The casks of wine to be blended are raised from the cellars, half a dozen at a time, by means of a lift provided with an endless chain, and worked by the steam-engine of which we have already spoken. They are emptied, through traps in the floor of the room above, into the huge vats which, standing upon a raised platform, reach almost to the ceiling. From these vats the fluid is allowed to flow through hose into rows of casks stationed below. Before being bottled the wine reposes for a certain time; is next duly racked and again blended; and is eventually conveyed through silver-plated pipes into oblong reservoirs, each fitted with a dozen syphon-taps, so arranged that directly the bottle slipped on to one of them becomes full the wine ceases to flow.
Upwards of 200 workpeople are employed in the salle de tirage at Messrs. Moët & Chandon’s, which, while the operation of bottling is going on, presents a scene of bewildering activity. Men and lads are gathered round the syphon-taps, briskly removing the bottles as they become filled, and supplanting them by empty ones. Other lads hasten to transport the filled bottles on trucks to the corkers, whose so-called ‘guillotine’ machines send the corks home with a sudden thud. The corks being secured with agrafes, the bottles are placed in large flat baskets called manettes, and wheeled away on trucks, the quarts being deposited in the cellars by means of lifts, while the pints slide down an inclined plane by the aid of an endless chain, which raises the trucks with the empty baskets at the same time the full ones make their descent into the cellars. What with the incessant thud of the corking-machines, the continual rolling of iron-wheeled trucks over the concrete floor, the rattling and creaking of the machinery working the lifts, the occasional sharp report of a bursting bottle, and the loudly-shouted orders of the foremen, who display the national partiality for making a noise to perfection, the din becomes at times all but unbearable. The number of bottles filled in the course of the day naturally varies, still Messrs. Moët & Chandon reckon that during the month of June a daily average of 100,000 are taken in the morning from the stacks in the salle de rinçage, washed, dried, filled, corked, wired, lowered into the cellars, and carefully arranged in symmetrical order. This represents a total of two and a half million bottles during that month alone.
The bottles on being lowered into the cellars, either by means of the incline or the lifts, are placed in a horizontal position, and, with their uppermost side daubed with white chalk, are stacked in layers from two to half a dozen bottles deep, with narrow oak laths between. The stacks are usually about 6 or 7 feet high, and 100 feet and upwards in length. Whilst the wine is thus reposing in a temperature of about 55° Fahrenheit, fermentation sets in, and the ensuing month is one of much anxiety. Thanks, however, to the care bestowed, Messrs. Moët & Chandon’s annual loss from bottles bursting rarely exceeds three per cent, though fifteen was once regarded as a respectable and satisfactory average. The broken glass is a perquisite of the workmen, the money arising from its sale, which at the last distribution amounted to no less than 20,000 francs, being divided amongst them every couple of years.
BOTTLING CHAMPAGNE AT MESSRS. MOËT AND CHANDON’S, EPERNAY.
The usual entrance to Messrs. Moët & Chandon’s Epernay cellars—which, burrowed out in all directions, are of the aggregate length of nearly seven miles, and have usually between 10,000,000 and 12,000,000 bottles and 20,000 casks of wine stored therein—is through a wide and imposing portal, and down a long and broad flight of steps. It is, however, by the ancient and less imposing entrance, through which more than one crowned head has condescended to pass, that we set forth on our lengthened tour through these intricate underground galleries—this subterranean city, with its miles of streets, cross-roads, open spaces, tramways, and stations devoted solely to Champagne. A gilt inscription on a black-marble tablet testifies that ‘on the 26th July 1807, Napoleon the Great, Emperor of the French, King of Italy, and Protector of the Confederation of the Rhine, honoured commerce by visiting the cellars of Jean Remi Moët, Mayor of Epernay, President of the Canton, and Member of the General Council of the Department,’ within three weeks of the signature of the treaty of Tilsit. Passing down the flight of steep slippery steps traversed by the victor of Eylau and Jena, access is gained to the upper range of vaults, brilliantly illuminated by the glare of gas, or dimly lighted by the flickering flame of tallow-candles, upwards of 60,000 lb. of which are annually consumed. Here group after group of the small army of 350 workmen employed in these subterranean galleries are encountered, engaged in the process of transforming the vin brut into Champagne. At Messrs. Moët & Chandon’s, the all-important operation of liqueuring the wine is effected by aid of machines of the latest construction, which regulate the quantity administered to the utmost nicety. The corks are branded by being pressed against steel dies heated by gas by women, who can turn out 3000 per day apiece, the quantity of string used to secure them amounting to nearly ten tons in the course of the year.
TABLET COMMEMORATIVE OF THE VISIT OF NAPOLEON I.