The Turkish Bath - Chapter 3: Luxury
The Luxury of the Turkish Bath—Its Uses and Physiological Action—The Ailments it Tends to Cure.
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Chapter Three.
The Luxury of the Turkish Bath—Its Uses and Physiological Action—The Ailments it Tends to Cure.
Next to the pleasure of enjoying an Anglo-Turkish bath oneself, in propria persona, is that of hearing some one dilate on its merits.
And few who have ever tried it, will be found unwilling to expatiate freely on the topic of Turkish bathing; of its great and manifold advantages over all other systems of bathing, of the delights they experienced while in the bath, and of the feelings of lightness and comfort, calmness of mind and positive happiness induced thereby. This prince of baths would, we verily believe, change the dullest clodhopper to a wit for a time, and convert the prosiest old antiquarian into a poet.
If it has such a transforming power on the brains of the by-no-means brilliant, is it any wonder that men of bright intellect like Sir Erasmus Wilson and David Urquhart, should write or talk so prettily about this, their favourite mode of bathing. As a rule there is not much room for poetry in the medical profession, albeit Dr Jenner, carried away by a pardonable enthusiasm, described the vaccination pustule of the ninth day, with its crimson areola as “the pearl upon the rose.” Yet we cannot read the glowing and graphic description given by the great dermatologist, concerning his visit to the bath at Riverside, without wishing that he had marshalled his thoughts, for once in a way, in the splendid hexameters of a Longfellow. A bath like that of Mr Urquhart’s, from which one emerged with “the body shining like alabaster, fragrant as the cistus, sleek as satin and soft as velvet,” is surely worthy of the high honours of blank verse. And this thermal paradise is sketched by Sir Erasmus in language as brilliant and beautiful, as any that ever the other professor Wilson puts into the month of the bard of Ettrick, in his inimitable Noctes Ambrosianae.
We must be forgiven, if we pick a plum or two from the description, and hand them round to our readers, there are plenty more on the tree which they may cull for themselves (Note 1). At the door of the Frigidarium or cool room, the would-be bather loosens the latchets of his shoes, and leaves them behind the lintel; the portal opens and he enters. This apartment though not large is sunny and bright. It is a morning in early summer, and, through the glass doors, can be seen a balcony festooned with roses; beyond the parapet of the balcony are terraces of which the rose is still the favoured flower, while further on can be seen the rippling surface of a noisy stream, then meadows with grazing herds and flocks, and beyond these the wooded hill arching like an eyebrow around the bright spot in which as the apple of the eye, sparkles the bath. By his side is a dureta over against him a reclining chair, around the sides of the apartment are cushioned divans; books, and chibouques, and many a Turkish ornament are around, and the floor is spread with carpets of Persia, and the clean fresh mattings of India.
Opposite the glass doors is an immense sheet of plate glass; through it are seen marble steps, and in the aqueous depths to which these steps descend, is the reflection of the morning sun. Here he may court the rays of Phoebus, smiling through festoons of roses to visit the deepest pool of his bath. Here he can swim while the sun glistens in the crystal drops that linger on his skin, or makes mimic rainbows in the spray that he dashes before him in his plunging revel.
The author passes on through a door by the side of the immense barrier of glass. This door closes behind him, then onwards through a second door to be greeted by a delightful atmosphere, and experience tells him that no place of terrestrial existence save the bath can yield that warm, soft and balmy aether. Two steps down and then a platform. Two steps more, the heat increases, and he has reached the tropical line of the bath. But the hottest room was enveloped in scarlet hangings, a fiery tent, where the temperature stood at from 240 to 250 degrees.
On a divan at a later stage of the hath, under a less degree of heat, he spends many minutes of genuine enjoyment. Just overhead is a plug to withdraw in order to admit a breath of fresh air if desired, and this delicious gush of ambrosial air comes to him, perfumed with the sweet breath of flowers over which it has been contrived that it shall pass.
Then comes a deeper descent of four steps, with a still warm but lower temperature, where on the clear marble edge of the Lavatorina he seats himself, while his host plies the soft pad of gazul over his head and back and sides. Then basin after basin of warm water, rinses the gazul and the loosened epidermis from the surface, and he rises from the bath to recommence his observations, visiting in turn all the soft, the warm, the perfumed, the hot, the cool and the cold nooks he can find, and thus the time flies by and the breakfast hour draws near; but before he can quit the bath, it is necessary that the pores of the body, which all this time have been filtering the waste fluids of the body through their numberless apertures, should be made to close, and with this intent he descends into the marble pool or piscina, whose waters in summer are cooled with ice, and crouches under the tap, and lets the cold current encircle him, then a pail of hot water rushes on him like an avalanche, followed immediately by one of cold, and this is many times repeated.
Upward now, to the Frigidarium, with a mantle round his shoulders after being rubbed down with soft Turkish towels, therein, reclined on a softly cushioned sofa, to enjoy half-an-hour’s suggestive and instructive conversation, before going to breakfast with an appetite like—like a man.
Sir Erasmus does not tell us how much he enjoyed that breakfast, but we can easily fancy that part of the performance. We can easily believe, that his manly onslaught upon the viands set before him, would have been highly appreciated by Christopher North himself, with Tickler and the Shepherd “settling down to serious eating.”
But it is not merely as a luxury that, in this little work of ours, we venture to recommend the Anglo-Turkish bath to our readers although taken simply for the sake of enjoyment, a man never fails to cherish the memory of his first bath, as does a maiden that of her first ball. But our recommendation has a far wider scope than this. We look upon the bath as the best means mankind has:—
One.—For maintaining the body in a state of perfect health.
Two.—For averting the many ailments incidental to life and—
Three.—For the cure of not a few diseases.
Few there are in our own country, or probably in any other, who enjoy really good and robust health, constantly. Apart from inherited illnesses, the wear and tear of life, end the worry that naturally attends the struggle for existence is very hard upon most of us, and if it were not for weekly periods of rest, the average span of our existence would be a much shorter one than it really is. And, alas! as a rule, our periods of rest seem far too short, our one day’s toil seems hardly well over, until another one begins, and thus our existences are fretted away. To many amongst us life seems one long drawn-out weariness; from year’s end to year’s end the back must ache, and the temples throb, till the very heart grows “tired of its own sad beat, and yearns for rest.” But to live like this, or in any way akin to it, is not to be in a state of health. If a man be really healthy, he is reasonably happy, if he does not feel reasonably happy, he is not in a condition of health. In health there is a complete freedom from ache or pain, from bruise or blemish, from heat or cold; every joint is supple, every muscle capable of contraction and extension. And the mind should feel as light and buoyant as the body, a healthy man should feel a pleasure in merely living, he should be capable of taking an interest in everything that goes on around him, in all he sees, in all he hears, in all he reads, and in all that concerns the well-being of his fellow creatures, and honest toil itself should be an enjoyment to him, and not a worry, not a penance.
It is the custom in England, and a terribly wrong and fatal one it is, to fly to stimulants for the relief of temporary-exhaustion; that is, at the very time when our bodies are tired, and nature courts a brief rest, we dig in the spur, we wield the whip, and keep her at it invariably to her detriment. The very fact that the amount of stimulant taken requires to be increased after a time proves how deleterious is this plan, the modest glass of sherry, or mildest ale, needs after a time to be replaced by fiery brandy or heart-corroding gin. This last is putting an extra thong on the whip, and it is no wonder if, after a time, some important internal organ gives way, and one more is added to the list of incurable invalids.
How much better would it be if tea and coffee took the place of dangerous stimulants, and the balance of health was sought to be retained by the daily use of the morning tub, and a bi-weekly indulgence in an Anglo-Turkish Bath. It is not too much to hope for, and it certainly is not too much to pray for, that public baths upheld in a great measure by Government, may yet be one of the institutions of our beloved land. What a blessing these would be to hard working men, and to the tired and weary among all classes. I venture to predict, that if people were to make a habit of using the Turkish Bath, say on the Saturday afternoons only, gin palaces and dram saloons that now reek with filth and disease would lose many a customer. Persons would find out that there was no real way consonant with the acknowledged rules of health and hygiene of banishing fatigue, of dispelling aches and pains, of calming the nervous system, and preparing the mind for the perfect enjoyment of that day of blessed rest called Sunday.
As a prophylactic against innumerable diseases, we have recommended the use of the Anglo-Turkish Bath. It is almost unnecessary to enlarge upon this head, but a word or two may not be thrown away. Two, then, of the great causae norborum, or disease inducers in this country are cold and indigestion. Now, so long as the skin is a healthy one, and in good working order, it is next to impossible for any one to catch cold through it, if he only takes care to clothe it not heavily but judiciously in warm woollens or light soft silks. It stands to reason that an organ, an instrument or machine—call it what we may—which is perfect in workings, is not so easily thrown out of gear or out of order as one not so perfect. We could fill a volume with cases of people who are constantly in the habit of using Baths, who can stand exposure to both cold and wet with but little inconvenience; and we also know a vast number of votaries of the Bath who do at times catch cold like other people, being probably constitutionally susceptible to its influence—but who get clear of their colds in quite a remarkably short time. The reason undoubtedly is that they have the power to “throw them off,” as the common saying is.
Well, now, as to indigestion. As the reader knows, the whole internal surface of the body is lined with a mucous membrane, which is analagous to the skin or external covering, and as the one is so will the other be; mucous indigestion, therefore, it may be clearly perceived is averted by the use of the Bath. But indigestion may proceed from loss of nerve power, or from a badly acting liver or spleen, or from weakness of the heart, etc. And the Bath strengthens and tones the nervous system far more than any tonic we wot of, moreover its constant use makes the work which the liver and spleen have to perform, mere play, so to speak; and if the Bath invigorates muscle—and we know it does—it must act as a roborant or tonic to the heart itself, which is composed for the most part of muscular tissues.
Many people produce a species of irritable indigestion, by the use of stimulants, for this the Anglo-Turkish bath is an almost certain cure, as it relieves internal congestions, steadies the nerves and produces refreshing sleep.
Many poisons are generated in the system, to which if free vent be not given by means of the pores of a healthily acting skin, mischief is sure sooner or later to arise, such mischief for instance as gout and rheumatism, to which reference has already been made. But the condition of the kidneys is seldom or never studied by anyone and yet if they do not act sufficiently well to expel urea from the blood, a more or less injurious effect is caused upon the brain and nerve centres. This the periodical use of the Anglo-Turkish bath, would tend to remove.
We all know the demoralising effect that the first glass of spirits is said to have upon a man inclined to the abuse of intoxicants; it so affects his brain that he no longer knows, or he disregards right form wrong as far as his health is concerned. But a similar demoralisation of brain tissue, may be produced by poisons positively generated in the system; at least this is our opinion. Those, for example, who have been given to alcohol, often keep “steady” as they phrase it for a month or months, then suddenly or gradually, as the case may be, break out again. This is doubtless caused by the play of some accumulated system-propagated poison on the brain and nerves. This poison may be urea, or it may be some acid, it matters not, it is in the blood and it ought to be eliminated and we earnestly advise those, who would be abstainers but who find it difficult to long remain so, to fly at once for relief to the hot-air bath, whenever the “tempter,” as platform orators call it, seems to urge them to take once more to stimulants.
We think it highly probable, that many inherited diseases such as consumption, scrofula, etc, may be kept at bay by the constant use of the bath under consideration, if only for the simple reason that the blood poisoning is thus constantly being driven off, before it has power to accumulate in quantities large enough to do mischief; not to mention the fact that the bath causes healthful activity of all the secretions.
The diseases which the Turkish bath may be the means of curing or alleviating, are really too numerous to mention. Among them may be enumerated gout, rheumatic gout, rheumatism, acute and chronic, colds and coughs, indigestion in some of its worst forms, bowel affections, piles, chronic liver and spleen ailments, kidney complaints, incipient delirium tremens, melancholy and depression of spirits, nervousness, irritability of temper, sleeplessness, ennui, the diseases of sedentary and also of fashionable life, adiposity, etc. That condition of body and mind generally caused by indiscretion of some kind, and usually known by the expression “out of sorts,” or “out of condition,” when weariness and depression are predominant, when sleep is unrest, and every duty of life is performed with a feeling of extreme irksomeness, and when the nerves seem given as a punishment, is almost invariably cured by a course of Turkish Bathing taken in conjunction with some nervine tonic, and an occasional well-chosen aperient.
Diseases and debilities of the reproductive organs, are by the same means equally benefited, but in these cases galvanism in some form is often required to effect a complete cure.
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Note 1. See—“The Eastern Bath,” published by Messrs J. and A. Churchill, New Burlington Street.
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