Phylloxera vastatrix (why not devastatrix?) has cost France, it is said, a pecuniary loss far exceeding that of the Franco-Prussian war. The little monster was discovered in North America in 1854, and whether the discoverer or one of his friends brought the vine-killer on a holiday-trip to Europe, or whether it worked its own passage will never be known. But certain it is that the {74} little monster made its first appearance on this side in the year 1863. Striking an attitude, with the exclamation, “Hallo! here’s a vine, let’s have the first suck,” the phylloxera commenced a long starring engagement (to borrow another metaphor from the theatres), which in another fifteen years’ time had developed into an enormous success, as far as the vastatrix was concerned. Naturally, it is the she-phylly who does the harm. From August to October Madam lays her little eggs on the vine-leaves, beneath the surface. The ova develop late in autumn into males and females, who migrate to the stem of the vine. There each bold, bad female lays an egg, under the bark. This egg lies dormant, after the manner of pesky little insect-nuisances, through the winter, and develops in April or May into a wingless, voracious, merciless little “vine-louse,” with power to add to its number. “The rest,” as the mechanical engineers tell us, just before our brains go, “is easy.” The vine-louse attacks the roots, without waiting, the silly idiot, for the grapes to ripen, the vine dies, and the potato reigns in its stead. Without burning the plant, or drowning it, it is impossible to eradicate the phylloxera, without spending three times as much cash, in chemicals, as the vine is worth. This is the true story of France’s great trouble.
Beetroot-spirit is also largely used in making cognac, the coarse spirit being flavoured with œnanthic æther, cognac-oil (made from palm-oil) and—other things. Also of late years the French have discovered that almost as good wine can be made from raisins as from the uncooked {75} article, provided they use enough raisins; three pounds being required to make a gallon of liquor. A good deal can also be done, in the way of imitation wine, by chemicals; it being quite possible to make sherry which will fetch at least four shillings per bottle, for the ridiculous sum of fourpence for the same quantity. And it is also a fact that a large quantity of alleged claret which (mainly through the endeavours of the late Mr. W. E. Gladstone) we are able to import on the cheap from the other side of the water, is made from currants and raisins steeped in water and mixed with cheap Spanish wine.
And what is to be said of British brandy? A country which can manufacture superior Dorset butter from Thames mud, and real turtle-soup from snails and conger-eels, is not likely to get “left” in a matter of distilling. A great deal of brandy is, therefore, made in the tight little island from ordinary grain alcohol, by adding Argol—I’ll tell ye what this is presently—bruised French plums, French wine-vinegar, a little—a very little—good cognac, and redistilling. I believe that it is also possible to extract a good midnight sort of brandy—specially recommended for roysterers—from coal-tar and paraffin.
The Americans make brandy from peaches and other stone-fruits, good wholesome liquor, but their French cognac is not to be recommended. For it is nothing more nor less than the common whisky which America has exported to France, sent back again, after the necessary treatment. Fact. {76}
Argol, mentioned just now, is a crude variety of cream of tartar which forms a crust within wine-vats and bottles. Originally it exists in the juice of the grape, and is soluble therein; but during the fermentation of the juice, and as it passes into wine, much alcohol is developed, which remaining in the fermenting liquor, causes the precipitation of Argol. Thus the “crust” of port wine is Argol, the principal uses (and abuses) of which are in the preparation of (besides cognac) cream of tartar and tartaric acid. And malicious people say that you have only to scratch French brandy to find the Tartar.
A few years ago a German chemist discovered that a very drinkable brandy can be made from sawdust—whether deal sawdust or any description of dust does not appear; and under the heading, “A New Danger to Teetotalism,” an American journal published the following effusion:—
“We are a friend of the temperance movement, and want it to succeed; but what chance can it have when a man can take a rip-saw and go out and get drunk with a fence-rail? What is the use of a prohibitory liquor law if a man is able to make brandy-smashes out of the shingles on his roof, or if he can get delirium tremens by drinking the legs of his kitchen chairs? You may shut up an inebriate out of a gin shop and keep him away from taverns, but if he can become uproarious on boiled sawdust and desiccated window-sills, any effort must necessarily be a failure.”
I can believe in the ability of most German chemists to do most things; and possibly {77} sawdust is used in the Fatherland for the manufacture of lager beer, Rhine Wine, and—but ’tis a saw subject.
The pure brandy at Cognac is divided into two principal classes—“champagne” brandy, from grapes grown on the plains, and “bois” brandy, the product of wooded districts—I am not alluding now to sawdust—and the last-named variety is subdivided into many different names. It takes eight and a half gallons of wine to furnish one gallon of spirits; and the ravages of the vine-louse have made a terrible difference in the supply. In fact, the amount produced in 1897 was about one-tenth of the amount produced twenty years previously. But thanks to beet-root, potatoes, and—other things, the distiller manages to “get” there just the same. But the man who wrote in 1889, prophesying the speedy disappearance of pure eau de vie from the market, was probably not far wrong. “It would seem on the whole,” he wrote, “that unless the phylloxera be stamped out, pure brandy will soon be a thing of the past.” But they do not tell you this in saloon-bars, and places where they drink.
It was stated by Mr. Dewar last year (1898) that there were 89,000,000 gallons of whisky lying idle in bond because sufficient suitable water to dilute it to the orthodox strength could not be found. This statement is calculated to give a moderate drinker the gapes; whilst Sir Wilfrid Lawson and others must have longed for permission to set fire to every bonded warehouse in the Kingdom. But the same great authority {78} on the wines of bonnie Scotland made another statement at the same time which is eminently calculated to remove all fears lest whisky, like brandy, be on the down line. “The serpent Alcohol,” remarks a writer in the Daily Telegraph, in discussing Mr. Dewar’s speech, “may have been scotched”—was this meant for a joke?—“but it is far from having been killed.” According to the Ex-Sheriff’s statistics the distillation of Irish whisky, despite its diminishing popularity, has increased during the last fourteen years by about thirty per cent; while in Scotland during the same period the increase has been at the rate of nearly eighty per cent. Ireland, that is to say, which produced eleven million gallons in 1884, now produces fourteen million and a half gallons; while the Scotch output, which was eighteen million gallons in the former year, had risen in 1898 to the enormous figure of thirty-three millions and a half. Hech sirs! these be braw figures indeed.