by H. E. Jacob
The Spanish example taught Colbert the valuelessness of wealth that is not rooted in labour. Turning his eyes northward, Colbert saw the desirable counterpart, the happiness of the diligent Netherlands. This good fortune of theirs was not due merely to the winning of a war and to the control of the mouths of certain great rivers; these were merely the preconditions of the rise of the Dutch to wealth and power. The merit and the good fortune of the Dutch were that they were also, and simultaneously, manufacturers and traders.
The basis of the French national character seemed to Colbert just as good as that of the Dutch. Frenchmen (who are diligent enough, though not diligent to excess—and only inclined to work so long as work pleases them) were sufficiently skilled. No more cunning fingers than theirs could be found for any kind of handicraft. These fingers might be usefully employed at work ranging from silk-spinning and silk-weaving to the making of steel. Colbert, therefore, began to invest money in industry. Manufacturing was not only to provide wares for export, but also to relieve the cancer of unemployment in France—the chief cause of the prevailing poverty. The establishment of factories in barren lands would be “un moyen assuré de retirer ceux qui s’y appliqueroient de l’oisiveté honteuse, dans laquelle ils estoient plongés”; and, at the same time, these factories would be instruments for providing universal plenty.
Colbert’s disastrous error was his belief that he could promote popular welfare in a land where “national production” was able to advantage only the absolute monarchy; but, most unfortunately, most tragically, he was too short-sighted to see as much. His attitude towards the monarch, like that of all his contemporaries, was one of Oriental adulation. Louis XIV’s insistence that he himself was the state did not seem to Colbert hyperbolical, but tantamount to the expression of a natural law. To his way of thinking, there could perfectly well exist a human being to whose sublime intelligence the state might turn in every emergency—so that this man would not merely symbolize the French state, but would in very truth be the state. The Roi Soleil was such a semi-divine being, such a Pharaoh. Colbert was not moved by a servile spirit of flattery, but by genuine conviction, when he wrote to King Louis: “Il faut, Sire, se taire, admirer, remercier Dieu tous les jours de nous avoir fait naistre sous le règne d’un roy tel que vostre Majesté qui n’aura d’autres bornes de sa puissance que sa volonté.”
Thus a fruitful commercial policy would mean increase of exports in conjunction with the greatest possible restriction of imports. The result would be a steady influx of money. To facilitate the circulation of goods in the homeland, internal customs dues, which had hitherto been imposed at the gates of every town and at the crossings of every river, were reduced. On the other hand, the tariffs payable at the frontiers of the country were greatly increased.
Nothing must be imported into France which France could herself produce—no Italian or Flemish manufactured wares, for instance. Or, if their importation were not absolutely prohibited, high duties would have to be paid. But articles which could not be produced on French soil were also taxed at the frontier. Tropical spices had to pay customs. So had coffee.
In the outlook of the mercantilists, the world consisted of countless items of goods. Only to outward semblance did mercantilism lean towards the notion of national autarchy, which is far from “thinking in commodities” because, from the start, the autarchists refuse to look upon a national economy as a part of the world economy, a part which has to come into relationship with the world economy through foreign trade. Colbert, therefore, was not an autarchist, but a mercantilist. If he put a high import duty upon coffee, this was only as a means of revenue. He had no inclination whatever towards such national-pedagogic opinions as those that were later to be uttered by J. G. Fichte. Nor had Louis XIV’s minister for finance anything to do with the campaign of the doctors against the daily use of coffee as a beverage. On the contrary, when a governmental edict of that period made any reference to coffee, the drink was described as wholesome. A monarchy had no reason for declaring a commodity poisonous when its sale proved an abundant source of revenue.
The absolutism of the baroque period, whose aim in all political matters was to centralize as far as possible, toyed, in the economy of the country as well, with the idea of monopoly. Monopoly could control prices. One who controlled prices, could also, if there should be no falling-off in consumption, count upon a fixed revenue. Yet there seemed to be excellent reasons why the state should not itself control such a monopoly, but sell it to an entrepreneur.
The sale of monopolies to farmers-general became almost indispensable when the mercantilist state was in urgent need of ready money owing to reverses on the field of battle. In the year 1692, France was in such a position. During the naval encounter of La Hogue, the French fleet under de Tourville was defeated and dispersed by the combined British and Dutch fleets under Admirals Russell and van Allemonde; two days later Admiral Rooke destroyed thirteen of the French men-of-war and some transports. The armies of the Grand Alliance—Britain, Holland, Austria, Spain, and Saxony—were taking vengeance for the devastation wrought in the Palatinate by the troops of General Mélac. Louis was in dire need of fresh funds for the carrying on of the war. Colbert had died ten years before, a disappointed man. Perhaps had he still lived, some better financial scheme might have been excogitated than the one which was now adopted by the French monarchy in its scarcity of funds. A monopoly of coffee was announced, and was farmed out to a wealthy citizen of Paris, reputedly a banker, François Damame by name.
This first coffee monopoly ceded by the state to a private individual is of interest to the history of civilization. From its text, that of the edit du Roy, “portant règlement pour la vente et la distribution du café,” or, rather, from the preamble to the document, we learn in so many words that the king intended “d’en tirer quelque secours dans l’occurrence de la présente guerre.”
“His Majesty, [the document declared] after listening to the advice of the Council of State, has granted to Maître François Damame the exclusive privilege, for three years from January 1, 1692, of selling coffee, tea, chocolate, and the materials out of which they are made; likewise cocoa and vanilla; in all the provinces, towns, and domains of the realm of France.
“From the aforesaid day onward, the Sieur Damame has the right of enjoying all the fruits of this traffic, of seeing to it that his privilege shall be sustained and administered; of granting commissions and appointing employees according to his own will and pleasure.
“His Most Christian Majesty consequently forbids everyone to participate in the provision or in the sale by wholesale or retail of the aforesaid commodities without a special permit from the lessee Damame.
“His Most Christian Majesty ordains that all merchants and shopkeepers who have coffee whether in beans or powdered, or tea or chocolate, in store, shall immediately make a return of the amount of the same. In Monsieur Damame’s offices, thereupon, the aforesaid wares will be weighed, investigated, marked, labelled, and sealed. Then the aforesaid wares will be stored in safe warehouses. Anyone who evades this edict concerning the notification of coffee, tea, etc., whether it be the owner or his assistants, will be liable to a fine of 1500 livres. The unnotified stores and the fines will accrue to the lessee Damame; with the exception that the informer will receive a third.
“His Majesty prohibits the import of coffee, tea, and chocolate by any other ports than Marseille and Rouen—except in the case of such quantities as may be seized as prizes of war, and which it may be expedient to land at the nearest possible harbour. His Majesty, however, warns any possible offenders against the smuggling of the aforesaid wares into the kingdom to the detriment of the lessee Damame.
“His Majesty forbids the lessees and owners of coaches, wagons, or boats, and also forbids porters, to move any of the aforesaid substances from place to place without having received a permit from the lessee Damame. As to any who may act in default of such a permit, not only will the goods be impounded, but
their horses, harness, carriages, wagons, and boats will likewise be forfeited. All merchants, shopkeepers, and purveyors must write bills of lading on which the commodities they are sending are specified.
“Furthermore, His Majesty grants to the lessee François Damame the right to appoint as many salaried employees as he thinks fit in all towns of the realm, at fairs and markets, camps and barracks, with the army on active service, and also at court and in the household of his Royal Majesty. These employees will be concerned with the sale and provision of the aforesaid beverages, and will enjoy identical privileges with those granted by His Majesty to the employees of other lessees of royal privileges.
“The coffee that is sold may not be mixed with oats, peas or beans, or any other adulterant. The same applies to tea, cocoa, and chocolate, which must be sold pure. Anyone who adulterates them becomes liable to flogging and to a fine of 1500 livres.
“His Most Christian Majesty issues strict instructions to Lieutenant-General de la Reynie, governor of Paris, as well as to the local governors throughout the realm, to see to it that this edict shall everywhere be read aloud, published, and posted, and that action shall be taken accordingly.”
Colbert, as financial adviser to King Louis, had put a very considerable duty on coffee, but he had seen to it that this duty was not so high as to check consumption. François Damame, the coffee monopolist, was an amateur in financial matters, and was already insolvent when the king granted him the monopoly. Besides, the concession was deprived of all value because, by an edict simultaneously issued, the price of a pound of coffee was fixed at the dizzy height of four livres. Six months later, Damame came to the king wringing his hands, and begging that the gap should be bridged between the old price, 28 sous the pound, and the new. “There has been a terrible falling-off in consumption; most of the former drinkers of coffee have abandoned its use. Unless a change is made, coffee will no longer be drunk.” His Majesty would do well to think of the setback to his own revenue; for the declining demand that would be the ruin of Monsieur Damame would affect the royal budget as well. The amateur financiers at court could not fail to see that they had made a blunder. The price of coffee was now fixed at fifty sous the pound.
But it was too late! Exactly a year and a half after the monopoly had been granted, François Damame had to retire as lessee of the royal privilege. The excessive price had ruined the monopoly; the unhappy monopolist, by helping to finance the king’s war, had lost his own campaign. He begged of Louis XIV the favour to be released from his privilege. “We have recognized,” runs the unctuous wording of His Majesty’s revocation, “that the heavy expenses that Monsieur Damame has incurred in order to make use of his privilege have deprived him of the advantages which might otherwise have accrued to him. We have, further, examined the offers made to us by other dealers; it has been suggested to us that we should fix the import duty at any height we please, and that we should agree to liberate the trade in coffee from the tribute that was payable to Monsieur Damame.” The merchants might very well recommend free competition, even if there was to be a high import duty and a high price, for they had not to pay the cost of supervising a monopoly.
The import duty on coffee was now, therefore, increased by ten sous the pound. But at the same time the monopoly was abolished, and free trade in coffee was allowed within the realm, as the traders had wished. By the year 1700 there was such an increase in consumption that the crown regretted having done away with the monopoly!
A quarter of a century later, a second monopoly was established. Louis XIV was dead. The condition of national finances was so deplorable that in a present-day state it would have led to public bankruptcy. Still, the absolute monarchy was able to hide the disastrous situation for another fifty years. Louis XV conceded the tobacco monopoly to the French West India Company, which colonized the French settlements on the American mainland and in the West Indies. When the affairs of the company were in a bad way, he tried to help it out of its difficulties by granting to it, in addition, a coffee monopoly that was even more comprehensive than the one which had been conceded to Monsieur Damame.
Lest the new monopoly should instantly become unpopular, the top price of coffee was fixed at five livres per pound. Smuggling was made punishable by flogging, branding, fines, and banishment. The French West India Company was given unlimited powers of espionage on French soil. “The agents and inspectors of the West India Company will be henceforward allowed to search all stores, shops, villas, and houses, even the residences and palaces of the king, as well as the domiciles of the nobles, monasteries, guild-buildings, in a word every place that has hitherto been regarded as privileged. . . . We therefore command the administrators of the aforesaid domiciles, including those of the royal palaces, the venerable priors of the monasteries, and the masters of all guild-buildings whatsoever to open their doors to the aforesaid inspectors whenever these may demand entry. . . . In case of resistance, the inspectors are hereby allowed to open the doors with the aid of locksmiths they may bring with them.”
But even this monopoly, with its grievous invasion of civic freedom, was useless to the concessionnaires. Like Damame, the chiefs of the West India Company found that the costs of supervising the coffee trade exceeded the profits. Within a few years it was necessary to return to a regime of freedom.
One who studies the influence that, towards the year 1700, French coffee-houses had on the social life of the country, will be inclined to envy the coffee-house keepers. Had they not an abundance of guests and consumers every hour of the day? In fact, however, their lot was by no means a happy one. The monarchy hovered like a vulture over every means of livelihood. The predatory policy that had been characteristic of Louis XIV in world commerce, was exercised by this monarch on the small scale likewise. If in Paris or in the provinces an industry collapsed, one could generally guess that the royal tax-gatherers had been busily at work.
The coffee-house keepers of Paris belonged to a guild of persons who called themselves “maîtres-distillateurs,” or, in more modern paraphrase, “refreshment-providers.” Refreshing drinks already existed in great numbers, ranging from lemonade to the stronger sorts of alcoholic liquors.
Anyone who wanted to belong to this guild, must take out a licence. The licences were already drafted when it occurred to King Louis that the Society of the Lemonade-Sellers had no fixed rules, or was in need of new rules. For the official sanctioning of this change of rules, His Majesty demanded three hundred livres. Naturally the lemonade-sellers did not pay; whereupon King Louis waxed angry and sent a sheriff’s officer to the guild-house. This official announced that next day he would unceremoniously confiscate all the maîtres-distillateurs’ supplies unless he were immediately paid one hundred and fifty livres. The lemonade-sellers gave way.
Yet the maîtres-distillateurs had good reason for resisting the new ordinance. The change of rules promulgated by His Majesty opened vast opportunities for humbug. Henceforward anyone who paid a sufficient sum to the state treasury could call himself a distillateur. He need not show any proof of capacity, any certificate of apprenticeship. The king needed money, and the money of the unskilled was worth just as much in the king’s treasury as the money of the skilled.
A certain Audiger, a “cook and confectioner by God’s grace” like many more that existed by the same title in France, writes with much bitterness: “Two hundred ignoramuses were yesterday granted the right to style themselves masters of the craft, at a fee of fifty crowns per head, though they were drawn from the dregs of the people. Had my advice been asked, I could have drafted rules for an excellent Parisian guild to which all respectable persons in the trade would wish to belong. I should have appointed one hundred masters of the art, worthy practitioners of our profession; I should have amalgamated the guild of the lemonade-sellers with the guild of the sugar-bakers. That would have brought His Majesty a sum of 100,000 francs. Now he has received much less than this, while the town has been flooded with humbugs.”
/> Two hundred new “distillateurs” had been added to the fifty already in existence. These two hundred and fifty had had to buy from the king a licence to practise their occupation. This licence gave them a measure of protection, for no one who was not a member of the guild could sell lemonade, liqueurs, or coffee.
“The Coffee Tree,” Leipzig. The relief above the door was commissioned by Augustus
Plan for Augsburg coffee-house in the Viennese style
Coffee and the military gentlemen
Coffee out of doors (about 1850)