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Law, Art and the Commons

The concept of the cultural commons has become increasingly important

for legal studies. Within this field, however, it is a contested concept: a
sphere for creativity, democratic access and freedom of speech, but one
that denies property rights and misappropriates the public domain. In this
book, Merima Bruncevic takes up the cultural commons not merely as an
abstract notion, but in its connection to physical spaces such as museums
and libraries. A legal cultural commons can, she argues, be envisioned as a
lawscape that can quite literally be entered and engaged with. Focusing
largely on art in the context of the copyright regime, but also addressing a
number of cultural heritage issues, the book draws on the work of Deleuze
and Guattari in order to examine the realm of the commons as a potential
space for overcoming the dichotomy between the owner and the consumer
of culture. Challenging this dichotomy, it is the productive and creative
potential of law itself that is elicited through the book’s approach to the
commons as the empirical basis for a new legal framework, which is able to
accommodate a multitude of interests and values.

Merima Bruncevic is Senior Lecturer and Research Fellow based in the

Department of Law, Gothenburg University.
Space, Materiality and the Normative
Series Editors: Andreas Philippopoulos-Mihalopoulos and Christian Borch

Space, Materiality and the Normative presents new ways of thinking about the
connections between space and materiality from a normative perspective.
At the interface of law, social theory, politics, architecture, geography and
urban studies, the series is concerned with addressing the use, regulation
and experience of space and materiality, broadly understood, and in
particular with exploring their links and the challenges they raise for law,
politics and normativity.

Books in this series:

Spaces of Justice
Peripheries, Passages, Appropriations
Chris Butler and Edward Mussawir

Spacing Law and Politics

The Constitution and Representation of the Juridical
Leif Dahlberg

A Jurisprudence of Movement
Common Law, Walking, Unsettling Place
Olivia Barr

Animals, Biopolitics, Law

Lively Legalities
Irus Braverman

Spatial Justice
Body, Lawscape, Atmosphere
Andreas Philippopoulos-Mihalopoulos

Urban Commons
Rethinking the City
Christian Borch and Martin Kornberger

www.routledge.com/Space-Materiality-and-the-Normative/book-series/SMNORM
Law, Art and the Commons

Merima Bruncevic
First published 2018
by Routledge
2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN
and by Routledge
711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017
a GlassHouse book
Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business
© 2018 Merima Bruncevic
The right of Merima Bruncevic to be identified as author of this work has
been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright,
Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or
utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now
known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any
information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from
the publishers.
Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered
trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent
to infringe.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data
Names: Bruncevic, Merima, author.
Title: Law, art and the commons / Merima Bruncevic.
Description: Space, materiality and the normative. | Abingdon, Oxon ; New York, NY :
Routledge, 2018. | Based on author's thesis (doctoral - Gèoteborgs universitet, 2014)
issued under title: Fixing the shadows : access to art and the legal concept of the cultural
commons. | Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2017023443 | ISBN 9781138697546 (hardback)
Subjects: LCSH: Culture and law. | Law and art. | Intellectual property. | Deleuze, Gilles,
1925-1995--Influence. | Guattari, Fâelix, 1930-1992--Influence.
Classification: LCC K487.C8 B78 2018 | DDC 344/.097--dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017023443
ISBN: 978-1-138-69754-6 (hbk)
ISBN: 978-1-315-52141-1 (ebk)
Typeset in Baskerville
by Fish Books Ltd.
Contents

Acknowledgements vii
Preface viii

Volume I: (Re)Imaginations 1

PART 1
Law 3

1 Enter: from landscape to lawscape 5

1.1 A walk in the commons 5
1.2 Landscape/lawscape 7
1.3 Atmosphere 13

2 Rhizomatic jurisprudence: terra firma and terra incognita 16

2.1 Deleuze and Guattari 16
2.2 Resolving the opposites: … and law 19
2.3 Lawscape: … in law 34

PART 2
Art 49

3 Artwork: from object to hyperobject 51

3.1 Rhizome 1: viscous 54
3.2 Rhizome 2: nonlocal 58
3.3 Rhizome 3: temporal undulation 62
3.4 Rhizome 4: phasing 66
3.5 Rhizome 5: interobjectivity 69
vi Contents

4 Case studies: the contested spaces 74

4.1 Bruno Schulz and lost art 74
4.2 Wikimedia Commons and art in public spaces 88
4.3 Richard Prince and art on Instagram 98

Intermezzo 111

Volume II: (Re)Constructions 117

PART 3
Commons 119

5 Commons: being(s)-in-common 121

5.1 Property 121
5.2 Space 129
5.3 Commons 137

6 Intellectual property law: commons and schizophrenic

capitalism 150
6.1 The global aspect: TRIPS 151
6.2 Schizophrenia: intellectual property v. capitalism 155
6.3 Embodiment: content v. container 163

PART 4
Legal Commons 175

7 Ownership: possessed 177

7.1 The Deleuzian forms of possession 178
7.2 The res issues 183
7.3 Possession and commons 187

8 Exit: atmosphere 206

8.1 Visualising the lawscape: cultural commons as
an e-scape 207
8.2 Cultural commons in times of crisis: an ecology 212
8.3 Not one but several ecologies: on an apocalyptic
note 215

Bibliography 219
Index 229
Acknowledgements

Thank you Colin Perrin, and Routledge, for giving me the opportunity to
write this book the way I envisioned it.
Thank you Andreas Philippopoulos-Mihalopoulos, for seeing that it
could be part of the Space, Materiality and the Normative series, and for all
your work that has been so inspiring not just to me, but to so many of us.
Thank you Fiona Macmillan, for being a wonderful mentor and role
model, and for inviting me to Rome and Roma Tre where most of this book
was written.
Thank you Håkan Gustafsson, for opening up the world of legal philo-
sophy to me, from that very first lecture on Frankfurt School, to your
supervision during my doctoral studies, through to this day, without you, I
would not be here.
Thank you Jannice Käll, for being my friend, colleague and collaborator
that resolutely and always stands next to me.
Thank you Department of Law, Gothenburg University, for being such
an encouraging academic environment.
Thank you students, for keeping me on my toes.
Thank you Gothenburg, Rome, Paris, for the spaces of existence.
Thank you art and culture for being entangled with me and for giving
me reason to breathe.
Thank you friends, for walking with me.
Thank you family and loved ones, for being the stable foundation that
even a nomad needs.
Götaplatsen, Gothenburg
7 April 2017
Preface

Drank the kool-aid?

The summer is withdrawing. We have just arrived in London. We have four
hours here before we need to get to Heathrow to catch our flight that is taking
us back to Gothenburg. We took the high-speed Southeastern train in the
morning from Canterbury West to Charing Cross. The train was late, but inci-
dentally we were on time. We have only four hours and the clock starts – now.

Atmosphere
Change of seasons
Affect
Transportation and movement
Across territories
Time

There are five of us. We have a plan, to go on a London walk, a walk that
begins in Trafalgar Square and ends in front of Birkbeck College. We have
just left the Critical Legal Conference held at Kent University (the year is
2016, it was the conference’s 20th anniversary). Some of the “sights” on our
planned walk include Westminster Law School on Little Titchfield St. and
Birkbeck College (the Mecca of critical legal thinking in Europe as
someone at the CLC had referred to it).

Familiar
Uncanny
Networks

We begin by walking from Charing Cross to Trafalgar Square. From there, I

thought, we will be able to see Nelson’s Column, Big Ben, the Houses of
Parliament and the National Gallery all at once. But what will it mean to see ?1
Besides, we can only stay five minutes if we want to make the full walk.

1 For a general view on law and senses see The Westminster Online Working Papers Non
Liquet: https://nonliquetlaw.wordpress.com/
 Preface ix

So we walk briskly and reach Trafalgar Square rather quickly. When strate-
gically placed we can indeed see all sights, simultaneously. Standing on the
steps in front of the National Gallery we become entangled with the atmo-
sphere of the place, with the London traffic, with the noises of buses, the
excitement of tourists, the concentration of the street performers, the
frustration of Londoners trying to get on with their Sunday plans… It is
intoxicating. To see turns out to mean to enter this open space and to become
entangled with the bodies that are there, to become other, to see means
engaging all our sensorial perceptions at once. We take some photos, we
point to some landmarks, we catch some Pokémons on the go. Then we
leave. Did I mention? We are in a hurry. Three and a half hours left.

Landmarks
Spaces of culture
Museums
Entanglement
Bodies
Digital platforms

We walk up Charing Cross Road, through China Town (where Jannice

quips: “This almost feels like Singapore, with the British and the Asian
blended!”), we cross Shaftsbury Avenue, walk across Soho (we walk past
those gentrified sex shops and commercial massage parlours that are more
boring than they are subversive). As we are walking I am telling whomever
happens to be walking next to me about my own memories from living in
London: “I used to work in this shoe shop when I was a student,” “Curzon
Soho is one of my favourite cinemas in the world.” Three hours left.

Hybrid spaces
Sexuality
Identity
Memory

We reach Carnaby Street, and the discussion inevitably turns to the

Swinging 60s. The era that once defined London still seems to be an
indispensable part of the London brand or perhaps more so of its heritage.
Then we walk to Piccadilly Circus – a circus, but not one in a traditional
sense – a circular view and a focal point of traffic, information, sounds,
smells, people, vehicles and spaces. We walk up Regent Street towards
Oxford Circus. Kristina is not feeling well, it has been a long week, she has
delivered her first conference presentation. The paper she presented was
entitled “The court as the narrator: narrative strategies in the construction
of children as legal subjects”. The presentation was a success, but now, as
with most of us after a significant conference presentation, her energy
x Preface

levels are wearing thin, she is breathless, she needs to sit down, rest,
breathe, eat. Two hours and three quarters.

Heritage
Brands
Lack
Energy
Will to power

We cross Oxford Circus diagonally (they did not believe me that it was
possible!) and walk to my alma mater, the University of Westminster. Of
course we cannot enter the building, because we are not students or staff.
Andreas Philippopoulos-Mihalopoulos, Andrea Pavoni and Danilo Mandic
will be organising a conference here in November, we will be back soon.2
We are hungry. The restaurant on the corner of Little Titchfield St. is full,
no room for us, so we have to keep walking. We find another place some-
where off Goodge Street. Two and a half hours left.
During our lunch we inventory what is left to do: a run through the
British Museum, only to see the Rosetta Stone and the Elgin Marbles. We
do not have time for anything else, but I would have loved to see the
exhibition “Sunken cities, Egypt’s lost worlds”3 because I have been doing
some work on the 2001 UNESCO Convention on the Protection of the
Underwater Cultural Heritage at Roma Tre. Then we plan on going to
Store Street Espresso (best coffee in London?), Waterstones on Gower
Street (best bookshop in London – no question mark), then the School of
Law at Birkbeck and then back to the train station. Can we make it? I doubt
it, I know too many people that have missed their flights like this, underes-
timating the congestion and inertia of the London traffic. We have to get
back to Charing Cross, get our luggage, get to Paddington, take the
Heathrow Express. There may be delays. But we, or they, my friends, decide
to roll the dice, give it a try anyway. I, as they say in memes with cute cats,
“sweatz profusely”. The lunch also took longer than we thought. I tell them
that if we want to do all of this in the time frame that we have left we will
have to walk even quicker – and no complaints. They don’t listen. One
hour 45 minutes.

2 Law and the Senses Conference II, held 17–18 November 2016 at the University of
Westminster.
3 I did return two months later and see the exhibition. While it was impressive in many
ways, the irony of an exhibition on sunken cities being corporately financed by British
Petroleum was impossible to ignore, keeping in mind the Deepwater Horizon oil spill
that the very same company was responsible for a couple of years before the exhibition
itself. Was this meant to appease something? On oil spills as hyperobjects, see Morton,
2013.
 Preface xi

Barred entry
Enclosure
No room
Cultural heritage
Aleatory points
Speed

We cross Tottenham Court Road and half run towards the British Museum.
A group of women cut in before us on the street and we have to slow down.
Erik says: “This is spatial justice for you,” I give him an annoyed look. When
we finally arrive at the courtyard in front of the British Museum we realise
that we are being diverted to a tent on the left-hand side for security
checks. There is a queue there. We look at the clock.
Once through the museum security, we run. We run past that Tennyson
quote: and let thy feet millenniums hence be set in the midst of knowledge.4 Then
we run to Gallery 4 where we find the Rosetta Stone at the very entrance
(Oh I had it all wrong – it was discovered by the French and not the British!
I mutter, half to myself), we run past the Elgin Marbles. My friends all love
the female statues, with the delicate folds in the stone, that still to this day
seem to be fluttering in the Mediterranean summer breeze. I love the male
statute, the one whose head is still preserved, albeit battered. I think about
the bodies, past and present, more or less living,5 at the shores6 and in the
waters7 of the Mediterranean. Somebody remarks on the centaurs – half
men, half animals, so beyond the anthropocentric glance, posthuman. One
hour.

Borders
Spatial justice
Cultural entanglement
Slowness of time
Imperialism/colonialism
Posthuman

When we walk out of the British Museum, we are all a little bit sweaty,
increasingly exhausted, but also inspired, moved, still determined to
manage to visit the sights that are left. David walks next to me and remarks
in passing and a little bit absentmindedly: “I still think the friezes should be
returned to Greece, where they rightfully belong.” “It is not that easy,” I
reply. “There is some form of legal title, a firman, and the British Museum

4 The excerpt from the “Two Voices” poem by Tennyson famously inscribed on the floor
at the entrance of the British Museum.
5 Bennett, 2009.
6 A child’s body, washed up at the shores of Turkey.
7 Drowned people, sunken ships, is that too dark heritage?
xii Preface

is a type of commons, but then the imperial aspect of it…” I run out of
breath.8 We round the British Museum and we find ourselves in front of
Senate House. We stand still for a moment. Somebody once told me that
they say that Hitler wanted this building to be his headquarters, if ever he
took over London. We laugh. “He would choose this building, wouldn’t
he?” Jannice remarks, “It looks Argentinian to me,” David says. Erik takes a
photo. Kristina is adding me on Instagram. Fifty minutes left.

Digital platforms
War machine

Then we go through the gates and enter the courtyard. We stand in front of
Birkbeck School of Law. Suddenly there is a quiet silence that is flowing
between us, somehow binding us together, connecting us to the building in
front of us. None of us says a word. But we all know that something is being
formed right then and there that will stick to us, some call it memory, others
call it hyperobjects. Then we run again. We take the side entrance to Water-
stones. “How much time do we have?” somebody asks. “Five minutes,” I reply
sarcastically. They all laugh again.
The philosophy section is on the third floor of the bookshop. We run up
the stairs. We tear down books by Deleuze, Guattari, Haraway, Husserl,
Nietzsche. We run to the tills. There is a 10p surcharge for the plastic bags.9
Nature. Oil. Plastic. Global warming. We think about the Earth for a second as
we look outside.10 The London air11 is thick as usual. Is our time up?

Environment
Air
Resources

Undulation of time: we have to head back. Still time for a coffee? Maybe. Two
matcha lattes, and three cappuccinos in take away cups later, and we are
running towards Tottenham Court Road tube station. I am in front of the
pack with David, manoeuvring through the bodies in front of us. At this
point David is the only one who is even trying to keep up the pace. We are
still talking, discussing human rights and Nancy’s concepts of singular-
plural12 as we scurry. The others are lagging behind and we keep losing sight
of them. In the end we all gather at the underground station, the subter-
ranean web of transport that will allow us to escape the congestion on the
ground and take us to the airport. On time. If we are lucky.

8 Waxman, 2010; Bring, 2015.

9 Purdy, 2015.
10 Bring, 2015.
11 Hyde, 2012.
12 Nancy, 2000.
 Preface xiii

The Northern Line takes us back to Charing Cross. We collect our

luggage and head back to the underground, to the Bakerloo Line. At
Paddington, the Heathrow Express is on time. We are on time. Terminal 5
looks like a mirage once we get to the arrival hall. We made it.

Taste
Underground
Rhizome
Singular/plural
Flight – lines of flight
Volume I

(Re)Imaginations
Part 1

Law
Chapter 1

Enter
From landscape to lawscape

1.1 A walk in the commons

Much like the title gives away, this book is, simply put, about law, art and
commons. The four hours in London can be the framework for it. It
recounts very much true events, or as true as I remember them now as I am
writing them down, a couple of months after they took place. It occurred
to me that the four hours in London encapsulate what this book tries to
show, that these four hours may perfectly depict what I am trying to discuss
and advance here. Dear reader, this book is a walk, sometimes quicker,
sometimes slower, sometimes full speed ahead, through museums,
cityscapes, cultural landscapes, through subterranean webs, into the world
of law, art and commons. It is a human story as much as it is a story of
something well beyond the human, dare I say posthuman. I do not mean
any of these as metaphors either as you will shortly see. To read this book
means to enter into the cultural commons through the lawscape, to walk in
it, to displace ourselves in it. Literally. Sometimes I walk alone, sometimes
we walk together, at times I am in the more or less reassuring company of
others, as we traverse these spheres. In this book I will be presenting
something that may at times seem like abstract, ephemeral, imaginary
concepts. Sometimes they will seem material, concrete, menacing, real, all
too real. I want you to think about the four hours in London when those
feelings overwhelm you, and know that they are at the same time true as
they are constructed figments of (my? our collective?) imagination. Rest
assured. You are in a safe environment. This is only a drill. A simulation.
To express it more plainly and bluntly. This book explores the possibility
of constructing a legal concept of the cultural commons. In order to do
that law, art and the commons need to be expressly connected. Or better
yet, the connections that are already there, binding the three together,
already entangling them, forming a space, an object, a hyperobject, will be
revealed here. I will attempt to do precisely that by setting in motion the so
called rhizome theory developed by Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari. I will
then fold their theory within the writings of Andreas Philippopoulos-
6 Law

Mihalopoulos on spatial justice, concentrating mainly on the notion of

lawscape.
This book discusses how to advance legal pathways that facilitate access,
ownership, control and production of art through a cultural commons.
The idea of the legal concept of the cultural commons is introduced and towards
the end of the book given a platform in law. In order to arrive there, firstly,
the commons needed to be conceived of in jurisprudence. The book there-
fore begins with a rather traditional legal approach analysing the
impediments that jurisprudence seems to face in conceiving of such a
concept as the cultural commons. Through a theoretical exercise that
opens up the possibility of so called rhizomatic jurisprudence, the first part
of the book, Volume I (Re)Imaginations, studies various perceived legal
obstacles that stand between law and a concept of the commons. Volume I
aims to get at the potential of law in imaging, reimaging, seeing or even
remembering, the commons. The second volume is called (Re)Construct-
ions and it (de and re)constructs the concept of the commons, both how it
has been described in previous research and how it may be taken forward
today. Volume II aims to analyse the potential of a cultural commons
concept and its interaction with law. The overall aim of the book is of
course to arrive at a legal concept of cultural commons in the end.
The book focuses on questions such as what does law do, what could it
do, other than settle conflicts and answer the questions: who the legal owner
of the artwork is or who owns the intellectual property right. Is it at all
possible for law to do something other than that? Can law be a productive,
creative force and envision as well as create the concept of the commons?
In order to answer those questions, I use the theory developed by the
French philosopher Gilles Deleuze (1925-1995) and the French psycho-
analyst Félix Guattari (1930-1992), particularly in dealing with law. I
develop a critique of dogmatic legal reasoning and study particular
obstacles to commons created by e.g. traditional divisions in law, for
instance the private and the public, property and personhood, inside and
outside. This is done by leaning on the philosophy of Gilles Deleuze
(henceforward “Deleuzian”) as well as the philosophy which Deleuze deve-
loped together with Félix Guattari (henceforward “Deleuzeoguattarian”).
Finally, I arrive at a discussion concerning a legal concept of cultural
commons. I do so by way of a rhizomatic legal reasoning that can conceive
of a conception of a cultural commons by means of avoiding, for instance,
common legal dichotomies (open–closed, public–private, right–heritage)
and, hopefully, overcoming them. Therein lie the theoretical and method-
ological commitments of this book.
For a reader of Deleuze, and Deleuze and Guattari, these types of
questions and approaches are obvious when using their theory. Addressing
a similar issue Deleuze once wrote in a letter:
 Enter 7

You either see it as a box with something inside and start looking for
what it signifies, and then if you’re even more perverse and depraved
you set off after signifiers. And you treat the next law as a box con-
tained in the first or containing it. And you annotate and interpret and
question and write a book about the law, and so on and on. Or there’s
another way: you see the law as a little non-signifying machine, and the
only question is ‘Does it work, and how does it work?’ How does it work
for you?… This second way of reading’s intensive: something comes
through or it doesn’t. There is nothing to explain, nothing to
understand, nothing to interpret. It’s like plugging into an electric
circuit… It relates a law directly to what is Outside…1

In that vein, this book seeks not to see law as a “box” but instead it attempts
to get beyond this proverbial box that seems to regard law either as a
cognitive creation or as an ontological metaphor. Within this context, it
does not help to approach law as a set of boxes placed inside one another
not connected to the “outside”. It only leads to a dead-end. What I instead
aim to do is to show that by connecting law to its “outside” rhizomatically,
a lawscape is created, and here the potential for a cultural commons in law
is revealed. The theoretical approach shall be developed in detail in
Chapter 2.

1.2 Landscape/lawscape
However, it is worth pointing out already here that we must refrain from
being too theoretical. A strong connection to the material and empirical is
required. As I now start to discuss the commons I want to discuss it as a
concrete phenomenon, a space, in existence from the beginning. This is
not necessarily how commons studies are usually undertaken.
So, when we refer to the commons, what do we usually mean? Often, “the
commons” seems to refer to the so called “physical” or “natural” commons
– i.e. nature, urban spaces, fields, pastures, fisheries, rivers… Connected to
this physical or natural commons are the resources tied to it namely,
natural resources, commercial spaces, irrigation water, clean and fresh air,
fish, berries. In this context commons, it is often assumed, has to do with
the distribution and allocation of (natural, or at least physical) recourses.
Other times, when we talk about the commons we talk about certain, often
digital, initiatives or platforms like for instance the “Creative Commons”,
and the content and information shared there. Previous research on the
concept of the commons is now typically divided in these two strands,
natural and intellectual/digital commons. This is a direct consequence of

1 My emphasis, quote modified. The words in italics have been changed from the word
“book” in the original quote, to the word “law”. Quote taken from Stivale, 2005:73.
8 Law

how we usually see the commons, namely either as natural consisting of

nature and the resources in nature; or human or intellectual commons
consisting of the man-made, intellectual and cultural resources.2 Thus,
these two types of commons are usually mentioned in research and in
discussions: the natural commons and more so lately the human made,
intellectual or cultural commons. Instead, both have to do with
management of resources, it is often claimed.
I will try to move beyond these assumptions. Firstly, I will try to move
beyond the nature–culture dichotomy, by raising the impossibility of
disentangling the natural from the cultural. Secondly, I will try to move
beyond the idea of the commons as management of resources, and I will
move towards the question of being-in-the-commons, i.e. becoming
entangled with the commons as part of ourselves.3
But before I do that, let me give a Swedish example. This book does not
directly have a jurisdiction that it addresses, but it certainly has a number
of contexts, the Scandinavian being one of them. In Swedish law there is a
legal principle, which can be described as a “right to roam”, called allemans-
rätten. It is relevant in this setting.4 Various versions of this principle exist in
most Scandinavian jurisdictions.5 Allemansrätten has for a long time been
acknowledged by for instance the Swedish Supreme Court (Högsta
Domstolen) and is today also inscribed in the Swedish constitutional law6 as
well as in the Swedish Environmental Code (Miljöbalken).7 In broad terms,
the principle grants the public a right to access and roam in nature, which
means, generally speaking, that everybody may, for a limited time and on
certain terms and conditions,8 dwell in nature, hike, camp, swim in the
lakes, pick berries, and so on.
The right to roam in and access nature has in Scandinavia traditionally
been considered to be of particular significance since it is directly con-
nected to public health and wellbeing. The wellness produced by
continuous and frequent access to nature ought to be, it is argued, secured

2 Hardt, 2010. See also Bertacchini, Bravo, Marrelli and Santagata, 2012.
3 See e.g. Kapczynski and Krikorian, 2010.
4 This principle also exists in similar forms in the other Scandinavian jurisdictions, e.g. in
Norway where it is called allemannsrett and codified in the Norwegian Outdoor
Recreation Act (Friluftsloven). A similar principle exits in Finish customary law,
jokamiehenoikeus, but while it is not directly codified it is mentioned in the Finish Nature
Conservation Act (Luonnonsuojelulaki) and Criminal Code (Rikoslaki).
5 It can be compared to the Anglo-Saxon “right of way”.
6 Swedish Constitutional Law (Regeringsformen), 2:15.
7 Mainly in Chapters 2 and 7.
8 While the term allemansrätten is not defined in law, initially being a customary legal
principle, it is usually interpreted in the following manner: Short-term stay usually means
a 24-hour stay. The public is allowed to pick berries, flowers, mushrooms, cycle, hike,
swim, etc. The public may not do any harm to the nature, land, crops, animals, and so
on. The public may not disturb the private residences.
 Enter 9

and safeguarded. This wellness that access to nature gives rise to has thus
been given a legal status and transformed into a public right. Allemansrätten
as a legal construct thus connotes a reasonable and limited access to
nature. This access, however, must happen under certain terms and
conditions, and has never been of such legal character that it encroaches
on the underlying ownership of e.g. the land. The limitations to allemans-
rätten are often described in the following manner: the public may roam in
the woods but may never enter the fenced off private garden or the family
home on the land. The public may dwell in nature but this comes with the
obligation not to disturb private life, not to litter or damage the land,
nature, animals or crops.
However, within this book I need to reach even further. The pheno-
menon that I call the commons is a complex concept and not always, or only,
connected to the rights to access or rights to roam such as allemansrätten. It
can also be connected to a space or a realm where resources and people
are entangled. I will devote some time to explore what that means, partic-
ularly being entangled with artwork as a hyperobject (Chapter 3) or being
entangled with the commons itself (Chapter 5).
A further layer to the commons discussion is the economical aspect,
where the commons as a concept in economy theory is often presented
within a “prisoner’s dilemma” setting, that is, as a paradox where property
that is somehow owned or shared in common also produces free riders and
as a consequence may result in over-use and eventual peril of the under-
lying resource, create depreciation of value, and that it therefore can
undermine individual ownership and private rights on the one hand, and
the resource itself on the other hand. This tendency can then lead, it is
argued, to the now very well established tragedy of the commons.9 This is part
of a larger (liberal, or neo-liberal) argument that makes the claim that
resources will always be best managed in private, by virtue of the incentives
bestowed on the individual owner by the private property rights as a legal
and economical construction. This was at least the dominant view until
Elinor Ostrom, the 2009 Nobel laureate in Economy, managed to show in
her pioneering work Governing the Commons: The Evolution of Institutions for
Collective Action,10 how this is not necessarily always the case and how the
concept of the commons as a tool for management and governance, on the
contrary, can mean an optimal management of resources, particularly
when it comes to finite resources in nature. Building on, and moving
beyond the results found by Ostrom, I ask how a legal concept of the
cultural commons could deal with and overcome these “tragedy of overuse”
and “prisoner’s dilemma” issues?

9 The much discussed and nowadays legendary essay by Garrett Hardin, “The Tragedy of
the Commons”. Hardin, 2009, see Chapter 5.
10 Ostrom, 1990.
10 Law

In the 1972 UNESCO Convention Concerning the Protection of the

World Cultural and Natural Heritage the heritage of the world is divided
into two categories: natural and cultural. That is, it relies on a similar, not
to say the same, divide as presented so far. So I ask here, if natural heritage,
landscapes or cityscapes, can be envisioned as physical commons that partly
can be governed by legal principles such as the various forms of rights to
roam in nature or rights to the city11 formulated as e.g. the Scandinavian
allemansrätten, without causing tragedies or resource extinctions, it begs the
question whether this rationality can somehow be transposed to the
cultural landscapes? It then opens up the subsequent question; whether
the same type of legal reasoning could be applied to also govern the
cultural commons that comprises the common cultural heritage that is
(constantly being) created by the human intellect: knowledge, skill, ingen-
uity and those things connected to it such as cultural expressions and works
of art. In order to provide an answer to these broader questions we must
now start talking about the legal concept of the cultural commons more
theoretically first, and then add materiality to the discussion, constantly
asking whether a cultural commons can be conceived of legally. And could
cultural commons regimes, as with e.g. allemansrätten, be inscribed in law?
I will throughout the course of this book propose that it is possible,
provided that some (dogmatic) legal constructions are reimagined in
order to reach beyond certain obstacles that have so far hindered the
construction of an in law formulated (cultural) commons. Such obstacles
are for instance the (false?) dichotomies of e.g. the notion of the public
and the private as opposites, or that ownership of cultural works can either
be governed by a legal concept that is conceptually closed (e.g. individual
intellectual property rights) or open (i.e. a reduction or removal of the
intellectual property rights for the benefit of for instance the public
domain, freedom of expression, open access, and so on).
In the Scandinavian legal traditions, we are quite accustomed to legal
constellations such as allemansrätten as a right to roam or right to access.
Similar traditions exist in other jurisdictions both in civil law and common
law. The Swedish Environmental Code is for instance based on principles
and conceptions that are able to handle various seemingly different
interests simultaneously (e.g. conservation of nature and the biospheres, as
well as the interests of the land owners, the state, the public, future
generations, etc.), in an, at least theoretically, economically and democrat-
ically sustainable manner. Could the same be conceived of for the cultural
environment?
I will argue that today the natural and cultural commons can and must
be equated as a first step. The public has an equal claim on the right to
access the natural and the cultural commons, a claim on both the natural

11 More about that in Chapter 4.

Another random document with
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 "And have you said that little prayer?"

"Yes, I have;

"'O Lord, forgive me my sins, for Jesus Christ's

sake.'

"I've said it scores of times; but I don't believe He will

forgive me, all the same."

"Why not?"

"Oh! Because—because! But I mustn't tell you. You see,

I promised not to tell; but He'll never forgive me, I know He
won't."

"But He says He will. 'If we confess our sins, He is

faithful and just to forgive us our sins.'"

"Yes, that's just it; that's just what I mean, my dear. If

we confess our sins; but I haven't confessed my sin. See?"

"But, dear Mother Hotchkiss, you must confess it," said

Marjorie.

"But I can't—I can't—you don't understand, my dear.

It's something as I can't confess."

Marjorie talked to her for some time longer, and the old
woman cried very much, and said again and again that she
wanted to tell her, but she couldn't, no, she couldn't. At last
Marjorie was obliged to leave her; she felt very sorry for
her, and when she knelt to pray before getting into bed, she
prayed very earnestly for the poor ignorant old woman who
was so fast passing away, that she might find comfort and
peace before the end came.

Marjorie was tired that night, and soon fell asleep. She
was dreaming that she was in Borrowdale, sitting on a
stone by the river, when suddenly a pebble hit the rock on
which she was perched, and she looked up to see Louis's
merry face on the bank above her. Then another pebble
came, and she woke. No, she was not in Borrowdale, but in
her little bedroom in Daisy Bank. What was that noise,
then? Some one was throwing pebbles at her window! She
was very much startled, but got out of bed and looked out.
It was quite dark, and she could see no one. She opened
her window a little way and said, "Who is there?"

"It's me, Miss," said old Enoch's voice. "Poor Mother

Hotchkiss is much worse, and she wouldn't give us any
peace till we said we would fetch you. She says she must
see you, and she can't die happy till she has."

"Who is with her, Enoch?"

"Peggy Jones, that's Anna Maria's mother; but I've been

there the last hour. They fetched me. See?"

"I'll come, Enoch."

"I'll wait for you, Miss, and take you across," he said.

Marjorie dressed quickly, and knocking at Mr. and Mrs.

Holtby's door, she explained where she was going and why.
Mr. Holtby got up and let her out, and then, guided through
the darkness by old Enoch, she made her way to the
curious old house.

Marjorie found Mrs. Hotchkiss far more ill than when

she had left her that afternoon, but she raised herself in
bed when Marjorie went in, and taking her hand, she held it
between both her own.

"That's right, dear!" she whispered. "I've been just

longing for you to come. Send them out, and I'll tell you."

"I think she has something she wants to say to me,"

said Marjorie to Enoch and Peggie Jones, who were standing
by the window; "if you would like to rest for a little, I will
take care of her."

"Don't you mind being left, Miss?" said Peggy.

"Oh no, not at all; and I will call you if she is worse."

"Rap on that wall," said Peggy; "my bed is just on the

other side of it, and I'll be with you in a moment. Our house
joins this, you know."

They left the room together and went down the steep
stairs, and presently Marjorie heard them closing the outer
door, and she knew that she was alone in the house with
the dying woman.

"Are they gone, my dear?" she asked.

"Yes, they are gone," said Marjorie.

"Are we quite alone?"

"Yes, quite alone."

"You know what you said about confessing?"

"Yes! 'If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to

forgive us our sins.'"
 "I want to ask you something, dearie. Stoop your head
down to me; I want to whisper. If you was to make a
promise to somebody, and if it was a wicked promise that
you had no business to have made, ought you to keep it?"

"Certainly not," said Marjorie. "It would be wrong to

make a wicked promise, and it would also be wrong to keep
it when you had made it."

"Do you think so, my dear? Are you sure?"

"Quite sure."

"Then listen, dearie, and I'll tell you. I feel as if I can't

die till I do. I feel as if I must tell somebody. See? You know
who Carrie is?"

"Yes; your daughter."

"Ay, and I wasn't half proud of her; a clever girl too,

and such a scholar! Well, Carrie married a man as she met
up in the North somewhere; and he was well-to-do and all
that. I believe they had a very comfortable home, but he
was awful mean to Carrie. He never would let her send
anything to her poor old mother. I was nigh starved, my
dear, I was indeed. If I hadn't raked in the ash-heaps,
there's many a day I wouldn't have had a fire. I only had
parish pay, see? And not too much of that. But one day they
came to see me."

"Who did?"

"Her and her husband. And he spoke very fair, and he

said if I would do a little thing for him, he'd allow me ten
shillings a week as long as I lived. Well, my dear, I said I
would do it, if I could. He wouldn't tell me what it was till I
had promised I wouldn't tell anybody. And then he went to
his hand-bag, and he brought out a tin box. It was just a
common sort of box, like a small biscuit-box, and it had a
bit of string tied tight round it.

"'Now, mother,' he says, 'I want you to hide this 'ere

box in one of them little cupboards in the chimney corner
till I send for it. I'm a-going to Ameriky,' he says, 'and when
we're settled there and have got a home of our own, I'll
write you word where to send it.'

"'Can't you take it with you?' I says. 'It isn't big, and it
won't take much room in your boxes.'

"'No,' he says; 'I'd rather you sent it, mother, and I'll let
you have the address. Old Enoch will direct it for you. You
can tell him it's something as Carrie left behind her.'

"Well, my dear, it seemed a stroke of good luck for me,

didn't it now? And then he said they must go; but Carrie
begged and prayed him to let her stay just one night with
me, as she was going so far away, and might never see her
old mother again."

"And did he let her?"

"He wouldn't at first; but Carrie cried, my dear. And at

last he gave in, and said she was to follow him the next
day. Well, we went to bed, Carrie and me, dearie, and when
she was lying beside me that night, I told her I did not
much like having charge of that tin box, because folks
might rob an old woman like me. And I asked her did she
think it was jewels, or what was it?"

"What did she say?"

"She said it was naught but paper—some letters, she

said—and then she began to cry. So I asked her what was
the matter, dear. And she said she didn't like it at all; but
they wouldn't listen to what she said."

"Who wouldn't?"

"Him and his sister. They'd stole this 'ere letter from
some one as his sister lived with. She stole it, I believe, and
then he took it and raised money on it."

"How could he do that?"

"I don't know, my dear. I can't understand these things.

She called it 'hush money,' or some such name. There was
somebody as didn't want what was in that letter to be
known. And Josiah—that's my daughter's husband, dearie—
kept on threatening him that he would tell, and then
making him pay money to get him to hold his tongue.
Carrie said that some day Josiah would sell this man the
letter, and get hundreds of pounds for it; but he wanted first
to see how much he could get out of him by threatening
him, without parting with the letter."

"I wonder what it was about," said Marjorie.

"I don't know, my dear. Carrie didn't know; he wouldn't

let her read it. And I've never opened the box, and I
couldn't read it if I did."

"Then your daughter did not like what her husband was
doing?"

"No; she was frightened, my dear. Mr. Forty Screws was

in a great way about losing the letter. See? And Josiah was
afraid he would put the 'tectives on them, so that's why
they was going out of the country. His sister was going with
them, his half-sister she was; she was the one that stole it
from Mr. Forty Screws, and they didn't want to take the
letter with them, lest the 'tectives should search them, and
find it in their boxes. When once they got over to Ameriky
they thought they was safe. See? Carrie did cry about it,
though, my dear, and she said if she had her way she would
give it back to Mr. Forty Screws, and have done with it all."

"What a curious name! Are you sure that it was Forty

Screws?"

"Well, something like it, my dear."

"Where is the box?"

"In the cupboard below; one of those little cupboards by

the fire."

"Then they never sent for it?"

"Never, dearie, and I haven't heard a word from them

since; it's more than six months now since they sailed.
There was a ship went down in them parts soon after they
went; at least Enoch told me so. He saw it in the papers;
and sometimes I think they all went down in it. I'm sure
Carrie would have written if she'd been alive. Now I've told
you, my dear. Have I done right, do you think?"

"Quite right, Mother Hotchkiss, and I think you ought to

do more; you ought to send that letter back to the man
from whom it was stolen."

"I don't know where he lives nor nothing about him, my

dear; and then it seems mean, after taking Josiah's money,
to go and tell of him."

"How can Josiah be drowned if he still sends you the

money?"
 "He doesn't send it now, my dear. He left enough to last
for a year with Tom Noakes at the public there, and he pays
it to me reg'lar, Tom does. Then Josiah said that he would
send more when the year was up. See?"

"That letter ought certainly to go back to the man to

whom it belongs," said Marjorie, "I am sure of that."

"But how can I tell who it is?"

"May I look at the letter? Perhaps his address is on it."

"Yes, my dear, you may if you like. Will you go and get
it?"

Marjorie took the candle and went down the rickety

stairs. A cold wind blew up from the vault-like dairy as she
passed the flight of stone steps leading down to it. She felt
almost like a thief herself, as she crossed the kitchen and
made her way to the ancient fireplace. There was the old
oak cupboard, the door of which had often attracted her
attention by its quaint appearance.

The small cupboard was locked, but the key was in it.
She turned it in the lock, and the carved door flew open.
She hunted amongst the rubbish with which it was filled,
but she found no box. Odds and ends of all descriptions
were there, but nowhere could she discover the one thing
she had come to seek.

Perhaps the letter was in the other cupboard. There was

no key in that; but she found that she could open it with the
key she had found in the first one. She unlocked it; and at
first she thought that this second cupboard was empty; she
could see nothing whatever in it.
 However, as she felt along the shelf, she discovered in
one corner of it, tightly jammed into the wall, and well out
of sight, a small tin box. It took her some minutes to get it
out, and then, by the light of her candle, she looked at it. It
was tied up tightly with string, and the string was sealed in
several places. She carried it upstairs and put it in the old
woman's hands.

"Is that it?" she said.

"Yes, my dear, that's it. Will you open it?"

"I hardly like to do it," said Marjorie, "and yet—Did you

say the name was Forty Screws? Do you think it possible,
Mother Hotchkiss, that it could have been Fortescue?"

"Very likely, my dear; I never can remember names,

only I thought of the screws in a box my old man used to
keep 'em in. They're there yet, dear. And then I thought of
forty of them. See? And I remembered it that way. But
maybe I didn't hear her quite right, my dear."

Again Marjorie hesitated. But if it should be—if it was

possible that it could be something that he had lost and that
he wanted—something that he would be glad to have once
more in his hands. Yes, she would open it; it could not be
wrong—it surely could not be wrong.

She broke the seals and unfastened the string. Then it

was easy to take off the lid of the box. Inside was a sheet of
foolscap paper, closely covered with writing.

She glanced at the beginning, "My dear Ken."

She looked at the end, "Your loving Father, Joseph

Fortescue."
 Yes, it was the same! Even the handwriting was familiar
to her; she had often seen it before when old Mr. Fortescue
had written with the cheques which he sent to her mother.

Hastily she put the letter back in the box, closed the lid,
and tied the string tightly round it; not a word of it should
be seen by any one. She was trembling with agitation as
she did so, and the old woman noticed it.

"You know him, my dear?"

"Yes, I know him," she said; but her teeth chattered as

she spoke.

"You're cold, my dear."

"No, not cold, only so glad."

"Has he wanted it, my dear?"

"I expect so; he hasn't told me, but it may be

everything to him just now, if it's good news. I hope it is."

"Will you take it to him, dear?"

"Shall I?"

"Yes, do, dear; don't tell anybody else, will you?"

"No, I won't; no one else shall know."

"Promise you'll take it to him yourself!"

"I promise."

"Now, my dear, I can say my prayer. I think He'll forgive

me now."
 "Yes," said Marjorie, as her tears fell fast, "dear Mother
Hotchkiss, I know He will. 'If we confess our sins, He is
faithful and just to forgive us our sins.' He is faithful,
because He has promised to forgive us, and so you see, He
can't say no when we ask Him; and He is just, because the
Lord Jesus has been punished instead of us, and so God
cannot punish us too for the same sins. Do you see?"

"Yes, my dear, thank you; I shall die happy now."

Soon after this, steps were heard on the stairs, and the
old woman signalled to her to hide the box, and Marjorie
slipped it under her coat just as Peggy Jones came into the
room.

"You'll let me come now, Miss," she said. "You must be

so tired. You ought to go home and get a bit of sleep."

Marjorie stooped down and kissed the poor old face

lying on the pillow, and then she crept downstairs and went
out into the darkness. But she did not mind even that to-
night; she felt as if she cared for nothing, so long as the
box was safe. When she got to the house the door had been
left on the latch, so she let herself in and crept up to bed,
carrying the precious box with her.

CHAPTER XV
156, LIME STREET
 MARJORIE was wakened the next morning by hearing
some one moving about in her room. She looked up and
saw Patty standing near her bed, with a little tray in her
hand.

"Miss Douglas, I've brought you your breakfast," she

said. "Shall I draw up the blind?"

"Oh dear," said Marjorie, jumping up, "I had no idea it

was so late; why did nobody wake me?"

"Mother wouldn't let us; she told us you had been up

half the night."

"Yes, poor old Mrs. Hotchkiss sent for me."

"Miss Douglas, old Enoch has just been here, and he

said we were to tell you she is dead. She went to sleep soon
after you left her, and when Peggy Jones looked at her
about an hour afterwards, she found that she was dead."

"Only just in time," said Marjorie to herself when Patty

had gone, as she felt for the box which she had put under
the bolster the night before. Yes, it was safe.

How she wondered what it contained! He must have it

at once, without even a single day's delay; she would never
be happy until it was safely in his hands. What if the old
woman's son-in-law should return, and demand that what
he considered to be his property should be given up to him?
Perhaps, after all, he had never gone to America; perhaps
he had deceived the old woman, in order that she might put
the police off the scent, in case they came in search of him.

Marjorie was tired and depressed after her wakeful

night, and fears of all kinds crowded into her mind. In her
nervous haste she longed to run to the station at once, that
she might catch the first train to Birmingham, and, carrying
the precious box with her, find the address Kenneth had
given her on his card, and at once rid herself of the heavy
responsibility which she felt rested upon her, so long as that
letter was in her charge.

But Marjorie could not go off thus hurriedly, without

giving a sufficient reason to Mrs. Holtby, and she knew that
the busy morning's work was already waiting for her.

She dressed quickly, therefore, and hurried downstairs.

Never did she work so hard as on that morning; never did
she try so earnestly to get ahead of time, or to cram the
work of two hours into one. When dinner-time came, she
had not only done the work of the morning, but she had
finished the darning and the mending which she usually did
on Friday afternoon, and had put by all the clean clothes
from the weekly wash.

Mrs. Holtby came down just before dinner, and then

Marjorie, with a beating heart, went to make her request.
Would it be possible for her to be spared for half a day?
There was a friend in Birmingham whom she particularly
wished to see.

"But won't you be too tired to go to-day, Miss Douglas?

You look very white, after your bad night."

"Oh no, I am not at all tired. I should like to go very

much, if you can spare me. I have got on well this morning,
and have done all the mending."

"You never neglect anything, dear."

It was the first time she had called her "dear," and the
word had a home-like sound that went warm to Marjorie's
heart.
 Then Mrs. Holtby brought out the time-table, and
looked out her train. There was one that left Deepfields at
2.30, and she told her to get her dinner at once, and not to
wait till the others came in, so that she might be off in time
to catch it.

"Don't hurry back, Miss Douglas," she said, when

Marjorie looked in to say good-bye. "Stay as long as ever
you like."

So, with the box wrapped in paper and tightly held in

her hand, and with the card in which Captain Fortescue had
given her slipped inside her glove, Marjorie set off for
Deepfields.

It was a pouring wet day, and the mud was, if possible,

worse than usual, but she hardly noticed it. She would have
gone through a perfect flood without minding it, in her
intense eagerness to get to her journey's end. How glad he
would be to get that letter! How thankful he would feel that
it was found at last!

But would he be glad and thankful? As she sat in the

train a horrible fear crossed her mind. What if she were
bringing him bad tidings? What if she were indeed what he
had called himself—a bird of ill omen? She hoped not, she
prayed not; but how could she tell?

Arrived at Birmingham, she found herself in all the

bewilderment of New Street station at one of its most
crowded moments. She took out the card, and looked at it
once more—"156, Lime Street," that was the address. How
should she find it? She asked a porter, who was wheeling a
barrow of luggage, but he said he had never heard of it.

Then she went up the steps to the bridge, and felt in a

perfect whirl as the busy crowds rushed past her. Hundreds
of strange faces—all of them intent on their own business,
and none of them having a moment to spare for hers: all
these she saw as if she were in a dream. Which way should
she turn at the top of the bridge? There seemed to be two
exits to the station. Which should she take? She went to the
one to which most people seemed to be going. It took her
out into Corporation Street. All looked strange to her. She
had no eyes for the beautiful shops; the Arcade failed to
tempt her as she passed it. All she wanted was to get to her
journey's end.

At last she met a policeman, and found from him that

she was walking in the wrong direction. He sent her back
almost to the station, and told her to take a turning to the
left, and to walk on until she saw a large church, and then
she must ask for further direction.

The rain was now coming down in torrents, and a strong

wind was blowing in her face, but she struggled on bravely
against it. She found the church at last, and went into a
small shop to ask her way. Again she set forth, and walked
on for another mile, and, after getting wrong once or twice,
and stopping to inquire many times of the passers-by, she
at last reached the street that she was seeking.

Lime Street was long and dismal-looking, with two rows

of houses facing each other, all exactly alike, and all
standing close to the pavement, with not even a pretence to
a front garden. The street looked, if possible, more gloomy
than usual that afternoon; in the merciless rain everything
was wet, dirty, and uninviting.

Now for No. 156. It was at the other end of that long
street, and she hurried on to find it. But as she got near,
the thought of seeing him again, the doubt as to the news
which she was bringing him, the strange feeling of
responsibility which rested upon her in thus doing the
bidding of one who had so lately passed away from earth—
all these made her tremble and pause as she stood on the
doorstep.

When she had steadied herself for a few moments she

rang the bell, and a stout elderly woman came to the door.

"Is Captain Fortescue at home?" she asked. "Mr.

Fortescue lodges here; he isn't a captain, Miss—but he's out
just now."

"When will he be home?"

"Oh, not for long enough yet; he mostly comes in about

six or half-past."

Marjorie looked at her watch; it was a quarter to four.

Her heart died within her. Two hours and a quarter, or
perhaps longer still. Where should she go, and what should
she do till six o'clock? Where in those wet and dirty streets
could she find a shelter?

The landlady was closing the door, but as she did so,
she noticed the look of dismay on Marjorie's face.

"Have you come far, Miss?" she asked.

"Yes, a long way," said Marjorie, "from near Bilston, and

I know nobody in Birmingham."

"Is it very particular?"

"Very; I must see Mr. Fortescue to-night."

"Come your ways in, then," said the woman, kindly;

"there's a bit of fire in his sitting-room, if you would like to
wait there."

Marjorie thanked her gratefully, and she led the way

into a small room at the back of the house, and, after
putting some coal on the fire, she told her to sit by it and
warm herself after her cold, wet walk. Then, as she was
going out, she noticed how drenched Marjorie's coat was,
and made her take it off that she might dry it at her kitchen
fire.

When the landlady was gone, Marjorie looked round the

room. It was very plainly and even shabbily furnished. A
worn horse-hair sofa stood against the wall, the deal table
was covered with American cloth, the carpet was patched in
several places.

Marjorie walked to the window and looked out. No

wonder the room was dark! High buildings backed upon the
house and shut out nearly all the light. Only a strip of
cloudy sky could be seen above, whilst below was a small
courtyard filled with clothes, which had evidently been put
out to dry before the rain commenced, but which were now
more soaked than they had been before, and hung dismally
from the line stretched across from wall to wall of the small
backyard.

How dull it all was! How poor, how depressing! She

remembered his words to her mother, "I will not allow
myself in a single indulgence of any kind, till the full amount
is in your hands."

How faithfully he was keeping that promise! How bare

of all luxury was the room to which he came home after his
long tiring day!

But what was that over the chimney-piece,—a photo in

a frame? It carried her miles away in thought as she looked
at it, and a great feeling of home-sickness came over her.

It was a picture of Honister Crag.

CHAPTER XVI
THE BLOTTED WORD

HOW long the waiting-time seemed to Marjorie as she

sat in the dingy back parlour on that wet afternoon! she felt
sometimes as if six o'clock would never come. As it grew
darker, the stout landlady came in and lighted the gas;
there was only one burner, and it gave but a dim light.
Then, later still, she came again to lay the cloth for tea.
Such a poor scanty meal, the loaf and a small pat of butter
—that was all. There were no flowers on the table, there
was nothing to relieve the bareness and austere simplicity
of it all. Marjorie's heart ached for him as she looked at it.
What an utter contrast to the luxury in which she knew that
he had lived before!

Mrs. Hall, the landlady, lingered when she had laid the
table, and seemed inclined to talk.

"You'll excuse me, Miss," she said, "but are you Mr.
Fortescue's sister?"

"No, not his sister."

 "Well," she said, "I'm sorry you're not, because if he has
a sister, I should like to have a bit of a talk with her.
Somebody ought to come and look after him."

"Is he ill?" asked Marjorie, quickly.

"Well, no, not what you can call ill; but he soon will be,
if he goes on as he's going on now."

"What do you mean?"

"Why, he doesn't get enough to eat; at least he has

plenty to eat of a kind, but it isn't what a man like him, as
is working hard all day, ought to have. Look at his tea now!
It don't look as it ought, do it now? And his dinner! He has
it out some days, and what he gets then I can't say; not
much, I'll be bound; but some days, he comes home for it,
and I assure you I'm fair shamed to get him the dinners he
orders. One day it will be, 'Mrs. Hall, I'm very fond of
herrings; do you think you could get me a couple of nice
ones for my dinner?' Another day he'll say, 'Mrs. Hall, you
make awfully good soup, I should like that better than
anything to-day.'

"'And what to follow, sir?' I says. 'Oh, one of your nice

rice puddings; that will be just the kind of dinner I like.'
Another day it's sausage, or a bit of bacon, or bread and
cheese, and not too much of any of them either. Why, my
last lodger would clear off in one meal double what he eats
in a day! And such a nice gentleman, too—always so
pleasant, and thanks you for all you do for him just as if
you didn't get paid for doing it. And so hard as he works,
too! Why, if you'll believe me, he's at them books and
accounts, and them business letters of his, long after I've
gone to bed. I hear him come upstairs, and I know he's
tired by his step, and well he may be, for he's tramping
about most of his time."

Mrs. Hall loved a chat, and would have gone on for

much longer enlarging on the many good qualities of her
lodger, if she had not at that moment heard the sound of a
key being put into the latch of the door.

"Why, there he is at last!" she said. "I'll go and make

the tea."

Marjorie's heart was beating very quickly now. She

heard the door open and Mrs. Hall's voice outside.

"Why, you're not half wet, sir. Let me take your coat."

Then the well-known voice: "Thank you, Mrs. Hall, it will

be all the better for a dry by your fire."

"There's a lady waiting to see you, sir, in the parlour

there; she's been here the best part of the afternoon."

"A lady for me!"

He stopped to ask no question, but came quickly into

the room.

"Miss Douglas, you here!"

He had been thinking of her as he came up the street;

he had been wondering how she was getting on in her hard
life at Daisy Bank; and now here she was, in the very last
place in which he would ever have dreamt of seeing her,
sitting in the old armchair by the fire in his dismal little
room. She rose to meet him, and at once held out the
precious parcel.