Old Sails: French Gun Ship for the Provost of Paris

There is a vast fleet of ships to be discovered on French municipal jettons.
   Each year, a new jetton was designed for the provost of the merchants of Paris. The provost acted as a mayor and was elected every two years. The first provost was chosen in the thirteenth century, whereas the last one governed until 1789 when the French revolution was in full tilt.

   I am not sure when the jetton series started, but it appears to be in the mid-1500s. Mitchner calls it a "semi-continuous" series. There are many gaps. Dated pieces go back to 1548 by my reckoning.
   These jettons were meant to be given as gifts in recognition of service. Among those receiving jettons were the mayor, the sheriffs, the king's attorney, and other officials. Many of the jettons were made of brass, a few of silver (the standard mintage for the latter appears to be about 900 pieces). All of them were produced by the Paris Mint and were distributed in the Fall.
   The Arms of Paris featured the "Ship of State" -- hence, there are many ships in the series. Most of the sailing ships are placed within a shield, but a few are featured in a larger size, sans shield. I particularly like the latter vessels.
   In 1632, a large ship (of state) was depicted on these municipal jettons. Christopher Sanguine was the provost of Paris at the time. He served from 1628 to 1632. The motto underscores the balance of power among the merchant corps from which the provost was elected.
   The fully-rigged ship is on a port tact with billowing sails. The sea is churning. The hull is depicted with an artistic flourish: rotund and adorned with curly gunwales. The hull shows three wide planks with bold pegs. The sails are decorated with fleurs-de-lis.
   Such a lovely ship. This might be the work of chief engraver Jean d' Armand Orphelin. I did not find a signature mark, however.
   The particular piece was carefully handled nearly four centuries. Wear is slight on the lower mainsail and along the gunwales. I purchased it from a French dealer, so I imagine it never left the country. I wonder how many folks have admired this ship?
 
 

Like Historic Coins? What Kind Do You Like?

What kind of history do you like?

Many coin collectors are interested in history.
Or, so they say.

"I want to touch the past," is a common refrain.

"I want to hold a coin that was used by my grandmother, or her grandmother!"

   At first glance, any old coin is stirring. A well-traveled Mercury dime is fascinating. It is fun to explore the smoothed surfaces with your fingertips. Each worn dime is unique. It wears its history of use for all to see.
   For some of us, a worn Mercury dime conjures up memories of finding one in change, or memories of discovering one in a drawer at the family homestead. Or, maybe we just looked down at the precise moment to discover one on an overgrown baseball field.
   Yes, there was a time when we enjoyed the simple pleasure of holding something that traveled from purse to register and back again -- just imagine, it was touched by thousands of folks who were saving and spending. Folks like many of us.

   But then we got indoctrinated. Brainwashed. Ahhhhh!

Do you want a dime that was here? Or, in the bag at the bank?

   Proper Collecting is about getting the "best" dime. Best dimes are shiny dimes. We learn to use a magnifying glass to examine split-bands and count cap-feathers. We learn codes: MS-67 or MS-68. We learn to obsess over these details and codes.
   All this obsessing leads to worry. Oh, the anxiety. Did I get the best one? Is the band split deeply enough? Is each feather defined well enough. Did I get a good enough deal? And of course the ultimate question is: Am I enough?


   Well, it all depends on what kind of history you like. Do you want a dime that was actually there? Or, do you want a dime that could have been there (but was sitting in a roll or bag instead)? For the coin collecting necromancer the answer is obvious: a dime that was there is always better than a dime that could have been. We don't know where "there" was, but the wear tells us that the dime traveled, and traveled for a long time.
   Now I have to admit that I have a few shiny dimes. I tried to love them. But I cannot. I keep going back to the ones that were there. I like to touch them. I like to hand them to folks to pick at. I like to give a few of them away as gifts -- a piece of history that happened.
   

Loving the Unloved: Coins for Memorial Day

Memorial Day is upon us.

   I am going to watch my father march in a small town parade with the other Vets. He was career Navy. I am proud to watch the old timers from the curb.

   

In Loving the Unloved, we contemplate some old war relics. Some Vets used these bits. I wonder who they were? No matter. The relics are potent either way.

   A battlefield relic is a real piece of the action. It was there. These rusty bits are part of history … they are not just old, but instrumental. Relics like this should be in the parade, not on the curb.

   I cannot think of a pair of cents that are more evocative.

   Relic coins wear their scraggy patina with pride. Old timers. Each pit, each scratch, each lamination – all earned and honest. These coins have authority.

  

Nowadays, too many collectors worry about authenticity. Was the coin dipped? Is the toning right? Or left? Yuk, Yuk. Silly stuff.

   The power – the parade, if you will – is about authority. Loving the Unloved is not a rebel thing; it is not meant to rile your fellows; it is not madness. It is reverence for those who came before, who struggled, big hero or not.

See how they clamor for Shipwrecked Cobs

A big auction ended yesterday.
   The pounding of the hammer announced record prices paid for relics fished from Spanish Galleons and other Old Sails. Then, as suddenly as it started, the block fell silent. Hundreds of cobs had been dispersed and thousands of dollars spent.
   I wonder: Who are these people? I am one of them, so I guess a few necromancers are in the pool. But what about the rest? I am sure there were physicians, brokers, shopkeepers, teachers ... and so on. This is not what I'm talking about, however.
   What is the mindset that we share?
   Put bluntly, what madness compels folks to bid hundreds of dollars to take home a corroded, somewhat porous, sea-washed cob? And the frenzied bidding? Some pieces sparked contests that defied any rational valuations. Like beasts tearing at a carcass -- it was a rare chance to eat.

The real thing: Shipwrecked 1652 one real from Potosi.

   Do you know how many Big Macs your could buy with a thousand dollars? That's food for a month. But no! I must have this cob instead! And, many cobs went for a grand or more. It just seems like a normal thing. If an Alien was watching us, what would they think?
   In this light, collecting must appear irrational by all measures. And non-adaptive too (if you accept a Darwinian viewpoint) -- you cannot eat cobs.
   But even with sound reality-testing, the pull of possessing something from the distant past with a tragic history is captivating. Some of use cannot resist. We have seen enough movies to imagine the shipwreck as it happened. Go ahead and close your eyes: see the planking split from the hull, see the galleon come apart, feel the coral reefs penetrate. Yes, I see it! 
 
   The necromancer inside me believes that cobs from shipwrecks offer a direct path to what happened so long ago. Sure, cobs fascinate us with their oldness. But there's more. Shipwrecked pieces are amulets for having survived the storm.
   They have horrific stories. And, we are drawn to this action.
   But we are safe.
   Oddly enough, cobs are also romantic in a hard -- Robert Mitchum -- way.
   They are true: bold and unadulterated hunks of silver without pretentiousness.
   Cobs are not graded or slabbed. They are too belligerent for that. And they are too sharp for the connoisseur's tender, gloved fingers.
   Go slab a Morgan. Caress your gold dime with felt fingertips. But roll up your sleeves, if you plan to handle a cob.

Try this: Hold a cob in your hand (yes, wrap your fist around it) and feel its edges. Let it dig into your palm. Note how the silver warms in your grasp. This is what wealth felt like in the seventeenth century. This is how a pirate felt when he (or she) reached into the treasure chest to inspect the prize.
   So let's get to it. You can start small. And so, I show you a rugged one real from the Jesus Maria de la Limpia Concepcion that sank off the coast of Ecuador in 1654. It is just a sliver, but it has everything you want in a cob -- more on that later
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