The Urban Logistic Network: Cities, Transport And Distribution In Europe From The Middle Ages To Modern Times 3030275981, 9783030275983, 9783030275990

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The Urban Logistic Network: Cities, Transport And Distribution In Europe From The Middle Ages To Modern Times
 3030275981,  9783030275983,  9783030275990

Table of contents :
Acknowledgements......Page 6
Contents......Page 8
Notes on Contributors......Page 11
List of Figures......Page 13
List of Tables......Page 17
1 Introduction......Page 18
Urban Network Theory: A Historiography from the 1930s to the 1990s......Page 20
Cities and Logistics—Nodes and Links......Page 23
Spatial Formulation: Terminologies......Page 24
Bypassing and Intermodality......Page 26
Shapes of Urban Logistics Networks......Page 28
Users of the Networks......Page 31
Conclusion......Page 34
References......Page 36
Part I A Single Gateway......Page 38
2 Gateway of Gothenburg......Page 39
Cities and the Gateway Approach......Page 41
The Early History of the Gateway System at Göta River......Page 42
The New Gateways of New Lödöse and Gothenburg......Page 47
Economic Expansion After 1945......Page 56
The Five Phases of the Gateways at Göta River......Page 59
References......Page 62
Part II Changing Shapes of Urban Networks......Page 66
3 Bordeaux from Its Vineyards to Its Hinterland: A Regional Capital in the Late Middle Ages......Page 67
An Operative Indicator for the Immediate Surroundings......Page 69
A More Partial Criterion for Evaluating the Polarization of the Bordeaux Area......Page 74
A Decisive Factor for the Aquitaine Hinterland......Page 77
References......Page 87
Introduction......Page 88
From Transport Systems—Via Graphs and Matrices—To Mapping Centrality Values......Page 93
1704: The Legacy of the Seventeenth Century......Page 98
1718: A ‘Star of Roads’ or the French-Angévin Centralised Road-Building Programme......Page 101
1748: Trial and Error or the Age of Local Mercantilism......Page 104
1793: The Theresian Compromise and the Transit Policy......Page 106
Conclusion......Page 109
References......Page 110
Aims and Sources......Page 114
Traffic, Territories, Cities: The Context......Page 115
Forms of Trade and Navigation......Page 119
The Role of Catania in the Corridor......Page 120
Statistics, Descriptive Models and Classifications......Page 122
Corridor and Nodes Features (1817–1860)......Page 127
A Brief Epilogue: Railways and Navigation on the Corridor......Page 128
References......Page 131
6 Bridging the Gap: The Belfast-Dublin Railway Corridor in the Nineteenth Century......Page 135
Small City Networks......Page 136
Dublin and Belfast—Peripheral and Complementary......Page 137
Production and Trade and Transport in Dublin and Belfast......Page 138
The Railways in Ireland......Page 141
The Dublin Belfast Line......Page 145
Dublin and Belfast Reframed......Page 148
Conclusions......Page 149
References......Page 150
Part III The Making of a Regional Network......Page 155
7 Urban Network and Economic Policy: The Milanese Case During the Spanish and Austrian Ages......Page 156
The Spanish Age......Page 157
The Austrian Age......Page 160
References......Page 168
8 The Construction of an Inland Gateway: Milan in the Course of the Early Modern Period......Page 172
References......Page 181
9 Gateways as Inter-Modal Nodes in Different Ages: The Venetian Region, Eighteenth to Twentieth Centuries......Page 183
A Definition of Gateway from a Transport-Focused Perspective......Page 184
A Capital City Levelled......Page 185
Hapsburg Infrastructures......Page 186
An Appendix of the Empire......Page 187
Electric Power and the Industrial Port......Page 188
The Role of Changes in Transport Modality on the Urban Hierarchy......Page 189
Austrian Roads......Page 190
Italian Railways......Page 191
Tramways as a Complementary Modality......Page 193
A Larger Region: Northern Italy......Page 197
References......Page 198
Part IV Using the Network......Page 201
10 The Flaxseed Trade Between Courland and Brittany in the Eighteenth Century......Page 202
French Purchases, Between Necessity and Fatality......Page 203
Brittany, a Market Reserved for Lübeck......Page 207
A Long Chain of Middlemen......Page 210
References......Page 215
Introduction......Page 217
The Iron Caravan to St. Petersburg......Page 218
The Sea Route to London......Page 221
The Carrier and His Domicile......Page 223
Logistics in the Age of Sail......Page 225
References......Page 228
Introduction......Page 232
Historiography: Three Transport Network Models......Page 234
Problems of the Models......Page 236
Periods of Waterway Development......Page 240
Small Cities Waterway Networks Kept Apart......Page 242
The Users of the Network: Small City’s Business Operations......Page 245
Conclusion......Page 253
References......Page 255
Index......Page 256

Citation preview

PALGRAVE STUDIES IN ECONOMIC HISTORY

The Urban Logistic Network Cities,Transport and Distribution in Europe from the Middle Ages to Modern Times Edited by Giovanni Favero · Michael-W. Serruys Miki Sugiura

Palgrave Studies in Economic History Series Editor Kent Deng London School of Economics London, UK

Palgrave Studies in Economic History is designed to illuminate and enrich our understanding of economies and economic phenomena of the past. The series covers a vast range of topics including financial history, labour history, development economics, commercialisation, urbanisation, industrialisation, modernisation, globalisation, and changes in world economic orders. More information about this series at http://www.palgrave.com/gp/series/14632

Giovanni Favero · Michael-W. Serruys · Miki Sugiura Editors

The Urban Logistic Network Cities, Transport and Distribution in Europe from the Middle Ages to Modern Times

Editors Giovanni Favero Department of Management Ca’ Foscari University of Venice Venice, Italy Miki Sugiura Faculty of Economics Hosei University Tokyo, Japan

Michael-W. Serruys Faculté des Lettres et Sciences Humaines Universite de Bretagne Occidentale Brest, France

ISSN 2662-6497 ISSN 2662-6500  (electronic) Palgrave Studies in Economic History ISBN 978-3-030-27598-3 ISBN 978-3-030-27599-0  (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-27599-0 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive licence to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2019 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. Cover illustration: Album/Alamy Stock Photo This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

Acknowledgements

It took many years to make this book, and the editors obtained much supports in the process. It was 2006 when the editors, Giovanni Favero, Michael Serruys and Miki Sugiura, met at different occasions: the former two at a conference of the European Association of Urban History in Stockholm, and the latter two at a Posthumus Institute masterclass of Professor Lynn Lees in The Netherlands. The following year, the three editors embarked on organizing a series of successful sessions at international conferences (European Association of Urban History 2008 and 2010, European Social Science History Conference 2010 and 2012, Associazione Italiana di Storia Urbana 2013). Furthermore, a workshopconference ‘Gateways and Hinterlands in Europe, 1400–1900’ was held in January 2011 in Venice at the Ca’ Foscari University to discuss the general approach and contributions of the authors. The editors thank all the scholars who participated in these occasions and shared their thoughts and insights, in particular, Andrea Caracausi, John Davis, Marion Huibrechts, Clé Lesger and Takashi Okunishi. Between 2009 and 2011, these occasions were funded by the Japan Society for Promotion of Science (JSPS) Grant-in-Aid for Young Scientists(B) No. 21730278 ‘European Gateway and Hinterlands on the Move. Urban Logistics Model for Mapping Distribution, Transport and Market formations in History’ (April 2009–March 2011). We thank both the administrations of Tokyo International University and Ca’ Foscari University for assisting our events. v

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This book would not have come to realization without the support of the editors at Palgrave Macmillan. Laura Pacey was the first to believe in this book, together with Ruth Noble, Clara Heathcock and Sophia Siegler. We thank also Kent Deng, the series editor, together with three anonymous referees, for their comments which helped us to make the single chapters and the whole volume better. The authors were greatly supportive in participating in meetings, working in coordination with us, waiting very long and finally replying fast to our requests. This book is their book. We, the editors, feel so fortunate to have met each other, as the process was long but thoroughly fun and discovering. In particular, we want to thank our partners and families, who grew with small members participating during these years. The best part of the editing process was the intensive days we shared at our homes in Houwaart in summer 2009, in Bassano del Grappa in summer 2011 and in Tokyo in spring 2012. We finally would like to thank Mirella, Erica and Kohey for their kind support during the stay. July 2019

Giovanni Favero Michael-W. Serruys Miki Sugiura

Contents

1 Introduction 1 Giovanni Favero, Michael-W. Serruys and Miki Sugiura Part I  A Single Gateway 2

Gateway of Gothenburg 23 Per Hallén

Part II  Changing Shapes of Urban Networks 3

Bordeaux from Its Vineyards to Its Hinterland: A Regional Capital in the Late Middle Ages 53 Sandrine Lavaud

4

Urban Networks on the Move: The Austrian Netherlands’ Transit Policy and the Development of the Belgian Urban Networks in the Eighteenth Century (1704–1793) 75 Michael-W. Serruys

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CONTENTS

5

Persistence and Evolution in the Eastern Sicilian Coastal Corridor: The Mobility of Goods and People at the Port of Catania (1817–1860) 101 Giovanni Cristina

6

Bridging the Gap: The Belfast-Dublin Railway Corridor in the Nineteenth Century 123 Agustina Martire

Part III  The Making of a Regional Network 7

Urban Network and Economic Policy: The Milanese Case During the Spanish and Austrian Ages 145 Giovanna Tonelli

8

The Construction of an Inland Gateway: Milan in the Course of the Early Modern Period 161 Luca Mocarelli

9

Gateways as Inter-Modal Nodes in Different Ages: The Venetian Region, Eighteenth to Twentieth Centuries 173 Giovanni Favero

Part IV  Using the Network 10 The Flaxseed Trade Between Courland and Brittany in the Eighteenth Century 193 Pierrick Pourchasse 11 Ports and Their Functions: Some Reflections About Preindustrial Logistics 209 Werner Scheltjens

CONTENTS  

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12 Tracking Waters: Small Cities Transport Network of Early Modern Friesland 225 Miki Sugiura Index 249

Notes

on

Contributors

Giovanni Cristina  is a Post-Doctorate Fellow in Contemporary History at the University of Catania, Italy. His researches deal with public housing in postwar Italy and modernization processes in the port cities of the Mediterranean Europe between the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Giovanni Favero  is a Professor of Economic History at the Ca’ Foscari University of Venice, Italy, in the Department of Management. In 2018– 2019 he was the Thomas K. McCraw Visiting Fellow in US Business History at Harvard Business School. He works on organizational history in a long-term perspective. Per Hallén is a Senior Lecturer in Economic History at the University of Gothenburg, Sweden, conducting research into maritime history, urban history and business history. Sandrine Lavaud is an Associate Professor of Medieval History at the University Bordeaux Montaigne-UMR 5607 Ausonius, France. Director of the collection of the Historical Atlas of the Cities of France, she is a specialist in urban history and in the history of the vineyards and wines of medieval Aquitaine. Agustina Martire is a Lecturer in Architecture at Queen’s University Belfast, England. She specializes in urban history and theory and her research is currently focused on local mixed streets, their urban form, histories and experiences. xi

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NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS

Luca Mocarelli is a Professor of Economic History at Milano-Bicocca University, Italy where he teaches economic history and economic history of tourism. His current researches deal with markets and the construction of economic spaces, labour history, environmental history and digital history. Pierrick Pourchasse is a Professor at the University of Bretagne Occidentale, France. His research deals with economical relations between France and Northern Europe in the eighteenth century. Werner Scheltjens, Ph.D., (2009)  is an Assistant Professor at the Chair of Social and Economic History at the University of Leipzig. He has published several peer-reviewed articles on maritime history and is project member at Sound Toll Registers Online. Michael-W. Serruys  is a Marie Skłodowska Curie Action Fellow at the Université de Bretagne Occidentale in Brest, France. In recent years his main focus lays on eighteenth century Belgian economic, maritime and transport history. As an MSCA Fellow he now researches the societal effects of environmental crisis, like the shipworm epidemic in eighteenth century Western Europe. Miki Sugiura  is a Professor of Global Economic History at the Faculty of Economics of Hosei University, Japan. Currently (2018–2020) she is Visiting Professor of Global History and Culture Centre at the University of Warwick. Her research interests include history of distribution and trade organizations, urban formation and women’s property formation. She also has published recently multiple articles and books on circulations and recycling of textile products. Giovanna Tonelli, Ph.D., (1999) is an Assistant Professor of Early Modern History at the University of Milan, Italy.

List of Figures

Fig. 1.1 Fig. 1.2 Fig. 2.1 Fig. 2.2

Fig. 2.3

Fig. 3.1 Fig. 3.2 Fig. 3.3 Fig. 3.4

Foreland, hinterland, rearland and gateway (Source The authors’ elaboration) 9 Shapes of urban logistics network (Source The authors’ elaboration) 12 The idealized sequence of port development (Author’s elaboration. Source Rimmer [2007, p. 77]) 26 Map of the gateway cities at Göta River (Legend: 1. Lödöse 1050 [about]–1646; 2. Kungahälla 1050–1090 [about]– 1612; 3. Kungälv 1613–1678; 4. Kungälv 1678–today; 5. New Lödöse 1473–1621; 6. Älvsborgs city 1547 [about]– 1570; 7. Gothenburg 1604 [about]–1611; 8. Gothenburg 1619–today. Source Photo by Per Hallén 2015) 27 Tons of goods transported through the Port of Gothenburg, 1965–2016 (Source The author’s elaboration from Port of Gothenburg. https://www.goteborgshamn.se/om-hamnen/ varldens-hamnar-i-siffror/ [February 13, 2019]) 43 The dynamics of Bordeaux’s medieval vineyard, incorporated into the suburbs (Source The author’s elaboration [map by O. Pissoat]) 56 Bordeaux’s economic influence in the late middle ages (Source The author’s elaboration [map by M. CourrègesBlanc]) 64 Area of expansion of trade in Gascony wine in the late middle ages (Source Bochaca (1998, 285) [map by O. Pissoat]) 66 Bordeaux’s wine supply area (Source Registres de la Grande Coutume; [map by O. Pissoat]) 68 xiii

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LIST OF FIGURES

Fig. 3.5 Fig. 4.1 Fig. 4.2 Fig. 4.3 Fig. 4.4 Fig. 4.5 Fig. 6.1

Fig. 6.2

Fig. 8.1 Fig. 10.1 Fig. 10.2

Fig. 12.1 Fig. 12.2 Fig. 12.3 Fig. 12.4

Bordeaux’s hinterland: The vectors of domination (Source The author’s elaboration) 71 The Austrian Netherlands (major cities and rivers) (Source The author’s elaboration) 81 Austrian Netherlands 1704 (transport network and centrality values) (Source The author’s elaboration) 86 Austrian Netherlands 1718 (transport network and centrality values) (Source The author’s elaboration) 90 Austrian Netherlands 1748 (transport network and centrality values) (Source The author’s elaboration) 93 Austrian Netherlands 1793 (transport network and centrality values) (Source The author’s elaboration) 95 Railways in Ireland 1845 (Source Westmeath Library Service Local Studies collection. Pamphlet—Observations of the Provisional Directors of the Mullingar, Athlone and Longford Railway on the Report of Board of Trade and Railways Proposed to Be Made in Ireland, Westward from Dublin from 1845) 132 Dublin Drogheda railway line, 1844 (Source J. D’Alton (1844), History of Drogheda, with Its Environs and a Memoir of the Dublin & Drogheda Railway. Dublin: J. D’Alton) 135 The extraordinary position of Milan (Source The editors’ elaboration) 162 Northern Europe in the eighteenth century (Source The author’s elaboration) 197 The commercial chain between the producer and the consumer of flaxseed for sowing: an example of the trade between the Baltic and Brittany in the eighteenth century (Source Author’s elaboration, based on Elisabeth HarderGersdorff 1980, p. 12) 205 Faber’s model (1). The access of Friesland cities with Amsterdam (Source Made from Faber [1972] appendix) 228 Faber’s model (2). Access from sneek to other cities (Source Made from Faber [1972] appendix) 229 De Vries’s model (Source De Vries [1981]. Elaborated by the author) 230 Harm Nijboer’s model: interurban transport network (Source Nijboer [2010]. Elaborated by the author and Ito-lab) 230

LIST OF FIGURES  

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Fig. 12.5

Harm Nijboer’s model (2) urban-rural market transport model (Source Nijboer [2010], appendix. Elaborated by the author and Ito-lab) 231 Fig. 12.6 Regulated routes transiting Franeker in Harlingen– Leeuwarden transport (Source Redrawn from Sugiura [2019, p. 219]) 233 Fig. 12.7 Excavation of canals in Friesland (Source The author’s elaboration from Bosatlas van Fryslân (2009) and other sources of Tresoar. Redrawn from Sugiura [2019, p. 219]) 234 Fig. 12.8 Sneek and Sneekermeer (Source Monsma, B.P.F., Waterkaart van het Sneekermeer, met daarop de route van een zeilwedstrijd, 1900. Fries Scheepvaart Museum I-105) 237 Fig. 12.9 Mesdag’s first generations’ real estate holdings (Source Elaborated by Takahashi, on the Schotanus map of 1664 [Sugiura & Takahashi, 2014]) 240 Fig. 12.10 Mesdag families’ early real estates in Bolsward till the third generation (Source 1729 Reëlkohieren Bolsward, OudArchief Bolsward; Vermoolen [1998]. Elaborated into a map by Takahashi [Sugiura & Takahashi, 2014]) 241 Fig. 12.11 Mesdag related real estate possessions within Bolsward around 1832 (Source Kadastrale 1832 and Postboeken 1812. Notarieel akten van Dirk Roos Mesdag, Johannes Mesdag, Treasoar, Leeuwarden and Vermoolen [1998]. Elaborated into a map by Takahashi [Sugiura & Takahashi, 2014]) 242 Fig. 12.12 Gilles and Klaas Mesdag’s family ‘Industrial Cluster’ in Groningen (Source HIS-GIS and Vermoolen [1998]. Elaborated into a map by Takahashi [Sugiura & Takahashi, 2014]) 245 Image 2.1 Image 2.2

Image 2.3

The “gateway” to Gothenburg in 2015 Lödöse today (Lödöse today looks like a community from about the 1960s or 1970. Only in the local museum, the buildings closest in the picture, you will find the artefacts from the medieval city. The Göta River in the southern direction is clearly visible in the picture. Source Photo by Per Hallén 2013) Remains of the medieval monastery in the North Western corner of the city of Kungahälla (It is hard to find traces of the mediaeval city of Kungahälla. Aside from a few remains of the local monastery, the medieval town is completely invisible in the landscape. Source Photo by Per Hallén 2013)

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29

31

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LIST OF FIGURES

Image 2.4

Image 2.5

Image 2.6

Image 2.7

Image 2.8

Image 2.9

Waterway in Kungälv, once the harbour for international trade from 1613 (Today, this area gives the impression of being a rural idyll. A clear example of a gateway city that lost its position. Source Photo by Per Hallén 2010) Site of the medieval church in New Lödöse (All traces of the medieval city except the memorial stone are gone. Today, new homes and offices are being built on site. Source Photo by Per Hallén 2013) Archaeological excavation of Nya Lödöse in 2015 (Houses and streets from the medieval town have been visible again for a short time before being removed to give way to modern houses. Source Photo by Per Hallén 2015) On the large open green surface lay the first Gothenburg (Like all the predecessors of today’s Gothenburg, almost all traces of the older city have been eradicated. Source Photo by Per Hallén 2012) The large harbour channel in central Gothenburg (The channel is currently only used by tourist boats and some kayaks. But the city centre is still in use despite the fact that the canal is no longer the ciity’s backbone. Source Photo by Per Hallén 2017) Gothenburg’s harbour today (The port is now closer to the sea and many residents no longer notice the shipping  activities. But when new large vessels enter the city for the first time, the beaches are lined with people who want to see the new “giants” of the sea. When the new generation of container vessels entered Gothenburg for the first time in 2013, ferries went out to the harbour with curious spectators. Source Photo by Per Hallén 2013)

32

33

34

35

38

44

List of Tables

Table 1.1

Scale, city/region and shape dealt in the chapters of this book 15 Table 5.1 List of shipwrecks occurred between 1818 and 1833 in the Catania maritime district 107 Table 5.2 Shipping movements in Catania in 1834 by port and/or geographical area of origin and destination 110 Table 5.3 Shipping movements in Catania between 1849 and 1859 112 Table 5.4 Shipping contact points along the Eastern coast of Sicily, 1817–1850 116 Table 7.1 Transit paths through the state of Milan with reduced duties, seventeenth century 148 Table 7.2 Countries and localities of origin and/or of the “style” of textile products present on the Milanese market in the 1760s 151 Table 7.3 Value of trade of the state of Milan in the 1770s (currency: Lira Milanese) 156 Table 8.1 Population of main Lombard cities in the early modern period 167 Table 9.1 Inhabitants in urban centres (more than 10,000) in the Venetian provinces, 1766–1921 184 Table 11.1 Monthly iron exports from St. Petersburg to London, average of 1755–1779, in tonnes 214

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CHAPTER 1

Introduction Giovanni Favero, Michael-W. Serruys and Miki Sugiura

‘In 2008, for the first time, the majority of the world’s inhabitants lived in cities rather than the countryside. The world has become, in some measure, truly urban,’ wrote historian Peter Clark in the opening to the edited compilation The Oxford Handbook of Cities in World History (2013). There is no denying the importance of cities in the present world, but a substantive body of urban history literature is still under construction. Clark’s book, for example, declares itself to be the first attempt to analyze in detail the evolution of major urban systems in the world from early times to the present. Comparative urban history analysis, according to Clark, was a stirring interest 50 years ago, but it met a sudden halt, or at least a deviation

G. Favero (B) Department of Management, Ca’ Foscari University of Venice, Venice, Italy e-mail: [email protected] M.-W. Serruys Faculté des Lettres et Sciences Humaines, Universite de Bretagne Occidentale, Brest, France M. Sugiura Faculty of Economics, Hosei University, Tokyo, Japan © The Author(s) 2019 G. Favero et al. (eds.), The Urban Logistic Network, Palgrave Studies in Economic History, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-27599-0_1

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G. FAVERO, M.-W. SERRUYS AND M. SUGIURA

(Clark, 2013, p. 2). To revive such analyses, Clark’s handbook used two strategies: first, the provision of case studies, and second, the offering of key variables that help explicate, distinguish, and connect urban systems and networks. The present volume also aims to be a handbook, or rather a toolbox, by providing case studies for urban historians that will hopefully lead to effective comparative research. The primary attention here is on what we call urban logistics, by which we mean urban management and operations of flow as well as circulation of goods and people, in particular, the systems and networks made out of them. This book is primarily about the interconnections between trade and transport and between urban systems and networks. Surprisingly, trade and transport networks are not emphasized in the above-cited Handbook of Cities in World History. As Clark (2013) admits, with the rise of mega-cities, the focus of urban history research shifted more and more towards urbanization and how large cities emerged and grew. Phenomenal works on Global Cities strengthened the trend to look at large cities as well as international flows of capital and migrations (Sassen, 1991). The situation was much different 30–40 years ago. There was a boom in the historical analysis of urban networks for European history that was connected with trade and transport history, as if they were siblings. Numerous case studies were written; models were discovered and tried. At the present time, however, one cannot deny the relative stagnation of urban network research in history and the lack of synthesis of the research that does exist. A critical review linking existing theories on the formation and evolution of urban networks in the long term with historical studies on transport and distribution is needed in order to provide a new interpretation of the role of gateways. Such an effort has already recently been undertaken by Mizushima, Souza, and Flynn (2014), which may set a precedent for this volume. Reflecting the results of new insights coming from other regions to European history and laying down stepping stones for global comparison is one of the aims of this volume. This book’s strategy is to provide bottom-up case studies that give insights into how to deal with urban networks and systems. Our analysis focuses on the regions of Italy, the Low Countries, the British Isles, Western France, Scandinavia, Russia and the Baltic regions. These regions have

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INTRODUCTION

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nurtured historical urban network studies, yet their major population centres are not often treated as mega-cities. Each chapter in this volume closely reviews existing theories and models, makes references to specialized historiographical literature, stimulates pragmatic discussion, calls attention to gaps in the literature, and proposes new perspectives, thereby operating as a comprehensive and useful toolkit for researchers to use in their study of urban networks.

Urban Network Theory: A Historiography from the 1930s to the 1990s To further define our research questions, we must take a closer look at the relevant historiography and describe how urban network theory was formed. The notion of urban network theory in historical scholarship became established in the 1980s, but it was based on earlier work, and the models that inspired the theory were not confined to the field of history. Some early models were proposed by economists, sociologists, and geographers. The American economist William Reilly created one of the first approaches to urban systems to include the dimension of urban hinterlands. In his book The Law of Retail Gravitation (1931), Reilly asserted that the extent of a city’s sphere of influence depended on its economic and demographic weight. This Newtonian model, better known as Reilly’s Law, rapidly received considerable criticism. One of the main objections was that Reilly’s Law did not explain the phenomena of centralization and the hierarchization of cities. In 1933, German geographer Walter Christaller set up a new model that included the centralization process, the hierarchy, and the configuration in the geographic space of urban systems. This model is known as the central place theory or the central place system (1933, 1966). Although Christaller developed his models for geography, historians enthusiastically adopted his approach, particularly in the 1960s. The original models were multifaceted, explaining market, transport, and political systems, but historians were most frequently drawn to his market system model. Using his model, the centralization of local and intra-regional trade was explained, as were the inter-urban relationships therein. Because Christaller’s model did not include international trade, however, the deduced inter-urban relationship was limited to the point of intra-regional trade. Furthermore, despite the discussion of centralization, the urban nodes Christaller’s models described

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G. FAVERO, M.-W. SERRUYS AND M. SUGIURA

remained considerably isotonic, with each node expected to have the same operations and functions. In an attempt to overcome the limitations of Christaller’s central place theory, James Vance Jr. and other scholars commenced research that opened a new paradigm in urban history during the 1960s and 1970s. In The Merchant’s World: The Geography of Wholesaling (1970), Vance attempted to link long-distance international trade flows to central places by explaining the development of the American urban system. What was inspirational about Vance’s reasoning was the way in which he introduced long-distance trade. Long-distance trade, in his view, was the result of producers trying to find a market for their products and consumers seeking access to these goods. In the process, both producers and consumers were helped by wholesalers and middlemen, who created a system of staples, depots, entrepôts, and transport infrastructure to forward or establish the flow of goods from producers to consumers. In this way, urban nodes were incorporated into the process of long-distance trade. Vance established a heterogeneous geographic environment that included rivers and oceans as well as nodes and infrastructure built upon commercial relations and historical dynamism. Among the scholars preceding Vance, Guido Weigend made a model for flows in the maritime worlds. We will discuss these concepts further in the following sections. In 1967 (at approximately the same time as Vance’s work), the Australian geographer Peter Rimmer created a model explaining the development of Australian seaports. Rimmer did not adopt Christaller’s central place system; he focused on the impact of inland transportation routes and maritime trade on the development of seaports, thereby ultimately clarifying how urban networks are formulated through transport. Initially, the coastline was dotted with small and scattered seaports, which were only very loosely connected to the interior. Because of the presence or absence of geographic, economic, and political constraints, only some port communities were able to construct a transport network linking them to inland settlements. Ports with good connections to the interior areas or their new hinterlands thus started to develop and attract maritime trade as they were the only links between these inland areas and the rest of the world. The seaports that failed to connect themselves to the upcountry urban settlements, or those that joined the transportation system too late, finally lost their maritime functions. These port cities’ maritime facilities sometimes temporarily became satellite harbours or outer harbours of their larger neighbours, but

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they were eventually absorbed into those larger neighbours’ hinterlands. Rimmer has called this procedure port piracy (Rimmer, 1967, pp. 42–44). Rimmer’s term, port piracy, has then been replaced by hinterland piracy, which was introduced by Clé Lesger, a Dutch historian who extensively used Rimmer’s model to explain the life cycle of harbours in the Low Countries (during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries) and in the North Holland Peninsula (during the Middle Ages and Early Modern era). From there, Lesger developed a specific concept of gateway, which was placed in stark contrast to staple market theory (Lesger, 2001, 2006). Rimmer’s model thus showed the impact of transportation and trade flows on an urban system. It was also extremely dynamic in comparison to Christaller’s central place theory as it showed how transport routes, trade flows, and ultimately the hinterland develop in time and space. Vance and Rimmer heavily influenced the new urban network theory that arose in the 1980s. Jan de Vries (1984) developed a model of urban systems based on flexibility and competitiveness rather than on stability and hierarchical relationships. The theoretical framework shown here was called urban network theory. Key terms such as links, nodes, hinterlands , and gateways were introduced. Urban network theory can be positioned as a denial of Christaller’s central place theory. In urban network theory, cities are presented in clusters; each node (and thus each city) is linked to the others by trade routes. The emergence and development of cities and their urbanization/de-urbanization processes are discussed in terms of how the urban network developed. This theory, combined with a surge of demographic history, succeeded in providing a comprehensive and interregional understanding of urban developments in Europe. At the beginning of the following decade, Paul Hohenberg and Lynn Hollen Lees (1985) provided a model fusing urban network theory and central place theory. Their model can thus be referred to as a dual network system. Covering the interactions and impacts of both long- and short-distance trade, their model became the most accepted method of describing urban systems from the perspectives of trade and transport. Their book also considered cities over the long-term perspective of 1000 years (1000–2000 CE). The dynamism inherent in the development of urban networks, however, was not necessarily their focus, and their work did not fully explain the issues associated with integration of the short and longdistance trades. Around the same time, Fujita, Ogawa, and Thisse (1988) and Krugman (1991, 1993) vigorously developed the field of new economic geography and reincorporated the classic central place theory models

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by Christaller and Lösch (1940) into spatial economics modelling, and the field is still growing strongly. New economic geography succeeded in establishing a theoretical logic of the dynamism of spatial allocations covering multiple levels of scales that range from intra-urban to global (Fujita et al. 1999). As Meijers (2007) notes, ‘While theoretical models on network paradigm are well established, research demonstrating empirical validity was non-existent’ (Meijers, 2007, p. 135). Meijers himself (2007) tested whether the network model better described the spatial organization of polycentric urban regions than the central place theory. He was able to detect network formation where nodes developed their complementarity, and he also concluded that, depending on the research layers (e.g. educational facilities or economic firms), the central place theory could be more applicable than the network model. We therefore need many more empirical cases, both historical and contemporary, to further test the application of these models. Urban network theory has been established through the evolution of urban theories from Christaller through Rimmer (1967), Vance (1970), de Vries (1984), and finally Hohenberg and Hollen Lees (1985). De Vries’s insertion of the urban reality into a network was a large step forward. The dual urban network brought about by Hohenberg and Hollen Lees (1985) gave current urban theory the relationship between long-distance trade and the short-distance catering of a central place to its immediate surroundings.

Towards an Urban Logistics Network Cities and Logistics—Nodes and Links The historical urban network model nevertheless needs further refinement. The above-mentioned models do not necessarily describe the essence of a network made of nodes and links. The links form the relationship between the nodes, which are mostly cities, and these links represent the flow of goods and people. In many cases, links are visible in the landscape as roads, railways, canals, rivers, and the like, but links are more than transport infrastructure. They are everything that makes goods flow from producer to consumer. In other words, links can be described as a logistics network. These links are represented by flows. A flow is defined here as every mobilization with a human origin, whether material or immaterial, that moves back and forth between nodes through actions directed by human activity. Cities are described as nodes because they are the starting point and

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the end point of flows. Although we acknowledge the importance of other types of flows (such as migration, capital, or information), this book mainly concerns trade and transport flows. The logistics network consists of not only the transport infrastructure but also the distribution system, such as merchants and middlemen. The logistics network is therefore closely connected to the conceptualization of supply chains and commodity chains. The main interest of merchants and other middlemen is to make the flow of goods go from a producer in one node to a consumer in another node in the most effective way, which can differ according to time, area, and product. As such, the parties involved in the flow of goods always try to ameliorate the system by making better and sometimes new connections. The nodes that promote flow are called gateways. Seaports are often considered to be gateways, but any node that facilitates or changes the flow could be a gateway. A myriad of gateways is at play in a logistics network, and clarification of the interactions of gateways as well as the political, geographic, technological, economic, social, transport, and financial factors that influence those gateways are among the goals of this book. There is also a mismatch in the speed of change between the logistics network and the cities. Cities change slowly in comparison to the fast pace of the logistics system. The historical development of urban networks can account for these tensions and explain how networks dynamically evolved from there. At the same time, cities are not static; they seek to change themselves to attract more flows in order to compete with, cooperate with, or complement other cities. Links and nodes, meaning logistics and urban systems, have different dynamics and approaches, but one is unable to exist without the other. It is this dynamic, which we have renamed the urban logistics network, that is the theme of this book. The opening chapter of this book, Chapter 2 by Per Hàllen, showcases this dynamism by focusing on a single gateway for a long period. Using the city of Gothenburg as an example, the chapter demonstrates just how fast the changes of logistics networks can be and how a gateway city reacted to these changes over the long term, changing its functions and historical meanings. In addition, Hàllen tests the application of Rimmer’s theory on port city development for historical studies and suggests some gaps in the literature.

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Spatial Formulation: Terminologies Though Hohenberg and Hollen Lees (1985) presented urban network theory with models for both long- and short-distance trade, there are still many refinements that need to be done to the multiple models meant for the theory, including those that concern spatial coordination. The first of these examples is the setting of the hinterland. American geographer Guido Weigend (1958) described the hinterland as an ‘organized and developed land space which is connected with a port by means of transport lines, and which receives or ships goods through that port’ (Weigend, 1958, pp. 192– 193). On the other side of the ocean, another port received these goods and shuttled them to its own hinterland. To distinguish these two identical structures on both sides of the ocean, Weigend called them hinterland and foreland, respectively. But Weigend’s setting was difficult to apply to preindustrial Europe. The above-mentioned Dutch historian Lesger (2006) pointed out that hinterlands are not uniformly connected to the rest of the world through a single harbour by maritime trade but by a myriad of gateways. He also stresses that gateways aren’t necessarily seaports. Continental gateways can provide transportation routes to push along trade flows from one landed urban system to another. Admitting multiplicity and land-based gateways open up areas for inclusion in the logistics network. To further clarify this, we call the lands beyond the periphery of an urban network the rearland (Fig. 1.1). The rearland is another urban system that is separated from the hinterland by an empty land space. The periphery is rarely completely empty, and the boundaries of landed urban systems are therefore much more difficult to establish, but they usually run through less populated areas, such as mountain ranges, marshes, deserts, forests, and moors. Hinterlands and rearlands are connected through continental gateways. We should not automatically assume that a dense transport network would gradually fill up the empty space between the hinterland and the rearland. We should carefully observe and note what shifts occur between them. Four essays in this book (Chapter 4, by Michael-W. Serruys; Chapter 9, by Giovanni Favero; Chapter 10, by Pierrick Pourchasse; and Chapter 11, by Werner Scheltjens) show the network developments between foreland, hinterland, and rearland in a particularly vivid manner. We thus propose that our urban logistics networks have relatively clear boundaries. Beyond hinterlands, there are peripheries and rearlands. The use of these terms necessitates the setting of borders in the geographical environment. We believe that without these definitions

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Fig. 1.1 Foreland, hinterland, rearland and gateway (Source The authors’ elaboration)

of space, the dynamism and shifting character of urban logistics networks cannot be traced. Likewise, the existing theoretical terminology of nodes and cities is insufficiently descriptive. In describing networks, we require more terms to reflect the existing diversity. We propose first to tag the nodes with terms that describe their orientation and function, such as relais , junctions , crossroads, bottlenecks, transshipments , terminus , distribution centres, or industrial centres. We also suggest adding adjectives to the nodes in order to clarify their functions. For example, rather than calling a node or a city a simple gateway, it helps to define it as an intermodal gateway, continental gateway, or maritime gateway. It is also helpful to combine several node activities into a description to further explain the functions of the node, such as with ‘intermodal, bottleneck gateway and production centre.’ In this way, it is possible to cope with the existing diversity. We have named this process urban adjectivation. Two essays in the present volume, Chapter 4, by Michael-W. Serruys, and Chapter 5, by Giovanni Cristina, deal extensively with this adjectivation, mainly from the perspective of transport.

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Bypassing and Intermodality Naturally, these terminologies of space change with the scale. An important gateway in a provincial system might be completely irrelevant to a world system. Most of the chapters in this book deal with regional-scale networks within a country. Yet as we will later describe in further detail, we adopt a methodological strategy focusing on games of scale (Revel, 1996), looking at smaller cases to develop a model that can be tested on larger gateways or vice versa and using different cases to highlight the variance of possible configurations and the dynamics of urban logistical scale in history. In fact, the scale itself changes over time, following technological, economic, and social transformations. Space appears to be more related to the time spent crossing it than to physical distance. The space one can reach within an hour changes drastically with innovations in transportation and distribution, and the relationship between physical flows and information flows is also affected by different technological paradigms. Over the last two centuries, for instance, means of transportation and distribution have become increasingly concentrated in single cities. This process usually involved the bypassing of the city as a result of the discrepancy between the effort necessary to create more efficient and direct connections and the growing complexity of the gateway city’s functions and services. In early modern times, goods that flowed from producer to consumer generally passed through a multitude of nodes: Producer → A → B → C → D → E → Consumer

With the elimination of middlemen brought about by the railways and other factors related to industrial revolutions, some nodes were bypassed, which resulted in a streamlined flow: Producer → A → E → Consumer

Nodes B, C, and D were bypassed in this example. Consideration of bypassing is essential in describing the historical development of urban logistics networks. In fact, bypassing is closely associated with urbanization, deurbanization, centralization processes, and the emergence of mega-cities. At the same time, bypassing is again a matter of divergence between the logistics and urban systems over time, as mentioned above. With the coming of railways, a divergence has occurred more and more between the

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logistics system and the urban system. We are well aware of this impact, and this book shows how urban logistics networks change before and after the arrival of railways by carefully describing the process of bypassing. We are not arguing that the arrival of railways completely transformed prior urban logistics networks. Rather, our book attempts to connect the networks before and after by showing changes. In many ways, the railways, especially high-speed trains bypassing a multitude of nodes, foreshadowed the coming of aeroplanes, which bypass even more nodes by flying over them. The physical network has become, in a certain way, non-physical. The emergence of mega-cities can be described this way from a logistics point of view. Looking at the historical process of bypassing offers a way to connect the past to the present and opens up a discussion of the networks made by different modes of transportation. Indeed, a good starting point is to take into account how different modes of transportation intertwined in the past. By following the flow of goods and people through different means of transportation, we identify intermodality as a crucial element influencing the characteristics of a node and carefully explore how that node and its networks change as a result. Intermodality can be both an asset and a problem for the development of a gateway node. Chapter 9, by Giovanni Favero, elaborates on these ideas, adopting a definition of the gateway as a node of intermodal exchange to shed light on the relationship between changes in transport technology and organization and the structure of the urban network, focusing on the case of the Venetian region and the impact of the railway on its urban hierarchy. A gateway is a connecting point between the hinterland and the external world, and passing through it usually implies a change in the modality of transport. This is most evident in the case of port cities, but it can also be found in inland gateways such as transport hubs, where flows are coordinated and organized, or in market centres, where goods pass from hand to hand. Considering intermodality as an inherent feature of gateways allows us to better understand the implications of the above-mentioned tension between the efforts needed to make the flow of goods and people more efficient and the growth of urban functions and services around the intermodal bottleneck. From this perspective, it is indeed possible to identify the structural determinants of urban hierarchy within the historical constraints of the prevailing technology, economics, politics, and social organization. It is also possible to see how a change in one or more of these elements causes a reconfiguration of the entire structure by maintaining, altering, or dismantling its shape.

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Shapes of Urban Logistics Networks The final fields that need refinement and exploration in the spatial settings of urban network theory are the shapes of the system and network. Logistics would give every urban system, represented by nodes, a specific shape. Although studies acknowledge that combining the mapping and detecting of network shapes is a powerful tool for explaining urban systems and networks, these shapes are not thoroughly explored in historical cases. In particular, the dynamism of the shapes—both their creation and dissolution—should be pursued to make urban network theory a useful tool for further comparing cases. From this perspective, we pick up the most representative three shape types of urban systems—dendritic, polycentric, and corridor—and discuss their evolution (Fig. 1.2). The term dendritic is typically used to describe water streams or pipeline networks and is not necessarily familiar for describing an urban network. Since we have set the flow of goods as our primary focus for urban logistics networks, however, we can often detect a dendritic shape in the analysis.

Fig. 1.2 Shapes of urban logistics network (Source The authors’ elaboration)

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The dendritic shape was used by de Vries (1984), and dendritic shapes are the most representative shape in historical studies of urban network theory. Careful analysis of maps and a cumulative investigation of distribution or transport records are needed to draw out the shape for a region. For example, in addition to the destinations and transit points for the flow of goods, scholars must have a fair grasp of the frequency and velocity of the modes of transportation to make the model coherent. Time schedules and travel journals are helpful as sources. The second shape, polycentric, is a structure where nodes of similar size disperse within a region. The regions discussed in this book are areas in which small cities prevail, and they often have polycentric characteristics. The existence of relatively similar-sized cities is the complete opposite of what central place theory proposed. Thus, their relationships and formations should be analyzed carefully. Urban studies have shown that small cities are more dependent on networks than larger cities (Bell & Jayne, 2009). A polycentric urban region does not necessarily form an urban network (Meijers, 2007, p. 145), and the polycentric shape might, in fact, be a reflection of the lack of a network. Only when spatial organization operates relationally and there are certain divisions of functions among the polycentric nodes can we define them as having the features of a polycentric urban network. This book deals with this tension historically. Historical cases contribute to uncovering the reasons for the processes a region took to gain a polycentric shape and to learning if there were network relationships forming among the nodes. The corridor is a well-researched concept in analyzing the connections in transport infrastructures. Corridors are also used in broader research fields, such as urban studies or economics. A corridor identifies developments happening around an axis, which is usually represented by a main communication or transport line (Yarwood, 2006). The present volume applies this concept extensively to the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Tracing the shape of corridors allows us to detect dynamic regional transformations. For example, attention on the making of corridors can highlight the process through which a new vertical axis triggers the nodes in the middle of an urban logistics network with minor hinterlands gaining stronger gateway functions because of the nature of points of access to the new line. This process, by transforming the line into a regional belt, may have different results. In some cases, the function of the weaker terminal of the new horizontal axis may be further diminished, finally making the middle region a part of the extended hinterland of the more important gateway

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terminal. In others, the region may maintain a multi-gateway structure. The outcome depends on many other factors, in part related to the shape of the network, as on the presence of other corridors converging into one gateway. This can be seen in Milan during the nineteenth century, which is connected to the wider historical context and its changes. These three shapes are distributed evenly throughout the chapters of this book (see Table 1.1). We have divided the chapters into four sections. In the second part, Changing Shapes of the Urban Network, the most representative examples of shapes are shown. In Chapter 3, Sandrine Lavaud shows the operation of complicated distribution networks relating to wine, using elaborate dendritic shapes. It is also important to note that these shapes can be used in combination. Chapter 4 (by Michael-W. Serruys) and Chapter 5 (by Giovanni Cristina) highlight how the dynamic making of the corridor interacts with the formation of the polycentric and dendritic urban system shapes of the region. In Chapter 6, Agustina Martire illustrates the railways’ establishment of a corridor between the cities of Belfast and Dublin. The third part traces the evolution of a single event: the regional formation of Northern Italy. The three Chapters 7, 8, and 9 cover three related cases. Chapters 7 (by Giovanna Tonelli) and 8 (by Luca Mocarelli) explore trade relations as well as the demographic, economic, and monetary history to explain the emergence of an economic region centred on Milan in spite of its changing political borders over time. Chapter 9 (by Giovanni Favero) follows the transformation of the bordering Venetian region, which became polycentric in the first half of the nineteenth century and then gravitated towards Milan following the construction of a railway line connecting the two cities. The formation of a Northern Italian urban network highlights the interconnected roles of transport innovations, political decisions, and economic factors.

Users of the Networks Urban network theory leaves much to explore in terms of how to include humans in its studies. Within the agency/structure debate that is fundamental to the social sciences, urban network theory, as part of network analysis, is positioned more at the latter pole: the non-individualist who sees structural settings and institutional forces as directing the actions of human beings. Network analysis can go so far as to reject the attributes of actors both individual and collective (Emirbayer & Goodwin, 1994, p. 1414). Historical studies of urban networks can also focus mainly on the

Scale

Source The authors’ elaboration

Dendritic Dendritic Corridor polycentric Corridor dendritic Corridor Polycentric Polycentric Corridor Corridor dendritic Corridor Polycentric

Bordeaux Belgium Catania Dublin-Belfast Milan Milan Venice Brittany & the Baltic Russia & London Friesland

Urban network shape

Gothenburg

City/region

Scale, city/region and shape dealt in the chapters of this book

Part I: A Single Gateway Chapter 2 Hallen Regional Part II: Changing Shapes of Urban Networks Chapter 3 Lavaud Regional Chapter 4 Serruys National Chapter 5 Cristina Regional Chapter 6 Martire Regional Part III: The Making of a Regional Network Chapter 7 Tonelli Regional Chapter 8 Mocarelli Regional Chapter 9 Favero Regional Part IV: Using the Network Chapter 10 Pourchasse Regional & continental Chapter 11 Scheltjens Continental Chapter 12 Sugiura Regional

Chapters

Table 1.1

1 INTRODUCTION

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network itself, explaining the relational operations between its nodes (or cities). However, this approach has its drawbacks, especially when applied to the urban logistics network that focuses on trade and transport flows. This approach is easily confused with setting cities themselves as the actors of networks, thereby implicitly providing strong agency to the cities and especially their policymakers and elites. This is a pity because it undermines a trend in urban studies that places great emphasis on involving the very urban inhabitants who have historically been neglected, such as women and minorities (Simonton & Montenach, 2013). It is important to understand the differences between the initial methodological stances and approaches that privilege urban agencies and urban networks and to not confuse the two. This difference, however, does not mean that the two approaches cannot complement each other. The same urban historian may adopt an urban agency approach for one article and network theory for another, and we should develop the concept of the urban logistics network in a direction that enhances that possibility. In addition, network analysis evolved in a way that transcended macro– micro levels in scale. In other words, analyzing networks enables researchers to fluidly converse on various scale levels. Yet we should consider the fact that, in complementing much-needed empirical and historical cases of urban logistics networks, our essential approach is bottom-up. The focus on the logistics aspects points towards source analysis at the micro-level. It is essential to find a way to involve more micro-level analysis of the larger picture of networks. From this perspective, we adopt a micro-historical approach in the book, conceiving ‘the cases we study not as “examples” but as “experiments.” Examples confirm a hypothesis through accumulation, with the obvious limitations this method entails. Experiments allow us to change a particular interpretation’ (de Vivo, 2010, p. 392). Obviously, as ‘the ability to reproduce the causes is excluded’ in history, an experimental approach requires attention to ‘even the smallest dissonances’ as ‘indicators of meaning which can potentially assume general dimensions’ (Levi, 1992, p. 110). Reflecting these issues, this book presents a fourth section, Using the Networks. We aim here at reorienting historical inquiries towards the role of the users of these networks: from merchants shipping their goods through one route or the other to passengers choosing how to reach their destinations, including the state and other political authorities, and also many others who are on much smaller scales, as interested users who may intervene

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to modify the infrastructural network. User is not a familiar word in historical urban network studies, particularly for pre-modern periods. However, in network studies of transport, innovations, or information technology, users are becoming indispensable to understanding the configuration and operations of the network. To what extent we can apply this to the past is still a question to explore. Nevertheless, the focus on users makes it possible for historians to reintroduce contingency (or Vidal de la Blache’s and de Martonne’s [1926] geopolitical possibilisme), as well as reconsider the place of human agency in the network analysis, while avoiding the pitfalls. The fourth sequence, Using the Network, includes three chapters that illustrate how urban logistics networks were used. Each chapter has a different perspective, focusing on merchants (Chapter 10), navigators (Chapter 11), and small-city entrepreneurs (Chapter 12). Chapter 10, by Pierrick Pourchasse, sheds light on the flaxseed trade between the Baltic and Brittany, linking two urban networks and two market organizations. This chapter details how merchants at the main gateway for trade, the intermediating organization points, and the receiver’s end utilized the network. In particular, the chapter shows how a third party, the Hanseatic port of Lübeck, could operate and shape the flow of trade by exploiting the network. Chapter 11, by Werner Scheltjens, tracks a shipment of iron between St. Petersburg and London through an analysis of a loadbook. This microscopic time analysis allows us to see the urban logistics network from refreshing perspectives, which are synthesized as characteristics of pre-industrial logistics. Chapter 11 helps us to understand the crucial role of port cities as providers of manpower, sustaining the urban logistics network. Chapter 12, by Miki Sugiura, focuses on one polycentric region of Friesland and attempts to discover why polycentricity was maintained by analyzing the transport systems of several of the nodes. This essay shows the dynamic use of the city canal by one family for more than five generations.

Conclusion We have described the formation of urban network theory in the 1980s and 1990s and covered the urban models that preceded and influenced the theory. We have also defined the urban logistics network and pointed to several gaps in the literature, which are in three areas: the spatial terminologies and scale, the shapes of networks, and the agency of networks. The editors do not claim to have established a new theory; the aim of this book is, once again, to provide a toolbox for other researchers. Each of the four

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parts of this book (I. Single Gateway, II. Changing Shapes of the Urban Network, III. The Making of the Regional Network, and IV. Using the Network) includes empirical case studies that can be used as comparative benchmark tools for other researchers to model their own urban networks. Providing synthesis of the characteristics of urban logistics networks at different phases, such as pre-industrial and modern, is beyond the scope of this volume, but each of our chapters deals with transitions in its own ways. This book is neither a comparative urban study in itself. It does not compare the examined regions with each other, or with other parts of the world. We nevertheless believe that the perspectives and variables we provide are useful for enhancing the historical research on urban networks, and we hope our volume will inspire a large body of new research. Finally, this book highlights that cities are important not only because more than half of humans now live in them, and more will come to live in them, as we noted in the opening of this chapter, but also because of their history. Although each city has its own glorious past when their names shone in history, cities are collectively ambivalent. There is no doubt that cities have made a significant difference in human history. Major economic and political revolutions, as well as technological innovations, would not have occurred without the existence of cities, even if not all of them were initiated in cities. Cities are collectively distinguishable, sharing cultural, economic, and political features and sometimes setting united fronts against the rural. However, none of these were intended or planned with a pair of invisible hands. In this book we searched for the presence of systems, networks, and even equilibrium among cities. Scholars have been able to construct theoretical models, but testing them against empirical cases demonstrate ameliorations, tensions, and demolitions of the expected relationships. In particular, as far as the relationship between the cities as nodes and the logistics networks connecting them is concerned, it is clearly demonstrated from the case studies presented in this book that a city can develop a coordinating rather than a subordinating role with respect to their hinterland and other cities. Obviously, such definitions are only the two tails of a range involving different proportions of coordination and subordination, and, most importantly, such roles change in time following the phases of regional developments. In the first case (coordination), however, cities provide much-needed services to maintain and foster the activities going on in the whole area, without attracting the vital functions of such activities into themselves. In the latter one (subordination), cities convey not only services for coordination but also attract such important economic activities.

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It is tempting for historians dealing with early modern and modern Europe, where the Industrial Revolution was the most impactful transformation in this span of time, to identify a general cycle going from coordination in proto-industrial settings, to subordination (with the rise of new cities) following industrial development, and finally back to coordination with the growth of services, the spread of industrialization in the whole area, and eventual de-industrialization (see for instance Bairoch, 1988). It is however necessary to highlight that this evolution is related to specific technological paradigms, intertwining with political and social transformations that hindered, neutralized or enhanced their effects on different regions. In other words, such cycles are historically contingent and model trajectories exist only in the eye and in the mind of the historian. The research on cities in this book on urban logistics networks keeps us aware of how much we can and how much we cannot know and explain. The choice of half of the human beings to inhabit cities is certainly a reflection that, despite it all, cities work. However, there is much left to discover about cities and the spaces they created.

References Bairoch, P. (1988). Cities and economic development: From the dawn of history to the present. (C. Braider, Trans.). Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Bell, D., & Jayne, M. (2009). Small cities? Towards a research agenda. International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, 33, 683–699. https://doi.org/10. 1111/j.1468-2427.2009.00886.x. Christaller, W. (1933 [1980]) Die zentralen Orte in Süddeutschland. Eine ökonomisch-geographische Untersuchung über die Gesetzmäßigkeit der Verbreitung und Entwicklung der Siedlungen mit städtischer Funktion. Darmstadt: Nachdruck der Ausgabe von. Christaller, W. (1966). Central places in Southern Germany. (C. W. Baskin, Trans.). Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall. Clark, P. (Ed.) (2013). The Oxford handbook of cities in world history. Oxford: Oxford University Press. de Vivo, F. (2010). Prospect or refuge? Microhistory, history on the large scale: A response. Cultural and Social History, 7, 387–397. https://doi.org/10.2752/ 147800410X12714191853427. de Vries, J. (1984). European urbanization 1500–1800. London, UK: Methuen. Emirbayer, M., & Goodwin, J. (1994). Network analysis, culture, and the problem of agency. American Journal of Sociology, 99, 1411–1454. Fujita, M., Krugman, P., & Venables, A. J. (1999). The spatial economy: Cities, regions, and international trade. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.

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Fujita, M., Ogawa, H., & Thisse, J. (1988). A spatial competition approach to central place theory: Some basic principles. Journal of Regional Science, 28, 477– 494. https://doi.org/10.1111/j.1467-9787.1988.tb01369.x. Hohenberg, P. M. & Hollen Lees, L. (1985). The making of urban Europe, 1000– 1950 (Rev. ed. 1995). Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Krugman, P. (1991). Increasing returns and economic geography. Journal of Political Economy, 99, 483–499. https://doi.org/10.3386/w3275. Krugman, P. (1993). On the number and location of cities. European Economic Review, 37, 293–298. https://doi.org/10.1016/0014-2921(93)90017-5. Lesger, C. (2001). Handel in Amsterdam ten tijde van de Opstand. Kooplieden, commerciële expansie en veranderingen in de ruimtelijke economie van de Nederlanden ca. 1550–ca. 1630. Hilversum, The Netherlands: Uitgeverij Verloren. Lesger, C. (2006). The rise of the Amsterdam market and information exchange: Merchants, commercial expansion and change in the spatial economy of the low countries, c. 1550–1630. (J. C. Grayson, Trans.). London, UK: Routledge. Levi, G. (1992). On microhistory. In P. Burke (Ed.), New perspectives on historical writing (pp. 93–113). Philadelphia, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press. Lösch, A. (1940). Die räumliche Ordnung der Wirtschaft. Jena, Germany: Gustav Fischer. Meijers, E. J. (2007). Synergy in polycentric urban regions: Complementarity, organising capacity and critical mass. Amsterdam, The Netherlands: IOS Press. Mizushima, T., Souza, G. B., & Flynn, D. O. (2014). Hinterlands and commodities: Place, space, time and the political economic development of Asia during the long eighteenth century. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill. Reilly, W. J. (1931). The law of retail gravitation. New York: Knickerbocker Press. Revel, J. (Ed.). (1996). Jeux d’échelles: la microanalyse à l’expérience. Paris, France: Seuil/Gallimard/Éditions de l’EHESS. Rimmer, P. (1967). The search for spatial regularities in the development of Australian seaports 1861–1961/2. Geografiska Annaler: Series B, Human Geography, 49(1), 42–54. https://doi.org/10.2307/490455. Sassen, S. (1991). The global city: New York, London, Tokyo. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Simonton, D., & Montenach, A. (Eds.). (2013). Female agency in the urban economy: Gender in European towns, 1640–1830. London, UK: Routledge. Vance, J. E. (1970). The merchant’s world: The geography of wholesaling. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall. Vidal de la Blache, P., & de Martonne, E. (1926). Principles of human geography. New York: Henry Holt & Co. Weigend, G. G. (1958). Some elements in the study of port geography. Geographical Review, 48, 185–200. https://doi.org/10.2307/212130. Yarwood, J. R. (2006). The Dublin-Belfast development corridor: Ireland’s mega-city region? London, UK: Ashgate.

PART I

A Single Gateway

CHAPTER 2

Gateway of Gothenburg Per Hallén

The Göta River (Göta älv) is 93 kilometers long and connects the lake Vänern, almost an inland sea, 5650 km2 , with the North Sea. It has always been an excellent highway to transport goods and people. Only a few waterfalls block the journey and forced ships to offload goods and transport the cargo overland. Since 1800, it has been possible to travel all the way between Vänern and the sea thanks to a system of locks. In medieval Scandinavia, waterways were the main highways to transport goods and people. Rivers, lakes and even small streams could play an important role in the transportations system. The Göta River was one of the largest inland waterways in Scandinavia. It is not surprising that the first cities in this part of Scandinavia were built along the Göta River. The great economic advantage of waterborne transport has often been pointed out in research. A concrete example was highlighted by Adam Smith in 1776; “A broad-wheeled wagon, attended by two men, and drawn by eight horses, in about six weeks’ time carries and brings back between London and Edinburgh near four-ton weight of goods. In about the same time a ship navigated by six or eight men, and sailing between the ports of London and Leith, frequently carries and

P. Hallén (B) University of Gothenburg, Gothenburg, Sweden e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2019 G. Favero et al. (eds.), The Urban Logistic Network, Palgrave Studies in Economic History, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-27599-0_2

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Image 2.1 The “gateway” to Gothenburg in 2015

brings back two-hundred-ton weight of goods. Six or eight men, in the same time the same quantity of goods between London and Edinburgh, as fifty broad-wheeled wagons, attended by a hundred men, and drawn by four hundred horses” (Smith & Cannon, 1937, p. 18) (Image 2.1). In addition to being a transport route, the river was also a border where the emerging kingdoms of Norway, Denmark and Sweden met. This meant that many conflicts and war acts affected the area. This made the historian Curt Weibull write, “The land at the mouth of the Göta River - the old Nordic border land – is the valley of the dead cities and fortresses” (Weibull, 1967). As in many other places across the world, the first successful cities emerged around trading places close to important trading routes. In the eleventh and twelfth centuries, a medieval system of small gateway cities began to grow along the waterways. In this early formation period, it is already possible to identify the two major gateways in Sweden. The largest of them was built on a small island forming the entry point to lake Mälaren, today known under the name Stockholm, the present-day capital of Sweden. To travel between the Baltic Sea and lake Mälaren ships had to reload the cargo due to the rapids coming from the higher lake flowing into the lower Baltic Sea. This eastern gateway had several advantages from the early medieval period and into the modern age. It was located at the only point of access to lake Mälaren and its iron rich hinterland. The iron went from here to Stockholm and onward to the export markets (Dahlbäck, 1995; Högberg, 1981). Another important advantage was that the city remained in the same

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location during a long time without facing constant threats of destruction from invading armies.

Cities and the Gateway Approach One of the most influential articles on the topic of urban centers in Sweden is Eli F. Heckscher’s article published in 1923 investigating the economic outcome of new cities in Sweden during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. He argued that at the core of explaining a city you would have to find the economic reason to its foundation and future existence. He was critical to the attempts of the Swedish crown to create new cites and regarded most attempts as failures. Only one city created in the seventeenth century is mentioned as an exception, the city of Gothenburg. Heckscher’s explanation is that Gothenburg was not a new city, it was only a relocated medieval city (Heckscher, 1923). Cities with a longer history, a foundation closely connected to trade and production of goods, were more successful than cities built only to be centres of administration and taxation. It is possible to link Heckscher’s argument to the theoretical models that have been created around the development of gateways and systems of gateways. In several papers and articles Peter J. Rimmer has discussed the evolution of ports and systems of ports (Rimmer, 2007). He develops an idealized sequence of port development based on his own research with additional ideas from Notteboom and Rodrigue article from 2005 (Notteboom & Rodrigue, 2005). The phases presented by Rimmer are based on studies of seaports going back to 1883, but in this chapter, I will use it on much earlier history and over a longer time (Fig. 2.1). In Phase 1, many small and scattered ports along a coastline or a river with only a limited hinterland. Phase 2, penetration lines and port piracy, can be found during building of railways and canals. In Phase 3, ports became more interconnected and some concentration started. Phase 4 is called centralization and is typical of the industrial age during the first part of the twentieth century. Finally Phase 5 and the decentralization of ports. The large ports get competition from smaller and highly specialized ports. The idealized sequence of port development in Rimmer’s text can be compared with the historical and economic development of the gateway cities along Göta River (Fig. 2.2).

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Fig. 2.1 The idealized sequence of port development (Author’s elaboration. Source Rimmer [2007, p. 77])

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Fig. 2.2 Map of the gateway cities at Göta River (Legend: 1. Lödöse 1050 [about]–1646; 2. Kungahälla 1050–1090 [about]–1612; 3. Kungälv 1613–1678; 4. Kungälv 1678–today; 5. New Lödöse 1473–1621; 6. Älvsborgs city 1547 [about]–1570; 7. Gothenburg 1604 [about]–1611; 8. Gothenburg 1619–today. Source Photo by Per Hallén 2015)

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The Early History of the Gateway System at Göta River Long before any permanent cities were built, trade and traveling on the river brought goods and new ideas. During the building of a new motorway and railway in the river valley, several previously unknown marketplaces were found during archaeological investigations. Large houses, probably warehouses, and many merchandises were found. Including one small Roman bronze statue, which indicates long-distance trade during the Iron Age (Claesson, 2014; Eboskog & Lega, 2014; Nordqvist, 2014). Farther inland at Varnhem, along a road connecting the rich agricultural landscape of Västergotland with the river, a wooden church from the late 900s and a stone church from about 1050 were recently discovered (Vretemark, 2018). This discovery reveals that Christianity was established at least 150 years earlier than assumed. This shows that the river’s gateway function was not just about goods but also ideas. During the 1000s, two smaller cities, Lödöse and Kungahälla, began to grow along the Göta River. Both had a long history in the form of smaller trading places along the river. From the few written sources available, it has been shown that both cities were created by Norwegian trade interests and political endeavors from the royal authority. Later, the city became Swedish, although the circumstances of this transfer are not fully understood. The driving forces behind the new city were primarily long-distance trading. The new cities created a concentration of trade. This development fits in well with the model of Rimmer presented earlier. The many scattered ports and trading places were replaced by fewer and permanent trading places (Andersson & Carlsson, 2001; Bengtsson, 1998; Harlitz, 2010) (Image 2.2). Lödöse’s market place was in the early years mainly a centre of the longdistance trade. The local marketplace of Grönköp close to the city was able to maintain control of the local market during the early history of Lödöse. The reason for this is difficult to clarify. Gradually, the city of Lödöse gained in weight and the marketplace in the city also increased its importance for local trade. Wood products probably dominated exports from Lödöse during the early Middle Ages. Animal products, especially butter, were also important as export goods. The role of iron exports in the Middle Ages has been debated, but there are indications that it started earlier than has been assumed. In addition, there may have been a significant forging and refinement of iron in the city. Import goods also consisted of food products like fish, and of course salt. The foreign merchants in Lödöse

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Image 2.2 Lödöse today (Lödöse today looks like a community from about the 1960s or 1970. Only in the local museum, the buildings closest in the picture, you will find the artefacts from the medieval city. The Göta River in the southern direction is clearly visible in the picture. Source Photo by Per Hallén 2013)

largely consisted of Germans. But trade was of course also conducted with the Danish area and with the other countries around the North Sea. The hinterland stretched far up to lake Vänern and into the central parts of Sweden (Ekre, 1993; Harlitz, 2010; Linge, 1993; Svedberg & Jonsson, 2006; Ugglas, 1931). A trade agreement with Lübeck meant mutual freedom of duty and the opportunity for the merchants from the German Hansa to settle in Sweden and call themselves Swedes. The Hanseatic activities in Lödöse were different than in the rest of Sweden as much of the goods came from England, France, Flanders and North West Germany. High-quality ceramics and textiles were stored in Lödöse before being sold on domestic trade routes or re-exported. By the middle of the fourteenth century, the city’s economy deteriorated and both the plague and a conflict with the German Hansa resulted in a prolonged recession. In 1368, the German Hansa sent a fleet to attack Lödöse. However, this was what we would call a surgical attack today,

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as it only damaged the castle and one of the four churches in the city. The organization still had significant financial interests in the city and the troops apparently had orders not to harm trade or its infrastructure (Ekre, 1993). In 1473 the situation changed for Lödöse when a new port city—New Lödöse (Nya Lödöse)—for the long-distance international trade was established closer to the southern river mouth. Old Lödöse (Gamla Lödöse) was not abandoned and retained its city rights, but the population declined and trade volumes declined rapidly. In 1550, the households in Lödöse numbred only 45, and finally in 1646 the city privileges were repealed (Harlitz, 2010; Linge, 1969). Kungahälla was situated at the northern river mouth of Göta River, called Nordre älv (The North River), and had emerged from previous settlements and market places. The name is mentioned in the Icelandic tales (sagor) already during the tenth century, but it is uncertain whether there was any city on the site. The earliest archaeological evidence of Kungahälla is from the end of the eleventh century. The reasons why the city was built are unknown, but probably it was in order to better monitor and tax the trade flows, and to some extent also to try to exercise control over the river (Andersson & Carlsson, 2001) (Image 2.3). The findings of ceramics have been extensive at the many archaeological excavations in the area where the city was located. The origins of ceramics are clearly Western European. Both the quantity and the fact that most of the ceramics have been imported show an extensive trading activity in the city (Carlsson, 2001). Archaeological finds in Kungahälla show that there were many oxen slaughtered in the city in the twelfth century. A large number of bones from oxen show that it must have been intended for export. It has been proposed that Kungahälla was Scandinavia’s oldest ox trade town (Vretemark, 2001). The city was moved in 1613 to a place below the strong Bohus fortress, which was never conquered in battle. The name Kungahälla was changed to Ny-Kongelf. The city would have a better protection there, and it got a position at the place where the Göta River branches into two river arms. But building a city next to a fortress may as well constitute a danger as a protection. During the coming war, the city was destroyed in connection with Swedish troops trying in vain to take Bohus in 1645. After having been burned down several times in connection with battles, the city was eventually moved again after a Danish-Norwegian siege in 1678. The transfer was made in an attempt to reclaim Bohuslän which since 1658 belonged to Sweden. The Swedish state had plans never to rebuild Kungälv, and to force the inhabitants to move to the new city of Gothenburg. This proposal was

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Image 2.3 Remains of the medieval monastery in the North Western corner of the city of Kungahälla (It is hard to find traces of the mediaeval city of Kungahälla. Aside from a few remains of the local monastery, the medieval town is completely invisible in the landscape. Source Photo by Per Hallén 2013)

never implemented, but the city lost its right to engage in foreign trade and thus its role as a gateway city ended (Bengtsson, 1998) (Image 2.4).

The New Gateways of New Lödöse and Gothenburg In 1473 privileges were given to the new city of New Lödöse. It was truly a new foundation and it did not replace Old Lödöse. The old city retained its status as a city but slowly started to be depopulated. The reason why New Lödöse was founded is unclear. In contemporary documents, the customs tariffs at the castle of Bohus are mentioned as a reason to build a new city downstream of the castle. It has also been suggested that the new city had a better location and was able to control a large hinterland to the east and south. On the other hand, it lost the close connection to some of the

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Image 2.4 Waterway in Kungälv, once the harbour for international trade from 1613 (Today, this area gives the impression of being a rural idyll. A clear example of a gateway city that lost its position. Source Photo by Per Hallén 2010)

northwestern trading routes. These were however still controlled by Old Lödöse (Linge, 1969). The foundation of New Lödöse fits well the concept of a gateway city. Soon it became the second city in the kingdom, in terms of trade, after Stockholm. It was not a city with global connections, but rather a regional trading centre. Northern Germany and Denmark were the main trading partners. But the city also had connections to the Netherlands, England and Scotland, as well as with Norway and the Orkney Islands. The export from New Lödöse consisted mainly of iron, wood, hides and agrarian products. Import goods were textiles, household goods, salt and food. The flow of goods shows the gateway function of the city. Also, the travels of people tell us about the connections with the foreland and hinterland. Large parts of West Sweden had connections to the city and craftsmen traveled long distances to work in New Lödöse (Image 2.5). New Lödöse was one of several cities forming a gateway corridor from lake Vänern to the sea. Old Lödöse still was a trading city, as was Kungahälla,

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Image 2.5 Site of the medieval church in New Lödöse (All traces of the medieval city except the memorial stone are gone. Today, new homes and offices are being built on site. Source Photo by Per Hallén 2013)

the southernmost city in Norway. The three cities were competitors and had similar trading patterns. New Lödöse was, as mentioned, also a gateway to other areas in the east and south. But in the south the older city of Varberg, within Danish territory, was another competitor alongside the city of Kungsbacka (Image 2.6). It was difficult for any of the small cities to get the upper hand. Constant conflicts devastated the urban centers and not a single one could start to grow and match cities like Stockholm. To strengthen New Lödöse it was suggested that it would be a good idea to move the city closer to the deep harbour, by the castle of Älvsborg, at the river mouth. In 1540 evidence has been found that at least parts of New Lödöse were moved (Älvsborg city), but at the same time several buildings remained in the old city area. Perhaps New Lödöse was located in two places at the same time during the mid-1500s. After a period of warfare, the city moved back to its old location

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Image 2.6 Archaeological excavation of Nya Lödöse in 2015 (Houses and streets from the medieval town have been visible again for a short time before being removed to give way to modern houses. Source Photo by Per Hallén 2015)

around 1570 (Cornell, Nilsson, Palm, & Rosén, 2017; Grill, 1954; Linge, 1969; Rosén, 2004) (Image 2.7). During the early 1600s, the connection to the Dutch became stronger and it was of interest to bring trade from this rich trading nation to the Swedish territory on the west coast. To make it attractive to Dutch merchants the Swedish government created a new city under the name Göteborg (Gothenburg). The new city was provided with many exclusive privileges to allow Dutch merchants to live and work in this new location. The grand plans were stopped by a new conflict and the small town with a limited population of Dutch merchants was burnt down (Scander, 1975). The land around Nya Lödöse and the castle of Älvsborg were under Danish occupation until 1619. After the payment of one million riksdaler in ransom the land was returned to Sweden. But during the peace negotiations, it came close to Denmark keeping this territory (Kirby & Wahlén, 1994; Wetterberg, 2002). If that had been the case, the history of this gateway would have been very different.

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Image 2.7 On the large open green surface lay the first Gothenburg (Like all the predecessors of today’s Gothenburg, almost all traces of the older city have been eradicated. Source Photo by Per Hallén 2012)

After Sweden regained control of the southern estuary of Göta River in 1619, the plan to build a new city was almost immediately realized. No attempt was made to rebuild the first city under the name Gothenburg. Instead a new location on meadows close to the river was chosen as the new location. The city dwellers from New Lödöse were told to be prepared to move to this new location. Between 1619 and 1643 the new city of Gothenburg was built in a wet marshland and on the meadows. Specialists on city planning and building in wetlands were recruited from The Netherlands. Even the plan of the city was, and still is, similar to that of Amsterdam, old Batavia and New Amsterdam (Attman, 1979). At first the defense of the city was rather weak, but after the threat of a new war, in 1643, a large-scale construction started on the new fortress of Gothenburg. In a few years’ time the city was transformed into one of the strongest fortified cities in Northern Europe (Andersson, 1996; Langenbach, 2004). The fortunes of war were this time in favor of Sweden. A large part of the old Danish kingdom was occupied by Swedish forces and after the peace of 1658, all of the land to the north and south of Gothenburg had

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become part of Sweden. This completely transformed the balance of power in Scandinavia (Eliassen, Mikkelsen, & Poulsen, 2001). Many former Danish and Norwegian cities were now forced to abandon foreign trade and only trade on the domestic market, and they became subordinate to Gothenburg (Helle, 2006). The gateway function of Gothenburg was strengthened by this development and its power over the hinterland was stronger than before. But it was a constant struggle to maintain this position. The merchant community in Gothenburg was very active in the national parliament to defend the rights of the city and its trade. During the 1620s Sweden introduced new laws that divided cities into different groups. Some were allowed to conduct international trade, and some were only allowed to conduct domestic trade. The new city of Gothenburg was from the very beginning favored by the new law. Kungälv, the former Norwegian city to the north was prohibited from conducting international and domestic trade. Even Old Lödöse lost its privileges in 1646 and its inhabitants were told to move to other cities (Harlitz, 2010; Heckscher, 1923; Ugglas, 1931). The gateway of Gothenburg could start growing within the protection of the new legal framework and expand into the hinterlands of the cities that had been disconnected. The influence of Gothenburg on the hinterland was growing from 1650 to 1815, and the eighteenth century was especially successful from the economic standpoint. The city experienced both economic and population growth. From 1733 Gothenburg was home to the Swedish East India Company. It was a powerful organization with many part-owners from continental Europe and Great Britain. Compared to the Dutch, English or French companies the Swedish was tiny. It was not able to create a colonial empire, but it was powerful enough to be asked to take action in the conflict between Scotland and England in 1746. The plan was never carried out, but the attempt is interesting (Behre, 1982). The great herring fishery 1748–1808 was important to the development of the cities’ trading network. The merchants of Gothenburg attempted to get a monopoly on the herring far north of the city. Their mission was unsuccessful and merchants and cities to the north of Gothenburg could also get a part of the profit from the rich fishery. But still, most of the profits ended up in Gothenburg as the main export harbour of herring and import of salt. The herring fishery was the only non-regulated industry in Sweden at that time, it was as close to a modern market you could get in

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the mercantilist system. The salting-houses and train oil factories changed the labor market and the flow of goods in the city. This was the first period of production within Gothenburg aimed at export. The new possibilities of the herring period opened up new markets around the Baltic Sea, the main market for salted herring. But the herring period came to an end in 1808, after that the rich fisheries disappeared (Nilsson, 1963; Poulsen, 2008). The herring period left some lasting effects in and around Gothenburg. Close to many of the salting-houses and train oil factories new production factories had originated. These consisted mainly of glassworks, iron foundry, shipyards and sugar refineries (Hallén, 2007). A new suburb to Gothenburg developed during that time. Gothenburg was now a fast-growing “city”, but the new suburb looked more like a shantytown. After the end of the herring period the large population in the shantytown remained and so did some of the factories. In 1868 this urban area outside Gothenburg was incorporated into the city (Hallén, 2007; Olsson, 2007b). The French revolution and the following Napoleonic wars laid waste to Europe and other parts of the world. In Gothenburg, on the other hand, the economy was booming. The Continental System made Gothenburg the commercial centre for most of Northwestern Europe. Thousands of ships arrived in the port during these years (Heckscher & Westergaard, 1922). After the end of the Napoleonic wars, the political change was fundamental across Europe. In Sweden a new royal dynasty came to power and Norway was forced into a union with Sweden. The balance of power around Skagerrak and Kattegat had completely transformed. The new union was going to further strengthen the economic power of Gothenburg. Large part of the Norwegian shipping, which previously went to Denmark, now came to Gothenburg (Eliassen et al., 2001; Olsson, 2007a). During the war Gothenburg had an exclusive position as a trading centre of Northwest Europe. When peace returned and trade resumed its old patterns, Gothenburg’s golden days abruptly ended. The overvalued property market collapsed and the commercial credit institutions went bankrupt or were liquidated (Fritz, 1996; Hallén, Aldman, & Fritz, 2015). This was a major credit crisis. The only formal credit institution left was the government and its resources were limited. During the Napoleonic wars a new large sugar refinery was constructed by the deep-water harbour. It was a modern factory, steam powered and using the latest British technology. It soon became the leading sugar refinery in Sweden. But during the post-war depression the refinery went bankrupt due to high cost of the new technology, the fluctuations in the price of unrefined sugar and the foreign exchange

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rates. A new strong owner from Scotland bought the refinery in 1834 and expanded the company with a production of porter. This became one of the most profitable companies in Gothenburg (Olsson, 2007c) (Image 2.8). The recovery after the economic crisis took several decades. During that time, the population growth was weak, but the city was gradually transforming into an industrial town. Most of the new industry was located outside the city’s border. The production was mainly in the sugar refineries and textile mills (mostly spinning). In the gateway city of Gothenburg, the harbour was the most important part of the infrastructure. During the pre-industrial age, all large ships had to lie at anchor in the roadstead. All goods were then on- or off-loaded to smaller barges and carried to the quay. Harbour facilities are important for understanding the development of the global transport revolution (Fritz, 1996; Jackson, 1972). The first true steps toward industrialization happened in the textile production, as in so many other countries around the world. At first it was only spinning that

Image 2.8 The large harbour channel in central Gothenburg (The channel is currently only used by tourist boats and some kayaks. But the city centre is still in use despite the fact that the canal is no longer the ciity’s backbone. Source Photo by Per Hallén 2017)

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was mechanized, weaving was still a manual process. In and around Gothenburg, about a thousand looms were working to make yarn cloth. Most of these looms were operated by small companies, some owned and managed by females in breach of the legislation at that time. By 1850 the next step in the mechanization process took place and the weaving moved into the factories (Hallén, 2010a, 2010b). In the 1820s the digging of a canal was initiated between Gothenburg and Stockholm. The harbour of Gothenburg participated in the project and it was made deeper and better adapted to the needs of ships and trade. In 1844 the project was completed. It combined natural waterways with canals to form the first inland connection between the two cities. The importance of Gothenburg was further strengthened by this canal. Today the effect of the canal is often forgotten in the shadow of the railways. But the canal made the flow of goods over Gothenburg so important that it was necessarily to build the first railways to the city (Forsström, 2003; Fritz, 1996; Gooch, 1991). Many of the new technological advances arrived from Great Britain to Gothenborg, which became the most important gateway in Sweden of technological import during the nineteenth century. Also with regard to the technology imports the Göta canal played a crucial role (Gooch, 1991; Gooch & Castensson, 1991). During the mid-nineteenth century Sweden began to transform from a mainly agrarian country into an industrial nation. Railways made an impact on transportation and could connect the gateway to new networks. But the new transportation technology also created competitors, as new harbours that previously did not have any well-developed connection to a hinterland, could use the railway to develop into new important gateways. At the same time, institutional reform removed most of the privileges that some of the seaports previously had. The connection between the new railway system and the harbour in 1858 was the start of a new age in the history of the harbour and the importance of the gateway. The first railway connected Gothenburg to the capital city Stockholm. But the expansion of the network soon made new areas in inland Sweden part of Gothenburg’s hinterland. At the end of the nineteenth century six railway lines connected the city to its hinterland. It was a complicated task to provide capital for the railways in Sweden. It was (and still is) a sparsely populated country and you have to build long tracks across forests and hills to reach populated areas. Most of the nationwide railway lines were entirely paid for by public means. But one, big exception is the line between Gothenburg and mining district around Falun. That was the largest private infrastructure project during the nineteenth century. The first plans were to build a shorter rail-

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way to a small port on the west coast called Krossekärr. This was the first true threat to a vital economic interest for the Gothenburg merchants in a long time. If the export of iron was to by-pass Gothenburg it would be a serious setback to the gateway city. In the end the railway line was built all the way to Gothenburg. It opened in 1879 and soon was one of the most important lines feeding goods through the harbour (Fritz, 1996). At the same time this railway line was important to gain access to the hinterland, previously dominated by economic interests from Stockholm. From the mid-1800s to 1911 Stockholm’s share in the export was reduced from 43 to 10%. Gothenburg share on the other hand, did not shrink and made up about 25% of the export figures. The import shares of both Stockholm and Gothenburg from 1840 to 1911 shrunk from almost 40% to 24–27% of the total Swedish import (Hammarström, 1970). The two old gateways were facing increased competition from smaller harbours around the Swedish coastline after the abolition of the old laws giving only a few cities privileges. The increasing flow of goods moving through the port of Gothenburg was possible due to the modernization of the harbours. Railways, modern docks and dredgers transformed the river into a river harbours in the city centre. The industrial city became mature in the decades before the First World War. The older industries developed and many new smaller businesses were established. One of the most successful was SKF, the manufacturer of ball bearing (Fritz, 1996). Between the two World Wars, most of European economy was in a bad shape. Many traditional industries were not able to continue to produce as before the war. To a gateway like Gothenburg this should have meant a catastrophe. But that is the great paradox of Gothenburg, during the 1920–1939 period. Instead of declining, Gonthenburg’s economy expanded. The shipyards, the engineering workshops and the textile industry not only survived, but they flourished. It was a combination of a growing Swedish market and of new innovations that saved and developed the industrial production in Gothenburg. Before the war many industries took out loans in German banks. After the war the German currency lost its value during the hyperinflation. That was a great help to many companies and also to the Swedish state that was in debt to German banks and suddenly could pay the loans back. During the 1930s German rearmament also boasted industrial development in West-Sweden (Olsson, 1996).

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Economic Expansion After 1945 After the Second World War, the economic growth continued to be outstanding (1945–1974). The shipyards in Gothenburg became as important as Glasgow and Hamburg. About 10% of the world production of ships took place in the dry docks of Gothenburg. The shipping companies were part of the development of the shipyards. New lines and new ships were needed to transport the ever-larger amounts of goods. The oil-harbours was expanded with new petrochemical industries connected to it. The new challenges to the gateway were the shift from mixed cargos to a world of “roll on roll off”, containers and ever-larger ships transporting oil. The old textile industry was not so successful during these years. It was under pressure from low-wage countries and many factories had to close. It was fortunate that the expansion in other industries was so strong, it could absorb the laid-off workforce from the textile industries (Olsson, 1996). The oil crisis was the beginning of the end for the shipyards. One by one the big shipyards were forced to close in the ten years following 1974. The only surviving shipyard was specialized in repairing ships (Olsson, 1996). In that aspect, things were back to the “normal” as it was before about 1850. The mass production of large ships lasted less than 50 years. After 1974 the production of cars and trucks at the Volvo factories became more and more important to the city and some started to describe Gothenburg as a “car city” rather than a “sea-faring city”. Looking only on the number of employees, this could be correct. But, without the harbour, the industry would have problems with both the export of the products and the import of the materials needed for production. The impact of the crisis went beyond the shipyards. The diversity in the local business community was reduced and the surviving large companies like Volvo and SKF became even more important (Storstadsregioner i förändring, 1989). Aside from industry, banking and finance in Gothenburg remained important and went on growing throughout the nineteenth century into the twentieth. Banks with headquarters in Gothenburg controlled about 30% of the total financial market in Sweden before 1945. After the Second World War the financial markets were concentrated in Stockholm. As a secondary financial node, Gothenburg started to shrink. By the 1980s, the concentration the concentration of financial activities in the capital city was complete (“Statistisk årsbok Göteborg”, 1902–2015). Railway connections are still important to the port of Gothenburg, but today traffic by road and air have increased its share of the transportation

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of goods in and out of the hinterland. The infrastructure in west Sweden is pointing toward Gothenburg. It is shaped like a stare due to the landscape with valleys. Some improvements were made during the depression and the interwar period. The breakthrough of cars and lorries did not come until after the Second World War (Schön & Schubert, 2010). After the Second World War the infrastructure in the western parts of Sweden has received less funding if compared to other parts of the country (Forsström, 2003). Motorways were built on the approaches to the city in the sixties and seventies, but further out the road standard was of low quality. To the south a motorway connection to Malmö was completed in 1999. To the north, connecting Gothenburg to Oslo in Norway, only parts of the road have motorway standard. The important road toward Stockholm is also of a low standard through large parts of Western Sweden. It is a road with many fatal accidents. The road standard only recently started to catch up with the rest of Europe. A new component to the gateway system is air transport. The only international airports in the western part of Sweden are located outside of Gothenburg. The first “modern” airport was Torslanda in the western part of the city, not far from the harbour, inaugurated in 1923, when the city celebrated its 300 anniversary. Torslanda was the main airport until 1977, when a new larger airport, Landvetter, opened outside the city. The aim was to move the noise and pollutions away from the city. Closer to the city an old air force base was converted into a civilian airport in 2000. It was given the grand name of Göteborg City Airport, but still using old barracks. This was during some years the home of low fare companies like Ryanair. But the old runway was in poor condition and in 2014 Göteborg City Airport was closed and all traffic had to move to Landvetter. Transport by air did not follow the same pattern as transport by sea. The large gateway of the skies in Sweden is Stockholm—Arlanda airport. Close to Gothenburg is also the large airport of Copenhagen. But the number of passengers and goods are growing in Gothenburg and the airport is now expanding and building new logistic centres and hotels. Plans are made to build a railway station under the airport (Swedavia.se/Landvetter and Härryda Posten. www.harrydaposten.se/2018/ 01/visioner-pa-vag-att-forverkligas/, February 13, 2019). However, it is unlikely that the airport will ever be a gateway as important as the port has been. Through large investments the harbour was modernized in order to keep up the competition with other harbours (Olsson, 1996). Today Gothenburg harbour is regarded as part of the Kattegat/The Sound

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multi-port gateway regions of Europe (Notteboom, 2010). New investments are underway and it looks like the largest container ships are going to continue to arrive in the port of Gothenburg (Fig. 2.3). Since 1965 the transportation of goods through the port of Gothenburg has increased. The rapid expansion during the 1960 is clear in the diagram, as well as the downturn in the mid-1970s. A long-term slow recovery has been followed by a peak in the need of transportation in the early 2000s. Today only a small part of the goods travel on Göta River to lake Vänern. Most goods are transported on trucks and trains to other parts of Scandinavia. This shift from water to land transportation started in the mid-nineteenth century during the industrialization. As a gateway city Gothenburg depends on the economic structures in its hinter and foreland. Since the 1970s the diversity in the industrial sector has been reduced and today it is dominated by the automotive production. In addition, the service economy is to a large part depending on the automotive industry, so the economic structure of both the city and its hinterland are vulnerable (Image 2.9).

Fig. 2.3 Tons of goods transported through the Port of Gothenburg, 1965– 2016 (Source The author’s elaboration from Port of Gothenburg. https://www. goteborgshamn.se/om-hamnen/varldens-hamnar-i-siffror/ [February 13, 2019])

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Image 2.9 Gothenburg’s harbour today (The port is now closer to the sea and many residents no longer notice the shipping activities. But when new large vessels enter the city for the first time, the beaches are lined with people who want to see the new “giants” of the sea. When the new generation of container vessels entered Gothenburg for the first time in 2013, ferries went out to the harbour with curious spectators. Source Photo by Per Hallén 2013)

The Five Phases of the Gateways at Göta River This chapter’s point of departure was the article by Eli F. Heckscher. He argued that at the core of explaining a city you will have to find the economic reason to its foundation and future existence. By highlighting some of the more important economic events in the gateways along the Göta River from about the year 1000 and until the present day, the development of the gateway has been shown. When this development is compared with Rimmer’s five phases of the idealized sequence of port development, some interesting results emerge. The first phase represents the many scattered marketplaces along Göta River during the late iron age and early medieval period. In the second phase several new cities were established, Lödöse and Kungahälla, at first rural market places also existed alongside the cities. In 1473 the establishment

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of New Lödöse expanded the multi-gateway system along Göta River to three cities. Conflicts were common and wars had a devastating impact. The economy was however strong enough to allow rebuilding after the end of each war. No single city could achieve a dominating position. During the late 1500s and early 1600s it is clear that both Swedish and Danish cities in this area started to penetrate other cities’ hinterlands in acts of “hinterland piracy”. The first lock in Sweden was built in Göta River to reduce transportation cost and traders from the Norwegian city of Uddevalla attempted to gain access to the valley of Göta River. This second phase lasted until the mid-1600s, when Sweden got the upper hand of Denmark and the West coast was placed under the control of Sweden. The third phase of interconnection and concentration was during the integration of the cities into the new Swedish system of regulation of cities. This phase lasted from the mid-1600s to the mid-1800s and ended with the abolition of the exclusive status of some cities over others in relation to international and domestic trade. The end of the third phase also coincides with the first railways that opened up a larger hinterland to the gateway of Gothenburg. The fourth phase of concentration to the gateway depended on the transportation system driven by steam and later oil. Especially railways were an important component in the centralization of trade. It was a massive investment to build and run railways. The only way to make it profitable was to have a large amount of cargo. That in turn required a large supplier, like a large port. The fifth phase is the contemporary period and in some port regions decentralization has emerged. That did never develop in any significant way around Gothenburg. Only the outport of Wallhamn, started in 1962, has attempted to challenge the port of Gothenburg, but mainly in the shipping of cars. Instead, the concentration, so far, seems to continue in the port of Gothenburg. The gateway theory and the history of Gothenburg form many links together. The economic driving forces are, as Heckscher told us, important and explain the changes over time. As always, the international economy is of great significance to understand the local and regional development of a port city. Without the effects of the herring, Napoleonic wars, the massive demand of goods after the Second World War and other important events, the gateway of Gothenburg would have been different.

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Today some of the goods that were important to the first gateway cities still have a role in the modern economy. Iron has been replaced by steel and automotive export, wood has been replaced by paper and paper pulp, but both are still important export goods. The Göta River is still used but its importance has diminished. Rail and road transport have increased in importance. Due to the rail and road system, goods like cars and paper can easily take other roads and bypass the port in Gothenburg. The present city of Gothenburg has been successful in adapting to the changes in both its hinterland and foreland. However, can it continue to play a role as an important port and gateway? Alternatively, will the Gothenburg of today end like so many of its precursors and disappear from the map? Nothing is ever certain and a gateway city is always dependent on the development of other gateway cities in the network.

References Newspaper Härryda Posten. Visioner på väg att förverkligas. February 13, 2019.

Internet Port of Gothenburg. https://www.goteborgshamn.se/om-hamnen/varldenshamnar-i-siffror/. Accessed February 13, 2019. Swedavia.se. https://www.swedavia.se/landvetter/framtidens-flygplats/.

Literature Andersson, B. (1996). Göteborgs historia: näringsliv och samhällsutveckling 1, Från fästningsstad till handelsstad 1619–1820. Stockholm: Nerenius & Santérus. Andersson, H., & Carlsson, K. (2001). Kungahällaprojektet - en bakgrundsteckning. In Lund studies in medieval archaeology, 0283-6874 ; 28. Kungahälla : problem och forskning kring stadens äldsta historia. Uddevalla: Bohusläns museums förl. Attman, A. (1979). Tre föreläsningar 1978. Göteborg: Kungl. Vetenskaps-och vitterhets-samhället i Göteborg. Behre, G. (1982). Göteborg, Skottland och vackre prinsen. Göteborg: Göteborgs hembygdsförb. Bengtsson, K. (1998). Den flyttande staden. Fynd. Tidskrift för Göteborgs Stadsmuseum och Fornminnesföreningen i Göteborg, 1998(1–2).

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Carlsson, K. (2001). Keramiken i Kungahälla - kronologi, handel och funktion. In Lund studies in medieval archaeology, 0283-6874 ; 28. Kungahälla : problem och forskning kring stadens äldsta historia. Uddevalla: Bohusläns museums förl. Claesson, P. (2014). Forntida bosättning vid älven. Fynd. Tidskrift för Göteborgs Stadsmuseum och Fornminnesföreningen i Göteborg, 2014. Cornell, P., Nilsson, A., Palm, L., & Rosén, C. (2017). A Scandinavian town and its hinterland: The case of Nya Lödöse. International Journal of Historical Archaeology, 22(2), 1–17. Dahlbäck, G. (1995). I medeltidens Stockholm. Stockholm: Stockholmia. Eboskog, M., & Lega, J. (2014). Osbacken - en handelsstaion vid älven. Fynd. Tidskrift för Göteborgs Stadsmuseum och Fornminnesföreningen i Göteborg, 2014. Ekre, R. (1993). Lödöse och Göta älvdalen från 1200-talet till 1500-talet. In Kring Göta älv : studier i en dalgång. Göteborg: Tre böcker. Eliassen, F.-E., Mikkelsen, J., & Poulsen, B. (2001). Regional integration in early modern Scandinavia. Odense: Odense University Press. Forsström, Å. (2003). Transportnät och trafikflöden. In Sveriges nationalatlas [Kartografiskt material] Västra Götaland. Gävle : Kartförl. Fritz, M. (1996). Göteborgs historia: näringsliv och samhällsutveckling. 2, Från handelsstad till industristad 1820–1920. Stockholm: Nerenius & Santérus. Gooch, G. D. (1991). Teknikimporten från Storbritannien 1825–1850: en studie av Göta kanals och Motala verkstads betydelse som förindustriella teknikimportörer: [en rapport från forskningsprojektet Göta kanal]. Linköping: Univ. Gooch, G. D., & Castensson, R. (1991). The transfer of technology from Great Britain to Sweden 1825–1850: A study of the international diffusion of machine technology. Geografiska Annaler: Series B, Human Geography, 73(3), 175–185. Grill, E. (1954). Städernas Handel. In Hallands historia. [1], Från äldsta tid till freden i Brömsebro 1645. Halmstad. Hallén, P. (2007). Sill och tran byggde Majorna. In Majornas historia : krig och oxar, sill och socker : nedslag i uthamnen Majornas historia fram till 1920. Göteborg: Landsarkivet. Hallén, P. (2010a). Kvarnbyns spinnerier och det dynamiska västsvenska bomullsindustriområdet. In Det stora fallet: en historia om Mölndals kvarnby och kraften i fallet. Lund: Sekel. Hallén, P. (2010b). Omvandling och mekanisering av textilindustrin. In Det stora fallet : en historia om Mölndals kvarnby och kraften i fallet. Lund: Sekel. Hallén, P., Aldman, L.-A., & Fritz, M. (2015). Krona eller klave: utvecklingen av kreditmarknaden i Göteborg under 1800-talet. Malmö: Universus Academic Press. Hammarström, I. (1970). Stockholm i svensk ekonomi 1850–1914. Hämtad från. http://digitalastadsmuseet.stockholm.se/fotoweb/Grid.fwx?archiveId= 5000&search=(IPTC187%20contains(SSMB_0000538_01_)).

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Harlitz, E. (2010). Urbana system och riksbildning i Skandinavien: en studie av Lödöses uppgång och fall ca 1050–1646. Göteborg: Institutionen för historiska studier, Göteborgs universitet. Heckscher, E. F. (1923). Den ekonomiska innebörden av 1500-och 1600-talens svenska stadsgrundningar. Heckscher, E. F., & Westergaard, H. (1922). The continental system: An economic interpretation. Oxford: Clarendon. Helle, K. (2006). Norsk byhistorie: urbanisering gjennom 1300 år. Oslo: Pax. Högberg, S. (1981). Stockholms historia 1, Den medeltida köpstaden. Hans Nådes stad. Stormaktens huvudstad. Borgarnas stad. Stockholm: Bonnier fakta. Jackson, G. (1972). Hull in the eighteenth century: A study in economic and social history. London: Oxford University Press. Kirby, D., & Wahlén, J. (1994). Östersjöländernas historia 1492–1772. Stockholm: Atlantis. Langenbach, H. (2004). Festungsbau in Göteborg: Bauruine und Rekordprojekt 1619–1660: eine Studie zu Planung, Durchführung, Finanzierung, Abrechnung, Kosten und Organisation. Hamburg: Krämer. Linge, L. (1969). Gränshandeln i svensk politik under äldre Vasatid. Lund: Gleerup. Linge, L. (1993). Göta älv som riksgräns och handelsled. I Kring Göta älv: studier i en dalgång. Göteborg: Tre böcker. Nilsson, L. (1963). Det stora sillfisket 1752–1808. Stockholm. Nordqvist, B. (2014). Från Samarkand till Göta älv - aktuella arkeologiska nedslag från romersk järnålder till tidig vikingatid. Fynd. Tidskrift för Göteborgs Stadsmuseum och Fornminnesföreningen i Göteborg, 2014. Notteboom, T. E. (2010). Concentration and the formation of multi-port gateway regions in the European container port system: An update. Journal of Transport Geography, 18(4), 567–583. Notteboom, T. E., & Rodrigue, J.-P. (2005). Port regionalization: Towards a new phase in port development. Maritime Policy & Management, 32(3), 297–313. Olsson, K. (1996). Göteborgs historia: näringsliv och samhällsutveckling. 3, Från industristad till tjänstestad 1920–1995. Stockholm: Nerenius & Santérus. Olsson, K. (2007a). En trävaruexport av nationell betydelse – Dicksons Majnabbe. In Majornas historia : krig och oxar, sill och socker : nedslag i uthamnen Majornas historia fram till 1920. Göteborg: Landsarkivet. Olsson, K. (2007b). Inkorporeringen med Göteborg år 1868 – en införlivning med en lång förhistoria. In Majornas historia : krig och oxar, sill och socker : nedslag i uthamnen Majornas historia fram till 1920. Göteborg: Landsarkivet. Olsson, K. (2007c). Sockerraffinaderiet vid Klippan – Sveriges första storindustri. In Majornas historia : krig och oxar, sill och socker : nedslag i uthamnen Majornas historia fram till 1920. Göteborg: Landsarkivet. Poulsen, B. (2008). Dutch herring: An environmental history, c. 1600–1860. Amsterdam: Aksant.

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Rimmer, P. J. (2007). Port dynamics since 1965: Past patterns, current conditions and future directions. Journal of International Logistics and Trade, 5(1), 75–97. Rosén, C. (2004). Stadsbor och bönder: materiell kultur och social status i Halland från medeltid till 1700-tal. Mölndal: UV-Väst, Riksantikvarieämbetet. Scander, R. (1975). Karl IX:s Göteborg på Hisingen: en holländsk koloni med svenskt medborgarskap. Göteborg: Göteborgs hembygdsförb. Schön, L., & Schubert, K. (2010). Sweden’s road to modernity: An economic history. Stockholm: SNS förlag. Smith, A., & Cannon, E. (1937). An inquiry into the nature and causes of the wealth of nations. New York: W. Strahan and T. Cadell. Statistisk årsbok Göteborg. (1925). Storstadsregioner i förändring [Elektronisk resurs] : underlagsrapport från Storstadsutredningen. (1989). Hämtad från. http://urn.kb.se/resolve?urn= urn:nbn:se:kb:sou-7263440. Svedberg, V., & Jonsson, L. (2006). Medeltida urbanisering och fiske i Västsverige. Göteborg: Institutionen för arkeologi, Göteborgs universitet. Ugglas, C. R. af. (1931). Lödöse: (gamla Lödöse): historia och arkeologi. Göteborg: Medéns bokh. i distr. Vretemark, M. (2001). Kungahälla - om handel och varuutbyte med animalieprodukter. In Lund studies in medieval archaeology, 0283-6874 ; 28. Kungahälla : problem och forskning kring stadens äldsta historia. Uddevalla: Bohusläns museums förl. Vretemark, M. (2018). Kristna vikingar i Varnhem. [Skara]: Västergötlands museum. Weibull, C. (1967). Landet vid Göta älvs mynning. Städer och fästningar. In Historia kring Göteborg. Stockholm: Wahlström & Widstrand. Wetterberg, G. (2002). Kanslern : Axel Oxenstierna i sin tid. D. 1. Stockholm: Atlantis.

PART II

Changing Shapes of Urban Networks

CHAPTER 3

Bordeaux from Its Vineyards to Its Hinterland: A Regional Capital in the Late Middle Ages Sandrine Lavaud

It was the economic potential provided by it being a port that enabled Bordeaux to thrive as a locality made suitable for wine-growing by its soil. From ancient times, the emporium was able to export the output of the vineyards down the great watercourse and onwards to the eager markets of Northern Europe. Its function as a gateway to the Atlantic was compounded by its location at the head of the tidal estuary 80 km from the ocean. Bordeaux was the trans-shipment point between fluvial craft laden with cargo from up-river and sea-going vessels ready to carry those goods out onto the Atlantic. This location made it the inescapable port-of-call for wine exports from the Garonne valley. The middle ages and more especially its final three centuries (thirteenth to fifteenth centuries) saw Bordeaux reach the height of its fortunes both in wine-growing and as a port, with the Anglo-Gascon union opening up guaranteed outlets to the English market in which Bordeaux had a virtual monopoly when it came to wine. Control

S. Lavaud (B) UMR 5607 Ausonius, University Bordeaux Montaigne, Pessac, France © The Author(s) 2019 G. Favero et al. (eds.), The Urban Logistic Network, Palgrave Studies in Economic History, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-27599-0_3

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over the production, procurement and sale of wine became a major issue for the city and initiated or served its claims to be a regional capital. The celebrated wine privileges,1 secured both by concessions and by infringements of individuals’ property rights and freedoms, served as a prime legal and commercial weapon in Bordeaux’s endeavour to become a metropolis. Outlying areas were brought under its sway and a wine-growing system eventually established. Evaluating and mapping this ascendancy provides historians with a way to measure the city’s expanding jurisdiction and its contribution to the formation of the hinterland. The idea of hinterland shall be construed broadly here, taking into account the gains from recent approaches that have enhanced the model first introduced by Christaller and encompassing economic and political factors. Those factors prove especially operative in the case of Bordeaux where the hinterland can be approached in any of three ways: – an economic perspective: the hinterland is assimilated with the territory lying specifically inland from the port city, its area of procurement. The port provided exit points for this area which was directly connected to it. For Bordeaux, the inland district was the Garonne drainage basin, which was the place from where Gascony wines were procured for export. It was akin to a continental gateway the structuring features of which were the river network and the towns that littered it. This hinterland had no sharp boundaries and was much like a “horizon”, a Frontierland that graded into a tangle of partially overlapping areas of influence, in the case in point, the areas of Toulouse,

1 It was from the thirteenth century on that the Bordelais used privileges to ward off competition and sell their wine on the best terms. The tax exemption granted to them in 1214 by John Lackland was a first step. It exonerated the burghers of Bordeaux from payment of the grande and petite coutume. Then from the 1240s, the municipal councillors claimed to control the shipment of wines from upstream, prohibiting them from entering Bordeaux before Martinmas and then, from 1373, before Christmas. Lastly in 1401, the councillors of Bordeaux secured from Henry IV a statute prohibiting the loading of wines for abroad from the Médoc ports. These protectionist measures continued until they were first abolished by Turgot in 1776. Historical studies on this question abound. The authoritative textbook already dates (Kehrig, 1886). But the study of these medieval privileges is due to Yves Renouard (1959) and J.-P. Trabut-Cussac (1950). We should also add the remarkable clarification by Roger Dion ([1959] 2010).

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centred on the upper Garonne, and Bayonne oriented towards trade with Spain2 ; – a political conception: the hinterland is viewed as the outlying area over which the city exercised authority and power of command. This conception covered the spatial frameworks that were symptomatic of this control function whether administrative (banlieue, sénéchaussée, généralité, etc.), judicial (provostship, jurisdiction of the Parlement, etc.), ecclesiastical (dioceses, provinces, etc.) or regulatory and legal (Bas-Pays/Haut-Pays); – a social and cultural connotation: the hinterland was also the spatial expression of the area of social relations and reciprocal support around a central core; the social and cultural practices that gave life to it, especially those dictated by the marked impact of wine-growing, forged its geographical identity and generated a sense of belonging. Defined in this way, the term is similar to other concepts, such as the concepts of zone of urban influence or fallout, both of which highlight the political and economic sway the city held over its surroundings; hence the focus on the agents and markers of urban influence and their level of intensity. Here it is proposed to use the economic indicator provided by the wine trade as an approach to Bordeaux as a geographical centre. How relevant is this criterion? Is it a decisive factor in the polarization of the area dominated by Bordeaux? Does it fully account for the influence of this capital? Is it consistent with other types of place?

An Operative Indicator for the Immediate Surroundings Whether we look at it in terms of the production area or in terms of landholding and market power, the wine-growing criterion is a good indicator of Bordeaux’s control over its immediate inland area. The city developed a vineyard in its faubourgs that formed its main area of production and supply (Fig. 3.1). 2 The continental gateways engendered by the three major cities (Bordeaux, Toulouse and Bayonne) did not really produce any “rearland”, insofar as, outside the Haute-Lande that formed a “desert” area between Bordeaux and Bayonne, the areas of influence were contiguous and even overlapped.

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Fig. 3.1 The dynamics of Bordeaux’s medieval vineyard, incorporated into the suburbs (Source The author’s elaboration [map by O. Pissoat])

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It was the largest vineyard in medieval Aquitaine in terms of surface area and commercial value. Clinging to the ramparts, it formed a 4–5 km radius ring around the city. It was criss-crossed by a dense network of highways and byways, with the main thoroughfares running like spokes to the city and interconnected by numerous secondary lanes. Vines were the sole crop and only the rows of willows (aubarèdes ), planted along the riverbanks to provide stakes and ties for the vine stocks, marred the uniformity of the landscape. No dwellings disturbed it, apart from the canonical town of Saint-Seurin and a few isolated buildings. Medieval scribes used the generic Occitan name of Gravas de Bordeu for the whole of the suburban wine-growing tract. The term designated the gravelly earth of the upper tiers of the alluvial terrace surrounding Bordeaux, a landscape feature reputed for its wine-growing qualities and duly identified as such by contemporaries. Even so, by the end of the middle ages, this soil type and the wine-growing area were not coterminous: not only had the vineyard extended into the suburban wetlands (palus ) but above all it did not take in the full extent of the alluvial terrace (graves ). Its spread was halted close to the villages surrounding Bordeaux by two main factors: the continued production of foodstuffs and in particular cereal crops necessary for the rural communities; and the legal status of certain village land (finages ) deemed to be servile (questaux) tenements, such as the commons of Caudéran, Le Bouscat and Villenave in the parish of Saint-Seurin. The fact is that the people of Bordeaux had made little of this outlying area where the land had long remained used for mixed farming and contributed little in the way of supplies for the city. By contrast, they sought to appropriate all of the wine-growing land to the point of making the vineyard a leading factor in their identity. As an emanation of the municipality, the vineyard maintained such numerous and close ties with urban spheres that the city councillors (jurats ) readily referred to it the “substance” of the town.3 The vineyard was an urban construction on several counts. First, it was owned by town dwellers. Country folk and aliens had very minor interests in it. Where land law was concerned, most of the vineyard fell within the sway of the city’s ecclesiastical institutions. The leading ones (the archdiocese, the two chapters of Saint-André and Saint-Seurin, the Abbey of SainteCroix) were at the head of huge temporal estates and shared in the winegrowing area with each dominating a specific sector. Where tenancy law was 3 Registres de la Jurade de Bordeaux. Délibérations de 1414 à 1416 et de 1420 à 1422, t. IV, Bordeaux, 1883, p. 307, 9 janvier 1416.

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concerned, it was the inhabitants and among them primarily the burgesses, all of them wine-growers to some degree, who were the right-holders and who regularly ventured outside the city walls to maintain their vines. It was what might be called a popular vineyard, much like a huge “close” or garden in terms of its proximity and the care lavished on it. In addition to controlling the land, the citizenry also farmed it and only professional winegrowers, laboradors de vinhas, were called on from time to time for all the intricate work (pruning, hoeing, etc.). These vineyard labourers were the city’s largest body of craftsmen. Like the vineyard itself, they contributed to the identity of medieval Bordeaux and of the Graves area, being rooted in the land and the vineyard that they criss-crossed on a daily basis. The wine they produced there served primarily to supply the city. In Bordeaux as in many medieval communities, wine was primarily for the community’s own supply and consumption. The urban market was fully reserved for it and outside wines were only allowed in when local reserves ran dry. What set Bordeaux apart, though, was the commercial orientation of its vineyard promoted by the Anglo-Gascon alliance. All surplus production went to foreign trade and was shipped with the autumn fleet to the British Isles and northern Europe. In the good years of the early decades of the fourteenth century, the quantities exported by the burgesses of Bordeaux came to 12–15% of all Gascony wine bound for Britain.4 No other town in the wine-growing area of Aquitaine could boast that sort of contribution. The proportion rose when hostilities began and the lands of the mid-Garonne valley went over to the French camp. The Bordeaux growers became virtually the exclusive purveyors to the English market. The wine privileges contributed substantially to making the Bordeaux vineyard Aquitaine’s leading wine-growing centre. Exemption from customs duties, wine “futures” and freedom from any competition until Christmas provided legal protection and commercial advantages unequalled in the region. Even so, those privileges were personal and not real: they applied not to the wine-growing land but to those of the citizenry alone who were the holders, not just for their suburban production but also

4 Quantities exported through the port of Bordeaux are known from the registers of the

Grande Coutume for which series are complete for the years 1305–1336 only. In 1305–1306, of the 97,848 barrels (1 barrel = 800–900 litres) of Gascon wine shipped, 13,958 (14.2%) belonged to burgesses, ecclesiastics or nobles of Bordeaux. In 1308–1309, the recordbreaking year for traffic at the port of Bordeaux, of the 102,724 barrels exported, 12,260 (11.9%) were supplied by Bordelais. See James (1951, p. 192).

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for that of all the vines they held throughout the diocese. On the part of the municipal council, the rationale behind this was social rather than geographic. It sought to secure the support of its burgesses, its constituent body, from which, in exchange for those privileges, it could demand civic, fiscal and military duties. The advantages were equally evident when it came to the suburban vineyard. To the extent that the burgesses were the main tenants and producers, they conferred on the vineyard a privileged character and made it a legal estate that could be extended as and when their investments allowed.5 Through its geographical, landed and social aspects or alternatively its economic and legal aspects, the Bordeaux vineyard can be viewed as an extension or even a projection of the city over its immediate surroundings, where it exercised its domination and from which it derived its identity and its prosperity. In this way, the vineyard and the entire wine-growing business to which it gave rise partook of the central character of the city and of Bordeaux’s claim to the rank of capital. The municipality bolstered its ascendancy thereby including it within the banlieue. The gradual formation (over three centuries, approximately from 1250 to 1550) was primarily a response to political rationales: to make it the basis and the expression of municipal power. Hence its scope was far greater than that of the area needed for supply and it was expansionist in character. The venture was favoured by the context of the Hundred Years War which was conducive to concessions from the dukes and it came about at the same time as the municipal body was becoming increasingly autonomous and doing what it took to make its dreams of grandeur come true. M. Bochaca suggested that the municipality had been struck by “contado syndrome”6 ; securing wine privileges was contemporaneous with the formation of the suburbs, which became one of the spatial benchmarks of protectionist rules.7 Bordeaux’s jurisdiction soon extended well beyond

5 Several wine-growing towns adopted a similar policy. Bergerac initially opted to restrict its wine privileges to the territory referred to as La Vinée, its suburban vineyard on the right bank of the Dordogne, the bounds of which were defined by the Charter of Freedoms of 1255. When the vineyard expands as a result of reconstruction after the Hundred Years’ War, the initial territory had to be redefined and the geographical rationale superseded by a more personal privilege granted to the townspeople alone. See Beauroy (1976). 6 Bochaca (1997, p. 259). 7 For example, the burgesses paid the droit d’Yssac, a tax on retail sales, only on wines they

bought from a non-burgess in the banlieue.

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the wine-growing area. However, it was this area that formed the central location, the first ring beyond the urban core that radiated most densely over it. This was reflected by the administrative boundary divisions: within the banlieue, the vineyard came under the Saint-Éloi provostship, the legal district that encompassed the city and the rural part of the urban parishes of Saint-Rémi, Sainte-Eulalie and Sainte-Croix, as well as the suburban parishes of Saint-Seurin, Saint-Genès de Talence and Saint-Pierre de Bègles, that is, an area that brought under the same governance both the city and its vineyard and confirmed their merger. The municipality developed its hold there at the expense of the ducal provost of L’Ombrière.8 Apart from the enclaves of the ecclesiastical sauvetés, the city councillors exercised full power of justice and police there. As applied to the suburban area, the wine-growing criterion appears, then, to have been closely correlated with the other parameters of urban ascendancy that it reinforced. To strengthen its rule, the municipality implemented an interspatial arrangement whereby interactions between locations of different types took on two major forms: nesting, with the Bordeaux vineyard embedded within the banlieue which was in turn embedded within the diocese that was dependent on the duchy; and geographical superimposition of the area of production and procurement for a market protected by privileges, the core territory of municipal control, an area of labour and land tenancy, a territory that bestowed a specific identity, the area of jurisdiction of the Saint-Éloi provostship, etc. This nesting and stacking provided a yardstick for the control achieved by the city over its surroundings so that it formed a basis for its regional area of influence.

A More Partial Criterion for Evaluating the Polarization of the Bordeaux Area On the scale of the Bordeaux area (Le Bordelais), restricted to the diocese and from which the Bas-Pays is defined, the wine-growing indicator was less operative in that it involved only a fraction of Bordeaux’s area of influence. Even so, it was the most dynamic but also the most atypical zone within the city’s sway. It was only partly continuous with the suburban vineyard. 8 The provostship of Saint-Éloi appears to have followed the contours of the ducal provostship of L’Ombrière. The jurade established jurisdiction over it, first de facto and then de iure, after sharing out the legal jurisdiction between the two courts, on 18 June 1314. The ducal provost retained the rights over aliens (see Bochaca, 1997, p. 189).

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Geographically first, the vines extended from the urban core not in rings but linearly along the river. The wetlands bordering the river were prime land for the burgesses to invest in. These alluvial deposits were often waterlogged depressions but they were renowned for their fertility and were readily accessible by the river; accordingly, they were calling to be taken over. The suburban wetlands were pressed into use early (eleventh and twelfth centuries) while the levels of further inland were only cultivated towards the end of the middle ages (see Fig. 3.1).9 The marshland formed a pioneering front for the vineyard. It was there that the outermost vineyards developed, the bourdieux, the forerunners of many wine “châteaux”, and truly innovative locations that ushered in modernity for the medieval vineyard.10 It was still the city dweller that promoted them but the actors changed. Although the major ecclesiastical institutions of Bordeaux were still the leading landowners, the tenants of the bourdieux were no longer the common citizenry but the wealthy notables, who were often merchants and then, from the fifteenth century onwards the legal profession. The estates they developed differed from earlier cultivation methods in the concentration of the land, the ways in which it was farmed (adoption of short leases), the adoption of new wine varietals (especially le petit verdot ) and the use of wine presses, all of which led to the production of new wines geared to the market. All of these innovations made the wetland vineyard, which was decidedly speculative, the cutting edge or the showcase of Bordeaux’s wine-growing activity. It could be likened to an elite vineyard, a model that spread from the seventeenth century throughout the graves area and extended its line of fronts on the right-hand bank of the river. On these more outlying fringes of the vineyard, the hold of the city was very often restricted to ownership of the land. It was only in the marshland that was part of the banlieue 11 that landholding was combined, as in the suburban vineyard, with legal oversight. Outside of this zone that was dominated by the city, the citizenry’s investment in the vineyards led to it expanding dot by dot, or in a patchwork for the most sought-after marshland, but not beyond a 15 km radius. It did not involve any suburban 9 See Lavaud (2001, 2002, 2005–2006). 10 See Lavaud (2000). 11 On the left bank these were the suburban marshlands of La Palu de Bordeaux to the north, Paludate and the palus de Bègles and Villenave-d’Ornon to the south. On the right bank the palus of Cenon to the north and La Tresne to the south.

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prerogative of the council; even so, as throughout the diocese, the wine privileges were applied for the production of the burgesses. Through the advantageous conditions they produced for the market, these protectionist measures provided an incentive to develop the vineyard and meant that the establishment of each new holding by a burgess made it an outpost of the city’s vineyard area. Although it was dynamic and promoted urban values, the expansion of the vineyard represented only one of the forms of Bordeaux’s hold over its rural surroundings and the wine-growing countryside was not always sufficient to provide a measure of this influence. It remained operative for the hold on land because vines were the main type of investment by the burgesses. In his study of Bordeaux’s area of influence at around 1475, based on notarial deeds, M. Bochaca observed that 60% of plots held by townsfolk in the inland area were vineyards.12 The fact is that the geography of the landed property held by Bordeaux’s inhabitants, of all kinds, matched that of the vineyard overall, in a ribbon development along the river. The distribution of profits from livestock farming was based on greater penetration inland, especially in the Entre-deux-Mers and Le Cernès areas, but that remained within the ambit of land under the city’s control and limited to a radius of 10 km or so. Comparison with the provisioning zone for Bordeaux revealed by commercial indicators points to greater distortions. The commercial catchment area, while remaining centred on the river, covered a greater and more loosely knit space. The central core, where 60% of the clientele was located, occupied a similar area to that of the landholding, that is a radius of some 15 km around Bordeaux. Beyond that, its only sizeable extensions were to the north, in the parishes of Médoc on the banks of the Gironde estuary (20% of the clientele). Elsewhere, the watercourses guided the sporadic progression. This market radius was defined in part by the flows of wine that the Bordelais merchants bought mostly in the Haut-Médoc and Entre-deux-Mers. Even so, the other two major products in the market, wheat and cloth, drove substantial flows of trade, which, in the case of wheat, produced a reverse geographical pattern to that of wine. The Médoc, which produced more wine, was a debtor in terms of wheat, whereas Le Cernès, which had few vines, was a supplier of wheat (the Entre-deux-Mers was in a similar position for wheat and wine).

12 Bochaca (1998).

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These different forms of economic influence exerted by the city of Bordeaux over its surrounding area combined their polarizing effects. Mapped out (Fig. 3.2) they show a spatial organization of the area of influence that differs slightly from the classical ring pattern. That pattern is found only for the first circle of urban influence over a radius of 10–15 km, that is, in the nearby countryside that was most subject to the supervision of the city and where wine-growing was that much more decisive because it was compounded with other factors of influence. Beyond that radius, Bordeaux’s reach faded and the circular pattern gave way to ribbon development along the river. The absence of any major settlements to the north explains why Bordeaux’s influence extended as far as Lesparre, some 40 km away, whereas southwards the network of small towns took up the running within a shorter distance. All in all, Bordeaux brought under its economic supervision, with the vineyard as its vanguard, the central part of the diocese only. The marches and especially the river Dordogne escaped its control. Even so, its supervisory power made use of other agents. Apart from its religious function as the main seat of the diocese, its influence over the Bordelais was ensured more by political and military parameters. The Franco-English conflict meant the city was foremost in matters of defence and military operations. This provided an opportunity for it to confirm its position as the capital of a diocese to which the duchy was reduced from the early fifteenth century.13 The spatial superimposition of these political, military and ecclesiastic territories facilitated the construction of a regional area under the aegis of Bordeaux. Its unity was crowned by them all belonging to the Bas-Pays. The wines produced within this jurisdiction benefitted year-round from the privilege of being shipped down the river, which was a major protectionist weapon against competition from wines from upstream. But again, Bordeaux found this a way to reinforce its central position by serving as the port-of-call through which all wine for export had to transit. And this could only be done with the assent of the king-duke who made it the place for levying customs on the Garonne estuary. This meant Bordeaux could control all traffic on the river and set itself up as the hub for overseas trade with England.

13 See Lavaud, forthcoming.

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Fig. 3.2 Bordeaux’s economic influence in the late middle ages (Source The author’s elaboration [map by M. Courrèges-Blanc])

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A Decisive Factor for the Aquitaine Hinterland Far more than any other single factor, wine-growing was decisive in the extension of Bordeaux’s hinterland beyond the boundaries of the diocese. True, the political parameters,14 with its belonging to one and the same Anglo-Gascon entity, were also influential but the variations in the duchy over the course of the three centuries of Franco-English conflict meant they were not preponderant in the construction of an Aquitaine area. The fact is that it was wine above all and the challenges of overseas trade that were the federating factors. They were what gave rise to the supply area, marked by the boom in Gascony vineyards under the aegis of its towns.15 Bordeaux and the Bordelais would rather have done without this competition and held on to the monopoly of trade with northern Europe. However, their vineyard alone could not suffice and they had to consent to sharing a common destiny with the lands upriver, which were gathered under the name of Haut-Pays, and whose barrels filled the great merchant fleets. It was the market, then, that imposed on Bordeaux its supply area in Gascon wines. It was an area that extended beyond its political and administrative reach and whose unity depended on the seaward route and the string of wine towns along its banks. It could be likened to a continental gateway forced open by the flow of wine that was carried by the watercourse exclusively, since land routes could hardly be used for so ponderous a cargo. Other commodities shared in this dynamic, especially wheat—which Bordeaux, because of its infertile land, was always in the market for—and above all, at the very end of the fifteenth century, Toulouse pastel as dye for the cloth-making towns of northern Europe. Those towns, and especially the port towns of England were the foreland that took in the flow of wine and carried it on to other centres of consumption (Fig. 3.3). Playing on its location as a trans-shipment point, Bordeaux became the nexus between the Aquitaine gateway and the English foreland. 14 The ecclesiastical criterion can be taken into account only partially as a polarizing factor in the Aquitaine area because the ecclesiastical province, headed by the archbishop of Bordeaux, developed essentially north of the estuary. Its southern part encompassed only the dioceses of Bordeaux, Condom, Bazas and Sarlat. 15 See Coste (2006). The author argues that the profits from wine-growing under the Anglo-Gascon union paid for the building of numerous bastides. If the systematic character of the claim should be nuanced, it is obvious that the development of towns and of the vineyards combined as part of the same impetus of growth that characterized the “beau XIIIe siècle”.

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Fig. 3.3 Area of expansion of trade in Gascony wine in the late middle ages (Source Bochaca (1998, 285) [map by O. Pissoat])

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Bordeaux’s area of supply in Gascony wines stretched as far as the edges of the Pyrenees to the south and the Massif central to the east. It was arranged around the river courses. The Garonne was predominant especially in its middle reaches, from Castelsarrasin as far as Bordeaux. Further south, where the Garonne ceased to be navigable, Pamiers stood as an isolated vineyard centre within a Toulouse region that was oriented more towards cereals and livestock farming. Four wine-growing areas joined up with this central route, each centred on a tributary of the Garonne: from north to south, on the right bank, the Dordogne with a series of producing towns from the estuary to a point up-stream of Bergerac; the Lot valley where the towns that exported most were those closest to the confluence with the Garonne; the Tarn valley, whose remoteness did not prevent the vineyards of Gaillac and Moissac from booming; and on the left bank of the Garonne, the Baïse was the channel for wines from La Ténarèze (Condom, Nérac) and from Buzet which was located almost at the confluence. The volumes exported from this drainage basin (93,452 barrels in 1306–1307, 102,724 in the record-breaking year 1308–1309 (Fig. 3.4); thereafter quantities plummeted because of the crises of the late middle ages) were evidence of the driving force of wine-growing in the economy of medieval Aquitaine and the tremendous impetus and hopes it imparted in the heyday of the Anglo-Gascon union. Wine-growing became a major challenge, with Bordeaux seeking to bring it under its control, both to protect its own vineyard from competition and to extend the area it dominated. This led to the introduction of restrictive regulatory barriers on wines from the Garonne valley. As from the 1240s, the Bordelais claimed to prohibit wines produced upstream of Saint-Macaire from being brought down to Bordeaux before Martinmas (11 November). The king-duke did not support those claims and wanted to extend his good graces to the other towns of Aquitaine which he protected from the demands of the Bordelais. But Bordeaux held firm and gradually imposed its control over river traffic. Its stubborn policy saw the emergence of two entities: The Bas-Pays, a privileged region that was free to ship its wines downstream all year round; and the Haut-Pays, which only had access to the port of Bordeaux after Martinmas. Political events hastened this division. In the thirteenth century, while the Bas-Pays was entirely won over to the Anglo-Gascon cause, the HautPays had already tipped into the Toulousian and French orbit and was only to return to English allegiance with the Treaty of Paris of 1259, which became effective in 1279 and then only for two decades until the French

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Fig. 3.4 Bordeaux’s wine supply area (Source Registres de la Grande Coutume; [map by O. Pissoat])

occupation of 1294–1303. The triggering of hostilities of the Hundred Years’ War only widened the gap between the Bas-Pays, which remained loyal to the English, and the Haut-Pays, which rebelled in the view of the Bordelais because it was dominated by the French forces and the lords who had rallied to them. The armed conflict was duplicated by a trade war in which wine was one of the major bones of contention. Bordeaux took the lead. It was confirmed as the administrative and political capital of the duchy, in particular in the days of the principality of Guyenne (1362–1372), when it received all the favours of the king-duke who abandoned the defences of his lands of Guyenne to the city. This was a fine opportunity to have its privileges confirmed and Edward III extended

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them by strengthening the ban on the towns of the middle stretches of the Garonne which he sought to punish for their resistance to English occupation provided for by the Treaty of Calais of 1360. In 1373, he presented these measures as the emanation of his will and ordered that the HautPays could not ship down its wines before Christmas. The privileges of Bordeaux were thereby legitimized and became official. From then on, the wines from the Haut-Pays only came down to Bordeaux after 25 December, a late date that left the Bordelais with first call and the monopoly of the great autumn shipments. Trade in the up-river areas was much disrupted and subject to the whims of Bordeaux. While it never took things as far as a complete ban, the capital imposed its conditions on the rebel areas, such as that of having to ship one barrel of wheat for two barrels of wine, a measure that was imposed on several occasions in the first decade of the fifteenth century. Protectionism was a weapon that enabled Bordeaux to maintain its hold over the supply area although it escaped from it politically. It meant Bordeaux could weaken the competing vineyards up-river, particularly as their output remained heavily taxed.16 The reaction of the different winegrowing areas was variable. While the areas of the middle reaches of the Garonne turned to mixed farming thereby diversifying their sources of income, the “têtes de pays ”, the chief towns of the remoter vineyards of the catchment basin, turned to other strategies. Cahors and Gaillac made the most of their climate which meant poor harvests were less common than in the Bordeaux area. They also highlighted the typical character of their wines, which were reputed to be strong, travelled well, and commanded high prices that offset the cost of shipping and taxation. However, the towns that put up the best resistance were those along the strategic route of the Dordogne, which Bordeaux never managed to control. Bergerac and Libourne were the most enterprising of these. Bergerac managed to take advantage of its position as the “key to Gascony” and as a strategic English position on the marches of the Bas-Pays. Even before the conflict, it had secured in 1255 from the king-duke Henry III, a charter of franchises granting it a commune and commercial privileges, especially exemption from levies on wine on entering the English market. But the founding of Libourne around 1270 changed the deal. The king-duke sought to make 16 Wines from the Haut Pays were subject to many tolls on the river in addition to the customs and entry duties to be paid on reaching Bordeaux. The war multiplied these levies on wine, collected by the king, by the lords and by the municipalities.

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it a port-of-call and a point for levying customs, controlling all the traffic on the river Dordogne. Although they were partially rivals, Libourne and Bergerac adopted the same model as Bordeaux when it came to privileges and were similarly successful, by way of royal concessions and infringements of individuals’ property rights, in playing on the Franco-English conflict and the need for the sovereign to ensure the loyalty of his “bonnes villes”. They managed to have their wines sell for good prices and secured their exoneration from excessive taxation. However, they did not manage to secure the near total exemption that the burgesses of Bordeaux enjoyed as the privileged among the privileged. However, like the Bordelais, they did enjoy the privilege of shipping their wines throughout the year. This still had to be denied their upstream competitors for the best time of year for selling, that of the new harvest. Bergerac and Libourne, like Bordeaux, prevented the shipment downriver of wines for the autumn fleets. This sub-unit formed by the Dordogne valley within the supply area is evidence of Bordeaux’s incomplete control and adds nuance to the usual vision of the complete and implacable character of the wine-growing system initiated by the capital. The example of Libourne and above all Bergerac remains unique, though, in the Haut-Pays which usually chose to accommodate rather than resist the domination of Bordeaux. While the re-conquest by the French destabilized markets, it did not upset the protectionist gains. After Bordeaux’s second surrender in October 1453, Charles VII, being keen to punish the city, indicated he wanted to abolish its privileges. However, as early as the following springtime, given the city was withering away and the danger of rebellion, royal letters set out milder conditions for the capitulation of the city and restored the ban on sending Gascon wines downriver, although only until Saint Andrew’s day (30 November). In 1462, Louis XI changed the date back to Christmas. Bordeaux therefore recovered all of its privileges, much to the dismay of the areas up-river. A matter brought by those areas before the king’s council resulted in the compromise of 23 March 1500 which relaxed the rules somewhat, but only for Languedoc wines and especially those from Gaillac. They could in future be shipped to Bordeaux as from Martinmas, provided they were not sold to the English before Christmas and to other nations only after Saint Andrew’s day. Things were unchanged for wines from the middle reaches of the Garonne until Turgot’s edict of 1776, which was itself invalidated in 1785, and then until the French Revolution, their wines were banned from being shipped downriver until Christmas. In Bordeaux,

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they were unfairly treated. They had to be offloaded out of town—in the faubourg des Chartrons—and placed in different barrels from the Bordelais wine vessels. Over the long term, French domination therefore froze, by officializing it and standardizing it, a protectionist system that arose from an empirical medieval development the effects of which were profoundly unequal. It made Bordeaux’s economic and legal domination of its hinterland a permanent feature, particularly as it duplicated it with an administrative foundation (Fig. 3.5).

Fig. 3.5 Bordeaux’s hinterland: The vectors of domination (Source The author’s elaboration)

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The Bas-Pays became the sénéchaussée of Bordeaux, whereas the HautPays was encompassed in the généralité of Guyenne, which was created in 1523. Bordeaux’s commercial influence was reinforced by administrative prerogatives that were related to its role as the capital of a vast government stretching from the confines of the Saintongeais to Couserans, and from Rouergue to the Labourd. This area of jurisdiction was roughly the same as that of the Parlement set up in 1462. In addition to its judicial and regulatory function, the Parlement became a new instance for economic and commercial regulation. The legislation it introduced made it a body for regulating and controlling most matters relating to the workings of the Aquitaine market: the length of stay of foreign merchants, the prevention and handling of shortages, control of weights and measures, punishments and frauds, supervision of the circulation of commodities, and so on. The frequency of appeals from the syndics of a newly formed corporation, that of “merchants frequenting the rivers Gironde, Lot, Tarn, Aveyron and Garonne” were indicative of the constant conflicts and the role of umpire that fell to the Parlement. As the Renaissance dawned, Bordeaux was able to take up the challenge imposed by its re-attachment to the French crown and the loss of its English ally and its dreams of becoming a principality. The happy conjunction of its different territories and areas of influence enabled it to make its status as a central place more permanent, aggregating the higher supervisory functions and imposing it as a regional capital. Ultimately wine-growing appears as a decisive factor in the way Bordeaux polarized its hinterland. However, its relevance varied and was modulated with the different scales and degrees of urban control. In the immediate surroundings, the wine-growing criterion—which was particularly intense and akin to a criterion of centrality involved in the definition of the city— combined with the other forms of domination to serve as the basis of Bordeaux’s area of influence. On the scale of the Bas-Pays, through the privilege of shipment downriver, wine-growing ensured a legal unity that reinforced the feeling of belonging to one and the same geographical entity. Conversely, wine-growing was only a vanguard of Bordeaux’s economic control over its countryside. In the context of the Aquitaine basin, it was decisive in the definition of a hinterland, which, without it, could not have extended so far and for so long. Bordeaux owed to wine-growing its status as regional capital; and for Aquitaine wine-growing was a major feature of its identity but also of its divisions and contrasts. Whatever the scale contemplated, the wine-growing factor only exercised any influence through its combination with the river network, which was the structural feature that truly determined both the geography of the vineyards and the market

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for and flow of wine. Roger Dion was the first to point out this fortunate combination of the city, vineyard and river. Bordeaux provides a textbook case of how this state of affairs could be successfully turned into a major instrument of the extension of urban influence from as early as the middle ages.

References Beauroy, J. (1976). Vin et société à Bergerac du Moyen Âge aux Temps modernes. Stanford, CA: Stanford French and Italian Studies, Amna Libri. Bochaca, M. (1997). La banlieue de Bordeaux au Moyen Âge et au début de l’Époque moderne. La formation d’une juridiction municipale suburbaine (vers 1250-vers 1550). Paris: L’Harmattan. Bochaca, M. (1998). L’aire d’influence et l’espace de relations économiques de Bordeaux vers 1475. In N. Coulet & O. Guyotjeannin (Eds.), La ville au Moyen Âge, t. I, Ville et espace, t. II (pp. 279–292). Paris: éd. Comité des travaux historiques et scientifiques. Coste, M. (2006). Ad plantandam vineam, Afin de planter des vignes…Essai sur la floraison des bastides et autres petites villes médiévales du Bassin aquitain (XIII e XIV e siècles). Toulouse: Presses universitaires du Mirail, éd. Méridiennes. Dion, R. (1959). Histoire de la vigne et du vin en France des origines au XIX e siècle. Paris: chez l’auteur (2010 new edition, Paris: CNRS éditions). James, M. K. (1951). The fluctuations of the Anglo-Gascon wine trade during the 14th century. The Economic History Review, 4(2), 170–196. Kehrig, H. (1886). Le privilège des vins de Bordeaux jusqu’en 1789. Bordeaux: éd. Féret. Lavaud, S. (2000). L’emprise foncière de Bordeaux sur sa campagne, l’exemple des bourdieux (XIVe -XVIe siècles). Annales du Midi, 112, 315–329. Lavaud, S. (2001). Paysage et mise en valeur des palus de Bordeaux au Moyen Âge. Revue archéologique de Bordeaux, 92, 119–128. Lavaud, S. (2002). La palu de Bordeaux aux XVe et XVIe siècles. Annales du Midi, 114, 25–44. Lavaud, S. (2005–2006). Mise en valeur et paysage des palus du Bordelais médiéval. Archéologie du Midi médiéval, 23–24, 27–38. Lavaud, S. (forthcoming). L’hinterland de Bordeaux au miroir de son espace défensif durant la guerre de Cent ans. In Les villes et leurs espaces. Actes du colloque de la Commission Internationale pour l’Histoire des villes, Sibiu, 4–6 septembre 2011. Renouard, Y. (1959). Le grand commerce des vins de Gascogne au Moyen Âge. Revue historique, 221, 261–304. Trabut-Cussac, J.-P. (1950). Les coutumes ou droits de douane perçus à Bordeaux sur les vins et les marchandises par l’administration anglaise de 1252 à 1307. Annales du Midi, 62(10), 135–150.

CHAPTER 4

Urban Networks on the Move: The Austrian Netherlands’ Transit Policy and the Development of the Belgian Urban Networks in the Eighteenth Century (1704–1793) Michael-W. Serruys

Ville au bout de la route prolongeant la ville: ne choisis donc pas l’une ou l’autre, mais l’une et l’autre bien alternées. —Victor Segalen (1878–1919)

Introduction With the exception of maritime commerce—where the ship’s wake rapidly disappears in the ocean’s vastness—trade routes leave an indelible mark on the earth’s surface. From the earliest prehistoric trails via the Medieval earthen cart roads to the modern motorways and high-speed railroads,

M.-W. Serruys (B) Faculté des Lettres et Sciences Humaines, Universite de Bretagne Occidentale, Brest, France © The Author(s) 2019 G. Favero et al. (eds.), The Urban Logistic Network, Palgrave Studies in Economic History, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-27599-0_4

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transport infrastructure has left its impression on the natural landscape. The same can be said about rivers and canals, as their specific nature as ‘roads of water’ makes them easily distinguishable in every geographical environment. Both land routes and waterways thus form an intrinsic network of lines connecting villages, cities—or for that matter—every urban settlement with each other. It is on this network of lines, consisting of roads, railroads, rivers and canals, that raw materials, semi-finished articles and commodities are pushed from producer to consumer in an economic activity called transport (Lesger, 2001, pp. 17–18). According to Scheltjens (2009, p. 63) transport can be described as: ‘[the] human process that reallocates, transfers and distributes [goods] through time and space’. Transport is also the process that creates, according to Ullman (1956) as cited in Scheltjens (2009, p. 63), the: ‘measure of the relations between urban areas’. It is indeed in the urban settlements—cities or villages—situated at the extremities of every line of communication that producers produce, middlemen enhance and consumers consume. In doing so the urban settlements, the nodes at the end of the transport lines, give a meaning to their activities. To put it differently, the transport system with its array of roads and waterways is a fundamental element of the urban network system as it enables cities to position themselves and thus to relate with each other via trading activities. The transport system also gives the urban network a specific spatial structure. By analysing the transport system, it thus becomes possible to position the urban network in its spatial or geographical environment and to assess its relation with other urban networks, like the foreland and the rearland, but also with its periphery. In the eighteenth century, the central government in Brussels launched the transit policy. This policy aimed to improve the Austrian Netherlands’ commercial relations by building an integrated transport system of paved all-weather roads encompassing the whole country. Like most European countries, the Austrian Netherlands had almost no paved roads in the early eighteenth century. But by the end of the same century, at the eve of the French revolution, it boasted one of the most modern transport systems and densest road networks of the world (Stols, 1987, pp. 511–512; Van den Broeck, 1995, pp. 129–130, 134). According to Voltaire, cited by Pirenne (1920, Vol. V, p. 276), only France and Belgium had roads that equalled in splendour that of ancient Rome. In any case the growth of the Belgian road and transport system had far-reaching consequences for the country’s urban networks in the eighteenth century. This turns eighteenth

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century Belgium into an ideal case study. It allows to analyse the structuring qualities of the transport system on urban networks and to examine the relation between these different urban networks and their peripheries. Furthermore, the impact of the decision-making process on this development can be determined. As a country with many cities, urban history has always been quite important in Belgian historiography. Like in other countries, the topic of urban networks became very fashionable among Belgian historians in the late 1980s and early 1990s. Their research culminated in a two-day international conference on Belgian urban networks in Spa in September 1990, where some 25 historians exposed their views on this subject. The conference’s proceedings (Le réseau urbain en Belgique dans une perspective historique (1350–1850). Une approche statistique et dynamique, 1992) remain a must-read for all those interested in Belgian urban networks. In the years following the Spa conference quite a few excellent monographies were published, like Stabel’s Dwarfs Amongst Giants. The Flemish Urban Network in the Late Middle Ages (1997) and Blondé’s monography on the Brabantine urban network in the late eighteenth century (1999). With the exception of authors, like Blondé (1999, pp. 168–230) and Van Uytven (1992, pp. 44–46), little notice has been given to the transit policy and its eighteenth century road-building and canal-digging activities. As such the transport system’s impact on the Belgian urban network has only received very limited attention. One of the reasons why the different studies on the Belgian urban networks did probably not include the growth of the transport system was the transit policy’s overarching character, as it encompassed the whole Austrian Netherlands. Historical research in Belgium, on the other hand, is by tradition a regional affair. Even if all the authors acknowledge that urban networks spread out across political borders, most Belgian studies on urban networks resolutely focussed on a single province. As a result of this, most authors have been contained by the historical and political boundaries of their subject. The result of this perspective is that most authors focus on ‘christallerian’ or central place aspects and not so much on the long distance/transport angle. Even the above-mentioned studies of Blondé and Van Uytven do not grasp the full impact of the transit policy on the Belgian urban networks because of their regional focus on the province of Brabant. Nevertheless, many of those authors, like Van Uytven (1995, pp. 222–223) have stressed the importance of transport links to understand urban networks. According to Hélin: ‘C’est effectivement du côté [de la géographie des communications,] de ces axes qui structurent

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l’espace que se trouve la clef d’explication ultime du profil des hiérarchies et des réseaux urbains’ as cited in Morsa (1992, p. 476). After Britain, Belgium was the second country in the world to adopt railways. Not surprisingly, Belgian historiography is well endowed with transport history. In the late 1930s and early 1940s, two articles of paramount importance were published on the transport system in the pre-railroad period. These articles—discussing the construction of the waterway and road network—were respectively written by Urbain (1939) and Génicot (1939, 1946, 1947). Both articles explain the political, economic and technological aspects of the setting-up of the Belgian transport system in the Ancien Régime. At that time urban networks were not yet much discussed amongst historians, so this aspect was not picked up by the authors. Both publications also contain a set of valuable maps showing how the waterway and road network gradually evolved. From the 1980s on, Belgian historians started to write what can best be described as road or waterway monographies, like that of Hanegreefs (1980) on the Louvain-Diest road and Suttor (2006) on the river Meuse. In recent years the focus has shifted to understand the functioning of urban networks by looking at transport statistics (toll accounts). This method was used by Blondé (1999) and Serruys (2014b). But in both cases these studies remain centred on a specific province, respectively Brabant and West-Flanders. To grasp how transport systems structured urban networks, and how these networks positioned themselves vis-à-vis other urban networks and their peripheries, we will use methods developed in transport geography (Haggett & Chorley, 1969, p. 3; Nijboer, 1995, p. 109). One of these methods is the so-called matrix analysis, which was employed by transport geographers analysing transport systems in developing economies, like Stanley (1973, pp. 100–101) for Liberia. A matrix analysis allows to calculate the centrality values of different places within that network. De Vries (1978, pp. 64–74, 347–351) was one of the first historians to apply a matrix analysis in his research on the seventeenth-century Dutch barge network. This research proved to be an important step with regard to his ideas on urban networks, which he further developed in his European Urbanization 1500–1800 (De Vries, 1984). Other historians followed suit, like Lepetit (1984, pp. 107–114) with his study on the French transport system between 1740 and 1840. Most historians have applied the matrix analysis on one specific year, for instance 1665 and 1835 in the case of respectively De Vries (1978) and Lepetit (1984). In this article, matrix analysis will be made on meaningful moments in time so to depict the transport system’s

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evolution. The centrality values of the urban centres will become available for comparison in time. Furthermore, the drawing of ‘iso-centrality values’-lines will generate the mapping of the urban networks’ spatial structure through time. By looking at different moments in time, it also becomes possible to assess the impact of decision-makers on the transport system, for investment in transport is—without doubt—a matter of political negotiation according to Adams (1981) cited in Hoyle and Smith (1998, p. 13). And since the transport system is a driving force in the shaping of urban networks, the role of the decision-making process or decision-makers should not be neglected. In this article we will use matrix analysis as a method to calculate the centrality values of the different cities linked to the Belgian transport system at meaningful moments in time throughout the eighteenth century. Thanks to the centrality values, the spatial structures of the urban networks will become clear, as well as the relations between the various urban networks and the periphery. This article’s first paragraph will focus on the methodological aspects, which includes the construction of a graph, the making of the matrix, the computation of the centrality values and the mapping or visualisation process. The following four paragraphs will discuss the state of the transport system and urban networks as well as the impact of the decision-making process at four moments in time, namely 1704, 1718, 1748 and 1793. These years have not only been chosen for their explicit historical meaning, but also because we are well informed on the status of the Belgian transport system thanks to the accurate maps drawn by Urbain (1939, pp. 286, 290, 302) and Génicot (1946, map 1, 3, 6). The 1704 matrix analysis gives an excellent overview of the situation of the transport system and urban networks after what has been called in Belgian historiography the Spanish era (seventeenth century). In the eighteenth century’s early decades, the Southern Netherlands became one of the main battlefields of the War of Spanish Succession. Nevertheless, it was during this period that a French-styled road building policy was initiated. The 1718 matrix analysis will show the results of this policy on both the transport system and urban networks. From 1715 on, the Southern Netherlands were ruled by the Austrian Habsburgs. During the first half of the eighteenth century they tried very hard to find a modus vivendi to rule the now Austrian Netherlands. The 1748 matrix analysis will present the findings with regard to the transport system and urban networks for what has been called in Belgian historiography the ‘Trial and error’-period. In 1748, new directives were sent from Vienna to Brussels which resulted in the launching of

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the transit policy. This policy ordered the construction of a new transport system with the explicit wish to remodel the country’s urban networks. The 1793 matrix analysis will allow us to gauge the success of this governmental policy.

From Transport Systems---Via Graphs and Matrices---To Mapping Centrality Values The first step in a matrix analysis is to convert the transport system into a graph. A graph is a topologic reduction of a transport (or any kind of) system into two features: vertices and edges. With regard to transport systems it makes more sense to speak of nodes and links. The nodes represent the origins, the intersections or the end point of all the links. In other words, the nodes can be viewed as cities or urban settlements. The links, which never intersect, run from node to node and stand for the transport routes connecting cities. In a graph no differentiation is made between the nodes, or to put it differently, all cities are equal to one another. The length, orientation and straightness of the links are of no importance to the graph. But links can be graded and receive a certain value and/or a direction. In those cases, we speak of respectively valued and directed graphs. Apart from this, the only thing that counts in a graph is which node is connected to which node (Haggett & Chorley, 1969, pp. 3–6). The graph’s construction implies the making of choices. Not all the urban settlements in the Austrian Netherlands and its medium and smallsized neighbours, that is the Prince-bishopric of Liège, the Principality of Stavelot-Malmédy and the Duchy of Bouillon, have been selected. Figure 4.1 can be used to find and locate cities and rivers. Large cities (e.g. Brussels or Ghent) and medium-sized cities (e.g. Namur or Mons) were of course included. Quite a number of smaller cities and towns (e.g. Diest or Chimay), which played a role as a regional centre, were represented on the graph. On the other hand, several cities which were not connected to the transport system (e.g. Sankt-Vith) or which only played a very limited role as an urban centre (e.g. Vilvoorde) were left out. Sometimes very small towns were included in the graph. These towns usually functioned as a point of transhipment (e.g. Warneton), as head of navigation (e.g. Barvaux) or as an important junction (e.g. Aubange). The overall guideline in constructing the graph of the Austrian Netherlands’ transport system was to simplify the network while retaining a workable abstraction of the historical reality. This explains why some cities have been

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Fig. 4.1 The Austrian Netherlands (major cities and rivers) (Source The author’s elaboration)

merged, forming twin cities, like Ath/Lessines, Herve/Henri Chapelle or Beaumont/Labuissière. In one case, even a triplet city was formed to serve these interests, namely Nivelles/Waterloo/Genappe. Several foreign cities, Condé and Monthermé in France and Maastricht in the Dutch Republic, were included in the analysis, because these cities constituted important nodes in the urban network.1 In the same way a choice was made with regard to the transport connections, which are shown on the maps in Urbain (1939, pp. 286, 290, 302) and Génicot (1946, map 1, 3, 6). Paved and gravel roads were included, whereas dirt roads were left out from the graph. Every finished road (or link) between two cities (or nodes) received a length of 1. Of course, some roads between two cities were not yet finished. The road connecting Antwerp to Turnhout was only paved up to the village of Schilde, some eleven kilometres from Antwerp. This was nearly 29% of the length of 1 Constitutionally Maastricht was a Dutch-Liègeois is condominium.

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the (future) 38 kilometres long Antwerp-Turnhout road. As such the link between Antwerp and Turnhout will be valued as 0.29. Finished roads are represented by bold lines, while unfinished roads are shown as dotted bold lines on the graph (Génicot, 1946, p. 514; Haggett & Chorley, 1969, pp. 3–6). Waterways were of great importance in the Austrian Netherlands’ transport system. There were many rivers and canals, but this does not mean that these waterways were all similar. Large sea-going ships could easily sail on the river Scheldt near Antwerp (even if these rarely appeared in these waters because of the Closure of the Scheldt) and small to mediumsized sea-going ships were not uncommon on some canals (Ostend-Bruges, Bruges-Ghent, Boom-Brussels and Mechlin-Louvain). But the inland river system was unable to accommodate these kinds of vessels. On these rivers’ navigation was hampered by natural conditions, such as flood and drought, and by man-made obstacles, like bridges, watermills or dams. Goods were carried by shallow-bottomed barges that were pulled by horses or men. In spite of these differences, all waterways will be viewed as equal and receive a length of 1. The waterways are represented by thin lines on the graph. On quite a few rivers fluvial traffic was only going in one direction, that is downstream. Pulling barges upstream was a costly affair and therefore many carriers decided only to float their products downstream, for instance on timber rafts. In the Austrian Netherlands it seems that unidirectional navigation was the prevailing mode of transport on the rivers Dyle, Demer, Big Nete, Ourthe, Semois, Sûre and Our. The links representing these unidirectional trade flows are shown by a thin arrow on the graph. These arrows indicate that there is a connection from the upstream node to the downstream node (e.g. Barvaux to Liège), but not from the downstream node to the upstream node (e.g. Liège to Barvaux). The length of these unidirectional links remains 1 (Haggett & Chorley, 1969, pp. 3–6; Urbain, 1939, pp. 271–314). Finally, it must also be pointed out that coastal shipping occurred between seaside communities, such as Ostend, Newport and Blankenberge. Coastal shipping was of minor importance in the Austrian Netherlands because of its short coastline (Parmentier, 2001, app. VII; Serruys, 1999, pp. 277, 280–281). These maritime connections are bidirectional, have a length of 1 and are represented as waterways (thin lines) on the graph. Although roads and waterways are shown differently on the graph, there are no differences between the two in the matrix analysis. The different graphs—each showing the situation of the Austrian Netherlands’ transport system at different times—can be viewed on Figs. 4.2, 4.3, 4.4,

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and 4.5. The graphs contain 84 nodes (or selected cities) and an increasing number of links. To calculate the centrality values, we first have to configure the graph— the abstracted transport system—in a mathematical expression. This mathematical expression is called a matrix. Since the graph contains 84 nodes, the matrix M consists of a field made up of 84 rows and 84 columns. As such, the matrix consists of 84 × 84 or 7056 entries. Because the graph is valued, each entry stands for the length of the existing links between a city in a row and another city in a column (De Vries, 1978, p. 66; Haggett & Chorley, 1969, p. 6; Lepetit, 1984, p. 107). Let’s look for instance at Brussels in 1704 (graph on Fig. 4.2). We can fill in a 0 for both the entry Brussels (row)-Louvain (column) and the entry Louvain (row)-Brussels (column), since there is no direct road or waterway linking these two cities in 1704. In the 1718 matrix (graph on Fig. 4.3), the same entries would feature a 1, for a road connecting Brussels and Louvain has been built. The entry for unfinished roads, like the one being built between Brussels and Mechlin in 1704, is marked by 0.53. This figure stands for the finished part of the Brussels-Mechlin road in 1704. An entry in a matrix can thus perfectly feature 1.25, like for the Liège-Huy/Huy-Liège entry in 1748 (graph on Fig. 4.4). 1.25 is obtained by adding 1 (the river Meuse is a ‘finished’ waterway linking Liège and Huy) and 0.25 (25% of the LiègeHuy road is finished). When a road and a river run parallel to each other between two cities the entries will feature a 2. This is the case for the entries which stand for the connections between, for instance Ghent and Deinze in 1748 and 1793 (graphs on Fig. 4.4 and 4.5) (Génicot, 1946, map 1, 3, 6; Haggett & Chorley, 1969, pp. 5–6; Urbain, 1939, pp. 286, 290, 302). There are always two entries for connections that can be used in both directions. Unidirectional links, when goods are floated down the river, have only one entry. In the case of the river Ourthe, iron bars were sent downstream by barge from Barvaux. Many of these barges did not return, or if they did, returned empty from Liège. Since the goods were shipped from Barvaux, a 1 will be filled on the entry Barvaux (row)-Liège (column). But since no commodities or barges left Liège via the river Ourthe, a 0 will be shown on the entry Liège (row)-Barvaux (column) (Haggett & Chorley, 1969, pp. 5–6; Urbain, 1939, pp. 286, 290, 302). Necessarily, there are also entries on the matrix where the row of a certain city meets the column of that same city. These entries always feature a 0 (De Vries, 1978, p. 66; Haggett & Chorley, 1969, p. 6; Lepetit, 1984, p. 107).

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Once matrix M has been made, it is possible to calculate the cities’ centrality values. The centrality value of a given city is equal to the sum of that given city’s row. This value stands for the number of one-path-journeys offered by that city. The journey has nothing to do with the distance or the travel time between two cities, it just refers to the fact that two nodes are one link away from each other on the graph. In 1704, Deinze’s centrality value is 2, for there are only two one-path-journeys possible. Deinze is indeed connected by two cities by the river Lys, namely Ghent (downstream) and Kortrijk (upstream). In 1793, Deinze has increased its number of connections, and thus one-path-journeys. Four more cities can be reached by road (Ghent, Oudenaarde, Kortrijk and Tielt). Deinze’s centrality value now totals 6. To obtain this information, one hardly needs matrix M, for the centrality value can be easily read from the graph. One-path-journeys are however not very interesting when one tries to determine how central a city is in a transport system. A poorly connected city, like Wavre, can still be very central if its neighbour (Brussels) offers many links to other cities. The opposite is also true, for instance with Liège and Luxembourg. It makes therefore more sense to look at multi-path-journeys. In his study on the Dutch barge network De Vries (1978, pp. 69–72) used four-path-journeys. Lepetit (1984, pp. 107–111) went as far as five-path-journeys in his research on the French transport system. There are no concise rules on the number of path-journeys. In this article we opted for four-path-journeys. Centrality values increase considerably with four-path-journeys. In 1793, Deinze’s centrality value totals 1978. This means that 1978 four-path-journeys can be made out of this city, like Deinze-Ghent-Dendermonde-RupelmondeAntwerp, Deinze-Ghent-Bruges-Tielt-Deinze or Deinze-Kortrijk-DeinzeKortrijk-Deinze. In order to calculate the cities’ centrality values based on four-path-journeys, a new matrix M must be computed. Matrix M is obtained by mathematically processing original matrix M in the following way: M = M + (M × M) + (M × M × M) + (M × M × M × M) or M = M + M2 + M3 + M4 Matrix M is added and raised to the power of 4 because we look at fourpath-journeys. How to calculate this can be easily found in every mathematical handbook or on the internet (De Vries, 1978, pp. 69–72; Lepetit, 1984, pp. 107–111).

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From a purely mathematical point of view the centrality values can only be attributed to the nodes, since everything else is considered void. Of course, in reality the links and the areas enclosed by these links consist of roads/waterways and a large number of hamlets, villages, small towns, etc. The closer one of these urban settlements is to a city (or a node), the more it will share its properties with regard to its position in the transport system. It makes therefore more sense to look at centrality values in the same way a meteorologist would look at temperature or barometric pressure measurements received from a set of weather stations. To obtain an overview the meteorologist will use the data from the scattered information points and draw approximate contour lines on a map. In this case isotherms and isobars, where respectively temperature and barometric pressure are deemed equal. In the same way we will draw iso-centrality value (iso-cv) lines on a map of the Austrian Netherlands to show where centrality values are approximatively the same. Areas enclosed by high iso-cv lines thus represent better connected areas or the core of urban networks.

1704: The Legacy of the Seventeenth Century In 1704, the Spanish king Philip V embarked upon a large road building programme in the Southern Netherlands (Génicot, 1939, p. 447). 1704, is therefore an ideal moment to gauge the existing transport infrastructure and to see how the urban networks were structured in the Southern Netherlands at the end of the seventeenth century. A glance on Fig. 4.2 shows that there were still very few paved roads and that the majority of intercity connections consisted of waterways. As a matter of fact, there were four distinct waterway systems which were only loosely or not connected with each other. Three of these four transport systems were centred on a river, respectively the river Scheldt, the river Meuse and the river Moselle (a tributary of the river Rhine). The fourth transport system consisted of the coastal waterways next to the North Sea. The Southern Netherlands’ most important cities were all situated along one of these rivers, their tributaries or along the coast. Amsterdam—and in a lesser degree Rotterdam, Dordrecht and Middelburg—functioned as the commercial hub and gateway of these river and maritime based transport systems. Until the final decades of the sixteenth century, Antwerp had acted as the main gateway, but the Dutch revolt and the ensuing Closure of the Scheldt had put an end to this city’s commercial hegemony. As such, the Southern Netherlands’ international trade relations were dominated by the Dutch Republic in the

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Fig. 4.2 Austrian Netherlands 1704 (transport network and centrality values) (Source The author’s elaboration)

seventeenth century. The four waterway systems that formed the Southern Netherlands’ transport infrastructure also shaped the country’s four urban networks. These four urban networks have been called after the main waterways that structured them. From east to west the following urban networks can be observed: Mosellean urban network (A), Mosan urban network (B) and the Scaldian urban network (C). These urban networks were all part of the Dutch seaports’ hinterland. The Southern Netherlands’ coastal urban network goes by the name Maritime urban network (D). The relation between the Maritime urban network and the Dutch seaports can be described as hinterland-foreland, depending on one’s point of view (Serruys, 2007, pp. 321–326; Serruys, 2008, pp. 150–153). The riverine cities of these urban networks were generally better connected and therefore their centrality values were higher. As such the four urban networks can be easily seen on Fig. 4.2. A first cluster of higher centrality values in the Southern Netherlands is to be found in the country’s

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south-eastern corner. The Mosellean urban network, situated along the banks of the river Moselle, was the Southern Netherlands’ least dynamic urban network. The only noteworthy city was its regional capital Luxembourg (centrality value of 4). This urban network was separated from the Mosan urban network by the Ardennes (E). These wooded highlands functioned as a peripheral area or land space, somewhat analogous to the ocean space mentioned by Weigend (1958) as cited by Lesger (2001, pp. 19–20). The Mosan urban network was a thin strip of land along the river Meuse and its tributaries (Sambre, Semois and Ourthe). Namur and Liège (respectively centrality values of 78 and 35) were the urban network’s major cities. Rich in coal deposits, the Meuse valley was politically divided between the Southern Netherlands, France, the Prince-bishopric of Liège, the Dutch Republic and to a lesser degree by the Duchy of Bouillon and the Principality of Stavelot-Malmédy. This geopolitical situation made it more difficult to build out an adequate transport system. By the end of the seventeenth century the city of Namur had started to connect itself to neighbouring cities. The yet unfinished Namur-Brussels road via Nivelles/Waterloo/Genappes was one of the first undertakings to link the Mosan urban network to the Scaldian urban network through the HesbayeKempen plateaux/land space (F). Much denser with transport connections was the Scaldian urban network. The river Scheldt, with its numerous navigable tributaries (Rupel, Nete, Dyle, Demer, Dendre, Lys), connected more important cities (e.g. Brussels, Antwerp, Louvain, Mechlin, Ghent, Kortrijk, Tournai, Mons, etc.) with each other. The existence of canals, like Brussels-Boom and Ghent-Lokeren, considerably increased the centrality values of the cities and towns in this part of the country (e.g. 475 in Boom). The Scaldian urban network was connected to the Maritime urban network via the Warneton-Ypres road and the Bruges-Ghent canal. These links were not ideal at the end of the seventeenth century, for the area around Ypres belonged to France and the navigation on the Bruges-Ghent canal was hampered by shipping monopolies and mandatory transhipments. Although less pronounced than the Ardennes and Hesbaye/Kempen land spaces, the Houtland ridge land space (G) separated the Scaldian urban network from the Maritime urban network. The Maritime urban network’s major cities were Bruges, Ostend and Ypres (French until 1713). These cities were relatively well connected to each other via an intricate network of canals and by coastal shipping, which explains why the centrality values were relatively high in this area (e.g. 256 in Newport).

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The existence of multiple unconnected urban networks was a serious commercial disadvantage for the Southern Netherlands, especially in a time period when mercantilism was the main economic paradigm. The Southern Netherlands were completely dependent on the Dutch Republic for their export and import, because their main harbour—Ostend—was badly or not linked at all with the country’s remaining urban networks. During the seventeenth century the central government in Brussels tried to remedy this by digging the Bruges-Ghent canal (1624), the Veurne-Newport-Bruges canal (1641) and the Ostend-Bruges canal (1664) in order to bypass the Dutch enforced Closure of the Scheldt (Vandewalle, 1982, pp. 76–81). But the central government’s political weakness and its lack of financial means was not enough to reconnect the Maritime and the Scaldian urban network with each other. Local authorities continued—as explained above— to obstruct the free navigation on this canal. Moreover, the construction of transport infrastructure was not a task that befell the central government. It was usually taken up by local authorities (provinces, cities, districts, villages), who asked the central government—the so-called Collateral Councils—permission to levy toll in order to repay the construction loans. Before giving their approval by way of an octroi, the central government’s Council of Finance—one of the three Collateral Councils—checked if the privileges and rights of other local authorities were not pushed aside. In the age of mercantilism these rights and privileges were rapidly trampled on, since the gain of one local authority was necessarily seen as another’s loss (Génicot, 1948, p. 18). This, and the ongoing wars with the Dutch Republic (until 1648) and France (from 1635 to 1697), explain why no major transport connection were built in the Southern Netherlands after 1664 (Urbain, 1939, pp. 281–284).

1718: A ‘Star of Roads’ or the French-Angévin Centralised Road-Building Programme The death of the last Spanish Habsburg king Charles II in 1700, heralded a tumultuous period for the Southern Netherland. Between 1700 and 1706, the Southern Netherlands were ruled by the young Spanish king Philip V of Anjou, the grandson of Louis XIV. The French king rapidly made sure that his grandson aligned himself with Versailles’ political views. This meant that a French style centralisation process with ditto government was put in place in the Southern Netherlands. In Belgian historiography this period became known as the Angévin regime. When Philip V decided to launch

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a road building project in 1704, it was—not surprisingly—a copy of the French transport system. Like in France, all the roads radiated from the capital (Génicot, 1948, p. 13; Livet, 2003, pp. 229–230, 238; Reverdy, 1995, p. 37). Within a few years, Brussels was connected by a star-shaped road network to the main cities in Brabant (Antwerp and Louvain) and to the capitals of the neighbouring provinces, like Ghent, Mons and Mechlin. Roads to Namur and the adjacent Prince-bishopric of Liège were under construction. In 1706 however, the Anglo-Dutch forces beat the French army at Ramillies, hereby ending French rule. Until 1715, the Southern Netherlands were ruled simultaneously from London and the Hague. The Anglo-Dutch army commanders rapidly discovered the road network benefits and they eagerly pursued the Angévin regime’s road-building policy in order to continue to move back and forth their armies. In 1712, the Princebishopric of Liège also decided to launch a road-building programme. Like with Paris and Brussels, the Liégeois road system was going to radiate from the city of Liège. Although construction started in 1716, the Liégeois road system only advanced piecemeal, barely reaching 17 kilometres of paved road in 1718. By that time the Southern Netherlands, which were now ruled by the Austrian Habsburgs, already had 414 kilometres of paved road (Demoulin & Kupper, 2002, pp. 106, 178; Génicot, 1946, pp. 547–549, 555; Génicot, 1948, pp. 13–14). Figure 4.3 shows the growth of the transport system as well as the increase of centrality values in 1718. Two typical features of centralised road networks radiating out of a city are easily perceptible on this map. The first feature is the high centrality value ‘island’ around the central hub. This is certainly the case for Brussels. With its new position as a transport hub, the Austrian Netherlands’ capital increased its centrality value from 180 to 593. This is clearly visible on the map as Brussels and a few surrounding cities form an island of high centrality values (500 iso-cv line) in the midst of the country (H). Nevertheless, the highest centrality value is reached in the little town of Boom (773), which is situated at a junction of important waterways. Another important feature that can be seen on map 2 are the arm-like protrusions formed by the roads radiating out from the central hub. This is quite visible for the roads leading from Brussels to Liège, Namur and Mons, as a number of cities (e.g. Tienen, Mons) became englobed by the protuberant contours of the 100 iso-cv line (I, J and K). It is however less clear for the Brussels-Antwerp and BrusselsGhent roads, both situated in the transport infrastructure rich environment of the Scheldt valley (L).

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Fig. 4.3 Austrian Netherlands 1718 (transport network and centrality values) (Source The author’s elaboration)

The majority of the roads—with the exception of a few short stretches near Namur and Liège in the Mosan urban network—were built in the Scaldian urban network. The centrality values increased in the Austrian Netherlands’ central part. But the different urban networks remained badly connected. With regard to the Maritime and Scaldian urban networks (L and M) the 100 iso-cv line shifted somewhat. It broadened the corridor along the Bruges-Ghent canal (N) and hereby strengthened a bit the ties between the two urban networks. Nevertheless, because of the shipping monopolies and mandatory transhipment activities in both Bruges and Ghent, the bonds between these two cities and respective urban networks remained weak. The still unfinished roads (Brussels-Namur and BrusselsLiège) crossing the Hesbaye/Kempen plateaux land space created two narrow corridors connecting the Scaldian and the Mosan urban networks (O), but not enough to create important commodity flows between the two

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areas. As for the Mosellean urban network (P), it remained as isolated as before. In 1718, Amsterdam and the Holland-Zeeland seaports continued to function as the Southern Netherlands main gateway. From these Dutch ports, commodities were distributed towards the four urban networks. Cities as Ostend (Q), Antwerp (R) (and in a lesser degree Ghent (S)), Liège (T) and Wasserbillig (U) performed the role of local or regional gateway, redistributing the goods in respectively the Maritime, Scaldian, Mosan and Mosellean urban networks. The roads built by the Angévin regime altered little to the commodity flow pattern in the Southern Netherlands. It did however lay the foundation for the future transport hub function of Brussels. The construction of the Brussels-Liège (I) and Brussels-Namur roads (J) was an evident token of how the Scaldian urban network was reaching out across the Hesbaye/Kempen land space (V) to its eastern rearland, the Mosan urban network.

1748: Trial and Error or the Age of Local Mercantilism The first three decades of Austrian Habsburg rule in the Southern Netherlands, that is from 1715 to 1748, have been called the ‘Trial and error’period. ‘Trial and and error’ because emperor Charles VI tried to find the best political framework to govern these newly acquired lands. At first, he continued the centralisation process put in motion by the Angévin regime. But both the local elites and the population rejected the emperor’s centralisation policy, which was deemed unconstitutional. In 1725, Charles VI returned to the traditional mode of government with its three Collateral Councils. Since the Austrian Netherlands were facing grave financial, economic and commercial difficulties, Charles VI knew he had to modernise the political system to implement changes. In 1734, FriedrichAugust von Harrach—the emperor’s minister in Brussels—exposed his reforms in the Expédients. The Expédients insisted on changing the system from within by rationalising the chain of command and by nominating well educated, enlightened and centralist policy-makers in the state administration. These men would then execute the well-defined state policies imposed by Vienna. Charles VI acquiesced, but asked Harrach to carry out the reforms after peace had returned. The Habsburg monarchy was indeed involved in a series of wars—War of Polish succession

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(1733–1735), Ottoman War (1737–1739) and War of Austrian succession (1740–1748)—which would last until 1748 (Lenders, 1988, pp. 41, 44–45; Serruys, 2007, pp. 334–335). During the ‘Trial and error’-period, Vienna and Brussels were so busy finding a way to implement reforms that the Angévin road-building programme was not continued. The construction of roads was taken up by the local authorities, like in the seventeenth century. This time cities and provinces had a reason to complain to the Brussels’ based Council of Finance. They could easily prove that the star-shaped road system around Brussels had altered the status-quo and that they needed new roads to counter the benefits the capital had received (SAL VL, inv. nr. 3843). Especially, provincial capitals like Ghent, Mons, Mechlin and Namur sought to build a radiating spoke-like road system in their respective province. The provincial capitals were generally large and powerful cities, with good political connections in the Brussels government circles. This allowed them to lobby successfully to obtain an octroi to build their wished-for roads. In doing so, these capital cities increased their position as the dominant transport and commercial hub in their own province (Génicot, 1939, pp. 495–496, 498, 510). Smaller cities, like Ath, complained about this, especially since the provincial capitals feverishly opposed road projects from smaller cities in government circles (AGR CF, inv. nr. 279). Bruges for instance, was unable to obtain an octroi for its road projects to Kortrijk and Menin because Ghent successfully lobbied against it in the Council of Finance (Delameilleure, 2003, pp. 36–55; Haerynck, 1997, pp. 10–28; Serruys, 2014a, pp. 28–29). The Council of Finance had little knowledge of trade flows and was not up to the task. In 1730, they even gave an octroi to Mechlin to build a road to Louvain. This road mainly served Dutch commercial interests (Flaba, 1983, pp. 43–47). Although none of the local authorities planned roads to bridge the land space between the urban networks, the 361 kilometres of road that were built between 1718 and 1748 made the centrality values converge. Figure 4.4 shows how the Maritime (W), Scaldian (X) and Mosan (Y) urban networks coagulated in 1748. Here and there small pockets of the Houtland ridge land space (e.g. Torhout) (Z) and the Hesbaye/Kempen plateaux land space (e.g. Enghien) (AA) subsisted. This points out that the different urban networks in the Austrian Netherlands—with exception of the Mosellean (AB) urban network, which remained a distant rearland— were on the brink of merging. Nevertheless, the centrality values were still relatively low, not even exceeding the 1000 iso-cv line in the Scheldt valley

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Fig. 4.4 Austrian Netherlands 1748 (transport network and centrality values) (Source The author’s elaboration)

rhombus or the square formed by Brussels, Ghent, Antwerp and Louvain (AC). Connections between the different urban networks were still comparatively weak. The Bruges-Ghent canal continued to be a bottle-neck (AD) and many merchants in the Scaldian urban network therefore persisted to import or export goods via the Dutch Republic. The Prince-bishopric of Liège, on the other hand, gradually started to favour the Liège-LouvainMechlin-Antwerp connection (AE) instead of the river Meuse (AF) for its commercial relations with the Dutch seaports. This shows a hinterlandrearland type of merging, whereby Louvain and Liège functioned as continental gateways.

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1793: The Theresian Compromise and the Transit Policy It is only after the signing of the Aachen peace treaty (1748), that put an end to the War of Austrian Succession, that the reforms expressed in the Expédients were implemented by empress Mary-Theresa, Charles VI’s successor. These reforms are known in Belgian historiography as the Theresian compromise, as they merged the traditional mode of government with enlightened measures and concepts. The reign of Mary-Theresia has generally been viewed as a time of political and economic progress in Belgian history. A large part of the economic reforms mentioned by Harrach go by the name of transit policy. The transit policy favoured the construction of east-west connections, linking the different urban networks (or hinterlands) with each other and the port of Ostend. This North Sea port had to become the Austrian Netherlands’ gateway and window upon the world instead of the Dutch seaports. In ‘hinterland’-terminology, it had to broaden its foreland. According to the transit policy no new connections towards the Dutch Republic should be built and the existing commercial relations with the Dutch Republic should be restrained by imposing restrictive customs duties. At the same time the customs duties in Ostend had to be lowered to attract new trade flows. The transit policy attached furthermore great importance in curtailing all obstacles to the east–west transport flows through the Austrian Netherlands, like the shipping monopolies and transhipment activities on the Bruges-Ghent canal. These impediments were gradually phased out after 1763. Despite the fact that the transit policy emanated from the Austrian Netherlands’ central government, the new roads and canals were traditionally built and dug by numerous local authorities. Although Joseph II installed an absolutist mode of government in the Austrian Netherlands after 1780, the concepts of the transit policy remained unchanged until the end of Habsburg rule in the Southern Netherlands (Scheltjens & Serruys, 2019, pp. 187–199; Serruys, 2007, pp. 334–342, 346; 2008, pp. 154–159). Figure 4.5 shows the Austrian Netherlands’ transport system in 1793. Since 1748, 1697 kilometres of road were built. Although only 36 kilometres of new waterways were dug, most canals were upgraded. The port of Ostend was also modernised and enlarged in order to function as the country’s new gateway (Génicot, 1946, pp. 547–549; Serruys, 2007, pp. 340–341). It has a very prominent position on Fig. 4.5, as it features the second-highest centrality value (2184) after Ghent (2710). Brussels,

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Fig. 4.5 Austrian Netherlands 1793 (transport network and centrality values) (Source The author’s elaboration)

despite its favoured position in the early eighteenth century, has lost its position in the top-five high centrality value cities. With a centrality value of 1450, it is still well above the 1000 iso-cv line. The area enclosed by these 1000 iso-cv lines not only comprises extremely well-connected cities, but also stretches across what used to be three different urban networks in the early eighteenth century. By 1800, it is clear the Maritime, Scaldian and Mosan urban networks have merged and become one elongated east–west network, featuring many characteristics of the contemporary Belgian urban network (AG) (Van der Haegen et al., 1992, pp. 459–463, 479–480). Remnants of the former land spaces are still visible, like the Roeselare salient (AH) (for the Houtland ridge) and the pockets of Enghien-Halle (AI) and Wavre (AJ) (for the Hesbaye/Kempen plateaux). But even then, these cities all have fairly high centrality values ranging well above 250. As a matter of fact, the north–south oriented land spaces have almost disappeared. Only in the north-east, the desolate moors of the Kempen form a loose

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barrier with the Dutch urban networks (AK). To the east, a large part of the Ardennes highlands (AL) still functions as a land space separating the Mosan urban network from the Mosellean urban network. Nevertheless, this land space has been breached by the new road connecting Namur to Luxembourg via Dinant and Arlon (AM). Thanks to this new connection built in 1770, Ostend could function as an alternative gateway for Central Germany (via Treves and the Moselle valley) (AN) and Switzerland (via Longwy and Thionville, Lorraine and Alsatia) (AO). Evidence of these new trade routes and integration of urban networks can be found for instance, in the growing number of international carriers from Lorraine operating in Louvain (the terminus of the waterway network to Ostend), the increase of transport toll revenues on this route, the tripling of shipping numbers in Ostend and the growing foreland or number of maritime destinations (Parmentier, 2001, pp. 15–19; Serruys, 2008, pp. 159–167; Van Buyten, 1972, p. 326).2

Conclusion In this article we have shown the importance of the transport system as a structuring element of urban networks. Eighteenth century Belgium was taken as a case study, for an extensive transport system (roads and waterways) was built during this century. By analysing the development of the transport system, it is possible to draw elaborate graphs at meaningful moments in time. In turn, these graphs allow to constitute a series of matrices. By multiplying these matrices according to the following formula—M + M2 + M3 + M4 —we can calculate the transport-related centrality values (for four-path-journeys) for the different urban centres in eighteenth century Belgium. A map showing the areas with higher centrality values— representing the urban networks—can be obtained by connecting urban centres sharing equal centrality values with iso-cv lines. Over time these maps make up a dynamic sequence of how urban networks and peripheries (land space) evolve and eventually can merge with each other. It also becomes clear that the policy-makers deciding on the construction of roads and waterways play an important role in the structuring of urban networks. 2 The tripling of shipping numbers in Ostend refers to the years before and after the War of American Independence. During this war shipping numbers increased by a factor six.

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This article shows how the different enforced transport policies, among which the transit policy, shaped the urban networks in eighteenth century Belgium.

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CHAPTER 5

Persistence and Evolution in the Eastern Sicilian Coastal Corridor: The Mobility of Goods and People at the Port of Catania (1817–1860) Giovanni Cristina

Aims and Sources This paper seeks to reconstruct features and dynamics of the maritime traffic of goods and people touching at the port of Catania during the first half of the nineteenth century. The analysis has mainly been based on the shipping movements booked by the Maritime Police registers of Catania from 1819 to 1851.1 Despite the relative chronological shortness of this documentation,2 data have to some extent been applied to theoretical models 1 These registers are kept at the State Archive of Catania, Fondo Intendenza Borbon-

ica, Categoria VIII Agricoltura e Commercio, bb. 1015–1033. 2 Moreover, most of the years included in the period 1819–1851 are not complete.

For instance, the shipping movements of 1819 are available just for 15 days out of 365. G. Cristina (B) University of Catania, Catania, Italy © The Author(s) 2019 G. Favero et al. (eds.), The Urban Logistic Network, Palgrave Studies in Economic History, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-27599-0_5

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elaborated by economic, urban and maritime historiography in order to briefly compare the Eastern Sicily picture of the early nineteenth century to other regional cases within the European context. The result is a sort of «formalized description» of the trade flows differently converging on the port of Catania, combining some statistical trends and «empirical»—e.g. territorial, geographic, socio-economic—dynamics. The production of the above-mentioned sources is a direct consequence of the Bourbon administrative reform of 1817 (Iachello, 1994): in keeping with the overall judicial restructuring, also the bureaucracy that managed ports and customs was involved in the process of redefining powers, authorities and jurisdictions. Due to sanitary, political and social control issues, ports and navigation were considered crucial targets by the Bourbon repressive apparatus in Sicily (Di Figlia, 2015). This reorganization ended up influencing the registration procedures of shipping movements by the port authorities of Sicily. With reference to Catania, the local Delegazione di Polizia Marittima drew up the Stato de’ legni, a daily report whose typical scheme included: date of arrival/departure, type of the ship, its name, its flag (e.g. nationality), name of the shipmaster, cargo, last/next port of origin/destination, list of passengers (Cristina, 2017). Compared to the whole shipping movements spreading all over the coasts of the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies, not to mention maritime trade of all the Mediterranean, Catania absorbed only a small part of them. Consequently, the Etnean city has been chosen as an observation point, without any hierarchical significance.

Traffic, Territories, Cities: The Context Historiography has consolidated for more than thirty years the paradigm of modern and contemporary Sicily as «land of cities» (Barone, 2003; Militello, 2016). In fact, Sicily since the early modern age had a greater concentration of population in urban centers above 10,000 inhabitants, compared to the Kingdom of Naples (Sakellariou, 2012). The fundamental importance of cities in the socioeconomic structure of modern Sicily and the growth of coastal urban settlements compared to those of the interior did not entail an increase in the maritime functions in those same cities, which instead, especially since the sixteenth century, were separated from their waterfront by the fortification works promoted by Charles V and his successors (Simoncini, 1997). Even when, between

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the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, threats from Barbary piracy diminished, the growth of Sicilian cities was due to political, administrative and economic reasons that had to do more with the land than with the sea. Only Messina had a local commercial fleet and a merchant class devoted to maritime trade from the Middle Ages to the nineteenth century (Bottari, 2010). Other cities such as Palermo, Trapani, Syracuse and Catania were more like marketplaces «colonised» by foreign merchants-navigators (Ligresti, 2006). Also because of its inferiority compared to other Sicilian cities, Catania almost never appears in the most important historical researches that analyze Mediterranean port cities and urban networks in the Modern Age. This is especially true for the historiography that, rather than understanding networks in a «geographical» way, and thus taking into consideration the spatial relationships cities interweave with other territories and their distribution, insists more on the «social» role of the single actors in the construction of logistic and merchant networks (Jarvis & Lee, 2008; Molho & Ramada Curto, 2003). However, despite the limited relevance of its «maritimity» (Marzagalli, 2016), Catania saw a notable urban growth after the 1693 earthquake. Peter Burke (2015, p. 122) has stated that «cities have been described as engine of change, but the engine needed fuel». Condorelli (2010) individuated this fuel in the increase in wheat prices. Consequently, the physical reconstruction of the city and its demographic and economic growth were due to an enlargement of the spatial relations of Catania with a rural hinterland dominated by the feudal nobility residing in the city (Condorelli, 2009). The emblem of this link city/hinterland is the noble family of the Biscari, the most influential family of the Catanese nobility of the eighteenth century. Its most important exponents, Vincenzo and Ignazio Paternò Castello, dedicated themselves to artistic collecting, to patronage, but also to business, thanks to their cutting-edge farmlands where they mainly produced wheat and rice. Wheat was undoubtedly the main asset in the Sicilian trade of the eighteenth century (Giarrizzo, 1989). Regarding our topics, it is significant to note that the wheat of the Biscari Princes’ estates in the first half of the eighteenth century was exported to the ports of Southern Sicily (Condorelli, 2009, pp. 245–247), while from the ‘60s and 70s’ it was diverted to Catania not only for city consumption, but also for export by sea (Condorelli, 2012; Petino, 1976, p. 248). This shows that the local élites, and therefore the social actors, contribute to «move» the goods and, to some extent, also to create spatial relations.

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The modernizing project by Ignazio Paternò Castello, Prince of Biscari, of building a port on the waterfront of Catania represented the first attempt to open the city to the sea trade (Aymard, 2003; Cristina, 2012). This process went on, between delays and hindrance, throughout the nineteenth century. The rhetorical devices of the debates that accompanied the beginning of the building works insisted more on the opening of Catania to foreign traffic, rather than on the port as an opportunity for the creation of a local shipping industry (Cristina, 2010). In parallel, the first half of nineteenth century represented a phase of transition from a type of maritime trade that could do without port facilities to a progressive centralization of cabotage toward increasingly «urban» nodes, which configured an interurban system as a corridor. The transition also occurred in productive terms if one considers that precisely between the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries sulfur overcomes wheat as a «natural monopoly» of the Sicilian economy (Blando, 2009). Overall, our sources confirm what have also been reported by other researches analyzing maritime trade along the Sicilian Ionian coast between eighteenth and nineteenth century (Condorelli, 2012; Iachello, 1991): Catania was part of a wider route that connected Malta to Naples, passing by Syracuse, Augusta and Strait of Messina area in Sicily, and by the Tyrrhenian Calabria, the Amalfi Coast and the Neapolitan area in the Kingdom’s mainland. During the Early Modern period, due to both the weakness of the road system and the absence of navigable rivers, most of the communications among Sicilian urban centers pivoted on the cabotage system. Benigno (2001) states that the cheapest way to transport goods from a point of the island to another was by sea. Even if the origin and the destination of a single trade were in the inland Sicily, the trajectory between these two places, wherever possible, was deviated to the coast, then ascending again toward the interior. Nevertheless, Benigno refers to the settlement structure of rural Western Sicily, made up of internal agro-towns and correspondent small coastal calls—i.e. the scari in Sicilian dialect—that represented ephemeral contact points between land and sea. This model also reminds of the studies of Salvemini and Carrino (2002, 2006) that deal with the effects of international market and trade dynamics

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on the agricultural productions and the placement of the scari 3 in some regions of Southern Italy. According to these researches, which analyze Marseille Santé registers during the eighteenth century, French manufactures required from the Two Sicilies rural goods—such as wheat, blended wines and olive oil—and raw materials, like sulfur. This trade took place in unequal forms: Southern Italian production depended and conformed to the requirements of foreign merchants. These «maritime entrepreneurs» were also able to adapt loading operations to these un-equipped «rural ports», which were functional to commerce just because of their proximity to the agricultural productions. Salvemini-Carrino and Benigno respectively define the relationship between sea trades and crop by the concepts of «flexible territory» and «economic-geographic islands-shaped layout of the Sicilian territory». The «liquid» character of this trade that rested on scattered ephemeral ports is also found in other European contexts, such as the Provence (Buti, 2010) or Galicia (Vázquez Lijó, 2006) in the eighteenth century. This unstable and informal scenario clashes with the rigidity of the system of caricatori—e.g. loading points—that regulated and limited the export of wheat in the Ancien régime Sicily (Blando, 2008). From this point of view, Catania, which was a royal caricatore, can also be associated with Polanyi’s port of trade model (1963), dominated by administrative control. To sum up, Eastern Sicily at the beginning of the nineteenth century was mainly characterized by small-scale cabotage compensating for poor communications by land, a rather primitive intermodality, a wheat exports restriction scheme (until 1819), and a fairly widespread presence of urban centers of various sizes located on the coast, but with strong relations with their rural hinterland and in competition with each other. All factors that did not favor the creation of integrated urban networks, but rather a zero-sum game in which the competing cities fought for the location of port infrastructures and therefore to conquer shares of «exogenous» maritime trade or to extend the domain on ever greater rural hinterlands, at the expense of other nodes in the corridor. However, as the years went by, tentative signs of change occurred. During the «English period» (1806–1815) the Sicilian merchant fleet increased

3 The scaro is a small coastal settlement in which maritime trades are conducted in an «informal» way (weakness of port and road infrastructures, small local ship-ownership, less tax control, etc.).

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(Battaglia, 1983). Besides, starting from 1817, the Two Sicilies signed commercial treaties with several Mediterranean countries (Pagano, 1960) and in 1824 a new customs reform established a free trade regime between the two parts of the Kingdom.

Forms of Trade and Navigation These preconditions had long-term positive effects on the development cabotage navigation along the East coast of Sicily. Nevertheless, cabotage is not a unitary and homogeneous phenomenon. It subdivides into various typologies depending on the specific context and adapts itself to the political, economic and geographical conditions, concerning the market, the presence of cities or a particular territorial and relational layout. For example, the French historian Gilbert Buti speaks at the same time of «cabotage lointain» (2005), of «trafic de proximité» and «grand cabotage européen» (2008a) to describe both the flows that moved from one end of the Mediterranean to the other, and those journeys of very short distance connecting greater coastal cities with centers of lesser importance in the immediate vicinity. An example of how Mediterranean long-distance cabotage did not necessarily stop at Sicilian Ionian ports is given by a short list of shipwrecks that occurred between 1818 and 1833 in the Catania maritime district (Table 5.1). In quantitative terms, for the entire period in which the records are available, most of the communications occurred between Catania and Augusta, the latter followed by Messina and Syracuse. The route that linked Augusta to Catania was mainly «direct», without any further stop. Augusta’s fleet, captained by «dynasties» of sailors-shipowners-shipmasters-merchants— whose surnames were Giummo, Prato, Bellistri, Daniele, Ternullo, Bianco, Rodo, Malfitano, Poli—daily transported salt or straw toward Catania, returning back without any load, with postal correspondence or, especially starting from the 1840s, with clay products. At the same time, the limestone—used in the building industry—represented the principal item of the total importations to Catania: its traffic took place between the natural canal-port of Brucoli or Augusta, and Catania. In this case, Catania’s mariners entirely managed the shipping: the paranze or the feluche were commanded by families of sailors like Spampinato, Mirabella, Sampognaro. As a sample, in 1834 the felucca Fedeltà captained by Giuseppe Giannitto covered the «stone route» between Brucoli and Catania 67 times. It always

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Table 5.1 List of shipwrecks occurred between 1818 and 1833 in the Catania maritime district Date of the shipwreck

Name of the vessel

Flag

Origin

Destination

Shipment

24.12.1818

Madonna di Kerson e S. Nicolò Maumettana Il vecchio silero

Russian

Odessa

Malta

Barley and rye

Ottoman Maltese

Preveza Kalamata

Not specified Malta

Wheat Silk, oil, dried figs, rough leather, 16 cows, 1 horse and 7 passengers «Forty sacks of cochineal» and «seven cases of silk manufactures» Wheat

24.12.1818 23.12.1822

29.10.1828

S. Nicolò

Ionian Islands

Zante

Tunis

January 1833

Diana

Sardinian

Ancona

Genoa

Source State Archives of Catania, Fondo Intendenza Borbonica, Categoria VII Agricoltura e Commercio, b. 940

followed the same scheme, arriving at Catania by loading stone and departing empty toward Brucoli. Similarly to Buti’s description of the European cabotage (2008b), also in Catania the different distance of maritime trade flows affected the features of navigation. Indicatively, on one hand we find traffic on a regional and sub-regional scale, with specific origin and destination. This kind of flows included importations—i.e. limestone from Augusta and Brucoli, salt anchovies from Sciacca and Girgenti, almonds from Avola, etc.—and exportations of a single good (e.g. wheat toward Strait of Messina’s area). On the other hand, the port of Catania represents just a stop in a wider route. Similarly to the Scilla venturieri described by Cingari (1979), in this case the captains-merchants stopped over several ports looking for goods to be sold somewhere else; by keeping the holds full, their itineraries aimed at maximizing the profits of maritime enterprises through extemporaneous trade.

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The Role of Catania in the Corridor In accordance with this double layout of «its» cabotage, the port of Catania was characterized by two principal functions: consumption and distribution center for importations, while bulking and wholesale center for exportations. In the light of the above, can Catania be considered a gateway for the Eastern coast of Sicily? It depends on the perspective we assume. If one considers the whole corridor between Naples and Malta, Messina remains, indeed, the main Sicilian harbour during the whole nineteenth century, despite its long decline after the glorious centuries (sixteenth— seventeenth). On the contrary, as witnessed by the statistics of the period 1821–1825, only 6% of the total traffic with the United Kingdom involved Catania without a stopover in Messina. Still in 1841, the scientist Carlo Gemmellaro (1841, p. 4) complained about the fact that several «products from Catania’s hinterland were carried by land to Messina, to be loaded there» with a charge in transportation fees. Because of the disparity between Messina—an excellent natural port with a long tradition—and Catania—a growing commercial city without a port—«merchant houses had not been established in Catania, unlike in Messina» (Su’ lavori pel molo, 1843, pp. 45–46). The catching up process with Messina started in 1818, when the Intendente of Catania—the provincial governor—asked for the extension of the favorable tax treatment of Messina free port to Catania, which was defined as «a city that has no less importance, neither for population, nor for any other reason, than Messina» (Giornale Intendenza, 1818, p. 23). However, the gap between Catania and Messina ports did not narrow. Nevertheless, if we consider Catania within a smaller context than the whole Eastern Sicily, the situation partially changes. As previously mentioned, still in the 1840s Catania had not an equipped artificial port. Meanwhile, the possibility of new profits fired an interurban competition between Catania and Acireale for the port localization. The struggle occurred on both a political and territorial level. A veritable «catch for hinterland» opposed the two cities: Catania, provincial capital, exerted its leading weight in order to «conquest» further productions, lying on the Southeast side of Etna, close to Acireale. The latter asked Naples to freely develop its own port strategy. The construction of a road between Catania and Acireale during the 1830s is particularly significant on this matter: Acireale hoped for a coastal way, that could get Catania’s marketplace closer to the possible port in Capo Mulini, while Catania opted for a longer

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route—the «wood way»—in order to attract some Etnean products—e.g. snow, fruits, vegetables—to itself. Finally, Catania won the challenge: it became the gateway—in Lesger’s sense (2006)—for most of its province, with the only, but important, exception of Riposto. This coastal town, since the eighteenth century, specialized in wine exportations (Iachello, 1991). Riposto was able to develop a local commercial fleet, built in its own shipyards. A flourishing class of merchants-shipowners emerged, due to the wine trade that, managed at every step by local forces, involved the whole population at different levels. During the first half of the nineteenth century, our sources reported the existence of a thriving wine trade with Malta, entirely—captains’ origin, ship ownership—in the hands of Riposto, which seems to have some similarities with the homeports of Scheltjens (2015). Connections between Catania and Riposto remained sporadic during the examined period: Riposto did not need a «big city» as a marketplace for its wines. At the same time, Riposto had two solutions in order to supply itself with the goods needed by the local market: either by land, exploiting the same Etnean hinterland, or by sea, depending on the cargos of its own returning fleet. Even if belonging to the same territorial framework, Catania and Riposto were involved in different and un-connecting trade networks.

Statistics, Descriptive Models and Classifications On the basis of these and other processes, can we draw a model of the traffic trends converging to the port of Catania? Is it possible to consider these maritime flows as part of a network system? Let’s turn back again to the sources. Here is the scheme of the shipping movements registered in Catania in 1834, the most complete year of the series (Table 5.2). As already stated, statistics confirm the existence of an interurban connection system along the Ionian Sicily. It can be configured as a corridor, rather than a «network system» (Hohenberg & Hollen Lees, 1995). The main route extended from Messina to Syracuse, with Malta and Naples/Palermo as further appendixes of this traffic. This «inter-city way» will also be followed by the steamships that started to connect regularly the Sicilian coastal cities with Naples and contributed to a «tertiarization of exchanges». The Real Ferdinando—a steamer bought in London by the Società dei pachetti a vapore delle Due Sicilie, founded in Palermo in 1823— rode for the first time on th 20th June 1824. We find it in Catania on the 25th October of the same year, arriving from Messina with 106 passengers. Two days after, the steamship came back to Messina, boarding 66 voyagers.

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Table 5.2 Shipping movements in Catania in 1834 by port and/or geographical area of origin and destination Port/area Brucoli Messina Syracuse Augusta Palermo Southern coast of Syracuse Avola, Marzamemi, Vendicari, Capopassero African Sicily Pozzallo, Vittoria, Scoglitti, Terranova, Licata, Girgenti, Sciacca, Mazara Western and Northern Sicily Trapani, Termini, Pollina, Patti, Milazzo, Lipari, Salina Strait of Messina’s area Scaletta, Guidomandri, Fiumedinisi, Savoca, Sant’Alessio; Reggio, Gallico, Catona, Villa S. G., Cannitello, Scilla, Bagnara From Catania to Taormina Taormina, Calatabiano, Riposto, Acireale, Capo Mulini, Acicastello Calabria Tropea, Pizzo, Sambiase, Amantea, San Lucido, Gerace, Roccella, Badolato, Santa Maria di Soverato, Soverato, Catanzaro, Cotrone Amalfi coast, Neapolitan area, rest of Southern Italy Salerno, Vietri, Majori, Conca, Massa Lubrense, Castellammare, Naples, Gaeta, Taranto «Italian» port cities Venice, Trieste, Leghorn, Genoa, Savona Foreign ports (France, UK, Ottoman Empire) Marseille, Nice, Rouen, Havre de Grace, London, Liverpool, Belfast, Londonderry, Gloucester, Bristol, Greece, Smyrna Malta Total

Arrivals

Departures

243 201 162 147 16 31

264 122 188 146 23 38

18

28

30

37

164

153

74

36

11

26

24

24

3

42

1

22

31 1157

18 1178

Source State Archives of Catania, Fondo Intendenza Borbonica, Categoria VII Agricoltura e Commercio, bb. 1026–1028

In the 1840s shipping lines structurally consolidated, thanks to the Società dei battelli a vapore siciliani, established by Vincenzo Florio and Benjamin Ingham in 1841. Maritime transportation became a popular system for displacements, due to the presence of four class rates. Navigation reports for those years recorded several steamships—l’Etna, l’Indipendente, Maria Cristina, Palermo, Mongibello, il Duca di Calabria—which carried mail

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and passengers all year long. However, all these shipping companies, settled in Naples or Palermo, used the port of Catania as nothing more than a stopover among others. Twenty years later, the interurban connections were so structured that, as stated by A Handbook for Travellers in Sicily (1864, p. 388), «steamers [sailed] from Messina every Tuesday at 2 p.m., and Saturday about noon, touching for alternate Saturdays at Riposto». Another «boat [sailed] for Messina and Naples every Friday at 10 a.m.; for Syracuse and Malta, every Sunday, at 9.30 a.m.». This consolidation of the interurban connections along the corridor reminds of the passage from the first phase—e.g. «scattered ports» linked by «irregular shipping services»— to the second one—regular lines that prepared the «port piracy»—of Rimmer’s model (1973). However, the most appropriate model to interpret the different flows touching at the port of Catania should be based on the coexistence of a multilevel scale with several overlapping circles, similarly to what Buti (2008b) observed for the small town of Sète, in the Languedoc, in the eighteenth century. At the first level, we find the short-range cabotage connections analyzed above. The traffic belonging to this category included the importations with a specific origin, or the exportations with a direct destination. The second level—the medium-range cabotage—includes longer traffic that took place on medium-tonnage ships. These vessels sailed the same routes of the steamships and assumed their functions (mail and passengers transport). The Maltese speronare that imported in Catania colonial goods and raw materials, such as leather and tobacco. The brigs from Messina, Catania and Syracuse that carried iron, sand and stone from the mainland toward the Sicilian ports. These ships also made soldiers, aristocrats, farmhands’ moving and transfers possible. Speronare, brigantini and schooners were the flagships of the local fleet of Messina, Syracuse, Malta, Naples and Catania. The third level of traffic linked Catania to Northern Europe (long-range cabotage and international trade). Besides wheat—which suffered competition from Ukrainian cereals, carried to Western Europe by Ligurian ships (Doria, 2001)—since the 1830s Catania started to become a collection point for sulfur—extracted from Enna hinterland mines—sumac, soda and dregs ash and citrons. If British and French vessels carried by themselves the mentioned goods toward their countries, between 1830s and 1840s exchanges with Trieste started to be managed by ships belonging to the fleet of Catania. In these cases, the most recurrent names were Sampognaro, Mirabella, Guarrera, Viscuso, Napoli and Ajello. If in 1834,

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among the ships toward the Julian port, 8 out of 25 belonged to Catania, in 1843 the weight of the local fleet in the trade with Trieste increased, ending up reaching the exact half of the total schooners directed to the Habsburg port (21 out of 42). In this case, rather than through a «port piracy» (Rimmer, 1973), the port of Catania seemed increasing its importance in the international traffic through a «flow piracy». However, hierarchies between the nodes of the Eastern Sicilian corridor were established on land, rather than being defined by sea. The «flow piracy» of a specific port was a consequence of interurban conflicts that were played on the political, administrative and economic level, but not on the properly maritime one. As for other urban contexts in southern Italy such as Naples (Marin, 2018), the most articulated links of Catania were with the rural hinterland rather than deriving from maritime commerce, which instead represented a simple means of interurban communication or export of goods, such as wheat and sulfur. As mentioned above, the development of the port infrastructures in Catania was determined by the tenacious initiative of the merchant class linked to the hinterland productions. The development of a local fleet in Catania was also favored by the building of the port infrastructure, that started in 1840 and ended, with reference to the called «old quay», in 1854. Such growth is witnessed by these aggregate statistics of the shipping movements in Catania between 1849 and 1859 (Table 5.3). Table 5.3 Shipping movements in Catania between 1849 and 1859

Year

Arrivals 1849 1850 1851 1852 1853 1854 1855 1856 1857 1858 1859

931 1627 1780 1855 1758 1712 1762 1930 1969 2220 2226

Departures 913 1583 1850 1802 1746 1798 1767 1930 1951 2246 2245

Source C. Sciuto Patti (1862), Sull’ingrandimento del porto di Catania. Catania, Italy: Galatola

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However, this does not mean that the maritime role of Catania grew so as to exceed its other functions, such as commerce and tertiary. At this point, on the basis of the information extracted by Catania’s police registers, could we classify the nodes composing the whole traffic framework through a theoretic model? Economic history and geography researches about ports and trade tend to use formalized generalizations—even if limited to a single case study— which privilege a quantitative and theoretic approach rather than a descriptive and qualitative analysis. However, especially in historical studies, these two trends usually coexist together. It is the case of Scheltjens (2015, p. 70), who takes into consideration the shipmasters’ domiciles—the homeports — frequencies in order to layout «a novel classification of ports […] that cannot be derived solely from traditional port statistics». If we limit the classification to the Eastern Sicilian coast of 1817–1860, we face with different features characterizing its nodes. These features can be traced both to the «individual» functions and traits of a single node— irrespective of their interconnections—and to the role they assume in the whole corridor. This is particularly true for a context—the Sicily of the nineteenth century—in which relationships between land and sea, and subsequently between urban centers and «ports», were particularly problematic (Simoncini, 1997, p. 7). The classification here proposed has been conceived by privileging an «empirical» perspective based on the interpretation of some recurrent dynamics emerging from the registers. Gelina Harlaftis (2002) identifies five factors explaining the dynamism/interaction between cities and ports that are responsible for their wealth. These categories include: (1) ports localization; (2) the local, regional and international condition of exchanges in a given period; (3) the shipping entrepreneurship; (4) the identity sense of a port city; (5) and the interaction between the foreland and the urban context. In the light of our classification, these criteria have been partially modified or integrated with other studies. In order to categorize every node of the Eastern Sicilian shipping framework, we referred to: (1) the state and the localization of the port infrastructures; (2) the presence of an intermodal transport system; (3) the weight of the maritime function on the whole urban context (e.g. the grade of maritimity 4 ); 4) the scale of the

4 This criterion includes Harlaftis’ 4 and 5 ones.

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trade flows managed by a local fleet (basically corresponding to Scheltjens’ homeports ). If the points 1-2-3 determine the «own» features of a node, the fourth one refers to its role in the corridor.

Corridor and Nodes Features (1817–1860) With reference to Rietberger’s definition (1988), Messina is the only port city of the corridor. It also represents the gateway of the whole system. Messina was a wholesale center for many Sicilian productions that reached the international markets, playing an important conjunction role between Northern Europe and the Mediterranean; at the same time, it was a bulking center of foreign and regional goods that waited for being sorted in other nodes (Battaglia, 2003). In the early nineteenth century, Catania was basically a growing commercial city, which aimed at overcoming Messina in the regional urban hierarchy. With concerns to its trade, Catania’s hinterland ended up increasing in terms of internal penetration, until arriving to Enna’s sulfur mines. Catania both represented a gateway just for its hinterland and a consumption center for external goods. Thus, it simultaneously configures itself as a city with shipping trade, but without a port; as a coastal city with a small, but growing local fleet; as a gateway just for a limited area and limited goods. The high level of intermodal integration described by Lesger (2006) for the Low Countries of the seventeenth–eighteenth centuries and by Rimmer (1973) for the last three phases of his model does not fit for Eastern Sicily of that time. For this reason, Lesger’s identification between gateways and nodes composing his exchange system cannot be applied here. In the following scheme, we preferred not to cancel the geographical peculiarities and urban functions in a theoretical classification in which the points of the network would have been the same. At the same time, since the documentation does not include the whole traffic of the corridor, but only the part that stopped in Catania, it is not possible to trace a structured and formalized model. In the Eastern coast of Sicily, we are faced with a corridor composed by a number of contact points (nodes). Urban centers (Messina, Acireale, Catania, Syracuse), port cities (Messina), homeports (Riposto, Augusta), maritime centers (Capopassaro, Brucoli) and a consistent number of scari coexisted. The latter ones were principally dislocated between Messina and Taormina. Along the Peloritan ridge a considerable number of calls, coastal offshoots of internal settlements, lied on the mouths of seasonal streams

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that flowed in the brief trait between the mounts and the sea. Following is a descriptive classification of nodes during the period 1817–1850 (Table 5.4).

A Brief Epilogue: Railways and Navigation on the Corridor After the integration of Sicily into the Kingdom of Italy (1860), the intermodal transport system of Catania was strengthened by the construction of railways (Giarrizzo, 1986) that connected the city with Messina and Syracuse (1867) and with the sulfur mines of inner Sicily (1870–1876). Subsequently, Catania became the most important collection center of exporting and refining the mineral. Due to the «sulfur boom», whose trade was addressed to the French and British chemical industry, the industrial side of the city rapidly developed. At the same time, port infrastructure remained inadequate to manage this increasing traffic mainly conducted through foreign vessels. In this regard, Hein (2011, p. 7) states that «institutions […] in the different cities of a network take more time to respond to new or changed networks by establishing or adapting institutions and social structures, as well as buildings and infrastructure». In the long term, the Unification of Italy damaged Messina, which lost its free port status. Because of the higher railway transportation rates, conveying sulfur to Messina became more expensive than the direct exportations from Catania. Thus, Messina «maritimity» lost against the commercial Catania. The mix of sulfur plus railway reversed the hierarchies of the corridor. When the centrality of the sea transportation on a regional scale decreased, also the function of Messina as a regional gateway failed. Evermore, urban hierarchies in Sicily formed regardless of port function. From then on, Messina’s maritime activities basically oriented toward the sea transportation between the two shores of the Strait. Generally, the coming of the railway structured further the connections along the corridor. If trains and steamships mainly covered the interurban connections, the different forms of cabotage still persisted, occupying the space of the short-range movements and the links between minor urban centers (scari, fishing villages, homeports). In the Peloritan area, as well as in the Ionian Calabria, railway stressed further decoupling processes, already started in the eighteenth century (Aymard & Bresc, 1973, p. 971): the plain and coastal calls overcame in importance their internal origin settlements, destined remaining isolated. However, as shown by the debates

High and consolidated importance of the port. Excellent natural harbor Port infrastructure under construction. Absence of a natural harbor

Excellent natural harbor

Absence of a port

Natural port

Messina

Syracuse

Riposto

Augusta

Catania

State of port infrastructure

Weak road system

Strong relations with a limited rear land

Strong relations between city and countryside. Increasing hinterland Weak links to the rest of its province

Multi-scale maritime connections

State of the intermodal system

Port «colonised» by foreign ships. The commercial function overalls the maritime ones The urban identity pivots on sea. Fish and trade are considerable activities High specialized town (wine exports by sea). Maritime function predominant Specialized town (salt exports by sea). Commercial and maritime function predominant

High grade of integration between the port and the city activities

Grade of «maritimity»

Shipping contact points along the Eastern coast of Sicily, 1817–1850

Node

Table 5.4

Sub-regional cabotage managed. Medium-long trade in foreign hands

High grade of integration in the international trade

Some routes towards Malta and Catania managed

Weak, but growing, fleet Some local traffic is managed

High capacity in managing cabotage, but not international trade

Power of the local fleet

Small homeport

Homeport

City with a port

Commercial coastal city; gateway for its hinterland

Port city; regional gateway

Classification

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Absence of a port

Scaletta Guidomandri Fiumedinisi Savoca Sant’Alessio Integration between internal villages and sea

Average road system

Fishermen and small shipowners only on the coastal part of the settlement

Population made up of fishermen and small shipowners Population made up of fishermen and small shipowners Very low maritime function compared to the others

Grade of «maritimity»

Low power

Very low power

Very low power

Very low power

Power of the local fleet

Source State Archives of Catania, Fondo Intendenza Borbonica, Categoria VII Agricoltura e Commercio, bb. 1015–1033

Absence of a port

Weak road system

Absence of a port

Avola Taormina Acireale

Absence

Natural port

Brucoli Acicastello Capo Mulini Capopassero Vendicari

State of the intermodal system

State of port infrastructure

Node

Internal cities that have a coastal point in their county territories Decoupled centers, with a part on the hills and a coastal call. Scari

Fishing village

Fishing village

Classification

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collected in the Parliamentary Inquiry on the Merchant Marine (1882), the definitive transition from sail to steam confirmed the obsolescence of the short and medium-range cabotage and its progressive marginalization (Moricola, 2001).

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2–6 maggio 1987, Istituto Internazionale di Storia Economica F. Datini Prato, Series II, n. 19 (pp. 615–616). Florence, Italy: Le Monnier. Rimmer, P. J. (1973). The search for spatial regularities in the development of Australian seaports 1861–1961/2. In B. S. Hoyle (Ed.), Transport and development (pp. 63–86). London, UK: Macmillan. Sakellariou, E. (2012). Southern Italy in the late Middle Ages: Demographic, institutional and economic change in the Kingdom of Naples, c. 1440–c. 1530. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill. Salvemini, B., & Carrino, A. (2002). Il territorio flessibile. Flussi mercantili e spazi meridionali nel Settecento e nel primo Ottocento. In G. Giarrizzo & E. Iachello (Eds.), Le mappe della storia. Proposte per una cartografia del Mezzogiorno e della Sicilia in età moderna (pp. 99–122). Milan, Italy: Franco Angeli. Salvemini, B., & Carrino, A. (2006). Porti di campagna, porti di città. Traffici e insediamenti del Regno di Napoli visti da Marsiglia (1710–1846). Quaderni storici, 121, 209–254. Scheltjens, W. (2015). Dutch deltas: emergence, functions and structure of the Low Countries’ maritime transport system, ca. 1300–1850. Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill. Sciuto Patti, C. (1862). Sull’ingrandimento del porto di Catania. Catania, Italy: Galatola. Simoncini, G. (Ed.). (1997). Sopra i porti di mare. III. Sicilia e Malta. Florence, Italy: Leo S. Olschki. Vázquez Lijó, J. M. (2006). Libertad versus monopolio. Los servicios de pasaje en el litoral gallego en el siglo XVIII. Transportes, Servicios y Telecomunicaciones, 11, 70–92.

CHAPTER 6

Bridging the Gap: The Belfast-Dublin Railway Corridor in the Nineteenth Century Agustina Martire

Dublin and Belfast were broadly considered peripheral cities in the United Kingdom during the nineteenth century. However, they had a central role in the Irish urban network and an increasingly engaged role in the British and transatlantic trade network. The transformation of Dublin and Belfast was complex and interdependent. Technological and infrastructural transformations were significant for the cultural and spatial transformations of both cities, and this was manifested in the fragmented construction of the railway between 1839 and 1855. The spatial turn (Finnegan, 2008; Withers, 2009) and material turn (Trentmann, 2009) in geography and history opens up a wider debate about the way that urban networks evolved in the nineteenth century. This approach especially influences how we understand those complex processes that align political and economic transformations with spatial, material and cultural ones. This shows that the construction of the railway had a strong impact not only on trade and economy of both cities but also on the way

A. Martire (B) Queen’s University Belfast, Belfast, Northern Ireland, UK e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2019 G. Favero et al. (eds.), The Urban Logistic Network, Palgrave Studies in Economic History, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-27599-0_6

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these infrastructures changed their spaces and material culture, transforming the way Dublin and Belfast were perceived and described. Railways radically transformed cities in the nineteenth century. The International Railway History Association (2010, p. 3), highlights that the relationship between railways and cities is complex and under-researched, and emphasized that: “with a railway station, a city became part of a greater chain of production and consumption in a network without borders.” The recent revalorisation of railways in Europe in the quest for a more sustainable future refocuses attention on their history. Dublin and Belfast were part of a complex historical relationship between Great Britain and Ireland. Early historians considered the nineteenth century one of decline for Dublin, attributed to the Act of Union of 1801, among other causes. On the other hand, Belfast was praised for its industrial development and growth in this period. Scholars now present a more nuanced picture for both cities. These new perspectives unveiled the fact that on the one hand, Dublin did not really fall into decline until the famine of the late 1840s, to soon recover and develop significantly; and on the other hand, despite the industrial development of Belfast, this city was not considered to have the socio-cultural transformations that were experienced in other British Victorian cities of similar industrialisation. These new perspectives can be also understood by the increasing exchange that was enabled with the introduction of the Dublin-Belfast railway. Historians have widely and deeply investigated different aspects of the history of both cities, their politics, their production, their built environment and their culture, but the role of the railways is under-represented in the historiography of Belfast and Dublin. This paper aims to reveal the process by which the railway line between Belfast and Dublin was established, providing a gateway to each city, thus creating a local network with repercussions in an international trade and transport network from the 1830s to the 1850s. It also opens a line of enquiry that investigates the links between infrastructural changes and the perception and narratives of both cities.

Small City Networks Peripheral and smaller cities are distinct entities, more dependent on networks than larger urban centres (Bell & Jayne, 2009). A series of scholars have discussed the uniqueness of smaller cities (Burayidi, 2013; Garrett-Petts, 2005; Ofori-Amoah, 2007) and raised awareness of the

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importance of their urban networks. Conferences and seminars have highlighted this under-researched area (AIHCF, 2010; AHRA, 2011; Global Micro History 2018; Small cities 2009). Scholars have described the relationship between industrial small cities and their transport networks. Castells (1989, 1999) refers to ‘spaces of flows’ as the material arrangements that allow a simultaneity of practices without territorial contiguity. This is a widely accepted idea for the turn of the twenty-first century, however, it can also refer to the rise of the railway network. In this context, small cities do not have the same mechanisms or spatial developments as larger ones. Charles Tilly (1996) explained this by encouraging scholars to consider the power of place. One step toward this is to approach small cities without assuming they were scaled-down versions of the metropolis. James Connolly agrees: ‘…most assume that urban life is uniform across cities of all sizes. Yet there is reason to question that premise and to consider peripheral cities more closely’ (Connolly, 2008, p. 3). Connolly also mentions the processes of change of these smaller cities and their dependence on manufacturing, transportation networks and political hierarchies: ‘State policies often had decisive influence as well, and the capacity of urban elites to shape them has varied considerably across time and place’ (Connolly, 2008, p. 10). The complementarity of urban networks is addressed by Meijers ‘in a polycentric network of cities, each city performs a distinct, specialised role and provides specialised services, also to the inhabitants and businesses in the other cities in the network’ (Meijers, 2006, p. 1). Therefore, there must be two conditions for complementarity in a network of cities: each city must have different urban activities, and the markets that demand for these activities must partly overlap. Hague and Kirk agree: ‘different settlements or regions can fulfil different and mutually beneficial roles, through simultaneously embracing the advantages of competition but also overcoming the associated disadvantages’ (Hague & Kirk, 2003, p. 4). Furthermore, it is worth mentioning how Michael Freeman (1999) challenged the limitations of railway history, opening up a larger debate on the role of railways in the cultural development of towns and landscapes. One of the main spatial and cultural impacts of the railways in cities were the railway stations. They were purposefully built for the movement of people and goods, but eventually provided much more complex and rich spaces of cultural interaction. A railway station is therefore a space of culture, a stage in which the drama of communal life unfolds (Glasser, 1970).

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Dublin and Belfast---Peripheral and Complementary Dublin and Belfast were peripheral and complementary cities in the early 1800s. This peripheral position influenced not only the way they developed but also the way they were seen and framed by the public and private stakeholders in charge of many of these transformations. Ireland, according to most English commentators, belonged to the periphery; texts about development, estates, tourism and policies in the nineteenth century considered Ireland as peripheral. According to Ralph Disraeli for example, in 1843, Ireland was not understood by the British and the island and its people were misrepresented. ‘It is a sad thing to believe, that to the greater portion of Englishmen, Ireland is comparatively an unknown country’ (Disraeli, 1843, p. 6). He explained how the biased image of the Irish was mistaken, and how they were not ‘half savages’. He also mentions the differences between the people of different parts of Ireland, describing the population of the north of the island as better lodged, clothed and fed, while the southern were in every respect in a worse condition (Disraeli, 1843, p. 9). Even though Disraeli is sympathetic with the Irish, his tone is patronising and Ireland is viewed as a peripheral place. This is only one of the many framings of Ireland from the English, but a significant one, as Monacelli explains: ‘Although permeated with disgust, anger, contempt or exasperation, the English writings of the 19th century about the Irish are rarely one-dimensional, more than often they can be remarkably ambiguous or contradictory; a feeling of closeness to and kinship with Ireland surfaces as a counterpoint’ (Monacelli, 2010). Perceptions and descriptions of Ireland were a reflection of a relationship between both islands and depended upon networks and flows that relied upon the transport and trade networks.

Production and Trade and Transport in Dublin and Belfast The production of goods and their trade were significant driving forces behind urban development in nineteenth century Ireland. This was therefore one of the main reasons for the development of a more effective system of transportation that would link cities which produced different goods (Schwartz, 2018; Simmons & Biddle, 1997). Until the introduction of the railway, the main transport routes in Ireland, as well as in many other European regions, were the canals. These were centred in Dublin (Fisher, 1941). In 1715 an Act of Parliament proposed to make a large number of

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rivers navigable and by 1751 the Board of Inland Navigation was formed by Parliament with powers to spend £7000 per annum in the construction of the canals in Ireland. Thereafter, the Shannon Navigation (1755), the Grand Canal (1756) and Barrow and Boyne (1759) were built to connect Dublin to its periphery. Belfast was only connected to the Irish canal system by the end of the eighteenth century, when the Lagan canal was built in 1794 (Thomas, 1952, p. 120). Apart from the canals, there were also roads and a system of coaches. In 1741 there was a coach that took passengers and mail from Dublin to Belfast. It took 5 whole days to get from Dublin to Belfast (Riddell, 1947, p. 26). By the beginning of the nineteenth century and due to the growth of population and development of industry, a regular coach service was established. As Bielenberg (2014) explains in his Ph.D. theses, the narrative of decline of industry in Ireland in the nineteenth century (Cullen, 1968, 1972; O’Malley, 1981) is a misconception, as he proves that industry sustained an increased development throughout this period. Belfast and Dublin developed different types of manufactures but catered to a similar market (Bielenberg, 2014). Most of the trade was with Great Britain; Dublin connected to England through the Dunleary-Holyhead route and Belfast to Scotland and the north of England. Therefore, they were at the same time competitors and collaborators in a network that connected them with Great Britain and the rest of Europe. Nineteenth-century commentators and twentieth-century historians have described Belfast as a strong industrial centre, with all the characteristics of this type of Victorian town, comparable to Manchester, Glasgow or Liverpool. The main industries produced metal, glass, salt and vitriol, but cotton was the most important of these products. In 1833 eight large cotton mills in Belfast gave employment to a great amount of population (Belfast & O’G, 1833, p. 12). By 1838 there was a shift to linen production, Belfast and its immediate vicinity had at least 15 mills for spinning linen yarn (Second Report IRC, 1838, p. 261). Aiken and Royle (2013, p. 4) highlight the importance of linen production in Belfast, and also how significant the trade networks were in this process to fuel the local economy. Belfast had direct access to coal and to a trade route that linked to Scotland and the north of England, which made the production of linen more profitable, and justified the shift from cotton to linen production in the 1830s. As explained by Fisher, the development of industry in Belfast was exceptional, attributed to ‘the possibilities of coal import from Ayrshire, and partly because the system of land-ownership and tenure in Ulster

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encouraged accumulation of capital’ (Fisher, 1941, p. 265). Technology was also an enabler of the linen industry, as the wet spinning machine crated in 1827 allowed the flax to be spinned without damage (Connolly, 2012, p. 197). The Commissioners’ data on the export of linen show how the market grew between 1823 and 1835 from over 55 million yards to 70 million by 27% (Second Report IRC, 1838, p. 261). Linen therefore became more significant for the market than cotton, and by 1838 several mills designed for cotton-spinning were employed in spinning flax. As production increased and the markets of Britain and the United States opened up, Belfast became a much larger exporter of linen than Dublin. M. Comb described the history of Belfast as: ‘principally remarkable for the rapid progress of the town in commercial and manufacturing progress, in its increase of population and the extension of its churches, benevolent, educational, literary and other institutions, and its public buildings generally’ (Comb, 1861, p. 16). So he does not only address the development of industry and manufacture, but also the institutional, political and literary conditions of the city. However, the approaches to this development have been contested (Connolly, 2012; Purdue, 2013; Royle, 1993, 2012). Despite this ‘success story’ of production and trade, poverty was not uncommon in Belfast (Laragy, Purdue, & Wright, 2018). Even though it was comparable to other industrial cities in the United Kingdom, some early authors had a different perspective. In 1833, O’G writes about the unimpressiveness of Belfast (O’G, 1833, p. 349). Disraeli in 1843 comments on Belfast as the only place where trade seems to carry on, but expresses his concern on the lack of remains of ancient art, ‘to make you for a time forget the modern decay.’ (Disraeli, 1843, p. 10) This comment evidently reflects a picturesque approach to urban landscape, considering trade and commerce in the city as part of modern decay. Belfast had a shorter history than its English counterparts, so the medieval city was never there. Even the local Belfast media carried ‘expressions of dismay at Belfast’s undistinguished appearance. In particular, they complained of the lack of large-scale public buildings and of substantial constructions in stone’ (Connolly, 2013, p. 36). These type of derogatory comments are questioned by Connolly and Mackintosh (2012, p. 15). The nineteenth century was a period of dramatic transformation for Dublin (Brady & Simms, 2001). Even though it has been considered as a period of decline by earlier historians (Craig, 1952; Flood, 1974; McCullough & Mulvin, 1987) due to extreme poverty in the mid nineteenth century, decline and dereliction did not characterise the whole

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century, and they were limited to certain areas of the city. The decline has been explained as a consequence of the Act of Union of 1801 (Craig, 1952). As Parliament was removed from Dublin, a great part of the elite moved away to London. Comments about the decline of the city and the relationship between this decline and the moral values of society, such as William Smith O’Brien, were common in the 1840s: ‘With regard to Dublin, this decline of prosperity cannot be denied (…) In reference to the condition of the labouring classes, I am persuaded that at no period of the history of Ireland, did they experience equal difficulty in obtaining the means of subsistence; and this state of things is the more painful, because their moral habits are much improved, and because it can no longer be said that their destitution is to be traced to intemperance’ (O’Brien, 1843, p. 44). Dublin, however, kept its cultural functions during the nineteenth century. In a letter to her mother, Elisabeth Pembroke in 1830 wrote about Dublin ‘What beautiful a bay and town this is, we have been finding about this event and have been so much amused, we walked along the quay, saw the Bank, Custom House, University, of which are magnificent buildings of stone and in the best style of architecture’ (Pembroke, 1830). One stark difference between Dublin and Belfast in the early nineteenth century was the fact that banks were established earlier in Dublin (1783) than in Belfast (1825) and still in 1844 held a much larger capital (Thom, 1849, p. 191). Even though production of linen shifted to Belfast, certain industries grew and expanded in nineteenth century Dublin. The harbour docks on the north wall saw the introduction of new trade; the southern riverfront had industries such as salt works, boat building, foundries and glass works using imported coal. According to Daly (1984) the food industry was not prominent in Dublin, but several breweries and bakeries such as Guinness and Jacob’s were largely successful. Textile was also produced in Dublin, but it reached the market later than Belfast as it was specialised in silk and cotton. By 1870 there were 14 mills dedicated to cotton, wool and flax around the city of Dublin (Daly, 1984, p. 42). Dublin and Belfast appear to have a periodical growth and crunch of different industries throughout the nineteenth century (Bielenberg, 2010), which affected their economy and the relationship with one another. All these highs and lows were affected by the transportation system between these two cities.

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The Railways in Ireland The main reasons for the establishment of railways in Ireland were trade and passenger transport. The harbours of Dublin and Belfast had an established market with Britain, from Dublin to Holyhead and from Belfast to Scotland and the north of England. By 1770, 76% of all Irish exports were sent to Britain, with a smaller share of the exports directly shipped to Europe, the Americas and the Far East (Cullen, 1968). According to Ferris (2008) the motivation of the early railway entrepreneurs was driven by a mixture of self-interest and a sense of duty to their districts. He also highlights how there was a wider sentiment that the railways represented progress and ‘not to have a network would mark Ireland out as a backwater lagging behind the rest of the kingdom’ (Ferris, 2008, p. 8). One of the incentives for the construction of railways in Ireland had to do with the importance of the trade and passenger routes to America (Bermingham, 1841). Trade was also instrumental for the railways, as the importance of the connection to ‘great manufacturing districts in the midland counties of England’ (Bermingham, 1841, p. 36) and explained that the lines between Belfast, Dublin and Galway would embrace the trading and manufacturing population of the empire. As early as 1824 there was an interest in building railways in Ireland. The Leinster and Munster Railway company was established in 1825, which proposed a Dublin-Belfast line. Even though this line would not be built until decades later, members of the company were involved in the first railway in Ireland, the Dublin Kingston railway. In the Dublin Penny Journal of 1834 an account of the cost of building railways was exposed, comparing the prices of horse-drawn railways and steam engine railways (Dublin Penny Journal, vol. 2, 1834, p. 402). Railways were favoured for the benefit of speed and safety. ‘Unlike canals, they are not obstructed by frost in winter, or drought in summer, or by frequent repairs’ (Dublin Penny Journal, vol. 2, 1834, p. 403). This was also explained by Thomas Birmingham, as a more efficient alternative to the ‘dangerous and tedious navigations of the channels, both on the North and South extremities of Ireland and England’ (Bermingham, 1841, p. 36). The difference of costs was also explained ‘Railways are constructed at much less expense than ordinary canals. They also occupy less ground, and can often be carried in a more direct line, in consequence of their not requiring the same precision in point of level’ (Dublin Penny Journal, vol. 2, 1834, p. 403).

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The first intention of the Irish Railway Commissioners was to establish one single enterprise to develop railways, thus not building separate lines but ‘a well-combined and judicious system, in which the joint traffic of many places and districts should pass to a great extent over one common line’ (Report IRC, vol. 1. n. 5, p. 258). The first railway in Ireland was built between Dublin and Kingstown, promoted in 1825 and opened in 1834. In the following 7 years, only 2 of the 26 Irish schemes were granted some investment from their subscribers (Railways Commission Minute Book, 1839, P.R.O.I., 2D. 59. 5). By 1845 there were only 65 miles of line, but soon afterwards a ‘fever’ for railways developed and led to the construction of 700 miles of railway five years later (Lee, 1968, p. 35) (Fig. 6.1). The investment in Ireland became a crucial factor in the development of the railways. Ireland was practically left in the periphery of investment from England. ‘Even in the comparatively prosperous years before the famine, early development of Irish railways lagged behind that of England. Little capital could be acquired in Ireland itself, and British investors preferred the more remunerative fields of enterprise both in the home country and in the Americas’ (Fisher, 1941, p. 267). There was pressure from private enterprise to the Commissioners to develop a convenient and fair scheme, where there would be a proper connection between the different railway lines managed by different companies. An anonymous commentator, supporting railway schemes, stated that the new projects had to consider the existing lines and that a specific governmental body should assign a commission to prepare an integral plan for railways in Ireland (Bristol Selected Pamphlets, 1853, p. 7). However, according to Joseph Lee, even though the railways in Ireland were the largest consumers of capital of the midnineteenth century, the investment was unstable and erratic (Lee, 1968, p. 33). Charles Webb wrote in 1852, that Parliament was anxious of the burden that the Irish Railways would cause on the public treasury, but it gave sanction to many of the petitions presented by private companies. In 1846 this investment amounted to more than 11 million pounds between shares and loans, but this went down to only 250,000 by 1851 (Webb, 1852, p. 29). The disinvestment was not exclusive to Ireland, for 80% of the capital invested in railways was authorised before 1850 also in England (Lee, 1968, p. 34). According to Lee (1968), the famine in Ireland and the decline in railway investment are not directly related, ‘It was the reaction in the stock market after 1845, not the famine per se that reduced the flow of funds to the companies’ (Lee, 1968, p. 38). Nonetheless, the investment in Irish railways was primarily private, having 12% coming from government,

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Fig. 6.1 Railways in Ireland 1845 (Source Westmeath Library Service Local Studies collection. Pamphlet—Observations of the Provisional Directors of the Mullingar, Athlone and Longford Railway on the Report of Board of Trade and Railways Proposed to Be Made in Ireland, Westward from Dublin from 1845)

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10% from private lenders and 80% from private investors (Thom, 1855, p. 383). By 1868 the situation had changed and it was considered favourable to build railways in Ireland as opposed to Scotland or England, because of their lower cost. ‘The English lines cost in 1865, £41,033 per mile. The Scotch lines cost 22,821 per mile. The Irish lines cost 13,964 per mile.’ (Dodds, 1868, p. 4). The cost of labour was therefore obviously much lower in Ireland than in Britain. The process of development of the Dublin-Belfast line will be analysed in the following section.

The Dublin Belfast Line The construction of the railway line from Dublin to Belfast was fragmented. Even though there were efforts to build one single line managed by one company since the 1820s, this took a few decades to take shape. The Dublin and Drogheda Railway was sanctioned by an Act of Incorporation in 1836, while the Commissioners planned a link between Dublin and Belfast by a new line through Navan and Armagh. Eventually the line was built by three separate companies: the Ulster Railway Company from Belfast to Portadown in 1842, a line from Dublin to Drogheda in 1844 and finally the Dublin Belfast Junction. They were finally amalgamated by 1875. The Ulster Railway (UR) was the second railway to open in Ireland, from Belfast to Lisburn in 1839 and then to Portadown in 1842. This happened in the context of municipal reform in Belfast, enacted in 1840, that replaced the self-perpetuating corporation with an elected mayor and council (Connolly, 2013, p. 31). This line was negatively compared with the lines in England, stating that the Ulster railway only had 25 miles, ‘while in England the Great Western Railway, and by four different but continuous lines a traveller may proceed in one direction from London to Darlington, a distance of 263 miles’ (Porter, 1844, p. 173), thus already dismissing the development of Ireland in this field. The construction of the Dublin and Drogheda railway started in 1844, but the investment and construction was not an easy process. The Irish Railway Commission did not readily give an incentive for the construction of the railways, as William Galt (1844, p. 90) explained. Finally, a loan of £150,000 was granted by the Exchequer Commissioners, which enabled the company to continue building it. Eventually in 1849 the need of support for the railway from Dublin to Drogheda was justified by the needs of passengers, instead of trade: ‘This would lead to the conclusion that the numbers of persons passing between Dublin and

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Drogheda had been increased more than three-fold, in consequence of the opening of the railway. (…) before the railway was opened, the number travelling by public conveyances was only 232 per week—just one-third of the present number. If this account had been taken in summer, the increase would have appeared greater’ (Murland, 1849, p. 6) (Fig. 6.2). A document released (Bristol Pamphlets, 1853) on the railways in the north of Ireland reveals the choice of a coastal route instead of an inland one to connect Belfast and Dublin. According to this document, the railways were part of the enterprise that ‘has elevated their town to its great mercantile eminence’ (Bristol, 1853, p. 4). This would imply that Belfast growing industry had to be paired with transport networks inside the island. The proposal to Parliament by the Ulster Railway Company, with the support of Belfast and Lord Rossmore, was at the time the coastal one, passing through Newry, Dundalk and Drogheda (Bristol, 1853, p. 4). Discussions about the establishment of a Dublin Belfast railway continued and the option of an inland line was weighed against a coastal one. Even though the Drummond Commissioners considered the coastal line to be ‘too formidable’, the coastline was finally preferred to the inland one (Fisher, 1941). There was serious conflict about the gauge size of the lines, as the UR had a wider 6ft 2in, but more expensive gauge than the Dublin Drogheda rail at 5ft 3in. After much disarray and pressure form the Board of Trade and Royal Engineers, the smaller gauge of 5ft 3in. was finally chosen, which meant having to change the gauge of the UR. Interestingly enough, the cost of building this cheaper gauge, that enabled cheaper tickets, led to a raise in the amount of passengers that were approaching harbour cities to emigrate during the famine of the mid-nineteenth century (Ferris, 2008, p. 37). The Dublin Belfast Junction was designed to link the Dublin & Drogheda Railway with the Ulster Railway at Portadown. It was incorporated on 21 July 1846, but although Drogheda was linked to Portadown in 1852, the Boyne was not crossed by a viaduct until 5 April 1855. Finally, the amalgamation of the four main-line companies of the area took place in 1875–1876, forming first the Northern and then the Great Northern Railway. This process was followed by twenty years of intensive consolidation and standardisation characterised by the reconstruction or remodelling of a large number of stations (McCutcheon, 1964, p. 157). By the late 1870s the railway craze was over and most of the network in Ireland was at risk. A proposal was raised, where the Government would purchase the railways for £24,000,000, and then invite public companies to compete for their maintenance (Dillon, 1879, p. 21). This was considered

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Fig. 6.2 Dublin Drogheda railway line, 1844 (Source J. D’Alton (1844), History of Drogheda, with Its Environs and a Memoir of the Dublin & Drogheda Railway. Dublin: J. D’Alton)

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favourable but there is no evidence that this project was financed. The distribution of investment in the different companies of the Dublin-Belfast scheme shows an interesting picture. The railway line based in Dublin received a much greater investment from England than the northern Irish ones based in Belfast. The Dublin Drogheda railway line received 300,000 from Ireland and 249,000 from England, while the Ulster Line only received 27,000 from England and 510,000 from Ireland. The Dublin Belfast junction received the same amount of investment from England and Ireland, which can be due to an increasing interest in the Irish Railways and the more favourable economic period when it was built.

Dublin and Belfast Reframed A shift in understanding of Dublin and Belfast has replaced the stories of gloom and industry, respectively. In Dublin, a steep decline in living conditions did not happen until the mid-nineteenth century, during the great potato famine (Brady & Simms, 2001; Prunty, 1997). According to Simms and Brady, in the nineteenth century ‘… there was more to the city than poverty and gloom. The city functioned as a large regional capital. There were industries and commerce, an important banking and insurance sector and there were elegant streets for shopping and enjoyment’ (Brady & Simms 2001, p. 159). The extent to which the slums characterised Dublin is also relativised by Prunty: ‘The 19th century quickly became synonymous with poverty and slum conditions. However, it is important to note that such stories only tell a partial truth. Dublin had large numbers of poor in the eighteenth and preceding centuries, the removal of the upper echelons of society served to make the underlying poverty more visible, while the development of social theory and the science of statistics ensured that the recording, measurement, and management of poverty would be a major concern in all 19th century cities’ (Prunty, 1997, p. 16). David Dixon also highlights the importance of Dublin compared to other cities in Ireland and England, saying that in the first decades of the nineteenth century ‘the winter season, the law and the medical and educational resources of the city remained far superior to any Irish or English rival outside London’ (Dixon, 2014, p. 279). Campbell explores the development of nineteenth century Dublin, stating that: ‘The 19th century is generally portrayed as a time of gradual but continuous decline for the city, after its Georgian heyday. This thesis contends however, that this story of decline ignores many significant developments and transformations within the city, which demonstrate a

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different scale of order of urbanism from that which typified the 18th century’ (Campbell, 1998, p. 1). Therefore, according to recent scholarship, despite the low standard of living conditions, works of infrastructure and urban development in the city and the surrounding estates allowed Dublin to be a large and productive regional capital. Early commentators highlighted the value and prominence of production and trade in Belfast. Recent historians have also supported this appreciation of its industrial development. Because of its growth and industrialisation, according to Prunty, in the 1830s Belfast was described as: ‘more rapidly advancing in importance, magnitude and wealth than any of its former rivals’ (Prunty, 1997, p. 16). However, despite the growing wealth of the ruling class, the conditions of urban communities were far from comfortable (Royle, 2012, p. 201). Connolly explains how the management of the town, as it changed from an aristocratic patron to a more broadly representative body, still maintained corrupt practices where the marquis was able to appropriate funds that were meant for the relief of the poor (Connolly, 2013, p. 29). He also highlights the fact that in the context of changes in government structures from oligarchies to corporations, most cities in Britain had progressive and liberal tendencies, while Belfast was widely Conservative (2013, p. 30). Finally, Connolly comments (Connolly, 2010, 2013, p. 25) that even though Belfast had a significant commercial and industrial development, it was not accompanied by the socio-cultural improvement that other British cities developed, especially in the second half of the nineteenth century.

Conclusions Dublin and Belfast are part of an Irish network of cities, which was consolidated during the nineteenth century, through the construction of the railway. These two ‘peripheral’ cities became nodes in a wider network due to significant transformations in technology and transportation. However, the development of this transportation was complex and this was reflected in the investment and construction of the fragmented railway line between Dublin and Belfast. Both cities specialised in different types of industry to cater for their own market and for the growing external market. The link between both cities, nevertheless, was not seen as significantly important as the possible links with other cities in America or the UK, which contributed to delays in building the Dublin Belfast railway line.

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According to John R. Kellett ‘It was the influence of the railways, more than any other single agency, which gave the Victorian city its compact shape, which influenced the topography and character of its central and inner districts, the disposition of its dilapidated and waste areas, and of its suburbs, the direction and character of its growth’ (Kellett, 1969, p. 1). The fragmented construction of the railway affected the development of each of these cities, contributing to framing their position in the wider urban network. This paper opens a series of new questions about the nuances of the development of each city and their railways. This issue, as well as the material and spatial transformation of both cities due to the railways and their respective stations deserve deeper and further investigation.

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PART III

The Making of a Regional Network

CHAPTER 7

Urban Network and Economic Policy: The Milanese Case During the Spanish and Austrian Ages Giovanna Tonelli

Since the 1980s research on pre-industrial manufacturing—particularly the proto-industrial model that analyses economic development on the regional, rather than national, scale (Mendels, 1982)—has persuaded Italian scholars to study the Italian economy during the Modern Age not only within the traditional Italian states’ borders, but also from regional perspectives. In this setting, research has identified important economic interactions between neighbouring territories of different states and identified spatial dimensions based on economic interdependencies (Tonelli, 2008, notes 8–11), in particular for the State of Milan (Moioli, 1988; Tonelli, 2015b). This is why one can now speak not only about the economy of the State of Milan, but also about the economy of the ‘Lombard economic region’. For the same reason, we cannot define an economic network of

G. Tonelli (B) University of Milan, Milan, Italy e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2019 G. Favero et al. (eds.), The Urban Logistic Network, Palgrave Studies in Economic History, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-27599-0_7

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cities and ‘rural towns’1 relative to the State of Milan alone, but rather we must deal with a broader regional network of urban spaces and their hinterlands, with Milan as the economic capital. This chapter focuses on the factors upon which the economic network of the Lombard cities were based. It also sheds light on the State’s policies that allowed the economic network to survive during the Spanish and Austrian Ages and let Milan preserve its role, until the French Era, as the gateway and the ‘emporium’ both for the other cities of the State and for a larger territory comprising the principal cities of the neighbouring states.

The Spanish Age During the Spanish Age (from 1535 to the beginning of the eighteenth century), the borders of the network of cities and rural towns inside the ‘Lombard economic region’ extended north from Domodossola, Varese and Como in the State of Milan; south to the southern cities of the State—Alessandria, Tortona, Voghera, Pavia, Cremona, Lodi, Crema (in the Republic of Venice), Piacenza (in the Farnese’s State) and Mantua (capital of the homonymous Duchy); and from Novara and Vigevano, the western cities of the State of Milan, to Bergamo and Brescia, the western territories of the Republic of Venice. Many factors explain the economic relationships among the cities of this large part of Northern Italy, starting with the resources and productive structures in the region. The variety of economic resources is self-evident if we observe the geographical structure of the territory: mountains (Ossola Valley and the districts north of Como, Bergamo and Brescia), hills (Como, Varese, Lecco and the north of Novara and Milan) and plains (Novara, Vigevano, Alessandria, Pavia, Milan, Lodi, Cremona, Mantua and their hinterlands). The Lombard plain, and above all the section between the Ticino and Adda rivers, was some of the most fertile land on the continent. It produced cereals in large quantities, which fed the whole State of Milan, one of the most populated and urbanised areas of Europe (Sella, 1982, pp. 16–20; Capra, 1984, pp. 558–560), and the neighbouring territories. The lands to the north of Milan were not as fertile as the plain, but they had iron mines and produced cheap textile products (wool, cotton and linen clothes) and raw silk, which was increasingly in demand abroad (Sella, 1982,

1 Centres with populations from 5000 to 10,000 residents.

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ch. 1, 6). This meant that, during the seventeenth century, from within the Lombard economic region’s borders, the State of Milan exported cereals and silk to Bergamo (in the Republic of Venice) and imported iron goods and cheap woollen clothes; and it exported cereals, raw linen and rags to Brescia (a Venetian city) and imported arms, yarns linen and paper (Moioli, 1986, p. 181; Tonelli, 2012, pp. 17–23). The second factor upon which the strong economic relationships among the cities of this part of northern Italy were based was the economic role of Milan. It was a market for luxury goods for the upper classes of the cities of the State and its neighbours (Tonelli, 2012, pp. 17–18; 2015a, pp. 149–150). Milan sold unique pieces produced by its artisans (Romani, Maino, Ferino-Pagden, Napoleone, & Beaufort-Spontin, 2015), the socalled ‘court products’, although it had not had a court since the early decades of the sixteenth century: ceremonial armour, jewels, crystal and above all silk products (including fabrics with precious metals and ribbons). Milan also sold imported products, particularly fabrics made beyond the Alps. Jewellery, ceremonial armour, crystal, silverware, clothing accessories and valuable furnishings for homes and churches—clocks, tapestries and paintings—left Milan and reached Lodi, Pavia, Turin, Bergamo and Mantua.2 The third fundamental factor that united the Lombard cities in an economic network was the transit trade, thanks to a particular chapter of the Milanese trade law: international transits paid lower customs duties on the roads that the government wanted such transits to use (Tonelli, 2007, pp. 89–91), which not accidentally passed by the cities of the State of Milan and its neighbouring states, as shown in Table 7.1. Of course, the economic relationships with the cities of the Lombard regions, and with the continent in general, had developed thanks to the wide roads—a gift of nature improved by men’s labour. The Duchy of Milan lay near the Alps and many international roads crossed it. These were military roads, built by the Romans, which became trade roads that were well-maintained during the Middle Ages (Frangioni, 1983; Soldi Rondinini, 1978). During the Spanish Age, they were not in as good a condition as in the past, but, in spite of concerns about the roads and transportation, 2 Recognitio of January 4, 1620 (Asm, Notarile, 22055); promissio September 6, 1631 (ibid., 28442); procuratory July 17, 1632 (ibid., 27508); procuratory November 1, 1635 (ibid., 26494); inventory attached to the deed of tutela of April 24, 1654 (ibid., 28881); Piccinelli (2003); Tonelli (2009b, pp. 155–156).

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Table 7.1 Transit paths through the state of Milan with reduced duties, seventeenth century From

To

Through

Spanish Netherlands

Genoa

Germany

Genoa

Spanish Netherlands and Germany

Florence, Rome, Naples

Provence

Lugano and Locarno

Genoa

Bergamo

Genoa Bergamo Venice

Vercelli Vercelli Lyon

Bologna and Tuscany

Lyon

Bellinzona, Lake Maggiore, Ticino River, Pavia, Tortona, Alessandria; or Bellinzona, Milan, Pavia, Tortona, Alessandria Como, Milan, Pavia, Alessandria, Tortona Como, Milan, Lodi, Piacenza; back: Lodi, Milan, Como, Chiavenna Cremosina or Domodossola, Como Alessandria, Tortona, Pavia, Milan Alessandria, Tortona, Pavia Milan, Novara Cremona, Lodi, Milan, Novara Parma, Piacenza, Pavia, Vercelli

Source (Capitoli 1669, §42, pp. 32–36)

scholars speak of this as a superiority of this part of Italy over the rest of the country (Bortolotti, 1985, p. 292; Caizzi, 1985, p. 9). In this part of northern Italy, one could also use many alternative roads and river transportation. The most important river was the Po, which flows across the north of Italy, from Piedmont to the Adriatic Sea, with many tributaries and many canals that were dug during the Middle Ages and used for both navigation and irrigation (Bigatti, 1995; Corritore, 2001). These consolidated trade relationships between the cities of different states could have been compromised during the seventeenth century, with the prohibition on the imports of some wool and silk products in the 1640s and 1650s (Vigo, 1991, p. 123). These laws were anomalous for the State of Milan, which had never shut its borders to foreign goods nor to foreign tradesmen (Tonelli, 2002, pp. 159–165; 2011; 2012; 2014; 2015c), and were the government’s response in the aftermath of the plague of the early 1630s. The deaths of many artisans from the plague produced an increase

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in the prices of some textile goods produced in some cities of the State, so Milanese merchants chose to import them from abroad instead of producing them locally, paying for them with the export of goods that were increasingly in demand abroad: silk, cereals and cheese (Moioli, 1999b, pp. 51–52). However, the protectionist trade policy failed, because the merchants simply ignored the law, which was possible because the government did not have its own employees to enforce the prohibitions. Only the foreign trade of food supplies (cereals, wine) was directly controlled by public employees. The supervision of foreign trade of all other goods depended on those to whom the collection of customs duties was contracted, and their employees. Of course, the contractors did not want to stop any trade, but neither did the government itself want the contractors to enforce these laws; in fact, if the collection of customs duties decreased, the contractors could claim damages from the government. Moreover, during the seventeenth century, many of those contracted for the collection of customs were bankers and merchants who worked in the import–export trade and lent money to the town of Milan and to the Spanish Monarchy during the seventeenth century—a century of war (Tonelli, 2002, pp. 161–164). As one can see, the management of the customs duties was favourable for allowing Milan and the other cities of the State to easily trade abroad. The structure of the system of customs duties was no less favourable to the trades than to the management. As far as the structure of customs duties—the fourth factor on which the network among the cities of the Lombard economic region was based— was concerned, the State of Milan in the seventeenth century was still divided into provinces (Moioli, 1999a, pp. 851–859). These provinces corresponded to the cities of the State and their territories—an inheritance from the Middle Ages, when Milan conquered the other Lombard cities but let them maintain their autonomy concerning customs duties. As a consequence, import, export and transit duties were based on the number of provinces crossed by the goods: a product made in Cremona (a city in the South of the State) and sold in Como (in the north) paid the export duty in Cremona, the transit duties in Lodi and Milan and the import duty in Como. For this reason, during the Modern Ages it was more convenient for Cremona to trade abroad, especially with Piacenza (in the Duchy of Parma and Piacenza) and Mantua, than with Como.

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The Austrian Age During the first half of eighteenth century, the State of Milan handed to Piedmont its western territories: the Ossola Valley (upper Novara), and the cities of Alessandria, Tortona, Novara and Vigevano and their hinterlands, with their fruitful lands. Despite these changes, the economic relationships between the different areas of the Lombard economic region did not change. Ossola, an infertile land near Switzerland, continued to be fed by Lombard cereals (Bognetti, Moioli, Porta, & Tonelli, 2006, p. 141, note 116). Lombard landowners, who had properties in the territories ceded to the Savoy family, continued to carry their harvests to the State of Milan duty-free (Bognetti et al., 2006, p. 369, note 137). Raw skins continued to be carried from the State of Milan to Cannobio (a small rural town near the Swiss border) to be tanned, and then imported into the State of Milan (Moioli, 1988, p. 45). Lombard silk continued to be bought in Vigevano, from where the State of Milan imported silk products (Moioli, 1988, pp. 75–76). This structure still did not change in the second half of the eighteenth century, when Vienna tried to support a home market inside the State of Milan. In doing so, they removed the province-to-province customs duties, introducing instead customs duties that encouraged domestic products, particularly textile fabrics. In fact, as shown in Table 7.2, there were numerous foreign (or foreign-styled) textile products on the Milanese market that some members of the government thought could be produced in the State. The Table contains customs registry data and shows the products that crossed the borders of the State of Milan in 1762. Unfortunately, it is an incomplete list for two reasons. First, there are few luxury products, because the list was prepared based on data extrapolated from customs records. For example, the precise origins of the precious French silk products were not registered in the customs registers, which was not due to the negligence of the employees, but because, for many products in the tariff book, there was no specification regarding their origins. Second, the list does not address colour; in fact, there are few coloured products recorded, as the customs duties for dyed products were no different, so the records do not distinguish the products by colour. However, the range of colours of textile products sold in the State of Milan was very broad, as seen in the clothes in contemporary Milanese portraiture, in modern exhibitions in galleries and museums, and in other archival documents, such as inventory records of houses and shops and governmental

Alemagna [Germany] baracanello di filo e lana d’Alemagna baraccano d’Alemagna baraccano di filo e lana d’Alemagna berrette di lana d’Alemagna bindello di lana d’Alemagna bombasina d’Alemagna bondinella d’Alemagna burattoni d’Alemagna calze d’Alemagna calze di lana d’Alemagna calze di lana e stame d’Alemagna calze di stame d’Alemagna cambraglia d’Alemagna camelotto d’Alemagna cappelli d’Alemagna coperte di lana d’Alemagna crespone alto d’Alemagna dobletto d’Alemagna dobletto di filo e bombace d’Alemagna dobletto di Germania fanella stampata di Alemagna fazzoletti di tela d’Alemagna grograni bassi d’Alemagna

mezza-lana alta d’Alemagna mezza-lana alta d’Alemagna forestiera mezza-lana bassa di Alemagna mezza-lana d’Alemagna panno alto d’Alemagna panno alto ordinario d’Alemagna panno basso d’Alemagna panno d’Alemagna panno fazione d’Alemagna panno fino d’Alemagna peluzzo basso ordinario d’Alemagna saglia bassa d’Alemagna saglia bassa d’Alemagna e Francia saglia d’Alemagna saglia di scotto d’Alemagna sempiterni bassi di Alemagna sempiterni d’Alemagna tela bianca ordinaria d’Alemagna tela del Settanta d’Alemagna tela di mussolo d’Alemagna tela fina d’Alemagna tela greggia d’Alemagna

tela Sangallo d’Alemagna tela tinta d’Alemagna teleria grossa d’Alemagna terlisetti ordinarj di Alemagna terliso d’Alemagna tovaglie d’Alemagna zuccottini di lana d’Alemagna Abbeville baraccano d’Ambevill baraccano d’Ambevill diverso panno d’Ambevill Amiens Amiens stamina d’Amiens ordinaria Basilea [Basel] calze di lana di Basilea panno alto di Basilea panno fino di Basilea Bassano panno Bassano panno basso di Bassano Bergamo baetta di Bergamo droghetto basso di Bergamo droghetto di Bergamo fanella solia di Bergamo fanellone solio di Bergamo

(continued)

fazzoletti di tela di Bergamo mezza-lana alta di Bergamo mezza-lana bassa di Bergamo mezza-lana di Bergamo panno alto di Bergamo panno alto ordinario di Bergamo panno basso di Bergamo panno basso ordinario di Bergamo panno di Bergamo alto ordinario panno fazione di Bergamo panno feltrino di Bergamo panno ordinario di Bergamo peluzzo basso di Bergamo rattina alta di Bergamo rattina bassa di Bergamo rattina di Bergamo roverso basso di Bergamo roverso cottonato di Bergamo roverso di Bergamo roverso di Bergamo bianco roverso di Bergamo ordinario bianco roverso fino di Bergamo roverso ordinario di Bergamo

Table 7.2 Countries and localities of origin and/or of the “style” of textile products present on the Milanese market in the 1760s 7 URBAN NETWORK AND ECONOMIC POLICY: THE MILANESE CASE …

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saglia alta di Bergamo saglia bassa d’Italia e Bergamo saglia bassa di Bergamo saglia di Bergamo saglia nera di Bergamo saglia ordinaria di Bergamo stame, ossia stametto di Bergamo stametto di Bergamo stamina di Bergamo Biella mezza-lana di Biella Boemia [Bohemia] panno di Boemia Bologna canevazzo greggio di Bologna tela di canape di Bologna velo di seta di Bologna Brescia panno alto di Brescia panno basso di Brescia Bristol panno Bristollo panno Bristollo fino panno del Nord «ossia Bristol» Bruxelles camelotto fino di Bruxelles Carcassonne panno alto Carcassone panno Carcassone

Table 7.2 (continued) Castelfranco berette di Catel-franco Chertsey panno Carsè Codogno telette di Codogno Como panno alto di Como roverso di Como Costanza [Constance] tela Costanza tela Costanza bianca tela Costanza greggia tela Costanza piombata tela Costanza tinta tela fina d’Alemagna Cremona baraccano cremonese fustagno di Cremona alto Fabriano calze di Fabriano calze di lana di Fabriano Fiandre [Flanders] grograni alti di Fiandra grograni bassi di Fiandra tela fina di Fiandra Firenze [Florence] roverso di Firenza

Francia [France] baetta di Francia camelotto basso di Francia camelotto di Francia camelotto fino di Francia camelotto ordinario d’Alemagna camelotto ordinario di Francia droghetto appannato di Francia droghetto di Francia panno alto di Francia panno alto ordinario di Francia panno basso di Francia panno fino di Francia panno scarlato di Francia perpetuello alto di Francia perpetuello e droghetti di Francia rattina alta di Francia rattina bassa di Francia saglia bassa d’Alemagna e Francia saglia bassa di Francia saglia di Francia saglia principessa spagnoletta di Francia stamina bassa di Francia stamina di Francia tela fina di Francia

Gandino panno di Gandino panno fazione di Gandino roverso alto di Gandino roverso bianco di Gandino roverso cottonato di Gandino roverso di Gandino roverso fino di Gandino roverso scarlato di Gandino scarlato ordinario di Gandino Gavazzo panno di Gavazzo Genova [Genoa] mantini e tovaglie di Genova reti di filo [di lino] genovese Germania [Germany] mezza-lana di Germania sarza di Germania stame di Germania stametto di Germania tapeti di Germania tela bianca di Germania tela ordinaria di Germania teleria diversa di Germania Inghilterra [England] baetta bassa d’Inghilterra baetta d’Inghilterra calamandra bassa d’Inghilterra camelotto basso ordinario d’Inghilterra

152 G. TONELLI

camelotto d’Inghilterra camelotto ordinario d’Inghilterra droghetto appannato alto d’Inghilterra droghetto appannato basso d’Inghilterra droghetto basso d’Inghilterra droghetto d’Inghilterra fanella d’Inghilterra fanella solia d’Inghilterra grograni alti d’Inghilterra grograni bassi d’Inghilterra marbrucco d’Inghilterra panno alto d’Inghilterra panno alto ordinario d’Inghilterra panno fino d’Inghilterra panno mezzo fino alto d’Inghilterra peluzzo alto ordinario d’Inghilterra peluzzo d’Inghilterra perpetuello d’Inghilterra saglia alta d’Inghilterra saglia bassa d’Inghilterra saglia d’Inghilterra sempiterni bassi d’Inghilterra tela stampata ordinaria d’Inghilterra Italia [Italy] panno basso ordinario d’Italia

panno d’Italia panno fazione d’Italia panno fino d’Italia saglia bassa d’Italia saglia bassa d’Italia e Bergamo saglia d’Italia Lione [Lyon] buratti da mistura da burattare di Lione o d’Overgna mezza-lana bassa di Lione saglia bassa di Lione Londra [London] saglia di Londra Louviers panno fino Loviè panno Loviè Lovere calze di lana di Lovere calze di Lovere panno Lovere Maastricht panno Mastrich Mantova [Mantua] calze di Mantova Marocco [Morocco] saglia di Marocco Matelica panno alto di Matelica Milano [Milan] panno alto di Milano panno ordinario di Milano saglia bassa di Milano

saglia di Milano Modena saglia di Modena Moravia guanti di lana di Moravia Mosso calze di lana di Mosso mezza-lana bassa di Mosso mezza-lana di Mosso alta saglia di Mosso Olanda (Holland) camelotto fino d’Olanda panno alto alla fazione d’Olanda panno alto d’Olanda panno d’Olanda panno fazione d’Olanda panno fino alto d’Olanda panno fino d’Olanda roverso fino d’Olanda tela d’Olanda Ommen tela d’Omens Overgna [Auvergne] buratti da mistura da burattare di Lione o d’Overgna buratti da mistura di Overgna burattoni d’Overgna Padova [Padua] calze di lana e stame di Padova panno alto alla fazione di Padova panno alto di Padova panno di Padova

URBAN NETWORK AND ECONOMIC POLICY: THE MILANESE CASE …

(continued)

panno fazione di Padova panno fino di Padova panno nero di Padova panno ordinario fazione di Padova Piacenza baraccano di Piacenza saglia bassa di Piacenza saglia di Piacenza Renso [Reims] mantini di renso renso renso nero serviette di renso tela di renso tela di renso tinta Roma [Rome] saglia bassa di Roma saglia di Roma Rouen tela roana San Gallo (St. Gallen) tela Sangallo tela Sangallo bianca tela Sangallo bianca ordinaria tinta tela Sangallo d’Alemagna tela Sangallo piombata Sedan panno alto Sedano panno alto Sedano di Francia panno Sedano

7

153

Toscana [Tuscany] canevazzo greggio di Toscana Venezia [Venice] panno scarlato di Venezia scarlato di Venezia tela di Venezia Ulm tela d’Olmo tela rigata d’Olmo

Verona calze di lana di Verona calze di stame di Verona calze di Verona calze di Verona fine panno alto di Verona panno di Verona roverso appannato di Verona roverso di Verona

Zurigo [Zurig] buratti bassi di Zurigo buratti di Zurigo crespone alto di Zurigo crespone basso di Zurigo velo [di seta] di Zurigo

Source: The author’s data processing of the Ricapitolazione generale (1762) Meaning of the ancient names of the textile products sold in Milan in the eighteenth century—Amiens: woolen fabric; baetta: light woolen cloth; baraccano/baracanello: woolen fabric or linen and woolen fabric; berretta: cap; bindello: ribbon; bombace: cotton; bombasina: cotton and linen fabric; bondinella: linen fabric; buratto/burattone: woolen fabric; calza: sock; calamandra: woolen fabric; cambraglia: linen fabric; camelotto: woolen fabric; canape: hemp; canevazzo: canvas; cappello: hat; coperta: blanket; crespone: woolen fabric; dobletto: cotton and linen fabric; droghetto: woolen fabric or woolen and linen fabric; fanella: woolen fabric; fanellone: woolen fabric; fazzoletto: handkerchief; filo: linen thread; fustagno: cotton fabric; grograno: woolen fabric; guanti: gloves; lana: wool; mantino: napkin; marbrucco: woolen fabric; mezza-lana: woolen fabric; panno: woolen fabric; peluzzo: woolen fabric; perpetuello: woolen fabric; rattina: woolen fabric; renso: linen fabric; rete: net; roverso: woolen fabric; saglia/sarza: woolen fabric; scarlatto: woolen fabric; sempiterno: woolen fabric; servietta: towel; spagnoletta: woolen fabric; stame: spun wool; stametto: woolen fabric; stamina: woolen fabric; tapeto: carpet; tela/teleria: canvas; teletta: linen fabric; terliso/terlisetto: canvas; velo di seta: silk veil; zuccottino: headgear (more details on the meaning of the ancient names and on the value of the textile products sold in Milan in the 1760s: Tonelli, 2018)

panno Sedano e del Beuf Salonicco [Thessaloniki] panno basso Saloniccio panno Saloniccio Schio panno di Schio Tolmezzo tela di Tolmezzo tela rigata di Tolmezzo

Table 7.2 (continued)

154 G. TONELLI

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documents. For example, a document of the 1780s shows that the Guaita company (Como) produced the highest quality ‘panni d’Elbeuf’ in over ninety different colours.3 Despite these shortcomings, Table 7.2 shows clearly that Milan was an ‘emporium’—a crossroads of trade between the continent and the Italian Peninsula. In fact, one can find more than 300 products made in (or ‘in the style of’) Austrian Lombardy (Milan, Como, Cremona, Mantua, Codogno) or various parts of Italy (Piedmont, Republic of Venice, Genoa, Tuscany, Papal State) and from abroad, both from Europe (England, Austrian Netherlands, Dutch Republic, France, Germany, Switzerland, Bohemia, Greece) and Morocco. The first step of the reform was in 1765, when the customs duties from province to province were removed from silk, linen, cheese and some cheap textile clothes, while wool and silk clothes and some typical Milanese products, like bells, chocolate and coaches, were exported completely duty-free (Tariffario, 1765). The second step of the reform was in 1771, when the customs duties were no longer contracted out. In theory, without the private collectors, the government was free to carry out its reforms, but, from 1771 to the mid-1780s, Milanese statesmen strongly opposed it for two main reasons. They knew that, in spite of fiscal facilities, local manufacturers were unable to produce goods of the same quality as those bought abroad. After removing the customs duties from province to province, the easiest way to balance the fiscal yield was to increase import and export duties (Tonelli, 2009a, pp. 281–282). This would have caused considerable damage to the Lombard trade, which was so focused on the international market, as the trade data collected in those years shows. Table 7.3 is an elaboration of the Trade Balance of the State of Milan of 1778—the only balance in which both trade data between the provinces of the State and between each province and abroad was collected. Before analysing, one needs to know that this source is imperfect as it only includes data on the goods for which duties called ‘Datio della Mercanzia’ were paid—in other words, it excludes some cereals and some animals for which other duties were paid, and some duty-free goods that were not registered at all following the partial reform of 1765. As you can see, the mercantile vocation of each province is evident; the fruitful lands of the South fed the capital and its hinterland with butter (Lodi) and wine (Pavia and Lodi) and also supplied the countryside

3 Asm, Finanze, p.a., cart. 8, fasc. 3.

1,392,754 1,411,051 656,999 6642 15,907

3,483,353

1,665,748

954,979

1,421,333

403,292

11,563,736

From Pavia and hinterland

7,118,385

From Milan and hinterland

5,465,899

1,129,397

5084

38,869

559,951

3,732,599

From Lodi and hinterland

1,370,327

1756

16,737

6755

9899

1,335,180

From Como and hinterland

3,604,106

2,208,536

40,545

624,986

256,166

473,872

From Cremona and hinterland

25,487,420

3,758,887

1,490,340

2,282,588

3,902,815

14,052,790

Exchanges among the provinces of the State

Value of trade of the state of Milan in the 1770s (currency: Lira Milanese) Export

5,181,850

1,280,876

4,070,640

1,920,677

39,092,038 23,859,329

4,572,780

1,860,976

4,964,167

2,406,650

25,287,465 11,405,287

Import

Sources The author’s data processing of the Trade Balance (1778) Note Only goods traded for a value equal to or greater than 100,000 ‘lire milanesi’ were considered—a significant sample because they represent 79% of total imports, 65% of total exports and 85% of the exports traded among the provinces of the State (Trade Balance, 1778; Vianello, 1938, p. 61; Tonelli, 1997, p. 55, note 74)

To Milan and hinterland Pavia and hinterland Lodi and hinterland Como and hinterland Cremona and hinterland Total

Table 7.3

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around Milan with bulls, which were indispensable for agriculture. The textile manufacturers of the Busto Arsizio and Legnano (in the north of Milan) also operated thanks to linen from Lodi. Concerning trade abroad, Como exported silk, Lodi exported cheese, Pavia exported cheese and rice and Cremona exported linen. The data also shows the role of Milan as a gateway and ‘emporium’ for its territory and for the cities of the State and the neighbouring states. The roads of the capital were travelled by cotton or olive-oil (both mainly bought in Genoa) for the manufacturers located in the northern part of the province, while silk products and cotton and linen textiles reached the other cities of the State. Milan sent raw and spun silk abroad, mainly to Piedmont and France, and luxury goods (either produced in the State or imported), especially silk products, clothing accessories, linen laces, linen textiles and wax candles, were sent to the neighbouring states. In the mid-1780s, Joseph II, fed up with Milanese obstructionism, charged Stefano Lottinger from Lorraine, a foreign statesman, to implement the reforms, and, in 1786, they were finally carried out (Tonelli, 1997, pp. 64–65). The customs duties inside the State were removed, but the peculiar structure of the Lombard trade, so defended by the Milanese statesmen, could not be modified. The peculiarity of Milan’s trade was again confirmed; the export of silk, cereals, cheese and linen and the import–export of luxury goods were further promoted; and the economic relationships with the neighbouring territories of the neighbouring states were not cut off (Tonelli, 2009a, pp. 287–288). On the contrary, they were further promoted thanks to improvements to the infrastructure of the State, planned in the 1770s and realised after twenty years (Capra, 1984, p. 478; Mozzarelli, 1986), and to the confirmation, in 1785, of the reduction of customs duties paid on the roads that the government wanted transiting trade to use (Tonelli, 2007, p. 102).

References Asm: State Archive, Milan. Bigatti, G. (1995). La provincia delle acque. Ambiente, istituzioni e tecnici in Lombardia tra Sette e Ottocento. Milano: FrancoAngeli. Bognetti, G., Moioli, A., Porta, P. L., Tonelli, G. (A cura di). (2006). Edizione nazionale delle opere di Pietro Verri, vol. II: Scritti di economia, finanza e amministrazione, t. I. Roma: Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura, Roma.

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Bortolotti, L. (1985). Viabilità e sistemi infrastrutturali. In C. De Seta (A cura di), Storia d’Italia. Annali 8: Insediamenti e territorio (pp. 289–366). Torino: Einaudi. Caizzi, B. (1985). Strade lombarde. Itinerari e uomini in epoca austriaca. Milano: Banca del Monte di Milano. Capitoli. (1669). Capitoli tra la Reg. Cam. et li Datiari della Marcantia per gli anni 1670, 1671 & 1672. Milano: Marc’Antonio Pandolfo Malatesta. Capra, C. (1984). Il Settecento. In D. Sella & C. Capra (A cura di), Il Ducato di Milano dal 1535 al 1796 (pp. 151–617). Torino: Utet. Corritore, R. P. (2001). L’anisotropia dello spazio in età preindustriale: vie d’acqua e vie di terra in Lombardia fra Medioevo e Ottocento. In C. Morando (A cura di), Dall’uomo al satellite (pp. 153–166). Milano: FrancoAngeli. Frangioni, L. (1983). Milano e le sue strade. Costi di trasporto e vie di commercio dei prodotti milanesi alla fine del Trecento. Bologna: Cappelli. FRMMi: Raffaele Mattioli Foundation for the History of Economic Thought, Milan. Mendels, F. (1982). General report. “A” themes, in Eighth International Economic History Congress. Budapest: Akadémiai Kiadó. Moioli, A. (1986). La deindustrializzazione della Lombardia nel secolo XVII. Archivio storico lombardo, 112, 167–203. Moioli, A. (1988). Assetti manifatturieri nella Lombardia politicamente divisa della seconda metà del Settecento. In S. Zaninelli (A cura di), Storia dell’industria lombarda, vol. I: Dal Settecento all’unità politica (pp. 1–102). Milano: Il Polifilo. Moioli, A. (1999a). Pietro Verri e la questione della riforma daziaria nello Stato di Milano. In C. Capra (A cura di), Pietro Verri e il suo tempo (pp. 853–933). Bologna: Cisalpino. Moioli, A. (1999b). Il mutato ruolo delle corporazioni nella riorganizzazione dell’economia milanese del XVII secolo. In A. Guenzi, P. Massa, & A. Moioli (A cura di), Corporazioni e gruppi professionali nell’Italia moderna (pp. 44–78). Milano: FrancoAngeli. Mozzarelli, C. (1986). Strade e riforme nella Lombardia del Settecento. Quaderni storici, 21, 117–145. Piccinelli, R. (2003). Le Collezioni Gonzaga. Il carteggio tra Milano e Mantova (1563–1634). Cinisello Balsamo and Milano: Silvana. Ricapitolazione generale. (1762). Ricapitolazione generale de’ Generi entrati, e usciti nello Stato di Milano l’anno 1762 come risulta dai Libri dell’Impresa della Mercanzía divisi per Classi, e aggiuntovi il prezzo, e l’importanza di ciascheduna merce. FRMMi, Archivio Verri, cart. 384. Romani, M. A., Maino, G., Ferino-Pagden, S., Napoleone, C., & Beaufort-Spontin, C. (2015). Made in Milano. Le botteghe del Cinquecento. Fontanellato: Franco Maria Ricci.

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Sella, D. (1982). L’economia lombarda durante la dominazione spagnola. Bologna: il Mulino. Soldi Rondinini, G. (1978). Le vie transalpine del commercio milanese dal sec. XIII al XV. In Felix olim Lombardia. Studi di storia padana dedicati dagli allievi a Giuseppe Martini (pp. 343–484). Milano, Alessandria: Ferraris. Tariffario. (1765). Dato, o sia tariffa per la regalia della Mercanzia dello Stato di Milano. Milano: Giuseppe Richino Malatesta. Tonelli, G. (1997). Baldassarre Scorza e la riforma daziaria nella Lombardia asburgica. Nuova economia e storia, 3, 25–68. Tonelli, G. (2002). Percorsi di integrazione commerciale e finanziaria fra Milano e i Paesi d’Oltralpe nel primo Seicento. In L. Mocarelli (A cura di), Tra identità e integrazione. La Lombardia nella macroregione alpina dello sviluppo economico europeo (secoli XVII-XX) (pp. 151–194). Milano: FrancoAngeli. Tonelli, G. (2007). Commercio di transito e dazi di confine nello Stato di Milano fra Sei e Settecento. In A. Torre (A cura di), Per vie di terra. Movimenti di uomini e di cose nelle società di antico regime (pp. 85–108). Milano: FrancoAngeli. Tonelli, G. (2008). La Lombardia spagnola nel XVII secolo. Studi di Storia economica dopo Sella. Mediterranea. Ricerche storiche, 5, 401–416. Tonelli, G. (2009a). «Considerazioni sul lusso» nella riforma daziaria dello Stato di Milano (seconda metà del XVIII secolo). In A. Alimento (A cura di), Modelli d’Oltreconfine. Prospettive economiche e sociali negli antichi stati italiani (pp. 271–293). Roma: Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura. Tonelli, G. (2009b). The Annoni and the Carenna in the seventeenth-century Milan. In D. Jaffé (Ed.), Rubens’s Massacre of the innocents. The Thomson collection at the art gallery of Ontario (pp. 154–177, 182–192). Toronto: Skylet Publishing/Art Gallery of Ontario. Tonelli, G. (2011). Nella Milano secentesca degli affari: tra Mediterraneo e «Oltremonte». In A. Giuffrida, F. D’Avenia, & D. Palermo (A cura di), Studi dedicati a Orazio Cancila (pp. 681–708). Palermo: Associazione no profit “Mediterranea”. Tonelli, G. (2012). Affari e lussuosa sobrietà. Traffici e stili di vita dei negozianti milanesi nel XVII secolo (1600–1659). Milano: FrancoAngeli. Tonelli, G. (2014). «Mercanti che hanno negotio grosso» fra Milano e i Paesi riformati nel primo Seicento. In Storia economica, 17: G. Maifreda (A cura di) Mercanti, eresia e Inquisizione nell’Italia moderna (pp. 101–142). Tonelli, G. (2015a). The economy in the 16th and 17th centuries. In A. Gamberini (Ed.), A companion to late medieval and early modern Milan. The distinctive feautures of an Italian state (pp. 142–165). Leiden and Boston: Brill. Tonelli, G. (2015b). «Non stimò servigio della Corona esequire tali ordini». Commercio e interventi governativi nella Milano sei-settecentesca. In P. Cafaro, G.

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De Luca, A. Leonardi, L. Mocarelli, & M. Taccolini (A cura di), La Storia Economica come Impegno. Saggi in onore di Angelo Moioli (pp. 75–82). Milano: FrancoAngeli. Tonelli, G. (2015c). Investire con profitto e stile. Strategie imprenditoriali e familiari a Milano tra Sei e Settecento. Milano: FrancoAngeli. Tonelli, G. (2018). Un filo di voci fra le pagine di Pietro Verri. Merci e «prezzi» del tessile nello Stato di Milano (anni sessanta del Settecento). Milano: FrancoAngeli. Trade Balance. (1778). Oesterreichische Nationalbibliotek, Wien, codd. SN 12323, 12324, 12326. Vianello, C. A. (A cura di). (1938). Discorsi inediti di Baldassarre Scorza sui bilanci commerciali dello Stato di Milano e sui porti di Trieste e di Nizza. Milano: Biblioteca Ambrosiana. Vigo, G. (1991). Politica economica e metamorfosi industriale nella Lombardia spagnola. Rivista milanese di economia, 40, 113–124.

CHAPTER 8

The Construction of an Inland Gateway: Milan in the Course of the Early Modern Period Luca Mocarelli

The aim of this contribution is to highlight the reasons that, from the Middle Ages and increasingly with the early modern period, have made Milan an extremely important inland gateway with very specific features. As an observer at the end of the seventeenth century succinctly pointed out, it was one of the most important urban centres in Europe, even though “it was situated on the plain, its court was small, neither the sea nor a navigable river fostered trade and, lastly, that it was the capital of a State, which today is of little consequence” (Burnet, 1686; cited in Gozzoli, 1993, p. 1593). In the first part, the long-term reasons which led Milan to establish its role as an inland gateway will be discussed, while in the second part the focus will be on the period between the mid-eighteenth and mid-nineteenth centuries, a crucial period of very important changes which consolidated

L. Mocarelli (B) University of Milano-Bicocca, Milan, Italy e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2019 G. Favero et al. (eds.), The Urban Logistic Network, Palgrave Studies in Economic History, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-27599-0_8

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Fig. 8.1 The extraordinary position of Milan (Source The editors’ elaboration)

Milan’s role, i.e. the political reunification of the Lombard region after over three centuries of division and the advent of the railway. The Lombard area, with Milan at its centre, is especially privileged on account of the spring line, the ‘fontanili’ which separates the northern part with its plentiful woodland resources from the southern area, well-suited to agriculture, and guarantees an easy supply of water, while its geographical position facilitates its links with the centre of Italy, the Adriatic (both by land and by the Po River), Switzerland and the area of the Rhone basin (Fig. 8.1). It is no mere coincidence that Milan developed in Roman times exactly where the Via Emilia, a crucial feature in a communication system that connected central Italy and the Adriatic to the Alps and the basins of the Rhone and the Rhine, crossed the belt of the fontanili. An intersection that, thanks also to the vicinity of some of the main Alpine passes, gave the city its role as an international crossroads, thus enabling it to make the most of the favourable convergence of environmental conditions, well-suited to

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settlement and production, and the reorganisation of the territory by man (Gentili Tedeschi, 1988). From the Middle Ages the already extremely favourable position of Milan was consolidated with the implementation of impressive infrastructures, and in particular by the construction of navigable canals able to connect the city to the Po river and to pre-alpine lakes. It was a far-reaching operation initiated with the digging of the “Naviglio Grande” canal at the end of the twelfth century and completed three centuries later with the construction of the Martesana Canal (Dalmasso, 1972, pp. 36–39). What further strengthened the position of Milan was its inclusion in a territorial context where, as early as the economic recovery in the Middle Ages, the presence of the irrigated area, characterised by an early adoption of advanced technical solutions, helped to outline a “functional” and “complete” region marked by a clear productive bifurcation. Some major cities—Milan itself, Bergamo and Brescia—acted as links between the lowlands and the mountain area (Dowd, 1961). The consolidation of internal links and the inclusion in a network of important trade routes and of flows of migrant labour contributed to the realisation of the infrastructures and of the organisations required to support the development of a wide range of trade relations, which, in turn, from the early modern age, favoured the growth in the level of economic specialisation of the Lombard economy. Thus, it was the characteristics of this exceptional regional setting and their evolution during the early modern era which sustained and furthered the development of Milan. The city was capable of greatly benefitting from its role as a junction between two economically interdependent areas, the irrigated plains and the hilly and mountainous areas, and from the presence of a hinterland of extraordinary vitality, highly diversified with respect to resources (Mocarelli, 2001). Milan, therefore, found itself in an ideal position to make the most of the potentials of a regional system with an increasingly integrated hinterland, despite the political divisions experienced since the fifteenth century (Mocarelli, 2005), and at the same time definitely projected outwards, thanks to the numerous links maintained with the international market. In the same way in a framework of synergistic relationships of give and take, it was able to consolidate its own role as a privileged link between the world of the Alps and the Po Valley and as crucial pivot of an articulated and complex whole. To understand this, it is sufficient to take

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into consideration the variety and substance of the transactions that converged on the Lombard city, a real magnet with a growing and diversified power of attraction that made it an inland gateway of extreme importance. This is already evident with regard to the recruitment pool of the workforce for the urban market that, more or less temporarily, flowed in from the other Lombard provinces, in particular from the area of Bergamo and of Como as well as from Biella and the Canton of Ticino, from the Valtellina, the Val Vigezzo and the Val d’Ossola. The same thing, though, applied to the goods coming, above all, from Lower Lombardy and the Oltrepo area; the cattle from the eastern part of the region and from Switzerland; building materials and wood from the pre-alpine and alpine areas; manufactured goods like hides, tanned at Cannobio on Lake Maggiore, or silk obtained from the numerous spinners in the region. Not to mention the broader range of commercial channels that Milan was able to cater for, both by providing raw materials, especially to Genoa and to Venice, and with the purchase of numerous finished products destined for urban consumption, mainly from France and Germany, and with the flow of goods, both semi-finished and manufactured that it sent abroad, confirming its role as exporter (Mocarelli, 2003). Finally neither should we ignore the flow of goods converging on Milan as an important hub of commerce in transit, and those from and to rural areas, which instead were involved in the process of decentralisation of various manufacturing activities between the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, connected to the availability in the countryside of sources of energy and cheap labour able to manufacture low-cost goods of medium quality (Moioli, 1988). Milan grew and strengthened its position as time went by, making the most of the fact that it had firmly established itself at the centre of a region which was economically diversified and vital. Exploiting its exceptional position of a city on the plain and above all directed towards the Alps: developing its marked international propensity; counting on advantages offered by that great multiplier of opportunities which, in the case of its manufacturing activities, is a far-reaching and diversified urban market. Among the factors that led to an increasing integration of the Lombard area on an east–west axis, making it the cornerstone in the construction of the economic regional area, with Milan at its centre, are certainly the means of communication and the ability to access markets, which in turn requires the existence of a large urban network (as argued by the New Economic Geography: see Fujita, Krugman, & Venables, 1999; Krugman, 1991, 1995).

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As for the roads, we could begin with Caizzi who held that “Lombardy - as far as its roads were concerned - was ahead of any other region in Italy” (Caizzi, 1985, p. 14). Of course this relative superiority over the rest of the peninsula concealed the difference between the State of Milan, where the central position of the capital had created a wide network of roads which had been greatly improved following the plans proposed by D’Adda in 1775 (Mozzarelli, 1986), and the real, much-criticised conditions in the rest of Lombardy, for a start the Venetian part of the region. Regarding this, it is sufficient to recall a dispatch sent by Cesare Vignola, the Venetian representative in Milan, after the historic setting up of the postal service of Mantua in Hapsburg Lombardy. In his letter he described “the difficulties encountered (when travelling) in Venetian Lombardy on many main roads, in parts carried away by fast torrents, in parts lacking bridges, like the road toward France, and in parts reduced to an untidy heap of rubble”. As a result, “deliveries along the Venetian roads, in present conditions, take a long time and are unreliable, so that goods are often damaged and have deteriorated on arrival in Milan, and the cost of transit is arbitrary”.1 Nevertheless, Venetian Lombardy had an important card to play irrespective of the state of its roads: there was a wide variety of possible alternative routes, should one road prove to be impassable.2 And this was particularly the case of roads leading to the State of Milan, since smuggling was endemic. In 1780 Cesare Vignola once again noted that Venetian Lombardy was able to obtain “from Genoa, Leghorn and Nice, all kinds of commodities” precisely because there was “a border without any controls, and entirely open”.3 The links between Hapsburg and Venetian Lombardy benefitted not only from this wide network of roads, but also, and even more, from the extremely useful integration of roads and waterways, able to consolidate the economic space at the heart of the Po Valley. What was crucial in this case, as has already been mentioned, were the canals and especially the 1 Cesare Vignola’s dispatch of 15th October 1779, in the State Archives of Venice (hereafter

SAVe), Senato Dispacci Milano, f. 223. 2 Antonio Ferro points this out very clearly in his well-known “Relazione intorno il bilancio di commercio” (Report on the commercial balance-sheet) written in 1787 and kept in SAVe, Deputati e aggiunti alla regolazione delle tariffe mercantili, c. 94. 3 See Cesare Vignola’s dispatch of 16th February 1780, in SAVe, Senato Dispacci Milano, f. 223.

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Martesana which, when the branch connecting it to the Naviglio Grande was opened in 1497, meant uninterrupted navigation from the River Adda to Milan and from Milan to Ticino. Indeed, it is no wonder that Venetians who lived in the Lombard capital repeatedly voiced their appreciation of the Martesana “for the merchandise and other commodities which arrive from the region of Bergamo”. In fact, “the goods, after ten miles overland, are shipped at Vaprio and travel the remaining twenty by water”, with a considerable reduction in time and cost of transport, since downstream it only took six and a half hours to cover the distance of over thirty kilometres from Vaprio to Milan”.4 Another incentive to internal trade and to the building of a wide network of roads in the middle of the Po Valley gravitating on Milan was the existence of so many urban centres. It is important to remember that since the Middle Ages, Lombardy has been in a privileged position, being one of the most urbanised areas of Europe. At the end of the eighteenth century the State of Milan and Venetian Lombardy numbered more than 350,000 people living in centres with more than 7000 inhabitants, out of a total population of around 1,700,000.5 The fundamental long-term fact of this consolidated urban network is that the centralising power of Milan, one of the largest metropolitan cities of the Early Modern Age, did not prevent the growth of a multi-polar network of cities and the prospering of numerous other centres, such as Brescia, Cremona, Bergamo and Pavia (Table 8.1). The presence of such a wide and interconnected urban network made a substantial contribution to the development of trade, not only with the creation of infrastructures to support them, but also with the setting up of institutions able to foster trade. With regard to this, the great importance of fairs should be emphasised and especially that of Bergamo which became crucial for goods from the area of Bergamo and Brescia sent to the State of Milan, taking on the role of “great centre of almost all the reciprocal

4 Compare the letter concerning this sent 17th January 1755 (SAVe, Senato Dispacci Milano, f. 197) expressing great fear that the business world suffer considerably if operators were forced to use the route via Cremona and Lodi—although in fact this did not happen, with the report of Franco Rigola sent 13th November 1772 in the State Archive of Milan, Acque, p.a., c. 948. 5 In 1790 in the west of the region there were 1,153,878 inhabitants, as against 565,000 in the Eastern part (Bellettini 1987, pp. 114–117).

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Table 8.1

Milano Cremona Brescia Mantova Pavia Bergamo Lodi Como Crema Vigevano Monza Totale

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Population of main Lombard cities in the early modern period 1500

1600

1700

1800

100,000 40,000 48,000 28,000 16,000 15,000 8000 10,000 9000 10,000

120,000 40,000 40,000 31,000 25,000 18,000 14,000 12,000 11,000 8000 9000 328,000

109,000 22,000 35,000 24,000 23,000 20,000 14,000 9000 7000 9000 6000 278,000

125,000 25,000 32,000 25,000 25,000 36,000 16,000 15,000 9000 12,000 10,000 327,000

284,000

Source The author’s elaboration from Malanima, P. (1998). Italian cities 1300–1800. A quantitative approach. Rivista di storia economica, 14(2), 118–119

transactions and correspondence that meet and are established between foreign and national retailers throughout the year”.6 It should also be noted how important the Fair of St. Alexander had become during the eighteenth century, following the enormous expansion of the silk industry. Concerning this it is significant that the fair of Brescia saw the role it had traditionally played in the negotiations for the purchase of raw silk steadily weakened by the steps taken by merchants from Milan and Bergamo, operating at the fair of Bergamo, who cornered the market for the cocoons and semi-finished goods (Mocarelli, 1995, pp. 135–139). Moreover, if the province of Brescia had previously been only slightly oriented towards Venice, the growth of the silk industry only further diminished what slight attraction the Venetian market held, as Captain of Brescia, Giovanni Labia, was well aware when he observed that the province “made most of its profit from the State of Milan”, so he considered it was entirely wrong to think that the Brescia area could focus its attention economically on Venice—the distant “Dominante”.7

6 See the letter sent to Bergamo on 4th May 1796 (SAVe, Deputati alla regolazione delle tariffe mercantil i, c. 61). 7 See his letter of 21st July 1787 in the Historical Archive of the city of Brescia, c. 1550.

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A few years earlier the V Savi alla Mercanzia had already stated that the areas of Brescia and Bergamo “obtain for their profit maritime goods from Leghorn and Genoa” because they were less subject to tolls than those arriving from Venice, thus further loosening ties with Venice and strengthening those with Milan.8 Well aware of this situation, for some time, Venice had waived its tight control over the provinces of western Lombardy, to which it had allowed a large margin of autonomy and where it even found it difficult to impose its own monetary supremacy. In fact, the Venetian provinces were flooded with Milanese filippi and chronically short of Venetian ready cash, which, consequently, was at a premium. The obsessive promulgation of decrees (in 1704, 1722, 1736, 1750, 1752, 1753, 1763, 1777) aimed at bringing the Venetian currency back into line, prompted the well-justified observation that “the very fact that these same laws are so urgently re-introduced shows how ineffective they are, because everybody knew what caused such a situation”.9 It was equally obvious that the preference for Milanese rather Venetian currency would encourage export trade to the Hapsburg part of the region and support integration. Indeed, when Venice intervened to restore its currency to the official rate, commercial activity in Venetian Lombardy ran into considerable difficulty.10 On the contrary, the deflationary tactics of the State of Milan, such as the reform of the currency in 1778, had quite the opposite result because, by bringing about the realignment of the exchange rates, they put to use the dominant position achieved by Venetian Lombardy in its exchanges with the Austrian zone.11 8 See the missive by the V Savi alla Mercanzia of 29th February 1776 (Historical Archive of the city of Brescia, c. 1549). 9 Carli, for example, held that the chaos in the monetary system was due to growing passivity with the Republic of Venice, because the market preference for silver to gold, on the other side of the Adda, had led to an ever-increasing flow of silver currency away from Milan and towards the neighbouring region of Bergamo. This is shown in Gianelli (1984). 10 The Venetian resident in Milan in 1751 observed that the unequal exchange rate, which was to the disadvantage of the Venetian side, inevitably compromised “the purchase of foodstuffs, cloth and iron goods made in the areas of Brescia and Bergamo” (see his dispatch of 28th May 1751, in SAVe, Senato Dispacci Milano, f. 193). This was later confirmed by Captain Labia of Brescia, who underlined the difficulty in exporting iron and steel from the province following the Venetian manoeuvre in 1777 (see the letter cited above of 21st July 1787, in the Historical Archive of the city of Brescia, c. 1550). 11 Cesare Vignola was well aware of this when he noted that “Crema, Bergamo and Brescia are the subject provinces on the boundaries which will reap the benefits of the present regulations (the new monetary rate of 1778 in the State of Milan), an enormous advantage

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In the heart of the Po area, in the course of the early modern age, the area centred on Milan was strengthened and its hinterland increasingly integrated from an economic point of view, but at the same time reaching out also towards the more dynamic markets of the continent. It was a situation that took a very long time to consolidate, so much so that still today Midland, the great and dynamic economic area centred on Milan, which includes the provinces of Lodi, Pavia, Lecco, Varese and Como (de facto the territories that belonged to Hapsburg Lombardy) as well as those of Novara, Bergamo and Brescia and Piacenza, actually marks the economic area that gravitated on Milan in the course of the early modern age (Abis, Airoldi, Goggi, & Lisciandra 2008). How did Milan and its consolidated network of trade relations and of communication routes that led to the Lombard city react to the political reorganisation of the region and the success of the railway? Political reunification undoubtedly upgraded the role of the Lombard metropolis which found itself at the centre of that which, since the French era, had increasingly taken the form of a “functional” region.12 Equally important, though, was the railway because it reinforced its aspect as gateway not only at a regional level but also at an international one. The Lombard area in this respect found itself in a strange position because the early debate on the construction of railway lines, begun in the 1830s in connection with the Milan-Venice line, was followed by a delay in the actual construction, above all for political reasons and disagreement on the routes to choose, which at the time of the Unity of Italy saw the region decidedly lagging behind the Kingdom of Savoy (Bernardello, 1996). However, the financial efforts and the strategic clarity of the Rothschilds who, from the 1850s, managed the existing sections of the railways in Lombardy, and then built new ones, laid the foundations which made the Lombard and Milanese network the hub of the railway system in the new kingdom of Italy and the privileged link with the heart of Europe. The because they will be able to sell all kinds of goods to the Milanese with a more favourable balance and at competitive prices” (see his dispatch of 4th November 1778, in SAVe, Senato Dispacci Milano, f. 222). 12 The “functional” region corresponds to the area of radiation of a big city, in this case

Milan, around which “gravitates a cluster of medium-sized centres, whose population is usually between 50,000-200,000 units, which constitute a market for a vast agricultural area, and industrial activity which is often oriented to one particular type of production, they are also the hub of communications for a sub-regional area, for which they provide certain services” (Gambi, 1972, pp. 55–56).

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Rothschilds’ strategy, in fact, put Milan on the development map of the railway network on a continental scale, while the Piedmont’s railway companies, despite Cavour’s efforts, in the end operated mainly in a limited area with little regard for efficiency (Giambiasi, 1995). Thus, Milan bolstered its function as an open gateway towards the most developed part of Europe, to which Napoleon, with regard to land routes, had already made a significant contribution insofar as promoting the construction of the new Simplon road.

References Abis, M., Airoldi, A., Goggi, G., & Lisciandra, G. (2008). Midland: la città di mezzo. Dedalo, 2, 25–103. Bellettini, A. (1987). La popolazione italiana. Un profilo storico. Turin, Italy: Einaudi. Bernardello, A. (1996). La prima ferrovia tra Venezia e Milano: storia della imperial-regia privilegiata strada ferrata Ferdinandea Lombardo-Veneta (1835–1852). Venice, Italy: Istituto veneto di scienze, lettere e arti. Burnet. G. (1686). Letters containing an account of what seemed most remarkable in Switzerland, Italy, etc. Rotterdam, The Netherlands: Abraham Acher. Caizzi, B. (1985). Strade lombarde. Itinerari e uomini in epoca austriaca. Milan, Italy: Banca del Monte di Milano. Dalmasso, E. (1972). Milano capitale economica d’Italia. Milan, Italy: Franco Angeli. Dowd, D. F. (1961). The economic expansion of Lombardy, 1300–1500: A study in political stimuli to economic change. The Journal of Economic History, 21(2), 143–160. Fujita, M., Krugman, P. R., & Venables, A. (Eds.). (1999). The spatial economy: Cities, region and international trade. Cambridge: MIT Press. Gambi, L. (1972). I valori storici dei quadri ambientati. In Storia d’ Italia. Vol. 1. I caratteri originali (pp. 55–56). Turin, Italy: Einaudi. Gentili Tedeschi, E. (1988). Milano i segni della storia. Florence, Italy: Alinea. Giambiasi, P. M. (1995). Gli orientamenti e le realizzazioni regionali (1830–1859). In S. Zaninelli (Ed.), Le ferrovie in Lombardia tra Ottocento e Novecento (pp. 3–40). Milan, Italy: Il Polifilo. Gianelli, G. (1984). La riforma monetaria di Maria Teresa. In La Zecca di Milano. Atti del convegno internazionale di studio, Milano 9–14 maggio 1983 (pp. 432–434). Milan, Italy: Società Numismatica Italiana. Gozzoli, C. (1993). Milano nelle descrizioni dei viaggiatori stranieri. In F. Della Peruta (Ed.), Storia illustrata di Milano. Vol. 5, Milano moderna (pp. 1581–1600). Milan, Italy: Sellino.

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Krugman, P. R. (1991). Geography and trade. Cambridge: MIT Press. Krugman, P. R. (1995). Development, geography and economic theory. Cambridge: MIT Press. Mocarelli, L. (1995). Le “industrie” bresciane nel Settecento. Milan, Italy: CUEM. Mocarelli, L. (2001). Alle radici di un successo economico: l’area regionale lombarda in età moderna. Geschichte und Region, 10(1), 67–81. Mocarelli, L. (2003). Milano: una “citta‘ alpina”? Cambiamenti e trasformazioni tra Sette e Novecento. Histoire des Alpes, 8, 225–244. Mocarelli, L. (2005). The economy of a political periphery: Lombardy in a period of transition during the 17th and 18th centuries. In A. Bues (Ed.), Zones of fracture in modern Europe: The Baltic countries, the Balkans, and Northern Italy (pp. 177–186). Wiesbaden, Germany: Harrassowitz Verlag. Moioli, A. (1988). De-industrialization in Lombardy during the 17th century. In H. van der Wee (Ed.), The rise and decline in Italy and low countries (pp. 75–119). Leuven, The Netherlands: Leuven University Press. Mozzarelli, C. (1986). Strade e riforme nella Lombardia del Settecento. Quaderni storici, 21, 117–145.

CHAPTER 9

Gateways as Inter-Modal Nodes in Different Ages: The Venetian Region, Eighteenth to Twentieth Centuries Giovanni Favero

This paper focuses on the theoretical implications of a regional case study for the analysis of transportation networks and gateway functions. The starting point is the result of a research on the changing role of gateways, and on the relocation of the gateway function from one city to a series of cities in the Venetian region from the eighteenth to the twentieth century. Against this evolution, I test the validity and usefulness of a definition of the gateway as a point of inter-modal exchange for its historical interpretation. Changing transport technologies involve different organisations of intermodal exchanges, and imply more or less intense economic functions of gateway cities. These changes intertwine with political events and decisions, and more general economic changes: they could at the same time be read as an effect of these transformations, and as a causal factor. From this

G. Favero (B) Department of Management, Ca’ Foscari University of Venice, Venice, Italy e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2019 G. Favero et al. (eds.), The Urban Logistic Network, Palgrave Studies in Economic History, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-27599-0_9

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perspective, a study of intermodality shows to be useful to shed new light on specific changes in the structure of urban hierarchies.

A Definition of Gateway from a Transport-Focused Perspective Starting from the definition given in Hohenberg and Lees (1995), we could say that a city’s gateway function is that of linking the region (for which it usually plays also the function of central place) with the world beyond. This could mean that a gateway city works as a bottleneck inside the network system for goods, humans and information passing from the region to the outside world and vice versa, but this is not enough: it implies also that through the gateway it is possible to shift from a local communication or transport infrastructure to a wider one. From this specific (and limited) point of view, inter-modality is the main characteristic function of gateways. From a historical perspective, different kinds of city functions can be identified with this definition of gateways: trade fairs, port cities, border cities, rail junctions, airport hubs could all fit in this category, both as bottlenecks and as points of inter-modal exchange and stop. In these cases, trade formal and informal rules, international politics, and most of all transport technology have a strong influence on the configuration of the network system and in the rise and fall of the gateway function of a city. Using a model derived from the economic geography of trade (Krugman, 1991), we could expect that the development of a gateway intermodal function should foster the localisation of other functions making them more convenient: intermediation and transportation costs implied in the inter-modal exchange could in fact favour the growth not only of economic activities directly linked with transportation or communication, but also of other services and of the manufacturing of goods to be shipped. This in turn should imply a growth of the urban population, attracted to the city by these activities, allowing us to use population as a proxy of the growth of urban functions. We should notice that these assumptions suggest also that a reduction in intermediation and transportation costs (and stops) would imply a reallocation of economic activities and a reduction in the importance of gateway cities. What is more, a definition of gateway focused on inter-modality implies that there could exist major and minor gateways, the latter somehow overlapping with the central-place function.

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In the following paragraphs, a tentative reconstruction of the evolution of the Venetian urban network will be given, to test the hypothesis drafted above against the changes in political borders and transport technology that the area experienced from the eighteenth to the twentieth century. From a Weak Centralism to Polycentrism and Back Again The long-period weakness of the Venetian regional structure, dating back from the sixteenth century, came to its results in the first half of the nineteenth century, not in fragmentation, but in a network-like reorganisation of regional functions. The loss of the capital city position of Venice left a void, which was gradually filled by means of a more complex spatial organisation, centred on mainland cities and their hinterland. The resulting economic polycentrism bent on the east–west corridor (Magrini & Martellato, 2000), ending up by orienting regional interests towards Lombardy and in general Italian territories. Many different factors favoured this evolution. A Republic, Not an Economic Region The mainland territory of the Venetian Republic before its fall in 1797 was not a unitary economic region, or better, it was so only from some points of view and in some areas. Venice was actually the main trade gateway just for the Brenta and Piave basins, while the Adige river, together with the Adda and Mincio, both tributaries of the Po, allowed an easy route to the Southern border avoiding the obligation to pass by the port of Rialto in Venice. If the Eastern rural area of Friuli was excluded from direct trade with the Hapsburgic territories, Vicenza and Verona were instead able to manage their autonomous trade relationships towards the Adriatic and Alpine fairs, while Brescia and Bergamo were virtually part of the Milanese economic space (Lanaro, 1999, pp. 35–39). A Capital City Levelled The Napoleonic wars cut off the former capital city from the mainland and reorganised economic relationships on different foundations, subordinating trade policy to the interests of French mercantilism and fiscalism. The crisis of the Venetian nobility (Derosas, 1990) and the sale of church and state property redistributed land rent towards mainland cities, taking it away from Venice (Berengo, 1963, p. 172). The city seemed incapable of reacting to a long-period decline, which political changes emphasised with the

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loss of maritime territories in 1798, the reduction of its mainland dominion, and after 1806 the administrative subordination to Milan as the capital of the Napoleonic Kingdom of Italy, levelling Venice to the rank of other departmental centres (Zaghi, 1986, pp. 365–377). In the early quarter of the nineteenth century, the city lost 30% of its inhabitants (from 140,000 in 1800 to 100,000 in 1826: Bertoli & Tramontin, 1971, pp. LI–LIII) and trade and manufacturing were in fact paralysed (Monteleone, 1969). Hapsburg Infrastructures After the Vienna Congress, Venice was formally restored as a secondary regional capital, but it never recovered its role of financial and economic centre (Berengo, 1963). Even the institution of the free port in the city in 1830 did not make of Venice a trade centre again. The regional hinterland did not find in the Venetian port a market for its victuals, as the actual outlet for the Hapsburgic Empire in the Mediterranean was now Trieste, whose population had almost doubled from 23,000 inhabitants in 1792 to 40,000 in 1821 (Balbi, 1833, pp. 131–132). But the ongoing decay of Venice was not paralleled by mainland major and minor cities, which pursued an independent path of development, experiencing a growth of their service functions linked to the amelioration of the main roads passing by them, and in a subsequent phase to the construction of the railway from Venice to Milan (Mancuso, 1984, pp. 64–67). Those changes, together with the abolition of communal properties in 1839, had different effects on the local economy, fostering proto-industrial and agricultural development in some areas and altering the traditional economic structure of others (Zalin, 1969, pp. 154–159). Aside from reimposing tariffs on the Southern border, the Hapsburgs restored internal customs on the Mincio river towards Lombardy and maintained customs at the northern borders with Tyrol and Carynthia, on request of the Venetian representatives. The specialisation of the Venetian region in agriculture was strategic to Austrian and Bohemian industrial exports in the Italian territories, and internal protectionism seemed the only option to avoid the disruption of local agriculture (Berengo, 1963). Favoured by protection, the fertile plain areas and piedmont hills, located closer to main roads and cities, were able to develop a more efficient farming, exploiting the enlarged outlets to expand wine and raw silk exports. The workforce expelled from the agricultural sector following the abolition of communal properties could be employed in proto-industrial

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activities, which expanded exploiting the same amelioration of transports (Roverato, 1996, pp. 29–46). In the mountains of Carnia and of Belluno, as in the swampy areas along the Adriatic coast, instead, the abolition of communal properties did not cause a reorganisation of agriculture, but simply destroyed the means of subsistence their inhabitants found in gathering, hunting and fishing. Where no proto-industrial traditions were available, temporary or permanent emigration became a widespread solution. In the Eastern Treviso province and Southern Friuli, conflicts and resistances aroused by the explicit opposition of the Church to the abolition of communal properties prevented the modernisation of agriculture that the central part of the region was experiencing. This meant an enfeeblement of the areas between Venice and Trieste, compared with the strengthening of those pivoting on the Venice-Milan corridor. An Appendix of the Empire This slow process of specialisation and growth was suspended by the 1848 war and revolution: the following fiscal and political stiffening of the Habsburgic rule was going to make worse the consequences of the war. The abolition of Venice’s free port until 1851, and the following crisis of transit trade because of the Crimea War, made the port activity stagnating until 1855 (Luzzatto, 1961, pp. 101–105). At the same time, the extraordinary taxes imposed during and after the conflict were enough to bring the regional economy to its knees. But the early 1850s coincided also with the spreading of two diseases, grape phylloxera (leaf louse) and silkworms pebrine, affecting the main market and export activities: wine production in the late 1850s was reduced to one-tenth of what it was in the 1840s, and raw silk was one-third (Berengo, 1963, p. 303; Romani, 1982, pp. 154–156). This crisis choked the rising agricultural market economy draining liquidity. The Hapsburgs did not support farmers, diverting fiscal resources towards the military effort against Piedmont and applying tax discrimination in favour of Northern Imperial provinces (Zalin, 1969). At the same time, the 1854 customs agreements with the Duchies of Parma and Modena favoured the growing exports of wool and cotton clothes, wares and tanned leather from the foothill manufacturing areas. In 1859 the second Italian independence war reduced Hapsburgic dominions in Italy to Venetian provinces, Mantua and Peschiera, cutting the economic connections with Lombardy, which was annexed to Piedmont. The Venetian region was for some years in the uncomfortable and

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uncertain position of a southern appendix of the Empire, which fortified its military presence, using it to justify heavier taxes. What is important to point out is that the structure of the region annexed to Italy in 1866, with the third independence war, was roughly the same looming up before 1848. The following years were dominated by exogenous elements, such as the agricultural crisis and Hapsburgic repression, which only partially affected a going process. Water Power Industrialisation After the unification of Venetian provinces to Italy, in 1866, the extension of the railway network reinforced the administrative urban hierarchy, which had been confirmed in the passage from the Hapsburgic to Italian rule. It was also the main engine of urban transformations both in big and smaller cities, with the rail-station boulevard opening the way for building expansion and attracting industries. Despite the strengthening of the urban hierarchy centred on provincial cities, the regional industrial development of the last three decades of nineteenth century followed a different path, privileging minor centres or new company towns. Its localisation seemed still determined, in the times of the first industrial revolution but in a country where coal was almost totally imported, by the availability of a pre-industrial source of energy as water-power was. As a consequence, the main industrial concentrations were developing in little towns such as Schio (Fontana, 1985) and Valdagno (Roverato, 1986) for wool textiles, Piazzola sul Brenta (Fumian, 2010), Crocetta del Montello, Montagnana, Monticello, Dueville and Cavazzale for hemp factories (Celetti, 2009, pp. 50–59), Lugo for paper industries (Fontana, 1993). Though investing in urban commercial or sometimes productive extensions of their firms, these industrialists put a strong attention to the social impact of factory system, and were eager to avoid the kind of social conflicts involved by labour-force concentration. They built up a network of welfare institutions for workers and their families, inserted in a paternalistic framework of social initiatives. In some cases, they expanded their business operations by means of functional and territorial de-centralisation, settling factories in the rural villages surrounding the industrial town centre. This was usually connected to the rail network for raw materials supply, but other specific transportation systems were developed allowing rural labour force to commute, connecting main provincial cities and other industrial centres to their labour basin.

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Electric Power and the Industrial Port In the first decades of the twentieth century, a tramway network complemented the regional railway system, exploiting the changes brought about by second-industrial-revolution innovations, in particular by electricity. The construction of long power lines connecting the hydroelectric stations on the Prealps to main provincial cities, and passing by foothill industrial centres, generated an energy and capital surplus which found an outlet during WWI in the building of the new Venetian industrial port at Marghera (Chinello, 1979), where productive concentration allowed the birth of a big urban agglomeration in the immediate Venetian hinterland (Piva & Tattara, 1983), together with a functional reorganisation of the ancient regional capital. Greater Venice became then the main regional industrial pole, producing semi-finished industrial goods for Lombard and Piedmont manufactures. Yet its activities had no direct connection with the still polycentric and rural regional framework, which only in the 1960s will experience a boom of diffusive industrialisation and urbanisation, coinciding with the shift to automotive as the dominant transportation technology.

The Role of Changes in Transport Modality on the Urban Hierarchy The history outlined above shows a complex interaction between local and international policy, business strategies, and geographic and economic constraints, which contrasts with the simplified model of gateways as intermodal junctions proposed in the first paragraph. When confronted with historical complexity, the role transportation played in structuring the urban hierarchy becomes less determinant. It would be possible to say that the evolution of transport networks is in its turn a result of investment choices responding to structural conditions and technological changes. Still, once undertaken, these investments do have a crucial influence on urban development, and it is worth inquiring how this influence was exerted. What is more interesting in the focus on intermodality I propose in this paper, is the odd relationship it highlights between the growth of urban gateway functions and the presence of bottlenecks and discontinuities in the transport network. Investments aimed at easing the flow of goods and persons by means of an integration of local and wider transport networks could result in a decline of gateway functions and sometimes in shifting their location.

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Is it possible to test this hypothesis in the case I presented above? During the century and more dealt with in this story, we could point out three or four overlapping waves of investment in transport: roads (1815–1830) and railways (1840–1860) building in the Austrian period, then a resumption of rail works in the Italian period (1870–1915), paralleled by investments in local tramlines (1880–1940). How did they change the distribution of major and minor gateway functions in the area? The Crisis of the Venetian Gateway Before the fall of the Venetian Republic, the main urban gateway was obviously Venice, which was still the main international port gateway connecting the river waterways with sea routes. Some provincial cities such as Verona, Padua and Vicenza performed also minor gateway functions thanks to the yearly trade fairs where customs exemptions were allowed, and to their role of river ports of shipment to Venice (or directly abroad) serving a wide hinterland or connecting land routes coming from the North or from the Venetian Lombardy. This situation changed in the first decades of the nineteenth century, with the decline of the trade functions of Venice and a consequent enfeeblement of the dependent junction of Padua. Verona became for a while a border city, still maintaining its junction function towards Lombardy, and a minor provincial city as Udine enjoyed a new role after 1815, becoming the Friuli hinterland gateway to the Austrian port of Trieste. Austrian Roads The roadworks undertaken under the Austrian rule after the end of the Napoleonic wars provided a paved road (Strada Maestra) connecting longitudinally the main provincial cities with Venice, which port recovered some functions as a minor shipping point to the Trieste hub. Some of the main cities in the mainland developed also a role as inter-modal junctions between river and road transportation: it is the case of Padua, but also Treviso (with the Sile waterway) and Vicenza (with the Bacchiglione). Minor river ports were also Legnago on the Adige river, Belluno on the Piave river and Bassano as the shipment point for the carts arriving through the Valsugana road from Trento. Renovated roads following river flows (the Valsugana along the Brenta from Padua to Trento, the road along the Adige from Verona to Bolzano, and the Strada d’Alemagna) allowed an

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easier upward connection to the North (Mancuso, 1984, pp. 69–70). The Strada di Vallarsa turned Vicenza into a road junction for North-bound traffic. It cut off Verona from the transit trade between the Venetian plain and the German areas North of the Alps: despite the building of military roads to Legnago, Peschiera and Mantua, Verona evidently suffered from this. The Austrian Railway The construction of the Ferdinandea railway connecting Venice to Milan following the path of the Strada Maestra was started in 1840, and in 1842 the connection from Padua to Mestre was opened (Bernardello, 1996). In 1846 a longer stretch of the railway was inaugurated, connecting the insular city with a bridge on the lagoon to Mestre and from there to Padua and Vicenza. Another branch was built on the other side, going from Milan to Treviglio. The revolution interrupted rail construction works, which however restarted even before the end of the siege to Venice, connecting Verona to Marghera in 1849, and eventually restoring the bridge connection to Venice in 1850. The line then connected Verona to Brescia (via Peschiera) in 1854 continuing until Coccaglio towards Treviglio, which was finally reached through a long deviation passing by Bergamo in 1857. Since 1851 a line from Verona to Mantua and a secondary connection from Mestre to Treviso were opened. The latter was extended to Pordenone and Casarsa in 1855, and finally connected to Udine and the line to Trieste in 1860. The unification of Lombardy to Italy following the 1859 war stopped further investments in the rail sector by the Austrian government: military needs were satisfied by the connections to Peschiera and Mantua, and the Ferdinandea strategic function of attracting the Milanese international trade to Venice as a complementary port to Trieste in alternative to the Savoy port of Genoa resulted impaired (Bernardello, 1996). Only after 1866 new rail works were started under the Italian rule. For some years, temporary rail terminal cities (Treviglio for almost ten years, but in turn also Padua, Vicenza, Verona and Coccaglio, and Treviso and Casarsa at the end of the period) enjoyed the role of inter-modal gateways for the carts and coaches connecting the ending points of the rail road. Once this was finished, it emphasised the inter-modal function of rail stop provincial cities which were also road junctions, and their role of minor gateways for their hinterlands. The role of river ports was instead weakened, as the railway offered an alternative direct connection to the Venice seaport.

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Italian Railways After the unification of the Venetian provinces and Mantua to Italy, the railway line already connecting Treviso to Milan with a ramification to Mantua was extended southward, with a line going from Padua to Bologna via Rovigo and Ferrara already in 1866, but also northward finally connecting Verona via Ala to Trento and the railway to Bozen and Innsbruck in 1867. However, the higher cost of imported technology and materials following the discontinuation of currency convertibility with the 1866 war implied an interruption of rail works for almost one decade (Merger, 1989, pp. 339–342). The lack of secondary connections explains the lasting importance of waterways until the late 1870s, and the stagnation in the volume of rail freight traffic from the Venice station despite the increase in the port movement of goods (Schram, 1997, pp. 133–136). Only in 1872 the State financed a strategic line connecting Udine to the railway from Ljubljana to Vienna via Gemona, Pontebba and Tarvisio, which should decrease the cost of wood, coal and iron imports from Carinthia and Styria: the line was open to traffic in 1878. In the meanwhile, many local connections were added by initiative of provincial governments, building up an actual rail network connecting medium centres (in particular industrial towns) to provincial cities or minor joints placed on the main lines by means of State co-financing. It is possible to follow the growth of such a network by using the data collected by Crispo (1940, pp. 135–236). In 1876 the provincial government of Rovigo built a railway running South of the Ferdinandea from Dossobuono (on the line from Verona to Mantua) to Legnago, Rovigo and Adria; the Vicenza government connected the city to Schio through Thiene; the Treviso one shifted funds from the maintenance of the Strada d’Alemagna to the construction of a rail line from Conegliano to Ceneda, which should be extended up to Belluno. The provincial government of Venice, instead, could not realise at the time the project of a railway from Mestre to Castelfranco, Bassano and Trento (which would increase the freight accessibility of the port from Germany as an alternative to Trieste) because of the priority assigned by Padua, Treviso and Vicenza to a direct connection between the latter two cities through Cittadella and Castelfranco, and from Padua to Camposampiero, Cittadella and Bassano: both lines were financed in consortium by the three provinces (Crispo, 1940, pp. 164–166).

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Such a situation brought to a revision of railway regulation in 1879, reducing the State contribution to non-strategic lines. As a consequence, rail works stagnated until the 1884 stabilisation of the Lira allowed cheaper imports of construction materials, and the subsequent 1885 law regulated the concession to private companies of the construction, management and maintenance of rail lines, subsidising the hiring of Italian suppliers for new construction works (Merger, 1997). The new wave of railway building modified in part the projected connections, as in the case of the line opened in 1886 from Treviso to Belluno, which for military reasons followed the river Piave through Montebelluna and Feltre, instead of extending the line from Ceneda as planned in the 1870s (Crispo, 1940, p. 193). The same year, the new line was connected from Montebelluna through Castelfranco and Camposampiero to Padua, on the initiative of the latter provincial government, which at the same time financed also the extension of the railway from Rovigo to Adria up to Loreo in 1884 and to the port of Chioggia in 1887. Along the Adriatic coast, the State financed the line from Mestre to San Donà di Piave (opened in 1885) and Portogruaro (in 1886), which in 1888 was extended to Casarsa, San Giorgio di Nogaro and Palmanova on the initiative of the province of Udine, which financed also a secondary line to Cividale in 1886. The province of Treviso in its turn financed a connection from the city to Motta di Livenza, which was opened in 1885 and should be connected to Portogruaro on the coastal line. A local committee including the municipalities of the Valpolicella obtained State subsidies and private investments for the construction of a railway from Verona to Caprino, which was opened in 1889. The two waves of growth of the local railway network offer an occasion to test in detail the idea of a direct relationship between inter-modal exchanges, gateway functions, and the economic and demographic growth of urban centres. It is in fact possible to compare directly the figures of the decennial population censuses with the timing of the extension of the railway network, distinguishing its terminals, stops and junctions (see Table 9.1). Interestingly, the connection of a centre to the railway network had an almost immediate impact on its growth, with a jump in population size followed by a long stagnation, interrupted only in the case of new connections being added to the first: the Rovigo case is perhaps the best example, but many other centres follow this pattern. In short, a change in the connectivity of a centre can change its size but has no permanent effects on its growth.

VI UD UD RO VI UD TV VE TV VE PD UD UD VR TV

VE PD VR VI UD TV BL RO VE

140,000 41,000 47,000 28,000 14,000 10,000 4000 5000

1766 100,000 35,000 48,000 19,000 17,000 13,000 4000 6000

1826

10,455 13,131 27,702

11,857

127,925 54,195 52,208 31,178 23,763 19,484 12,850 9556 11,217

1846 128,901 64,862 86,443 37,473 29,425 29,074 15,971 23,633 17,732 4377 8264 7922 5121 9303 15,284 5606 10,719 15,038 16,268 28,051 8570 8413 8360 7435 7872

1871 129,851 70,753 89,784 38,713 31,954 31,249 15,935 24,628 19,697 5465 8939 8405 5567 10,162 15,640 6184 11,512 17,280 16,681 29,236 9032 8118 8688 7770 8209

1881 146,682 81,242 99,579 43,703 36,899 33,848 19,050 23,821 20,396 6688 10,426 9988 6976 10,291 16,369 8581 12,440 16,388 19,113 31,218 9685 9041 9633 8440 10,252

1901

Inhabitants in urban centres (more than 10,000) in the Venetian provinces, 1766–1921

Venice Padua Verona Vicenza Udine Treviso Belluno Rovigo Adria Ariano nel Polesine Arzignano Aviano Azzano Decimo Badia Polesine Bassano Buja Castelfranco Cavarzere Ceneda – Serravalle Chioggia Cittadella Cividale Codroipo Cologna Conegliano

Table 9.1

154,642 96,118 116,518 53,107 46,916 41,552 22,342 27,123 24,187 9311 11,483 11,613 9750 10,817 18,690 10,415 14,825 18,709 21,946 35,061 11,332 10,031 10,999 9608 13,007

1911

156,899 108,912 131,711 59,611 53,635 47,804 27,119 30,953 27,792 10,911 12,165 12,405 10,826 11,948 21,068 11,373 16,206 21,224 24,157 36,427 12,511 11,622 12,401 10,369 15,072

1921

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PD BL UD VR RO VI VE VE VE TV PD PD TV TV PD UD VE RO TV VE PN VI UD UD VI TV TV VR

1826

6282

10,357

1846 10,037 13,064 7895 13,403 9523 9299 9931 8603 7367 5703 9802 9262 8091 8207 8242 9561 9180 5192 6359 8010 8853 13,525 5406 8259 8782 7931 6129 8377

1871 10,475 13,258 7953 14,383 9923 9839 9950 9189 8015 6362 10,428 9900 9008 8199 8606 11,152 9386 6283 6960 8736 9136 16,472 5760 8820 9618 8488 6834 8729

1881 10,779 15,243 9067 14,535 10,093 10,390 11,625 11,144 9384 7643 11,571 10,323 10,284 8643 10,021 13,642 9636 7347 7088 10,121 10,160 19,755 7074 10,478 12,818 9017 7971 9635

1901 11,635 18,248 10,855 16,973 11,868 11,293 17,045 14,248 11,359 9635 13,250 11,554 12,364 10,585 11,522 18,141 12,374 10,651 9184 13,468 12,265 22,131 8916 13,381 14,323 9976 9656 11,433

1911 12,662 20,127 12,339 18,680 13,255 12,419 22,090 17,014 12,962 11,366 14,233 12,467 15,016 12,256 12,894 21,927 14,147 10,728 10,823 15,502 12,345 23,255 9957 13,814 15,811 9624 11,038 12,296

1921

GATEWAYS AS INTER-MODAL NODES IN DIFFERENT AGES …

Note Railway stops, junctions and terminals; tramway stops; railway/tramway only junctions Source The author’s elaboration from official statistical data (Istat)

Este Feltre Gemona Legnago Lendinara Lonigo Mestre Mira Mirano Mogliano Monselice Montagnana Montebelluna Oderzo Piove di Sacco Pordenone Portogruaro Porto Tolle Roncade San Donà di Piave San Vito al Tagliamento Schio Spilimbergo Tarcento Valdagno Valdobbiadene Vedelago Villafranca

1766

9

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Tramways as a Complementary Modality The introduction in 1887 of a protectionist tariff and the start of a commercial war between Italy and France made again the investment in rail works more expensive and less profitable than expected (Bodio, 1891, pp. 69–72; Crispo, 1940, p. 237), at the same time reorienting Italian trade connections towards the German area. On the one hand, this implied that in the two decades at the turn of the century the connections between the Venetian region and the Hapsburgic Empire were finally completed. The construction of the international line from Gorizia to Trieste, Monfalcone and Cervignano was completed in 1894, and connected to San Giorgio di Nogaro and hence to Mestre in 1897. In 1908 also the projected line from Mestre to Castelfranco and Bassano was eventually realised, and connected to the border station in Primolano and the line to Trento in 1910. On the other hand, while the railway network was finally nationalised in 1905 (Castronovo, 2005), from 1890 private railway construction companies (first of all the Società Veneta: Cornolò, 2005) gradually shifted most of their investments into tramway lines, which ran on different tracks from ordinary railways, and were employed only for passenger transport. Tramways allowed rural labour force to commute towards industrial cities and towns, and connected some provincial cities and other industrial centres to their labour basin, sometimes paralleling railway lines. In 1910 three different systems, in the Paduan-Venetian area, in the Vicenza province and in the eastern Veronese area had emerged. After WWI, this polycentric constellation was finally expanded and integrated into a regional network. It is possible to interpret the relationship between tramway and railway in terms of a translation into different transport modality of the centralplace and network-system (gateway) functions: working commuters used tramways, travellers and goods used railways, even if some exceptions existed. What is interesting is observing if there existed also some kind of inter-modal exchange between the two networks, and if it had some impact on population growth. We could indeed expect that a transportation means conceived for commuters had negative effects on urban concentration, and this is true for cities and main centres: in fact, the building of tramway extra-urban systems seems one of the causal factors involved in the rapid exhaustion of the growth of urban population propelled by the railway connection of cities. This implies that the use of population growth as a proxy for economic

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development is directly impaired by the construction of a new transportation network that contrasts migration; or to say it better, it implies that the relevant area affected by the gateway effect of railway becomes as large as the tramway network (reasonably) allows. But what is true for the central place of labour force commuting networks is not true for their terminations, which in turn could attract migration as the access point to the commuting network: it was the case for Piove di Sacco (Favero, 2011) and other minor towns. Also minor inter-modal junctions between tram and railways such as Bassano, Schio and Montagnana, which were not so big as urban centres, seem to have enjoyed the benefits of entering a more integrated network. A distinction should indeed be made between first-generation tramways, usually steampowered, and second-generation, electric-powered trams, which in some cases could also be used to ship goods and raw materials: but in fact tramways and urban growth were both results of the availability of electric power connections, fostering urban industrialisation in the region in an unprecedented way. Again, transport dynamics alone seem not enough to explain urban growth, but they interact with other factors generating unexpected outcomes.

A Larger Region: Northern Italy Looking back at the century-long evolution of the urban system in the Venetian region, it appears evident that the development of transport infrastructures favoured a better and more efficient connection between Milan and the port of Venice. The rising costs of the intermodal exchange made however of Genoa the favourite port of access to Milan after WW1, and only the establishment of the industrial area in Marghera restored the role of Venice as an important secondary gateway, focusing on the import of raw materials and their transformations in semi-finished industrial inputs for Lombardy manufacturing industry. At the same time, along the railway corridor an integrated logistics network had been built, allowing the permanence of a polycentric constellation of smaller centres, where manufacturing activities finally flourished when domestic demand started expanding in the 1960s. The growth of an industrial periphery (with reference to Milan, Turin and Genoa as the core area of Italian industrialisation) where manufacturing activities clustered into local systems of specialisation was in part the result of the evolution of the corridor logistics.

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The causal relation is highlighted by the similarity with the parallel evolution of transport networks and manufacturing specialisations all along the other main corridor connecting Milan to the Central Adriatic coast and to the port of Ancona, running through the main cities of Emilia. In both cases, the connection to Milan was crucial to offer an access to domestic and foreign market outlets, but also to capitals and services which were not available in the peripheries. In both cases again, the terminal port was gradually declining in importance, the coastal line was extended beyond it, and intermediate junctions with North–South connections as Verona and Bologna saw their positions rise in the urban hierarchy as secondary nodes in the larger regional system of Northern Italy. The interplay among different scales, from the regional to the provincial to the local level, shows how logistics interacts with social and economic constraints. This interaction at the same time explains the resilience of urban hierarchies and the irreversibility of their changes.

References Balbi, A. (1833). Bilancia politica del globo, ossia Quadro geografico-statistico della Terra. Padua, Italy: Zambeccari. Berengo, M. (1963). L’agricoltura veneta dalla caduta della Repubblica all’Unità. Milan, Italy: Banca Commerciale Italiana. Bernardello, A. (1996). La prima ferrovia fra Venezia e Milano: storia della imperial-regia privilegiata strada ferrata Ferdinandea lombardo-veneta. Venice, Italy: Istituto Veneto di Scienze Lettere e Arti. Bertoli, B., & Tramontin, S. (Eds.). (1971). La visita pastorale di Giovanni Ladislao Pyrker nella diocesi di Venezia (1821). Rome, Italy: Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura. Bodio, L. (1891). Di alcuni indici misuratori del movimento economico in Italia: seconda edizione riveduta e ampliata. Rome, Italy: Bertero. Castronovo, V. (Ed.). (2005). 1905: la nascita delle ferrovie dello Stato. Milan, Italy: Leonardo International. Celetti, D. (2009). Imprenditori ed imprese nel comparto agroindustriale della canapa tra Ottocento e Novecento. In F. Amatori & A. Colli (Eds.), Imprenditorialità e sviluppo economico: il caso italiano (secc. XII–XX) (pp. 33–76). Milan, Italy: Egea. Chinello, C. (1979). Porto Marghera, 1902–1926: alle origini del “problema di Venezia”. Venice, Italy: Marsilio. Cornolò, G. (2005). La Società Veneta Ferrovie. Ponte San Nicolò, Italy: Duegi Editrice.

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Crispo, A. (1940). Le ferrovie italiane: storia politica ed economica. Milan, Italy: Giuffré. Derosas, R. (1990). Aspetti economici della crisi del patriziato veneto tra fine Settecento e primo Ottocento. Cheiron, 7, 11–61. Favero, G. (2011). Le reti di trasporto, una geopolitica minore. In A. Caracausi (Ed.), Terra, credito e lavoro in Saccisica tra XIX e XX secolo (pp. 149–165). Piove di Sacco, Italy: Banca di Credito Cooperativo. Fontana, G. L. (Ed.). (1985). Schio e Alessandro Rossi: imprenditorialità, politica, cultura e paesaggi sociali del secondo Ottocento. Rome, Italy: Edizioni di Storia e Letteratura. Fontana, G. L. (1993). Mercanti, pionieri e capitani d’industria: imprenditori e imprese nel Vicentino fra ’700 e ’900. Vicenza, Italy: Neri Pozza. Fumian, C. (2010). La città del lavoro: un’utopia agroindustriale nel Veneto contemporaneo. Venice, Italy: Marsilio. Hohenberg, P. M., & Lees, L. H. (1995). The making of urban Europe, 1000–1994. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Krugman, P. (1991). Increasing returns and economic geography. Journal of Political Economy, 99(3), 483–499. Lanaro, P. (1999). I mercati della Repubblica veneta: economie cittadine e stato territoriale (secoli XV–XVIII). Venice, Italy: Marsilio. Luzzatto, G. (1961). L’economia veneziana dal 1797 al 1866. La civiltà veneziana nell’Età romantica (pp. 85–108). Sansoni: Florence, Italy. Magrini, S., & Martellato, D. (2000). The network profile of the Milan-Venice corridor. In A. Andersson & D. Andersson (Eds.), Gateways to the global economy (pp. 311–331). Cheltenham, UK: Edward Elgar. Mancuso, F. (1984). Le trasformazioni territoriali e urbane tra continuità e innovazione. In A. Lazzarini (Ed.), Trasformazioni economiche e sociali nel Veneto tra XIX e XX secolo (pp. 61–113). Vicenza, Italy: Neri Pozza. Merger, M. (1989). L’industrie italienne des locomotives, reflet d’une industrialisation tardive et difficile. Histoire, Économie et Société, 8(3), 335–370. Merger, M. (1997). Les conventions ferroviaires de 1885 en Italie: un example à ne pas à suivre? Revue d’histoire des chemins de fer, 8(16–17), 190–213. Monteleone, G. (1969). La carestia del 1816–17 nelle provincie venete. Archivio Veneto, 100(121–122), 23–86. Piva, F., & Tattara, G. (1983). I primi operai di Marghera: mercato, reclutamento, occupazione, 1917–1940. Venice, Italy: Marsilio. Romani, M. (1982). Storia economica d’Italia nel XIX secolo (S. Zaninelli, Ed.). Bologna, Italy: Il Mulino. Roverato, G. (1986). Una casa industriale: i Marzotto. Milan, Italy: Franco Angeli. Roverato, G. (1996). L’industria nel Veneto: storia economica di un “caso” regionale. Padua, Italy: Esedra.

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Schram, A. (1997). Railways and the formation of the Italian state in the 19th century. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Zaghi, C. (1986). L’Italia di Napoleone dalla Cisalpina al Regno. Turin, Italy: Utet. Zalin, G. (1969). Aspetti e problemi dell’economia veneta dalla caduta della Repubblica all’annessione. Vicenza, Italy: Neri Pozza.

PART IV

Using the Network

CHAPTER 10

The Flaxseed Trade Between Courland and Brittany in the Eighteenth Century Pierrick Pourchasse

Flax cultivation in Brittany gives an example of the linking of two distant areas, the one, a seed producer on the south coast of the Baltic, «land areas beyond the sea» and the other, in central Brittany, land areas which lie on the landward side of a port, «beyond maritime space» (Lesger, 2001, pp. 18–19). Between these two areas and for several centuries, a trade flow was set up. In the eighteenth century, the connections between Libau, main exporting gateway, and Roscoff, main importing harbour, were organized and controlled entirely by the merchants of a third place, Lübeck. The interest of this research is to explain how this third participant dealt at the same time with the hinterland, by monopolising the export of the product, by maritime routes, by shipping goods through its own commercial fleet, and with the distribution it presented as essential for the peasants of the foreland while imposing very high prices. The south-coast regions of the Baltic were flax areas: “clay soil, a sufficiently humid climate and arable land which had recently been cleared of trees favoured the culture of flax in the whole of the forest area of eastern

P. Pourchasse (B) University of Bretagne Occidentale, Brest, France © The Author(s) 2019 G. Favero et al. (eds.), The Urban Logistic Network, Palgrave Studies in Economic History, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-27599-0_10

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Europe” (Zoutis, 1960, p. 84). The zone of production stretched over the north-west of Russia, the Baltic provinces, Byelorussia and Lithuania. A great number of varieties, rakitzer, drujaner, marienburger and dreyband, etc., differentiated by their production zone, their quality and price were grown there. The best known was the “rakitzer” coming from the district of Rakischeka in Lithuania. Each variety was commercialised depending on its quality, the superior category being identified under the name “paternoster.” In the markets, these varieties of flax (Dunsdorfs, 1938, pp. 1126, 1149) were distinguished by the number of ties used to make up the bundles of fibres. Exports of flax were, in the majority, made up of raw or simply combed fibres intended for the cloth industry, a textile product of prime importance in the manufacture of clothing, household linen or sails. The seed was also commercialised, either for sowing or as raw material for the manufacture of oil for the soap and dyeing industries. The seeds for the oil industry and those intended for agriculture were not identical, those for sowing needed to be of better quality and the exporting ports paid close attention to their differences. The very high quality of seeds from the Baltic and their wide variety made them an export product particularly sought after by Western farmers in order to renew their seed stock. It created a regular trade between the Baltic and Western Europe. The increase in seed exports continued throughout the eighteenth century and symbolised the economic expansion of the West. The Baltic ports had no difficulty in responding to this increase in demand and the price of seed made little progress during this period.

French Purchases, Between Necessity and Fatality France, which was a large producer of linen cloth, was one of the main buyers of flax seed for sowing (Pourchasse, 2010, pp. 53–78). Of course, the question arises of the reason for these imports. Was it due to “the prejudice of the farmers” (Harder-Gersdorff, 1980, p. 14), biological reasons or special agricultural practices? The reason accepted today was that the flax seed produced in the Baltic area was of higher quality and gave a better return than that of the same variety produced in Western Europe. According to the Encyclopédie, flax from the North or “cold flax,” as opposed to the native flax or “warm

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flax, [...] grows slowly. We can see that six weeks and more after sowing, the plants are not even two fingers high; but become strong and finish by being taller than the others” (Diderot & D’Alembert, 1752/1969, pp. 549–551). Seeds from the North produced flax with a longer stalk (Tanguy, 1994, p. 30) likely to produce more tow. On the other hand, the native flax seed, of poor quality, rapidly became exhausted and one could see the plants deteriorate when the same seeds were used for more than three years. The Encyclopédie explained that the seed from Riga was the best, “it withstands frost better than all other species. But as the ‘linuise’ (seed) is never perfect, when it is ready to harvest, we see other kinds of flax; the mixture increases with each sowing, warm flax producing more seeds than cold flax and one is obliged to go back to buying more seed every three or four years” (Diderot & D’Alembert, 1752/1969, p. 549). From this we see that flax could only regenerate through the import of foreign seeds. Deterioration resulted from local harvesting practices where the plant was cut before reaching maturity in order to make it easier to work with (Martin, 1998, p. 116). The same practices were found in Germany where the seeds were sown very close together and where the flax was cut around eleven weeks before the crop was ready for harvesting. This technique guaranteed long, fine and fat fibres of the kind required by cloth manufacturers for their fine linen intended for foreign markets (HarderGersdorff, 1980, p. 20). The French linen industry had the same needs. Close-sown seeds and early harvesting were common despite seed deterioration. In Brittany, the harvest usually took place at the beginning of July while the real cutting time was in September (Quéré, 1991, p. 158). During the eighteenth century, studies and reports were devoted to the regeneration of native flax seed to protect farmers from having to depend on Northern countries. Some specialists suggested “renewing the country’s seeds by sowing small areas sparsely to produce better nourished seed, as was the practice in Holland” (Sée, 1930–1931, p. 303). Others suggested producing the seed in Canada, “thus we would have the double advantage of creating a fall in demand for the seed from Riga and to obtain it by creating profitable business for our colonies” (Pinczon du sel des Monts, 1756, p. 41). These suggestions had little influence and brought only disappointing results. Therefore, the import of foreign seeds continued (Corps d’observation, 1760–1762, p. 197). The west of France, an important textile region with more than a quarter of national production (Léon, 1978, p. 526), was the main French buyer for

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Baltic seed. From the end of the sixteenth century, Brittany, a region with conditions favourable to the cultivation of flax (Martin, 1988, p. 182),1 imported seed from Zeeland and the Baltic (Minois 1984, p. 118). Seeds from the United Provinces were exclusively used in the bishopric of SaintMalo and in part of that of Rennes (Corps d’observation, 1760–1762, p. 370). Elsewhere, in the large areas of fibre production of the Trégor and Léon, they were less-favoured and sold cheaper than those from Riga and Libau (Sée, 1925, p. 186). If some documents sometimes refer to “Flanders flaxseed,” this term covered all the seeds from the North (Tanguy, 1994, p. 28). During the years 1727–1731, Brittany received the largest part of French imports from the Baltic, that is 92.7%. But this tended to diminish regularly: 79.3% for the years 1750–1754 and 52.3% for 1784–1788. The goods usually arrived at Roscoff, sometimes at Morlaix. Some other Breton ports appeared from time to time for small quantities, Saint-Malo or Nantes for example. The greater part of Breton purchases was made in the port of Libau in Courland: 88.6% for 1727–1731, 73.3% for 1750–1754 and 94.2% for 1784–1788. In the course of these fifteen years, the total number of flaxseed loads leaving Libau for France bound for Roscoff-Morlaix was 86 ships carrying 96.215 barrels of seed. The rest of the Breton purchases were usually made in Riga, less often in Windau or Memel, other ports of the South-East Baltic area. Customs archives have not kept any trace of the decision reached by the States of Brittany, at the start of the Seven Years War, to import first quality seeds from Riga for the farmers in the bishoprics of Saint-Malo, Rennes, Vannes and Quimper in order to increase the zones of flax production (ADCA) (Fig. 10.1). For forty years (1720–1759), the accounts of the Sound Customs, toll books set up by the King of Denmark at the exit from the Baltic, listed 256 ships loaded with 303,937 barrels of flaxseed heading for Roscoff or Morlaix. This figure is definitely slightly less than the truth as some ships did not state their final port of destination but simply indicated that they were going to France. Of the total number of barrels listed, 93% came from Libau, 4.5% from Riga and 2% from Prussia. The average annual purchases

1 The coastal fringe between Lannion and Saint-Brieuc, corresponding to the areas of Trégor and Goëllo, thanks to the oceanic climate, mild and humid, with their soil quality (with a covering of loess), and the possibility of enriching the ground with seaweed, was a region favourable to the cultivation of flax. In particular, it supplied fibre for the Breton cloth manufacturers in the area of Quintin-Pontivy, where flax was not grown.

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Fig. 10.1 Northern Europe in the eighteenth century (Source The author’s elaboration)

during these forty years amounted to 7600 barrels. The years between 1750 and 1759 was the period when imports were at their highest with an average of 12,600 barrels per year (Martin, 1998, p. 97). This figure corresponds to the report made by the inspector of manufactures Coisy who assessed the imports to Roscoff at 12,000 barrels in 1750 and at 12,500 barrels in 1751, “each weighing one hundred and sixty pounds, for the bishoprics of SaintPol-de-Léon, Tréguier and Saint-Brieuc.” The seeds were then distributed by boat to the ports of Morlaix, Tréguier, Pontrieux or Saint-Brieuc, and sold in the fibre-production zones. Seven thousand barrels were sent to Trégor, three thousand to Léon and two thousand to Goëllo (ADIV). During the years 1780–1789, the figures show a decrease in Breton purchases while the Norman ports and especially Dunkirk recorded a larger number of ships. The decrease in purchases was explained by the decline in the production of Breton cloth which, following regular progress during the eighteenth century, collapsed after the American War of Independence

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(Tanguy, 1994, p. 11). This progression corresponded to a change in the geography of cloth production at the end of the eighteenth century (Léon, 1978, pp. 525–526). The West which, until then, held a dominant position had “its vitals severely affected” (Léon, 1978, p. 519) and was superseded by the North of France, a region where the flax industry reached its peak on the eve of the French Revolution (Deyon, 1979, p. 89). Three reasons may be given to explain the decline in Breton cloth manufacturing: the increase in middlemen, the shortcomings in methods unchanged since the seventeenth century and internal social activity which had not led to any real middle-class in business (Martin, 2000, p. 124).

Brittany, a Market Reserved for Lübeck The accounts of the Sound Toll recorded the first ship loaded with flaxseed departing for Roscoff in 1583, then a second one in 1595. Then, throughout the following years, the Breton port “regularly sent two to three ships each year to the Baltic, up until 1633, the date they finally stopped” (Tanguy, 1994, p. 30). From this time on, Breton ships were supplanted by the Dutch whose freight charges were much more attractive. In the eighteenth century, it was the Lübeckers who took this trade in hand, creating a real monopoly in the import of flaxseed to Brittany. The Lübeckers used their ships mainly to transport flaxseed. Of the 257 ships delivering seeds to Roscoff—Morlaix between 1720 and 1759, 204 were from Lübeck (79.4%). The Breton market was, in fact, of great interest to the shipowners of this Hanseatic port because it was close to Bordeaux and Nantes. Ports where it was possible to reload with wine and colonial goods intended for their home port. A great number of ships regularly took part in the Libau—Roscoff—Bordeaux—Lübeck circuit. For example, between 1720 and 1732, Captain Johan Nippe’s ship went to France eleven times. He delivered ten loads of flaxseed to Roscoff and, in return, loaded four times at Bordeaux, twice at Nantes and five times at Le Croisic with goods for Lübeck. In the eighteenth century, the Roscoff merchants totally lost control of flaxseed imports from the Baltic. The Lübeckers who organised deliveries became the masters of this business and the “Breton farmers considered them to have formed a monopoly” (Corps d’observation, 1760–1762, p. 199). Cambry, an administrator of the Convention who travelled in Brittany in 1794, confirmed that “the Roscoff merchants were nothing but agents for those of Danzig and Lübeck, etc.… who allowed them three francs off each

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barrel” (Cambry, 2000, p. 59). Bretons who tried to trade directly with the North usually gave up their plans in the face of the difficulties created by their competitors who protected their territory very carefully. In 1729, the Morlaix merchant, Guillotou de Kérever, wanted to import seeds from Libau. To do this, he contacted the Widow Labat and Sons of Amsterdam and proposed a business partnership. This would require an agent in the Courland port who would be responsible for sending the seeds but the affair came to nothing due to the unwillingness of the Dutch firm which preferred to sell seeds from Zeeland (Sée, 1925, p. 186). Cambry, in his Voyage dans le Finistère (Travels in Finistere), gave another example: “From 1783 to 1787, a merchant of St-Pol-de-Léon traded in flaxseed, but only for himself. Every year, two ships arrived from Holland in the Bay of Penpoul for him. This competition frightened the traders working with the North; they lowered the price of their goods and the poor man was ruined” (Cambry, 2000, pp. 59–60). The Lübeckers were very clever businessmen. They “allowed a one year term for payment” and “agreed to take back the unsold seed” (AN, 1767). The advantages of this were manifold for the merchants of the Hanseatic town. Firstly, taking back the unsold goods, “reduced their demand in the North, by keeping the lowest price there resulting in the seed bringing in much more profit than they would have suffered through the return of the seed” (AN, 1765). Following that, these facilities of payment contributed to the depreciation of the seeds from Zeeland for the Breton merchants as these latter did not benefit of the same commercial advantages (Sée, 1925, p. 186). Finally, taking back unsold goods was not very risky as the seed was used to make oil or sent off again the following year (AN, 1765). The unsold seeds were, in fact, sent to the oil industry in the United Provinces, though some might be put back on the market in the Breton ports. According to the businessman and economist Pinczon du sel de Monts, the Bretons were doubly at fault: “it is only in Brittany that there is but a single mill to make oil from this seed. The Dutch, always careful of their interests, took advantage of this negligence by taking up all our flaxseed then sell us back the oil and often the same seed” (Pinczon du sel des Monts, 1756, p. 41) which came back to Brittany. These returns penalised the producers as “their harvest was neither as abundant nor of such good quality” (AN, 1767), the freshness of the seed being indispensable.

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Cheating with flaxseed appears to have been an extremely current practice (Diderot & D’Alembert, 1752/1969, p. 549),2 because very difficult to detect, the quality of the product could not really be seen until four to six weeks after sowing (Harder-Gersdorff, 1980, p. 13). In order to reduce these problems, seeds were inspected on departure and also on arrival. In the Baltic ports, the seed was carefully checked by the buyers: “though the flaxseed was normally well-cleaned of all foreign matter, the buyers had it passed once again through a clean sieve to get rid of any remaining dust. This operation took place upon delivery, when weighing. The seller was responsible for the waste” (Corps d’observation, 1760–1762, p. 360). Sometimes, the authorities certified the goods which were conditioned to be easily identified. At Libau, the barrels were said to be “burned with the crown” or “Libau crowned with fire” that is, marked with a branding-iron by a certified expert (or “braqueur”) with a crown surmounted by flames (Tanguy 1994, p. 29). On the contrary, in Riga, “there was no “braqueur” or certified expert to guarantee the quality of the seed, one had to rely on the broker’s knowledge” (Corps d’observation, 1760–1762, p. 360). In Brittany, when the seed arrived, the judges of the “régaires” of Léon at Saint-Pol-de-Léon proceeded with another check on the quality of the seed. They were especially interested in the freshness of the seed which was very difficult to detect, and the origin, identifiable by the mark and the purity, that is the absence of seeds other than flax. These precautions did not stamp out cheating. In 1729, the merchant Guillotou de Morlaix “was not satisfied with the six barrels of flaxseed with which he had earlier been supplied; however, he would rather keep them than embark upon a court action” (Sée, 1925, p. 186). In 1758, according to the President of La Société d’Agriculture de Bretagne, la Bourdonnaye Montluc, “there are complaints everywhere in the bishopric of Léon of the poor quality of the seeds from the North; It is claimed that they are mixed and that we get a lot of old seeds. We have found that our own seeds produce better than those imported” (Sée, 1930–1931, p. 303). Still in Léon, the local merchants were accused of cheating the peasants, of putting unsold seeds from the year before back on the market and of selling a poor quality product, originating in Trégor, as seeds from the North (Corps d’observation, 1760–1762, pp. 42–43). Seeds coming from Dunkirk would be those unsold from the North and reconditioned in Holland after having been 2 The country’s seed, “when good, not being easily distinguished from that of Riga, the brokers sealed it in similar barrels and sold it as such”.

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“benefited” that is, after having had “all that appeared defective removed” (Pinczon du sel des Monts, 1756, p. 41). The Lübeck merchants had a reputation which leads one to think that the manipulations regarding the freshness or the origin of the seeds must have been common practice. In 1775, Coquebert de Montbret, Consul General in Hamburg, pointed out that the Lübeckers’ business is “complicated, varied and of a singular nature” and that he was convinced “that it consisted only in the smuggling trade, above all in imports from Denmark, Sweden and Russia” (AN, 1775). A report of 1777 confirms that the Lübeckers were specialised in smuggling in the Baltic: “It is in this profession that the owners of the Lübeck ships make a large fortune. The merchant they deal with does not run any risk and speculates with as much security and profit as no other” (AN, 1777). If the producers were conscious of the fraud, without having any firm proof, it was no doubt true. The speculation due to the many middlemen was a well-known practice suffered regularly by all the seed buyers.

A Long Chain of Middlemen As with hemp, the characteristics of flax culture demanded a great deal of work for the small volume produced on the farms. As a result, in the regions of Eastern Europe, flax was cultivated on plots of land worked by serfs, where a major part of the harvest was for domestic use, rather than on large estates (Kahan, 1985, p. 175). The surplus seeds, harvested in September (Harder-Gersdorff, 1980, p. 13), supplied rural markets where it was collected by retail peasant-merchants or by the Jewish community. The latter usually sold it on to wholesalers or sent it directly to the ports, where large flaxseed markets were held for export (AN, 1765) The huge number of sellers put a brake on speculation and “stopped any secret agreements being made” even if there were abuses “in the month of February or March because, at that time, seed was rather rare and in the hands of a lot fewer people. This manoeuvre did not always succeed” (Corps d’observation, 1760–1762, p. 360). In the Baltic ports, the seed collectors could only sell their products to the bourgeois and merchants having the rights of the bourgeois. The latter sold on the seeds “to foreign agents or sent them themselves when they received direct orders” (Corps d’observation, 1760–1762, p. 359). In practice, the foreign community controlled these local merchants financially. Payments were made in advance which made the seller dependent on

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the buyer and limited speculation: “It was normal for the buyer to pay the major part of the total of the purchases at the end of the transaction, the remainder being paid upon delivery…” (AN, 1765). The Lübeckers had, in effect, the means of monopolising this business, “they used the Department of Agents which was in the area, sending them the ships necessary for the loads and opened a credit for them in Amsterdam or Hamburg making it possible for them to fulfil orders quickly and correctly” (AN, 1765). The seeds arrived in the exporting ports “never earlier than the month of September and never later than October” (AN, 1765). Sales began towards November and continued into March. Ships bound for France usually loaded at the end of autumn, unlike those from Bremen which left the Baltic ports at the beginning of spring. The distance between the exporting port and those of destination explains this difference. The ports of Livonia and Courland being frozen over, sailing was usually interrupted between the end of December and the beginning of March when it was too late to go to France. The ships passed through the Sound Strait during the months of December or January. Of the forty-three ships on their way to deliver seeds to Roscoff between 1751 and 1754, twenty-nine made their declaration at the customs office in Elsinor between the 11th of December and the 8th of January. In the winter period, a relatively difficult time to sail, ships needed at least a month and a half in the best of cases, even two months or more, to cover the distance from Elsinor to Roscoff. The ships arrived in the Breton port between the end of January and the beginning of March which was relatively late as sowing took place “at the end of March or the beginning of spring, depending on the weather” (Sée, 1930–1931, p. 302). This organisation for the transport of the seeds was a voluntary arrangement: “It must be noted that flaxseed can always be brought to the gateways to France well in advance of sowing time” (AN, 1765). The sailings, grouped together in general, lead us to think that the purchasers had sufficient supplies prior to the sowing season. The reality appears to have been quite the opposite and the ships arrived “in succession” which gave rise to new speculation. The captains controlled the sale of the seeds and acted as agents for the Hanseatic merchants (Harder-Gersdorff, 1980, p. 12). The brokers of Morlaix or Roscoff, under orders from the Lübeckers, distributed the seeds in reduced quantities (from 6 to 10 barrels) and at various times (Corps d’observation, 1760–1762, p. 368) “to some secondary agents who sold them in the rural areas” (Sée, 1930–1931, p. 304). And,

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“if the wind was against them or other accidents held up the ships and made them dock in the first port, one after the other, distribution to the other ports was made in succession and in small loads. The peasants who had come 4, 5, 6 or 8 leagues and who had remained in the port worried and fearing that they would get no more seed, made up their mind to buy at whatever price the merchants asked” (AN, 1765). The commercial chain between the seed producers in Livonia or in Courland and the fibre producers appears to have been most complex and was not controlled by the leading figures, that is the supplier and the consumer. For the Breton Agricultural Society, the activity of the middlemen, in particular the Lübeckers, was “an impenetrable mystery” (Corps d’observation, 1760–1762, p. 199). To gain information on this trade, it appealed to the Duc de Choiseul, the Chief Minister of the Kingdom, and several reports were drawn up so that the French merchants could obtain directly “this type of seed of which, in France, we know only the name, “Siberian hardy flax” (Corps d’observation, 1760–1762, p. 199). If the reports clarified some aspects of the seed trade, others remained obscure for unknown reasons, particularly in Courland, where the seed market was strictly controlled by the Hanseatic towns and where silence seems to have been the done thing: “We were unable to obtain details of the charges up to embarking. There were probably reasons which hindered the Libau merchants we consulted from responding to this article…” (Corps d’observation, 1760–1762, p. 366). How the prices were fixed between the supplier in Courland and the Breton retailer was therefore unknown to the buyer and beyond control of the French authorities. According to Cambry, the Northern merchants “sold at whatever price they liked” (Cambry, 2000, p. 60). The result of this commercial arrangement was, of course, a higher price for the seed, “vicious exploitation which ensured large profits for the foreigners” (Corps d’observation, 1760–1762, p. 368). In 1760, the price of a barrel of first quality seed from Courland cost, to begin with, around 16 livres 8 sous, which rose to 26 livres 9 sous with the different taxes and freight costs, to be finally sold in the port of Roscoff for 33–36 livres, depending on the quality of the seeds. The profits for the Lübeckers also rose by circa 38.5% for first quality seeds, not counting that the transport was carried out by their own ships and the possible fraud on the resale of the devalued seed. The Breton merchants who resold the seeds to the peasants made similar profits because they sometimes offered seeds at 60–70 livres per barrel, depending on circumstances (ships arriving late, poor quantities allocated by the Lübeckers, etc.) (Corps d’observation, 1760–1762, p. 368). The

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farmer was completely dependent on his supplier, as much for the quality of the seeds as for the price he had to pay. Even if the total amount of seeds bought was of very low value compared to the trade figures generated by the sale of cloth, the way the seeds market was run created a state of dependence for the peasantry and a noticeable increase in the price of cloth for export (Martin, 1998, p. 97). The high price of seeds reduced the purchases made by the peasants, stopped the expansion in cultivation, limited supplies to the textile industry, caused Breton products to be overpriced and, because of this, put a brake on the economic development (AN, 1767). We find one of these causes invoked to explain the decline in the manufacturing of Breton cloth: the proliferation of middlemen “parasites” but this time between the places of seed production and those of production of linen fibre (Martin, 2000, p. 124).3 Maintaining trade relations between the Baltic suppliers and the Breton merchants was established, however, upon certain confidence and the fraud regarding the quality of the seeds, was cleverly organised so that no one was totally cheated. Lübeckers and Bretons both had to get something out of the business as per the example of Guillotou who did not want to clash with his supplier. Trade terms offered to merchants spared them all potential risks and guaranteed a sure profit. The “Observation Corps of the Agricultural Society, Commerce and Arts, set up by the States of Brittany” noticed that return of unsold seed “delivered the farmers to the sellers who ran no risk regarding the seeds that they would not have sold” (Sée, 1930–1931, p. 360). The only obligation for the Breton merchants was “to pay the total sum at the end of the year without being able to get out of it by saying that they had not been paid by the peasants” (Corps d’observation, 1760–1762, p. 368). The trade of flaxseed between Courland and Brittany linked two urban networks and two market organisations, one providing the products, with Riga and Libau as gateways, the other receiving the goods with Roscoff as the main port. These two networks were interconnected by a third player, the Hanseatic port of Lübeck, “middleman organizer,” which provided

3 The scattered areas of flax cultivation from its transformation into cloth and its transformation, far from uniting Trégor, Central Brittany and the banks of the Rance, favoured the work of parasite middlemen. From its cultivation to its export, the flax passed through too many hands, causing the finished product to be overpriced. It was these different interventions that explained the high cost of Breton products as opposed to those of foreign competition.

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transport between the Baltic and Brittany and got large profits from its intermediary operations. According to the game theory, relations between the two protagonists are a “zero sum game”. The Lübeck merchants and the Breton retailers could win together but, if one of them left the game, both parties would be losers. The only problem for the Bretons was that the cards were held by the Northern merchants and only they decided on the quality, the quantity and the price of the product to be delivered. The major part of the winnings went to Lübeck, though inside a structure where both parties win and have an interest in keeping trade going. The only losers were the peasants of inland Brittany subjected to the high cost of the seeds they could not do without (Fig. 10.2).

P1  I1  I2  M1  C1  M2  S1  C2  I3  P2

P1 Peasant producer in Livonia or Courland I1 (Peasant) collector in the local markets I2 Wholesaler in the markets of the exporting ports (often belonging to M1 C1 M2 SI C2 I3 P2

the Jewish community) Bourgeois merchant in the exporting port Broker working for the Lübeck merchants Lübeck merchant Captain of the ship working for the Lübeck merchants Breton broker working for the Lübeck merchants Breton retail-merchant Peasant, seed-buyer and fibre-producer

Fig. 10.2 The commercial chain between the producer and the consumer of flaxseed for sowing: an example of the trade between the Baltic and Brittany in the eighteenth century (Source Author’s elaboration, based on Elisabeth HarderGersdorff 1980, p. 12)

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References Archives départementales des Côtes d’Armor (ADCA) C 143. Archives départementales d’Île-et-Vilaine (ADIV) C 3929. Archives nationales (AN) B3 432, Mémoire sur le commerce des graines de lin à semer à Königsberg et à Riga du 21 janvier 1765. Archives nationales (AN) B3 432, Mémoire sur les avantages d’un commerce direct entre la France et la Russie (1767). Archives nationales (AN) B1 611, Hambourg, courrier du 27 avril 1775. Archives nationales (AN) B3 426, Allemagne, mémoire sur les villes hanséatiques du 10 janvier 1777. Cambry, J. (2000). Voyage dans le Finistère. Voyage d’un conseiller du département chargé de constater l’état moral et statistique du Finistère en 1794. Paris, France: Alternatives (First published in 1986). Corps d’observation de la Société d’agriculture, de commerce et des arts établis par les Etats de Bretagne. (1760–1762). Tome 2, années 1759–1760. Paris, France: Jacques Vatar. Deyon, P. (1979). La diffusion rurale des industries textiles en Flandre française à la fin de l’Ancien Régime et au début du XIXème siècle. Revue du Nord, 61(240), 83–95. Diderot, D., & D’Alembert, J. L. R. (1969). Encyclopédie ou dictionnaire raisonné des sciences, des arts et des techniques, Volume II. New York, NY: Readex Microprint Corporation (Original work published 1752). Dunsdorfs, E. (1938). Dažas tirdzniec¯ıbas parašas 17. un 18. gadu simtem¯ı. Latvijas V¯estures Instit¯ uta Zurn¯ als, 2, 247–278. Harder-Gersdorff, E. (1980). Leinsaat. Eine technische Kultur des Baltikums als Produktionsbasis westeuropaïscher Textilwirtschaft im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert. XVe Congrés International des Sciences Historiques (Unpublished). Budapest, Hungary. Kahan, A. (1985). The Plow, the hammer and the knout. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Léon, P. (1978). Histoire économique et sociale de la France, Tome 3, Inerties et révolutions 1730–1840. Paris, France: Presses Universitaires de France. Lesger, C. (2001). Handel in Amsterdam ten tijde van de Opstand. Kooplieden commerciële expansie en verandering in the ruimtelijke economie van de Nederlanden ca. 1550–ca. 1630. Hilversum, The Netherlands: Uitgeverij Verloren. Martin, J. (1988). Les “toiles bretagnes” de 1760 à 1860. Vie et mort d’une industrie rurale. Mémoires de la Société d’Histoire et d’Archéologie de Bretagne, 65, 177–218. Martin, J. (1998). Toiles de Bretagne. La manufacture de Quintin, Uzel et Loudéac 1670–1830. Rennes, France: Presses Universitaires de Rennes. Martin, J. (2000). Un échec proto-industriel: la manufacture des toiles Bretagne. Annales de Bretagne et des Pays de l’Ouest, 107 (2), 101–134.

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Minois, G. (1984). Un échec de la réforme catholique en Basse-Bretagne: le Trégor du XVI e au XVIII e siècle (Unpublished PhD thesis). University of Rennes II, France. Pinczon du sel des Monts. (1756). Considérations sur le commerce de Bretagne. Rennes, France: Jacques Vatar. Pourchasse, P. (2010). De Libau à Roscoff: l’indispensable graine de lin de Courlande. Histoire & Sociétés rurales, 34, 53–78. Quéré, B. (1991). Le lin et son industrie. In J. Dombres (Ed.), La Bretagne des savants et des ingénieurs (pp. 1750–1825). Rennes, France: Ouest-France. Sée, H. (1925). Le commerce de Morlaix dans la première moitié du XVIII° siècle d’après les papiers de Guillotou de Kerever. J. Hayem, Mémoires et documents pour servir à l’histoire du commerce et de l’industrie en France, 9, 168–210. Sée, H. (1930–1931). Un mémoire du Président de la Bourdonnaye Montluc sur la culture et le commerce du lin (juin 1758). Annales de Bretagne, 39, 301–305. Tanguy, J. (1994). Quand la toile va. L’industrie toilière bretonne du 16e au 18e siècle. Rennes, France: Apogée. Zoutis, M.-J. (1960). Riga dans le commerce maritime en Baltique au XVII° siècle. Le navire et l’économie maritime du nord de l’Europe du Moyen Age au XVIII° siècle, Troisième colloque international d’histoire maritime. Paris, France: SEVPEN.

CHAPTER 11

Ports and Their Functions: Some Reflections About Preindustrial Logistics Werner Scheltjens

Introduction On 10 September 1764, the British skipper Joseph Longbottom passed through the Danish Sound, the narrow strait connecting the North Sea with the Baltic, with a cargo of iron, planks and ordinary deals exported from St. Petersburg and destined for London.1 Longbottom was not an inexperienced master on the shipping routes between Britain and ports on the Baltic Sea coast. According to the Danish Sound toll registers, his earliest return voyage was made in 1757; his latest in 1771. Longbottom

1 www.soundtoll.nl, record 362633, 10 September 1764. More information about

the Danish Sound Toll Registers and the electronic database based upon these registers can be found in Scheltjens and Veluwenkamp (2012) and Scheltjens, Veluwenkamp, and Van der Woude (2018). W. Scheltjens (B) University of Leipzig, Leipzig, Germany e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s) 2019 G. Favero et al. (eds.), The Urban Logistic Network, Palgrave Studies in Economic History, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-27599-0_11

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was registered in the Danish Sound 15 times.2 Although Longbottom executed return voyages to the Baltic for several years in a row in the 1760s, these voyages probably reflect only part of his activities at sea. When Longbottom returned from the Baltic, his ship was loaded mostly with iron and timber, and sometimes with other naval stores such as hemp, flax and tar. The commodities, which Longbottom had carried from St. Petersburg to Britain in September 1764, were characteristic of Anglo-Russian trade during the reign of Catherine II (Åström 1988, 1989; Clendenning 1990; Demkin 1994, 1998; Kaplan 1995; Zakharov, 2005, pp. 92–130).

The Iron Caravan to St. Petersburg The iron exported from St. Petersburg and destined for London was produced in the heart of the Russian mainland, and most importantly in the large metallurgic plants of the Demidov family in the Ural Mountains (Hudson, 1984; Johannsen, 1953; Kafengauz, 1949; Minenko et al., 1993), before being transported to St. Petersburg for exportation. The St. Petersburg export trade statistics for the year 1764 mention Siberia, Bryansk and Tula as the main places of origin of the iron exported from St. Petersburg to London (Demkin, 1996, p. 18). Smaller quantities arrived in St. Petersburg from Serpukhov and Olonec (Demkin, 1996, p. 18). As the centre of the Russian metallurgic industry was located in the Ural Mountains (Kahan, 1962; Portal, 1950), and most international iron trade took place in Moscow and St. Petersburg, its production obviously went a long way before it reached Britain.

2 www.soundtoll.nl, record 444772, 23 June 1757; record 430239, 2 August 1757; record 517537, 14 September 1760; record 521620, 28 November 1760; record 377554, 26 May 1763; record 385231, 1 August 1763; record 348439, 21 July 1764; record 362633, 10 September 1764; record 388656, 10 May 1765; record 381415, 27 July 1765; record 436661, 2 October 1766; record 317356, 6 August 1768; record 330175, 25 October 1768; record 1741595, 16 September 1771; record 1744728, 10 December 1771. Longbottom’s name was spelled differently in several registrations (6× Longbottom; 3× Longbottam; 1× Langbothen, Langbottam, Longbothan, Langbothom, Longbotam, Longbotton). Such variation has two causes: misspelling in the original registers, or misreading and/or typing errors during the process of data entry in the electronic database. His registered domicile varied as well (Scarborough, London, Whitby). The latter was not an uncommon phenomenon in the Danish Sound toll registers (and other sources of preindustrial maritime shipping), and is perhaps explained best as the result of variation in the customs officers’ registration practices (Scheltjens, 2015a).

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The transportation of iron (and some ironware) from the Ural Mountains to St. Petersburg was a complex undertaking, which required the careful organisation and employment of manpower, technical and financial means. Iron could be transported from the Ural Mountains to St. Petersburg in the course of one year, starting in May and arriving at the Mouth of the Neva in October; more often, however, the so-called ‘iron caravans’ were required to halt in Tver on the Volga during the winter, and arrived in St. Petersburg only in the summer of the next sailing season (Kafengauz, 1949, p. 398). Logbooks kept by the supervisors of the ‘iron caravans’ of the Demidov mines in Nizhny Tagil in the Ural Mountains provide a detailed insight into the logistics of delivering iron to the Russian capital around the middle of the eighteenth century (Kafengauz, 1949, pp. 402–404). Expense reports and hiring protocols of the workforce accompanying the ‘iron caravan’ on its various stages—from its departure on the embankment of the Chusovaya river in Siberia to its arrival in St. Petersburg on the shores of the Baltic Sea—reveal the different ranks and occupations of at least 2580 people that were involved in the delivery of about 90,000 pud of iron in 1762–1763 (Kafengauz, 1949, pp. 412–413). The total personnel costs of this ‘iron caravan’ amounted to 12,391.86 rubles, which were financed for the most part from the sales proceeds in commercial centres along the way (most importantly Kazan, Nizhny Novgorod, Yaroslavl and Tver) (Kafengauz, 1949, pp. 414, 459). The 1758 ‘iron caravan’, which we describe in detail here (Kafengauz, 1949, pp. 398–423),3 consisted of 16 river boats and departed on 5 May from the banks of the Chusovaya river. The ‘iron caravan’ passed by the Rozhdestvenskaya quay on the river Kama on 9 May, and arrived at Laishev on 20 May (Kafengauz, 1949, p. 402). At the so-called ‘caravan fair’ of Laishev, where the Kama fell into the Volga, boats carrying metallurgic production arrived in large groups in May and June, when the rivers became free of ice and the sailing season began (Kerblay, 1966; Scheltjens, 2018). At Laishev, manpower was hired to equip the boats carrying the iron and to tow them upstream on the Volga in the direction of Kazan and Nizhny Novgorod, whereas a smaller part of the metallurgic production went downstream in the direction of Astrakhan (Kafengauz, 1949, pp. 412–413). Kazan was reached on 31 May, and Nizhny Novgorod on 3 As early as 1954, the French historian Portal (1954) pointed towards the historical interest of Kafengauz’s detailed descriptive account of Demidov’s ‘iron caravans’, and provided an abridged account that is quite similar to the one in this section.

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19 June. After having to execute some sales in Kazan and Nizhny Novgorod under the auspices of a representative of the Demidov company, the remaining part of the iron was transported to Yaroslavl and Rybinsk. The ‘iron caravan’, which now consisted of 14 river boats, arrived in Yaroslavl on 10 July, where part of the cargo was unloaded and handed over to a local sales representative of the Demidovs. The remaining 12 boats arrived at Rybinsk on 13 July. Rybinsk was another town on the Volga that was famous for its ‘caravan fairs’, where part of the labour force for the remaining stages of the voyage to St. Petersburg was hired, and the loading, reloading and storage of goods took place. At Rybinsk, the iron was reloaded into a different kind of river boats, and skilled pilots (Ru. locmany) and workers were hired to direct the boats on the Upper Volga to Tver. The latter town was reached on 16 August. Here again, pilots and horse-holders (Ru. konovody) were hired to direct the caravan from Tver to the Canal of Vyshny Volochek via the river Tvertsa. In Tver as well, extra workforce was hired to assist the caravan on its way to St. Petersburg. The ‘iron caravan’ arrived at Vyshny Volochek on 7 September. After having executed some necessary changes in the composition of the caravan and after having hired another group of workers, 16 boats left Vyshny Volochek on 12 September and went on the river Msta in the direction of Lake Ilmen and the old town of Novgorod. The caravan arrived in Novgorod on 29 September and was reloaded there to prepare for the final and perhaps most complicated part of the voyage to St. Petersburg via the river Volkhov and the Ladoga Canal. The ‘iron caravan’ arrived at St. Petersburg on 14 October in the morning. The sales and delivery of the iron to British merchants in St. Petersburg started on 16 October and was completed on 13 November, when unsold iron was stored at the Demidov property on Vasilevsky Island near the embankment of the Neva (Kafengauz, 1949, p. 404). The Canal of Vyshny Volochek and the Ladoga Canal were vital elements in a system of rivers and lakes linking St. Petersburg to the Volga and thus to a significant part of the Russian mainland (Jones, 1984; Matley, 1981). Whereas the latter had been constructed in the 1720s as a means to avoid the dangerous currents of Lake Ladoga (Gorelov 1953, pp. 40–71), the former has become famous as one of Peter the Great’s important infrastructural achievements in the modernisation of Russia. By means of the Canal of Vyshny Volochek, the construction of which had started during the Great Northern War (1700–1721), the city and port of St. Petersburg at the mouth of the Neva was connected with the river Volga, and thus with Central Russia, the Ural Mountains (via the Kama) and

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the Caspian Sea (Gorelov 1953, pp. 72–158; Istomina, 1975; Stuckenberg 1841, pp. 337–392). Although details about the commodities transported through the canal system of Vyshny Volochek are scarce and unsystematic, Stuckenberg’s account of the state of affairs since 1781 reveals a threefold increase in the tonnage of iron passing through Vyshny Volochek between the early 1780s and the 1820s.4

The Sea Route to London After having been loaded on to Joseph Longbottom’s ship, the iron, which had probably been underway from the Russian interior to St. Petersburg for several months (if not for more than a year), was transported by sea to London. Longbottom was one of many skippers active on this maritime route between the Russian and British capitals, London being by far the most important importer of Russian iron and naval stores in the second half of the eighteenth century. The time of his departure from St. Petersburg in September 1764 was not unusual either. Iron was carried from St. Petersburg to London throughout the sailing season. The average estimated tonnage of iron exports on this route between 1755 and 1779 reveals that almost equal volumes passed through the Danish Sound from July to November (see Table 11.1). Only in July and September, the average tonnage shipped was somewhat higher. This preliminary finding seems to indicate that the interdependence between the iron supply from the Ural Mountains and other locations in the Russian interior to the port of St. Petersburg and its subsequent exportation to ports in North-West Europe was not very strong. Rather than relying on the timely delivery of iron in the course of the sailing season, iron producers such as the Demidovs seem to have been preoccupied with a steady (but slow) supply of their product. In turn, iron exporters could rely at least in part on the availability of iron stored at the port of St. Petersburg (Kafengauz, 1949, pp. 458–459), and negotiated the procurement of more iron with the Demidovs and their representatives while it was on its way to the port.

4 Stuckenberg (1841) notices that he had possessed lists of commodities passing at Vyshny Volochek since 1737, which—unfortunately—he had lost. The rise noticed by Stuckenberg is also reflected in the increasing size of the ‘iron caravans’ of the Demidov company (Kafengauz, 1949, p. 418).

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Table 11.1 Monthly iron exports from St. Petersburg to London, average of 1755–1779, in tonnes

Month

Tonnage

April May June July August September October November December Total

20 186 660 2241 1912 2370 1726 1615 237 10,967

Source The author’s calculations based on STRO. The conversion of local measures as registered in STRO to tonnage estimates was done based on the rules of conversion described in Scheltjens (2009, 2015b)

In 1764, the British merchants Sutherland, Dingley and Watson bought about 85,000 pud iron from Nikita Demidov; the British company Thornton, Ritter and Kelly purchased a similar amount (Appleby, 1992, p. 272; Kafengauz, 1949, pp. 460–461; Zakharov, 2005, pp. 106–111). British merchants in St. Petersburg were in regular contact with their partners in London and used several strategies to contract Nikita Demidov for the future delivery of iron. Contracts were signed between British merchants and the local representative office of Nikita Demidov in St. Petersburg. The first kind of contract was signed during the winter and anticipated the next arrival of an ‘iron caravan’ during the summer (Kafengauz, 1949, p. 462). The second kind of contract was similar, but stipulated that excess supply of iron would also be bought by the contractor (Kafengauz, 1949, p. 457). The third kind of contract was a long-term contract, which included a schedule for several years, and outlined the delivery of iron taking into account, among other factors, the length of the sailing season (Kafengauz, 1949, pp. 463–464). Before signing such long-term contracts, Nikita Demidov consulted his mining office in Nizhny Tagil (Urals) directly to ascertain the timely production and delivery of the requested quantities of iron (Kafengauz, 1949, p. 464). Thus, the ‘iron caravans’ that left the Urals twice per year went hand in hand with an exchange of information, negotiations about the terms of delivery and contractual agreements between the Demidov headquarters in Moscow, its offices in St. Petersburg and Nizhny

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Tagil, and British merchants in St. Petersburg and London. Regional representatives of Nikita Demidov secured the information exchange along the ‘continental leg’ of the iron supply route. Similarly, the toll station of Elsinore, about halfway between St. Petersburg and London at the entrance to the Danish Sound, the narrow strait between the North Sea and the Baltic, was an important centre of information exchange on the ‘maritime leg’ of commodity flows between the Baltic Sea region and North-Western Europe. Indeed, the Danish Sound was a place where “[t]he shipmasters obtained information from the shipowners and the agencies concerning the places where the cargo they were carrying should be delivered, (…) the situation within the freight markets, and other economic and even political and personal information” (Ojala, 2017, p. 344). Parallel to the production, distribution and use of handwritten and printed documentation about ship movements, insurance rates and commodity prices, which found their way into newspapers and specialist publications for the maritime sector, the development of means to secure information flows between business partners across long distances boomed in the eighteenth century (McCusker, 2005; Ojala, 2002, 2019; Vinnal, 2014, 2018), and thus preceded the breakthrough of steamships and telegraphs (Kaukiainen, 2001; Laakso, 2007). So far, however, most of these historical data sources—be it published lists and newspapers or private correspondence—have hardly been used to address in a systematic way how business decision-making processes before and during the transportation of goods affected the routes and organisation of long-distance supply chains. Equally so, it may be assumed that Joseph Longbottom, the master who shipped the iron collected at the port of St. Petersburg to London, was contracted by London merchants active on the Russian market, but we do not know where and how this happened, or on what terms the contract was signed.

The Carrier and His Domicile What we do know, however, is that Joseph Longbottom was probably domiciled in Scarborough, a coastal community in North-Eastern England. On 10 September 1764, the customs officers in the Danish Sound registered London as Longbottom’s domicile, but on his way to St. Petersburg

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earlier that year, the domicile entered into the customs accounts was Scarborough.5 Like many other domiciles of shipmasters registered in the Danish Sound toll registers, Scarborough was not a large port where significant quantities of goods were traded internationally. On the contrary: whereas the name of the port is mentioned in the registers 7788 times as domicile of a shipmaster between 1634 and 1857, it only occurs in the Danish Sound toll registers 1017 times as port of departure of a passage through the Danish Sound and 465 times as port of destination. Insofar as trade with the Baltic Sea region is concerned, Scarborough seems to have delivered the professional skills of shipmasters active on shipping routes between large centres of international trade in England and the Baltic. It had probably acquired this ‘special role’ as a supplier of carrying services in the course of its long historical development as a fishing village and coastal trading town located between Sunderland and Newcastle, on the one hand, and Hull and London, on the other (Foy, 2012; Nash, 2012). Scarborough’s role in British trade with the Baltic resembles in a remarkable way the longterm development of several maritime communities in the Low Countries during the early modern period (Scheltjens, 2015a). During the sixteenth century, the number of merchant ships at Scarborough was small and the town was said to be in a state of decay (Nash, 2012, p. 203). Although precise figures are not available, the growth of the maritime community of Scarborough seems to have had its origins in the early seventeenth century. By the start of the eighteenth century, the shipping fleet of Scarborough had obtained national significance, whereas the maritime community’s involvement in fisheries started to decline (Nash, 2012, pp. 203–204, 210–211). A predominant factor in the rise to national significance of Scarborough’s commercial fleet was the coal trade between Sunderland and Newcastle, on the one hand, and London as well as some destinations in France, Norway and—most importantly—the Dutch Republic, on the other hand (Nash, 2012, pp. 214, 217). For a period of time in the seventeenth and part of the eighteenth century Scarborough ‘was the leading collier-owning port in England’ (Davis, 1962, as cited in Nash, 2012, p. 206). Scarborough’s rise to prominence in the coastal trade was not only due to the increasing demand for coal; it was also stimulated by developments in the local shipbuilding industry, which had started to

5 Cf. www.soundtoll.nl, record 348439, 21 July 1764 and record 362633, 10 September 1764.

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build Dutch-type vessels for carrying bulk goods, and—for some time at least—by the abolition of the duty on coal in 1709 (Nash, 2012, p. 207). In the wake of changes in the economic structure of the regions surrounding Scarborough, on the one hand, and changes in the structure of international trade relations of the major ports in these surrounding regions, on the other hand, the operations of Scarborough’s merchant fleet obtained a third-party services-oriented character, whereas ‘during the sixteenth century much of the ship’s time was spent in trade connected with the [home] town’ (Nash, 2012, p. 209). Such is the regional economic context of the sailing patterns and international maritime activities of Joseph Longbottom and other members of the Scarborough maritime community in the eighteenth century. When Sunderland and Newcastle started to take control of the coastal coal trade to London in the first half of the eighteenth century (Nash, 2012, pp. 214–216), Scarborough masters seem to have increased their involvement in third-party shipping on international routes. The Sound Toll Registers Online reveal a sharp increase in the number of passages between the North Sea and the Baltic by masters domiciled at Scarborough since the early 1730s. A period of decline during the Seven Years’ War (1756–1763) notwithstanding, the number of passages through the Danish Sound by Scarborough masters continued to grow until 1775, when 144 passages were registered in the Danish customs account books.6

Logistics in the Age of Sail The voyage of Joseph Longbottom carrying iron from St. Petersburg to London in the autumn of 1764 has been introduced to highlight some aspects of long-distance commodity flows that are often taken for granted in historical studies of international trade. Although detailed case-studies in maritime, transport and infrastructural history do shed light on parts of long-distance commodity flows and the logistical challenges they involve, it remains quite a task to get a clear idea of the amount and kind of coordination and effort necessary to carry commodities from their place of production to their final destination. Pasting together bits and pieces of relevant information from a variety of sources is anything but a straightforward exercise. Moreover, our example makes clear that the combination of

6 www.soundtoll.nl.

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available sources with the historiography of different parts of the international supply chain unavoidably remains inconclusive. Nevertheless, some characteristic features of what may be called ‘preindustrial logistics’ can be discerned. ‘Preindustrial logistics’, or the study of long-distance supply chains relying exclusively on regenerative energy sources (wind, water, man- and animal power), addresses (1) the various surfaces of the earth, that may be used for transportation, i.e. solid ground, rivers, lakes, seas and oceans; (2) manmade physical infrastructure, i.e. roads, canals, bridges and portages; (3) the technical means of covering distances along these surfaces, like ships, waggons, animals, etc. and (4) the manpower and animal power employed to cover these distances. As a field of inquiry related to established disciplines in the historical sciences, such as maritime and transport history, labour history, and the history of infrastructure, ‘preindustrial logistics’ analyses the requirements for their use, their development through time and their meaning for international commercial exchange. The running example of this paper suggests at least three characteristic features of ‘preindustrial logistics’. Firstly, the significance of small places connecting the nodes of international maritime and overland trade networks seems to be a characteristic feature of ‘preindustrial logistics’. In maritime history, several attempts have been made to get a grip on ‘small’ ports and their functions in trade networks and transport systems, making a rudimentary distinction between ‘large’, ‘secondary’ and ‘small’ ports (Jackson, 2001; Le Bouëdec, 2006a, 2006b, 2009; Polónia, 2008). Characteristic of this classification is the focus on ‘small’ ports, which, contrary to the orthodox view, are not seen as ‘unimportant’. Although the above-mentioned classification most certainly contributes to the understanding of port systems in history, it does not distinguish clearly between the different roles and functions of ports in trade networks, on the one hand, and transport systems, on the other hand. Trade networks are sets of locations that are connected by the exchange of people, goods and information between communities populating these locations. Transport systems comprise both natural and man-made infrastructure (rivers, roads, canals, seas, etc.) as well as the communities using this infrastructure to various degrees, thus allowing for the exchange of people, goods and information between the locations of a trade network (Scheltjens, 2015a). Secondly, the mere fact that a shipmaster from Scarborough carried goods from St. Petersburg to London is indicative of the importance of

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information exchange in ‘preindustrial logistics’. The importance of major ports as gateways of business and price information for international trade is clear and has been studied for several major European ports in the early modern period, such as Amsterdam, London and Hamburg. In contrast, much less attention has been paid to their role as international transport markets, and to the complexity of providing instructions while being ‘en route’. Thirdly, the ambivalent role of time in long-distance commodity flows seems to be characteristic of ‘preindustrial logistics’. This feature may be responsible for the biggest and most obvious difference with ‘modern’ logistics, which strives to reduce costs by means of on-time delivery and the minimisation of time spent at ports. Time played different roles in the preindustrial era. Generally speaking, the dependence of transporters on the availability of regenerative energy sources, such as wind, water, man- and horsepower is obvious and also encompasses questions related to the costs of employing the latter.7 The availability of workforce for transportation has as much relevance for the ‘iron caravans’ as it has for seafaring communities such as Scarborough. Taking into account that working on ships was not a full-time occupation for most members of the seafaring community, part of the challenge of ‘preindustrial logistics’ constituted of gathering enough men to sail the ship. Insofar as the ‘overland leg’ of the iron supply chain is concerned, Kafengauz’ statement that the ‘iron caravan’ that spent time in Tver during the winter was actually cheaper than the one that managed to deliver the iron within one (river) sailing season requires further attention. Besides these issues of time related to the ‘overland leg’ of the iron supply chain from the Ural Mountains to Great Britain, the issue is also at play for the ‘maritime leg’ of the supply chain. Little is known about turnover times at ports and possible changes in the speed of shipping in the Baltic and North Seas.8 Although more details about the departure of Longbottom from St. Petersburg might be found in the shipping lists published in the newspaper St. Petersburg times, such precise information would only obtain analytical value from a logistics perspective, when it were available systematically and for several years in a row. Only in that 7 A question that requires further analysis in this context is that of the wages for the workforce employed during the various stages between the Ural Mountains and St. Petersburg. Were they paid for the distance covered, or for the number of days worked? Either case presupposes a radically different relation to the factor ‘time’. 8 One noteworthy exception is Rönnbäck (2018).

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case, it might be possible to provide more solid empirical statements about changes in the speed of shipping during the Age of Sail, which is another topic related to the question of time in ‘preindustrial logistics’.

Final Remarks In the preceding sections, some reflections about ‘preindustrial logistics’ were presented, paying attention mostly to the organisation of longdistance commodity chains, the people involved in ‘manning’ these chains and the ways in which the chain unfolded in space and time. At least three additional aspects of ‘preindustrial logistics’ have not been discussed here, although their significance for the complex activity of transporting and delivering commodities relying on regenerative energy sources is evident. Firstly, ‘preindustrial logistics’ should also take into account the long-term impact of transport and trade policies on the physical distribution of goods. Secondly, the role of formal and informal institutions (treaties, monopolies, guilds, etc.) also played an important role in the execution of long-distance supply chains. Perhaps even more important were usances, the unwritten rules of the game (Scheltjens, 2015a), which probably affected the ways in which business was done, but which are hard to grasp since they typically belong to the tacit knowledge of communities of transporters.

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CHAPTER 12

Tracking Waters: Small Cities Transport Network of Early Modern Friesland Miki Sugiura

Introduction This chapter sheds lights on the transport and logistics network of small cities, by focusing on the province of Friesland in the Early Modern Dutch Republic. Two major features have characterized Friesland’s Early Modern urban network. First, it was a polycentric network composed of ten to eleven small-sized cities. Although Leeuwarden, the capital of the province, became its central city, the city’s dominance was never as pronounced as that of Amsterdam or Groningen, the provincial capitals of neighbouring Holland and Groningen, respectively. Furthermore, the preconditions that the cities were built upon waters—they were settlements in the marshland with constantly changing waterways—inevitably made the region to have distinctively dispersed characters. Second, the characteristics of Friesland’s networks were built upon the comparison with Holland’s urban network. The dynamics of the urban network were mainly determined by how Holland cities rapidly urbanized

M. Sugiura (B) Faculty of Economics, Hosei University, Tokyo, Japan © The Author(s) 2019 G. Favero et al. (eds.), The Urban Logistic Network, Palgrave Studies in Economic History, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-27599-0_12

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and Friesland cities did not. Therefore, in analyzing their small cities network, the stagnation of their urbanization and urban growth during the seventeenth century, or the dynamics of de-urbanization in the eighteenth century became the central focus. De-urbanization did not make cities disappear. Indeed, the process strengthened the polycentricity of the network. However, overshadowed by the attention on de-urbanization, how Friesland’s cities maintained their small cities over centuries or what element has changed within the network is hardly discussed in the context of urban network formation. To discover the functions, operations and maintenance of small cities networks is an important theme in the historical analysis of urban networks. An urban network does not necessarily need a strong central node, nor are urban interrelationships necessarily hierarchical. Analysis on transport and logistics should unveil the dynamics between the nodes, but sometimes it can extract simplified views on interurban relationships. This chapter first questions the existing representative models of Friesland’s urban transport and logistic networks by J. A. Faber, Jan de Vries and Harm Nijboer and unravels their limitations in analysing the network’s functions. The chapter points out that these models were focusing on the linear concentration and dispersion of transport networks, and that interurban relationships were featured predominantly as competition to be the hub. If urban entities are positioned equally in the same race to be the central hub, the interurban transport networks would be mainly interpreted as the consequence of that competition. It is then difficult to see the different conditions, functions and dynamics each city had within the urban network. It therefore makes it difficult to see how and why polycentric small cities networks operated and were maintained. The model, therefore, to be pursued is one that sets cities as having different settings and characters, and having various purposes, and describes the interurban relationships and holistic urban networks based on that setting. In order to put forward the multifaceted functional relationships small cities created, the chapter focuses on the transport network in the southwest part—so called Zuidwest Hoek—of Friesland. It particularly emphasizes that each city, because of their different physical and geo-political conditions in accessing the same waterway, would form varied urban transport networks, and that existing water flows and interurban relationships affected the formation of the networks, creating a few detailed Early Modern cases. Finally, to understand micro-level operations of this transport and logistics network, the chapter will turn its attention to the users of

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the network. The last part of this chapter will see how a Mennonite family from the city of Bolsward utilised the city canal during their development over six generations. The chapter will conclude by stressing that these more micro-focused analyses at interurban, urban, and user levels help to unravel the functions and dynamics of the small cities network as a whole.

Historiography: Three Transport Network Models F. A. Faber, Jan de Vries, and Harm Nijboer were the historians who made representative models on Early Modern Friesland’s transport network. These three historians all tried to demonstrate the character of Friesland’s urban network, through modelling its transport network. Interestingly, de Vries and Nijboer have quite contrasting views on the centrality/hierarchy and polycentricity/disparity of the network. Faber (1972) showed the water transport network through the connection between the major cities. He picked out mainly interregional cargo and passenger water transport beurtvaart, which was developed during the seventeenth century throughout the Dutch Republic and showed the access of Friesland cities with Amsterdam (Fig. 12.1) or the access from one Friesland city to other cities (Fig. 12.2), which was the standard modelling Wageningen School historians took. In Barges and Capitalism (1981), Jan de Vries in turn focused on the passenger and towing-barge canal transport, the trekvaart network (de Vries, 1981). This work is highly valued within the historiography of urban network as successful and innovative research that analysed the character of the urban network through the development of transportation network. De Vries’ model was a route diagram with a linear structure (Fig. 12.3). In this approach, Friesland is part of a model, defined as “single-lined, rural” (right), and put in strong contrast with Holland’s “developed urban” model (left). Friesland and Groningen are connectively set in the right model: half of the nodes are in Friesland and the other half are in Groningen. The model illustrates that multi-directional access only happened from the provincial capitals of Leeuwarden and Groningen, respectively. The two cities are expressed as central nodes. Even though the model extracts the entire structure, the diffusion and concentration from and towards the central city is the main feature of the model. Moreover, de Vries classified transport networks into rural or urban depending on whether the number of passengers increased in summer or not. According to this categorization, most of Friesland networks were

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Fig. 12.1 Faber’s model (1). The access of Friesland cities with Amsterdam (Source Made from Faber [1972] appendix)

defined as rural compared to those of Holland. He thus emphasized the backwardness of Friesland’s transport network in contrast with Holland. In his pioneering other book Dutch Rural Economy in the Golden Age (1974), de Vries emphasised the commonalities between Holland and Friesland and aligned the two provinces, focusing on commercial agriculture (de Vries, 1974). However, as for the passenger transport networks, the two provinces were positioned in opposition. Nijboer (1995, 2010) developed his argument based on Faber and de Vries’s models, but introduced several new perspectives (Nijboer, 1995, 2010). First, in addition to the cargo-passenger-based beurtvaart and passenger-based trekvaart that Faber and de Vries analysed, Nijboer analysed the cargo-passenger marktveer that connected rural areas and urban market towns. Importantly, Nijboer described each of these traffic networks as one of three differentiated dimensions: the beurtveer represented the interregional dimension, the trekvaart was the interurban, and lastly, the marktveer was the intraregional.

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Fig. 12.2 Faber’s model (2). Access from sneek to other cities (Source Made from Faber [1972] appendix)

At the same time, Nijboer investigated the usage frequency of the three different networks. This analysis enabled him to present a holistic view of the network, connecting the two dimensions of interurban and urban–rural. As a result, his model, as shown in Fig. 12.4, demonstrates a highly interactive interurban relationship between the Friesland cities. Furthermore, he concludes through his zone analysis of marktveer that the city’s market spheres, which means the commuting and trading hinterland zones of a market city, were juxtaposed in similar sizes. Taking central place theory as a basis, Nijboer took an innovative approach to visualize the market zones through the networks of marktveer (Fig. 12.5). The market sphere of the central city of Leeuwarden was not necessarily much larger than those of the others. The main focus of Nijboer’s work was to judge the degree of centralization towards Leeuwarden, and the application of hierarchical analysis between cities. In strong contrast to de Vries’ model, his analysis reflects strongly Friesland cities’ polycentric character.

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Fig. 12.3 De Vries’s model (Source De Vries [1981]. Elaborated by the author)

Fig. 12.4 Harm Nijboer’s model: interurban transport network (Source Nijboer [2010]. Elaborated by the author and Ito-lab)

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Fig. 12.5 Harm Nijboer’s model (2) urban-rural market transport model (Source Nijboer [2010], appendix. Elaborated by the author and Ito-lab)

Problems of the Models How can we solve these contrasting views that emerge from these models? These models commonly illustrated the urban connections virtually and conceptually, not using the real physical water routes. The most prominent example would be models by Faber and models by Nijboer (Figs. 12.1, 12.2, 12.4 and 12.5). These models set one city as a fixed starting point, and basically show the diffusion of all the access. A radiation from a point is shown, as if each connection has different routes for access, but naturally these lines do not reflect the actual waterways. If actual waterways were reflected, these figures would be similar to single linear model by de Vries, as the limited number of transport routes is shared for reaching many access points. However, the model by de Vries only shows the latest established canal route that was newly laid out in a rigid style with equal depth and surface material for realizing barge transport, for describing one purpose of usage. In actuality, both the routes and purposes were intermodal. These new canals were laid out intertwiningly with other natural and man-made waterways, and were just a fragment of the waterway network. Moreover,

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the same waterway routes were used for the purpose of beurtveer, trekvaart and marktveer as well as private individual sails. This situation could hardly be demonstrated by radiations between the start and the goal or by a linear extraction of the routes. The outlook of the model instantly implies a city’s strong initiative in building up the transport network. It suggests that cities cultivated intermodal transport networks using multiple levels of transport. However, at the same time, the physical appearance of the entire water transport model remains extremely simple: a single—linear structure as de Vries’s model suggested (Fig. 12.3). Two different perspectives resulted in very different models. Moreover, the two perspectives cannot be reconciled. It is difficult to analyze the true function of polycentric small cities urban transport networks, using this fixed-point network analysis. In order to overcome this problem of setting singular city a fixed starting point, we need to turn to an alternative perspective and question what roles a city has in a transport and logistics network. In Friesland’s case, we need to start from looking at the historical relationship between waterways, settlements and cities. In Friesland, waterways existed and operated before cities came into the picture. The cities were strategically allocated to utilise and further activate existing water flows. This background assumed that cities operate as a group or collective, as networked collections of nodes from their onset. As a process, this meant that multiple cities were bound to common-use of the existing waterways, but alteration of the routes and improvements afterwards (as building canals upon them), urged consideration whether and how each city involved would use the questioned part of the waterway. Therefore, cities were not only starting and ending points, but also channelling infrastructure to facilitate multi-directional flows. In other words, cities were allocated as channels to diversify the single-lined waterflow, and to complete circulation of the transport network. This aspect is represented physically in the urban construction: cities had circular waterways along their city walls and canals that travelled through and across them (Fig. 12.6). At the same time, depending on how much cities would enhance these infrastructures, or to what extent they would limit the usage of them, a city could easily turn into a bottleneck of the flows. In other words, by this way cities could intervene and hinder the flow and logistics of people and goods.

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Fig. 12.6 Regulated routes transiting Franeker in Harlingen–Leeuwarden transport (Source Redrawn from Sugiura [2019, p. 219])

In sum, the models of Faber, de Vries, and Nijboer are built upon the assumption that cities initiated and cultivated the transport network. Therefore, the models hardly show the interactions cities had with the pre-existing waterways. While these models show concentration and diffusion of the network from a city, they hardly discussed whether a certain small city could make an impact upon the network as a whole. The models could not explain the historical development and operations of polycentric transport network. To understand the network, we need to have closer look at the relationships between cities and the waterways.

Periods of Waterway Development We want to start from understanding the dynamics of urban waterway formation. However, even if we turn our eyes to the actual development of waterways or canals, the frameworks and figures could be sometimes as misleading or partial, as the transport network models above were. In the historical description of water canal formation, often boom periods are taken up. Also, Friesland’s canal formation became more intensive when major environmental changes occurred on the waterways, such as the formation of the Middenzee in the medieval period. Times when cities’ activities became

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intense, such as the middle of the fifteenth century or the first half of the seventeenth century, are also considered as boom periods of canal formation on the major waterways. However, in comparison to other provinces, the formation periods of Friesland were not as concentrated in one period. Fig. 12.7 gives an overview on the major waterway development of Friesland, Groningen and Drenthe for both drainage and water transport. The thinner the colour of a route is, the more later the change. In Groningen, only the waterways to the sea were built in the early half of the fifteenth century. The other waterways were built mainly around the 1640–1650s. In Drenthe, the east–west axis water canal development was concentrated in the 1850–1860s. In contrast, the development of other waterways was

Fig. 12.7 Excavation of canals in Friesland (Source The author’s elaboration from Bosatlas van Fryslân (2009) and other sources of Tresoar. Redrawn from Sugiura [2019, p. 219])

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dispersed equally throughout the fourteenth-twentieth centuries. The oldest waterway development on this map, thus, is found in Friesland. This figure is an excerpt from one originally drawn of the entire Netherlands. Even if we broaden the scope for the whole of the Netherlands, the waterway between Leeuwarden and Bolsward, developed during 1300–1400, is the oldest of all. This southwestern part of Friesland experienced other old developments, such as waterways from Leeuwarden to Franeker in 1507 and Dokkum to Groningen in 1571. These figures suggest these older waterways (in dark colours) were dispersed, and as if the whole network was only connected in the latter half of the twentieth century, when new waterways (in light colours) were built. However, as we have seen, the whole part of Friesland was navigable by water in the medieval to Early Modern phase. The fact that many canals were dug only after the twentieth century means paradoxically that they could use natural waterways in developing their transport system so much that they did not have to build additional canals. However, a quick glance at this map in comparison with other provinces will not lead to that understanding. It is therefore vital to understand that in Early Modern Friesland, excavation of water canals, thus, was not necessarily targeted for expanding new routes. Most of these canals were built upon existing natural waterways. The purpose for building canals in addition should be considered carefully. Change in the transport means, such as trekvaart, was one of such purposes. In all cases, we can again confirm from here that closer examination (on what was added to the existing waterways) is needed in understanding Early Modern Friesland cities’ relationships towards transport networks, as well as the operation of their polycentric small cities’ networks. Therefore we explore the development, operation and usage of new waterways in the southwestern part of Friesland in the latter half of this chapter.

Small Cities Waterway Networks Kept Apart The key factor for the south-west region of Friesland to keep a polycentric structure was that the two small cities of Bolsward and Sneek both maintained their hub function, despite being located near each other. The cities are only 11 km in distance from each other. During the economic stagnation period of the eighteenth century, the hub function did not converge on one. Sneek was clearly the city of growth between the two during the Early Modern period. Its market as well as water transport facilities were expanding. Bolsward did not grow as much as maintaining the status quo;

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its population was in decline, but it was not taken over by Sneek. The development of these cities marks a strong contrast with the city of Dokkum in the northeastern part of the province, which suffered a dramatic decline in its population, as well as market functions during the Early Modern period. Here, we will analyze the reasons by focusing on how and why Bolsward kept its functions apart from Sneek. Despite the cities’ closeness, from the perspective of the waterway, the two cities had developed separately. As noted in the previous section, the oldest water canal in the entire northern Netherlands was laid between Bolsward and Leeuwarden in the fourteenth century. This waterway was built as an extension of the Middlezee and was connected to the port city of Workum. It became the east–west axis transport route for the Southwest region. Sneek’s waterways were kept apart from this route. The route from Leeuwarden to Sneek started from the eastern side of Leeuwarden and did not transit Bolsward. In addition, Sneek’s waterway orbited around the large-sized lake Sneekermeer, which is located 5 km away from the city. As Fig. 12.8 shows, the lake was more than 10 times larger than the size of the city. The lake came in its present form only by the Early Modern era due to the water flow changes. The city and the lake were connected by a broad canal. The advantage of using a lake on the waterway is that the lake makes a multi-directional channel possible. Each city in Friesland functioned as an artificial version of such a channel, but as a lake was natural, the connection it enabled had broader potential. A city could gain much from having such channels nearby, and seventeenth-century Sneek was an exemplar case. Suddenly, the lake provided Sneek with an east–west axis, which other settlements could not easily develop. When we go back to Fig. 12.5 by Nijboer, we can confirm that waterways were developing westwards from Sneek via Sneekermeer. This figure depicts only Friesland, but Sneek gained access through these waterways beyond the province, to eastern Groningen, inland Overijssel, Gelderland, as well as to the German regions beyond the border. The development of Sneek as a marketplace for dairy products and livestock owes much to its ability to facilitate its trade to more regions through this access (Schoor, 2011). There is also not so much difference in the occupational structure and choices of industry between the two cities. Why did Bolsward not merge with Sneek, or become more subordinate to the growing city? The structure of the waterway provides an explanation. During the Early Modern period, Bolsward maintained the function of the axis route from Leeuwarden to the port of Workum. The route was further connected to Makkum, which

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Fig. 12.8 Sneek and Sneekermeer (Source Monsma, B.P.F., Waterkaart van het Sneekermeer, met daarop de route van een zeilwedstrijd, 1900. Fries Scheepvaart Museum I-105)

became renowned for its export-oriented pottery. In addition, the route was connected to the re-excavated canal connecting the most growing cities of the province, Leeuwarden and Harlingen. Bolsward was positioned as one of the hub-channels of this network. Bolsward did not function as the gateway for the connections towards interregional areas, but it functioned as a node that connected the settlement of the western edge of the southwest corner of the province. Thus, Bolsward and Sneek operated within different waterway networks and had different roles in this network. It was the Early Modern period when this differentiation becomes particularly distinct. It is therefore not surprising that Bolsward and Sneek had different attitudes towards introducing barge transport. Bolsward played a central role in adding a barge route to its network. Expecting the development of a barge network, Bolsward invested in excavating canals towards Workum in the 1620s. It also paid for adjusting the existing waterways, so that barges could pass between Leeuwarden and Bolsward in 1638. Through these foundations, Bolsward succeeded in opening barge transport from

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Leeuwarden, and within a few years it also started transport to Workum. Through the network, the city enjoyed direct transport to Harlingen and Makkum. Bolsward became the transit hub between barge transport which operated on the interregional and interurban levels and intraregional water transport between the city and smaller settlements. In contrast, Sneek was less enthusiastic about barge transport. The barge transport canal between Sneek and Leeuwarden is a popular one, loved and called by the nickname of ‘Zwette’. It is still used today for the famous skate race. The route was built utilising the waterway that naturally occurred by the opening of the Middenzee. This greatly reduced the cost for implementation, but it also made the commencement of the transport late. The canal between Sneek and Leeuwarden was introduced even after the barge transport between Sneek and Bolsward. To sum up, Bolsward and Sneek developed different transport networks. In the barge network, Bolsward played a much more proactive role compared to Sneek. Sneek’s transport network was based on a completely different basis. The introduction of a barge transport network was done with the existing waterway network as the basis. It was unthinkable for both of the networks to be absorbed and integrated. At the same time, the inhabitants of Bolsward and Sneek could utilise their different networks. It is highly likely, for example, that Sneek inhabitants travelled to Bolsward to use their passenger barges and that caused delays in Sneek having their own passenger barges. Small cities could provide inter-modal transport networks.

The Users of the Network: Small City’s Business Operations In the final section, we turn our eyes to the users of small cities’ transport networks. The aim is to see how small city inhabitants used and maintained a waterway infrastructure in operating their businesses and developing their real estate strategies. These businesses and real estate strategies lie at the core of sustaining polycentric transport networks, as without their success, polycentricity would have not been maintained. Whether a small city could maintain its capacity to actively coordinate a network was reliant on how much their entrepreneurs could establish businesses that could communicate beyond themselves utilizing their own transport networks. In this aspect, the entrepreneurs of the small cities were the agents of polycentric transport networks.

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We first investigated the occupational structure of Bolsward from their tax registers of the sixteenth century and eighteenth century. There was a provincial set of occupations, with international traders and agriculturebased manufacturers providing thin layers for potential entrepreneurs. However, we should not judge the content of their business with the cover, i.e. their occupational names. What small cities’ occupations, such as merchants or entrepreneurs, implied and how those occupations operated were different from the meaning and function of these occupations in larger cities. Too often it is assumed that artisans and traders in small cities were operating similarly to those in the larger cities, but on smaller scales. However, business and trade operations from small cities could be very different from those of the large cities. In addition, to compensate for the limited size of the market, traders and artisans often sought multi-functional operations, and they also sought to expand their clients geographically beyond the small city. For example, country traders turned to become travelling peddlers or all-purpose merchants, such as general stores. Artisans and traders alike opted for combining their work with commercial farming. Transport of goods and capital, and the establishment of infrastructures that enabled mobility were therefore evermore crucial for business operations from small cities. The canal structure of Bolsward was simple. It was representative of cities of this size, the main canal Grote Dijlakker, which ran from the northwest gate to the southeast, divided the city in half. Six smaller canals supported this main canal in order to provide multi-directional exits. Grote Dijlakker was built upon a natural waterway. Its course has not changed since the twelfth century. We will see how a Mennonite family, the Mesdags, developed their business over seven generations. The sources we have used are real estate registers, cadastrals, probate inventories and family history books (Mesdag, 1946; Vermoolen, 1998). The family’s continuity itself was exceptional for Frisian Mennonites (Trompetter, 2007). The family first moved from artisanal to entrepreneurial status in the late seventeenth century. At the peak of their success in the mid-eighteenth century, they purchased an aristocratic estate outside of the city, and incorporated it into their business. Thereafter, in the nineteenth century, the numerous siblings of the family attempted to build industrial clusters within the city, as well as outside of the city. We will trace these developments in detail, and see how the family utilized the canal at each stage (Figs. 12.9, 12.10 and 12.11).

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Fig. 12.9 Mesdag’s first generations’ real estate holdings (Source Elaborated by Takahashi, on the Schotanus map of 1664 [Sugiura & Takahashi, 2014])

The first generation of the Mesdag family was of humble origin, the son of a shoemaker. He began to be entrepreneurial by purchasing a tannery (A-1) with his wife’s inheritance in the northeast outskirts of Bolsward (Fig. 12.9). Shoemaker’s workshops were concentrated along Grote Dijlakker by the city wall, and therefore he transported tanned leather using the short distance of the canal. About a decade later, he bought a house (B-1) along the Groot Dijlakker, close to the tannery. We can confirm from a seventeenth-century map, that this area was newly developed, with the backsides of the houses towards the city wall still left as open fields. The houses near the city gates practiced gardening or milking and operated mills. The parcel of the house was divided in the back, and another shoemaker was living on the back parcel of the house (B-2). The couple had one son, and this second and then the third generation gradually owned multiple houses and locations within the city. The table shows their possessions in 1729. At the point of his marriage, the second generational son did not even own his house, but when his father died the couple bought the

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Note: Reelkohieren: Possessions of “Hessel Gerbens” (1729) No.178 Dijk Shoemaker’s parcel (A-3) Self No.318 Dijlakker A house with dairy farming (D-1) Tieyk Jacob No.319 Dijlakker A house for rent (D-2) Muse No.325 Dijlakker A house (B) Self No.425 Noorder Haitsebaan, A small house (A-1,A-2) Self

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6-0-0 30-0-0 38-0-0 48-0-0 10-0-0

Fig. 12.10 Mesdag families’ early real estates in Bolsward till the third generation (Source 1729 Reëlkohieren Bolsward, Oud-Archief Bolsward; Vermoolen [1998]. Elaborated into a map by Takahashi [Sugiura & Takahashi, 2014])

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Fig. 12.11 Mesdag related real estate possessions within Bolsward around 1832 (Source Kadastrale 1832 and Postboeken 1812. Notarieel akten van Dirk Roos Mesdag, Johannes Mesdag, Treasoar, Leeuwarden and Vermoolen [1998]. Elaborated into a map by Takahashi [Sugiura & Takahashi, 2014])

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house at the back of their original family home (B-2). Since then the two houses were registered as one. At the same time, the other houses along this part of Grote Dijlakker started to integrate the backside and became large townhouses of wealthier inhabitants. The family began to own multiple houses within Bolsward, with the widow living in another house on the other side of the city (C). The third and fourth generation Mesdags were connected to the Cnoop family, one of the most powerful families in Bolsward. The Cnoop family operated both a tannery and pottery. We can confirm from Cnoop’s account book that the canal was used for bringing clay from a borrowed pit about 30–40 km away from the city and to transport the finished pottery. Moreover, the Mesdags’ real estate ownership experienced a drastic turn, when the fourth generational son married a wealthy second wife, and together they purchased an aristocratic estate, the Donia Estate (fl 7150) based in Burgewerd, 30–40 km away from Bolsward. It could be directly accessed by water via an extension of the Grote Dijlakker. The purchase and the building increased step by step. On a wedding anniversary, the couple bought a parcel in Burgwerd, and by 1749 they owned several lands directly outside of the city wall, and had purchased a ship. They bought another piece of land with houses, yard and watermills along the trekvaart to Bolsward (fl 4000), and developed concentric landholdings around the Donia Estate, thus completing their investment outside of Bolsward. They kept the original house by the Grote Dijlakker and used the new estate as a summer villa. In doing so, they expanded the social meaning of the canal. The family invited elite families of other cities to their homes in Bolward and treated them to a sail along the canal and to picnic at the summer villa. They promoted businesses and deals and marriage arrangements with those powerful families at such occasions. At seasonal turns, the family organized gorgeous parades on the canal, and contributed to regional festivals. Thus, what used to be the outskirt end of the town canal with workshops of shoemakers was converted to a grand canal fronting the townhouses of the wealthy. However, the purchase of the aristocratic estate did not mean this family had left manufacturing. The purpose of the estate outside of Bolsward was also for business. The purchase of the estate meant having access to the rights connected to the land and water: not only hunting, lumbering and fishing rights, but also the access to developing waterways. Most importantly, the place produced the best clay for pottery around the area, and they also traded the lumber grown there, a trade dominated then by

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the Mennonites in Zuidwesthoek. Thus, Burgewerd provided the necessary raw material for their family business. They traded lumber and pottery clay from Burgewerd via Bolsward to Makkum, which was booming with pottery exports. The Mesdag family’s business expanded at the fifth generation with 10 siblings. Half of the six sons remained in Bolsward and operated not only the tannery and pottery, but also started running tobacco, dairy and bread operations within the city. One of the brothers, Dirk Roos Mesdag, was registered as a wine merchant. In 1822, he bought a house at the corner of Groot Dijlakker and another city canal. He performed massive renovation; as described before, the houses of this area were initially divided into those facing the canals and those at the back, nearer to the city wall, used for smaller cottages and workshops in the seventeenth century. During the eighteenth century, these front and back houses were reintegrated into one parcel. Dirk Roos Mesdag not only integrated the front and back houses, but also added extensions to the city wall, as well as built a quay annexed to the house, so that he could load and unload packages directly from the house to the boats on the canal. He had transformed the house into a trading warehouse, the first to be built in the block. The siblings owned multiple real estate holdings inside and outside of Bolsward. The inner city factories, quays in the middle and north, the pits and farms outside of the city were all connected, establishing a small-town version of an industrial complex. The family’s businesses, which used to concentrate in the North-eastern part of the city, were now spread out throughout the city. From their real estate purchases, we can see that the family was acquiring access to infrastructures that strengthened their interurban connections to Makkum, Leeuwarden and Groningen. Moreover, the other siblings moved to other cities and developed their own small industrial complexes. They wed to the daughters of Groningen residents, purchased houses together, annexed in a quarter near the Groningen port and developed workplaces to run factories (Fig. 12.12). The urban nexus built as a result of these connections was in part arbitrary. Nevertheless, they certainly helped Bolsward to form its own urban network, apart from the nearby city of Sneek or the provincial capital Leeuwarden. The family’s tactic was to develop their industrial complex within Bolsward, connecting with their resources developed in the outskirts of the city. Their capital was not enough to purchase a large parcel to build factories anew. Thus, they purchased residential places with work annexes

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Fig. 12.12 Gilles and Klaas Mesdag’s family ‘Industrial Cluster’ in Groningen (Source HIS-GIS and Vermoolen [1998]. Elaborated into a map by Takahashi [Sugiura & Takahashi, 2014])

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that had access to waterways and gradually transformed them into industrial workplaces. These operations were essential in maintaining the small cities. The family members’ occupations recorded in the registers, such as wine merchants, bakers, tanners, pottery makers or farmers, were nominal. Their operations could not be clarified without understanding the complex industrial and commercial networks they had built upon over generations. The Mesdags over generations were the users of the urban transport and logistics networks to their full extent. At the same time, they were the true facilitators for maintaining the polycentric small city networks.

Conclusion The analysis of transport and logistics networks is vital in the understanding the function and operation of individual cities as well as their urban networks, because those networks were crucial in their maintenance. Their polycentric structure as well could only be explained by understanding their transport and logistics networks. However, the multi-faceted operations of small city transport networks have been often overshadowed by researches and models too focused on the centrality of the network, or on the comparison with larger city networks. This chapter unravelled the limitations of existing transport models in urban history studies by focusing on the province of Friesland in the Early Modern Netherlands. As conclusion, the chapter emphasizes the following points. First, the need has emerged for water environment to be included more carefully in transport models. Transport models in urban history assume cities as the initiator of the transport networks, and transport models in urban history in turn have strengthened this view, However, the case of Friesland reveals in particular that waterways existed way before the establishment of cities. Therefore, cities were not necessarily at the origin of the transport network. We saw cases in which newly-risen water environments, such as the formation of a new lake or the opening/closing of the routes towards the sea, drastically determined the formation of transport network. Interactions with the pre-existing and newly risen water environments also decided what the new canal excavation was meant for. In looking at the transport development maps, we tend to equalise the new excavation of a canal to a new major expansive addition of routes to hitherto unreached directions, but this was not necessarily the case. The excavation of a new canal, albeit being costly investment, could also mean a simple addition of intermodal transportation means such as passenger transportation, or a supplement of natural waterway routes.

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Second, this chapter demonstrated how small cities could develop their transport networks apart, based upon different conditions they have towards waterways as well as upon the positioning they have in the urban network. The generalized notion in the urban transport history that cities commonly entered the race to become the principal and central hub of the province, is only one aspect of transport network formation. The chapter showed that Bolsward and Sneek, two cities no more than 10 km apart, have developed unique networks. Maintenance of these individual networks certainly was the backbone of sustaining polycentricity of South-Western part of the Friesland. Emphasis on city’s individual development does not mean to lessen the existence and influence of interurban interactions. Rather, it asks for a more delicate understanding of the interurban interactions in the formation process of transport network. These two factors call for a more micro-focused as well as interdisciplinary multi-layered analysis in investigating transport network creation. It is therefore not only necessary to better understand the environmental and infrastructural implications of the natural waterways, but we need also to analyse in detail the local and interlocal decision-making process. Lastly, as third, the chapter emphasised the importance of user-analysis in transport network creation. Average urban inhabitants are usually assumed to have been using transport networks as passengers or senders and receivers of goods and money. Urban inhabitants are generally not seen as the facilitator or creator of transport networks, as even the wealthier part of the citizens would not have been able to own capital enough to direct the formation of transport network. Indeed, the ownership of urban real estates of the small cities in Friesland was never concentrated in one or a few families, but scattered among many. In particular during the eighteenth century, when the size of the city did not grow but remained the same, city entrepreneurs could not easily purchase large pieces of land inside the city to build industrial clusters. Nevertheless, we saw through the experience of five generations in the Mesdag family that the family was constantly conscious of the utilisation of the city canal and how they could use and cultivate the canal’s multi-directional connections. Their operations are at the heart of how small cities could maintain themselves and keep the province polycentric. Acknowledgements This chapter owes much to the project ‘Urban & Territorial History: Friesland (2009–2019) of Ito-lab, Spatial History: Architecture-CityTerritory, led by Professor Takeshi Ito at the Faculty of Engineering, the University of Tokyo (currently Professor at Aoyama Gakuin University, Tokyo). I express my

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sincerest gratitude to Professor Ito and all the members of his team. In particular, I would like to thank Dr. Genki Takahashi and Dr. Satoshi Miyawaki for their insights and support in collaborating in research together and in making figures and maps.

References Breuker, P. (2017). Het Landschap va de Friese Klei 800–1800. Leeuwarden, The Netherlands: Wijdemeer. de Vries, J. (1974). The Dutch rural economy in the golden age, 1500–1700. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. de Vries, J. (1981). Barges and capitalism: Passenger transportation in the Dutch economy. Utrecht: HES Publishers. Faber, J. A. (1972). Drie Eeuwen Friesland: Economische en sociale ontwikkelingen van 1500 tot 1800 (2 vols.). Wageningen, The Netherlands: A.A.G. Bijdragen. Mesdag, G. P. (1946). Het geslacht Mesdag. Arnhem, The Netherlands. Nijboer, H. (1995). Leeuwarden tussen middeleeuwen en moderne tijd. Verkeersnetwerken, stedelijke systemen en economische ontwikkeling. Leeuwarder Historische Reeks, 5, 39–189. Nijboer, H. (2010). Gateway voor het Noorden of Haven in de Zuiderzeeregio? Over de positie van Harlingen in het Nederlandse stedensysteem in de zeventiende en achttiendeeeuw. In G. Collenteur & P. Kooji (Eds.), Stad en Regio: Opstellen aangeboden aan prof. dr. Pim Kooij bij zijn afscheid als hoogleraar economische en sociale geschiedenis aan de Rijksuniversiteit Groningen (pp. 313–322). Assen, The Netherlands: Koninklijke Van Gorcum. Noordhoff Atlasproducties. (2009). De BosAtlas van Fryslan. Groningen, The Netherlands: Noordhoff Alasproducties. Schoor, M. (Ed.). (2011). Sneek: Van veenterp tot waterpoortstad. Leeuwarden, The Netherlands: Stichting Algemiene Fryske Underrjoch. Sugiura, M. (2019, forthcoming). Friesland in urban history studies. In Ito & Ito-Lab (Eds.), Friesland. Architecture, Cities and Territorio of Low Countries (Friesland. Oranda Teichichih¯ o no Kenchiku, Toshi, Ry¯ oiki). Tokyo, Japan: Ch¯ uo¯ k¯ oronbijutsuhy¯ oronsha. Sugiura, M. & Takahashi, G. (2014, April). Maintaining polycentric cities: Real estate strategy of mennonite families mesdag-cnoop in Bolsward, Friesland. Unpublished Paper presented at the European Social Science History Conference, Vienna. Trompetter, C. (2007). Eén grote familie: Doopsgezinde elites in de Friese Zuidwesthoek 1600–1850. Hilversum, The Netherlands: Verloren. Vermoolen, J. P. K. (1998). Genealogie en Geschiedenisvan het Geslacht Mesdag. Zutphen, The Netherlands: Walburg Pers.

Index

A Anglo-Gascon union, 53, 65, 67 armour, 147

B banker, 149 border, 8, 14, 24, 38, 77, 124, 145–148, 150, 165, 174–176, 180, 186, 236 bottleneck, 9, 11, 174, 179, 232 Bourbon, 102 broker/intermediary/middlemen, 4, 7, 10, 76, 198, 200–205 bypass/bypassing, 10, 11, 46, 88

C cabotage, 104–108, 111, 115, 118 canal, 6, 17, 25, 39, 76, 82, 87, 88, 90, 93, 94, 126, 127, 130, 148, 163, 165, 213, 218, 227, 231–240, 243, 244, 246, 247

Cavour, Camillo Paolo Filippo Giulio Benso, (1810–1861), 170 centrality values, 78, 79, 83–87, 89, 90, 92, 94–96 centralization, 3, 10, 25, 45, 104, 229 central place, 4–6, 13, 72, 77, 174, 187, 229 Charles V (Holy Roman Emperor, 1550–1558), 102 Charles VI (Holy Roman Emperor, 1685–1740), 91, 94 cheese, 149, 155, 157 cloth/fabrics/textile, 29, 32, 38–41, 62, 129, 146, 147, 149, 150, 155, 157, 168, 177, 178, 194–198, 204 coastal shipping, 82, 87 Collateral Councils, 88, 91 commodity chain, 7, 220. See also supply chain consumption, 58, 65, 103, 108, 114, 124, 164 Continental System, 37

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive licence to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2019 G. Favero et al. (eds.), The Urban Logistic Network, Palgrave Studies in Economic History, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-27599-0

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250

INDEX

contingent/contingency, 17, 19 corridor, 13, 14, 32, 90, 104, 105, 108, 109, 111–115, 175, 177, 187, 188 cotton, 127–129, 146, 157, 177 customs/tariffs/duties, 29, 31, 58, 63, 69, 70, 94, 102, 106, 130, 147, 149, 150, 155, 157, 176, 177, 180, 186, 202, 210, 215, 217

D dendritic, 12–14 distribution center, 108. See also wholesale center

E economic geography, 5, 6, 174 emporium, 53, 146, 155, 157 energy, 164, 178, 179, 218–220 engineering, 40, 247 entrepreneur, 17, 105, 130, 238, 239, 247

F flax/flaxseed, 17, 128, 129, 193–196, 198–202, 204, 210 foreland, 8, 32, 43, 46, 65, 76, 86, 94, 96, 113, 193 freight, 182, 198, 203, 215 French Revolution, 37, 70, 76, 198

G gateway, 2, 5, 7–11, 13, 14, 17, 24, 25, 28, 31–34, 36, 38–46, 53–55, 65, 85, 91, 93, 94, 96, 108, 109, 114, 115, 124, 146, 157, 161, 164, 169, 170, 173–175, 179–181, 183, 186, 187, 193, 202, 204, 219, 237

glass, 127, 129 H Hansa/Hanseatic, 17, 29, 198, 199, 202–204 Hapsburg, 165, 168, 169, 176, 177 Harrach, Friedrich-August von (1696–1749), 91, 94 herring, 36, 37, 45 hierarchy, 3, 11, 114, 178, 179, 188, 227 hinterland piracy/port piracy, 5, 25, 111, 112 hinterland(s), 3–5, 8, 11, 13, 18, 24, 25, 29, 31, 32, 36, 39, 40, 42, 43, 45, 46, 54, 55, 65, 71, 72, 86, 94, 103, 105, 108, 109, 111, 112, 114, 146, 150, 155, 163, 169, 175, 176, 179–181, 193, 229 homeport, 109, 113–115 hub, 11, 63, 85, 89, 91, 92, 164, 169, 174, 180, 226, 235, 238, 247 I industrialization, 38, 43 Industrial Revolution, 10, 19, 178 industry, 36, 38, 40, 41, 43, 104, 106, 115, 127–129, 134, 136, 137, 167, 194, 195, 198, 199, 204, 210, 216, 236 intermodal/intermodality, 9, 11, 105, 113–115, 174, 179, 187, 231, 232, 246 international trade/import/export, 3, 4, 24, 28, 30, 32, 36, 37, 39–41, 46, 53, 54, 63, 85, 88, 93, 103, 105, 111, 112, 124, 127, 128, 130, 148, 149, 155, 157, 168, 176, 177, 181–183, 187, 193–198, 201, 204, 213, 216, 217, 219, 237, 244

INDEX

interurban, 104, 108, 109, 111, 112, 115, 226, 228, 229, 238, 244 iron, 17, 24, 28, 32, 37, 40, 44, 46, 83, 111, 146, 147, 168, 182, 200, 209–215, 217, 219 iso-centrality values, 79, 85, 89, 90, 92, 95, 96

J Joseph II (Holy Roman Emperor, 1741–1790), 94, 157 junctions, 9, 80, 89, 133, 134, 136, 163, 174, 179–181, 183, 187, 188

L labour/workforce, 41, 60, 133, 147, 163, 164, 176, 178, 186, 187, 211, 212, 218, 219 land routes, 65, 76, 170, 180 leather/hides, 32, 111, 164, 177, 240 linen, 127–129, 146, 147, 155, 157, 194, 195, 204 link, 4, 6, 7, 25, 45, 77, 80–85, 87, 103, 112, 115, 124, 126, 133, 134, 137, 162, 163, 165, 169 logistics, 2, 6–12, 16–19, 187, 188, 211, 218, 219, 226, 232, 246

M marginalization, 118 maritime center, 114 maritimity, 103, 113, 115 market/marketplace, 3, 4, 11, 17, 24, 28, 30, 36, 37, 40, 41, 44, 53, 55, 58, 60–62, 65, 69, 70, 72, 103, 104, 106, 108, 109, 114, 125, 127–131, 137, 147, 150, 155, 163, 164, 167–169, 176, 177,

251

188, 194, 195, 198–201, 203, 204, 215, 219, 228, 229, 235, 236, 239 matrix analysis, 78–80, 82 mega-city, 2, 3, 10, 11 merchant, 7, 16, 17, 28, 29, 34, 36, 40, 61, 62, 65, 72, 93, 103, 105–109, 112, 149, 167, 193, 198–205, 212, 214–217, 239, 244, 246 metal, 127, 147 micro-history, 16, 125 mine/mining, 111, 114, 115, 146 model (theoretical), 6, 18, 25, 101, 113 monopoly, 36, 53, 65, 69, 104, 198 N Napoleon, Bonaparte, (1769– 1821)/Napoleonic, 37, 45, 147, 170, 175, 176, 180 node, 4–7, 9–13, 16–18, 41, 76, 80–85, 104, 105, 112–115, 137, 188, 218, 226, 227, 232, 237 O Ottoman War, 92 P passenger, 16, 42, 102, 109, 111, 127, 130, 133, 134, 186, 227, 228, 238, 246, 247 periphery/peripheral, 8, 76, 79, 87, 123–127, 131, 137, 187 policy, 59, 67, 76, 79, 80, 89, 91, 149, 175, 179 Polish succession, 91 polycentric/polycentricity, 6, 12–14, 17, 125, 179, 186, 187, 225–227, 229, 232, 233, 235, 238, 246, 247

252

INDEX

population, 3, 30, 34, 36–38, 91, 102, 108, 109, 126–128, 130, 146, 166, 169, 174, 176, 183, 186, 236 port/port cities, 4, 7, 8, 11, 17, 25, 30, 37, 40–46, 53, 54, 58, 65, 67, 94, 101–105, 107–109, 111–115, 174–177, 179, 180, 182, 183, 187, 188, 193, 196, 198, 199, 202–204, 212, 213, 215, 216, 218, 236, 244 possibilism, 17 poverty, 128, 136 protectionism, 54, 59, 62, 63, 69–71, 149, 176, 186

Q quay, 112, 129, 211, 244

R railway, 6, 10, 11, 14, 25, 28, 39–42, 45, 78, 115, 123–126, 130, 131, 133, 134, 136–138, 162, 169, 170, 176, 178, 179, 181–183, 186, 187 rearland, 8, 55, 76, 91, 92 relais , 9 road, 6, 28, 41, 42, 46, 75, 76, 78, 79, 81–85, 87, 89–92, 94, 96, 104, 105, 108, 127, 147, 148, 157, 165, 166, 170, 176, 180, 181, 218 Rothschild, 169, 170 rural, 18, 44, 57, 60, 62, 103–105, 112, 146, 150, 164, 175, 178, 179, 186, 201, 202, 227, 228

S sailor, 106 salt, 28, 32, 36, 106, 107, 127, 129

scari, 104, 105, 114, 115 seaport, 4, 7, 8, 25, 39, 86, 91, 93, 94, 181 shipmasters, 102, 106, 113, 215, 216, 218 shipowners, 106, 109, 198, 215 shipyards, 37, 40, 41, 109 silk, 129, 146–150, 155, 157, 164, 167, 176, 177 small cities, 13, 33, 125, 225–227, 232, 233, 235, 238, 239, 246, 247 Sound, The, 43, 196, 198, 202, 209, 217 staple market, 5 station, 42, 85, 124, 125, 134, 138, 179, 182, 186, 215 steamship, 109–111, 115, 215 sugar, 37, 38 sulfur, 104, 105, 111, 112, 114, 115 supply chain, 7, 215, 218–220 Swedish East India Company, 36

T tax, 30, 54, 59, 105, 108, 177, 239 terminus/terminal, 9, 13, 14, 96, 181, 183, 188 tobacco, 111, 244 trade networks, 109, 123, 126, 127, 218 transatlantic, 123 transhipment/transshipment, 9, 80, 87, 90, 94 transit policy, 76, 77, 80, 94, 97 transit trade/transiting trade, 147, 157, 177, 181 transport cost/transportation cost, 45, 174

INDEX

U urban center, 25, 33, 102, 104, 105, 113–115 urban network, 2–8, 11–14, 16–18, 76–81, 85–88, 90–97, 103, 105, 123, 125, 138, 164, 166, 175, 204, 225–227, 244, 246, 247

V Voltaire (François-Marie Arouet, 1694–1778), 76

253

W War of Austrian Succession, 92, 94 water-power, 178 waterway, 23, 24, 39, 76, 78, 82, 83, 85, 86, 89, 94, 96, 165, 180, 182, 225, 226, 231–239, 243, 246, 247 wholesale center, 108, 114 wine, 14, 53–55, 57–63, 65, 67–73, 105, 109, 149, 155, 176, 177, 198, 244, 246 wool, 129, 146, 148, 155, 177, 178