A HISTORY OF COFFEE IN LITERATURE Page 2

Divine Coffee
Translation from the French

A liquid there is to the poet most dear,
'T was lacking to Virgil, adored by Voltaire,
'T is thou, divine coffee, for thine is the art,
Without turning the head yet to gladden the heart.
And thus though my palate be dulled by age,
With joy I partake of thy dear beverage.
How glad I prepare me thy nectar most precious,
No soul shall usurp me a rite so delicious;
On the ambient flame when the black charcoal burns,
The gold of thy bean to rare ebony turns,
I alone, 'gainst the cone, wrought with fierce iron teeth.
Make thy fruitage cry out with its bitter-sweet breath;
Till charmed with such perfume, with care I entrust
To the pot on my hearth the rare spice-laden dust:
First to calm, then excite, till it seethingly whirls,
With an eye all attention I gaze till it boils.
At last now the liquid comes slow to repose;
In the hot, smoking vessel its wealth I depose,
My cup and thy nectar; from wild reeds expressed,
America's honey my table has blest;
All is ready; Japan's gay enamel invites—
And the tribute of two worlds thy prestige unites:
Come, Nectar divine, inspire thou me,
I wish but Antigone, dessert and thee;
For scarce have I tasted thy odorous steam,
When quick from thy clime, soothing warmths round me stream,
Attentive my thoughts rise and flow light as air,
Awaking my senses and soothing my care.
Ideas that but late moved so dull and depressed,
Behold, they come smiling in rich garments dressed!
Some genius awakes me, my course is begun;
For I drink with each drop a bright ray of the sun.

Maumenet addressed to Galland the following verses:

If slumber, friend, too near, with some late glass should creep—
Dull, poppy-perfumed sleep—
If a too fumous wine confounds at length thy brain—
Take coffee then—this juice divine
Shall banish sleep and steam of vap'rous wine,
And with its timely aid fresh vigor thou shalt find.

Castel, in his poem, Les Plantes (The Plants) could not omit the coffee trees of the tropics. He thus addressed them in 1811:

Bright plants, the favorites of Phoebus,
In these climes the rarest virtues offer,
Delicious Mocha, thy sap, enchantress,
Awakens genius, outvalues Parnasse!

In a collection of the Songs of Brittany in the Brest library there are many stanzas in praise of coffee. A Breton poet has composed a little piece of ninety-six verses in which he describes the powerful attraction that coffee has for women and the possible effects on domestic happiness. The first time that coffee was used in Brittany, says an old song of that country, only the nobility drank it, and now all the common people are using it, yet the greater part of them have not even bread.

A French poet of the eighteenth century produced the following:

Lines on Coffee
Translation from the French

Good coffee is more than a savory cup,
Its aroma has power to dry liquor up.
By coffee you get upon leaving the table
A mind full of wisdom, thoughts lucid, nerves stable;
And odd tho' it be, 't is none the less true,
Coffee's aid to digestion permits dining anew.
And what 's very true, tho' few people know it,
Fine coffee 's the basis of every fine poet;
For many a writer as windy as Boreas
Has been vastly improved by the drink ever glorious.
Coffee brightens the dullness of heavy philosophy,
And opens the science of mighty geometry.
Our law-makers, too, when the nectar imbibing,
Plan wondrous reforms, quite beyond the describing;
The odor of coffee they delight in inhaling,
And promise the country to alter laws ailing.
From the brow of the scholar coffee chases the wrinkles,
And mirth in his eyes like a firefly twinkles;
And he, who before was but a hack of old Homer,
Becomes an original, and that 's no misnomer.
Observe the astronomer who 's straining his eyes
In watching the planets which soar thro' the skies;
Alas, all those bright bodies seem hopelessly far
Till coffee discloses his own guiding star.
But greatest of wonders that coffee effects
Is to aid the news-editor as he little expects;
Coffee whispers the secrets of hidden diplomacy,
Hints rumors of wars and of scandals so racy.
Inspiration by coffee must be nigh unto magic,
For it conjures up facts that are certainly tragic;
And for a few pennies, coffee's small price per cup,
"Ye editor's" able to swallow the Universe up.

Esménard celebrated Captain de Clieu's romantic voyage to Martinique with the coffee plants from the Jardin des Plantes, in some admirable verses quoted in chapter II.

Among other notable poetic flights in praise of coffee produced in France mention should be made of: "L'Elogé du Café" (Eulogy of Coffee) a song in twenty-four couplets, Paris, Jacques Estienne, 1711; Le Café (Coffee), a fragment from the fourth chant (song) of La Grandeur de Dieu dans les merveilles de la Nature (The Grandeur of God in the Wonders of Nature) Marseilles; Le Café, extract from the fourth gastronomic song, by Berchoux; "A Mon Café" (To My Coffee), stanzas written by Ducis; Le Café, anonymous stanzas inserted in the Macedoine Poetique, 1824; a poem in Latin in the Abbé Olivier's collection; Le Bouquet Blanc et le Bouquet Noir, poesie en quatre chants; Le Café, C.D. Mery, 1837; Elogé du Café, S. Melaye, 1852.

Many Italian poets have sung the praises of coffee. L. Barotti wrote his poem, Il Caffè in 1681. Giuseppe Parini (1729–1799), Italy's great satirical and lyric poet and critic of the eighteenth century, in Il Giorno (The Day), gives a delightful pen picture of the manners and customs of Milan's polite society of the period. William Dean Howells quotes as follows from these poems (his own translation) in his Modern Italian Poets. The feast is over, and the lady signals to the cavalier that it is time to leave the table:

Spring to thy feet
The first of all, and, drawing near thy lady,
Remove her chair and offer her thy hand,
And lead her to the other room, nor suffer longer
That the stale reek of viands shall offend
Her delicate sense. Thee with the rest invites
The grateful odor of the coffee, where
It smokes upon a smaller table hid
And graced with Indian webs. The redolent gums
That meanwhile burn, sweeten and purify
The heavy atmosphere, and banish thence
All lingering traces of the feast. Ye sick
And poor, whom misery or whom hope, perchance!
Has guided in the noonday to these doors.
Tumultuous, naked, and unsightly throng,
With mutilated limbs and squalid faces,
In litters and on crutches from afar
Comfort yourselves, and with expanded nostrils
Drink in the nectar of the feast divine
That favourable zephyrs waft to you;
But do not dare besiege these noble precincts,
Importunately offering her that reigns
Within your loathsome spectacle of woe!
And now, sir, 't is your office to prepare
The tiny cup that then shall minister,
Slow sipped, its liquor to thy lady's lips;
And now bethink thee whether she prefer
The boiling beverage much or little tempered
With sweet; or if, perchance, she likes it best,
As doth the barbarous spouse, then when she sits
Upon brocades of Persia, with light fingers,
The bearded visage of her lord caressing.

This is from Il Mezzogiorno (Noon). The other three poems, rounding out The Day, are Il Mattino (Morning), Il Vespre (Evening), and La Notte (Night). In Il Mattino, Parini sings:

Should dreary hypochondria's woes oppress thee,
Should round thy charming limbs in too great measure
Thy flesh increase, then with thy lips do honor
To that clear beverage, made from the well-bronzed,
The smoking, ardent beans Aleppo sends thee,
And distant Mocha too, a thousand ship-loads;
When slowly sipped it knows no rival.

Belli's Il Caffè supplies a partial bibliography of the Italian literature on coffee. There are many poems, some of them put to music. As late as 1921, there were published in Bologna some advertising verses on coffee by G.B. Zecchini with music by Cesare Cantino.

Pope Leo XIII, in his Horatian poem on Frugality composed in his eighty-eighth year, thus verses his appreciation of coffee:

Last comes the beverage of the Orient shore,
Mocha, far off, the fragrant berries bore.
Taste the dark fluid with a dainty lip,
Digestion waits on pleasure as you sip.

Peter Altenberg, a Vienna poet, thus celebrated the cafés of his native city:

To The Coffee House!

When you are worried, have trouble of one sort or another—to the coffee house!
When she did not keep her appointment, for one reason or other—to the coffee house!
When your shoes are torn and dilapidated—coffee house!
When your income is four hundred crowns and you spend five hundred—coffee house!
You are a chair warmer in some office, while your ambition led you to seek professional honors—coffee house!
You could not find a mate to suit you—coffee house!
You feel like committing suicide—coffee house!
You hate and despise human beings, and at the same time you can not be happy without them—coffee house!
You compose a poem which you can not inflict upon friends you meet in the street—coffee house!
When your coal scuttle is empty, and your gas ration exhausted—coffee house!
When you need money for cigarettes, you touch the head waiter in the—coffee house!
When you are locked out and haven't the money to pay for unlocking the house door—coffee house!
When you acquire a new flame, and intend provoking the old one, you take the new one to the old one's—coffee house!
When you feel like hiding you dive into a—coffee house!
When you want to be seen in a new suit—coffee house!
When you can not get anything on trust anywhere else—coffee house!

English poets from Milton to Keats celebrated coffee. Milton (1608–1674) in his Comus thus acclaimed the beverage:

One sip of this
Will bathe the drooping spirits in delight
Beyond the bliss of dreams.

Alexander Pope, poet and satirist (1688–1744), has the oft-quoted lines:

Coffee which makes the politician wise,
And see through all things with his half-shut eyes.

In Carruthers' Life of Pope, we read that this poet inhaled the steam of coffee in order to obtain relief from the headaches to which he was subject. We can well understand the inspiration which called forth from him the following lines when he was not yet twenty:

As long as Mocha's happy tree shall grow,
While berries crackle, or while mills shall go;
While smoking streams from silver spouts shall glide,
Or China's earth receive the sable tide,
While coffee shall to British nymphs be dear,
While fragrant steams the bended head shall cheer,
Or grateful bitters shall delight the taste,
So long her honors, name and praise shall last.

Pope's famous Rape of the Lock grew out of coffee-house gossip. The poem contains the passage on coffee already quoted:

For lo! the board with cups and spoons is crowned;
The berries crackle and the mill turns round;
On shining altars of Japan they raise
The silver lamp: the fiery spirits blaze:
From silver spouts the grateful liquors glide,
While China's earth receives the smoking tide.
At once they gratify their scent and taste.
And frequent cups prolong the rich repast
Straight hover round the fair her airy band;
Some, as she sipped, the fuming liquor fanned:
Some o'er her lap their careful plumes displayed,
Trembling, and conscious of the rich brocade.
Coffee (which makes the politician wise,
And see through all things with his half-shut eyes.)
Sent up in vapors to the baron's brain
New stratagems, the radiant lock to gain.

Pope often broke the slumbers of his servant at night by calling him to prepare a cup of coffee; but for regular serving, it was his custom to grind and to prepare it upon the table.

William Cowper's fine tribute to "the cups that cheer but not inebriate", a phrase which he is said to have borrowed from Bishop Berkeley, was addressed to tea and not to coffee, to which it has not infrequently been wrongfully attributed. It is one of the most pleasing pictures in The Task.

Cowper refers to coffee but once in his writings. In his Pity for Poor Africans he expresses himself as "shocked at the ignorance of slaves":

I pity them greatly, but I must be mum
For how could we do without sugar and rum?
Especially sugar, so needful we see;
What! Give up our desserts, our coffee and tea?

thus contenting himself, like many others, with words of pity where more active protest might sacrifice his personal ease and comfort.

Leigh Hunt (1784–1859), and John Keats (1795–1834), were worshippers at the shrine of coffee; while Charles Lamb, famous poet, essayist, humorist, and critic, has celebrated in verse the exploit of Captain de Clieu in the following delightful verses:

The Coffee Slips

Whene'er I fragrant coffee drink,
I on the generous Frenchman think,
Whose noble perseverance bore
The tree to Martinico's shore.
While yet her colony was new,
Her island products but a few;
Two shoots from off a coffee tree
He carried with him o'er the sea.
Each little tender coffee slip
He waters daily in the ship.
And as he tends his embryo trees.
Feels he is raising 'midst the seas
Coffee groves, whose ample shade
Shall screen the dark Creolian maid.
But soon, alas! His darling pleasure
In watching this his precious treasure
Is like to fade—for water fails
On board the ship in which he sails.
Now all the reservoirs are shut.
The crew on short allowance put;
So small a drop is each man's share.
Few leavings you may think there are
To water these poor coffee plants—
But he supplies their grasping wants,
Even from his own dry parched lips
He spares it for his coffee slips.
Water he gives his nurslings first,
Ere he allays his own deep thirst,
Lest, if he first the water sip,
He bear too far his eager lip.
He sees them droop for want of more;
Yet when they reach the destined shore,
With pride the heroic gardener sees
A living sap still in his trees.
The islanders his praise resound;
Coffee plantations rise around;
And Martinico loads her ships
With produce from those dear-saved slips.

In John Keats' amusing fantasy, Cap and Bells, the Emperor Elfinan greets Hum, the great soothsayer, and offers him refreshment:

"You may have sherry in silver, hock in gold, or glass'd champagne
... what cup will you drain?"

"Commander of the Faithful!" answered Hum,
"In preference to these, I'll merely taste
A thimble-full of old Jamaica rum."
"A simple boon," said Elfinan; "thou mayst
Have Nantz, with which my morning coffee's laced."

But Hum accepts the glass of Nantz, without the coffee, "made racy with the third part of the least drop of crème de citron, crystal clear."

Numerous broadsides printed in London, 1660 to 1675, have been referred to in chapter X. Few of them possess real literary merit.

"Coffee and Crumpets" has been much quoted. It was published in Fraser's Magazine, in 1837. Its author calls himself "Launcelot Littledo". The poem is quite long, and only those portions are printed here that refer particularly to "Yemen's fragrant berry":

Coffee and Crumpets
By Launcelot Littledo of Pump Court, Temple, Barrister-at-law.

There's ten o'clock! From Hampstead to the Tower
The bells are chanting forth a lusty carol;
Wrangling, with iron tongues, about the hour,
Like fifty drunken fishwives at a quarrel;
Cautious policemen shun the coming shower;
Thompson and Fearon tap another barrel;
"Dissolve frigus, lignum super foco.
Large reponens." Now, come Orinoco!

To puff away an hour, and drink a cup,
A brimming breakfast-cup of ruddy Mocha—
Clear, luscious, dark, like eyes that lighten up
The raven hair, fair cheek, and bella boca
Of Florence maidens. I can never sup
Of perigourd, but (guai a chi la tocca!)
I'm doomed to indigestion. So to settle
This strife eternal,—Betty, bring the kettle!

Coffee! oh, Coffee! Faith, it is surprising.
'Mid all the poets, good, and bad, and worse.
Who've scribbled (Hock or Chian eulogizing)
Post and papyrus with "Immortal verse"—
Melodiously similitudinising
In Sapphics languid or Alcaics terse
No one, my little brown Arabian berry,.
Hath sung thy praises—'tis surprising! very!

Were I a poet now, whose ready rhymes.
Like Tommy Moore's, came tripping to their places—
Reeling along a merry troll of chimes,
With careless truth,—a dance of fuddled Graces;
Hear it—Gazette, Post, Herald, Standard, Times,
I'd write an epic! Coffee for its basis;
Sweet as e'er warbled forth from cockney throttles
Since Bob Montgomery's or Amos Cottle's.

Thou sleepy-eyed Chinese—enticing siren,
Pekoe! the Muse hath said in praise of thee,
"That cheers but not inebriates"; and Byron
Hath called thy sister "Queen of Tears", Bohea!
And he, Anacreon of Rome's age of iron,
Says, how untruly "Quis non potius te."
While coffee, thou—bill-plastered gables say,
Art like old Cupid, "roasted every day."

I love, upon a rainy night, as this is,
When rarely and more rare the coaches rattle
From street to street, to sip thy fragrant kisses;
While from the Strand remote some drunken battle
Far-faintly echoes, and the kettle hisses
Upon the glowing hob. No tittle-tattle
To make a single thought of mine an alien
From thee, my coffee-pot, my fount Castalian.

The many intervening verses cover an unhappy termination to an otherwise delightful ball. He is sitting with his charming "Mary", about to ask her to be his bride, when the unfortunate overturning of a glass of red wine into her white satin gown, at the same time overthrows all his dreams of bliss, "for the shrew displaces the angel he adored", and he resigns himself to the life of "a man in chambers."

'Tis thus I sit and sip, and sip and think.
And think and sip again, and dip in Fraser,
A health, King Oliver! to thee I drink:
Long may the public have thee to amaze her.
Like Figaro, thou makest one's eyelids wink,
Twirling on practised palm thy polished razor—
True Horace temper, smoothed on attic strop;
Ah! thou couldst "faire la barbe a tout l'Europe."

***

Come, Oliver, and tell us what the news is;
An easy chair awaits thee—come and fill 't.
Come, I invoke thee, as they do the muses,
And thou shalt choose thy tipple as thou wilt.
And if thy lips my sober cup refuses,
For ruddier drops the purple grape has spilt,
We can sing, sipping in alternate verses,
Thy drink and mine, like Corydon and Thyrsis.

***

Fill the bowl, but not with wine.
Potent port, or fiery sherry;
For this milder cup of mine
Crush me Yemen's fragrant berry.

***

Gentle is the grape's deep cluster,
But the wine's a wayward child;
Nectar this! of meeker lustre—
This the cup that "draws it mild."
Deeply drink its streams divine—
Fill the cup, but not with wine.

Prior and Montague inserted the following poetic vignette in their City Mouse and Country Mouse, written in burlesque of Dryden's Hind and Panther:

Then on they jogg'd; and since an hour of talk
Might cut a banter on the tedious walk,
As I remember, said the sober mouse,
I've heard much talk of the Wits' Coffee-house;
Thither, says Brindle, thou shalt go and see
Priests supping coffee, sparks and poets tea;
Here rugged frieze, there quality well drest,
These baffling the grand Senior, those the Test,
And there shrewd guesses made, and reasons given,
That human laws were never made in heaven;
But, above all, what shall oblige thy sight,
And fill thy eyeballs with a vast delight,
Is the poetic judge of sacred wit,
Who does i' th' darkness of his glory sit;
And as the moon who first receives the light,
With which she makes these nether regions bright,
So does he shine, reflecting from afar
The rays he borrowed from a better star;
For rules, which from Corneille and Rapin flow,
Admired by all the scribbling herd below,
From French tradition while he does dispense
Unerring truths, 't is schism, a damned offense,
To question his, or trust your private sense.

Geoffrey Sephton, an English poet and novelist, many years resident in Vienna, whose fantastic stories and fairy tales are well known in Europe, has written the following sonnets on coffee:

To the Mighty Monarch, King Kauhee
By Geoffrey Sephton

I

Away with opiates! Tantalising snares
To dull the brain with phantoms that are not.
Let no such drugs the subtle senses rot
With visions stealing softly unawares
Into the chambers of the soul. Nightmares
Ride in their wake, the spirits to besot.
Seek surer means, to banish haunting cares:
Place on the board the steaming Coffee-pot!
O'er luscious fruit, dessert and sparkling flask,
Let proudly rule as King the Great Kauhee,
For he gives joy divine to all that ask,
Together with his spouse, sweet Eau de Vie
Oh, let us 'neath his sovran pleasure bask.
Come, raise the fragrant cup and bend the knee!

II

O great Kauhee, thou democratic Lord,
Born 'neath the tropic sun and bronzed to splendour
In lands of Wealth and Wisdom, who can render
Such service to the wandering Human Horde
As thou at every proud or humble board?
Beside the honest workman's homely fender,
'Mid dainty dames and damsels sweetly tender,
In china, gold and silver, have we poured
Thy praise and sweetness, Oriental King.
Oh, how we love to hear the kettle sing
In joy at thy approach, embodying
The bitter, sweet and creamy sides of life;
Friend of the People, Enemy of Strife,
Sons of the Earth have born thee labouring.

In America, too, poets have sung in praise of coffee. The somewhat doubtful "kind that mother used to make" is celebrated in James Whitcomb Riley's classic poem:

Like His Mother Used To Make
"Uncle Jake's Place," St. Jo., Mo., 1874.

"I was born in Indiany," says a stranger, lank and slim,
As us fellers in the restaurant was kindo' guyin' him,
And Uncle Jake was slidin' him another punkin pie
And a' extry cup o' coffee, with a twinkle in his eye—
"I was born in Indiany—more'n forty years ago—
And I hain't ben back in twenty—and I'm work-in' back'ards slow;
But I've et in ever' restarunt twixt here and Santy Fee,
And I want to state this coffee tastes like gittin' home, to me!"
"Pour us out another. Daddy," says the feller, warmin' up,
A-speakin' crost a saucerful, as Uncle tuk his cup—
"When I see yer sign out yander," he went on, to Uncle Jake—
"'Come in and git some coffee like yer mother used to make'—
I thought of my old mother, and the Posey county farm,
And me a little kid again, a-hangin' in her arm,
As she set the pot a-bilin', broke the eggs and poured 'em in"—
And the feller kindo' halted, with a trimble in his chin;
And Uncle Jake he fetched the feller's coffee back, and stood
As solemn, fer a minute, as a' undertaker would;
Then he sorto' turned and tiptoed to'rds the kitchen door—and next,
Here comes his old wife out with him, a-rubbin' of her specs—
And she rushes fer the stranger, and she hollers out, "It's him!—
Thank God we've met him comin'!—Don't you know yer mother, Jim?"
And the feller, as he grabbed her, says,—"You bet I hain't forgot—
But," wipin' of his eyes, says he, "yer coffee's mighty hot!"

One of the most delightful coffee poems in English is Francis Saltus' (d. 1889) sonnet on "the voluptuous berry", as found in Flasks and Flagons:

Coffee

Voluptuous berry! Where may mortals find
Nectars divine that can with thee compare,
When, having dined, we sip thy essence rare,
And feel towards wit and repartee inclined?

Thou wert of sneering, cynical Voltaire,
The only friend; thy power urged Balzac's mind
To glorious effort; surely Heaven designed
Thy devotees superior joys to share.

Whene'er I breathe thy fumes, 'mid Summer stars,
The Orient's splendent pomps my vision greet.
Damascus, with its myriad minarets, gleams!
I see thee, smoking, in immense bazaars,
Or yet, in dim seraglios, at the feet
Of blond Sultanas, pale with amorous dreams!

Arthur Gray, in Over the Black Coffee (1902) has made the following contribution to the poetry of coffee, with an unfortunate reflection on tea, which might well have been omitted:

Coffee

O, boiling, bubbling, berry, bean!
Thou consort of the kitchen queen—
Browned and ground of every feature,
The only aromatic creature,
For which we long, for which we feel,
The breath of morn, the perfumed meal.

For what is tea? It can but mean,
Merely the mildest go-between.
Insipid sobriety of thought and mind
It "cuts no figure"—we can find—
Save peaceful essays, gentle walks,
Purring cats, old ladies' talks—

But coffee! can other tales unfold.
Its history's written round and bold—
Brave buccaneers upon the "Spanish Main",
The army's march across the lenght'ning plain,
The lone prospector wandering o'er the hill,
The hunter's camp, thy fragrance all distill.

So here's a health to coffee! Coffee hot!
A morning toast! Bring on another pot.

The Tea and Coffee Trade Journal published in 1909 the following excellent stanzas by William A. Price:

An Ode to Coffee

Oh, thou most fragrant, aromatic joy, impugned, abused, and often stormed against,
And yet containing all the blissfulness that in a tiny cup could be condensed!
Give thy contemners calm, imperial scorn—
For thou wilt reign through ages yet unborn!

Some ancient Arab, so the legend tells, first found thee—may his memory be blest!
The world-wide sign of brotherhood today, the binding tie between the East and West!
Good coffee pleases in a Persian dell,
And Blackfeet Indians make it more than well.

The lonely traveler in the desert range, if thou art with him, smiles at eventide—
The sailor, as thy perfume bubbles forth, laughs at the ocean as it rages wide—
And where the camps of fighting men are found
Thy fragrance hovers o'er each battleground.

"Use, not abuse, the good things of this life"—that is a motto from the Prophet's days,
And, dealing with thee thus, we ne'er shall come to troublous times or parting of the ways.
Comfort and solace both endure with thee,
Rich, royal berry of the coffee tree!

The New York Tribune published in 1915 the following lines by Louis Untermeyer, which were subsequently included in his "—— and Other Poets."

Gilbert K. Chesterton Rises to the Toast of Coffee

Strong wine it is a mocker; strong wine it is a beast.
It grips you when it starts to rise; it is the Fabled Yeast.
You should not offer ale or beer from hops that are freshly picked,
Nor even Benedictine to tempt a benedict.
For wine has a spell like the lure of hell, and the devil has mixed the brew;
And the friends of ale are a sort of pale and weary, witless crew—
And the taste of beer is a sort of a queer and undecided brown—
But, comrades, I give you coffee—drink it up, drink it down.
With a fol-de-rol-dol and a fol-de-rol-dee, etc.

Oh, cocoa's the drink for an elderly don who lives with an elderly niece;
And tea is the drink for studios and loud and violent peace—
And brandy's the drink that spoils the clothes when the bottle breaks in the trunk;
But coffee's the drink that is drunken by men who will never be drunk.
So, gentlemen, up with the festive cup, where Mocha and Java unite;
It clears the head when things are said too brilliant to be bright!
It keeps the stars from the golden bars and the lips of the tipsy town;
So, here's to strong, black coffee—drink it up, drink it down!
With a fol-de-rol-dol and a fol-de-rol-dee, etc.

The American breakfast cup is celebrated in up-to-date American style in the following by Helen Rowland in the New York Evening World:

What Every Wife Knows

Give me a man who drinks good, hot, dark, strong coffee for breakfast!
A man who smokes a good, dark, fat cigar after dinner!
You may marry your milk-faddist, or your anti-coffee crank, as you will!
But I know the magic of the coffee pot!
Let me make my Husband's coffee—and I care not who makes eyes at him!
Give me two matches a day—
One to start the coffee with, at breakfast, and one for his cigar, after dinner!
And I defy all the houris in Christendom to light a new flame in his heart!

Oh, sweet supernal coffee-pot!
Gentle panacea of domestic troubles,
Faithful author of that sweet nepenthe which deadens all the ills that married folks are heir to.
Cheery, glittering, soul-soothing, warmed hearted, inanimate friend!
What wife can fail to admit the peace and serenity she owes to you?
To you, who stand between her and all her early morning troubles—
Between her and the before-breakfast grouch—
Between her and the morning-after headache—
Between her and the cold-gray-dawn scrutiny?
To you, who supply the golden nectar that stimulates the jaded masculine soul,
Soothes the shaky masculine nerves, stirs the fagged masculine mind, inspires the slow masculine sentiment,
And starts the sluggish blood a-flowing and the whole day right!

What is it, I ask you, when he comes down to breakfast dry of mouth, and touchy of temper—
That gives him pause, and silences that scintillating barb of sarcasm on the tip of his tongue,
With which he meant to impale you?
It is the sweet aroma of the coffee-pot—the thrilling thought of that first delicious sip!

What is it, on the morning after the club dance,
That hides your weary, little, washed-out face and straggling, uncurled coiffure from his critical eyes?
It is the generous coffee-pot, standing like a guardian angel between you and him!
And in those many vital psychological moments, during the honeymoon, which decide for or against the romance and happiness of all the rest of married life—
Those critical before-breakfast moments when temperament meets temperament, and will meets "won't"—
What is it that halts you on the brink of tragedy,
And distracts you from the temptation to answer back?
It is the absorbing anxiety of watching the coffee boil!
What is it that warms his veins and soothes your nerves,
And turns all the world suddenly from a dismal gray vale of disappointment to a bright rosy garden of hope—
And starts another day gliding smoothly along like a new motor car?
What is it that will do more to transform a man from a fiend into an angel than baptism in the River Jordan?
It is the first cup of coffee in the morning!

Coffee in Dramatic Literature

Coffee was first "dramatized", so to speak, in England, where we read that Charles II and the Duke of Yorke attended the first performance of Tarugo's Wiles, or the Coffee House, a comedy, in 1667, which Samuel Pepys described as "the most ridiculous and insipid play I ever saw in my life." The author was Thomas St. Serf. The piece opens in a lively manner, with a request on the part of its fashionable hero for a change of clothes. Accordingly, Tarugo puts off his "vest, hat, perriwig, and sword," and serves the guests to coffee, while the apprentice acts his part as a gentleman customer. Presently other "customers of all trades and professions" come dropping into the coffee house. These are not always polite to the supposed coffee-man; one complains of his coffee being "nothing but warm water boyl'd with burnt beans," while another desires him to bring "chocolette that's prepar'd with water, for I hate that which is encouraged with eggs." The pedantry and nonsense uttered by a "schollar" character is, perhaps, an unfair specimen of coffee-house talk; it is especially to be noticed that none of the guests ventures upon the dangerous ground of politics.

In the end, the coffee-master grows tired of his clownish visitors, saying plainly, "This rudeness becomes a suburb tavern rather than my coffee house"; and with the assistance of his servants he "thrusts 'em all out of doors, after the schollars and customers pay."

In 1694, there was published Jean Baptiste Rosseau's comedy, Le Caffè, which appears to have been acted only once in Paris, although a later English dramatist says it met with great applause in the French capital. Le Caffè was written in Laurent's café, which was frequented by Fontenelle, Houdard de la Motte, Dauchet, the abbé Alary Boindin, and others. Voltaire said that "this work of a young man without any experience either of the world of letters or of the theater seems to herald a new genius."

About this time it was the fashion for the coffee-house keepers of Paris, and the waiters, to wear Armenian costumes; for Pascal had builded better than he knew. In La Foire Saint-Germain, a comedy by Dancourt, played in 1696, one of the principal characters is old "Lorange, a coffee merchant clothed as an Armenian". In scene 5, he says to Mlle. Mousset, "a seller of house dresses" that he has been "a naturalized Armenian for three weeks."

Mrs. Susannah Centlivre (1667?–1723), in her comedy, A Bold Stroke for a Wife, produced about 1719, has a scene laid in Jonathan's coffee house about that period. While the stock jobbers are talking in the first scene of act II, the coffee boys are crying, "Fresh Coffee, gentlemen, fresh coffee?... Bohea tea, gentlemen?"

Henry Fielding (1707–1754) published "The Coffee-House Politician, or Justice caught in his own trap," a comedy, in 1730.

The Coffee House, a dramatick Piece by James Miller, was performed at the Theater Royal in Drury Lane in 1737. The interior of Dick's coffee house figured as an engraved frontispiece to the published version of the play.

The author states in the preface that "this piece is partly taken from a comedy of one act written many years ago in French by the famous Rosseau, called 'Le Caffè', which met with great applause in Paris." The coffee house in the play is conducted by the Widow Notable, who has a pretty daughter for whom, like all good mothers, she is anxious to arrange a suitable marriage.

In the first scene, an acrimonious conversation takes place between Puzzle, the Politician, and Bays, the poet, in which squabble the Pert Beau and the Solemn Beau, and other habitués of the place take part. Puzzle discovers that a comedian and other players are in the room, and insists that they be ejected or forbidden the house. The Widow is justly incensed, and indignantly replies:

Forbid the Players my House, Sir! Why, Sir, I get more by them in a Week than I do by you in seven Years. You come here and hold a paper in your hand for an Hour, disturb the whole Company with your Politics, call for Pen and Ink, Paper and Wax, beg a Pipe of Tobacco, burn out half a Candle, eat half a Pound of Sugar, and then go away, and pay Two-pence for a Dish of Coffee. I could soon shut up my doors, if I had not some other good People to make amends for what I lose by such as you, Sir.

All join the Widow in scoffing and jeering, and exit the highly discomfited Puzzle. The pretty little Kitty tricks her mother with the aid of the Player, and marries the man of her choice, but is forgiven when he is found to be a gentleman of the Temple.

The play is in one act and has several songs. The last is one of five stanzas, with music "set by Mr. Caret:"

Song

What Pleasures a Coffee-House daily bestows!
To read and hear how the World merrily goes;
To laugh, sing and prattle of This, That, and T' other;
And be flatter'd and ogl'd and kiss'd too, like Mother.

Here the Rake, after Roving and Tipling all Night,
For his Groat in the Morning may set his Head right.
And the Beau, who ne'er fouls his White fingers with Brass,
May have his Sixpen' worth of—Stare in the Glass.

The Doctor, who'd always be ready to kill,
May ev'ry Day here take his Stand, if he will;
And the soldier, who'd bluster and challenge secure,
May draw boldly here, for—we'll hold him he's sure.

The Lawyer, who's always in quest of his Prey,
May find fools here to feed upon every Day;
And the sage Politician, in Coffee-Grounds known,
May point out the Fate of each Crown but—his own.

Then, Gallants, since ev'rything here you may find
That pleasures the Fancy or profits the Mind,
Come all, and take each a full Dish of Delight,
And crowd up our Coffee-House every night.

Song from "The Coffee House"

John Timbs tells us this play "met with great opposition on its representation, owing to its being stated that the characters were intended for a particular family (that of Mrs. Yarrow and her daughter) who kept Dick's, the coffee-house which the artist had inadvertently selected as the frontispiece. It appears," Timbs continues, "that the landlady and her daughter were the reigning toast of the Templars, who then frequented Dick's; and took the matter up so strongly that they united to condemn the farce on the night of its production; they succeeded, and even extended their resentment to everything suspected to be this author's (the Rev. James Miller) for a considerable time after."

Carlo Goldoni, who has been called the Molière of Italy, wrote La Bottega di Caffè, (The Coffee House), a naturalistic comedy of bourgeois Venice, satirizing scandal and gambling, in 1750. The scene is a Venetian coffee house (probably Florian's), where several actions take place simultaneously. Among several remarkable studies is one of a prattling slanderer, Don Marzio, which ranks as one of the finest bits of original character drawing the stage has ever seen. The play was produced in English by the Chicago Theatre Society in 1912. Chatfield-Taylor thinks Voltaire probably imitated La Bottega di Caffè in his Le Café, ou l'Ecossaise. Goldoni was a lover of coffee, a regular frequenter of the coffee houses of his time, from which he drew much in the way of inspiration. Pietro Longhi, called the Venetian Hogarth, in one of his pictures presenting life and manners in Venice during the years of her decadence, shows Goldoni as a visitor in a café of the period, with a female mendicant soliciting alms. It is in the collection of Professor Italico Brass.

Goldoni, in the comedy The Persian Wife, gives us a glimpse of coffee making in the middle of the eighteenth century. He puts these words into the mouth of Curcuma, the slave:

Here is the coffee, ladies, coffee native of Arabia,
And carried by the caravans into Ispahan.
The coffee of Arabia is certainly always the best.
While putting forth its leaves on one side, upon the other the flowers appear;
Born of a rich soil, it wishes shade, or but little sun.
Planted every three years is this little tree in the surface of the soil.
The fruit, though truly very small,
Should yet grow large enough to become somewhat green.
Later, when used, it should be freshly ground.
Kept in a warm and dry place and jealously guarded.

***
But a small quantity is needed to prepare it.
Put in the desired quantity and do not spill it over the fire;
Heat it till the foam rises, then let it subside again away from the fire;
Do this seven times at least, and coffee is made in a moment.

In 1760 there appeared in France Le Café, ou l'Ecossaise, comédie, which purported to have been written by a Mr. Hume, an Englishman, and to have been translated into French. It was in reality the work of Voltaire, who had brought out another play, Socrates, in the same manner a short time before. Le Café, was translated into English the same year under the title The Coffee House, or Fair Fugitive. The title page says the play is written by "Mr. Voltaire" and translated from the French. It is a comedy in five acts. The principal characters are: Fabrice, a good-natured man and the keeper of the coffee house; Constantia, the fair fugitive; Sir William Woodville, a gentleman of distinction under misfortune; Belmont, in love with Constantia, a man of fortune and interest; Freeport, a merchant and an epitome of English manners; Scandal, a sharper; and Lady Alton, in love with Belmont.

Il Caffè di Campagna, a play with music by Galuppi, appeared in Italy in 1762.

Another Italian play, a comedy called La Caffettiéra da Spirito was produced in 1807.

Hamilton, a play by Mary P. Hamlin and George Arliss, the latter also playing the title rôle, was produced in America by George C. Tyler in 1918. The first-act scene is laid in the Exchange coffee house of Philadelphia, during the period of Washington's first administration. Among the characters introduced in this scene are James Monroe, Count Tallyrand, General Philip Schuyler, and Thomas Jefferson.

The authors very faithfully reproduce the atmosphere of the coffee house of Washington's time. As Tallyrand remarks, "Everybody comes to see everybody at the Exchange Coffee House.... It is club, restaurant, merchants' exchange, everything."

The Autocrat of the Coffee Stall, a play in one act, by Harold Chapin, was published in New York in 1921.