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This book was originally published in 1714 as "Eloge de l'Yvresse"
by Albert-Henri de Sallengre, and translated in 1723 by Robert Samber
with the present title. The 1812 edition updates the spelling and
punctuation, and omits part of the title page (see Errata), but is
otherwise the same text.
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* * * * *
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[Illustration: VIVIMUS DUM BIBIMUS]
_EBRIETATIS ENCOMIUM_:
or, the
PRAISE
of
DRUNKENNESS:
Wherein Is Authentically,
and
Most Evidently Proved,
THE NECESSITY
of
FREQUENTLY GETTING DRUNK;
And, That the Practice Is Most Ancient,
Primitive, and Catholic.
By
BONIFACE OINOPHILUS,
De Monte Fiascone, A. B. C.
Vinum lætificans cor hominis.
Narratur et prisci Catonis,
Sæpe mero caluisse virtus. --HOR.
_LONDON:_
Printed For C. Chapple, Pall Mall.
1812.
Harding & Wright, Printers, St. John's Square, London.
EBRIETATIS ENCOMIUM:
OR, THE
PRAISE OF DRUNKENNESS
THE
PREFACE.
If ever preface might serve for an apology, certainly this ought to do
so. The bare title of the book is enough to have it universally cried
down, and to give the world an ill opinion of its author; for people
will not be backward to say, that he who writes the Praise of
Drunkenness, must be a drunkard by profession; and who, by discoursing
on such a subject, did nothing but what was in his own trade, and
resolved not to move out of his own sphere, not unlike Baldwin,
a shoe-maker's son, (and a shoe-maker), in the days of yore, who
published a treatise on the shoes of the ancients, having a firm
resolution strictly to observe this precept, _Ne sutor ultra crepidam_.
To this I answer, I am very well contented, that the world should
believe me as much a drunkard, as Erasmus, who wrote The Praise of
Folly, was a fool, and weigh me in the same balance.
But some will say, what good can a man propose to himself in being a
panegyrist for drunkenness? To solve this difficulty I shall make use of
a comparison.
M. Pelisson, in his History of the French Academy, says, that Menage did
not compose that famous Requete des Dictionaires, in which he ridicules
all the academics, on account of any aversion he had to them, but purely
to divert himself, and not to lose the witty turns that came into his
head upon that subject. In the same manner, I declare that I did not
undertake this work on account of any zeal I have for wine, you must
think, but only to divert myself, and not to lose a great many curious
remarks I have made upon this most catholic liquid.
It may farther be objected, that this work is so stuffed with
quotations, that they hinder the book itself from being seen; like what
I heard say of a country fellow, who complained when he left London,
that he could not see it for the houses. As an excuse for all the
others, I shall make use of one quotation more, and this I shall borrow
from Mr. Bayle.[1] "There is no room to doubt," says he, "but some
readers will judge, that there are a little too many quotations in this
work, which is no less a disorder, they will say, than what happens in
some cities, where the strangers are more numerous than the citizens.
But of what importance is it to travellers, that such disorder appears
in any country, provided they find in it honest folks. There is no
reason why reading may not be compared to travelling. We should
therefore be very little concerned, whether, according to the ancient
country frugality, we are entertained with what is of its proper growth;
or if, instead of the flesh of domestic animals, and the fruits of our
own vineyards and gardens, we are served with what comes from the
market. That which really is of consequence is, that the meat be
wholesome and well dressed, and the wine good, &c. _Unde habeat quærat
nemo, sufficit habere._"
As to the rest, I am very far from the sentiments of a certain writer,
who having found in his book _one_ fault only, consulted one of his
friends, whether he should put down Errata or Erratum. For my part,
I subscribe with all my heart to the Errata of Benserade, and in his
words frankly own, that
Pour moy, parmi des fautes innombrables,
Je n'en connois que deux considerables,
Et dont je fais ma declaration,
C'est l'entreprise et l'execution,
A mon avis fautes irreparables,
En ce volume.
Though num'rous faults I see in this small book,
(And so may any one that will but look),
I know but _two_ of much consideration,
Of which I here make public declaration,
The _undertaking_ and the _execution_,
Faults too extravagant for absolution.
[Footnote 1: Pref. des Rep. aux Quest. d'un Pr. T. 1.]
CONTENTS.
Page.
CHAP. I. That one must be Merry 1
CHAP. II. That Wine drives away Sorrow, and excites Mirth 16
CHAP. III. That it is good for one's Health
to get Drunk sometimes 29
CHAP. IV. That old People ought to get Drunk sometimes 35
CHAP. V. That Wine creates Wit 38
CHAP. VI. That Wine makes one Eloquent 46
CHAP. VII. That Wine acquires Friends, and reconciles Enemies 49
CHAP. VIII. That the Custom of getting Drunk is most ancient 53
CHAP. IX. That the Primitive Christians got Drunk 57
CHAP. X. Of Churchmen 61
CHAP. XI. Of Popes, Saints, and Bishops,
that used to get Drunk 67
CHAP. XII. A Catalogue of some illustrious Topers 73
CHAP. XIII. Of Philosophers that used to get Drunk 78
CHAP. XIV. Of Poets that used to get Drunk 85
CHAP. XV. Of Free Masons, and other learned Men,
that used to get Drunk 88
CHAP. XVI. Of Nations that used to get Drunk 104
CHAP. XVII. Of the Drunkenness of the Germans 112
CHAP. XVIII. Of Nations that get Drunk with certain Liquors 121
CHAP. XIX. Other Considerations in favour of Drunkenness 126
CHAP. XX. An Answer to the Objection, That Drunkenness
causes infinite Evils 130
CHAP. XXI. An Answer to the Objection, That the Mirth
which Wine inspires is chimerical 133
CHAP. XXII. An Answer to the Objection, That one loses
one's Reason in getting Drunk 142
CHAP. XXIII. An Answer to the Objection, That one cannot
trust a Man that gets Drunk 150
CHAP. XXIV. An Answer to the Objection, That Drunkenness
makes one incapable of performing the Duties of civil Life 152
CHAP. XXV. Burlesque, ridiculous, and out-of-the-Way
Thoughts against Drunkenness 157
CHAP. XXVI. A ridiculous Aversion that some have to Wine 160
CHAP. XXVII. Rigorous Laws against Wine and Drunkenness 164
CHAP. XXVIII. Rules to be observed in getting Drunk.
I. Not too often. II. In good Company 169
CHAP. XXIX. Third Rule, With good Wine 171
CHAP. XXX. Fourth Rule, At convenient Times 177
CHAP. XXXI. Fifth Rule, To force no one to drink 181
CHAP. XXXII. Sixth Rule, Not to push Drunkenness too far 184
POSTSCRIPT 193
The
PRAISE
of
DRUNKENNESS
CHAP. I.
THAT ONE MUST BE MERRY.
If on one hand I have reason to fear that the title of this book will
offend the delicate ears of a great many, and make them say, that no
vice ever wanted its advocate, _Nullo vitio unquam defuit advocatus_; I
am not, perhaps, less exposed on the other to the criticisms of as many
folks, who will probably apply to me that which was said heretofore to
one in Lacedemonia, who had a mind to make an encomium on Hercules, viz.
Who ever blamed Hercules?
Quis Herculem vituperavit?
However, though I should have no readers at all, yet am I resolved to
continue my discourse at the hazard, in some manner, of imitating Pyrrho
the philosopher, who one day, as he was haranguing the people, seeing
himself abandoned by all his auditors, pursued very magnanimously his
declamation to the end. To enter, therefore, upon the present subject,
I lay down this as my first position, viz. That it is lawful to get
drunk sometimes. Which I prove thus:--
Sadness is in the highest degree prejudicial to health, and causes
abundance of distempers. There is no one ignorant of this truth. Joy
(or mirth) on the contrary, prevents and forces them away. It is, as the
Arabians say, the flower and spirit of a brisk and lively health[1]. Let
us run over, and examine all the different states of life, and we shall
be forced to own, that there is not one of them all but what is subject
to chagrin and sadness; and, consequently, that joy, or mirth, is most
necessary to men. Which very probably the philosopher had in his head,
when he defined man a risible animal. But be that as it will, one must
certainly look upon that maxim which recommends mingling of pleasures
with the affairs of life as a very wise one.
Sometimes with mirth and pleasure lard your cares[2].
We shall confirm this precept by a beautiful passage out of Seneca,
whose writings most certainly contain no loose morality, and which is as
follows:-- "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 now-a-days do, with more than womanly pleasures;
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 some recreation: it makes it more
gay and peaceful. And as it is not good too much to cultivate soil the
most fertile, least, by yielding too large crops, it may soon run to
decay and ruin: so in the same manner is the mind broken by a continued
labour and application. Those who respite a little, regain their
strength. 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 holydays, to
oblige people to appear at public rejoicings, in order to mingle with
their cares a necessary temperament. There have been several very great
men (as I have mentioned) who would set apart certain days of the month
for that end; and some others, who had every day set hours for work, and
other set hours for recreation. One must therefore allow the mind some
recreation. One must allow it some repose and leisure, which may serve
for new strength and nourishment. You must sometimes walk in the open
air, that the mind may exalt itself by viewing 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 go even as far as to get drunk; not, indeed, with an
intention to drown ourselves in wine, but to drown our cares. 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[3]."
It must be confessed, indeed, that properly speaking, this passage of
Seneca is levelled only against too great assiduity in labour and
business; the application, however, is very just, in relation to
chagrin, which causes in men's minds a far greater alteration than can
be excited by the most rude labour either of mind or body.
The ancients had, besides this, another motive which induced them to
make merry, and pass their time agreeably. They considered the short
duration of their life, and for that reason endeavoured to make the best
use of it they could. It will be no difficult matter for me to prove
what I here advance.
Every one knows that the Egyptians made use of a very extraordinary
custom in their festivals. They shewed to every guest a skeleton: this,
according to some, was to make them think of death. Others again assure
us, "That this strange figure was made use of to a quite contrary end;
that this image of death was shewn for no other intent but to excite
them to pass away their life merrily, and to employ the few days of its
small duration to the best advantage; as having no other condition to
expect after death, but that of this frightful skeleton[4]."
This last sentiment is, without doubt, most probable; for what
likelihood is there that people would make reflections the most sad and
serious, at a time when they proposed only to divert, and make
themselves merry. This influence had the sight of a skull upon the mind
of Trimalchion, who Petronius[5] tells us, thus expressed himself on
that object:-- "Alas! alas! wretched that we are! what a nothing is poor
man! we shall be all like this, when Fate shall have snatched us hence.
Let us therefore rejoice, and be merry while we are here." The Latin is
much stronger:--
Heu! heu! nos miseros! quam totus homuncio nil est,
Sic erimus cuncti, postquam nos auferet orcus.
Ergo vivamus, dum licet esse, bene.
A little before he said almost the same thing. "Alas! wine therefore
lives longer than man, let us then sit down and drink bumpers; life and
wine are the same thing." _Heu! heu! ergo diutius vivit vinum, quam
homuncio. Quare Tangomenas faciamus, vita vinum est._ This puts me in
mind of what Athenæus[6] reports of an Egyptian, called Mycernius. This
man having been told by the oracle that he had but a very short time to
live, resolved to make the most of that short space, and to that end did
nothing but drink night and day.
This thought of an approaching death is not so importunate as is
believed, since it is, says an[7] anonymous French author, a principal
beauty of an ancient hymn of the poet Cecilius. "Let me be assured, says
he, that I shall live six months, and I shall employ them so well, as to
die the seventh without any regret in the world."
The same author goes on thus:-- "The moderns have not failed imitating
the elegant flights of the fine wits of the ancient Greeks and Romans.
I find, especially, that the Italians come nearer to them; perhaps,
because they are more proper than others to refine on pleasure. This is
the character of the nation, of the truth of which I shall give no other
proof than the last lines of an elegy, written by Samazarius,
a Neapolitan gentleman." The sense of which in English runs thus.
Since vig'rous youth, all blooming, brisk, and gay,
Excites our tender souls to sport and play,
Let's taste ambrosial pleasures while we may.
Those joys to which our souls are most inclin'd,
And suit the throbbing passions of the mind.
Let's love while soft ecstatic fires engage,
And shew us lovers on the world's great stage,
Dull reason only suits with frightful age.
And see, she comes, for ever to destroy,
For ever all our bliss, and all our joy.
Unwelcome age comes on with swiftest pace;
Let's then prevent this wretched sad disgrace.
O may the terrors of approaching fate,
Excite new fires, inspire fresh vig'rous heat;
That love may sov'reign reign in ev'ry part,
And drive unworthy weakness from our heart.
Thrice happy, if surpriz'd by death one day,
Absorpt in sweetest bliss we die away.
But to return to my subject. We are told for certain, that the Scythians
used to drink out of a skull; and probably they had the same design in
doing so as the Egyptians had in looking on their skeletons. But leaving
these objects, which cannot be very diverting, in what view soever one
may consider them, let us come to the Romans. Gruter tells us in his
Inscriptions[8], that they used to cry out at their feasts,
AMICI,
DUM VIVIMUS,
VIVAMUS.
That is, "Friends, while we live, let us be merry." For Raderus has
evidently made it appear, by several examples out of Catullus, Cecilius,
Varro, Anacreon, and other ancient authors, that _vivere_, or _to live_,
signifies to make merry, to give one's self up to all kinds of
pleasures, making good cheer, &c.
I know not whether the Gascogns, who pronouncing the _V_ consonant like
_B_, instead of VIVIS _et regnas in secula seculorum_, say (as I have
been informed, how true it is I know not) BIBIS _et regnas in secula
seculorum_, are of the same sentiment with Raderus in this point: but
very probably that good honest German was, who in a kind of ecstasy over
a bottle cry'd out,
O felices populi, quorum _vivere_ est _bibere_!
However, to prove this, as also at the same time to confirm what has
been said above, in relation to the motives that induced people of old
times to make merry, I shall instance some passages of the ancients. But
first let us not omit this inscription in Gruter[9], which is not much
unlike the former.
VIVE, HOSPES, DUM LICET, ATQUE VALE.
"Be merry, landlord, and enjoy yourself while 'tis in your power, as for
the rest, adieu."
Martial says somewhere, "Be merry to-day, depend not on to-morrow."
Sera nimis vita est crastina, vive hodie.
Catullus expresses much the same sentiments in these beautiful verses:--
"Vivamus --------
Rumoresq; senum severiorum,
Omnes unius estimemus assis.
Soles occidere et redire possunt;
Nobis cum semel occidit brevis lux,
Nox est perpetua una dormienda."[9a]
"Let us be merry --------
And all the rigid cant of peevish age,
Count as poor straws that on the surface float.
The sun may roll his swift diurnal course,
And from the ocean raise again his head,
But when our glimm'ring lamp of life's expir'd,
One long perpetual night we then must sleep."
Horace, in several places, says how we ought (according to him) to
employ to the best advantage the little time we have to live; but
especially in one of his odes, which in English would run thus.
I.
"All things hereto invite. Come, come, away,
Let's seize the present hours, nor vainly care
For future time, but wisely, only fear
To lose of life one short uncertain day,
Or moment, which in death must soon decay,
No human force can her strict laws withstand:
Her cruel rigour no one spares,
The blooming cheek, and hoary hairs,
Alike submit to her victorious hand.
O'er all she bears unbounded sway,
All her impartial scythe relentless mows:
Th' ill-manner'd tyranness no difference shows,
Betwixt imperial and plebeian clay.
II.
When we the dark and dismal beach
Of dreaded floods below shall reach,
And vain cold phantoms quiv'ring stand,
In those sad gloomy shades of night,
No Cynthia's charms will then command,
Nor Iris with her angel's voice delight;
Nor Doris with soft dying languors move.
These dreary realms exclude, alas! for ever love.
III.
Nor are there any boon companions _there_,
To laugh, and sing, and make good cheer:
There shall we taste no more that wondrous juice,
That nectar which the blessed vines produce,
The height of all our joy, and wishes _here_.
Nor those sweet entertainments gay,
When by the glass inspir'd so many kings,
We tope, and speak, and do heroic things,
And count ourselves more happy far than they.
These days of ours the fatal sisters spin,
To consecrate to love and wine,
Let's now, e'er 'tis too late begin.
Alas! without these pow'rs divine
What should one do with a vain useless thread?
What does it aught avail to breathe and move?
One had as good be dead,
Much better be no more, than not to drink and love."
I shall close this chapter with one of the Anacreontic odes of the
famous Monsieur La Motte, author of the _Fables Nouvelles_, lately
translated into English under the title of "_Court Fables_."
"Bûvons, amis, le temps s'enfuit,
Menageons bien ce court espace.
Peut-etre une eternelle nuit
Eteindra le jour qui se passe.
Peut-etre que Caron demain
Nous recevra tous dans sa barque,
Saisissons un moment certain.
C'est autant de pris sur la parque.
A l'envi laissons-nous saisir,
Aux transports d'une douce ivresse:
Qu'importe si c'est un plaisir,
Que ce soit folie ou sagesse."
"Let's drink, my friends, time flies away,
Let's husband well this little space;
For what we know, this very day
May to eternal night give place.
Let's snatch from Fate one certain minute,
Perhaps to-morrow Charon's wherry,
May every mother's son take in it,
And waft us o'er the Stygian ferry.
In giddy transports without measure
With wine lets drown all melancholy.
No matter if it be a pleasure,
Whether 'tis wisdom call'd, or folly."
[Footnote 1: Elle est, comme disent les Arabes, la fleur et
l'esprit de la santé vive et remuante.]
[Footnote 2: Interpone tuis interdum gaudia curis.]
[Footnote 3: Seneca de Tranquilitate.]
[Footnote 4: Histoire de Sept Sages, &c. p. 137.]
[Footnote 5: Chap. 34.]
[Footnote 6: Lib. 10. cap. 10.]
[Footnote 7: Reflex. sur les Morts Plais. p. 22.]
[Footnote 8: P. 609.]
[Footnote 9: P. 699.]
[[Footnote 9a: Catullus V.1-6 ("Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque
amemus")]]
CHAP. II.
THAT WINE DRIVES AWAY SORROW AND EXCITES MIRTH.
Of all the means proper to drive away sorrow, and excite mirth in the
minds of men, wine is certainly the most agreeable and efficacious.
For in the first place it banishes all manner of cares, and makes us
entirely forget them, producing the same effect as the waters of the
River Lethe on those souls which were destined to enter into other
bodies.
------------ Animæ quibus altera fato
Corpora debentur, Lethei ad fluminis undam
Securos latices, et longa oblivio potant[1].
------------ Those souls which Fate decrees
Shall other bodies take, upon the strand
Of Lethe sit, and drink secure the flood,
And long oblivion.
For the same reason, undoubtedly, Isidore defined drunkenness a certain
forgetfulness caused in the mind, through indulgence of immoderate
drinking. His words are these:-- _Ebrietas est per quam menti quædam
oblivio generatur ex superfluorum potuum indulgentia_[2].
A certain French poet[3] sings thus much in the same tune:--
"Oui, Thirsis, c'est le vin qui nous fait rejeunir,
Et qui bannit de nos pensees;
Le regret de choses possees,
Et le crainte de l'avenir."
Yes, Thirsis, 'tis the vine's prolific juice
Can youth and beauty re-produce,
Banish the sad regret of former years,
And of futurity the fears.
In the next place, wine is a sovereign remedy against a particular
species of sorrow or chagrin, I mean a sort of inward wearisomeness,
which the French call _ennui_. I shall explain myself a little farther,
and for my expositor I cannot make choice of a fitter person than Mr. de
St. Evremont[4], who, after having discoursed a little on this subject,
adds, "That good cheer with one's friends, is a sovereign remedy against
this kind of chagrin; for besides that conversation at such times
becomes more free and gay, it insensibly sweetens it. It is certain that
wine rouses up the forces of nature, and gives our soul a vigour capable
to drive away all sorts of uneasiness. I know very well that certain
morose people, at least externally so, and in appearance, will shew a
great deal of aversion for a remedy, the delights of which they do not,
however, too much despise. But all grimace aside. I don't trouble myself
with their ill-understood severities, since the most severe philosopher
in the world has advised us to make use of this remedy; and the most
morose of our illustrious men have submitted, if we may say so, their
most austere virtues to the charms of this sweet pleasure; and the most
well-bred people have not disdained its usage."
In a word, (I must speak a little French now and then,)
[5]Le vin fait que les annees,
Nous durent moins que les journees.
Wine makes whole years to pass away,
And seem much shorter than one day.
But it does more than all this, it even assuages choler; it is an
admirable cataplasm for rage. To cite a vast number of examples to prove
this important truth would be superfluous. Amongst the many illustrious
ones I could instance, I shall content myself to mention that of the
Emperor Maximin[6], who, having been declared an enemy to the people of
Rome, by the senate, fell into such a rage and fury, that no other way
could be thought on to bring him back to his natural temper than by
making him drunk.
But let us return to the two principal qualities of wine, which consist
in driving away care and sorrow, and exciting mirth and joy.
A certain French author[7] has a few verses on this subject, which, as
not _mal-apropos_, I shall here insert. Talking of the good qualities of
wine, he says,--
"Tu sais, mon cher Thirsis, qu'il a le privilege
D'etouffer les ennuis dont l'aigreur nous assiege.
Et que cette liqueur chasse de nos esprits,
Tous les facheux pensers dont nous sommes surpris,
C'est ce qui nous oblige a cherir la bouteille."
You know, dear Thirsis, and full well you know,
To wine this privilege we owe,
It stifles all those sad invading cares
Which irksome chagrin ever wears.
This sprightful liquid makes us brisk and gay,
And drives effectually away
Those thoughts vexatious that surprise our soul,
And makes us cherish the full bowl.
Seneca, whom I have mentioned in the foregoing chapter, confirms what
has been said, "Sometimes," says he, "one must go even so far as
drunkenness; not, indeed, that it may drown us, but drown our cares: for
drunkenness washes away care, and moves the very bottom of the soul. And
as it is a sovereign remedy against some distempers, so is it a perfect
cure for heaviness and sorrow. _Nonnunquam usque ad ebrietatem
veniendum, non ut mergat nos, sed ut deprimat curas. Eluit enim curas,
et ab imo animæ movet, et ut morbis quibusdam, ita tristitiæ
medetur_[8]. On this account certainly it was, Pliny maintained that
Nepenthe, whose virtues Homer so much exaggerates, was nothing in the
world but generous wine.
Horace, in like manner, insists that wine is the only proper expeller of
the most racking cares.
---------------- Neque
Mordaces aliter diffugiunt sollicitudines[9].
Nor otherwise are cank'ring cares remov'd.
And thus advises the sage Plancus to have recourse to this remedy:--
"Sic tu sapiens finire memento
Tristitiam, vitæque labores
Molli, Plance, mero."[9a]
So, thou, sage Plancus, this _memento_ keep,
To lull the cares and toils of life asleep
With cordial juleps of old mellow wine;
The grand and universal anodyne.
In another place he thus beautifully sounds the praises of
drunkenness:--
"Ebrietas quid non designat? operta recludit
Spes jubet esse ratas: in prælia trudit inertem,
Sollicitis animis onus eximit: addocet artes.
Facundi calices, quem non fecere disertum?
Contracta quem non in paupertate solutum."[9b]
In drunkenness what pow'rful magic lies,
What's most envelop'd from researching eyes,
(Transparent thing!) it evidently shows,
The innocent no dark disguises knows.
By her commands our hopes maturely rise,
Push'd on to war the coward dauntless dies,
And sinking minds beneath unwieldy care,
Cast off the load, and move with sprightful air.
To her, all arts their origin must owe:
What wretch so dull but eloquent must grow,
When the full goblets with persuasive wine,
Inebriate with bright elegance divine,
The drunken beggars plume like proudest kings,
And the poor tipsy slave in fetters sings.
After all this, will any one accuse me for a plagiary, and that I steal
from the most common places? No matter. I have company enough: do not
all modern authors do so? However, I shall not, for all that, pass over
in silence what Ovid has said of this same drunkenness. The passage is
this:--
"Vina parant animos, faciuntque coloribus aptos.
Cura fugit, multo diluiturque mero.
Tunc veniunt risus, tunc pauper cornua sumit,
Tunc dolor et curæ, rugaque frontis abit.
Tunc aperit mentes, ævo rarissima nostro
Simplicitas, artes excutiente Deo."[9c]
As I am nothing less than a poet, I shall not presume _to dance with the
Nine Sisters_, to make use of the thought of the ingenious Sarasin.
However, here follows an Ode of Anacreon, which may supply the place of
a translation of those verses of Ovid.
I.
When I hold a full glass in my hand,
I laugh and I merrily sing;
I think I have sov'reign command
And the treasures possess of a king.
II.
Let who will try their fate in the field,
In war all their days let them pass:
No arms but the bottle I'll weild,
Fill, boy, then, a thundering glass,
III.
If Bacchus the victory gain,
On the ground tho' I'm motionless laid;
All agree it, _a truth very plain_,
'Tis better be _drunk_ than be _dead_.
And very probably the Greek philosopher had wine in view, when he caused
an inscription to be made over his door in these words, in capitals,
"Here are remedies for all sorts of afflictions: here are cures for all
distempers of the soul."
The philosopher so often quoted by Seneca, desired no more than bread
and cheese, to rival Jupiter in happiness. For my part, though I am no
less a philosopher, yet I desire nothing to effect this but good wine.
For when I take a hearty glass, I find myself so much transported with
joy, that I could almost cry out with that little fool in the Latin
comedy[10], "Now could I pardon any one that would kill me, so much
afraid am I lest some accident may trouble the purity of my happiness,
and mingle some ungrateful bitter with the exquisite sweets I now
enjoy." And, indeed, it is amongst bottles and glasses that one may
truly say,
-------- "Mediis videat discumbere in astris,
Cum Jove, et Iliacâ porrectum sumere dextrâ
Immortale merum[11]."
Far from the earth remov'd in realms above,
I seem amongst the stars to sit with Jove:
Lolling in ease celestial, lie supine,
And taste from Ganymede immortal wine.
And without doubt Asclepiades had all this in his head, when he
maintained that the gods produced nothing that equalled wine in
goodness. Philostratus is much of the same sentiment, who after having
taken notice of the edict of the Emperor Domitian, who forbad men to be
castrated, and vines to be planted, he adds, that this admirable emperor
did not reflect that he made the earth in some sort an eunuch, at the
same time that he spared men.
Varro sounded the praise of drunkenness in terms no less pathetic.
"Vino nil quicquam jucundius eluet,
Hoc continet coagulum convivii;
Hoc hilaritatis dulce seminarium
Hoc ægritudinem ad medendam invenerunt."[11a]
Than wine no orient jewels finer play,
And dart more pleasantly their glittering ray.
This vital juice, the cream of all the feast,
Strong cement, close uniting every breast,
The sweet prolific seed of gay desires,
Bright mirth, and gen'rous amity inspires.
This was found out a certain remedy
To set mankind from all distempers free.
Monsieur La Motte, whom I must ever admire for his inimitable Court
Fables, before mentioned, will furnish us with a beautiful ode to close
this chapter[12].
"Bacchus contre moi tout conspire,
Viens me consoler de mes maux:
Je vois au mépris de la lire
Couronner d'indignes rivaux.
Tout me rend la vie importune
Une volage me trahit,
J'eus peu de bien de la fortune,
L'injustice me le ravit.
Mon plus cher ami m'abandonne,
En vain j'implore son secours,
Et la calomnie empoisonne.
Le reste de mes tristes jours.
Bacchus viens me verser a boire
Encore----bon----je suis soulagé,
Chaque coup m'ôte la memoire
Des maux qui m'avoient affligé.
Verse encore----je vois l'allegresse
Nager sur le jus precieux.
Donne, redouble----O douce yvresse!
Je suis plus heureux que les dieux."
Help, Bacchus, or I'm quite undone,
All things against my peace conspire;
Unworthy rivals many a one,
I find, despising song and lyre.
My life's entirely irksome grown,
By an inconstant I'm betray'd,
On that small fortune, once my own,
Injustice has severely prey'd.
Forsaken by my dearest friend,
In vain his succour I implore;
And calumnies rank poisons send,
And what is left of life devour.
Bacchus, some wine; fill higher yet
Again----so----I some comfort find;
Each smiling glass makes me forget
Those evils that have rack'd my mind.
Some more----I see gay images
On the rich surface sprightly move,
Fill double----O sweet drunkenness!
I'm happier than the gods above.
[Footnote 1: Virgil. Æneid. lib. vi. v. 713.]
[Footnote 2: Lib. 3. Etymol.]
[Footnote 3: Rec. Poes.]
[Footnote 4: Miscel. vol. i.]
[Footnote 5: Rec. de Poes.]
[Footnote 6: Jul. Capit. Hist. Aug. Script. fol. p. 359.]
[Footnote 7: Nicol. Rec. de Vers. p. 44.]
[Footnote 8: Seneca de Tranquil.]
[Footnote 9: Lib. i. ode 18.]
[[Footnote 9a: Horace, _Odes_ I.vii.17-19.]]
[[Footnote 9b: Horace, _Epistulae_ I.v.16-20.]]
[[Footnote 9c: Ovid, _Ars Amatoria_ I.237-242.]]
[Footnote 10: Nunc est profecto cum me patior interfici, ne hoc
gaudium aliquâ contaminetur ægritudine. --_Eunuch._]
[Footnote 11: Statii Sil. 2. lib. iv.]
[[Footnote 11a: Varro, Menippean Satires, fragment from _Est
modus matulae_.]]
[Footnote 12: Ode ix. Anacr.]
CHAP. III.
THAT IT IS GOOD FOR ONE'S HEALTH TO GET DRUNK SOMETIMES.
Although mirth and joy be absolutely necessary to health, yet it must be
allowed that there are a great many pleasures very injurious and
prejudicial to it; and we should act with precaution in using those we
make choice of[1]. But this precaution is not necessary in those we seek
in the sweet juice of the grape. So far is drunkenness from prejudicing
our health, that, on the contrary, it highly preserves it. This is the
sentiment of the most able physicians. These worthy gentlemen are
arbiters of life and death. They have over us, _jus vitæ et necis_. We
must therefore believe them. _Ergo_, let us heartily carouse. Every one
knows that Hippocrates, the prince of physicians, prescribes getting
drunk once a month, as a thing very necessary to the conservation of
health; for, according to him, in the words of a certain French
lady [2],
"Une utile et douce chaleur
Fait qu'on pense au sortir de table
Avoir pris de cet or potable,
Qui triomphe des ans, qui chasse la douleur,
Qui fait tout, et qui par malheur
N'a jamais été qu'une fable."
When from the bottle, flush'd with wine, we rise,
The brisk effluvia brighten in our eyes;
This sweet and useful warmth still makes us think,
That cups of potable rich gold we drink,
Which baffles time, and triumphs over years,
Drives away grief, and sad perplexing cares;
Does all, and yet in fables sweet disguise,
O dire mishap! its only essence lies.
"Avicenna and Rasis, most excellent physicians of Arabia, say[3], that
it is a thing very salutary and wholesome to get drunk sometimes."
Monsieur Hofman confirms what has been just now said in relation to
Avicenna, and adds thereto the testimony of another physician.
"Avicenna," says he[4], "absolutely approves getting drunk once or twice
every month, and alleges for it physical reasons." --Dioscorides says,
"That drunkenness is not always hurtful, but that very often it is
necessary for the conservation of health." --Homer says, "That Nestor,
who lived so long, tossed off huge bocals of wine[5]."
Monsieur Hofman believes also, that wine is an excellent preservative
against distempers, and of an admirable use in their cure. In like
manner, several divines believe, that there is no manner of harm in
getting drunk, when it is done for health's sake and not for pleasure.
In this class one may reckon Pere Taverne, a Jesuit[6]. These are his
words: "Drunkenness," says he, "is a mortal sin, if one falls into it
for pleasure only; but if one gets drunk for any honest end, as for
example, by direction of one's physician in order to recover health,
there is no manner of harm in it at all."
But, however, not to digress too much from our subject, to preserve
their health the Africans drink a great deal of wine; and this they do
to help the digestion of the vast quantity of fruits they eat.
Montaigne[7] tells us, that he heard Silvius, an excellent physician of
Paris, say, "That to keep up the powers of the stomach, that they faint
not, it would be very proper to rouze them up once a month by this
wholesome excess. And if we believe Regnier, a young physician does not
see so far as an old drunkard[8].
We also say with the French poet[9],
"Si Bourdaloue[10] un peu severe
Nous dit: craignez la volupté
Escobar[10], lui dit on mon pere
Nous la permet pour la santé!"
If Bourdaloue, somewhat severe,
Warns us to dread voluptuous sweets,
Good honest father Escobar,
To fuddle for one's health permits.
And, by the bye, if the number of physicians, who used to get drunk,
proves any thing, I could insert a good round catalogue, amongst whom I
do not find any English doctors, for they are the most abstemious
persons in the world; however, being unwilling to trouble my gentle
reader with so long a bead-roll, I shall instance only two very
illustrious topers of the faculty. The first is no less a man than the
great Paracelsus, who used to get drunk very often; and the other is the
famous master Dr. Francis Rabelais, who took a singular pleasure to
moisten his clay; or to make use of one of his own expressions, _Humer
le piot_.
I could, after these, mention Patin[11], who tells us, That when he gave
his public entertainment for his _decanat_, or deanship, at which
thirty-six of his colleagues assisted, he never saw in all his life so
much toping. From all which, however, one may very reasonably infer,
that so many able persons would never have drunk so much, had they not
thought it was no ways prejudicial to their health.
To conclude, let any one allege this verse as a maxim, that
Pocula non lædunt paucula, multa nocent.
It does no harm to take a glass or two,
But in great numbers mighty ills accrue.
And I shall do myself the honour to answer him with another verse, that
sometimes
Una salus sanis multam potare salutem[12].
The only health to people hale and sound,
Is to have many a tippling health go round.
And that this is true, witness the great Hippocrates, who says,
That what to health conduceth best,
Is fuddling once a month at least[13].
[Footnote 1: _Voluptates ut mel summo digito degustandæ non plerâ
manu sumendæ._ Dionys. Sophron. apud Philostr.]
[Footnote 2: Mad. Deshoul. t. ii. ep. p. 104.]
[Footnote 3: Div. Lec. de P. Messie, part ii. ch. 15.]
[Footnote 4: Hofman, t. ii. 9 dissert. ch. 6.]
[Footnote 5: Bocal, an Italian word, and signifies a pot or jug
holding about three pints.]
[Footnote 6: Synopses Theolog. Pract.]
[Footnote 7: Essays, lib. ii. cap. 2.]
[Footnote 8: Satir.]
[Footnote 9: Boileau.]
[Footnote 10: The names of two jesuits, the former a famous
preacher, and the other as famous a casuist.]
[Footnote 11: Esprit de Pat. p. 51.]
[Footnote 12: Owen, Ep.]
[[John Owen (1564-1622): _possibly_ I.ii.42.]]
[Footnote 13:
Qu'il faut a chaque mois.
Du moin s'enyvrer une fois.
Fureteriana.]
CHAP. IV.
THAT OLD PEOPLE OUGHT TO GET DRUNK SOMETIMES.
Wine taken with some excess is excellent for old people.
---- Ubi jam validis quassatum est viribus ævi
Corpus et obtusis ceciderunt viribus artus[1].
When shaken by the powerful force of age
The body languid grows, and ev'ry joint
Its proper juice exhal'd, all feeble droops.
And is not the reason plain? because it moistens their dry temperament,
and nourishes their radical moisture. Hence came the proverb, which
says, "That wine is the milk of old men[2]." Tirellus, in his history,
declares the same thing, when he says, "That wine is the nutriment of
natural heat[3]." Conformably to this truth that old man acted, of whom
Seneca makes mention, who being pressed to drink wine cooled in snow,
said, "That his age made him cold enough, and that he did not desire to
be more cold than he was[4]." Than which, certainly no answer could be
more just and true.
Besides, the infirmities of an advanced age require some consolation and
diversion. Let us see what Montaigne says, who was not much given to
tippling; for he plainly says, that his gout and complexion were greater
enemies to drunkenness than his discourse. His words are these, "The
inconveniencies attending old age, which stand in need of some support
and refreshment, might with reason produce in me a desire of this
faculty, since it is as it were the last pleasure that the course of
years steals from us. The natural heat, say the boon companions, begins
first at the feet; this is the case of infancy; thence it ascends to the
middle region, where it continues a long while, and there produces in my
mind the only true pleasures of the corporal life; at last exhaling
itself like a vapour, it moves upwards, till it comes to the throat,
and there it makes its last little stay[5]."
Athenæus, after Theophrastus, says, That wine drives away those irksome
inquietudes to which old people are unhappily subject[6]. And to
conclude, the divine Plato assures us, that, "Wine is a medicine as well
for the body as the mind, the dryness of old people have great occasion
for this kind of moistening, and their severe genius of the brisk gaiety
inspired by wine, without which they would not be able to perform their
part in the concert, and consequently would be no longer useful members
in the commonwealth, which is no other ways supported and preserved than
by harmony."
[Footnote 1: Lucret. lib. iii.]
[Footnote 2: Vinum lac senum.]
[Footnote 3: Vina calidi innati pabula.]
[Footnote 4: Ætas meo frigore contenta est.]
[Footnote 5: Essays, lib. ii. cap. 2.]
[Footnote 6: Lib. xi. cap. 7.]
CHAP. V.
THAT WINE CREATES WIT.
As wine increases the quantity of animal spirits, by the fumes which it
sends to the brain, it is easy to comprehend that it cannot but be of
great advantage to dull and heavy wits; so that one may particularly
apply to them the common proverb, "Wine sets an edge to wit[1]." And the
emblem of Adr. Junius, in which he represents Bacchus as a youth with
wings on, and with this inscription, "Wine kindles wit[2]," agrees
admirably well with these people. But the application of both proverb
and emblem is no less just in relation to all the world; for it is most
certain, that the god Bacchus, by warming the thoughts, renders them
more acute, and inspires a greater plenty of witty sallies. For "Bacchus
had not the name of Lysian, or Opener, if I may use the term, bestowed
upon him for nothing but purely because he opens the mind, by putting it
into an agreeable humour, and renders it more subtile and judicious[3]."
For this reason it is grown into a proverb, That water-drinkers are not
near so knowing as those who drink wine[4].
Plutarch assures us, That wine collects and increases the powers of the
mind. He observes also, That it produces excellent effects on the minds
of persons, who, though naturally timid, want no penetration. Plato
maintains, as I have observed in the foregoing chapter, That wine warms
as well the mind as the body. Monsieur Hofman says a great deal more,
viz. That experience proves, that those climates which produce good
wine, produce also people that "have infinitely more wit than those of
the north, who drink nothing but beer. Gryllus believes, That the Greeks
were called fathers of wisdom, on account of the excellency of their
wine; and, that they lost their ancient lustre by reason of the Turks
rooting out their vines. The Heathens placed Pallas and Bacchus in the
same temple, to shew, that wine increased their wisdom, and that the
Gods were represented wiser than men, only because they drank nectar and
ambrosia."
In respect of poets the world was always so sensible of the necessity
they lay under, of having their imagination roused by wine, that nobody
ever had any good opinion of the productions of a poet that drank water,
that _Non est Dythyrambus si aquam bibat_; and wine was called the poets
great horse. "There never were any excellent poets," says Mr. Bayle,
"that could versify, till after drinking pretty plentifully[5]."
And if we believe Plato, "He could never open the gates of poesy till he
was a little beyond himself. The soul can speak nothing grand, or above
the common, if it be not somewhat agitated[6]."
Horace[7], who knew by experience this truth, goes yet farther.
Nulla placere diu, nec vivere carmina possint,
Quæ scribuntur aquæ potoribus.
Poor water-drinkers sing an irksome tune,
Short-liv'd their numbers, and their airs jejune.
Ovid bewailed himself very bitterly for want of wine in his exile.
"Impetus ille sacer, qui vatum pectora nutrit
Qui prius in nobis esse solebat, abest."[7a]
That sacred rage that feeds a poet's breast,
Common to me, is now no more possest.
La Motte[8], my beloved Frenchman, has something not unlike it.
"Loin une raison trop timide
Les froids poetes qu'elle guide
Languissent et tombent souvent.
Venez yvresse temeraire,
Transports ignorez du vulgaire
Tels que vous m'agitiez vivant."
Away, too fearful reason, haste, be gone,
Those frozen poets, whom thy phantoms guide,
Languish, and often feebly slide,
Down to the lowest ebb of wretchless song,
Insipid notes, and lifeless numbers sing.
O come, sweet drunkenness, thou heady thing,
With transports to the vulgar herd unknown,
Which agitates my soul, and gives it wing.
With kind enthusiasms then ecstatic grown,
It takes unusual flights, sublimely soars,
Spurns the dull globe below, and endless worlds explores.
One may very well apply to Bacchus, what the same gentleman says of the
graces in this ode[9].
"Tout fleurit par vous au Parnasse,
Apollon languit, et nous glace,
Sitot que vous l'avez quitté,
Mieux que les traits les plus sublimes
Vous allez verser sur mes rimes
Le don de l'immortalité.
The sprightly influence you shed,
Bright constellation! makes Parnassus gay.
Apollo droops and hangs his head,
His frozen fingers know not how to play;
And we his sons the sad distemper find,
Which chills the fancy, and benumbs the mind,
When cruel you withdraw your magic ray.
You finely paint on ev'ry rhyme
Features most noble and sublime,
Resplendent all the images,
In rich immortal draperies.
You give me colours that can never die,
But baffle time, and live through all eternity.
It is to wine we owe the productions of Eschylus and Anacreon, whose
muses were very chilly, till Bacchus warmed them. Aurelius, the sophist,
composed his best declamations in his cups. Herodes, called Saginatus
Orator, the fattened Orator, never talked better, than after drinking
pretty plentifully. And according to Horace, this was the case with
Ennius.
"Ennius ipse pater nunquam nisi potus ad arma
Prosiluit dicenda ------------ [10]."
Ennius himself ne'er sung of arms,
Martial exploits and wars alarms,
Till the good father's face did shine,
Enrich'd with ruby beams of wine.
Alcæus, the famous poet, never sat down to compose tragedy till he was
tipsy. The disciples of the great Paracelsus took the opportunity, when
he was fuddled, to make him dictate. The venerable Messire Francis
Rabelais composed over the bottle the acts and jests of Gargantua,
and his son Pantagruel, a work which gained him such great reputation.
"Pontius de Thiard, bishop of Chalons sur Saone, had greater obligations
to Bacchus than Apollo for his good verses; who, not reckoning what wine
he drank all day long, never slept without drinking a pretty large
bottle[11]." So true is it, that
"A la fontaine ou s'enyvre Boileau
Le grand Corneille et le sacré troupeau
De ces auteurs que l'on ne trouve guere
Un bon rimeur doit boire a pleine éguyere,
S'il veut donner un bon tour au rondeau[12]."
At that rich fountain where the great Boileau,
Corneille, Racine, to whom so much we owe,
Th' immortal Dryden, and the sacred band
Of those bright authors, whom we cannot find,
Whose names, (so does oblivion's power command,)
Alas! we no where know,
Supp'd largely to inebriate their mind.
Here a good versifier, fond of rhime,
Should swill, to make his jingling couplets chime.
From hence, good natur'd B----d, arose your flame,
Hence your inimitable numbers came,
When you so prais'd his house and Buckingham.