Introduction of temperance into England — America struck it first — Doctor Johnson an abstainer — Collapse of the Permissive Bill — Human nature and forbidden fruit — Effects of repressive legislation — Sunday closing in Wales — Paraffin for miners — Toasting her Majesty — A good win — A shout and a drink — Jesuitical logic of the prohibitioners — The end justifies the means — A few non-alcoholic recipes — Abstainers and alcohol — Pure spring-water v. milk-punch — “Tried baith!”
INDEX OF RECIPES
[239]–243
CHAPTER I THE OLD ADAM
Introductory — Awful habits of the ancients — A bold, bad book — Seneca on the Drink Habit — The bow must not be always strung — Ebrietatis Encomium — The noble Romans — “Dum vivimus vivamus” — The skeleton at the banquet — Skull-cups — “Life and wine are the same thing” — Virgil and his contemporaries — Goats for Bacchus — The days of Pliny — Rewards for drunkenness — Novellius Torquatus — Three gallons at a draught — A swallow which did not save Rome — The antiquity of getting for’ard — Noah as a grape-grower — Father Frassen’s ideas — Procopius of Gaza — New Testament wine — Fermented or not? — Bad old Early Christians — Drunkenness common in Africa — Religion a cloak for alcohol — Tertullian on cider — Paulinus excuses intemperance — Excellence of Early Christians’ intentions.
I wish to state at the outset that this little work is not compiled in the interests of the sot, the toper, and the habitual over-estimator of his swallowing capacity. That the gifts of the gods, and the concoctions of more or less vile man, should be used with moderation, if we wish to really and thoroughly enjoy them, is a truism which needs no repetition; and although at the commencement of this work many “frightful {2} examples” of the evils of over-indulgence will be found mentioned, nothing but moderation will be found counselled in my book, from cover to cover.
In the past, drunkenness was not always regarded as a vice, and this is evident from much of the literature of former generations. In the course of my researches into the alcohol question I have come across a little book which bears the shameful and abandoned title of Ebrietatis Encomium, or the Praise of Drunkenness. And this book, which conveys such questionably moral aphorisms as “It is good for one’s health to be drunk occasionally,” and “The truly happy are the truly intoxicated,” claims to prove, “most authentically and most evidently, the necessity of frequently getting drunk, and that the practice is most ancient, primitive, and catholic.”
The author commences with what he calls “a beautiful passage out of Seneca:—
“The soul must not be always bent: one must sometimes allow it a little pleasure. Socrates was not ashamed to pass the time with children. Cato enjoyed himself in drinking plentifully, when his mind had been too much wearied out in public affairs. Scipio knew very well how to move that body, so much inured to wars and triumphs, without breaking it, as some nowadays do . . . ; but as people did in past times, who would make themselves merry on their festivals, by leading a dance really worthy men of those days, whence could ensue no reproach, when even their very enemies had seen them dance. One must allow the mind {3} some recreation: it makes it more gay and peaceful. . . . Assiduity of labour begets a languor and bluntness of the mind: for sleep is very necessary to refresh us, and yet he that would do nothing else but sleep night and day would be a dead man, and no more. There is a great deal of difference between loosening a thing, and quite unravelling it. Those who made laws have instituted holidays, to oblige people to appear at public rejoicings, in order to mingle with their cares a necessary temperament. . . . You must sometimes walk in the open air, that the mind may exalt itself by seeing the heavens, and breathing the air at your ease; sometimes take the air in your chariot, the roads and the change of the country will re-establish you in your vigour; or you may eat and drink a little more plentifully than usual. Sometimes one must even go as far as to get drunk; not indeed with an intention to drown ourselves in wine, but to drown our care. For wine drives away sorrow and care, and goes and fetches them up from the bottom of the soul. And as drunkenness cures some distempers, so, in like manner, it is a sovereign remedy for our sorrows” (Seneca de Tranquillitate).
Such sentiments were doubtless popular enough in Great Britain at the commencement of the present century—when Ebrietatis Encomium was published—when three and four bottle-men slept where they fell, “repugnant to command”; and malt liquor, small or strong, was the only known matutinal restorative of manly vigour. But my own experience is that {4} the sorrow and care which may be temporarily driven away by drowning them in the bowl are apt to return within a very few hours, reinforced an hundredfold, with their weapons re-sharpened, their instruments of torture put in thorough working-order, and with many other devils worse than themselves. A man, sound in body and mind, may really enjoy a certain amount of good liquor without feeling any ill effects next morning; but woe to him who seeks to drown that which cannot sink; to crush the worm which knows not death! The individual has yet to be born who can flourish, either in body or soul, on his own immoderation; and but for a chronic state of thirst in early youth I should not now be reduced to the compilation of drink statistics for a living.
But the ancients, in their heathen philosophy—which, by the way, was once recommended to Christians to follow—took no thought for the morrow. “Carpe diem!” was the head and front of the programme of the Roman patricians, who used to cry aloud at their feasts, by way of grace before meat:—