Water rights and forest regulations in the Charter of the Escartons (1343)

The Grand Charter of the Escartons

I was fortunate to be able to spend some time this summer along the Guisane River, in the area formerly known as the Dauphiné, today in southeastern France. The river is notable for its old canals, still in use, and the surrounding mountain slopes are covered in forest. It turns out this landscape has an interesting legal history.

In 1343, Humbert II, the last Dauphin of Viennois (before that title passed to the kings of France and was used for the heir apparents to the royal throne), confirmed the rights of the people of the Briançon region in the "Grand Charter of the Escartons", effectively creating a sort of autonomous republic free of feudal obligations that survived, with its rights confirmed by the Kings of France, until the French Revolution. Two articles caught my eye (my translation from the French translation by Fernand Carlhian-Ribois):

Art. XVII  : The people of Briançon now have the right to build canals to water their land, take water from torrents and rivers without having to pay the right of use either to the Dauphin Humbert or to his heirs and successors.

Art. XVIII  : It is forbidden for the officers, Dauphins and Nobles to cut timber or firewood in the forests of the Communities of Briançonnais, Queyras, Vallouise, Césane, Oulx, Pinet, Chevalette, Fontenils, or other places in the Baillage, because the cuts are the cause of floods, landslides and avalanches. This prohibition is perpetual. 

Article 18, with its early recognition of the connection between deforestation, erosion, and flooding, is interesting for its popular environmentalism, blaming the environmental degradation of the mountain region (a theme that became prominent again in the nineteenth century; see. e.g., George Perkins Marsh's Man and Nature) on the feudal rights of the nobility, and abolishing those rights forever. 

And I wonder what the effect of Article 17 was on riparian conflicts. Said Guisane River is full of canals (see photo below) leading off to mills on the riverbanks and then returning the water downstream. While family members were enjoying rafting the stream, I was imagining the conflicts between riparian owners and public users that must have resulted from the many dams and diversions. Local legal records must be full of such riparian conflicts, and I would think that Article 17's right to take water free of charge must have complicated the issue.

Conference: Law and nature in the Middle Ages

Courtesy of ESCLH Blog: An upcoming conference (16-17 March) at Université d’Orléans on law and nature in the Middle Ages. Talks include Marie Bassano on the relationship between man and nature among late-medieval jurists and Dante Fedele on the medieval jurists and the sea.

The full program is here.

French planning law

The French journal Revue d'histoire des Facultés de droit et de la culture juridique recently published a collection of articles on the occasion of the 100th anniversary of "la loi Cornudet", the 1919 French statute on urban planning (known by the name of the legislator who initiated it). The papers are based on those delivered at a conference at the Sorbonne in 2019.

As the French law was roughly contemporaneous with salient American planning and zoning laws and the English Town Planning Acts, it would seem that there should be ample room for fruitful comparative and transnational research. I hope someone takes up the challenge!

Paris development plan of 1934

International environmental law panel for ASLH

Reposting from H-Environment:

Dear all,

I am a doctoral candidate at Rutgers University New Brunswick, and I am currently seeking co-panelists for the American Society of Legal History conference to be held in Chicago, Illinois, November 10-12, 2022. The conference welcomes papers dealing with legal history from any time period or geographical area, but is only accepting panel proposals. I am seeking to put together a panel dealing with international environmental law in the 20th century, in the broadest possible sense. My paper specifically will talk about the interplay between international conservation efforts and French national interests in the creation of a "French Antarctic national park" in the subantarctic Kerguelen Islands in 1924.

Here is a link to the ASLH website For more information: https://aslh.confex.com/aslh/2022/cfp.cgi

Panel submissions are due March 18th. I know this is a short turn around but I hope to find interest through this forum. The ASLH is a great organization that offers a helpful forum for discussing a broad range of legal history topics, and is especially supportive of graduate students and early career scholars.

Please feel free to contact me at kms557@history.rutgers.edu if you are interested in joining this panel.

All best,

Katherine Sinclair

Bruno Navez, Remains of vats and boilers at Port-Couvreux, Kerguelen Islands, used for the making of elephant seal oil at the beginning of the XXth century

The inevitable empire of nature?

The new journal LawArt. Rivista di Diritto, Arte, Storia / Journal of Law, Art and History just posted its first issue (as an aside, we've now counted 63 active legal history journals!), including an article by Nader Hakim, the English title of which is "A Legal Picture of Nature: Legal Discourse or the Aesthetics of Truth. An Example from the Heart of 19th Century France" (the article is in French). The crux of the article (with help from Google Translate, notes omitted):

Sculpture of Charles Demolombe,
Caen, c. 1910

Charles Demolombe (1804-1887), famous professor of civil law in Caen, Normandy, lets us see a picture in which nature holds a place that is significant and quite symptomatic of the legal discourse of his time. From the outset, in fact, the reader encounters nature very frequently when reading the famous Cours de Code Napoléon. Nature seems made up of "all that exists, not only the objects which can become the property of man, but even all that, in nature, escapes this exclusive appropriation." Nature is thus opposed to human activity, it forms the backdrop for actions or the landscape within which law is played out.

However, far from being an objective reference to the physical-chemical world alone, nature is mobilized to integrate into the discourse not only biological life or physical forces but also essences and values. It is then natural what the author, in this case Charles Demolombe in our example, declares as such. One might think that nature is this thing external to the human will and which is imposed on everyone, objectively, but it is not.

Of course, we meet this mysterious and irresistible force, this force majeure considered an "inevitable empire"* of nature. Of course, tangible or immovable property or even men and women have undeniable physical properties. Things and people, the objects of the jurist's discourse, indeed exist. In reality, we can easily see that the law and jurists choose from what is objectively “natural” or physical-chemical, that which they will qualify as “nature”. In a way, the law has the last word because it chooses among the constraints of nature those that it wants to admit and if necessary extend, and those that it simply ignores.

* In a note here Hakim cites from Demolombe (vol. X, no. 5) a passage on the law of alluvion that resonates with a recent paper of mine (for a collection edited by Hakim on "Nature as a Norm"...):

As if the rivers and rivers needed the permission of the legislator, to roll their waters according to the mysterious and irresistible movements which carry them along! As if this empire, or as we still say, this absolutism of running waters were not the work of nature itself, an inevitable empire, of which the legislator would seek in vain to dispossess them; whereas its only claim can be to regulate the consequences as equitably as possible. We must therefore recognize that there is a force majeure here, a force often capricious and undoubtedly blind, regarding which the laws cannot always right the wrongs or repair the injustices.

Savagery, civilization, and property II: Civilization and its discontents

(Part II of the series, Part I is here.)

The second half of the eighteenth century saw the development, primarily in Scotland (though with significant French and other precedents),  of what would come to be known as “stadial theory” or “four-stages theory.” This group of theories built on an age-old interest in the origins of society and its institutions, sharpened by contact with New World societies that reminded Europeans of societies described in classical Greco-Roman and biblical sources, and raised the issue of what separated “savage” or “barbaric” peoples from “civilized” ones. Stadial thinking offered a theory of progress:

In its most specific form, the theory was that society ‛naturally’ or ‛normally’ progressed over time through four more or less distinct and consecutive stages, each corresponding to a different mode of subsistence, these stages being defined as hunting, pasturage, agriculture, and commerce. To each of these modes of subsistence, it came to be argued, there corresponded different sets of ideas and institutions relating to law, property, and government… (Ronald L. Meek, Social Science and the Ignoble Savage 6 (1976))

From the beginning, property law had a central place in this type of theory — it was, it seems, the motivating factor behind the theory  — and the discussion of property displayed striking similarities to aspects of modern commons theory (to be discussed in Part III below). John Dalrympleʼs three-stage theory, the first published version of stadial theory (1757), connected the progress of society with increasing specification of property rights. Moreover, it attributed the transition between stages to what we might today call increasing pressure on resources:

The first state of society is that of hunters and fishers; among such a people the idea of property will be confined to a few, and but a very few moveables; and subjects which are immoveable, will be esteemed to be common. In accounts given of many American tribes we read, that one or two of the tribe will wander five or six hundred miles from his usual place of abode, plucking the fruit, destroying the game, and catching the fish throughout the fields and rivers adjoining to all the tribes which he passes, without any idea of such a property in the members of them, as makes him guilty of infringing the rights of others.

The next state of society begins, when the inconveniencies and dangers of such a life, lead men to the discovery of pasturage. During this period, as soon as a flock have brouzed [sic] upon one spot of ground, their proprietors will remove them to another; and the place they have quitted will fall to the next who pleases to take possession of it: for this reason such shepherds will have no notion of property in immoveables, nor of right of possession longer than the act of possession lasts. The words of Abraham to Lot are: “Is not the whole land before thee? Separate thyself, I pray thee, from me. If thou wilt take the left hand, then will I go to the right; or if thou depart to the right hand, then will I go to the left.” And we are told that the reason of this separation, was, the quantity of flocks, and herds, and tents, which each of them had, and which the land was unable to support; and therefore lord [sic] Stairs ingeniously observes, that the parts of the earth which the patriarchs enjoyed, are termed in the scripture, no more than the possessions.

A third state of society is produced, when men become so numerous, that the flesh and milk of their cattle is insufficient for their subsistence, and when their more extended intercourse with each other, has made them strike out new arts of life, and particularly the art of agriculture. This art leading men to bestow thought and labour upon land, increases their connection with a single portion of it; this connection long continued, produces an affection; and this affection long continued, together with the other, produces the notion of property. (John Dalrymple, An Essay Towards a General History of Property in Great Britain 86–88 (1757))

Lord Kames

The jurist Henry Home, Lord Kames, also connected the stages of society to property law in his Historical Law Tracts (144–46 (Edinburgh, A. Kincaid & J. Bell, 1758), footnotes omitted and spelling modernized):

In the two first stages of the social life, while men were hunters or shepherds, there scarce could be any notion of land-property. Men being strangers to agriculture, and also to the art of building, if it was not of huts, which could be raised or demolished in a moment, had no fixed habitations, but wandered about in hordes or clans, in order to find pasture for their cattle. In this vagrant life men had scarce any connection with land more than with air or water. A field of grass might be considered as belonging to a horde or clan, while they were in possession; and so might the air in which they breathed, and the water of which they drunk: but the moment they removed to another quarter, there no longer subsisted any connection betwixt them and the field that was deserted. It lay open to new-comers, who had the same right as if it had not been formerly occupied. Hence I conclude, that while men led the life of shepherds, there was no relation formed betwixt them and land, in any manner so distinct as to obtain the name of Property.

Agriculture, which makes the third stage of the social life, produced the relation of land-property. A man who has bestowed labour in preparing a field for the plough, and who has improved this field by artful culture, forms in his mind a very intimate connection with it.

Elsewhere Kames connected the advance between stages with the pressure of growing populations on resources: 

The water commons beyond property and sovereignty

Irrigation canal in Provence

Continuing the series of posts on "The Tragedy at 50" (the first one is here), here's the abstract of an article with a new, historical perspective on commons debates: Alice Ingold's "Commons and Environmental Regulation in History: The Water Commons Beyond Property and Sovereignty":

Do commons outline a different way of considering historical forms of environmental regulation? Might they represent a sort of alternative, apart from the usual model of environmental law which rests on public authorities and forms of restrictions of private rights? In order to grasp the complex relationship between environmental law and history, it is essential to pay attention to the state’s radical transformation in the nineteenth century, especially the separation (and separate definition) of administration and the judiciary. This article aims to historicize the commons, but also the state in order to escape the projected shadow of public administration in considering environmental regulation. It looks into the commons’ ambiguous relations with history. A first point is to critically reconsider the opposition between commons and enclosure, inherited from Hardin’s thesis. A second point consists in deconstructing mythical accounts of stateless commons. This is done by relying on water commons — which are also a key example in Ostrom’s theory. Early histories of water commons by commoners provided the opportunity for a first version of commons’ history without the state. This ‘discovery’ of the water commons presented them as a pertinent response to the aporia of the private property system, but also to the dangers of keeping resources available to the administrative state, which appeared ill-suited to managing scarce natural resources. This positive development translated into a series of fascinating inquiries, undertaken from the 1800s to the 1880s in several places across Europe. They gave rise to the very first ethnogeographic descriptions of the commons’ functioning. It was in the context of very acute conflicts over access to the resource that this use of history became enshrined. The historical longevity of these irrigators’ communities was highlighted in order to defend their historical and customary rights against the administrative state’s will to regulate all water courses, which was more favorable to new users in water sharing. The resource’s ecological limit thus served to set boundaries to the administration’s intervention. Scarcity was a way to conceive of the resource as unavailable both for property and for state sovereignty. Protecting environmental resources through the courts was a way of conceiving a regulation based on the resource’s specific status, rather than on the will of subjects — whether private, collective or public. 

Historical analysis in environmental law III: Winds of change

In the previous post in this series I discussed the seeming lack of interest of legal historians in environmental angles. Nonetheless, recent years have seen deepening interest in the history of environmental law, with a few scholars highlighting the connections between the supposedly foundational environmental legislation of the 1970s and earlier law. One prominent work in this genre of pushing back environmental law's start date is Karl Boyd Brooks's Before Earth Day. Brooks's book is notable not only for identifying the statutory precursors of modern environmental regulation, but for its attempt to trace the manifold legal, personal, and institutional connections between legislation and litigation, and between pollution control law and the law of nature protection, two areas of modern environmental law that might be assumed to have distinct, even antagonistic, origins.

Another front opened recently regards the relationship between modern environmental law as it coalesced in the 1970s and the New Deal administrative state. On the one hand, Arthur McEvoy has argued that environmental law was a project of the New Deal regime, and that after the early 1970s it declined along with the wider regime. On the other, two recent articles have argued that the environmental law of the 1970s marked a break with New Deal liberalism. Paul Sabin explains the era's public interest law organizations as growing out of environmentalists' increasing disillusionment with the state as an engine of public-minded environmental protection, spurring a turn to an oppositional and litigious stance. Jedidiah Purdy, meanwhile, sees the salient federal legislation of the 1970s and the organizations that grew up around it as departing from an earlier tradition that viewed environmental issues in a wider context of social and economic justice. Mainstream environmental lawyers, he argues, were lulled by the shrinking economic inequality of the postwar period into focusing on elite and professional advocacy and environmental issues narrowly defined, forsaking issues, such as the disproportionate impacts of environmental harms (and environmental regulation) on minorities and workers, that would later come to be labelled 'environmental justice'.

Yet while these works do the valuable service of suggesting connections to wider themes of legal history such as the rise of—and reaction to—the administrative state, they push back the start of environmental law by only a few decades. They also make no connections to environmental regulation before the twentieth century, outside the US, or indeed outside the arena of federal regulation.

It bears noting that the relative dearth of historical work on environmental law, as well as the relatively narrow jurisdictional and chronological frames of what work there is, are far more marked in the American context than in the European. For instance, scholars have produced a significant body of work on French regulation of early industrial pollution, and quite a few British legal historians have given significant attention to environmental issues. Noga Morag-Levine's work has bridged some of these bodies of scholarship, compellingly arguing that English and Continental approaches to pollution control in the nineteenth century continue to inform current American debates over issues such as the appropriateness of the precautionary principle or feasibility standards. The blindness as to the history of environmental law may be a particularly American disease. (To the extent it is, this exceptionalism is itself a topic worthy of research).

The work that perhaps treats American environmental law in the most comprehensive manner is Betsy Mendelsohn's chapter on law and the environment in The Cambridge History of Law in America, which notes in its opening section:

Inter-imperial riparian law VI: Miner as an inter-imperial legal authority and Conclusion

On Friday we discussed the place of French and American law in Privy Council water decisions, leading up to the seminal 1858 case of Miner v. Gilmour. Today we'll look at how Miner became an inter-imperial authority, as Lord Kingsdown's summary of the relative rights of riparian owners was cited widely throughout the British Empire and beyond (for examples of the case's influence, see the article on which this series is based).

Though arising in a case in which the applicable law was the old French law of Canada East, on the imperial periphery, it was taken as a faithful exposition of the common law of England, the imperial metropolis. In the 1876 case of Lyon v. Fishmongers’ Company, for instance, dealing with the right of access of riparian owners to the River Thames, the House of Lords (at the time the highest court for cases arising in Britain itself) referred to it as one of ‘the best authorities’ on riparian doctrine.

"a lord of appeal" [Colin Blackburn].
(Spy, Vanity Fair, 19 Nov. 1881)

Perhaps the most interesting reliance on Miner (for our purposes) in the water jurisprudence of the British Empire came in two decisions authored by the British judge Colin Blackburn. In the House of Lords case of Orr Ewing v. Colquhoun (1877), Blackburn rejected the rule of Scottish law applied by the Scottish court below, arguing (inter alia), "If such be the law of Scotland it is different from what Lord Kingsdown, in [Miner v. Gilmour], states to be the law of England and France". Lord Blackburn, it seems, was ready to modify the law of the metropolis (albeit of Scotland, a jurisdiction of secondary importance, and one in which the civil law, not the common law, applied), bending it to conform to the law as laid down in Miner, a case governed by the law of a foreign empire.

A few years later came Commissioners of French Hoek v. Hugo, an appeal to the Privy Council of a judgment of the supreme court of the Cape Colony, in today’s South Africa.  Governing the dispute over the waters of two small watercourses was what is known as Roman-Dutch law. This was the law in force in the Cape Colony when it was ceded by the Dutch to the British at the end of the Napoleonic wars (the metropolitan Netherlands had by this point adopted the Napoleonic Code for use in the home country), and, as the colony had been conquered from another state, not “settled”, this was the law that remained in force under British rule. Like the pre-Revolutionary French law in force in Quebec, Roman-Dutch law was based largely on the writings of learned ‘civilian’ jurists writing in the Roman law tradition. Indeed, in addition to Cape Colony cases and Roman-Dutch sources, lawyers for the appellants cited French treatises in support of their argument.

Writing for the Privy Council in French Hoek, Lord Blackburn referred approvingly to the summary of the law of riparian rights in Miner v. Gilmour, seeming to attach some importance to the similar positions of the Roman-influenced civil law in Canada East and the Cape Colony:

Inter-imperial riparian law V: Encounters of legal empires in Miner?

Yesterday I discussed why American water law may have been attractive to judges applying French law in Canada. Today we move the focus back to London and the Privy Council:

The reliance by counsel in Miner v. Gilmour on American sources for a question of French law, along with the court’s conflation of the French law and the common law (discussed in Part III of this series), would seem to be a faithful expression of the water law of Canada East, with its own heavy reliance on American sources and blending of the French law and common law, often by way of citing those same American sources.

W. Holman Hunt, The Right Hon. Stephen Lushington (1862)
(Victorian Web)

Moreover, the incorporation of the civil law into the common law of waters and the export of this mélange throughout the common-law world might be seen as the product not only of a one-time encounter with the law of Canada East in Miner v. Gilmour, but of an ongoing engagement with this odd jurisdiction, at once an integral part of the ascendant British Empire and the offspring of the old French Empire. Thus we find the Lower Canada case of St. Louis v. St. Louis, discussed earlier for Chief Justice Sewell’s use of Kent as authority for a point of French law, making its way to the Privy Council in 1841. The judge who delivered the judgment of the Judicial Committee, Stephen Lushington, a prominent and knowledgeable English civilian lawyer (he was a judge on ecclesiastical and admiralty courts, enclaves of civil law in the English legal system), was also a member of the panel that decided Miner v. Gilmour. Might the bold statement of the court in Miner, according to which riparian rights in the common law were essentially the same as in the civil law, have been influenced by Lushington’s exposure to precisely this attitude by the American-Canadian judge Sewell in St. Louis?

Sewell’s view in St. Louis may have influenced the common law of waters through yet another route, as well. Sitting alongside Lushington on the Judicial Committee to hear the appeal of Sewell’s judgment in St. Louis v. St. Louis was James Parke, the dominant judge on the English Court of Exchequer. Within the decade, his court decided two cases—Wood v. Waud and Embrey v. Owen—which were the first English cases to adopt the American law of riparian rights, relying heavily on Kent, Tyler v. Wilkinson, and French sources.  Could the Lower Canada case of St. Louis v. St. Louis have made an impression on Baron Parke, leading his court to base modern English riparian law on French and American sources?

Here we encounter a methodological difficulty—distinguishing between inter-imperial influences on the one hand, and transnational influences of the ‘ordinary’ kind, between two national jurisdictions, whether imperial metropolises or not, on the other. Put more concretely, was the intermixture of the laws of the old French Empire and the new American one in the courts of the British Empire a true inter-imperial encounter? Or might it be better conceived of as a case of British judges being influenced by the laws of France and the United States, two national jurisdictions the laws of which they were inclined to consider by factors such as geographic proximity, cultural affinity, common legal origins and the availability of law books, independently of their crossed imperial histories?

Inter-imperial riparian law IV: The attraction of American law

Yesterday I discussed the extensive use water law judicial decisions in the courts of Lower Canada, with its pre-revolutionary French property law, made of American sources. Today I discuss why they may have looked to a jurisdiction that had never belonged to the old empire from which the local law derived, and no longer belonged to the new empire of which Canada was now a part.

 Hon. Justice T.C. Aylwin (Library and Archives Canada)

In his dissent in the 1859 case of Boswell v. Denis Judge Aylwin indicated one reason why Canadians may have preferred American law over French in some cases. According to French law, a ‘navigable and floatable’ river was a public one, in which the public enjoyed rights that could not be impaired by the riparian owners. As the river in question in Boswell, the Jacques-Cartier, contained rapids and was therefore not ‘navigable’ by boat traffic, the majority of the court straightforwardly applied the French test and ruled that it could not be considered a public river. Aylwin objected to this analysis: ‘Our rivers cannot be compared with those of France or Europe; the Jacques Cartier is a good sized river and has plenty of water,—it has rapids it is true, but […] I believe the river to be both navigable and flottable.’ Following a tradition going back to Montesquieu and further, Aylwin argued that French law could not apply unmodified in North America, as it was developed for a different set of environmental circumstances. Similarly, in a 1905 case Justice Trenholme of the Quebec King’s Bench noted that American authorities on the question of navigability ‘possess more than ordinary interest for Canadian Courts, as the conditions there were and are precisely like those in our country’.

Yet it seems this was not the only reason for Canadians’ turn to American water law. Returning to Brown v. Gugy, it is significant that the American case which Judge Aylwin preferred over the lower court’s ruling was from Louisiana, the only American state which based its legal system on (French) civil law. Moreover, Kent’s discussion of water law (like his discussions of many other subjects) was replete with references to civilian sources. In the pages quoted in Aylwin’s opinion (sections 6 and 7 of Kent’s Lecture 52), the American jurist cited a large number of American and English cases, as was appropriate for a work purporting to be a commentary on American law, but his very first citations were to civilian sources: Justinian’s Digest, Pothier’s Traité du Contrat de Société and Toullier’s Droit Civil Français. Later in the section, he cited again to Pothier, quoted with approval a maxim of Roman law and stated that the Code Napoléon established the same rule as said maxim.

Later commentators have divided as to what extent Kent’s use of civilian sources was substantial or rather mere window dressing, with Alan Watson arguing that Kent’s use of the Roman and French sources in the section cited above was riddled with errors and that it provided little support to his exposition of riparian rights.  Nonetheless it seems that Judge Aylwin saw Kent as a good civilian source, prefacing his long quote from the Commentaries thus:

Inter-imperial riparian law II: The Law in Miner v. Gilmour

Continuing where yesterday's post left off:

As the judges of the Privy Council recognized, the law governing the conflict between Miner and Gilmour over the waters of the Yamaska was not English law. Quebec, before being conquered by the British in 1760, had been part of the French Empire. A royal edict of 1663 had declared the law of New France to be the law as applied in the Parlement of Paris.  This law included royal ordinances, Roman law as expounded by jurists, and the sixteenth-century official collection of the customary law of Paris known as the Coutume de Paris. The Quebec Act of 1774, passed by the British Parliament a few years after the British conquest of Canada from France, declared that the laws of property existing in the province of Quebec pre-conquest would remain in force under British rule.

The water law applicable to the case at hand was thus the law of the old French Empire, that is to say the law of ancien régime Paris, ironically no longer in force in France itself after the adoption of the Napoleonic Code in 1804, but preserved in British colonies that had been conquered from the French. Indeed, the lawyers arguing the case before the British court in Westminster cited the civilian Digest of Justinian, the great French scholar Pothier and said Custom of Paris.

Sitting of a Judicial Committee of the Privy Council
(Illustrated London News, vol. 8, no. 206, 11 April, 1846, p. 1)

The encounter between French and English law did not end with this infusion of French imperial law into a British imperial courtroom, nor with its application by British judges at the seat of imperial power. Despite the lack of formal authority for English common law in the civil-law jurisdiction of Canada East, the lawyers for Miner and Gilmour before the Privy Council cited not only the civilian sources mentioned above, but also recent English case law on the subject of riparian rights. The judges of the Judicial Committee were impressed with the ‘great learning and ingenuity’ displayed by counsel, and scheduled an unusual second round of oral arguments. Yet after all this learning and argument, they arrived at a surprising conclusion: ‘It did not appear that, for the purposes of this case, any material distinction exists between the French and the English law.’ According to both legal systems, the court opined, Miner could not demand that Gilmour keep the dam gate closed all the time, since a riparian proprietor had ‘no right to interrupt the regular flow of the stream, if he thereby interferes with the lawful use of the water by other proprietors, and inflicts upon them a sensible injury’.

The decision’s exposition of this and other principles of what Lord Kingsdown, writing for the court, termed the ‘general law applicable to running streams’—that is to say the law of riparian rights, according to him common to French and English law—went on to be cited extensively throughout the British Empire and beyond as the definitive statement of the rules of riparian rights in the common-law world, as will be discussed in a later post.

Inter-imperial riparian law I - Introduction: Inter-imperial law in an inter-imperial court

It seems I forgot to mention my own article when I posted it a while back. "Riparian Rights in Lower Canada and Canada East: Inter-Imperial Legal Influences" was published as chapter 4 of Imperial Co-operation and Transfer, 1870-1930: Empires and Encounters (Roland Cvetkovski & Volker Barth eds., Bloomsbury, 2015). I'll do a few posts based on the article now; for the full version, please see the book.

One of the most dynamic areas of law in the nineteenth-century Anglo-American world was that of water rights, or, as it was typically denoted then, “riparian rights”. This body of law dealt with the relative rights of owners of land adjacent to water—riparian land—to use the flowing waters, whether for power, irrigation, transportation, fishing, or waste disposal. The historical development of the law in this field in the nineteenth century has been analysed from several points of view, including economic property theory and Marxian legal history.  Transnational aspects of the subject have not been neglected, as some have highlighted the transatlantic—that is, Anglo-American—framework in which this body of doctrine developed, and others have examined the use of Continental, civil law sources by some of the American jurists responsible for that development.  Yet the inter-imperial aspect of this story, in particular the meeting of the laws of the British and French Empires, has gone unremarked.

The court case of Miner v. Gilmour can be seen as the epicentre of this inter-imperial encounter. The case began as a conflict in the 1850s between two prominent citizens of the Eastern Townships village of Granby, in the part of Canada then known as Canada East (in the half century preceding 1841 called Lower Canada, the southern part of today’s Quebec). Harlow Miner’s tannery on the south bank of the Yamaska River, the town’s major industrial enterprise, was powered by water directed from a dam in the river, but Francis Gilmour, the town’s store-keeper, had been opening a sluice on the north side of the dam in order to allow the water to flow through and power his gristmill downstream. In order to put a stop to Gilmour’s interference with his business, Miner brought a lawsuit in the Superior Court of the District of Montreal.  When the court ruled in Miner’s favour, ordering Gilmour to cease and desist diverting water away from Miner’s mill, Gilmour brought an appeal to the Court of Queen’s Bench of Canada. Here the decision went in his favour, and the court dismissed the plaintiff’s suit. Unsatisfied with this result, it was Miner who appealed this time, making use of the only remaining judicial recourse available to him, an appeal to the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council in London.

The Privy Council, an organ of the British monarchy, was for years the executive body through which British overseas possessions were governed, also hearing appeals from the courts of these colonies. In 1833, in an effort to give these appeals a more judicial character, Parliament created the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council, composed primarily of judges from other British high courts. Though formally not a court of law—the members of the committee did not wear judicial garb, they sat around a table with the parties’ counsel and their decisions were, strictly speaking, merely recommendations to the monarch, who would then issue an order giving force to the recommendation—in practice it functioned like a court, and was treated as such by all. This new judicial body was tasked with hearing appeals from overseas possessions (as well as from the British court of Admiralty and ecclesiastical courts).

The Judicial Committee, hearing cases from far-flung possessions around the globe, was an imperial institution par excellence. The nature of litigation in the common law, adversarial, system—in which the parties, not the state, generally determined if and when court proceedings would be conducted, and on what legal grounds—meant that the court’s agenda was largely shaped by the decisions of litigants in the courts below. Nonetheless the Judicial Committee’s worldwide jurisdiction, along with its judges’ parallel tenures on other British high courts, gave it a potentially harmonizing and homogenizing role; ‘The assumption was that there could be cohesion and certainty in the legal system of the Empire only if appeals could be referred up to a judicial body in London.’ (Cornish, Lobban, Smith, "Empire’s Law", p. 245)

At the same time the Judicial Committee was in effect an inter-imperial institution.

More on forests in revolutionary France

Vallée de La Loue - ©CRT de Franche-Comté

H-Environment just published a roundtable review of Kieko Matteson's Forests in Revolutionary France: Conservation, Community, and Conflict, 1669–1848 (Cambridge UP, 2015), previously covered here. Some legal highlights, starting with Caroline Ford's comments:

The book is based on a wealth of archival material and primary documents that Matteson found in both national and provincial archives in France. She sorts through and illuminates very technical modes of forest management, while setting the scene for conflicts between local communities and the French state in masterful ways. She seeks to explore reform efforts on the part of the state as well as the ideological agenda of lawmakers, landowners and commentators in order to explore both the successes and failures of natural resource allocation and environmental conservation in the context of sweeping revolutionary change and the expansion of state power. She examines a number of important questions in this regard including why conservation policies prompted resistance; and how customary rights were supplanted by those of private property. To this extent she resuscitates a debate, which has recently again become the focus of some attention among environmental historians in France on the “tragedy of the commons,” which was sparked by Garrett Hardin’s 1968 article in Science and Elinor Ostrom’s rebuttal (among others).

*****

The great strength of Matteson’s close study of the Franche-Comté lies in grounding her work in a micro context, in a specific time and place. She shows the very real impact of policies enacted in the capital on a rural region of France, but one wonders how and whether imperial conquest that began during the period which she explores and French encounters with other forested landscapes shaped (or did not shape) policy in the metropole, a subject explored in Richard Grove’s path-breaking Green Imperialism. Matteson mentions, for example, that the French forest code was exported wholesale to Algeria at the time of conquest, where conditions were far different from those in metropolitan France. Many foresters served in both France and in her colonial possessions. This code was finally revised in 1903, and one wonders about the extent to which foresters considered and compared colonial and metropolitan forests and landscapes. 

***** 

Finally, calls for saving forests came from other quarters and were articulated less in terms of conservation than in terms of heritage preservation and patrimoine. These calls came not from engineers, scientists, or foresters but from a middle class urban public. It was the Barbizon school of painters who were behind Napoleon III’s 13 August 1861 decree that created the first protected natural landscape in the forest of Fontainebleau as a réserve artistique, and the painters fought pitched battles with foresters, who defended their own conservationist initiatives, such as planting pines. Both made claims about protecting the forest, but in very different ways.

French forest law

The latest American Historical Review has a review by Jeff Horn of Kieko Matteson's Forests in Revolutionary France: Conservation, Community, and Conflict, 1669–1848 (Cambridge UP, 2015). Horn writes:

Matteson is at pains to demonstrate that over the long term, “peasant communities and practitioners of customary rights” retained “significant control over their forests” “through tenacity, wiliness, and sheer violence” (xv).

In an introduction, six long but fast-moving chapters, and a lengthy epilogue, Matteson considers the relationship of states, various types of property owners (such as seigneurs), and communities to forests, their management, and their economic exploitation.... Conservation is a major theme, particularly its intellectual foundations in Enlightened natural philosophy that Matteson refers to as a “formative period in the development of French environmental discourse and conservationist policy” (50). These ideas are then traced across subsequent regimes. Shifts in state oversight of the forests, mostly negative, form the spine of this book. Jean-Baptiste Colbert’s 1669 forest ordinance is at the heart of the first chapter, the “failure” of the changes made by the Revolutionaries in 1789–1791 is the focus of chapter 4, and the background and reception of the Forest Code of 1827 are the subjects of chapters 5 and 6.

Matteson makes three main arguments. First, she asserts that “peasant opposition to state forest policies produced greater gains than previously appreciated, even when it was crushed at the time.” Matteson also claims that the French environmental conservation had less to do with ecology “than with extending state power, suppressing sedition, and substituting commercial exploitation for communal utility.” Third, she maintains that “local, community-based arrangements for the management and use of natural resources … have been unfairly maligned, both in the historiography of the Revolution and in contemporary policymaking” (10–11).... 

Lead regulation in history

Virginia Zaunbrecher at Legal Planet has an interesting post putting the Flint, Michigan lead crisis in historical context, noting, among other things, that lead use in the U.S. has actually gone up during most of the period when blood lead concentrations were dropping. Here's some more comparative background, surprising to me:

Childhood lead poisoning was linked to lead paints in 1904.  France, Belgium and Austria banned white-lead paint in 1909.  The National Lead Company admitted lead was a poison in 1921.  The League of Nations banned white-lead interior paint in 1922 (you know an environmental regulation is old if it was issued by the League of Nations), but the U.S. declined to implement the ban.  Instead, the U.S. waited nearly half a century (1971) to pass the Lead Poisoning Prevention Act (42 U.S.C. 4822), although some local jurisdictions started banning it as early as the 1950s.  The ban on lead paint was fully implemented in the U.S. 1978, 74 years after childhood lead poisoning was linked to lead paints.

(courtesy Thester11)

Sustainability: of forests, ships, and law

[Another guest post, with lots of useful references, by Peter Sand of the Institute of International Law, University of Munich (see here for his earlier post on Karl Neumeyer). Revised from Environmental Policy and Law 37:2-3 (2007) 201-203. Notes are after the break.]

“Sustainable development” has become a household word – if a heavily loaded one – to international lawyers, economists and green politicians alike. Yet, the etymology of the term spans a number of other disciplines, and more than three centuries of environmental history.

The Report of the ‘Brundtland Commission’, published in 1987,[1] had borrowed the term from the 1980 IUCN/UNEP/WWF World Conservation Strategy, drafted under the guidance of the then Director-General of IUCN, Dr. David A. Munro (left) – distinguished Canadian forester and wildlife biologist (1923-2004).[2]

Canada’s oldest forest school is the Faculty of Forestry at the University of Toronto. Its founder (in 1907), and first dean until 1919, was a German forester, Bernhard Eduard Fernow (1851-1923) – who from 1886 to 1898 had served as the first chief of the US Division of Forestry (which later became the Forest Service within the Department of Agriculture).[3] Fernow was the architect of the 1891 Forest Reserve Act (part of the General Public Lands Reform Act of 3 March 1891), which laid the ground for ‘creative’ conservation measures on the federal public domain – and it comes as no surprise that he had originally studied law (at the University of Königsberg).[4] His successor as US chief forester was Gifford Pinchot (PhD in forestry, University of Munich 1898; founder of the Yale School of Forestry in 1900, now School of Forestry and Environmental Studies),[5] whose mentor and role-model had been another German forester, Sir Dietrich Brandis.[6] Brandis, after obtaining his PhD in botany at the University of Bonn, had joined the British colonial service in 1856 as ‘superintendent of forests’ in Burma, and from 1864 to 1883 served as first Inspector-General of Forests in India and Pakistan.[7] He was Rudyard Kipling’s legendary “gigantic German, head of the woods and forests of all India, head ranger from Burma to Bombay”.[8] His practices and principles of ‘sustained yield’ forest management – and those of his successors, Sir William [Wilhelm] Schlich (1840-1925, founder of the Royal Indian Forestry College at Cooper’s Hill, since 1905 at Oxford)[9] and Berthold Ribbentrop (1843-1917, Inspector-General of Indian Forests from 1885 to 1900)[10] – had a lasting influence on generations of foresters in North America, Asia, Australia and New Zealand.[11]

The theoretical basis for forest management, including the concept of ‘sustained yield’, had been developed in the 18th and 19th century at specialized forestry academies in Germany, such as Tharandt in Saxony and Münden in Hanover (where both Fernow and Ribbentrop graduated).[12] The pioneering scientific treatise on the subject was the ‘Sylvicultura Oeconomica’ (at top) published in 1713 by Johann [Hannss] Carl von Carlowitz (right, 1645-1714),[13] lawyer and manager of the Duke of Saxony’s silver mines (hence vitally dependent on long-term timber supplies!). It comprised the first formulations of such ‘post-modern’ terms as precaution [Praecaution, Vorsorge] for intergenerational benefits [den Nachkommen zum Besten], by sustained use [nachhaltende Nutzung]; and it was followed by other works now postulating a general policy of sustainable forest economics [nachhaltige Wirtschaft mit unseren Wäldern].[14]

Carlowitz in turn had drawn the inspiration for his innovative policies from multiple sources. After completing his legal studies at the University of Jena, he had taken the customary ‘grand tour’ of Europe in 1665-69, travelling to Italy, the Netherlands, Scandinavia, England and France. A focus of his attention at the time were the administrative reforms undertaken by Louis XIV’s powerful minister of finance, Jean-Baptiste Colbert (1619-1683, right); in particular, the great reorganization of French forestry governance which culminated in the ‘Ordonnance des eaux et forêts’ of 1669.[15] 

It must be kept in mind, though, that Colbert’s own concern for the conservation and sustainable use of France’s forest resources had very precise strategic motivations; i.e., the long-term security of timber supplies for the ship-building industry, which was the basis of French naval power.[16] Sure enough, there had been ominous historical warning signals before: The decline of Venetian maritime dominance in the Mediterranean during the 16th and early 17th century was widely attributed to timber shortages in naval construction, caused by deforestation.[17] It was no coincidence, therefore, that another contemporary pilot text which Carlowitz acknowledges among his source references – Sylva: A Discourse of Forest-Trees, and the Propagation of Timber in His Majesty’s Dominions (1664), by John Evelyn (English lawyer and writer, 1620-1706, educated at Oxford’s Balliol College and the Middle Temple, right)[18] – had been compiled and published at the request of the Commissioners of the British Navy.  After the Napoleonic Wars, Isaac D’Israeli noted that the fleets of Admiral Nelson had been constructed “with the oaks which the genius of Evelyn planted.”[19] For the same strategic reasons, Russian Tsar Peter I in 1703 had designated the oak forests of Kharkov and Simbirsk as permanent state reserves for ship timber;[20] and in 1817, the US Secretary of the Navy obtained statutory authorization to reserve public oak forest lands for ship-building.[21]

In retrospect, then, the concept of ‘sustainable development’ may indeed be said to have its historical roots in subtle power politics as much as in bona fide intergenerational equity.

Art and the history of environmental law - part VI: Art and hidden environmental law

The last part of a series based on my article on art and history of environmental law. After looking at what art can teach us about environmental law's historical effects, we turn now to how works of art document historical environmental law itself, exposing historical law we might otherwise not know about.

Smoke over Des Moines (right), discussed in Parts IV and V of this series, does more than document the contemporary concern over air pollution that served as the background for the mid-twentieth century’s wave of environmental legislation or the failure of early legislation to solve the problem; it also alerts us to the very existence of air pollution regulation in mid-twentieth-century America, penetrating even to a relatively small Midwestern city. The poster is useful on yet another level, disclosing the legal and institutional form—local ordinances and smoke commissions—that the regulation often took in this period, thereby helping the modern historian bridge the conceptual and semantic gap between today’s legal forms and those of the past.

The WPA poster also opens further avenues of inquiry about environmental law circa 1940. We know from other sources that smoke commissioners and inspectors were appointed under a local Des Moines ordinance. Yet it was the St. Louis Smoke Commissioner, not a local official, who was the featured speaker of the advertised event. Historians have noted that the St. Louis Commissioner, Raymond Tucker, was a particularly effective and influential figure in the American anti-smoke movement, and the 1940 St. Louis ordinance that he pushed through and zealously enforced attracted attention outside the city.  The poster’s recording of Tucker’s visit to Des Moines, probably in early 1941,  might indicate the arteries of legal influence through which environmental norms flowed between jurisdictions during this period, raising questions about whether law traveled as a disembodied printed text or as a companion to flesh-and-blood travelers, and about the possibly limited geographic scope of legal diffusion during this time.

Turning to land use law, Monet’s work is once again suggestive. His 1870 paintings of the beach and boardwalk at Trouville (e.g. The Beach at Trouville, 1870, Wadsworth Atheneum, right, and La Plage à Trouville, 1870, private collection) display an interesting feature—the apparently flush building line and open beach.  Beach setbacks are a hot environmental issue today, but a supposedly recent one, as evidenced by historic building right up to the shoreline in many places. Assuming Monet’s depiction of the beach setback is historically accurate—its repetition in at least two paintings suggests it is—why did the owners of the expensive real estate in the trendy Norman resort not take advantage of the full extent of the beach to increase the built areas of their casinos and hotels? Why did they leave the beach open to the public?

The straight building line indicates a measure of coordination, and the owners’ withstanding of the temptation to “defect” and extend their buildings further out toward the sea suggests a degree of legal coercion. What kind of legal norm operated here is a mystery. Was it a French version of the “public trust doctrine”? A local initiative to preserve the tourist-attracting beach, anchored in local ordinance, contract, or servitude? An early law aimed at beach preservation, or perhaps one that sought to prevent storm damage to built structures? In any case, that Monet’s eye was drawn to this feature seems to attest to both its salience and its aesthetic value in the eyes of contemporaries.

Similarly, while Victorian environmental law may not have brought about clean skies, some paintings hint at other effects. Though mandating minimum chimney heights in order to lift pollution away from populated areas (transferring the fallout somewhere downwind) was apparently a product of the twentieth century, earlier paintings suggest that minimum chimney heights were being established already in the nineteenth. The multiple smokestacks in Caillebotte’s Factories at Argenteuil and Pissarro’s Bords de l’Oise à Pontoise (both in Part III of this series), among others,  appear to be of uniform height, towering above the squat chimneys in earlier paintings, such as De Loutherbourg’s early nineteenth-century depictions of the iron works at Coalbrookdale, Shropshire (below).

Phillipe Jacques de Loutherbourg, Iron Works, Colebrook Dale
(engraving William Pickett), 1805,
Science Museum at Wroughton

The standardization of heights evident in Caillebotte’s and Pissarro’s paintings from the latter part of the century suggests a legal moment behind the smokestacks’ specifications. Whether the elongated stacks were a uniform response to legislation requiring consumption of smoke, to more specific technical requirements imposed by legislation or licensing procedures such as the enquête de commodo et incommodo, or an attempt to head off nuisance suits by adopting industry-wide best practices needs to be investigated, but their artistic rendering at least opens this avenue of historical inquiry.

These examples suggest that while it may be difficult to discern the precise content of environmental law from artistic sources, these sources can at least alert us to the presence, and sometimes the form, of environmental legal norms, in historical contexts in which we might not have suspected their presence. Art can thus be a tool for understanding not only the preconditions and effects of environmental law, but the law itself.

*****

To sum up this series, I would say that art can provide a valuable set of historical sources for understanding the cultural attitudes toward the environment against which environmental law did or did not develop. It can also help evaluate the effects of environmental law, particularly as these were perceived in history. While its utility for uncovering environmental law itself is probably more limited, we have seen that it can at least suggest lines of historical inquiry into the presence of environmental law and the form it took.

If you haven't seen the rest of this series or the original article, please take a look. I would appreciate your thoughts, as well as further research in this field!

Art and the history of environmental law - part III: Art and the conditions of environmental law (more Impressionists and Wilde)

Following Part II of this series, I continue the discussion of art and the conditions of environmental law as seen in the work of the French Impressionists.

Monet and Pissarro produced many landscapes of the industrializing Seine Valley around Paris, as did other Impressionists and Post-Impressionists. Manet’s 1874 Argenteuil, les canotiers (1874, above), with its idyllic foreground and smoky background, seems uncertain in its attitude to industrial pollution. It was ridiculed by a contemporary critic who insinuated that the blue of the river must have been the product of industrial pollution, yet T.J. Clark sees it as the picture in which effort was made to place in order the middle class, the countryside, and industry “and insist they belong together.”  

Gustave Caillebotte’s depictions of the same site show a cubist-like ability to shatter reality into multiple points of view. While his Boats Moored at Argenteuil (1883, above) shows no hint of the industry in the area, Factories at Argenteuil (1888, right) shows a bleak industrial landscape with gray smoke feeding gray skies, reflected again in the gray water. La Seine à Argenteuil (c. 1892, below), with its almost natural landscape dominating the foreground and smoking factories in the background, juxtaposes these two aspects of reality, distinguishing, on the one hand, between pristine nature and industrial pollution, yet at the same time melding chimney smoke and natural clouds.  Are these depictions of Argenteuil simply the artist’s attempt to depict different facets of reality, a celebration of industrialization, or a critique and warning of the threat posed by modern pollution to the aesthetic of nature and countryside?

Art and the history of environmental law - part II: Art and the conditions of environmental law (Impressionists and Dickens)

Following Part I of this series, today I take up art and the conditions of environmental law.

A survey of paintings and other works of art from Western Europe and North American reveals that air pollution was a salient fact in the pre-1970 industrialized West. This point, while basic, is not trivial, as one might have imagined that the relative lack of advanced legislation in this area was due to clean skies, or at least to a lack of awareness of the problem. Yet it is clear that artists from Turner to the French Impressionists and on through the American Works Progress Administration were fascinated by air pollution. The aesthetics and politics of this fascination will be explored later; at this point it will suffice to demonstrate its prevalence.

A good place to start is the French Impressionists. Though associated today with paintings in and of nature, they were strongly attracted to scenes of industrialization and modernizing landscapes. The movement was named after Claude Monet’s Impression, soleil levant (1872-73, right), a painting relevant to our topic. The rising sun is indeed prominent in this landscape of Le Havre harbor, but the left side of the painting is dominated by smoke-belching smokestacks and their reflections in the water. Their activity suggests that the gray “mist” enshrouding the rising sun and streaked through the sky above and to the right is in fact the product of air pollution, not morning mists or the artist’s hazily romantic vision.

Many of Monet’s other paintings feature air pollution as well. His paintings of London typically feature chimneys and smokestacks spewing thick clouds of smoke into the air of a city covered in a thick layer of air pollution (often denoted “fog” in the works’ titles). Perhaps most striking are the paintings purporting to be studies of the effect of sunlight on the thick London air; the reference to sunlight in the names of these paintings seems almost ironic. In Le Parlement, effet de soleil (1903, left), for instance, the sunlight indeed plays upon the Thames on the right of the picture, yet in the overall composition the sun’s rays are overwhelmed by the thick, polluted air, much as they are in other paintings in the Houses of Parliament series.

Dickens provides a literary counterpart to Monet’s paintings of London’s air pollution in the opening of Bleak House:

London. Michaelmas term lately over, and the Lord Chancellor sitting in Lincoln’s Inn Hall. Implacable November weather. . . . Smoke lowering down from chimney-pots, making a soft black drizzle, with flakes of soot in it as big as full-grown snowflakes—gone into mourning, one might imagine, for the death of the sun . . . .