YOUNG MAN, FIND YOUR FORTUNE:

Abstract

This article uses social practices to better understand the interrelations between a social ideology that decried aspiration and the practices of the young men bettering their lot in life when entering the Stockholm guilds. The path into guild membership is investigated regarding the inclusion of would-be members, their social networks, the materiality of documentation and the ideas, symbols and aspirations expressed in the process. The article shows that transition from one social position to another was laden with positive value and symbolism, and that this was underscored with the help of scores of participants apart from the would-be apprentice himself. These young men held a liminal position in society, but one that was understood as largely positive. They were deeply embedded within a local community, but with a direction in life, unmarried, skilled or wanting to acquire skill. While practices of social mobility opened paths for these young men, they also contained social order and the mobility of others.

Keywords:

• guilds
• social mobility
• social order
• social practice
• Stockholm

At the bottom left-hand corner of a certificate that Johan Larsson brought with him to the Hatters’ guild in Stockholm in 1678, the vicar in his home parish had noted: ‘Commit thy way unto the Lord, and thy thoughts shall be established’.¹ With a slight deviation from the original of the Swedish Bible translation from 1541, the vicar emphasized the road ahead for Johan Larsson, both geographically and socially. The quote from Proverbs can be interpreted in several ways. It could be understood to establish that everyone’s fate was in God’s hands, and therefore there was no use in attempting to better one’s lot, or that God smiled upon those who took their fortunes into their own hands. This article will argue that it was both, and that ambitions of social advancement were intimately connected to the strictures of social order.

TABLE 1 Attestations for apprenticed boys in the Masons’ guild in Stockholm, 1677–1720

Form of attestation	Stockholm	‘Foreigners’	Unknown
Sons of masters, journeymen, close relatives	9	0	0
Vouched for by an adult man	8	12	0
Certificates of descent	10	28	2
of which promised to hand in later	7	15	1
No attestation	9	10	0
Total: 88	36	50	2

Source: Murmästareämbetets i Stockholm protokollsbok 1677–1744, Stockholm (1949).

This is an explorative foray into investigating the practices of social mobility – into the doings and sayings, things and meanings that were involved in changes of profession from father to son. The article asks how social order impacted individual lives and life chances, and how individual lives formed social order.² More specifically, the enquiry concerns the lower orders, and young men who sought to enter the Masons’, Tanners’ or Hatters’ guilds in Stockholm in the second half of the seventeenth century. These particulars, however, have significance for wider issues apart from who was allowed to enter guilds. Shifting from one social position to another was heavily laden with ideological implications. Any striving young man must contend not only with the practicalities of travel and bureaucracy, but with an ideology of deference, obedience and contentment with one’s station. As I study entering guilds as a form of practice, practical matters of travel and paperwork will form the beginning of this investigation. Then, I turn towards the apparent paradox in the aspirations and symbolic meanings involved in such a move. The article will end by revisiting the relationship between social ideology and individual scope of action.

The basis for ascribing such weight to the doings and sayings of would-be apprentices and their networks is that I regard social order as a form of social practice. Within social order, a multitude of practises exist in the active combinations between a series of elements – materials, competences and meanings. Practices can emerge, shift and disappear whenever these connections are made, sustained or cut. Social order as a practice has a remarkable longevity, and relies on faithful carriers and practitioners.³ One such practice within the social order is the practice of social mobility; of changing careers and overcoming the parameters of inequality. The opportunity of access and participation is inherently cumulative. It is easier to go where others have gone before, and guilds are perfect examples of how experienced practitioners define paths that others follow. Networks and communities play a vital role as places or situations where concentrated forces interact to influence change or development. It is here that things, skills, symbolic meanings and aspirations are arranged and rearranged and thereby either contain or channel social mobility.⁴

From this stance, it follows that I would not ask for how social and material inequalities limit the possibility for one or another practice to develop – for instance social mobility – but how these inequalities impacted individual lives and the chances that people had.⁵ Alan Pred, Elizabeth Shove and others point to how individual lives revolve around ‘dominant projects’, such as getting married, having children, or having a career. Projects become dominant and remain so because they are enacted at many levels at once: in the daily paths and life-choices of the individual and in the parallel reproduction of institutions, such as guilds. Dominant projects are not innocent pursuits. Rather, these are the very things that through serial reproduction sustain class and power. Making a better life for oneself, therefore, is not a trifling everyday decision but partakes in forming the social order and generates ‘highly uneven landscapes of opportunity and vastly unequal patterns of access.’⁶ The present study therefore will engage with the elements that make up the practice of social mobility in seventeenth century Sweden: its practitioners and their actions (would-be guild members and their networks and communities), its materials (documents, their carriage and storage), its competences (the skills and knowhow involved), and finally its meanings (ideas, symbols and aspirations that are expressed in the process). In doing so, it attempts to understand how these elements interacted with one another, how they came to shape the experience of navigating an estate society and how social change related to a stagnant social ideology.

Guilds and social order

The role of the guilds in early modern Europe has been hotly debated in recent years, largely regarding their financial and social impact on society. How scholars interpret this impact has to do with how they view the exclusionary practices of the guilds, i.e. who was permitted to become a guild member or master, often spoken in terms of the guilds being ‘open’ or ‘closed’. There has been a healthy refutation of a nineteenth-century view of the guilds’ causation of economic stagnation, in which the guilds have been rehabilitated as vehicles for technological development and conducive for economic growth. The longevity of the guild system would suggest that guilds were adaptable to new circumstances. S.R. Epstein and Maarten Prak posit that the guilds’ largest innovative contribution is their trading in human capital, in apprentices. They acknowledge that there were boundaries to this trade, women were excluded explicitly or strongly opposed. Master’s sons on the other hand got preferential treatment. And, in relation to the Swedish case it is important to point out that in continental European towns, citizenship often was a prerequisite for membership.⁷

Others have been less enthusiastic about the guilds’ generative potential for knowledge production, promotion of skill, growth and social stability and less willing to disregard exclusionary practices – a criticism that can be seen as based in the basic power structure that guilds promoted. Sheilagh Ogilvie has pointed to the guilds’ use of social capital to sustain norms, punish deviants and exclude women from vital sectors of the pre-industrial economy. Ogilvie argues that guilds worked adversely against quality, skills, innovation and economic policy because they were institutions of resource redistribution to powerful groups. Significantly, she finds that these strong power structures actually promoted low quality work, lower production and led to cheated customers. She also warns against the notion that the guild structure was the only way of organizing labour in early modern towns and points to the many forms of subsistence that existed in manufacturing trades outside the guild system.⁸ Particularly damning with regards to the openness of the guilds, perhaps, is M.R. Boes account of the exclusion of illegitimately born children, as well as women, from the Frankfurt guilds. This was introduced in the late sixteenth century and she argues, labelled and shamed these children for centuries to come.⁹ A similar rule applied in Sweden. From 1669 and throughout the eighteenth century, guilds required certificates of descent (bördsbrev) even though the statute was not included in the Guild Act of 1720. Ernst Söderlund has assumed that enforcement of this rule was ‘inexorable’ in the early modern period, and Lars Edgren shows it was abandoned in the early nineteenth century.¹⁰ But there are also many examples of lax implementation of the unassailable descent of apprentices, even in the seventeenth century, as will be discussed below.

Whether continental historians regard the guilds as promoters or obstructs to growth, there is a common perception that guilds promoted ‘closure’.¹¹ Research into migration in relation to the workforce, however, has shown that the level of exclusionary practices varied greatly across Europe. Studies on London, Vienna, Dijon, Lyon and Madrid show that guilds were largely made up of ‘foreigners’, i.e. from outside the city. Immigrants either formed the majority of apprentices, or the home grown masters were in minority. In London, there is even little evidence that guild membership in the seventeenth century had a basis in social networks. Guilds in early modern Madrid, too, exhibited a fairly open system of recruitment, in which a majority of new masters were not the sons or sons in law of other guild members. All over Europe, the guilds relied upon exogenous members.¹²

Scholars working on social mobility and the guilds have mainly been interested in issues regarding the recruitment of the workforce, as well as the rate to which foreigners might have successful careers within the guilds. Less attention has been given to the social implications of this transformation, from foreigner in a city to master. Certainly, there has been an interest in what apprentices were meant to learn during their apprenticeship and time as journeyman, as well as of the broader consequences of their immersion into a new social milieu: by becoming an apprentice, a young man was to learn a craft, but also become socialized into a social order.¹³ There are also reasons to question the effectiveness of socialization. Bert de Munck has found that over the course of the early modern period, relationships between master and apprentice in Antwerp became more business-like and that social control on the part of the masters’ decreased. For Antwerp, there is little evidence that cohabitation automatically led to paternalistic relations or that apprentice obedience was only enforced within the sphere of work. Masters held no power outside the home or the workshop. Over the centuries, common activities like meals and drinking bouts and common dress were enforced less and less.¹⁴

Like many European counterparts, Swedish scholars emphasize socialization and disciplining into a corporatist order in relation to the guilds, their propensity to restrict people’s options and describe the paternalism of craft culture. The main interest has lain in the guilds’ relationship to the Crown and city administration, and not to social change. Corporatism then, tends to be described in terms of a condition, or a state of being, rather than as something that underwent significant change before the late eighteenth century.¹⁵ This links into how scholars have described social ideology held more generally in early modern Europe and Sweden in particular. At the face of it, social order in Sweden was highly verbalized and formalized. On the one hand, four estates existed as political entities with representation in the diet: the nobility, the clergy, the burghers and the peasantry. An alternative to this politically formalized order was the Lutheran catechism’s ideological ordering of all Lutherans into three estates, each of which had duties towards one another―an ideology that was spread with increasing efficiency throughout the century as the Lutheran church became more orthodox and homogenous. In contrast to the political four-estate system, there was no explicit hierarchy between the three estates. Hierarchy was however obvious within them with the constant appeals to obedience and deference. Social norms were directed from the highest estates downwards and decried social mobility, fostered paternalism and obedience, and most importantly, intended to stifle any sense of ambition. Rather, the harmful effects of social ambition on the wellbeing of society were sometimes explicitly spelled out.¹⁶

While not many historians today would deny that there was flexibility in practice within the confines of estate ideology, there are few studies to show it. Sten Carlsson’s seminal study of upward social mobility after 1680, takes as its point of departure the estates as stable containers that individuals move between, albeit in the seventeenth century in only small numbers. This type of thinking on social order has been replaced by an emphasis on either practices or discourses/ideologies as constituents of (oftentimes personal) identity. Recent studies of the world of work have acknowledged the strong links between the practices of work and social hierarchy within a complex web of contingent factors, but the social system and the estates have largely remained a non-issue in relation to the more fluid notions of gendered norms and practices. Work on the social order late in the eighteenth century has instead emphasized large social and economic changes late in the century that were also reflected in social ideology. However, taking evidence from the late eighteenth century or early nineteenth and assuming that social order worked in the same way over a century earlier would be to reproduce a stagnate view of estate society.¹⁷ To this, we must read in insights about how mobile people were in the seventeenth century, and what they might do to secure their subsistence. But we must also learn more about what moving actually meant.¹⁸ To summarize, we know that identities were made up of practices and influenced by discourses, we have begun to know a little about migration in the seventeenth century, but we have not yet studied how these things worked together to form how social order worked and was handled by the individual.

The mobile nature of guild recruitment, social mobility within urban professions outside the guild system and discussions of social immersion mean that there is cause to revisit how the guilds contributed to the social order also in the Swedish case. Questions remain to be asked about the practices of navigating social order and how social mobility related to ideological change. Social ideology and social change have largely tended to be treated as two separate spheres of research, although doing and saying went hand in hand in the daily lives of ordinary people attempting to better their lot in life. This article, therefore, uses social practices to better understand the interrelations between a social ideology that decried aspiration and the individuals and groups that sometimes held them. Doing so leads us into the fields of practitioners, their networks and communities, materiality and the meanings that contemporaries attached to individual ambition and social order as a whole. Thereby we might grasp how these elements were arranged in relation to one another and to better understand the factors that channelled and that contained social mobility in early modernity.

Entering the Stockholm guilds

Stockholm grew like never before during the seventeenth century, the city was in many ways was a place of opportunity. With a rise in population from 13,000 in 1629 to 57,000 by the turn of the century, a boom in building, an influx of wealth from foreign merchants, and an ever larger army in need of hats for their uniforms, opportunities opened for other professions too.¹⁹

The guilds too were particularly open during this expansive period. Below the master’s class, journeymen and apprentices came from craft or rural backgrounds.²⁰ Members came from many parts from within the realm such as Finland and the Baltic provinces, and were not only sons of Stockholm burghers. Werner Pursche has shown for the Carpenter’s guild that in 1645 two thirds of the members were born in Finland, while only a handful of members were from Germany. Thirty years later, the proportion of members from Finland had declined to 13%. Instead, members were recruited among peasant sons from the countryside surrounding Stockholm. By 1700 they made up 80% of the guild. There was also at this time, a decline of members recruited from Germany. In 1689, one third of masters and apprentices were of German descent, although apprentices were to 98% from the Swedish realm. By 1720 there were practically no Germans left among the Stockholm guilds.²¹

The young men studied here entered the Hatters’, Tanners’ and Masons’ guilds. Each guild had roughly 10 masters during the period, but the Masons tended to be the largest guild as a whole with up to 10 journeymen per master.²² These are guilds of very different status. While all these crafts involved elements of smelly and/or dirty work, which mean that their workshops tended to be located on the outskirts of town, the Tanners were held in lowest regard. Apprentice training for tanners was unusually short, just 2 years compared to the more common 4 to 5 years. Working in the trade particularly required physical strength. The Hatters were skilled in a wide range of activities like turning different kinds of furs into felt, shaping hats, repairing and decorating them. Their craft benefited from an astounding increase in demand in the latter half of the century, as members of the peasantry began wearing this status laden headgear. Not all guilds required journeymen to travel, but those who did, like the Hatters, had a higher status. A Masons’ work involved not only actual brick and stone laying, but drawing up architectural plans and managing a large workforce at a building site which also saw increased demand not only in the city but in building sites for stately homes in the provinces.²³

The Hatters’ guild, like the Carpenters’, shows that the guild was far from closed to young men from outside the city. Apprentices usually entered the guild at the age of 14, but there are examples ranging from 10 to 23 years.²⁴ Based on certificates of descent handed in to the guild, 90 boys and young men from outside the city of Stockholm joined the guild between 1650 and 1719 – boys from the city did not need to show a certificate. They predominantly came from central Sweden, but some also from further afield. It is noticeable, however, that like the Carpenter’s guild, by the second half of the seventeenth century there was a very small admittance of German apprentices. Arrivals over the decades show a bell curve, new arrivals were most common in the 1680s; a pattern that corresponds well with the city’s most expansive period.²⁵ The Tanners kept more erratic records and it is therefore difficult to ascertain both how many youngsters entered the guild and how often they must show certificates of descent. From the records, it is however clear that practices regarding certificates varied widely, from not having to be shown at all, to being an absolute requirement – even under the same master. Many times, the apprentices showed their certificates in order to leave the guild, and not to enter it. This would also account for why relatively few certificates remain in the guild archives.²⁶

Likewise, the Masons’ guild shows a relative openness to apprentice boys from outside the city. Of the 88 boys whose admittance into the guild is discussed in the guild minutes over five decades, 36 were from Stockholm (see Table 1). The remaining 50 were from outside the city, though seldom very far. Most came from rural areas in the counties of Södermanland and Uppland, though apparently none from any of the cities or towns in the realm. One boy had travelled from Öland and another from Denmark, but these long travels are exceptions. Neither was the guild always particular about the certificates of legitimate birth of the apprentices. The boys’ descent or the name of their father is only rarely mentioned. There were other ways of securing their honesty, usually by a master or other man vouching for the boy. Interestingly, when the guild became more intent on seeing the certificates in the late seventeenth century, it still admitted as many from outside the city on the promise of handing it in later as it did those who had the certificate with them – as long as they paid the entrance fee. Still, some just paid a fee, no questions asked. Only one boy was denied admittance to the guild on the grounds of lacking a certificate of descent.²⁷ The high proportion of apprentices accepted without certificates of descent might have to do with the extreme demand for masons in the city during a veritable building boom. But it is also significant to note, that when entering a guild, in practice, networks and social connections were equally as valid as written documentation and that it was possible to enter the guild with neither.

As is apparent in previous research, terms like ‘openness’ or ‘exclusivity’ are fraught when it comes to describing early modern guilds. What can be said, from the sample of sources used here, is that these Stockholm guilds were more akin to English companies and Dutch guilds than their German counterparts with which they had so much cooperation. Apprentices were taken on from outside the city to a very high degree, and in the case of the Masons, very few apprentices were sons of guild members. None of the studied guilds were welcoming of girls or women: none have been recorded as apprentices or have turned up in the guild minutes other than in relation to support after the death of a male relative. In that sense, Stockholm guilds also differed from English companies where female apprentices were at least possible. Demands for certificates of descent were not upheld religiously, even for youngsters who were ‘foreigners’. This means that it is possible that youngsters born out of wedlock were among the ranks of apprentices, although there is no evidence to confirm this. It does however underscore the impression of relative openness in the guilds at this time as well as emphasize their role in vocational training for boys all over the realm. Rules about being born within wedlock seem to have been possible to circumvent.

The materiality of social embeddedness

The young prospective apprentices came from mixed backgrounds.²⁸ Nearly just as many certificates registered in the Tanners’ and Hatters’ guilds were for apprentices from rural backgrounds as for urban (25 urban and 21 rural). Many are of course the sons of burghers in smaller cities, some even from the same craft.²⁹ Some travelled from other towns but were of humbler urban backgrounds.³⁰ A considerable amount of those who aspired to become apprentices or journeymen in the Hatters’ and Tanners’ guilds were from a rural, peasant background. Anders Pedersson was born of ‘honest peasant folk’, and Johan Johansson was the son of a peasant. Others came from a rural background, but the parents’ titles are unspecific. One such case is Anders Jonsson from Jönåker in Södermanland, whose father was designated as no more than ‘beskedlig man’ a title that indicates that he was humble, obliging and unassuming. His mother was deemed ‘godly’. From this humble background, Anders Jonsson had moved on to become an apprentice in the Hatters’ guild in Nyköping, but now wanted to move on. Anders Toresson was born to tenant farmers (landbo) at the manor farm Sollentunaholm just north of Stockholm.³¹ A small group were the sons of men with honourable occupations that ranked above the peasantry: a corporal, a scribe, a forgeman and a couple of bergsmän.³² One young man from Bälinge in Uppsala county was the son of an assistant vicar and might be said to have made a downward journey in social hierarchy, as is the case of the son of a school master in Örebro.³³ Apprentice masons too, were from rural backgrounds. None came from urban areas, and those who did have a craft background were the sons of rural shoemakers. The shoemakers’ sons could not produce any certificates of descent in 1716 on account of being refugees from Finland, which was occupied by Russia at the time. They were admitted to the guild, but were warned to produce them anyway.³⁴

Certificates also testify to how deeply immersed the would-be apprentices were in local communities that they were leaving and that attestations provided many routes towards social advancement. Certificates reiterate the boy or young man’s birth place, his parents are named and given a title and their social position is pinned down. At times, there are notes on the young man’s education, the nature of his upbringing and short narratives of life course before he asked for a certificate. These documents were given to youngsters whose ancestry and honesty could be attested to by the various authorities―parish vicars, local courts and town magistrates―who signed and sealed them. They proposed to depict the young man in the best light possible, in some instances using scores of witnesses and going to great lengths to prove how well he and his family were regarded in the community. Clergymen mentioned having consulted the church records, local courts sometimes put open questions about the boy’s descent to the people gathered at the court house and were answered in the affirmative. In one case, the respectable women who clothed the young man’s mother on her wedding day were brought forth to prove his unquestionable descent. On another occasion, the mistress of a manor farm has signed the certificate, stating that she can vouch for the young man’s birth within wedlock because she had arranged his parents’ wedding. Attestations could also involve ritualized gestures as well as verbal pronouncements, as when guild members had come before the city court and had testified under oath. The certificate strengthened their assurances by describing how the guild members’ heads were bared, their arms outstretched and fingers raised when they certified that a young man had been born within wedlock. To this, the certificates were often beautifully written documents, occasionally on parchment, and filled with seals, signatures and sometimes peasants’ marks that testify to the veracity of their claims.³⁵

With all these different ways of affirming descent, large groups of people were mobilized in the production of these documents. Certificates of descent were therefore a young man’s social bonds manifested in material form, folded together and brought with him on his travels. Local communities were part in enacting the life choices of their young men and boys. It becomes clear that the young left home with the blessings and approval of their own communities. Certificates asked that others who saw the documents would promote and help the young men on their way. Olof Nilsson from Sala was the son of one of the town’s burghers and his plans were highly sanctioned also by the magistrate that issued his certificate: they wished him to be blessed and found that his plans were worthy of imitation.³⁶

Finally, the certificates give testament to the young men’s movements, apart from their places of origin. The certificates have sometimes been used for other places, which leads us to conclude that the youngsters had taken the document with them in their travels. Peder Jonsson Släde’s certificate was signed in 1667 and addressed to a guild in Kalmar, but was not placed in the Hatters’ guild’s box in Stockholm until 1675. Others made their way to Stockholm more quickly. Johan Jönsson’s certificate was signed in February 1700 and in late April he was accepted into the Hatters’ guild.³⁷ Some certificates also functioned as a form of passport and so support also lasted beyond the parish borders. In formulaic phrases they attested to the propriety of the young man’s journey and that no one should doubt this: he should be ‘aided by anyone who meets him’, or no one should be allowed to hinder him, ‘whoever they may be.’³⁸

The certificates also give testament to the end of a young man’s geographical and social journey, in that they occasionally state that they were ‘put in the box’.³⁹ This refers to the guild box, an ornate object covered with symbolic representations of the trade, and also an important practical and symbolic presence during guild meetings. This was where important documents were stored, together with goblets for ritual drinking and the guild seal. This was also where the guild funds were kept. Fines to the guild were phrased in terms of ‘giving to the box’. One of the masters was appointed ‘box master’ (lådmästare), and an assistant took care of the box and brought it to guild meetings. When a new alderman was chosen, the box was carried in procession to his house.⁴⁰ Meetings were in session when the box was open. An open box also dictated a heightened level of behaviour and courtesy: insulting another guild member was particularly bad if it happened when the box was open. Neither was arrival ‘after the box was opened’ tolerated.⁴¹ When the certificate was put inside the guild box, the young man accepted into apprenticeship, his shift from one estate to another was symbolically, albeit not necessarily veritably, at its end.

Fortune and advancement

Moving from the action of entering a guild towards is meanings, we must revisit social ideology and what it had to say about social mobility. As Kristiina Savin has shown, aspiration and advancement were strongly linked with the conception of providence – the sovereignty of God and his ongoing supervision and intervention in the world. One of the most important divergences from the Catholic faith, apart from Protestant insistence that there were no intermediaries between God and the individual soul, was that humankind was completely dependent upon God’s mercy. Providence was the sign that God’s creation was unceasing and interventionist. This was a way for God to govern the world, constantly maintaining and contributing to all that happened. Especially during Sweden’s Lutheran orthodoxy, providence was a dogmatic hallmark and played an important part also in religious practice and piety. Each member of the Swedish church was taught of God’s daily and arbitrary conscientiousness, providentia generalis, in the first article of faith in Luther’s catechism; that God had created each person and all God’s creatures, and that he clothed and fed each person daily, protected them from harm, and all this thanks to his fatherly benevolence, despite its unworthy recipients. Providentia specialis, related to individual phenomena and persons, and was governed by God as well. God oversaw each individual’s good or bad fortune. Theologians were careful to underscore that life on earth never was fair. The ungodly were sometimes fortunate, whereas the faithful could be plagued by misfortune. Balance would be restored, however, in the afterlife. Theologians were also anxious to draw a line against Calvinist ideas of predestination that imparted on the individual the need to progress in the earthly realm as a part of their salvation. For the individual, fortuna was a challenge that must be mastered with the help of virtue and knowledge.⁴²

Fortune, one’s place in the world, was the sum of social and economic factors. It was therefore also an objective reality, not merely an emotional state. Included in fortune were all those aspects of life that the individual could not choose: ancestry, wealth, fatherland, parents, honour, respectability, freedom and slavery. People of high social standing considered themselves much more vulnerable to changing fortunes, simply because they had so much more to lose. It is in this light that we see that social mobility was a paradox. Advancement was not included in the theocratic teachings propagated from pulpits and in state ideology during the second half of the seventeenth century and the early eighteenth. The stationary view of society was further underscored by the strong emphasis on obedience in Luther’s catechism. Social standing was based on ancestry and was a benefit bestowed on some. But, returning to the paradox, God-given fortune was unpredictable: some people did advance, and when they did so it was good form to attribute this to providential rewards for virtue and individual capacity, not luck or chance.⁴³ What is clear, however, is that the reliance on providence did not mean that one was completely in God’s hands. Action might be taken to influence one’s own position, to gain advantages, patronage and advancement.⁴⁴

The hierarchical differentiation between groups in society was God given, and described by bishop Laurentius Paulinus Gothus early in the century as an integral part of creation that had come about because people were like clay in God’s hands and were completely shaped by His will. Like there were differences between angels, stars and planets, so there were differences between humans. Rising into nobility came about either by nature or proper education and upbringing. The men he referred to showed honour and noble virtues, wisdom, sense, manliness and a godly way of life. In so doing they approached God’s nature. In Paulinus Gothus’s view, a noble character was not a simple matter of descent; human free will could squander otherwise excellent prospects. Similarly, the sons of simple folk could behave so well that they were lifted into great honour and power.⁴⁵ Not all theologians were as favourable to taking pains to advance in life. Bishop Jesper Swedberg was very clear regarding the aspiration of clergymen: they should not take any action to change their position, once they were members of the estate. Instead, they must await God’s calling. Careers would move faster for the patient than for those who rushed around and spent money on trying to secure a position. While praising his own morals of social mobility, he simultaneously condemned others for ascending in hierarchy ‘in a worldly way.’⁴⁶ After considering the wonders of his own rise – from a young man standing at the back of Uppsala cathedral wearing rough wool stockings and shoes made of Swedish leather, to the point when he stood before the King, the Crown Prince, bishops and dignitaries celebrating the centenary of the Swedish Reformation – he concluded that it was only thanks to God’s grace that he came ‘forth in the world’. This was his reward for humility.⁴⁷ He had ‘never opened his mouth, nor his purse, nor taken a single step to get a position, but had received five Royal appointments without the least request, application or gifts.’⁴⁸

Swedberg’s strong positions on ambition applied to others as well. What kind of work a person might have aptitude for was not noticeable until a child was in school. Professions were determined by God already when the child was in the womb. God gave a foetus the characteristics that were necessary for professional life:

God gives one [person] the substance, inclination and characteristics to become a peasant or farm labourer; another to become a merchant; another person to become an artisan, who are plentiful. Another to become a watchmaker, another a painter; another a smith; another to become a warrior; another to become a judge, mayor or magistrate; another to become a physician; another to become a sailor; others to become teachers or clergymen; another to become a servant; another to become a lord, councillor of the realm, another to become king or emperor.⁴⁹

After a young boy’s substance was discovered by his elders, he should stay in that profession Swedberg stipulated, well in order with elite views on social mobility. And if a profession was God’s will, He would also give the young boy a desire to go into it. This essentialist understanding of social order, where inclination was innate and not acquired, was best for the human race, Christian congregations and the common good.⁵⁰ While essentialist positions were not commonly rehearsed, certainly the virtues associated with the lower orders underscored the ideal of social inertia. The peasant was to be humble, happy with his lot in life and lacking in ambition to rise above his appointed estate, the craftsman similarly loyal and unassuming.⁵¹ As the bishops’ reasoning shows, there was also room for advancement, God willing, aided by the proper rearing of children, but not for individual ambition or paths. With regards to agency, this set up a complicated relationship between the will of the individual, God and His plan, and what the outcome eventually might be.

Young, skilled and fortunate persons

In a world where social elites were blessed with fortune and others were not, where poverty hindered even the most gifted from being successful and ambition was discouraged, it is striking to find the use of the word ‘fortune’ (fortun) in reference to young boys seeking positions as apprentices and journeymen in Stockholm. Again and again, the word fortune is used in order to portray the young man’s legitimate intentions. But the decisions that the young men have made are active, not merely the result of patiently awaiting providence. Simon Clemetsson ‘had decided to seek elsewhere for his fortune and happiness’ and was leaving Turku in Finland for Stockholm. This was the second leg of his journey; his origins were in the countryside in Tyrvis parish. Olof Olofsson, born in Hinnehärad in Skaraborg county was described in 1677 as being ‘intent on continuing his travels to Södermanland so as to seek his fortune in other places’. Magnus Isaksson, too, wanted to ‘seek his fortune with an honest trade among obliging people’. Anders Mattsson, from rural Södermanland, had gone to the Tanners’ guild in Stockholm to ‘further seek his fortune and happiness’. Börje Gabrielsson from Kristinehamn, too, ‘wants to go to Stockholm to further pursue his fortune’ with the Tanners’ guild.⁵² Erik Johansson had started practicing tannery in his home town of Rauma in Finland, but wanted to learn the craft from the guild in Stockholm. Here, fortune is described in terms of a journey that he had already begun. In Stockholm, his fortune might continue.⁵³

Magnus Johansson from Vadstena had also made the decision to leave his home, and it was after careful consideration. The decision was made with God’s providence in mind, as well as his own desire, and had been affirmed by both his parents. This was a life-changing decision, for being accepted by the Hatters’ guild in Stockholm would mean he would ‘gain his livelihood and subsistence for his life time’. His work, it was expected, would also benefit many others, giving service and pleasure to many good men. It is stated plainly that Magnus Johansson wanted to ‘improve his fortune and advancement’.⁵⁴ Bengt Eriksson’s ambitions were more unclear. He wanted to find work with an estate owner, or perhaps learn a craft. Nonetheless, the burghers of Söderköping recommended him for whatever position he might find.⁵⁵ Several others do not mention fortune, but they are clear on the young man’s intention, of his being ready and inclined to take on the labour of learning a new profession.⁵⁶ Jesper Swedberg’s exhortation on substance, inclination and characteristics does not seem misplaced in this context. The young men are described as agents in their own lives, exhibiting characteristics and inclinations that make them suitable for the craft. However, the certificates depart from Swedberg’s views in that they describe not only required traits, but that the individual had a will of his own to do well and even better himself.

Providence played an important role in Petter Pettersson Bergh’s life: ‘luck was so cruel’ as to take his parents from him at a young age, but then ‘God ordered it so’ that he be raised by his grandmother. As a young child of 6 or 7 he was left alone again, but behaved in accordance with everything that could be expected from a pupil and an orphan. He had provided for himself through honest work. This certificate is interesting, because it was written when Petter Pettersson Berg wanted to be released from his apprenticeship in the Hatters’ guild to become a journeyman, and was an answer to an explicit question from the guild in Stockholm. It ends, however, with a wish that Berg shall find fortune and advancement.⁵⁷ Providence had played a role in Olof Persson Limonen’s life too. He was the son of a peasant who is described as settled. He had gone on to work for a notable vicar for over 7 years until ‘the enemy, the Muscovites, invaded the land’. The issue of his father’s settled status is important, because Limonen was a refugee from occupied Finland. His own social status was low because of his displacement, but the father’s had previously been honourable. Here there is no mention of seeking of fortune or inclination towards the Tanners’ craft, but it is also noteworthy that this is one of few cases that explicitly mention the young man’s intent on making a living, rather than seeking advancement. Providence had had not played out well for this young man and so his aptitude instead lay in his strong work ethic and self-sufficiency.⁵⁸

The idea of seeking fortune as a form of social advancement was explicitly expressed in the certificate of one young man from the parish of Hedemora in Kopparbergs county. He was born of a peasant father who stands without title, but the certificate states the hope that the young Hans Persson will ‘stay in the estate to which he is going’. Estate here (stånd) can refer to a situation in life in general, but it is salient how that new situation is seen as a destination and that he is moving from one social position to another.⁵⁹ Being accepted as an apprentice in a Stockholm guild was viewed, at least by the different institutions issuing the documents, as an advancement even if the young men technically did not change estates. Fortune, for these young men, was something that they as individuals could strive actively for, their inclinations supported by their kin and community.

When young men of varying backgrounds were introduced in the certificates of descent, they were often given a title. Using titles as a form of address to indicate a post or position was common practice in early modern Sweden; a title marked social rank.⁶⁰ The title most commonly used for these young men was person (person), irrespective of their background. In many cases, the hopeful apprentices and journeymen were also given some form of title of respect, such as ‘honest and skilled person Joen Eriksson’, ‘honest and careful young person Erik Johansson’ or simply ‘young person Mårten Hansson’.⁶¹ Although many are mentioned without any title at all, only two young men are given an alternate title, namely dräng, a male servant labourer. In Anders Eriksson’s case, the title may have come about because of his age – he was 32 when he sought apprenticeship. It is however slightly odd, because he is also described as the son of city burghers in Hedemora. The physical work required within the tanner’s trade might however have made the work not uncommon to that of a servant labourer.⁶² The term person at this time did not just denote a human being in general; it was also more specifically a title used for young men. Like the layered denotations of the title hustru (wife), person had many interlinking meanings. It could serve to signify capacity and station in life, in this instance as unmarried. Particularly when we consider that person is combined with virtues that also signify a craftsman’s manliness, it becomes clear that the word person is a title and does not refer to human being in general. The preferred qualification is skicklig, which means ‘appropriate’, ‘of proper behaviour’, but also ‘skilled’ – one of the foremost virtues of a craftsman together with loyalty and being unassuming. Here too, we find virtues of aspiration and propriety rather than those of the station the young man comes from, combined with those that more commonly denote members of the lower orders, like honest (ärlig).⁶³

In contrast to the derogatory female equivalent ‘woman person’ (kvinnsperson) which referred to a woman of loose morals and a vagrant or criminal lifestyle, person was an unusual title. In the Gender and Work database of Uppsala University, which is heavily skewed towards rural areas, the title person is a rare occurrence. Only four such cases exist, whereas the title kvinnsperson occurs seven times. In one case, the title is also combined with the qualifications ‘honest and skilled’. It then denotes a rural shoemaker who has presented a certificate.⁶⁴ In contrast to its feminized version, we can conclude that person was a term of quality and mobility and connected to craftsmanship. Added to this we have their young age and unmarried status which temporarily might limit divisions of social status.⁶⁵ Person therefore becomes a title of quality that is at the same time liminal, one that indicates direction rather than established status. Prospective apprentices and journeymen had not yet taken the step into their future means of subsistence, and they were still the sons of tenant farmers, peasants, burghers and bergsmän. They were on the move and had not yet reached their social destination.

Conclusions

Unclear social station, mobility and ambition were not usually characteristics favoured in seventeenth century Sweden, nor do they appear in modern-day interpretations of the Swedish guild system of the time. But in the bördsbrev, they abound. The unusual use of the title ‘person’ in the certificates denotes a liminal position in society, one that largely is positive. Being a person indicated a young man deeply embedded within a local community, but with a direction in life, unmarried, skilled or wanting to acquire skill. This mobility should have an end however, and here we also encounter the limits of corporate ideology. This was therefore a transition from one position of social embeddedness into another. The certificates point to the value of looking beyond official propaganda and social categorizations and to see how Lutheran culture and social mobility melded into each other, in the practice of individual lives. We could read these phrasings differently, of course. It is possible that depicting the guild as a maker of fortunes for young men was a strategy intended to flatter the guild masters so that they would be inclined to take a boy in. I would nevertheless argue that the rhetoric used in the certificates of descent is more significant than fawning to the guilds. All the attributes of ambition, fortune and advancement are held by the young men. They were the makers of their own fortune, not the guilds. Heavenly providence was a prompt towards personal agency, not the agent itself.

From this follows that mobility – social and geographic – was desirable for this group. The practices of social mobility show positive renditions of moving from one social station or estate, to another, understood to be of higher social status. This new social position also brought possibilities of even further advancement, into journeyman or, in rare cases perhaps master, which rarely would have been possible in any other way for many of the young men from rural backgrounds. While these certificates do not represent the whole of a society and its ideology, the results here should be regarded as a push towards a more integrated understanding of the Swedish society of estates and the relationship between its ideology and the reality that it attempted to describe and contain. Practices show that there existed a well-trodden route from a rural background towards admittance to a guild that was not only administrative, nor was it merely based on supply and demand within the workforce. It was laden with positive value and symbolism, and emphasized with the help of scores of participants apart from the would-be apprentice himself. Access to mobility was open to young men at a particular time in life, and was channelled through bureaucratic institutions like parishes, local courts and the ever-expanding world of written documentation. It was aided in social networks of marriage, kinship and master-servant relations. Within an ideology that promoted inertia and stability, there was also room for movement, ambition and individual choice. Significantly, though, this was possible because networks and practitioners contained and stabilized certain parts of the social order while using the same elements to channel mobility. Where mobility was opened and encouraged for some, other paths than the one described here did not give the same rewards. Practices underscored the value of marriage and birth within wedlock, gendered division of labour, the value of self-support and resilience, the province of the guilds to teach skilled labour and the apparent finality to guild entrance rituals. Finally, they pushed other types of travel to Stockholm to find work into the ‘netherworld of disorder’.⁶⁶ Rather than speaking of guild ‘openness’ or ‘closure’ we might speak of paths that some might take, and many others might not. Paths both channelled and contained, making action and agency both possible and impossible, simultaneously.

When it comes to the role of the guilds for channelling and containing social mobility, there is much work to be done. Stockholm guilds had the potential to contribute to bettering the lot for many young men and boys by admitting them into learning a craft, despite being born well beyond the city walls and to parents of lowly status. Apart from the formal admittance procedure that has been discussed above, there is also evidence that the guilds took in children from the Stockholm city orphanage, or who had been begging in the streets, at the request of city authorities – children who lacked any social network at all.⁶⁷ Which paths young people might take to support and make a life for themselves can only be determined by practice. Only in the interaction between aspirations and actions, well-trodden paths and new routes, paperwork and providence can we understand more.

Manuscript sources

Stockholms stadsarkiv

Politikollegiums arkiv, protokoll

Uppsala University Library

Hattmakareämbetets i Stockholm, handlingar, W 408

Garvareämbetets i Stockholm, handlingar, W 379

Garvareämbetets i Stockholm in- och utskrivningsbok, W 384

Acknowledgements

The author would like to thank Hjalmar Fors and Henrik Ågren for discussions of this article, as well as the anonymous reviewers for galvanizing and critical comments that made the article considerably better. This work was supported by Riksbankens jubileumsfond under grant no. RFP12-0385:1.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author.

Additional information

Funding

This work was supported by the Riksbankens Jubileumsfond [RFP12-0385:1].

Notes on contributors

Karin Sennefelt

Karin Sennefelt, is professor of history at Stockholm University. Her main interests lie in how early modern people understood and navigated their social and spiritual worlds. She has studied this in terms of how people looked at and categorised each other, how they navigated urban spaces, and how bodies and objects shaped identities and identification. She has also published on spatial practices, gender and citizenship. Lately, her work has focused on the body and spiritual experience in Lutheran culture. Address: Department of History, Stockholm University, 106 91 Stockholm, Sweden. [email: [email protected]]

Notes

1 ‘Befalla Herranom tin wäg så gåå tin anslag fram’. Bördsbrev Johan Larsson, 6 Oct. 1678, Hattmakareämbetets handlingar, W 408, Uppsala universtitetsbibliotek (UUB). The translation in 1541 reads “werk” rather than “wäg”. Biblia, Thet Är, All Then Helgha Scrifft, På Swensko Ord 16:3. The quote in English is based on the King James Version Proverbs 16:3, but has been changed to reflect the vicar’s alteration.

2 Shove, Pantzar, and Watson, Dynamics of Social Practice, 7, 14; For this basic definition of social mobility, see Ross, “Pupil’s Choices and Social Mobiity,” 313–14 and notes.

3 Shove, Pantzar, and Watson, Dynamics of Social Practice, 14–16, 63.

4 Shove, Pantzar, and Watson, 65–67, 72.

5 cf. Shove, Pantzar, and Watson, 65.

6 Shove, Pantzar, and Watson, 78–79, 135–36.

7 Epstein and Prak, “Introduction: Guilds, Innovation and the European Economy, 1400–1800,” 1–11; De Munck, “Corpses, Live Models, and Nature.”

8 Ogilvie, A Bitter Living, 329–31; Ogilvie, “Guilds, Efficiency, and Social Capital,” 311; Ogilvie, “Rehabilitating the Guilds”; For a study of women’s agency within the craft system in Sweden in the eighteenth century, see Lindström, “Privilegierade eller kringskurna?”

9 Boes, “‘Dishonourable’ Youth, Guilds, and the Changed World View of Sex, Illegitimacy, and Women in Late-Sixteenth-Century Germany”; See also Ogilvie, The European Guilds, 108–9.

10 Söderlund, Stockholms hantverkarklass, 289; Söderlund, Hantverkarna, 2:398; Edgren, Lärling - gesäll - mästare, 152; Hauffman, Hattmakarnas låda, 58.

11 Farr, Artisans in Europe 1300-1914, 34–35; Ogilvie, “Guilds, Efficiency, and Social Capital,” 322–23; Ogilvie, The European Guilds, 169–71; Leunig, Minns, and Wallis, “Networks in the Premodern Economy,” 437.

12 Prak, “Moral Order in the World of Work: Social Control and the Guilds in Europe,” 182; Leunig, Minns, and Wallis, “Networks in the Premodern Economy”; Wallis, “Labor, Law, and Training in Early Modern London”; Gowing, “Girls on Forms”; Sánchez et al., “The Return of the Guilds,” 257, 266.

13 Prak, “Moral Order in the World of Work: Social Control and the Guilds in Europe”; Ogilvie, “Rehabilitating the Guilds,” 178; Ogilvie, The European Guilds, 169.

14 De Munck, “From Brotherhood Community to Civil Society?”; Cf. Söderlund, Hantverkarna, 2:261–62.

15 Carlsson, Bonde - präst - ämbetsman, 12, 29; Carlsson, Ståndssamhälle och ståndspersoner 1700-1865, 13; Edgren, Lärling - Gesäll - Mästare, 240–93; Edgren, “De svenska hantverksskråna under 1700-talet.,” 121–22; see esp. Edgren, “Craftsmen,” 146–47; Lindström, “Skråhantverket,” 199–213, see e.g. p. 219 where groupings are described as “more or less permanent” in life. Stadin, Stånd och genus i stormaktstidens Sverige, 216–21, 300, see e.g. p. 216-217 where guild identity is described in terms of a state (of being) and not under any influence of change. Lindström, “Genusarbetsdelning i det tidigmoderna skråväsendet,” 201, 203; Ågren, “Introduction,” 11, which states that “corporatist structures like guilds restricted people’s options.”

16 Englund, Det hotade huset, 29, 33, 36–39, 44–46; Stadin, Stånd och genus i stormaktstidens Sverige, 16–26, 297, 300. Stadin mentions on p. 24 that “estate ideology was not static” and that it changed over time, although this is only discussed in terms of masculinities and femininities, and not in terms of the estates themselves.

17 Carlsson, Ståndssamhälle och ståndspersoner 1700-1865; Edgren, Lärling - gesäll - mästare, 144–293; Hakanen, “Career Opportunities: Patron-Client Relations Used in Advancing Academic Careers,” 98–115; Harnesk, “Den föränderliga patriarkalismen”; Stadin, Stånd och genus i stormaktstidens Sverige, 16–25, 283; Edgren, “När skarprättaren”; Lindström, “Genusarbetsdelning i det tidigmoderna skråväsendet,” 181–83, 201; Runefelt, Att hasta mot undergången. Anspråk, flyktighet, förställning i debatten om konsumtion i Sverige 1730-1830; Alm, “Making a Difference: Sartorial Practices and Social Order in Eighteenth-Century Sweden”; Ågren, “Introduction,” 8–10; Jansson, Fiebranz, and Östman, “Constitutive Tasks,” 154–55.

18 Mispelaere and Lindström, “En plats att leva på. Geografisk rörlighet och social position i det gamla bondesamhället”; Sennefelt, “Ordering Identification: Migrants, Material Culture and Social Bonds in Stockholm, 1650–1720”; Andersson, Migration i 1600-talets Sverige.

19 Sandberg, “Huvudstad i ett stormaktsvälde,” 128–30, 140–41; The Masons show a boost in new masters in the second half of the century, see Hall et al., Murmestarne, 45–47. The medical professions show a similar rise in opportunity, see Fors, “Medicine and the Making of a City: Spaces of Pharmacy and Scholarly Medicine in Seventeenth-Century Stockholm,” 482–88; and Vainio-Korhonen, De frimodiga, 38–39.

20 Söderlund, Hantverkarna, 2:261–62, 267; Pursche, Timmermansämbetet, 99–111.

21 Söderlund, Hantverkarna, 2:262–65; Pursche, Timmermansämbetet, 87, 101–8, 117, 127–34.

22 In 1689, there were 13 master tanners with 15 journeymen and 4 apprentices. The figures for the Hatters are 11/23/10 and the Masons 10/107/14. Söderlund, Stockholms hantverkarklass, 302–3.

23 Söderlund, Hantverkarna, 2:22–24, 31–32, 397–98. Goldsmiths on the other hand usually trained for seven years before becoming journeymen. Hauffman, Hattmakarnas låda, 45; Hall et al., Murmestarne, 50–51, 126–76. The sources for each guild vary somewhat. In the case of the Hatters and the Tanners, the certificates of descent from would-be apprentices can testify to the origins of the prospective member, whereas in the case of the Masons I have relied on the guild minutes where new apprentices are mentioned.

24 Hauffman, Hattmakarnas Låda, 62.

25 Hattmakarämbetets i Stockholm, handlingar, W 408, UUB. This number can be compared to the 198 apprentices in the guild during the period 1650–1720. Hauffman bases his numbers on a wide range of sources, from the guild minutes, to tax registers and court records, and not only guild registers of apprentices. Hauffman, 83–93.

26 Garvareämb. in- och utskrivningsbok, W 384, UUB.

27 “Murmästareämbetets i Stockholm protokollsbok 1677–1744,” 1–245, 1677-1720. On varying ways of admitting apprentices on the same day, see 21 Aug. 1689, p. 96-97. cf. Söderlund, Stockholms hantverkarklass, 289; Söderlund, Hantverkarna, 2:398.

28 The discussions in the following sections are based on 90 certificates from the Hatters’ guild and 16 from the Tanners’ guild between 1646 and 1720.

29 Bördsbrev Petter Andersson 3 Apr. 1661, Mårten Hansson 4 Mar. 1663, Benedictus Bunde 26 Aug. 1663, Jakob Eriksson 19 Jun. 1667, Anders Persson 17 Aug. 1674, Bengt Eriksson 5 Sep. 1679, Niklas Schröder 7 Oct. 1682, Reinhard & Olof Root 10 Oct 1683, Magnus Johansson 20 Feb. 1684, Johan Jönsson 1 Feb. 1700, Johan Eriksson Åhman 15 Sep. 1700, Lars Andersson 5 Aug. 1701, Zachris Nilsson 5 Sep. 1707, Olof Nilsson Berg 11 May 1708, Hattm. handl., W408, Bördsbrev Daniel Haraldsson 19 Sep. 1646, Erik Johansson 14 May 1701, Olof Bengtsson 9 Aug. 1702, Anders Eriksson 11 Aug. 1704, Johan Mattsson 13 Sep. 1714, Börje Gabrielsson 26 Jan. 1715, Garvareämb. handl., W 379, UUB.

30 Bördsbrev Olof Eriksson 10 Oct. 1674, Johan Andersson 20 Nov. 1707, Bengt Andersson Gråå 14 May 1707, Hattm. handl., W408, UUB.

31 Bördsbrev Nils Larsson 10 Mar. 1659, Simon Clemetsson 18 Jun. 1661, Peder Nilsson Släde 24 Aug. 1667, Joen Eriksson 14 Jul. 1672, Anders Larsson 27 Mar. 1674, Olof Olofsson 28 Jan. 1677, Olof Svensson 25 Feb. 1678, Anders Pedersson 23 Jul. 1684, Anders Toresson 28 Dec. 1699, Anders Jonsson 10 Sep. 1703, Hattm. handl., W408, Anders Mattsson 26 Jan. 1678, Johan Johansson 29 Oct-3 Nov. 1687, Mats Elling 16 Feb. 1714, Olof Persson Limonen 14 May 1715, Garvareämb. handl., W 379, UUB.

32 Bördsbrev Jakob Eriksson 19 Jun. 1667, Johan Larsson 6 Oct. 1678, Petter Pettersson Bergh 18 Aug. 1687, Jöns Svensson Sandberg 27 Oct 1698, Jörgen Kruus 8 Sep. 1691, Tomas Hansson Mejderling 26 Feb. 1703, Hattm. handl., W408, UUB. Bergsmän were mining experts or owners or part owners of mining installations, see Hjalmar Fors, Mutual Favours, (Institutionen för idé- och lärdomshistoria, Uppsala universitet: Uppsala, 2003), 23.

33 Bördsbrev Antonius Hessler 25 Jun. 1700, Lars Persson Damström 24 Sep. 1707, Hattm. handl., W408, UUB.

34 “Murmästareämbetets i Stockholm Protokollsbok 1677-1744.” For the shoemaker’s sons see 18 Feb. 1716, p. 239.

35 Bördsbrev Nils Larsson 10 Mar. 1659, Simon Clemetsson 18 Jun. 1661, Peder Nilsson Släde 24 Aug. 1667, Joen Eriksson 14 Jul. 1672, Anders Larsson 27 Mar. 1674, Olof Olofsson 28 Jan. 1677, Olof Svensson 25 Feb. 1678, Anders Pedersson 23 Jul. 1684, Anders Toresson 28 Dec. 1699, Anders Jonsson 10 Sep. 1703, Hattm. handl., W408; Bördsbrev Petter Jacobsson Ferniss, 9 Jun. 1668, Anders Mattsson 26 Jan. 1678, Johan Johansson 29 Oct-3 Nov. 1687, Mats Elling 16 Feb. 1714, Olof Persson Limonen 14 May 1715, Garvareämb. handl., W 379, UUB.

36 Bördsbrev Nils Larsson 10 Mar. 1659, Joen Eriksson 14 Jul. 1672, Bengt Andersson Gråå 14 May 1707, Olof Nilsson Berg 11 May 1708, Hattm. handl., W408, Bördsbrev Anders Eriksson 11 Aug. 1704, Garvareämb. handl., W 379, UUB.

37 Bördsbrev Jakob Eriksson 19 Jun. 1667, Peder Nilsson Släde 24 Aug. 1667, Joen Eriksson 14 Jul. 1672, Anders Toresson 28 Dec. 1699, Johan Jönsson 1 Feb. 1700, Hattm. handl., W408, UUB.

38 See e.g. Bördsbrev Olof Olofsson, 28 Jan. 1677, Nils Larsson, 10 Mar. 1703, Hattm. handl., W408, UUB.

39 Bördsbrev Magnus Johansson 20 Feb. 1684, Johan Jönsson 1 Feb. 1700, Tomas Hansson Mejderling 26 Feb. 1703, Hattm. handl., W408, UUB.

40 ‘Murmästareämbetets i Stockholm protokollsbok 1677-1744', 16 May, 8 Aug. 1679, 7 Jun. 1681, 19 Jan., 5 Dec. 1683 (undated) Oct. 1684, 13 Mar. 1688, 22 Oct. 1689, 25 Jun. 1690, 5 Jul. 1693, 12, 14-15, 34, 49, 52, 57, 78, 102, 105, 137.

41 ‘Murmästareämbetets i Stockholm protokollsbok 1677-1744', 10 Oct. 1682 (undated) Oct. 1684, 45, 58.

42 Savin, Fortunas klädnader, 36–37, 39–40, 52; Lindberg, “Teokratisk åskådning och naturrätt,” 117–18, 125; Walsham, Providence in Early Modern England, 9–10; Hellerstedt, Ödets teater, 149, 192; Karant-Nunn, The Reformation of Feeling, 88.

43 Lindberg, “Teokratisk åskådning och naturrätt,” 113, 115, 123; Savin, Fortunas klädnader, 61, 64, 78–80, 88, 93.

44 See e.g. Hakanen, “Career Opportunities: Patron-Client Relations Used in Advancing Academic Careers.”

45 Paulinus Gothus, Ethicæ christianæ, 358–65, 385, 393, 396–97.

46 Jesper Swedberg, Jesper Swedbergs lefwernes beskrifning, ed. Gunnar Wetterberg (Gleerup: Lund, 1941), 168-169. See also 249-250, 424.

47 Swedberg, Jesper Swedbergs lefwernes beskrifning, 178. See also 215.

48 Swedberg, 385. See also 409-410. It should be noted however that Swedberg, despite his strong opinions, cannot help revealing a strong ambition of his own in his autobiography.

49 Swedberg, Jesper Swedbergs lefwernes beskrifning, 459–460. Emphasis in original.

50 Swedberg, Jesper Swedbergs lefwernes beskrifning, 240, 460–463.

51 Stadin, Stånd och genus i stormaktstidens Sverige, 224, 280–82.

52 Bördsbrev Nils Larsson 10 Mar. 1659, Simon Clemetsson 18 Jun. 1661, Anders Persson 17 Aug. 1674, Olof Olofsson 28 Jan. 1677, Petter Pettersson Bergh 18 Aug. 1687, Magnus Isaksson 12 Sept. 1689, Hattm. handl., W408, Bördsbrev Anders Mattsson 26 Jan. 1678, Johan Andersson 20 Nov. 1707, Johan Mattsson 13 Sep. 1714, Börje Gabrielsson 26 Jan. 1715, Garvareämb. handl., W 379, UUB.

53 Bördsbrev Erik Johansson 14 May 1701, Garvareämb. handl., W 379, UUB.

54 Bördsbrev Magnus Johansson 20 Feb. 1684, Hattm. handl., W408.

55 Bördsbrev Bengt Eriksson 5 Sep. 1679, Hattm. handl., W408, UUB.

56 Bördsbrev Anders Larsson 27 Mar. 1674, Johan Larsson 6 Oct. 1678, Bengt Eriksson 5 Sep. 1679, Anders Pedersson 23 Jul. 1684, Johan Eriksson Åhman 15 Sep. 1700, Hattm. handl., W408, Petter Jacobsson Ferniss 9 Jun. 1668, Johan Johansson 29 Oct-3 Nov. 1687, Garvareämb. handl., W 379, UUB.

57 Bördsbrev Petter Pettersson Bergh 18 Aug. 1687, Hattm. handl., W408, UUB.

58 Bördsbrev Olof Persson Limonen 14 May 1715, Garvareämb. handl., W 379, UUB.

59 Bördsbrev Hans Persson 10 Oct 1717, Hattm. handl., W408, UUB.

60 Ågren, “Status, Estate, or Profession? Social Stratification via Titles in 1730s Sweden,” 169.

61 Bördsbrev Mårten Hansson 4 Mar. 1663, Gudmund Gudmundsson 28 Feb. 1666, Joen Eriksson 14 Jul. 1672, Olof Olofsson 28 Jan. 1677, Anders Larsson 27 Mar. 1674, Anders Persson 17 Aug. 1674, Olof Eriksson 10 Oct. 1674, Johan Larsson 6 Oct. 1678, Niklas Schröder 7 Oct. 1682, Magnus Johansson 20 Feb. 1684, Magnus Isaksson 12 Sep. 1689, Jörgen Kruus 8 Sep. 1691, Anders Toresson 28 Dec. 1699, Johan Eriksson Åhman 15 Sep. 1700, Lars Andersson 5 Aug. 1701, Lars Persson Damström 24 Sep. 1707, Olof Nilsson Berg 11 May 1708, Hattm. handl., W408, Bördsbrev Daniel Haraldsson 19 Sep. 1646, Erik Johansson 14 May 1701, Olof Bengtsson 9 Aug. 1702, Johan Andersson 20 Nov. 1707, Johan Mattsson 13 Sep. 1714, Garvareämb. handl., W 379, UUB. Cf. Ordbok över svenska språket, “person” 2).

62 Bördsbrev Tomas Hansson Mejderling 26 Feb. 1703, Hattm. handl., W408, Bördsbrev Anders Eriksson 11 Aug. 1704, Garvareämb. handl., W 379, UUB.

63 Ordbok över svenska språket, “person”, “skicklig”; Stadin, Stånd Och Genus i Stormaktstidens Sverige, 222–24; Pihl and Ågren, “Vad var en hustru?,” 171, 183–84, 188–89.

64 Genus och arbete (Gender and work database), nos. 83, 10787, 11072, 11109 resp. 4343, 4925, 4987, 9896, 9970, 10407, 10787. One of these cases, interestingly, denotes a woman. Cases 101, 4589, 4790, 8566, 8797, 8971, 10795, 10927 use the term in the more colloquial sense.

65 Shepard, “Poverty, Labour and the Language of Social Description in Early Modern England,” 78.

66 Sennefelt, “Ordering Identification: Migrants, Material Culture and Social Bonds in Stockholm, 1650–1720”; Cf. Farr, Artisans in Europe 1300-1914, 29; Ogilvie, The European Guilds, 169–71.

67 Politikollegiums arkiv, protokoll, 23 Oct (sic Sep.), 30 Sep.1673, p. 136–137, 150; 12 Feb. 1684, fol. 8, Stockholms stadsarkiv. See also Prak, “Moral Order in the World of Work: Social Control and the Guilds in Europe,” 178.