Posts Tagged ‘France’

Inherit the Windbag

Posted in General on August 10th, 2013 by Eugene Finerman – 2 Comments

Oprah Gets Swiss Apology for Being Treated Like A Tourist

With Switzerland’s existence in peril, a representative of the Tourist Board begged to explain why a sales clerk would be rude to Ms. Winfrey.  “You must understand.  Geneva is really French, and they are rude to everyone.  That would not have happened in Zurich.  We never question anyone here.  Ask Martin Bormann.  The old gentleman still pays his chalet mortgage in gold teeth.”

For an apology, the Swiss only have tax evasion and renamed mountains to offer the indignant Ms. Winfrey.  She apparently has no interest in Roger Federer.   Perhaps its blandness may spare the country the fate of France.  The curriculum of West Point now includes a course on Oprah’s tactics.   As you may recall, the Paris manager of Hermes refused to let Oprah in after the store had closed. Oprah then announced her intention to destroy France.

France immediately capitulated. Le President  groveled, “Heroic resistance to a demanding barbarian is completely out of French character. We will gladly change Hermes’ store hours to collaborate with Ms. Winfrey.”

In related atonement, the French government offered to move the Eiffel Tower to suit Oprah’s feng shui. Complying with her demand, Napoleon’s Tomb was opened so that she could “give the little fellow a hug.” Oprah, however, was disappointed with the accommodations of Notre Dame. The baptismal font was too small for a bath and Oprah did not like the scent of the candles.  In its repentance, the Church announced that Notre Dame referred to Oprah.  That pleased her.

Ms. Winfrey has offered Switzerland “a teaching moment.”  Her invitation to fly the entire Swiss population to Chicago is hoped to be a friendly gesture. 

 

Louis, Louis

Posted in General, On This Day on May 21st, 2010 by Eugene Finerman – 5 Comments

May 21, 987:  Nothing Could Be Finer Than To Be a Carolingian in Mourning

On this day in 987, King Louis V–known as the Do-Nothing–did not live up to his name. In fact, he did not live, and so finally accomplished something. So ended his one year rule, his twenty-year life and his 236-year dynasty. He, the last of the Carolingian kings of France, was beset by foreign invasion (the Holy Roman Emperor, his first cousin) and rebellions by the nobles (second and third cousins). Louis really did not get along with anyone in his family; his mother poisoned him.

So, that leaves you with this question: Which French King did inspire the song “Louie, Louie.” Well. let’s consider all the Royal Lou’s of France and which one would be an oversexed stoner.

Louis XVIII could have used a mistress. He disliked his Italian wife but his chief outlets were self-pity and food.

Louis XVII was merely a child when he died. The French Revolutionary guardians did take meticulous care of the young boy–but definitely not for his benefit.

Louis XVI suffered from sexual dysfunction–and Viagra wouldn’t have helped. It was some sort of physical blockage. The only solution was surgery. Despite the quality of 18th century surgery, Louis survived the procedure and was even cured. He finally was able to consummate his marriage. However, that was also the limit of his libido.

Louis XIV was short, unattractive but apparently irresistible. (Royalty frequently is; who dares refuse.) There is a famous story of the Queen, and three of her ladies-in-waiting riding in a coach; they were all pregnant by Louis (although not from the same coach ride). So Louis was certainly was over-sexed but he still found the time to rule rather well. And he never would have referred to Versailles as a pad or crib.

Louis XIII had a very active sex life, but not with women. What is the male equivalent of a mistress? (Historians can only speculate as to the identity of Louis XIV’s father.) Louis Treize was the Baroque equivalent of a stoner. Fortunately for him and France, Cardinal Richelieu made a brilliant dealer.

Louis XII had three wives, so he wouldn’t have had time for mistresses.

Louis XI was too cheap to have mistresses.

Louis X died young; he was likely poisoned by a sister-in-law who managed her husband’s career. (Yes, he got to be king.)

Louis IX was Saint Louis, so mistresses are out of the question.

Louis VIII was married to a Spanish gorgon; he wouldn’t have dared.

Louis VII had the disposition of a monk. His first wife–Eleanor of Aquitaine–cheated on him.

Louis VI was known as Louis the Fat. Guess his vice.

Louis V, alias the Do-Nothing, you’ve already met.

Louis IV, alias Louis the Alien (he was raised in England), was so powerless that he couldn’t afford a mistress.

Louis III died at 19, so he didn’t even have a nickname.

Louis II, the Stammer, lived to be 33 but his health was as bad as his pronunciation. Even if he had been in better shape, late 9th century France was not a conducive time for hedonism. It was barely conducive for subsistence.

Louis I was called the Pious. That nickname would deter most aspiring mistresses.

So, who does that leave….Louis XV was handsome, charming and conscientiously incompetent. Usually the inept are unaware of their debilities, but Louis knew precisely how hapless he was and he didn’t care! He let his mistresses run and ruin France. (Madame de Pompadour was a complete disaster–or a brilliant secret agent for the British). If Handel or Haydn had composed “Louie, Louie”, the song definitely would have been about le Quinze.

A Toddler Who Crossed Paths with Machiavelli

Posted in General on January 5th, 2010 by Eugene Finerman – 3 Comments

January 5, 1589:  Hell Gets a Den Mother

On this day in 1589, ten thousand French foodtasters were thrown out of work. Catherine de Medici died and the people no longer felt terrified of eating. Ironically, Catherine was credited with introducing haute cuisine to France. Of course, the ulterior purpose of delicious food is to disguise the taste of any surprise ingredients.

In his novels, Alexandre Dumas has the Queen Mother finding the most remarkable ways to poison people. Jeanne de Navarre, the mother of the future Henri IV, shouldn’t have worn those gift gloves from Catherine. Henri of Navarre receives a book from his loving mother-in-law. Unfortunately, so the novel relates, King Charles IX sees the book and is the first (and last) to read it. Guess what the sticky substance on the pages was? At least, Charles wasn’t Catherine’s favorite son.  You’d have thought that Catherine would have applied her culinary skills to the St. Bartholomew’s Massacre. She probably couldn’t trust French waiters to get the orders right. “Was Admiral Coligny supposed to get the poisson or the poison?”

Even discounting Dumas’ literary license, Catherine was infamous.  Ruling through her weak and incompetent sons, her policies were intrigue and treachery as she presided over a France rent by religious and civil wars.  Who but Catherine would use a wedding as an invitation to a massacre?  Her Protestant guests on St. Bartholomews Day certainly could have complained how Paris treats tourists.  Yet her son-in-law and frequent target Henri IV said “I am surprised that she never did worse.”  And that was a compliment!

If one can justify a monster, Caterina Maria Romula di Lorenzo de’ Medici had a pitiful life.  Within her weeks of her birth in 1519 she was an orphan, her mother succumbing to 16th century medicine and her father to syphilis.  Yet, as a legitimate de Medici–a fairly rare species–the infant was an invaluable asset in the family’s ambitions.  To quote Luther “the de Medicis had more money than God” but Florence and Tuscany, however charming, did not give the family any great political or military weight.  Buying a papal election or two did enhance the Medici name and influence, but a dynastic marriage could further strengthen the Florentine family with a powerful ally. It just so happened that the King of France needed money and he had an available son.

So, at the age of 12, Catherina became Catherine and the Duchess d’Orleans.  While dynastic marriages are usually loveless, the relationship between Catherine and her husband Henri was especially callous.  Her dowry was much more alluring than she was, and Henri never hid his disdain.  Royal males were permitted infidelity, but a form of etiquette was still expected.  At court, the wife was supposed to have precedence over the mistress.  Henri dispensed with that courtesy.  As duchess, then princess and even queen, Catherine was humiliated by her husband.  However, Henri did pay one form of attention to his wife:  and the result was nine children–including four sons.  They would be Catherine’s immediate solace and her eventual revenge. 

Although Henri’s chivalry did not extend to his wife, he did love to joust.  In that pursuit, one day in 1559  his eye stopped a lance.  That proved an unhealthy tactic, and Catherine now was the Queen Mother of Francis II.  However, she was not yet the power behind the throne.  The new king was–at age 15–already married and henpecked.  His 17 year-old wife, Mary of Scotland, towered over him; and if the physical domination was not enough, her ambitious French uncles–the de Guises–were eager to guide the royal couple.  If the Guises did not give Catherine a second thought, at least they showed her more courtesy than her husband ever had.  As Queen Mother, she was given a place in the regents’ council and her name was included in royal proclamations.

Her life as a pampered cipher lasted a year.  Francis II died of an ear abscess at the age of 16.  Of course, Dumas suggests the Catherine “supervised” his medical treatment.  However cynical that seems, Catherine was not incapacitated by grief.  Young, widowed Mary was, for all the diplomatic euphemisms, expelled to Scotland (where the gallicized Catholic really endeared herself to her Calvinist subjects–but you know this story); and the new king was the ten-year-old Charles IX.  So the reign of Catherine de Medici began.

If she had some satisfaction in her power, she was not having fun.  France was trying to stave off domination by the Hapsburgs, the Guise clan craved power and possibly the throne itself, the Protestants agitated for official tolerance threatening civil war and possibly the throne itself.  To protect her son, his throne and kingdom, the Queen Mother was prepared to do anything.  Intrigue, treachery, even assassination were justifiable means of politics.  (In fact, a penurious Florentine bureaucrat had written a book on that subject and dedicated it to her wastrel father.)  To maintain the dynasty through those challenges, she would make and betray alliances.  First, she might side with the Huguenots, then with their Catholic nemesis, then back to the Huguenots, whenever and wherever the advantage lay. 

Perhaps she meant to set aside power when Charles IX became a mature adult; however, he never did although he lived to be 24.  As for her next son, Henri III had caprices rather capacity; so long as he had the luxuries, he ceded the responsibilities to his mother.  Catherine eventually realized that the dynasty was doomed.  French law only permitted males on the throne, and  the Valois were running out of them.   Charles IX  only had a daughter.  Henri III had neither the proclivities nor the diligence to produce any heirs.  But Catherine continued to intrigue, bargain and fight because France needed someone to do it, and none of her sons had the capacity.  

Within a few months of Catherine’s death, Henri III was assassinated and the Valois dynasty ended.  Her son-in-law would intrigue, bargain and fight to become Henri IV and founder of the Bourbon dynasty.  He won a kingdom that–against the odds–Catherine de Medici had preserved.     “I am surprised that she did not do worse.”

Quite Original Sin

Posted in General, On This Day on September 3rd, 2009 by Eugene Finerman – Be the first to comment

September 3rd:  Happy Birthday to Diane de Poitiers

Henri II deserves to be more popular. The French king (1519-1559) may have been stupid (he never demonstrated any evidence to the contrary) and he certainly was bigoted (ask any Huguenot who survived him), but his form of adultery should earn him considerable admiration. Henri left his wife for an older woman!

And I do mean older. His mistress Diane de Poitiers was 20 years his senior. Freud might have had something to say about that, although it would have only incited Henri to start persecuting Jews. Diane (1499-1566) was a woman of great charm and beauty; that could not be said about Henri’s wife: Catherine de Medici. (Catherine was quite intelligent, but Henri would have resented that.) Unfortunately, in his enthusiasm for Diane, Henri was continually affronting his wife. Guess who received court precedence or the pick of the best chateaux? Henri must have thought that his wife was good-natured. Did I mention that he was stupid?

In 1559, Henri apparently confused jousting with soccer, and attempted to catch a lance with his eye. It was not good for his health, or for Diane’s career. The new king of France was 15 years old and not in the market for a 60 year-old mistress. Besides, the Queen Mother had a definite grudge against Diane. The unemployed courtesan did survive, but it was not a pleasant retirement. From a deluxe suite at the Louvre and a Loire estate at Chenonceau, Diane now found herself in the equivalent of a studio apartment frigidly far from anywhere of interest. She did seem to die of natural causes. Either Catherine did not live up to her murderous reputation or for once really got away with a crime.

Finally, by the standards of the 16th century, Diane had a very eccentric habit. She bathed daily. Of course, we now surmise that was the basis of her allure.

DianedePoitiersdiane7  As you see from the portrait on the right, 16th century France had its own version of iCloud.

Bastille Day

Posted in General, On This Day on July 14th, 2009 by Eugene Finerman – 3 Comments

In 1789 France was greatest country in Europe. Wealthy, sophisticated, in the forefront of art, intellect and fashion, it was the paragon of western civilization. And all these achievements were despite a government of remarkable incompetence.

The French monarchy was an anachronism. It had modern pomp but medieval circumstances. The government faced 18th century expenses with a 14th century income. A king, on the whims of his mistress, could plunge France into a calamitous war, but he could not raise the taxes to pay for it. The king did not have to answer for his vanity, lust, bigotry or mistakes; but he had to borrow the money for them.

The Crown had been bankrupt throughout most of the 18th century. Much of the treasury actually had been lost in a stock market crash of 1720. The monarchy simply borrowed money to meet its expenses and then borrowed more money to pay off its debts. The deficits grew but the monarchy continued its profligate ways.

By 1778, France could not even afford to win a war; but the prospect of subsidizing the American rebellion against Britain seemed an irresistible revenge for a century of French defeats. In fact, France was so eager that its treaty with the Americans made no provision for repayment or the restoration of lost French territories in America. France proved to be generous to a default. The new debts precipitated a financial crisis. There just wasn’t enough money to borrow. The Crown had to raise taxes; ironically, it did not have that authority.

Throughout the 17th century, Cardinal Richelieu and Louis XIV had amassed and consolidated the powers of the monarchy. Yet, they had either overlooked or whimsically chosen to preserve one medieval constraint: the power to create new taxes.

That was the prerogative of the Estates General. Since the 14th century France had this rudimentary and frequently neglected form of a general assembly.  It could be summoned only at the king’s discretions, and the French kings proved very discreet. The Estates General was usually summoned in the event of an emergency. When Louis XVI found the crown overwhelmed by its debts, he reluctantly summoned the Estates General to convene in 1789. (The last previous Estates General had met in 1614.)

The Estates General was comprised of three estates that represented the people and classes of France. The First Estate was the clergy and the Second was the aristocracy. The Third Estate was everyone else but particularly the affluent, educated and vociferous bourgeoisie. Since the first two Estates were generally exempt from taxes, the Third Estate would bear most of any new financial burden.

Louis XVI expected the assembly to comply with his requests for new taxes. Louis XIV might have awed such concessions from the deputies. Louix XV might have charmed them. However, Louis XVI lacked his ancestors’ majesty. The 34 year-old was corpulent, awkward and maladroit. Certain merchants in Alsace might have described him as a “schlub.” Louis could not command the Assembly’s acquiescence. Perhaps no one could. The Third Estate wanted concessions in return for its money. Of course, one might expect that from commoners. However, the majority of the First Estate and even a significant number of the aristocrats sided with the demand for reforms, in particular the establishment of a permanent general assembly for legislation.  The French may have hated the British but they liked the idea of a government a l’anglais.

The King and his equally obtuse advisers were shocked by this impertinence. They first tried ignoring the Assembly’s demands. The Crown then resorted to petty intimidation. It locked the doors of the chambers where the Estates General had been meeting. The dispossessed deputies simply moved to a nearby tennis court where they voted to demand a permanent legislature. Faced with this opposition, the dithering King was finally ready to concede to the Estates’ first requests. But, after six weeks of evasions, ploys and intimidation, the aggravated Assembly had increased the tenor and extent of its demands.

Louis was rarely decisive but, when he was, it was a consistent disaster. He now ordered troops from their posts along the border to march on Paris. The king seemed to think his subjects were more of an enemy than any foreign power. If he was hoping to intimidate the Estates General, he only succeeded in igniting riots. The populace of Paris rose in rebellion, desperate to arm itself against any royal suppression. On the morning of July 14, 1789, the militants looted the arsenal at Les Invalides. The mob then attacked the Bastille, a fortress that now served as a royal prison.

Responding to an armed rabble on a rampage, the Civil Guard of Paris mustered its troops and its artillery and marched to the site of the riot. The Civil Guard should have had no trouble dispersing the disorganized mob: it would have been a slaughter. However, when the cannons and muskets of the Guard fired, they fired on the Bastille. Against this united front, the Bastille soon fell.

The news reached the King the following morning. The dismayed Louis asked, “Is this a rebellion?”

“No sire,” a wiser courtier replied. “It is a revolution.”

If There Had Been iPods on April 25, 1792

Posted in On This Day on April 24th, 2009 by Eugene Finerman – 2 Comments

Aside from any moral qualms about strangling infants in their cradles, keep in mind this practical consideration. If you don’t succeed, that child might prove very vindictive.

In 1792, the monarchies of Europe invaded France to quash its constitutional monarchy and restore Bourbon absolutism in all its glorious incompetence. If the autopsy report of Louis XVI is any indication, the royalist invasion did not exactly succeed–although it certainly overthrew any French sentiment for a constitutional monarchy.

The new and very vindictive France instituted conscription, creating a massive army that vastly outnumbered the forces of the invaders. The regiments in Marseilles were eager for action but had yet to receive their marching orders. So, reflecting their revolutionary disregard for authority, they decided not to wait. They marched to Paris. As they entered the capital, those “southern” boys were singing a march by one of their officers.

The song, composed this day in 1792, apparently caught on.

Who Is Your Ally This Week….

Posted in On This Day on September 11th, 2008 by Eugene Finerman – Be the first to comment

It is unlikely that many of the English archers or their Scottish pin cushions at Flodden would have identified their battle as part of a war that begin in Italy. Yet, five years earlier–in 1508, Pope Julius II attempted to organize an alliance against Venice. France, Spain, the Holy Roman Empire and the Papal States were arrayed against the Venetian Republic. Venice discovered the disadvantage of being small and rich. Of course, all those riches did allow the Republic to field armies of mercenaries; so at least Venice was not completely defenseless. Nonetheless, the coalition was overwhelming–and Venice was losing ground–especially to France.

Now, the French wanted to keep all that they had won. They were not good at sharing, and considering that they were guests in Italy, the Pope was especially offended. So Julius decided in 1510 to switch sides and ally the Papal States with Venice. It took Spain and the Holy Roman Empire about a year to figure out which side that they were on, but they eventually joined the war against France. Of course, England never had any doubts–it was just Anti-French and young Henry VIII wanted to play soldier. So if England was on one side, then Scotland had to be on the other. And that led to Flodden…

The Italian alliances, however, lacked that kind of clarity. More of a soldier than a theologian, Pope Julius was able to maintain the Anti-French alliance despite the conflicting interests of the theoretical allies. (The Hapsburgs proved just as bad guests as the French). Unfortunately, in 1513 Julius was 69–and he acted his age. His successor Leo X was no soldier or diplomat (but he would have made a good host for an art series on PBS); he did not like the Hapsburgs but was too lethargic and maladroit to curb their expansion. A frustrated and endangered Venice had no alternative but irony; in 1513 it switched sides and allied with France.

(So, here is a summary of the alliances: first, everyone against Venice; then, everyone against France; finally, France and Venice against everyone else.)

Surprisingly, that last combination actually worked. The Hapsburgs were driven back–at least for a few years–and Northern Italy was left in the hands of the French and the Venetians. The Pope did not care; as it turned out, he was Pro-French, too. Besides, his Holiness apparently was preoccupied in organizing an alliance of Northern Europe against the Church; if so, that worked too.

Social-Climbing for Du Mies

Posted in General on July 10th, 2008 by Eugene Finerman – 3 Comments

I know that most of you are not status-craving snobs; otherwise you now would be reading the Huffington Report. Nonetheless, if only to improve my social standing, I want to encourage you to join the aristocracy.

This is not as difficult as you might think–if you don’t mind being French. The French aristocracy is really quite democratic. The most tenuous relationship could allow you to assume a title. If you actually had a titled ancestor–no matter how distant–then you can sport that moniker, too. Every child of a comte is also a comte or comtesse–as are the grandchildren, great-grandchildren, etc. Actually, it is surprising that everyone in France doesn’t qualify.

By contrast, in Britain only the oldest son gets the title. Younger sons and their sons still get good tables but not “the real status.” Winston Churchill was the grandson of a Duke but was still technically a commoner–although a decidedly upper class one.

So just marry or be adopted by a French aristocrat. (There are plenty of threadbare comtes who will do it for the money.) If your current family might object to being abandoned–or if it wants to social-climb with you–you have another route to the heights. Buy a property with a title. Yes, in France a deed of title can be quite literal: the property comes with a title. Let’s say that there is a tract of land that is registered as Cul de Sac. If I buy that property, I then am allowed to call myself Eugene Finerman de Cul de Sac. Doesn’t that sound prestigious?

The French certainly think so–and who are we to disagree? For example, remember Valery Giscard d’Estaing, a former President of France. So you thought with that name he had to be an aristocrat?No, his ancestors actually were on the safe side of the guillotine. His grandfather bought the Estaing property and the family then acquired the “de” veneer.

Unfortunately, all these routes to the social heights must be paved with money. If you have a convenient fortune, just make an outrageous contribution to a successful presidential candidate–and hint the country where you would like to be ambassador.

Louis, Louis

Posted in General, On This Day on May 21st, 2008 by Eugene Finerman – Be the first to comment

On this day in 987, King Louis V–known as the Do-Nothing–did not live up to his name. In fact, he did not live, and so finally accomplished something. So ended his one year rule, his twenty-year life and his 236-year dynasty. He, the last of the Carolingian kings of France, was beset by foreign invasion (the Holy Roman Emperor, his first cousin) and rebellions by the nobles (second and third cousins). Louis really did not get along with anyone in his family; his mother poisoned him.

So, that leaves you with this question: Which French King did inspire the song “Louie, Louie.” Well. let’s consider all the Royal Lou’s of France and which one would be an oversexed stoner.

Louis XVIII could have used a mistress. He disliked his Italian wife but his chief outlets were self-pity and food.

Louis XVII was merely a child when he died. The French Revolutionary guardians did take meticulous care of the young boy–but definitely not for his benefit.

Louis XVI suffered from sexual dysfunction–and Viagra wouldn’t have helped. It was some sort of physical blockage. The only solution was surgery. Despite the quality of 18th century surgery, Louis survived the procedure and was even cured. He finally was able to consummate his marriage. However, that was also the limit of his libido.

Louis XIV was short, unattractive but apparently irresistible. (Royalty frequently is; who dares refuse.) There is a famous story of the Queen, and three of her ladies-in-waiting riding in a coach; they were all pregnant by Louis (although not from the same coach ride). So Louis was certainly was over-sexed but he still found the time to rule rather well. And he never would have referred to Versailles as a pad or crib.

Louis XIII had a very active sex life, but not with women. What is the male equivalent of a mistress? (Historians can only speculate as to the identity of Louis XIV’s father.) Louis Treize was the Baroque equivalent of a stoner. Fortunately for him and France, Cardinal Richelieu made a brilliant dealer.

Louis XII had three wives, so he wouldn’t have had time for mistresses.

Louis XI was too cheap to have mistresses.

Louis X died young; he was likely poisoned by a sister-in-law who managed her husband’s career. (Yes, he got to be king.)

Louis IX was Saint Louis, so mistresses are out of the question.

Louis VIII was married to a Spanish gorgon; he wouldn’t have dared.

Louis VII had the disposition of a monk. His first wife–Eleanor of Aquitaine–cheated on him.

Louis VI was known as Louis the Fat. Guess his vice.

Louis V, alias the Do-Nothing, you’ve already met.

Louis IV, alias Louis the Alien (he was raised in England), was so powerless that he couldn’t afford a mistress.

Louis III died at 19, so he didn’t even have a nickname.

Louis II, the Stammer, lived to be 33 but his health was as bad as his pronunciation. Even if he had been in better shape, late 9th century France was not a conducive time for hedonism. It was barely conducive for subsistence.

Louis I was called the Pious. That nickname would deter most aspiring mistresses.

So, who does that leave….Louis XV was handsome, charming and conscientiously incompetent. Usually the inept are unaware of their debilities, but Louis knew precisely how hapless he was and he didn’t care! He let his mistresses run and ruin France. (Madame de Pompadour was a complete disaster–or a brilliant secret agent for the British). If Handel or Haydn had composed “Louie, Louie”, the song definitely would have been about le Quinze.

“Knuckles” Lavoisier

Posted in General, On This Day on May 8th, 2008 by Eugene Finerman – Be the first to comment

On this day in 1794 Antoine de Lavoisier was guillotined for treason. This may have been one of the greatest senior pranks, and certainly got the students out of taking their chemistry finals. Actually, “The Father of Modern Chemisty” never taught the subject; so he was not the victim of irate students. His vindictive enemies were the taxpayers of France.

Unlike a modern professor who would supplement his income by forcing the students to buy his books or sitting as an unctuous cipher on a corporate board, Lavoisier earned money as an extortionist. Mind you, his racket was sanctioned by the French Crown; he had paid the government up front for his extortionist permit. The specific term for the racket was “tax farming.” A tax farmer would pay the Crown for the right to collect taxes in a specified region. The similarity of the words franc and franchise is no coincidence. The more money the tax farmer collected–no questions asked about the tactics–the more he got to keep. You might be surprised but very few philanthropists applied for the position.

Perhaps the squeezed subjects in Lavoisier’s territory should have been gratified to know that they were subsidizing his scientific research. It was not as if he was spending their money on luxurious carriages and young mistresses. Unfortunately, the French taxpayers might have been more sympathetic about that.