leet, in October, 1511, the Mickletorn jury presented the mayor who had been in power when the lease was granted, and charged him with encroaching on the common lands, and making his servants “riotously break off our common pasture hedges; it is thought contrary to right and to the common weal.” Six months later, in April, 1512, the jury extended their attack, and the actual “Master Mayor” was presented for being the first beginner of a muck-hill, for misusing the time of the common serjeant, and for selling unfit herrings in the market and excluding other men who would have brought as good stuff and sold eight for a penny where he sold five, though as clerk of the market he should have increased and bettered it instead of impairing it, “and upon this runneth a great slander in the country and a great complaint.” He was charged, along with “all his brethren,” with failing to account for money in his charge “to the great hurt of the town and commons.” Further the mayor and chamberlains together were presented for not repairing the two gates of the town; and the chamberlains for not looking after a public well; and the mayor’s clerk, “the which takes our wages not as a beneficial servant unto us in no matter that any burgess of this town hath to do, but he repugnes and maligns against the burgesses and commons that they be not content with his demeanour.”[688]

The commons went further than this, however, and raised the question of their ancient rights of assembling in the common hall and taking part in the election of officers.[689] At this point the authorities became genuinely alarmed. A month later, May 21, the Recorder or legal adviser of the corporation wrote a formal letter of advice to the governing body on these crucial matters of election and assembly. “I am informed,” he says, “that divers of the commons of your town confederate themselves together and make sinister labour to do others to take their part and say as they do, and intend thereby to make aldermen and other officers at their pleasure; and if that should be suffered it should be contrary to all good politic order and rule, and in conclusion to the destruction of the town. Wherefore now at the beginning wisely withstand the same and call your brethren and the council together, and if ye by your wisdom think that by calling of these confederates every of them severally before you ye cannot order them without further help, then my advice is that ye send some wise person to Mr. Treasurer[690] that it would please him to see reformation, if he be in England, and else that he would write to my Lord Privy Seal, or to my Lord Steward, now in his absence to see this matter redressed, ascertaining you have spoke with my Lord Steward in this matter, and he gave me advice thus to write to you; for if ye shall suffer the commons to rule and follow their appetite and desire, farewell all good order. For if they be suffered now they will wait to do in like case hereafter.” In a postscript he adds, “In any wise beware of calling of any common hall at the request of any one of them that make this confederacy. I doubt not but divers of you remember the saying of Mr. Treasurer of the inconveniences that had ensued upon the calling of the commons together in the city of London and in other cities and boroughs.”[691] The sympathies of Mr. Treasurer were duly enlisted, according to the Recorder’s advice, and on the very day when a new mayor took the place of the last, he wrote urging him to stand firm against those commons who would “combine themselves to subvert the good rule of the town and would make aldermen and put them out at their pleasure, contrary to the good order of your charter and privilege of your town.” He begs them, if there be any of such “wilful disposition to subvert the good rule of the same your said town, that with all diligence certify me of their names, and I trust to see such remedy for them as shall not be to their contentment, but I shall see them shewn condign punishment as they have or shall deserve.”[692]

The shibboleth of “good order” had its accustomed effect, and the governing body carried their point, though in leases of the common lands they presently returned to the old style.[693] The new mayor, John Rose, known to the people as the butcher chamberlain who in 1500 had let their landmarks be removed, and who since then had grown into innkeeper and victualler, ruled for eighteen months.[694] His successor, appointed in January, 1515,[695] was Master Thomas Mellers, an alderman who had a very bad reputation in the presentments of the Court Leet; after he had reigned two years, a mercer of Nottingham tried to kill him with a dagger while he was joyfully dining with an alderman; but he survived to rule again in 1522.[696] Again the jury returned to the charge. In 1524 the outgoing mayor was presented at the July sessions for not keeping the assize of bread,[697] and in October the matter was pressed on the attention of the newly-appointed mayor. Two years later, however, Nottingham was for the third time put under John Rose, who in the interests of firm government determined to suppress once for all the importunate presentments of the jury. During the whole time of his mayoralty, “in the default of the said Master Rose there was no verdict given of the jurors sworn for the body of this present town … to inquire of things inquirable afore you justices of record,” nor was the assize of victual ever put in execution; and by this the town had not only been greatly disordered but had been put in danger of forfeiting its liberties and franchises.[698] The next year (1527) the jury were again roused by the fact that three aldermen, one of them being Rose, the last year’s mayor, had by their united efforts filled all vacancies with victuallers; and a formal petition was addressed to the mayor and his brethren in the name of the whole town. They called to remembrance the law that “No victualler should be chosen to no such rooms as judge of victual,” and told again the long tale of their grievances. They declare that these elections were illegal, “the burgesses and commonalty of the said town not being made privy, nor thereunto consenting, contrary to the corporation of the said town, and also contrary to the statute of free elections in such case ordained,” and that therefore the whole town might be made to suffer the loss of their liberties and franchises for non-using or misusing the same. In the lately elected aldermen “the want of discretion and debility of reason” was well known to the whole town, so that the common voice and fame of it ran through the shire; and the jurors thought “that the most wisest and discreetest men ought to have been chosen to such rooms by you and the burgesses and commonalty.”

Further the jury, “in their most humble manner,” observed that the king had been deceived in the matter of the last subsidy; for in addition to their other crimes the three aldermen, when their substance was assessed for a subsidy at £50 or £55, had “embezzled” the record, and changed the figures to a nought.

Finally they pray “by the whole minds and agreements” that the present counsel of the town might use and continue in his place “like as he unto the same was elect and sworn, and that according to right and good conscience he may have his fees that is behind to him contented and paid.”[699] All this the jury spoke in the name of the people, “whereunto we, the aforesaid jurors, in the name of the burgesses and commonalty of this town and borough are fully content and agreed.”

In these troubles, it does not seem that the revolt of the people was excited by any definite constitutional change, nor was the charter of 1448 called in question or brought forward as the origin of later evils, nor was any protest made against the election of councillors for life. Complaints multiply against corrupt administration of the law, or the holding of office by unfit and illegal men. But the claim of the people to a share in elections is vague and indefinite, and neither in 1511 nor in 1527 do the commons appeal to precedent. Opinions as to their rights are tossed to and fro, balanced by contending winds of doctrine. In defence of the system of close election the council call to witness the charter and privileges of the town; while on the other hand the commons declare that elections are illegal if the commonalty as well as the burgesses are not “made privy nor thereunto consenting.” Possibly the explanation lies in a common tendency of practice to drift away from the theory with which it had first kept company, and finally to disown its old accomplice. No doubt the commons inherited theoretically an inalienable right to take part in elections; but it had apparently become the practice that the people should only exercise that right in a certain definite way through the half-dozen representatives who attended the elections, and not through a common gathering; and thus the situation was one in which either side might indefinitely urge law and custom without ever bringing conviction to their opponents.

It is indeed conceivable that the true peril to popular liberty was of a far more subtle character than the words of any charter would suggest, and rather grew out of developements in the unwritten constitution of the borough, than in the written law. Not only in elections, but in the meeting of the general assembly, insidious changes may have been brought about by the mere growth of common custom. In the institution of “the Clothing” there were latent possibilities which time alone could bring to light. For over half a century sheriffs and chamberlains were quietly bowed out of office, and transferred with all their fur and finery to the brilliant company of the liveried ex-officials to await a happy re-election. But in due course, as its numbers multiplied, the Clothing was made manifest to all men in its stately ranks or “clene scarlet” as the very body-guard and sworn defenders of the central group of high officials, the traditional depositories of power. Surrounded and shielded by a band of forty or fifty friends who had already held office and might hold it again, men dedicated to their interests and disciplined to their methods, the mayor and his brethren were no longer left face to face with the whole community. Under the established custom by which any burgesses who were present at an assembly were taken to represent the whole body, it was evidently easy even while outwardly observing constitutional form, to summon to the meeting only members of the Clothing; and the decrees of the council having been submitted to this loyal gathering were assumed to have obtained the assent of the commonalty. Popular control might thus be absolutely extinguished, and that without revolution or going beyond the letter of the law, when a council chamber crowded with the official class[700] replaced the assembly of the commons, and exercized its powers simply by preserving its name.

The plan of forming a select committee of the General Assembly nominated by the mayor seems to have been a very favourite custom. In Coventry, for example, the mayor summoned certain citizens who were added to the twenty-four to form a common council. Their number was perhaps at first uncertain, for in 1444 we hear of a meeting of fifty-three, twenty-four of the council and twenty-nine other burgesses; but apparently from 1477 twenty-four citizens always assembled with the twenty-four jurats to form the common council of forty-eight. Generally, as in Leicester or Gloucester, a fixed number of representative citizens was summoned. A lower chamber of this pattern evidently assured the triumph of the oligarchy; and the idea of popular control was perhaps more completely banished by this narrow and formal interpretation of the common right of meeting than by mere idle neglect of the assembly. In Nottingham, so far as we can judge from the few council minutes preserved during the sixteenth century, the mayor and his brethren acted with perfect independence of the burgesses at large, and no longer mentioned the name of the community even in ordinances which touched the common lands.[701]

Still, however, the jury fought with indefatigable zeal for some control over administration.[702] They never let slip a chance of reprimanding their governors. Again and again the mayor was presented for refusing to enforce judgment on bakers, butchers, and brewers,[703] and with his brethren was charged with innumerable frauds on the people. Sometimes we find the jury busied about securing a capable schoolmaster;[704] sometimes they were demanding to have the accounts laid before them – the accounts of the bridge and the free school and the sums raised for the burgesses of Parliament, “and how the residue of the money is bestowed, for our money is therein as well as yours was, and therefore it is convenient that we know.”[705] As Englishmen had once looked back to the times of the good King Edward, so the men of Nottingham turned wistfully to the golden past when the Red Book had been the charter of their liberties, and vainly prayed that the necessary parts of the book (doubtless the ancient town ordinances) should as of old be read yearly in the hearing of the burgesses.[706] Clinging to the ideal of a primitive liberty, these inveterate conservatives robbed reform of all the terrors that attached to what was new. What had been might safely be again. Nor was there any tendency to riot or disorder. All must be done in a constitutional way, and within the limits of tradition. Towards the end of the sixteenth century, therefore, there was a good deal of tinkering at the municipal constitution. On March 29 (1577) the number of councillors was increased from six to twelve, all as before to be chosen by the Clothing.[707] The democracy had probably very little to say to this change, for the order was made by forty-five burgesses “being then all of the degree of chamberlains” who seem here clearly to be acting as though their assent to an ordinance were equivalent to the consent of the whole community.[708] Six months later, however, it occurred to the people to make some use of the ancient custom of summoning a jury of forty-eight from town and suburbs for public business; and they proposed to have the common council elected by such a jury – to which suggestion the ruling class agreed. They further demanded that the councillors should attend at the Leet when the Mickletorn jury presented offences and gave their verdicts. All this was, as they claimed, a return to the authentic custom of former days, “according to the Red Book as we do think.”[709] But in November the Leet jury were still praying that this agreement should be carried out, and there is no evidence that they ever succeeded. In any case, two years later, when the people once more urged their old claim to have the accounts made public and “to hear the end and reckoning of any subsidy when any is,”[710] they advanced a new demand for reform yet more radical; and suggested that all the common councillors should be utterly abolished, leaving only the aldermen and two coroners to form an upper chamber, “and that the forty-eight may be joined to you to confer in any matters for the town, as there is in other places where their corporations are better governed than this is,”[711] and that the same forty-eight as representing the commons should be given a definite share in the management of the bridge and school.[712]

But all these efforts proved vain, and the Council and Clothing continued their victorious career. As late as 1598 the commons endeavoured to revive the old constitution of the town and to call a general assembly through summons by the constables of the wards; and even collected money to institute a suit that they might inquire into a corrupt lease of common property by a member of the council. In the curious account preserved of the examination and depositions of the ringleaders in calling the assembly together the passionate determination of the people still finds voice, and there was at least one among them to maintain stoutly that he did not care if he died in a good cause.[713] The beginning of the next century found the contest slowly dragging along, the Mickletorn jury still protesting against the negligence of the councillors[714] and the people still discussing new constitutions with increasing nicety of detail, and debating the merits of two chambers of twenty-four and forty-eight,[715] or of twenty-eight each.[716] Meanwhile the twelve of the council are mentioned as existing unchanged in 1604.[717]

By this time the men of Nottingham had adopted in turn all the constitutional means of securing popular freedom that lay in their reach. They had consistently appealed to the old ordinances which in theory at least endowed them with sovereign power. The Mickletorn jury had been incessantly called on to right their wrongs by force of law. The cumbrous machinery of the general assembly had been dragged out in its noisy inefficiency. The custom of summoning forty-eight jurors for public purposes had been seized on as an institution out of which a chamber of the commons might be created and representative government established. But the mediæval history of Nottingham closes with the utter failure of schemes so industriously cherished. Doubtless reform had tarried too long in coming. Whether the general commercial prosperity had drawn all activity into trading enterprise and diverted it from politics, whether a common well-being had tended to an acquiescent conservatism, whether the variety of trades carried on in the town had, as in modern Birmingham, resulted in the absence of effective trade organization or of any strong and commanding craft guild to serve as a centre of union, or whether in this wealthy community buried in the Midlands there was some lack of ready interchange of thought and discussion with the outer world, the fact remains that resistance to the dominion of an oligarchy was of late and ineffectual growth, and when it did appear it seems to have mostly lost its energies in talk. In 1600 the men of Nottingham were still discussing the formation of a House of Commons to represent the will of the people – an experiment which Norwich had tried two hundred years before, and for which in municipal life it was now two hundred years too late.

Thus in the history of civic freedom Nottingham seems to stand midway between Southampton and Norwich. Not only did it in the fifteenth century closely follow Southampton in the critical dates of its municipal history, but it is certain that its local administration must have been a matter of no less importance to the Crown from a military point of view. In times of disturbance it was all-important to the king to keep a firm hold on the Midlands and on their central stronghold, and preserve as it were a “buffer state” between north and south, east and west; and we have seen how quick was the central government to take alarm at any “confederacy” to “subvert the good rule of the town,” and how anxiously, as in Southampton, it interfered to protect the select oligarchy against the “sinister labour” of the commons. On the other hand the belief of its people in an ideal liberty, steeped as it is in strong emotion, is far removed from the apathy of the Southampton burghers. In the aspirations of its commonalty Nottingham comes nearer to Norwich, but here there is a profound difference not only in the conduct of the controversy between rulers and subjects but in its final issue; and the council of the commons which the oligarchy was able to assemble by stealth in Nottingham has no likeness to the lower chamber created by the middle classes themselves in Norwich.

CHAPTER XIV

THE COMMON COUNCIL OF NORWICH

When we turn from the southern to the eastern coast the first impression is that of being transported to a new atmosphere. It is not only that the outer forms of administration are different, for these differences, however interesting, are but the changes rung on a common system of local self-government. But in the political temper, the vitality of the popular institutions, the vigour of reform, we breathe a bracing air unknown in the Southampton docks and slums.

For the traders and artizans of the eastern coast lived in an exhilarating clime. Across the water the towns with which they traded were full of the movement of a free expansive life, very different from the political depression of the communes which the Southampton traders knew best. It was to the eastern coast that immigrants came flying from tyranny and clamorous for freedom; and traders from the eastern towns who watched in the streets of Ghent and Bruges and Ipres and Dinant, the violent and tumultuous life of cities where the people were still fighting for liberty, doubtless brought back from oversea tales of the passionate temper of independence which swept through the manufacturing boroughs of the Netherlands.

But however this may be, the towns of the east were distinguished by an intense vitality; and among the eastern boroughs where civic life was keenest and most fertile in experiment, Norwich was the pioneer in the way of freedom, – twenty or forty years ahead of Yarmouth in time[718]– beyond Colchester in the generosity with which the commonalty was called to share in the work of government[719]– happier and stronger than Lynn in having secured the union of its people into one undivided community for civil purposes. It is not impossible indeed that it stands in the forefront of all the English boroughs for the quality and value of its political experiments, and the elaborate finish of its constitution.

Originally, as we have seen, four bailiffs ruled the four great leets of the city, from 1223 to 1403. Their mode of administration has been very minutely described.[720] Each leet was for convenience’ sake divided into sub-leets, the lesser divisions being at first probably twelve in number and afterwards ten. The sub-leet was itself composed of as many parishes as grouped together would contain at least twelve tithings, and could therefore produce sufficient capital pledges to hold a leet court. For all purposes of business every tithing was supposed to be represented by its own capital pledge, who was probably chosen by the tithing men, but who, once elected, seems to have held his post for years, perhaps for life. He lived in the parish, perhaps in the very street of his tithing, and was generally a man of substance, one of the respectable middle class of the city, and occasionally might even aspire to enter the official body. In the whole city the number of capital pledges was probably a hundred and sixty.[721]

The business of each sub-leet was taken in its turn before the four bailiffs all sitting together in the little thatched tolbooth that stood in the central market place. There the capital pledges appeared to answer for their tithings at the view of frankpledge; and when this business was over they served as a jury for “presenting” offences at the leet court.[722] Year after year there came up the same body of comfortable well-to-do burghers, who did their business quietly, without thought of entering into any controversy with the government, like the juries of Nottingham and Southampton.[723] Whether this was the result of summoning the pledges in small groups from one sub-leet at a time, or due to the fact that in Norwich the people already possessed other means of expression, there is not as yet enough evidence from other towns to show, but the fact is important.

In later records we learn what was doubtless true in 1223 as well as in 1365, that one of the bailiffs was chosen for each great leet; and we also have the first account of the manner of their choosing. A body of twenty-four men, six from each leet, was elected by the whole community, and the twenty-four then chose the bailiffs.[724] The first mention of a custom in fragmentary records by no means implies its first institution, and this mode of election may have dated from the earliest times. It also appears that before the close of the thirteenth century the bailiffs were assisted in judicial business by a select body of citizens, whose share in considering the case of offenders seems to show that they were “present in the court as informal assessors to the bailiffs, or, in other words, forming the court of which the bailiffs were the sole executive;”[725] and it is possible that for other business also some of the leading citizens were summoned to attend at assemblies, and their name affixed to deeds, separately or collectively.[726] A complaint of “the mean people of the commonalty”[727] shows that administration and taxation had even at that early time fallen into the hands of a small body – the bailiffs and “the rich”; and the “customs” of the city (which were perhaps drawn up about 1340, but which must in many respects contain traditional usages of an earlier date) give us some idea who were “the rich” here spoken of. A body of twenty-four men elected by the community, six from each of the four great leets, is there described as forming a court for the control of the whole trade of the city. It appointed supervisors over the various crafts, and received reports of fraud in trade – charges which, if it had not been for the intervention of the twenty-four, would have gone to the leet juries. And the same body of twenty-four had official supervision of the city finances and received all accounts of the treasurers and collectors of taxes or town money.[728] Once more, in 1344, we find them exercising yet another function – “the twenty-four in the same year elected and ordained by the whole communitas, in the presence of whom, or of the greater part of them, if all cannot be present, the business of the city touching the communitas might be enrolled.”