The Pamphlet Collection of Sir Robert Stout: Volume 62

"A Cape Vineyard

"A Cape Vineyard.

"When I was at the Cape one of my pleasantest experiences was a visit—personally conducted by my friend, Rev. W. Forbes, of the Congregational Church in Cape Town—to Constantia, a distance of about ten miles, and one of the most charming rides I ever took or was taken. We went in a Cape cart, and that is a machine which deserves description. It is a light covered cart, on two wheels, drawn by a pair of horses. It is on springs, and fitted up with two or three rows of seats, so as to accommodate quite a party, the driver, generally a gentleman of colour, in front. You are sheltered from the sun, you enjoy the refreshing breeze, and most of the way is on a good road, under an avenue of grand old trees, planted by the Dutch ages back. It was a ride of intense interest, and beautiful all the way; and many were the fine houses we passed on each side, built by the old Dutchmen, who had an eye to the picturesque; and in one of the oldest of them lived Captain Bower, the Imperial Secretary, a gentleman to whose kindness I owe at least one pleasant day, and whose lovely children attest the salubrity of the climate in the most striking manner. The old Dutchmen were wise in their generation. Wood is in great demand in the Colony for fuel, and they planted trees all the way from the Cape and Wynberg to Constantia. The road is up hill and down, and the driver had no brake, but we managed to dash on merrily nevertheless. And every now and then you cross another road equally covered with protecting and attractive foliage, and at times you get a glimpse of mountains on one side and the blue sea with its white surf on the other. All you require is a few song birds, but, alas! they are not in the African greenwood. All around the land is in a high state of cultivation, as in Cape Town there is a fine market for everything that the earth can produce. Flowers" and fruits are everywhere, and melons, and vegetables, and Indian corn. It surprised me not to see more fowls about, knowing the high prices given for eggs, and porkers are equally scarce, though apparently there is a great demand for bacon and sausages. All at once, as we rush along, we come to a great white gate bearing the inscription 'Groot Constantia'; we arc, in fact, at one of the original vineyards. The stately white mansion before us was built by the old Dutchmen, who seem to have had a good idea of taking care of themselves. How lofty and airy are the hall and all the rooms! One can fancy those deserted rooms blooming with beauty and alive with laughter. We pass into the yard, where there is a stream of water running amidst a few trees, and a stone seat, where I doubt not Rip Van Winkle sat and smoked his pipe in peace, little dreaming how the English red-coats were to land in the sand on the other side, and blow himself and his friends into infinite space. On the other side of the seat is the large white building where the wine is stored. On the facade is a baso-relievo of Bacchic allegories, bearing the date of 1791. At that time the Dutch had it all their own way, and the house and grounds must have been the property of a family who reigned in semi-regal state. On one side are the workshops and residences of the people, while gardens and orchards bloom all round till we come to the vineyards flourishing at the foot of the mountain. It is a fine estate, but now in the hands of the Government, who get learned or practical men from France to come there to teach the farmer to manufacture better brandy and wine. As there is no one to receive us here we drive to a neighbouring farm, that of Mr. Renan, at High Constantia, who gives us a cordial welcome. He has a farm of some two hundred acres, and as we wander among the ripening grapes he explains the enemies which threaten, if not the extermination of the grape, at any rate loss to the farmer—the phylloxera, the locust, and a small beetle that eats out the hearts of the buds. He has to manure his land every year and to look well after his workpeople, who, if his eye is once removed, either do nothing at all or more harm than good. The vines are like small currant bushes, and were laden with grapes, black or white, of great size and sweetness. They bear luxuriantly; I saw one branch that must have weighed twenty pounds. Then we walked among the winepresses and the great casks, which contained the generous fluid—of which I tasted specimens—Hermitage and Constantia—which were certainly up to the mark. But it seemed to me that the people at Adelaide were far in advance of the Cape people in the manufacture of wine. I said as much to Herr Renan, and his reply was that they grew the finest grapes in the world, that no country could compete with them. And there I believe he was not far out. 'But,' said he, 'we never get our wine put properly before the public. It is never allowed to ripen. The Cape wine merchant has no capital, and he sells it directly he has purchased it instead of keeping it in store a few years. 'And is that all?' I asked. 'No,' was the reply, 'we have no cellars, and that is a terrible drawback. To make good wine we require a uniform temperature. Here one day it may be burning hot, and the next comparatively cool; the wine suffers in consequence.' It seemed to me that the question of cellars was easy of solution. The Government might easily set the example. But the Dutch, with all their virtues, are, both in Europe and Africa, a slow people; however, I must say for them, that they drink their Cape wine, and like it, and the wine makers are a great power in the land. One day, as I was taking lunch at a pleasant villa on Sea Point, with the blue waves dashing over the boulders at our feet, where all was sea in front and mountain behind, the worthy host, a gentleman well known in Cape society, told me how, when in England at a breakfast party at Sir Donald Currie's, in London—and as far as I can learn Sir Donald seems to keep open house—he asked Sir Donald, who was going to take out Mr. Gladstone on his celebrated cruise around the English coast, to be allowed to send some Cape wine on board, which he hoped Sir Donald would get the Grand Old Man to drink. At the same time my friend expressed his hope that Sir Donald would call the attention of Mr. Gladstone to the injustice inflicted on the Cape by the high duty placed upon its leading industry. Sir Donald performed his task; the wine was duly tasted, the grievance of the Cape grower duly pointed out. 'And what did Mr. Gladstone say?' asked my friend. 'Only this,' replied Sir Donald, 'that if the Cape people made such good wine, they were quite well able to pay duty at the higher rate.?'"