A VISIT TO A BATH.
When the doctor’s fiat goes forth that his patient is to visit this or
that bath for the benefit of his health, far more is implied in the
injunction than the mere use of water, whether mineral or indifferent,
hot or cold. It means that the sufferer is to leave his usual place
of abode, and the climate which may perhaps have been instrumental
in working him ill; to forsake the numerous causes of mental worry
and bodily fatigue which may be connected with his occupation or his
family cares; to bid adieu for a while to the cook--good, bad, or
indifferent--who perhaps has tickled his palate to the ruin of his
stomach, and the cellar which has daily furnished those wines which,
gravitating to the toes, have necessitated the big boot and the stout
staff; to turn his back for a season on all that is implied in the
words “good society,” and exchange all these for something else.
Whether that exchange will be beneficial or otherwise will depend upon
the knowledge of the patient possessed by the adviser--knowledge, not
only of his constitution and his ailments, but of his pocket and his
inclinations. The man of cultured mind, like Sir Francis Head, whose
diary of life at Langen Schwalbach forms so charming a volume, who is
able to find amusement in the contemplation of human nature, or of
natural phenomena, who
“Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in everything;”
whose resources are within himself, will find his recreation
everywhere, and provided the place to which he is sent be wholesome,
he will get all the benefits which are derivable from change of scene
and air. It would be cruel and useless, however, to send the votary
of pleasure to a resort where art provides nothing for the amusement
of the guests, and equally useless to condemn a man accustomed to a
simple country life to mingle all day long in a fashionable crowd,
intent on artificial joys. There is no doubt that on the Continent
the arrangements for the comfort and amusement of guests visiting a
bath are more perfect than they are in this country; and the invalid
who crosses the “silver streak” which separates us from the rest of
Europe will find a greater difficulty in continuing in that groove of
existence which, mayhap, has been prejudicial to him. On the other
hand it must not be forgotten that to many persons foreign travel
is exceedingly distasteful. There are many who know no language but
English, and whose prejudices are so in favour of English manners and
customs that they cannot be induced to fall in with Continental habits.
We remember seeing a gentleman at a fashionable bath abroad, whither
he had been sent for the relief of his gout, who was evidently most
grievously bored by the process of cure. He associated with none, dined
alone, and day after day partook, in a solitary corner of a restaurant,
of a fried sole, a mutton chop, stilton cheese, and a pint of dry
sherry.
A man who thus carries his own atmosphere with him, and who
persistently goes against the stream, wrapping himself in insular
prejudice, will find very little benefit in foreign travel or in change
of scene.
There are few bathing places, either in this country or on the
continent, where the drinking of water does not hold a position in
the “cure” which patients are prepared to undergo, at least equal to
the bathing. Drinking of mineral water and bathing go everywhere hand
in hand, although at different spas the one or the other method of
treatment will be found to preponderate. With the drinking of water we
have, as we have before said, nothing, at present, to do; but, although
in theory it is easy enough to separate the effects of bathing from
those of water drinking, it is found less easy to do so in practice.
What Epidaurus was in the palmy days of Greece when thousands flocked
to seek health and recreation at its renowned temple of Æsculapius;
what Baiæ was to the luxurious Romans who came to its famous warm
springs, impelled equally by fashion and disease; what Bath was when
at the zenith of its popularity; such is the Badstadt of the present
time. The throng in the town in the height of the season (July and
August) is very great, and the crowd of visitors is as fashionable as
it is cosmopolitan. Here are German petty potentates, Russian princes,
English nobles, and wealthy Americans, by scores; and there can be
no doubt that the charm of a fashionable watering-place like this is
by many found in the fact that all men are, more or less, upon an
equality where there is only one fountain from which they all must
drink, and one source in which they all must bathe. The duke, whose
pedigree reaches back to the Dark Ages, must equally wait his turn
with the merchant whose wealth is of yesterday’s creation; and in
waiting-rooms of bath-houses, at tables-d’hôte, and at the brink of
healing fountains, blood which is of the bluest tint comes into very
close contact with that which is of other shades.
The town of Badstadt is most charmingly situated upon an elevated
plateau, some 600 or 700 feet above sea-level, and in the midst of
delightful scenery, which is to be found among the mountains which
surround the town on every side but one. The mountains are clothed to
their summits with pine, and these pine woods are amongst the most
favoured places to which the “cure guests” of Badstadt resort. In the
depths of the pine forest there is always, even in the hottest day, a
refreshing coolness and an invigorating aroma, and to wander here with
a book, or a companion and some luncheon, is a most pleasant method of
killing the sultry hours of noon. One day is pretty much like another
at Badstadt, although here is just sufficient variety to obviate any
feeling of irksomeness. What will the fashionable Londoner think
when, at six o’clock in the morning, he finds that he can no longer
sleep because every one in the hotel is already stirring? There is
nothing for it but to go with the stream, to get up and dress oneself
(in the nattiest of lounging coats if of the male sex, in the most
bewitching of light summer costumes if of the female), and away with
the rest of the world to drink the water at the Betsinda Quelle, the
most fashionable spring in all Europe. It is not seven o’clock, we are
nearly four hours earlier from our beds than is our wont, the fresh
morning air is bracing and delightful, the sun has not yet dissipated
the dew, and yet the whole world of Badstadt is alive. Here beneath
the trees of the Cur-garten are some 2000 or 3000 fashionables, all
sauntering and talking, so that the hum of conversation is audible at
a great distance, and forms a not inharmonious obbligato to the music
of the orchestra in the Kiosk which is hard by. Few prettier sights
than this can be seen or imagined. The avenue of limes offers in
either direction, a most attractive vista; the sunlight comes glinting
through the fret-work of leaves upon the gravel, creating little
dancing shadows and lighting up the many and varied colours of the
ladies’ costumes; the roses in the neighbouring flower-beds lend their
bright colours to give the eye additional pleasure, while their aroma
tickles yet another sense; and the ear is pleased by a performance, by
an excellent band, of the best compositions of the best masters. The
focus, as it were, of all this gaiety is the Betsinda Quelle, and most
of the guests may be seen to advance to the edge of the health-giving
fountain, which is enclosed in a sunken ornamental basin, and tender
a glass for the prescribed dose of the water. The water contains a
good deal of common salt and not much else, and is nearly as nasty as
sea-water; but it is surprising to see how methodically and with how
little fuss the _habitués_ get through their allotted portion. The
physician probably said to this or that patient: “You are to drink two
glasses of the Betsinda, and you are to walk for twenty minutes after
each glass;” and one may see hundreds, who, watch in hand, carry out
their directions to the letter. He who frequents the springs regularly
will soon recognise that, morning after morning, the same people arrive
at the same time, consume the ordained number of glasses and disappear.
The majority of these, it must be confessed, do not appear to be very
ill, although here and there may be seen some whose faces bear evidence
of disease, whose limbs are crippled with gout or rheumatism, and who
accomplish the morning promenade with the aid of sticks or crutches,
or, in place of walking, perform a cruise upon wheels in an invalid
chair. Badstadt is above all things a pleasant place, and everything
has been done that money can accomplish to charm the senses and make
life agreeable. The notables of society are its chief patrons, and
there can be no doubt that the majority of the visitors come here
for the season, strange as it may seem, that they may meet the same
persons that they have been meeting earlier in the year in the “Row,”
upon the lawn at Goodwood, or in the salons of Paris. “Good Society,”
by which term we mean those wealthy and noble individuals who prefer
an artificial to a natural existence, annually makes itself ill by
attending too assiduously to its duties. Having risen from its bed some
eight hours later than the sun; having dined largely every night on a
mixture of all that is rich and unwholesome; and having freely partaken
with its meals of all manner of liquids other than water; having danced
night after night in rooms reeking of androsmia (which is polite Greek
for the “smell of humanity”), and rendered stifling by wax lights or
gas; having retired to bed just before sunrise, and, in short, having
shown an unaccountable dislike for the light of heaven, and an equally
unaccountable preference for those wretched and poisonous substitutes
which our dark northern latitudes have rendered necessary, Society
takes itself to Badstadt to try the experiment of undoing all the
mischief which has been brought about by its own folly. The morning
promenade is an integral and most important factor in the Badstadt
cure; and the potations of salt water have not only a cleansing and
“alterative” effect, but they damp the appetite a little, and help to
prevent Society from taking too much food. The Badstadt breakfasts are
very simple repasts; one cup of coffee and delicious bread, butter is
not allowed except to a favoured few who can find some good excuse for
being treated exceptionally; eggs are a luxury which the local doctors
regard with manifest dislike; and as for the chops, devilled kidneys,
fried bacon, bits of fish, cold grouse, dabs of marmalade, and other
“necessaries,” which Society takes at home, they are not to be thought
of.
After the frugal repast of coffee and bread has been disposed of, a
novel or the newspaper serves to wile away an hour or so, and then the
all-important time for bathing is at hand. The baths are of all kinds
here, and are made of mineral water or simple water, according to the
fancy of the patient or the prescription of the “Bad-artzt” (as the
local practitioners are called). Both before and after the bath the
patient scrupulously observes the directions of Hippocrates, and is
careful to keep both body and mind in a state of complete rest, so that
sufficient power may be left to thoroughly digest the mid-day meal,
which the English call luncheon and the Germans dinner. With those
who are wise this meal is as simple as it can be made, and consists
of a portion of braised or stewed meat, vegetable, and some simple
farinaceous pudding. As for wine, half a bottle of weak Rhenish or
Moselle is all that is allowed; visitors being especially warned to
avoid even the stronger of the Rhenish wines, such as Rüdesheimer or
Steinberger, vintages, towards which those English who have well-filled
pockets are very apt to gravitate. In the middle of the day the Germans
habitually take their heartiest meal, and towards one o’clock a stream
sets in the direction of the ‘Adler’ or the ‘König Wilhelm,’ where
possibly the same sixty or eighty persons meet day after day at the
table d’hôte. These repasts are often regulated by the advice of the
local physicians, and one great advantage of patronising them lies in
the fact that it is impossible to get viands which are at all difficult
of digestion, or which are likely to disagree with the waters. After
dinner comes an open-air concert beneath the trees, in the garden of
the Cur-haus, and the process of digestion is allowed to complete
itself in the fresh air, while the ears are tickled by the sound of
first-rate music.
For those who wish to read, the salons of the Cur-haus are always open,
and every journal of note which is published in San Francisco or St.
Petersburg, or any of the intermediate cities, is freely placed at
the disposal of the guests. When we say freely placed we mean freely
to those who pay the “Cure tax,” a small sum which is levied from all
who come to participate in the enjoyments which are provided by the
Badstadters for their guests.
The afternoon is devoted to a drive or a leisurely walk to the
neighbouring forest; and at six o’clock the English return to dine;
and at seven or half-past seven the Germans come home to supper. The
_cuisine_ at the Cur-haus, being modelled on Parisian lines, attracts
many of the guests who cannot submit to the Spartan _régime_ of
Badstadt in its entirety; and there may be seen occupying the small
tables on the terrace snug parties of three or four having just one
of those very “little dinners” which have been the main cause of
that indisposition which has made a “cure” necessary. The evenings
are usually occupied by promenading in front of the Cur-haus, and
occasionally a display of fireworks, or an illumination is provided.
There is a theatre too, at which the best actors and singers appear
during the season; but these after-dinner amusements are mostly of
short duration, and, as a rule, Badstadt retires to bed not later than
ten o’clock.
Thus it will be seen that life at a bath is spent largely in the open
air, that the amusements and the routine of each day are regulated
mainly with a view to health, that the diet is restrained within the
limits of prudence, and that “early to bed and early to rise” is a wise
maxim, to which a rigid adherence is expected of all who come in quest
of health to the baths and springs of Badstadt. It is not surprising
that the Badstadt waters should be regarded as a panacea throughout the
whole of Europe.
LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING
CROSS.