THE TURKISH BATH.1

THE TURKISH BATH.1

“Come hither, ye that press your beds of down

And sleep not, see him sweating o’er his bread

Before he eats it.—’Tis the primal curse,

But softened into mercy, made the pledge

Of cheerful days, and nights without a groan.”—Cowper.

“Melancholy is overcome by a free perspiration; and cheerfulness, without any evident cause, proceeds from it.”—Sanctorius.

Having premised thus far, we now proceed to a description of the principal features of the Turkish, or more correctly speaking, the Roman bath: at the same time strongly recommending to our readers the perusal of Mr. Urquhart’s pamphlet, for an historic and detailed account of this interesting remnant of Roman civilization.

The bath consists of three apartments, communicating with each other, each being dedicated to a special purpose. The first, or cooling-chamber, consists of a good-sized room, which may or may not be open to the heavens; but this condition is essential to it, that it be well ventilated, with a free current of cool air passing through it. In this room are placed sofas and reclining couches; and here the bather divests himself of his clothes, and places his feet in wooden clogs, previous to his entering the bath, the first act of which is enacted in the second or middle chamber.

“The cloths are taken from your head and shoulders; one is spread for you to lie on, the other is rolled for your head. You lie down on your back, the tellak (bath attendant) kneels at your side, and bending over, gripes and presses your chest, arms, and legs, passing from part to part like a bird shifting its place on a perch. He brings his whole weight on you with a jerk; follows the line of muscle with anatomical thumb; draws the open hand strongly over the surface, particularly round the shoulder, turning you half up in so doing; stands with his feet on the thighs and on the chest, and slips down the ribs; then up again three times, and, lastly, doubling your arms, one after the other, on the chest, pushes with both hands down, beginning at the elbow, and then putting an arm under the back and applying his chest to your crossed elbows, rolls on you across till you crack.”

The foregoing account of the process of shampooing may appear anything but pleasant to many of our readers; but they should recollect that it is a description of the process when FULLY carried out, and that it may be modified to any extent, or wholly omitted, according to the tastes of the bathers, or the physician’s prescription. Shampooing is, however, healthful and invigorating, causing the blood to flow briskly through the minor veins and capillaries, and bringing muscles and sinews into play which would otherwise remain inactive, unless a large amount of exercise were taken; it also materially assists in removing the inert skin from the surface of the body, and brings the pores into healthy action. Few people, after once undergoing the operation, would consider that they had received the full benefit of the bath were shampooing omitted. The shampooing being concluded, the bather is conducted to one of the marble fountains already described, where the waters are mixed to the required temperature. With these he is thoroughly washed, the water being poured over the body from metal bowls. Soap is then had recourse to, which, had it been used earlier in the process, would have materially interfered with its success, as the alkali of the soap, by combining with the oily substance of the epidermis, would have deprived it of the necessary consistency for its easy detachment from the body.

After a good lathering, and a good washing with warm water:—

“You are led a step or two and seated, the shoulder-cloth is taken off, another put on, the first over it; another is folded round the head; your feet are already in the wooden pattens; you are wished health; you return the salute, rise, and are conducted by both arms to the first or outer chamber, where the concluding act takes place. The platform round the chamber is raised and divided by low balustrades into little compartments, where the couches of repose are arranged, so that while having the uninterrupted view all round, parties or families may be by themselves. This is the time and place for meals. The bather, having reached this apartment, is conducted to the edge of the platform, to which there is only one high step. You drop the wooden patten, and on the matting a towel is spread, anticipating your footfall. You now recline on a couch in the form of the letter W elongated, and, as you rest on it, the weight is everywhere directly supported. Every tendon, every muscle is relaxed—the mattress fitting, as it were, into the skeleton. There is total inaction, and the body appears to be suspended.”

“On trouve alors des lits delicieux; on s’y repose avec volupté, on y eprouve un calme et un bîenetre difficile à exprimer. C’est une sorte de régénération dont le charme est encore augmenté par des boissons restaurantes et surtout par un café exquis.”—D’Ohsson, t. vii., p. 63.

Another writer thus describes it:—

“When all is done, a soft and luxurious feeling spreads itself over your body; every limb is light and free as air; the marble-like smoothness of the skin is delightful; and, after all this pommelling, scrubbing, racking, parboiling, and perspiring, you feel more enjoyment than you ever felt before.”

Mr. Urquhart thus finishes his description of the process:—

“The body has come forth shining like alabaster, fragrant as the cistus, sleek as satin, and soft as velvet. The touch of your own skin is electric. Buffon has a wonderful description of Adam’s surprise and delight at his first touch of himself. It is the description of the human sense when the body is brought back to its purity. The body thus renewed, the spirit wanders abroad, and, reviewing its tenement, rejoices to find it clean and tranquil. There is an intoxication, or dream, that lifts you out of the flesh, and yet a sense of life and consciousness that spreads through every member. Each breastful of air seems to pass, not to the heart but to the brain, and to quench, not the pulsation of the one but the fancies of the other. That exaltation which requires the slumber of the senses—that vividness of sense that drowns the visions of the spirit—are simultaneously engaged in calm and unspeakable luxury; you condense the pleasures of many scenes, and enjoy in an hour the existence of years. But this, too, will pass. The visions fade, the speed of the blood thickens, the breath of the pores is checked, the crispness of the skin returns, the fountains of strength are opened—you seek again the world and its toils, and those who experience these effects and vicissitudes for the first time exclaim, ‘I feel as if I could leap over the moon.’ Paying your pence according to the tariff of your deserts, you walk forth a king.”

Having now described the bath, as we hope, in a form intelligible to our readers, we would make some observations on its physical and moral effects: and, first, as to its physical. For cleansing the blood from all impurities there is nothing equal to its effects. Sarsaparilla may hide its diminished head. By the principle of endosmosis and exosmosis, a principle well known to chemists, the serum containing all the morbid portions of the blood, on passing off in perspiration, is replaced by water, and the fountains of life are cleansed. This benefit will be appreciated when it is recollected how many of “the ills that flesh is heir to” are derived from a diseased and morbid condition of the blood. As an instance of the purifying effect of the Turkish bath we may mention, that where mercury exists in the system, the gold ring of the bather has been turned to the colour of silver, owing to the mercury amalgamating with it on its exuding from the skin. Mr. Urquhart observes:—

“Where the bath is the practice of the people there are no diseases of the skin. All cases of inflammation, local and general are subdued. Gout, rheumatism, sciatica, or stone, cannot exist where it is consecutively and sedulously employed as a curative means. I am inclined to say the same thing in reference to the plague. I am certain of it with reference to cholera. (In Cork the men employed in cleaning out the brewers’ vats, and who have thus been in a Turkish bath, were, during the prevalence of cholera, free from that disorder. The other workmen in those establishments petitioned to be put to that work.) As to consumption—that scourge of England—that pallid spectre, which sits by every tenth domestic hearth, among the higher orders—it is not only unknown where the bath is practised, but is curable by its means.”

We ourselves have seen obstinate cases of sciatica, which for several years had baffled all the remedies of the most eminent Allopathic physicians, yield completely to the benign influence of the Turkish bath in the course of six weeks. We have witnessed similar effects produced in cases of rheumatism, and contracted joints arising from rheumatic gout; whilst in cases of skin disease it is a sovereign remedy, unrivalled by any other mode of treatment, not excepting the Harrowgate waters. And it should be remembered, that all the beneficial effects here mentioned are experienced, not at the cost of a weakened and debilitated constitution, too often the result of Allopathic treatment, but in conjunction with an improved state of health and body, the whole system being strengthened and invigorated, whilst the special disease is driven out.

We know that some people imagine that the Turkish bath is weakening in its effects, but on this point hear Mr. Urquhart:—

“We can test this in three ways. Its effects on those debilitated by disease, on those exhausted by fatigue, and on those who are long exposed to it. First, in affection of the lungs, and intermittent fever, the bath is invariably had recourse to against the debilitating nightly perspirations. The temperature is kept low, not to increase the action of the heart or its secretions. This danger avoided, its effect is to subdue, by a healthy perspiration in a waking state, the unhealthy one in sleep. No one ever heard of any injury from the bath. The moment a person is ailing he is hurried off to it.”

The perspirations so often attendant on consumption, are nature’s last struggle to supply the system with oxygen, by opening the pores of the skin, this additional source of supply being rendered necessary by the diminished action of the lungs, consequent on their diseased condition; the perspirations cease, however, on the patient having recourse to the Turkish bath, as there nature’s efforts are superseded by an action, similar in kind, but greater in degree, unattended by debilitating effects. As an instance of nature’s efforts at self-relief, it may be stated, that in several cases of chest disease, recovery has dated from the commencement of the nightly perspirations.

“Second, after long and severe fatigue—that fatigue such as we never know, successive days and nights on horseback—the bath affords the most astonishing relief. Having performed long journeys on horseback, even to the extent of ninety-four hours, without taking rest, I know by experience its effects in the extremest cases.”

Again he says:—

“Well can I recall the hâmam-doors which I have entered, scarcely able to drag one limb after the other, and from which I have sprung into my saddle again elastic as a sinew, and light as a feather.… You will see a hummal (porter), a man living only on rice, go out of one of those baths, where he has been pouring with that perspiration which we think must prostrate and weaken, and take up his load of five hundred-weight, placing it unaided on his back.

We have seen at Blarney the Turkish bath administered with equal benefit to the child of only a few months old, and the man of eighty summers.

Having now observed on the physical effects of the Turkish bath, we shall quote Mr. Urquhart’s opinions regarding its moral aspect:—

“Next are temperance and sobriety. At first sight the connection will not appear so immediate. It will, however, be unquestionable to those familiar with countries where the bath is in use. I know of no country, in ancient or modern times, where habits of drunkenness have co-existed with the bath. Misery and cold drive men to the gin-shop. If they had the bath, not the washing-tub, but the sociable hâmam, to repair to, this, the great cause of drunkenness, would be removed; and if this habit of cleanliness were general, restraints would be imposed on such habits by the feelings of self-respect engendered. The poor of England have never had an opportunity of knowing the comfort which is derived on a cold day from the warmth imparted by such an atmosphere. How many of the wretched inhabitants of London go to their chilly homes in the winter months, benumbed with cold, and with no means of recovering their animal warmth but by resorting to spirits and a public-house fire! The same six-pence which will only procure them a quartern of the stimulant, which imparts but a momentary heat, would, if so expended, obtain for them at once warmth and refreshment.

“Do not run away with the idea that it is Islamism that prevents the use of spirituous liquors—it is the bath. It satisfies the cravings which lead to those indulgences, it fills the period of necessary relaxation, and it produces, with cleanliness, habits of self-respect which are incompatible with intoxication. It keeps the families united, which prevents the squandering of money for such excesses. In Greece and Rome, in their worst times, there was neither ‘blue ruin’ nor ‘double stout.’ ”

“All men know and deplore the destruction of life and property by intemperate habits in England; but not all men know (though it has been repeatedly proved) that one of the strongest predisposing causes to intemperance is that sense of depression, and general weakness, demanding and seeming to justify the use of stimulants, which, itself a disease, attacks those who live in undrained and unventilated localities.”

The Turkish bath supplies this stimulant, the desire for which prompts intoxication, and so becomes, as Mr. Urquhart argues, a powerful engine in the promotion of temperance; by improving the general health, it also removes the desire for the stimulus.

We strongly recommend the perusal of Dr. Barter’s lecture at Bradford to our readers, as a masterly exposition of a subject by the only physician in the kingdom who has practically studied it.

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Dublin: Printed by Alex. Thom & Sons, 87 & 88, Abbey-street.