The year is Mich. 1200–Mich. 1201; but the authority is not first-rate. Standing alone as it does, the passage has been much discussed. The latest exposition is that of Dr. Sharpe, Records Clerk to the City Corporation:

Mr. Loftie, however, had pointed out several years before that this view was erroneous:

To any one, indeed, who realizes what the Aldermen were it should be obvious that the passage in question could not possibly apply to them. In his larger work, Mr. Loftie held that these councillors eventually became “identified with the aldermen,” but he brought out the very important point that their number could not be that of the wards.

As, then, they were not representatives of the wards their character is left obscure. But when we turn to the foreign evidence, the nature of the twenty-four becomes manifest at once; and we find in it conclusive proof that the Commune of London derived its origin from that of Rouen. M. Giry’s able treatise on the “Établissements de Rouen” shows us the “Vingt Quatre” forming the administrative body, annually elected, which acted as the Mayor’s Council. And the oath they had to take on their election, as described in the ‘Établissements,’ bears, it will be seen, a marked resemblance to that of the “xxiiij^or” in London.

The three salient features in common are (1) the oath to administer justice fairly, (2) the special provisions against bribery, (3) the expulsion of any member of the body convicted of receiving a bribe.

If we had only “the oath of the Commune,” we might have remained in doubt as to the nature of the administrative body; but we can now assert, on continental analogy, that its twenty-four members comprised twelve “skevini” and an equal number of councillors. We can also assert that it administered justice, even though this has been unsuspected, and may, indeed, at first arouse question.

It will, naturally, now be asked: What became of these “twenty-four,” who formed the Mayor’s council in the days of John? Mr. Loftie, we have seen, held that they became “identified with the Aldermen”; my own view is that, on the contrary, they were the germ of the Common Council. The vital distinction to be kept in mind is that the Alderman was essentially the officer in charge of a ward, while the Common Council, as one body, represented the City as a whole. In questions of this kind little reliance can be placed on late commentators; but the formulæ of oaths are usually ancient, and often enshrine information on the duties of an office in the past. Now the oath of a member of the Common Council contains significant clauses:

It is not only that this is essentially the oath of one whose function it is to be a councillor: the striking point is that it contains three provisions in common with those which bound, at Rouen, the “Vingtquatre.” The councillor was (1) not to be influenced by private favour; (2) not to leave the Council without the Mayor’s permission;[500] (3) to keep secret its proceedings.[501] I do not say, of course, that there is verbal concordance; but when we turn to the oath of the Alderman, we see at once how much less resemblance his duties have to those of the “Twenty-four.”[502] It presents him as primarily the head of a Ward, responsible for certain matters within the compass of that Ward. He has to take part with the Mayor in assize, pleas, and hustings;[503] but his functions as councillor obtain only a brief mention in his oath (“et que boun et loial conseil durrez a ley choses touchantz le comune profit en mesme la citee”).

If any doubt is felt on the subject, it should be removed by turning to the case of Winchester. There, as in London, according to the ancient custumal of the city, we find the Mayor closely associated with a council of “Twenty-four,” which, in that case, continued to exist down to 1835:

It is clear, to me, that “the Twenty-Four” were no more elected by the Wards (as is persistently believed) in London than at Winchester, but by the city as a whole, though we must not define the Franchise. The Winchester Aldermen, on the contrary, were distinctly district officers, as in London, “whose functions related chiefly, but not wholly, to the police and preservation of order, health, and cleanliness within their several limits.”[505] Moreover, they retained at Winchester, down to a late period, their distinct character and existence. According to Dean Kitchin:

The general powers for the whole town possessed by the Mayor and his council were quite distinct from the local powers of each Alderman in his district. For my part, I cannot resist the impression that, while the sheriff, bailiff, or reeve represented the power of the Crown, and the Alderman the old local officer, the council of twenty-four, so closely associated with the Mayor, and not the representatives of districts, were a later introduction, of different character, and representing the commercial as against the territorial element. Whether the Aldermen joined the council in later days or not, they were never, I believe, originally or essentially, a part of that body.

The chief objection, probably, to connecting the “commune” of London with the “Établissements de Rouen” will be found in the fact that the latter refer to a system based on a body of a hundred pares, of which body there does not seem to be any trace in England. At Winchester the pares were “the twenty-four.” It is obvious that, in this respect, there is a marked discrepancy; but if the electoral body was different, the executive, at any rate, was the same. And if, as must be admitted, there was a foreign element introduced, it would be naturally from Normandy that it came.[507]

Writing in 1893, before I had discovered the documents on which I have dwelt above, I insisted on the foreign origin of the London “commune,” and pointed out that the close association between London and Rouen at the time suggested that the office of Mayor was derived by the former from the latter.[508] It may be permissible to repeat this argument from presumption, although its form was adapted to a wider circle than that of scholars.

The beffroi of France, to which the jurat looked as the symbol and pledge of independence, is found here also in the bell-tower of St. Paul’s, which is styled in documents either by that name (berefridum), or by that of campanile, which brings before us at once the storm-tost commonwealths of Italy. It was indeed from Italy that the fire of freedom spread. With the rise of mediæval commerce it was carried from the Alps to the Rhine, and quickly burst into flame among the traders and craftsmen of Flanders. Passing into Picardy, it crossed the Channel, according to a theory I have myself advanced, to reappear in the liberties of the Cinque Ports, with their French name, their French “serements” and their French jurats.[509] Foreign merchants had brought it with them to the port of Exeter also, almost as early as the Conquest, and we cannot doubt that London as well was already infected with the movement, and eager to find in the foreign “commune” the means of attaining that administrative autonomy and political independence which that term virtually expressed.

Hostile though our kings might be to the communal movement here, they favoured it for purposes of their own in their Norman dominions. This is a factor in the problem that we cannot afford to overlook, considering the peculiar relation in which Normandy stood to England. As M. Langlois has observed:

Was it not then from Normandy that London would derive her commune? And if from Normandy, surely from Rouen. We are apt to forget the close connections between the two capitals of our Anglo-Norman kings, London on the Thames, and Rouen on the Seine. A student of the period has written of these:

It is known from the ‘Instituta Londoniæ’ that, so far back as the days of Æthelred, the men of Rouen had traded to London, bringing in their ships the wines of France, as well as that mysterious “craspice,” which it is the fashion to render “sturgeon,” although there is reason to believe that the term denoted the porpoise and even the whale. The charter of Henry, duke of the Normans, to the citizens of Rouen (1150–1), brings out a fact unknown to English historians, by confirming to them their port at Dowgate, as they had held it from the days of Edward the Confessor. And the same charter, by securing them their right to visit all the markets in England, carries back that privilege, I believe, to the days at least of Henry I.; for, although the fact had escaped notice both in France and England, it could neither have originated with Count Geoffrey nor with Duke Henry his son.

Nor does the interest of this Rouen charter stop here. Among the sureties for the young Duke’s fidelity to his word we find Richer de Laigle, the youthful friend of Becket, “a constant visitor,” as Miss Norgate, writes, “and intimate friend of the little household in Cheapside.” And does not the name of Becket remind us how “Thomas of London, the burgher’s son,” afterwards “Archbishop, saint and martyr,” had for his father a magnate of London, but one who was by birth a citizen of Rouen? Therefore, the same writer is probably justified in maintaining that “the influence of these Norman burghers was dominant in the city.” They seem, she adds, “to have won their predominance by fair means, fairly. They brought a great deal more than mere wealth; they brought enterprise, vigour, refinement, culture, as well as political progress.”[511]

Now it is my contention that political progress was represented with them by the communal idea. Their interests, moreover, would be wholly commercial, and, therefore, opposed to those of the native territorial element. If we turn to Rouen, we find its Mayor occurring fifteen years at least before the Mayor of London, and styled Mayor of the “Commune” of Rouen—“Major de Communia.” For Rouen was a stronghold of the “Commune.” It is of importance, therefore, for our purpose to ascertain at what period the communal organization originated at Rouen. In spite of the close attention, from the days of Chéruel downwards, that the subject has attracted in France, the conclusions attained cannot be deemed altogether satisfactory.

The monograph devoted by M. Giry to the “Établissements de Rouen,”[512] represents the fine fleur of French historical scholarship, and its conclusions, therefore, deserve no ordinary consideration. But on one point of the utmost importance, namely, the date at which these “Établissements” were compiled, I venture to hold an independent view. The initial difficulty is thus stated by the brilliant French scholar:

The first allusion to the jurisdiction exercised by the Commune of Rouen is found, says M. Giry, in the charter granted it by Henry II. shortly after its gallant defence against the French king. He then proceeds:

A footnote is appended, giving “l’indication de quelques-unes des chartes, malheureusement sans dates, sur lesquelles s’appuie cette démonstration”:

The expert will perceive that these two charters “demonstrate,” not a date “entre 1173 et 1189,” but between 1177 and 1181. For if Bartholomew’s rule as mayor began in 1177, the first cannot be of earlier date; and if Ralf ceased to be chancellor in 1181,[513] its mention of a “commune” cannot be of later date than that year. As a matter of fact, my own study of the Rouen cathedral charters (from which this evidence is taken) has convinced me that Bartholomew was mayor earlier than 1177; but I am, for the moment, only concerned with M. Giry’s dates. Returning to the point later on, when discussing the claim of priority for La Rochelle, he writes:

No reference is given for the date “1183,” but it must be derived from the “demonstration” on p. 29 (footnote), where a charter is mentioned which speaks of the “Communio Rothomagi” in the time of archbishop Hugh, “1129–1183.” But now comes the startling fact. It was not Hugh who died in 1183, but his successor, Rotrou! Hugh himself had died so early as 1164. Therefore, if this charter can be trusted, it proves that the “communio” was in existence, and (as M. Giry holds), the “Établissements” with it, at least as early as 1164. But the fact is that, as M. Giry had himself observed, when speaking, just before, of duke Henry’s charter, “la communio Rothomagi (art. 7) ne désigne que la communauté des citoyens” (p. 26); it does not prove the existence of a commune, and, of course, still less of the “Établissements.”

But I would urge that not even the mention of a true commune (“communia”) in a charter proves the adoption of the “Établissements” at the time. For Henry’s grant of a “communia” to La Rochelle was made, according to M. Giry, between 1169 and 1178;[514] and yet, as we have seen, he does not deem the adoption of the “Établissements” at La Rochelle proved before 1199. In that year Queen Eleanor granted to Saintes “ut communiam suam teneant secundum formam et modum communie de Rochella.” Even this, I venture to think, is not actual proof that the “Établissements de Rouen” had already been adopted at La Rochelle, though it certainly affords some presumption in favour of that view.

It is only when we turn from this external evidence to the text of the “Établissements” themselves, that we discover, in two passages, a direct clue. In these an exception is made in the words: “nisi dominus rex vel filius ejus adsint Rothomagi vel assisia” (ii. 24, 28). On these M. Giry writes:

Here, then, we have yet another limit—the last (twenty) years of Henry II. No reference, however, is given for the date “1169” (unless it applies to La Rochelle—and even then it is wrong).[515] But my point is that between the years “1169” (or “1177”) and “1183” the king’s son here mentioned was, obviously, not Richard, but Henry, styled king of the English and duke of the Normans, from his coronation in 1170 to his death in 1183. And, even after Henry’s death, Richard was never duke of the Normans in his father’s lifetime. My own conclusion, therefore, is that these parts, at least of the “Établissements,” and probably the whole of them, were composed before the death of the young king in 1183, and probably after his coronation, and admission to a share of his father’s power, in 1170. Thus they may well have been connected with Henry’s charter to Rouen granted in 1174–1175.

These considerations may have led us somewhat far afield; but if I am right in deriving from the Norman capital of our kings the 12th century “Commune of London,” the origins of the Rouen “Commune” deserve our careful study. The same MS. which yielded the leading document in this paper contains two others, of which something must be said. But before doing so we will glance at one of different origin, which, in more ways than one, we may associate with the ‘Commune.’

The charter which follows is chiefly introduced for the interesting phrase found in it: “the greater barons of the city.” So far as I know, this phrase is unique; and apart from its importance for London itself, it has a direct bearing on that famous constitutional problem: who were the “barones majores”? In the present case, the phrase, surely, has no specialized meaning. It is probably a coincidence, and nothing more, that “majores” and “minores,” at St. Quentin, had a defined meaning. In M. Giry’s treatise on its commune we read as follows:

And again:

The original of this charter is preserved at the Public Record Office.[516] It is assigned in the official calendar to 1189–1196, but this date can be greatly narrowed. For while it is subsequent to William’s consecration (31st Dec., 1189), it must be previous to his obtaining the legation in June, 1190, for Bishop Hugh was his open foe before he lost it, and could not act with him after that.

We have here a remarkable group of men—Longchamp himself, whose fall, in 1191, was so closely connected with the birth of the commune, but who is here seen, in the hour of his pride, speaking of “our brother,” “our seneschal,” “our chamberlain,” “our chaplain,” “our almoner,” and “our clerks”; Bishop Hugh, who was next year to take the lead in expelling him from the Tower, as yet his stronghold; Henry of Cornhill and Richard Fitz Reiner, who had ceased but a few months before to be sheriffs of London, and who were to play so prominent a part at the crisis of 1191; lastly, Henry Fitz Ailwin himself, who, as the ultimate result of that crisis, was destined to become the first Mayor of the Commune of London.

The grantee himself also was a well-known citizen of London. In conjunction with Henry Fitz Ailwin (as Mayor) and other City magnates, he witnessed a gift of property in the City to St. Mary’s, Clerkenwell;[518] and he seems to have been the Geoffrey Blund who had, by his wife Ida de Humfraville, a son Thomas, who founded a chantry in St. Paul’s for his uncle Richard de Humfraville, and his father Geoffrey.

For the London topographer also this charter has an interest, as land in St. Lawrence Jewry, and St. Mary Aldermanbury, must have closely adjoined the site of the Guildhall itself. The sum named is a large one for the time.

I now pass to the two documents of which mention has been made above. The first of these[519] is of interest for its bearing on the “ward” system. At Rouen the “excubia” was in charge of the mayor;[520] in London, according to this document, he had not supplanted the sheriffs, by whom it must have been controlled before his appearance. This I attribute to its close connexion with the pre-existing system of “wards,” each, I take it, a unit for purposes of defence and ward, under its own alderman, with the sheriffs at the head of the whole system.

The latter portion, it will be observed, describes the custody of the city charters, and is of special value as fixing the date to that of the mayoralty of Roger, who held the office in 1213.

The regulations for the watch are decisive, surely, of the functions originally discharged by the “scavengers” of London. They were inspectors of the watch. In his introduction to the ‘Liber Albus’(1859) Mr. Riley held that—

Professor Skeat adopts this view in his etymological Dictionary, and develops it at some length, holding that “the n before g is intrusive” as in some other cases, “and scavenger stands for scavager.” He consequently connects the word with our “shew,” through “scavage.” But no evidence whatever is adduced by Mr. Riley for his assertion that the “Scavagers” originally performed the above duty or had anything to do with it.

The last of these London records with which I have here to deal is the so-called “Hidagium” of Middlesex.[524] The explanation of its thus appearing among documents relating to the administration of London is that when London and Middlesex were jointly “farmed” by the citizens, the sheriffs answered jointly for the ‘Danegeld’ of Middlesex and the corresponding donum or auxilium of London. Here therefore we find these two levies side by side as on the Pipe Rolls. But though the latter was levied from the city when Danegeld was levied from the shire, it was in no way connected with hidation, but consisted of arbitrary sums payable by the principal towns. Prof. Maitland, therefore, is mistaken when, in his great work, ‘Domesday Book and Beyond,’ he makes a solitary reference to our MS., as implying that London “seems to have gelded for 1,200 hides” (p. 409). He has here confused the assessed hidage of boroughs with the arbitrary donum or auxilium. This is shown by comparing the latter, as given by himself (p. 175), with the ascertained hidage of towns and the payments its sum would involve.

But the special interest of the entry, “c et xx libr.” (£120) lies in the fact that this amount, which was the sum paid in 1130 and 1156, was obsolete after that time, much larger sums being thenceforth exacted from London. It is, of course, just possible that the obsolete figure was retained, as a protest, on this list; but it is far more probable that what we have here is a copy temp. John of an earlier document, perhaps not later than the middle of the 12th century.[525]

This list obviously requires to be edited by a local worker, who should collate it with Domesday. In its present form it is clearly corrupt. The amount of Danegeld due from the county implies an assessment of 850¼ hides (at two shillings on the hide), but the actual total is here given as 853½. This again does not tally with the “summa hundredorum,” which only records 809½,[530] while the detailed list of hundreds, it seems, gives no more than 725½. It should be observed that the hundred of “Mimms” is the Domesday hundred of Edmonton, while that of ‘Isleworth,’ similarly, is the Domesday hundred of Hounslow, which contained Isleworth and Hampton.