“Have Some Madeira M'dear” -- Limeliters (Michael Flanders, Lyrics; Donald Swann, Music)
History begets forgetfulness. The more remote an event lies in the past, the more hazy its distinctive features appears in the present. Let’s take, for example, two of our most famous Founding Fathers, George Washington and Thomas Jefferson. Most people think these two remarkable individuals to be very much alike. Facts say otherwise.
Where to start? Washington had keen military instincts, Jefferson far, far less so. Washington leaned towards the pragmatic Jefferson to the idealistic. Washington presided over the Constitutional Convention of 1787: Jefferson dubiously viewed the creation and ratification of our Constitution from distant France. Washington envied those fellow Founders who language skills exceeded his native English: Jefferson the polyglot was among those envied. Washington favored the English while Jefferson admired their French foes. Washington envisioned a strong, activist federal government promoting public education, banks, and industrialization: Jefferson desired a nation of yeoman farmers in which the national government remained subservient to the states. Washington was a shrewd and successful businessman, but Jefferson died mired in debt. Sigh. I could go on for hours.
But their many differences must not blind us to one very important trait shared by both men: Washington and Jefferson alike were prodigious consumers of Madeira, the favorite wine of our Founding Fathers. They drink the stuff by the tun. Literally. Indeed, after adopting the Declaration of Independence on 4 July 1776, the Second Continental Congress celebrated their act of defiance with a toast of Madeira.
Where to start? Washington had keen military instincts, Jefferson far, far less so. Washington leaned towards the pragmatic Jefferson to the idealistic. Washington presided over the Constitutional Convention of 1787: Jefferson dubiously viewed the creation and ratification of our Constitution from distant France. Washington envied those fellow Founders who language skills exceeded his native English: Jefferson the polyglot was among those envied. Washington favored the English while Jefferson admired their French foes. Washington envisioned a strong, activist federal government promoting public education, banks, and industrialization: Jefferson desired a nation of yeoman farmers in which the national government remained subservient to the states. Washington was a shrewd and successful businessman, but Jefferson died mired in debt. Sigh. I could go on for hours.
But their many differences must not blind us to one very important trait shared by both men: Washington and Jefferson alike were prodigious consumers of Madeira, the favorite wine of our Founding Fathers. They drink the stuff by the tun. Literally. Indeed, after adopting the Declaration of Independence on 4 July 1776, the Second Continental Congress celebrated their act of defiance with a toast of Madeira.
We sometimes forget our ancestors' powerful attachment to alcohol, but it is nonetheless real for all that. In 1790, the year of the first United States Census, results indicated a per capita consumption of “thirty-four gallons of beer and cider, five gallons of distilled spirits, and one gallon of wine” for every American over the age of 15. So why did the founding generation drink so much?
One only look at the deplorable development of late 18th Century medicine to find part of the answer. Alcohol was the great panacea, the remedy to every pain and ailment from birthing pangs to toothaches, from cholera to the common cold. And when it could not cure the disease, it helped the patient forget the symptoms. Alcohol kept the cold man warm and helped the unhappy woman escape the drudgery of harsh reality. It could even children ignore their empty stomachs during the hungry times, at least for a while.
In a sense, the concept of alcohol providing some health benefit is not totally unfounded in a perverse sort of way. While far less so than Europe, North America often took vicious retribution on those who drank of its waters. Pollution, both artificial and natural, took a vicious toll on 18th-Century Americans. For those Americans situated where potable water was scarce, alcohol was far safer to consume. We can see this harsh truth played out in the Old World even before the American War for Independence. For example, when the Puritans ruled England, they quickly imposed their sectarian values on an unwilling population. Gambling, acting, bowling, dancing, elaborate clothing, public displays of affection, singing -- even the celebration of Christmas -- were prohibited. But not alcohol.
And there was an economic factor as well. Transportation costs in the early days of the American Republic were often prohibitive. As migration shifted populations westward from the tidewater regions into the undeveloped lands within the shadows of the squat Appalachians, moving agricultural products to market became prohibitively expensive. Reducing crops to cider or whiskey greatly reduced costs.
One only look at the deplorable development of late 18th Century medicine to find part of the answer. Alcohol was the great panacea, the remedy to every pain and ailment from birthing pangs to toothaches, from cholera to the common cold. And when it could not cure the disease, it helped the patient forget the symptoms. Alcohol kept the cold man warm and helped the unhappy woman escape the drudgery of harsh reality. It could even children ignore their empty stomachs during the hungry times, at least for a while.
In a sense, the concept of alcohol providing some health benefit is not totally unfounded in a perverse sort of way. While far less so than Europe, North America often took vicious retribution on those who drank of its waters. Pollution, both artificial and natural, took a vicious toll on 18th-Century Americans. For those Americans situated where potable water was scarce, alcohol was far safer to consume. We can see this harsh truth played out in the Old World even before the American War for Independence. For example, when the Puritans ruled England, they quickly imposed their sectarian values on an unwilling population. Gambling, acting, bowling, dancing, elaborate clothing, public displays of affection, singing -- even the celebration of Christmas -- were prohibited. But not alcohol.
And there was an economic factor as well. Transportation costs in the early days of the American Republic were often prohibitive. As migration shifted populations westward from the tidewater regions into the undeveloped lands within the shadows of the squat Appalachians, moving agricultural products to market became prohibitively expensive. Reducing crops to cider or whiskey greatly reduced costs.
Now that we know that our national forefathers were, essentially, a vast community of drunkards, let us examine the favorite sin of the elite. While poorer Americans made do with cider and whiskey, their wealthier counterparts possessed more discriminating palates. And thus our discussion returns to Madeira.
Madeira, named for the Portuguese islands on which it originated, was born of the Age of Exploration. Wine figured heavily in the supplies for any ocean going ship, and the ideal location of the Madeira Islands ensured its success as a port-of-call for vessels bound for the New World for centuries. The properties of Madeira recommended it to sailors. Madeira obtains its unique taste through a repeated process of heating and cooling. As wooden vessels sailed to exotic lands beyond the most distant horizons, the elements to which they were exposed served to continually heat and cool Madeira stored in their holds, thereby continuing the flavoring process. Furthermore, Madeira was fortified with brandy, preventing it from spoiling once opened.
The aforementioned heating and cooling process is a lengthy one. Of course, the procedure has vasty changed from the days in which casks of Madeira were rolled down a wooden gangway enroute the cellars of George Washington and Thomas Jefferson. Today’s Madeira is aged in stainless steel vats until the second year following a harvest. And once properly aged, fresh Madeira is never bottled or sold before 31 October.
While the sales and popularity of Madeira have plummeted over the past one and one-half centuries, it still charms its share of devoted connoisseurs. Among them is the lecherous geriatric libertine described in one of folk music’s greatest offerings.
Madeira, named for the Portuguese islands on which it originated, was born of the Age of Exploration. Wine figured heavily in the supplies for any ocean going ship, and the ideal location of the Madeira Islands ensured its success as a port-of-call for vessels bound for the New World for centuries. The properties of Madeira recommended it to sailors. Madeira obtains its unique taste through a repeated process of heating and cooling. As wooden vessels sailed to exotic lands beyond the most distant horizons, the elements to which they were exposed served to continually heat and cool Madeira stored in their holds, thereby continuing the flavoring process. Furthermore, Madeira was fortified with brandy, preventing it from spoiling once opened.
The aforementioned heating and cooling process is a lengthy one. Of course, the procedure has vasty changed from the days in which casks of Madeira were rolled down a wooden gangway enroute the cellars of George Washington and Thomas Jefferson. Today’s Madeira is aged in stainless steel vats until the second year following a harvest. And once properly aged, fresh Madeira is never bottled or sold before 31 October.
While the sales and popularity of Madeira have plummeted over the past one and one-half centuries, it still charms its share of devoted connoisseurs. Among them is the lecherous geriatric libertine described in one of folk music’s greatest offerings.
In answer to a steadily diminishing number of requests, we should like to sing an Edwardian ballard entitled “Have Some Madeira M'dear.” It’s a song which describes certain of the curious properties of a nauseous sweet wine, and I think we should view it as a courting song -- more specifically, a song of seduction, which nevertheless bears the stamp of approval of forces for good in the community. It begins with a waltz-like passage in B-flat major, which has, er, ahh, has proven itself to be nigh irresistible to those of us with a history of Flamenco rejection.
She was young, she was pure, she was new, she was nice
She was fair, she was sweet seventeen.
He was old, he was vile, and no stranger to vice.
He was bad, he was base, he was mean.
He had slyly inveigled her up to his flat
To view his collection of stamps --
All unperforated!
And he said as he hastened to put out the cat,
The wine, his cigar, and the lamps:
Have some Madeira, m'dear.
You really have nothing to fear.
I'm not trying to tempt you, that wouldn't be right,
You shouldn't take spirits at this time of night.
Have some Madeira, m'dear.
It's ever so much nicer than beer.
I don't care for sherry, and one cannot drink stout,
And port is a wine I can well do without...
It's simply a case of chacun a son gout
Have some Madeira, m'dear.
Unaware of the wiles of the snake-in-the-grass
And the fate of the maiden who topes,
She lowered her standards by raising her glass,
Her courage, her eyes, and his hopes.
She sipped it, she drank it, she drained it, she did!
He quietly refilled it again,
And he said as he secretly carved one more notch
On the butt of his gold-handled cane:
Have some Madeira, m'dear,
I've got a small cask of it here.
And once it's been opened, well, you know it won't keep.
Do finish it up. It will help you to sleep.
Have some Madeira, m'dear.
It's ever so much nicer than beer..
Now if it were gin, you'd be wrong to say yes
The evil gin does would be hard to assess.
And besides it's inclined to affect me prowess,
Have some Madeira, m'dear.
Then there flashed through her mind what her mother had said
With her antepenultimate breath,
"Oh my child, should you gaze on the wine when it is red
Be prepared for a fate worse than death!"
She let go her glass with a shrill little cry,
Crash! Tinkle! it fell to the floor;
When he said, "What in heaven," She made no reply,
Up her mind, and a dash for the door.
Have some Madeira, m'dear.
Rang out down the hall loud and clear
With a tremulous voice that was filled with despair,
As she paused to take breath in the cool midnight air,
Have some Madeira, m'dear.
The words seemed to ring in her ear.
Until the next morning, she woke up in bed
With a smile on her lips and an ache in her head...
And a beard in her ear'ole that tickled and said:
Have some Madeira, m'dear!
I do wish I were there to add to the applause! I found the article most interesting and the song which accompanies it quite entertaining. I still marvel at your ability to find exactly the correct lyrical accompaniment to each of your articles. Another hit, so far as I am concerned! Thanks, once again, for sharing with us.
ReplyDeleteThank you, my friend :)
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