“No one has ever drunk anything more pleasant than wine:
Wine was invented to heal sadness,
Wine is a gentle nursery of cheerfulness,
It is the cement that strengthens every banquet.”
— Varro (fr. 111 Bücheler)

Wine

Wine, which Alcaeus calls the “mirror of man,” is not a product like bread nor a mere food; it is an extraordinary, inebriating substance endowed with marvelous powers, for the drunkenness it produces allows human beings to overcome their limits and accomplish remarkable feats.

Aware of wine’s power, the ancients used it, through the rite of the symposium, as a tool of social cohesion. Storytellers’ voices and lyric poets’ songs accompanied its consumption, so that the satisfaction of the body was joined to that of the spirit.

The culture–wine pairing still recurs today, and literature, ancient and modern alike, has highlighted the drink’s qualities in two fundamental ways: first, as an individual experience linked to intoxication; second, as a pillar of conviviality.
To retrace the history of wine is to retrace the milestones of our own story. Among the ancients, viticulture was a sign of human presence, and wine a sign of civilisation, born of human knowledge that transforms the vine’s fruit.

Vine and wine arose together with Western civilisation, and the ancient sources overflow with regulations and precepts for cultivating vines and producing wine, praise of its virtues, accounts of the occasions on which it was consumed, and the gods to whom libations were dedicated.

The Power of Wine

Since Homer, the virtues and power of wine have been known. Odysseus, receiving wine as a royal gift from Maron, uses it as a weapon to render the monstrous Cyclops Polyphemus harmless.
The archaic lyric poets, who sang their hymns during lively symposia, did not fail to praise wine’s virtues, which rendered men sincere and reinforced social bonds.

Attic psykter in red-figure, attributed to the Kleophrades Painter, 510–500 BC.

Theocritus (Idylls 29, 1–4), echoing Alcaeus, proclaims: “In wine there is truth, my boy, they say, and we, getting drunk, must be honest: I shall tell you what lies hidden in the depths of my heart.” Even the most self-controlled man does not escape this rule. Theognis declares: “Experts assay gold and silver in fire; in a man it is wine that reveals the mind, even in the wise man, if he has enjoyed drinking beyond measure.”

Hence the proverb in vino veritas—“in wine, truth”—which, though it first appears in this form in Zenobius (4.5) under Emperor Hadrian, is a constant in ancient literature. Horace, in his ode to the “Venerable Amphora” (Odes 3.21), voices the same idea: “You sweetly torment the sternest and most aloof nature, you reveal the anxieties and secret plans of the wise, thanks to Lyaeus, the god of merriment.”

Wine was considered a sort of truth serum; Horace writes: “Kings, it is said, force on the man whose friendship they wish to test endless cups—the torture of wine.” (Ars poetica 434 ff.) Beyond that, the drink made a man stronger and more courageous, as the ode to the “Venerable Amphora” also states (vv. 17–19): “You restore hope to the distressed, give strength and confidence to the poor; thanks to you he no longer fears the wrath of crowned royal heads nor soldiers’ weapons.”

The Dangers

Alongside these marvelous virtues the ancients recognized the risks of so potent a beverage. Genesis already shows wine’s two faces, the negative one, of course, attributed to Satan:

“When Noah set about planting a vineyard, Satan appeared before him and asked, ‘What are you planting?’ ‘A vineyard.’ ‘Of what nature is it?’ ‘Its fruits are sweet, fresh or dried, and from them wine is made which gladdens the heart.’ ‘Come, then, let us become partners in this vineyard.’ ‘Very well,’ said Noah.
Satan thereupon brought a sheep and slew it beneath the vine; then a lion, a pig, and a monkey, killing each and letting its blood soak the soil. Thus, he hinted that before drinking wine a man is gentle as a sheep; after moderate drinking, strong as a lion; when he exceeds, he becomes like a pig wallowing in filth; and when utterly drunk he resembles a monkey, dancing, uttering obscenities before all, unaware of what he does.” (Genesis 9:20, midrashic elaboration)

Ancient Precepts

Aware of the risks of excessive wine, the Greeks drank it diluted with water, unlike Dionysus, who was allowed to drink it neat. Drinking unmixed wine, condemned by Plato, was typical of certain peoples the Greeks called “barbarians,” such as Persians and Thracians:

“Woe to drunkenness, to which Lydians, Persians, Carthaginians, Celts, Iberians, Thracians, and similar peoples abandon themselves, while you Spartans abstain entirely. Scythians and Thracians drink only pure wine; the women, like all the men, drench even their clothes with it and hold this to be a noble, wealthy custom.” (Plato, Laws 1.637 d–e)

So notorious was this habit that to “drink like a Scythian” meant to drink wine undiluted. Small wonder the Centaurs—mythic symbols of the barbarian to the Greeks—drank excessive unmixed wine. Famous is the brawl at Pirithous’ wedding feast when a drunken Centaur attempted to violate the bride.

Many Greek writers deplore immoderate drinking. Aristotle even wrote a treatise On Drunkenness, offering advice on how to drink heavily without collapsing: “If wine is boiled for a while, it intoxicates less when drunk, for its power is weakened by the heat.” Plato, in Laws 6.775 b–c, counsels that drunkenness is unfitting except at festivals in honor of the god who bestowed wine, and especially ill-timed at marriage, when bride and groom should be fully self-possessed.

The Latin poet Catullus (Poems 27) instead praises neat wine:

“Boy, if you pour an old wine,
fill the cups with the harshest,
as Postumia our hostess commands,
drunker than any grape gone drunk.
Let water go ward where it pleases
to ruin wine, far away among teetotalers:
this is pure wine.”

Notorious Topers

Despite myriad injunctions to “drink well to drink better,” many figures were famed for excess: Alexander the Great would ride in a donkey-drawn cart singing at the top of his lungs; Darius of Persia had inscribed on his tomb, “I could drink much wine and bear it well”; Dionysius the Younger, tyrant of Sicily, stayed drunk for ninety consecutive days; Diotimus, Athenian general, was nicknamed “Funnel” for allegedly inserting a funnel into his mouth to guzzle more wine.

Among Romans too, as Pliny notes, there were extravagant drinkers:

“To Torquatus was granted uncommon credit—for even the art of drinking has its rules—for never having slurred his speech, vomited, or relieved himself while drinking, for having discharged the morning watch impeccably, for having at one draught swallowed the greatest quantity of liquid and then, in small draughts, drunk down another very great quantity, and for having very honestly never taken breath, never spat while drinking, and never left in the cup enough wine to make a noise on the floor—strictly observing the rules against cheating in drinking contests…” (Natural History 14.146-148)

At Roman banquets, before the second course garlands of leaves and flowers were distributed, believed to dispel wine’s vapors—hence ivy, sacred to Bacchus, always crowned the god’s head. A guest whose wreath slipped askew was deemed drunk, and soon it became custom to place a bedraggled crown on anyone who had overindulged.

Wine and Seduction

Wine, the ancients held, played a prime role in matters of love. It prepared the heart for new passion—“Often girls steal young men’s hearts, and Venus, with wine, is fire added to fire” (Ovid, Art of Love 1.243-244)—or eased the pains of a wounded lover: “Pour wine and soothe new sorrows with wine…” (Tibullus, Elegies 1.2.1-4).

Ovid devotes much of his Art of Love to wine in the art of seduction. He deems the banquet an ideal venue to approach a woman, yet warns that dim lamplight and abundant wine can mislead a suitor’s choice. Moderation is essential: real drunkenness can harm, whereas feigned drunkenness may cloak bold advances.

“Take the measure of drinking from me: let your mind and your feet always be steady. Above all, avoid the many quarrels wine fuels… True drunkenness may harm you; feigned drunkenness can help: let your tongue stammer slyly, so that whatever you do or say too bold may be ascribed to excessive wine.” (Ars amatoria 1.587-599)

Excess at a banquet, however, could cause greater damage than a failed conquest, for secrets slip out, rash words fly, and many have perished thus—hence the proverb attributing truth to wine.

A Last Toast

Despite warnings and advice, Roman passion for drinking remained unbridled. Pliny laments the enormous toil, expense, and cunning devoted to a product whose purpose is to rob men of reason and incite crimes.

Therefore, let the reader drink—and above all drink in moderation—to savor pleasure to the last drop, for, as Seneca says, “It is the last cup that delights drinkers most, the one that drowns them, that makes drunkenness complete.” (Letters to Lucilius 1.12.4)

Nunc est bibendum…
Ivan Varriale