Over cohorts of old Shiraz wine.
And as for renown, it may be very well,
But Keyoomee the honour will wave;
Contented, if some brother rhymester will tell
Keyoomee’s glad life, o’er his grave.
THE MAKING AND MARRING OF WINE.
It used to be said of the old learned and liquor-loving Germans, that they did not care what Latin they spoke, so long as it was Latin; nor what sort of wine they drank, so long as it was wine. I have read somewhere of a feudal German Baron becoming intoxicated upon pious principles. He was seated, with his wife at his side, at the centre of his own table, presiding at a banquet. He had drunk till he had scarcely power left to carry the goblet up to his ever thirsty lips. The Frau Baroninn had repeatedly remonstrated, in whispers, with her lord; who replied, that he must needs drink when toasts were given, or his want of faith would be marked by his guests. He was about to raise a full goblet to his beard, when his lady, overturning, as if by accident, the cluster of lights which illuminated the board, begged of her consort to fling his wine away upon the floor; adding, “It is dark; nobody will see you.” “Nay,” said the orthodox Baron, solemnly, “God sees me!” and therewith he finished his draught, and was soon after conveyed to his couch, under such benison as the Chaplain could give, who congratulated his master upon the flavour of his wine, and the strength of his principles!
In no country in the world has more wine been drunk than in Germany; and no where has adulteration thereof been practised so systematically. “Vaticana bibis, bibis venenum,” says Martial, in the sixth book of his Epigrams. For “Vaticana,” read “Germanica;” and the line had, at one time, as fitting an application. The method pursued appears to have been of classical derivation; and the Germans, like the Romans, adulterated their wine with lead. It has been a matter of vexation to Teutonic scholars, that they have never been able to discover the name of the ingenious person who first realized the deadly idea of employing lead in the adulteration of wine. All that they can say of him is, that he was very wicked, but decidedly clever.
The Roman wine-merchants treated the matter in a business-like way. Lead arrested the acetous fermentation of wine, did not alter its colour, and did improve its taste. This was all that was desirable, as regarded them as merchants. If the beverage gave death, by slow or speedy means, to those who drank, that was an affair which concerned the imbibers, their medical men, and their families. They were ignorant and godless Heathens, of course, who committed this crime; and as nothing like it has ever been known as a characteristic of some of the professors of a better dispensation,—why, our righteous indignation may be intense. One excuse, indeed, may be offered for the old Romans. “At lover’s perjuries,” as they were told, “Jove himself condescended to laugh;” and, if so, they might feel canonically certain, that Mercury would not call them to account, but rather applaud their proficiency in cheating. But Galen was more just than the gods of either the Greek or Roman mythology, and sternly denounces the tricks at which the son of Maia would have smiled.
The same ancients were accustomed to boil new wine in metal vessels; and, when the quantity had been reduced by the process, to add sea-water and bad wine, and send the mixture to market as something that would make the very eyes of Bacchus twinkle with delight. A process not less distasteful, if less deadly, was that of boiling lime and plaster of Paris in inferior wine. The former was supposed to add an intoxicating quality to the mixture, which must have been as detestable as “Masdeu.” To this day, certain wines of the Mediterranean are subjected to a similar process; and, perhaps, if lime be judiciously used, the results may not be very injurious. It corrects acidity; but too much of it would enable the drinker to find out, as Falstaff did, that there was “lime in the sack.” We are wise in our generation, in employing carbonate of soda for this purpose, rather than lime, slaked or unslaked; and we also do well to reject gypsum,—a compound of sulphuric acid and lime, and which is seldom procurable in a sufficiently pure state to authorize its being employed. The rejection of plaster of Paris, for the purpose of improving wine, is, however, more general than universal. After all, it is not worse than calcined shells, and is innocuous when compared with the use of sugar of lead.