did not of itself throw the door wide open for trade at the western establishments.  But as time went on the plan was much abused by the granting of private licenses to the friends of the officials at Quebec, and “God knows how many of these were issued,” as one writer of the time puts it.  Traders often went, moreover, without any license at all, and especially in the matter of carrying brandy into the forest they frequently set the official orders at defiance.

This brandy question was, in fact, the great troubler in Israel.  It bulks large in every chronicle, every memoir, every Relation, and in almost every official dispatch during a period of more than fifty years.  It worried the King himself; it set the officers of the Church and State against each other; and it provoked more friction throughout the western dominions of France than all other issues put together.

As to the ethics of the liquor traffic in New France, there was never any serious disagreement.  Even the secular authorities readily admitted that brandy did the Indians no good, and that it would be better to sell them blankets and kettles.  But that was not the point.  The traders believed that, if the western Indians could not secure brandy from the French, they would get rum from the English.  The Indian would be no better off in that case, and the French would lose their hold on him into the bargain.  Time and again they reiterated the argument that the prohibition of the brandy trade would make an end to trade, to French influence, and even to the missionary’s own labors.  For if the Indian went to the English for rum, he would get into touch with heresy as well; he would have Protestant missionaries come to his village, and the day of Jesuit propaganda would be at an end.

This, throughout the whole trading period, was the stock argument of publicans and sinners.  The Jesuit missionaries combated it with all their power; yet they never fully convinced either the colonial or the home authorities.  Louis XIV, urged by his confessor to take one stand and by his ministers to take the other, was sorely puzzled.  He wanted to do his duty as a Most Christian King, yet he did not want to have on his hands a bankrupt colony.  Bishop Laval pleaded with Colbert that brandy would spell the ruin of all religion in the new world, but the subtle minister calmly retorted that the eau-de-vie had not yet overcome the ancient church in older lands.  To set his conscience right, the King referred the whole question to the savants of the Sorbonne, and they, like good churchmen, promptly gave their opinion that to sell intoxicants to the heathen was a heinous sin.  But that counsel afforded the Grand Monarch scant guidance, for it was not the relative sinfulness of the brandy trade that perplexed him.  The practical expediency of issuing a decree of prohibition was what lay upon his mind.  On that point Colbert gave him sensible advice, namely, that a question of practical