Bacchus; or, wine to-day and to-morrow
| Language | en |
|---|---|
| First published | 2025-11-26 |
| Rights | Public domain in the USA. |
| Gutenberg ID | #77340 |
Description
"Bacchus; or, wine to-day and to-morrow" by P. Morton Shand is a cultural treatise written in the early 20th century. It examines wine’s future in the face of Prohibitionist zeal, mass-production, adulteration, misleading branding, and shifting tastes, arguing for authenticity, terroir, and educated consumption. Mixing satire with scholarship, it critiques fads (from sparkling-at-all-costs to “tonic” and dealcoholised wines), dissects trade practices and laws, and urges readers to value real places, real grapes, and real vintages. The opening of this work launches a spirited attack on Prohibition and Puritanism, defending wine as a civilizing table drink best enjoyed at home and condemning the squalor bred by teetotal dogma. It then identifies the chief threats to quality: over-cropping and high yields, the spread of common hybrids, misuse of revered names, and a public that chases a handful of famous labels. Detailed sections explain type-wines and co-operative blends (illustrated by Margaux), the rise of proprietary “Monopole” brands that dilute regional character, and the legal stakes of appellations of origin. The author surveys legal and illegal manipulations (from chaptalisation to sulphuring), the craze for turning everything sparkling or “tonic,” and the pseudo-solution of non-alcoholic grape-juice. He recounts vine plagues (Oidium, Phylloxera) and the rescue via grafting, then critiques Empire wines for imitation rather than identity, urging them to develop their own names and terroirs. Trade policy and state control models (Scandinavia, Belgium, Canada) are weighed alongside Britain’s lax labelling, with Port and Madeira as rare protected exceptions. Finally, fashion and feminism enter: tastes rise and fall by vogue, Champagne dries to suit the age, and women begin to claim the cellar—while the text needles the era’s pose of preferring “dry” over the quietly persistent love of sweet wines. (This is an automatically generated summary.)