Is it necessary to state that claret was not drunk, on ordinary occasions, by the Ancient Britons? I trow not. And I fancy the wines of the noble old Romans partook more of the nature of burgundies than clarets. In England the wines of Médoc have never been fully appreciated until during the latter half of the present century, when the taste for port began to die out, with the good port itself. And as I writhe, occasionally, in the throes of gout, I bethink me of the merciless law delivered unto Moses, which provides that the sins of the fathers shall be visited upon their descendants, even unto the third and fourth generation. For the good old three-and-four-bottle men of eighty years ago, and farther back than that, certainly laid {136} the foundations for much of the trouble at this end of the century. Still there be doctors who actually recommend port wine as a gout-fuge. And it is certainly safer to drink a little good port—matured in the wood, and innocent of beeswing—an you be a podagric subject, than some of the clarets which, thanks to the enterprise of the late Mr. W. E. Gladstone, are within the reach of the slenderest purse.
Do not smoke whilst drinking claret, or port, either. Nothing destroys the flavour of red wine so effectually as the flavour of a cigar.
One of the greatest “sells” ever experienced by an expectant party of claret judges—of whom I posed as one—was after this fashion. Our host had inherited a pipe of Château Lafitte ’64, which had been duly bottled off. We had enjoyed a nice plain little dinner—a bit of crimped cod, a steak, and a bird—in order the better to taste the luscious wine. After dinner bottle number one made its appearance; and as they sipped, and prepared to sing hymns of praise, the jaws of the guests fell. And a great cry uprose: “Pricked !”
CHAPTER: XIII THE OLD WINES AND THE NEW
Decline and fall of port — Old topers — A youthful wine-bibber — The whisky age succeeds the port age — “Jeropiga” — Landladies’ port — A monopoly — Port v. gout — A quaint breakfast in Reading — About nightcaps — Sherry an absolutely pure wine — Except when made within the four miles’ radius — Treading the grapes — “Yeso” — Pliny pops up again — “Lime in the sack” — What the Lancet says — “Old Sherry” — Faux pas of a General — About vintages.
On the decline and fall of port wine volumes might be written. At the same time I am not the man who is going to write them. According to early recollections, the conversation of my elders was limited to hunting, racing, and the wines of Oporto. The man who had “ ’20,” or “Comet,” port in his cellars was a man to be cultivated, and dined with; whilst “ ’34” and “ ’47” men were next in demand. And this was after the era of the three-and-four-bottle heroes, of whose deeds I have heard my father speak, almost with bated breath; how, after the retirement of the ladies, to discuss tea and scandal by themselves, the dining-room door would be locked by the host himself, who would {138} pocket the key thereof. Many of the guests slept where they fell, “repugnant to command,” like the sword of Pyrrhus, whilst others would be fastened in the interior of their chariots at a later hour. Even in the late fifties, the estimable divine with whom I was studying the beauties of the classics, would on the frequent occasion of a dinner-party provide one bottle of port per head, for his guests, in addition to hock, champagne, and sherry; and the writer, then a boy of fifteen, was included amongst the “heads.”
But as the stone age succeeded the ice age, as the iron age succeeded the stone age, and as the gold age, and the railway age, and the rotten company age succeeded the iron age, so have the whisky age, and the “small bottle” age, and the gin-and-bitters age almost wiped out the age when man drank, talked, and thought port. Our ancestors were immoderate in their potations but, as far as wine went, these were but rarely indulged in until after sundown, although the Briton would frequently wash his breakfast down with ale of the strongest. And it is difficult to believe that the evil habit of “nipping,” at all hours of the day, which now prevails in some circles—a habit which is mainly due to the break-neck pace at which life is pursued—is either more conducive to health or intellectuality, or morality than the after-dinner debauch of a century ago.
The “hot and heady” wine is (or, rather, was) produced chiefly in a mountainous district of Portugal called Cima de Douro. The wine is largely mixed with spirit even during {139} fermentation, the proper colour being given by a mixture known as jeropiga, which is a preparation of elder-berries, molasses, raisin juice, and spirit.
The wine which is made within the Metropolitan Police District, for the special benefit of landladies, infirmaries, and she-choristers, is also treated with a similar mixture, with the addition of a little logwood-extract; but in fashionable quarters the mixture is not known as jeropiga, a name which would probably affect the sale.
Port wine was known in England before the year 1700, but was not in much demand. From the year mentioned till 1826 the export trade was a monopoly in the hands of English merchants. The effect of this monopoly was to increase the price in England, and to gradually deteriorate the quality. Exports from Oporto have decreased in a marked way for the last forty years or so; and although there is still some demand, and some decent wine left, the “hot and heady” concoction whether dry or fruity, a lady’s wine, or a military ditto, is gradually leaving us.