A History of Champagne, with Notes on the Other Sparkling Wines of France. Henry Vizetelly
of purple velvet, ornamented with golden fleurs de lis, with his table encumbered by the great gold nef, the crown and the sceptres, the Constable, sword in hand, close by him, and the Grand Echanson and Ecuyer Tranchant tasting his wine and cutting his food,[219] circumstances under which ‘the roast must be without savour and the Ai without bouquet.’[220] The King on this occasion admitted his brothers to his board; and the ecclesiastical peers, the lay peers, the ambassadors, and the great officers of the crown formed, as usual, four groups at the remaining tables, whilst the Queen and her ladies witnessed the gustatory exploits from a gallery.
The frightful oppression of tailles, aides, corvées, gabelles, and other dues that crushed the hapless peasant in the pre-Revolutionary era, weighed with especial severity upon the vigneron. In virtue of the droit de gros, the officers could at any hour make an inventory of his wine, decree how much he might consume himself, and tax him for the remainder.[221] The fermiers généraux, who farmed the taxes of the province, became his sleeping partners, and had their share in his crop.[222] In a vineyard at Epernay, upon four pieces of wine, the average produce of an arpent, and valued at 600 francs, the ferme levied first 30 francs, and then when the pieces were sold 75 francs more.[223] The ecclesiastical tithe was also a heavy burden, at Hautvillers the eleventh of the wine being taken as dismes, at Dizy the twelfth, and at Pierry the twentieth.[224] The result was one continuous struggle of trickery on the part of the grower, and cunning on that of the officers.[225] The visits of the latter were paid almost daily, and their registers recorded every drop of wine in the cellars of the inhabitants.[226]
But the wine had by no means acquitted all its dues. The merchant buying it had to pay another 75 francs to the ferme before despatching it to the consumer. When he did despatch it, the ferme strictly prescribed the route it was to take, any deviation from this being punished by confiscation; and it had to pay at almost every step. Transport by water was excessively onerous from constantly recurring tolls, and by land whole days were lost in undergoing examinations and verifications and making payments.[227] The commissionnaire charged with the conveyance of Bertin du Rocheret’s wine to Calais from Epernay had from 70 to 75 francs per poinçon. Despite all these drawbacks, the export trade must have been considerable, for we are told that prior to the Revolution the profits on supplying two or three abbeys of Flanders were sufficient to enable a wine-merchant of Reims to live in good style.[228]
BAS-RELIEF ON THE ANCIENT HÔTEL DES FERMES AT REIMS.
On arriving at the town where it was to be drunk, the wine was subject to a fresh series of charges—octroi, droit de détail, le billot, le cinquième en sus l’impôt, jaugeage, courtage, gourmettage, &c.—frequently ranging up to 60 or 70 francs.[229] All this really affected the grower; for if the retail consumer, inhibited by high prices, could not buy, the former was unable to sell. At this epoch vine-grower and pauper were synonymous terms.[230] In certain districts of the Champagne the inhabitants actually threw their wine into the river to avoid paying the duties, and the Provincial Assembly declared that ‘in the greater part of the province the slightest increase in duty would cause all the husbandmen to abandon the soil.’[231] It is scarcely to be wondered at that under such a system of excessive taxation the fermiers généraux, who all made good bargains with the State, should have amassed immense fortunes, whilst denying themselves no kind of luxury and enjoyment. They built themselves princely hotels, rivalled the nobility and even the Court in the splendour of their entertainments, grasped at money for the sensual gratification it would purchase, and loved pleasure for its own sake, and women for their beauty and complaisance. The fermiers généraux of the province of Champagne had their bureaux, known as the Hôtel des Fermes, at Reims, and, after the town-hall, this was the handsomest civil edifice in the city. Erected in 1756 from designs by Legendre, it occupies to-day the principal side of the Place Royale. On the pediment of the façade is a bas-relief of Mercury, the god of commerce, in company with Penelope and the youthful Pan, surrounding whom are children engaged with the vintage and with bales of wool, typical of the staple trades of the capital of the Champagne.
L’ACCORD FRATERNEL
(From a print published at the commencement of the Revolution).
The revolutionary epoch presents a wide gap in the written history of sparkling Champagne which no one seems to have taken the trouble of filling, though this hiatus can be to some extent bridged over by a glance at the caricatures of the period. It is evident from these that Champagne continued to be the fashionable wine par excellence. We can comprehend it was de rigueur to ‘fouetter le Champagne’[232] at the epicurean repasts held at the petits maisons of the rich fermiers généraux, and that the talons rouges of the Court of Louis Seize were not averse to the payment of 3 livres 10 sols for a bottle of this delightful beverage[233] when regaling some fair émule of Sophie Arnould or Mademoiselle Guimard in the coulisses. One evening Mademoiselle Laguerre appeared on the stage as Iphigenia unmistakably intoxicated. ‘Ah,’ interjected the lively Sophie, ‘this is not Iphigenia in Tauris, but Iphigenia in Champagne.’ A proof of the aristocratic status of the wine is furnished by a print entitled L’Accord Fraternel, published at the very outset of the revolutionary movement, when it was fondly hoped that the Three Orders of the States General would unite in bringing about a harmonious solution to the evils by which France was sorely beset. In this the burly well-fed representative of the clergy holds out a bumper of Burgundy; the peasant—not one of the lean scraggy labourers, with neither shirt nor sabots,[234] prowling about half naked and hunger-stricken in quest of roots and nettle-tops, but a regular stage peasant in white stockings and pumps—grips a tumbler well filled with vin du pays; while the nobleman, elaborately arrayed in full military costume, with sword, cockade, and tie-wig all complete, delicately poises between his finger and thumb a tall flute charged with sparkling Champagne. Moreover, we can plainly trace the exhilarating influence of the wine upon the ‘feather-headed young ensigns’ at the memorable banquet given to the officers of the Régiment de Flandre by the Gardes du Corps at Versailles, on the 2d Oct. 1789.[235]
MIRABEAU TONNEAU
(From a sketch by Camille Desmoulins).
Conspicuous amongst the titled topers of this period was the Viscount de Mirabeau—the younger brother of the celebrated orator and a fervent Royalist—nicknamed Mirabeau Tonneau, or Barrel Mirabeau, ‘on account of his rotundity, and the quantity of strong liquor he contains.’[236] In a caricature dated ‘An 1er de la liberté,’ and ascribed to Camille Desmoulins,[237] with whom the viscount long waged a paper war, his physical and bibacious attributes are very happily hit off. His body is a barrel; his arms, pitchers; his thighs, rundlets; and his legs inverted Champagne flasks; whilst in his left hand he holds a foam-crowned flute, and in his right another of those flasks, two of which he was credited with emptying at each repast.[238]
We have seen that the origin of many of the most famous crûs of France was due to monkish labours, and that at Reims, as elsewhere, a large proportion of the ecclesiastical revenue was derived, either directly or indirectly, from the vineyards of the district. This was happily hit off in Le Nouveau Pressoir du Clergé, or New Wine-Press for the Clergy, published in 1789. A man of the people and a representative of the Third Estate, the latter in the famous slouched hat and short cloak, are working the levers of a press, under the influence of which a full-faced abbé is rapidly disgorging a shower of gold. A yet more portly ecclesiastic, worthy to be the Archbishop of Reims himself, is being led forward, in fear and trembling, to undergo a like operation; whilst in the background a couple of his compeers, reduced to the leanness of church-rats, are making off with gesticulations of despair.