After making the tour of Balata the most appropriate thing to take next
seems to be a Turkish bath. The bath-houses may be easily recognized
from without: they are small, mosque-shaped buildings, without windows,
surmounted by cupolas, and have high conical chimneys, from which smoke
is constantly rising. So much for the exterior, but he who desires to
penetrate farther and explore the mysteries of the interior would do
well to pause and ask himself, _Quid valeant humeri?_ since not every
one is able to endure the _aspro governo_ to which he who enters those
salutary walls must be subjected. I am free to confess that, after all
I had been told, I approached them with some feeling of trepidation,
which I think the reader will admit was not wholly unjustifiable before
he has done. As I recall it all now, two great drops of perspiration
stand out on my forehead, ready to roll down when I shall be in the
heat of my description. Here then is what was done to my unhappy
person. Entering timidly, I find myself in a large apartment which
leaves one in doubt for a few moments as to whether he has gotten by
mistake into a theatre or a hospital. A fountain plays in the centre,
decorated on top with flowers; a wooden gallery runs all around the
walls, upon which some Turks, stretched upon mattresses and enveloped
from head to foot in snow-white cloths, either slumber profoundly or
smoke in a dreamy state between waking and sleeping. Looking about
for some attendant, I become suddenly aware of two robust mulattoes,
stripped to the waist, who appear from nowhere like spectres and ask in
deep tones and both together, “_Hammamun?_” (bath?). “_Evvet_” (yes), I
reply in a very weak voice. Motioning me to follow, they lead the way
up a small wooden stair to a room filled with mats and cushions, where
I am given to understand that I must undress, after which they proceed
to wrap a strip of blue and white stuff about my loins, tie my head up
in a piece of muslin, and, placing a pair of huge slippers on my feet,
grasp me under the arms like a drunken man, and conduct, or rather
drag, me into another room, warm and half lighted, where, after laying
me on a rug, they stand with arms akimbo, waiting until my skin shall
have become moist. These preparations, so distressingly suggestive of
some approaching punishment, fill me with a vague uneasiness, which
changes into something even less admirable when the two cutthroats,
after touching me on the forehead, exchange a meaning glance, as who
should say, “Suppose he resists?” and then, as though exclaiming, “To
the rack!” again seize me by the arms and lead me into a third room.
This apartment makes a very singular impression at first sight:
it is as though one found himself in a subterranean temple, where,
through clouds of vapor, high marble walls, rows of columns, arches,
and a lofty vaulted roof, can be indistinctly seen, colored green and
blue and crimson by the rays of light falling from the cupola, white
spectral figures slide noiselessly back and forth close to the walls.
In the centre half-naked forms are extended upon the pavement, while
others, also half naked, bend over them in the attitude of doctors
making an autopsy. The temperature is such that no sooner have we
entered than I break out into a profuse perspiration, and it seems most
probable that should I ever get out at all it will be in the form of a
running stream like the lover of Arethusa.
The two mulattoes convey my body to the centre of the room and deposit
it upon a sort of anatomical table consisting of a raised slab of white
marble, beneath which are the stoves. The marble, being extremely
hot, burns me and I see stars, but, as long as I am there, there
is no choice but to go through with the penalty. My two attendants
accordingly begin the _vivisection_, and, chanting a sort of funeral
dirge the while, pinch my arms and legs, stretch my muscles, make my
joints crack, pound me, rub me, maul me, and then, rolling me over
on my face, begin over again, only to put me on my back later and
recommence the whole process. They knead and work me like a dough
figure to which they want to give a certain form they have in mind,
and, not succeeding, have grown angry with; a slight pause for breath
is only followed by renewed pinching, pulling, and pounding, until I
begin to fear that my last hour is drawing near; and then finally, when
my entire body is streaming with perspiration like a wet sponge, the
blood coursing furiously through my veins, and it has become evident
that I have reached the last limit of endurance, they gather up my
remains from that bed of torment and carry them to a corner, where in a
small alcove are a basin and two spigots from which hot and cold water
are running. But, alas! fresh martyrdom awaits me here; and really
the affair at this point begins to assume so serious an aspect that,
joking aside, I consider whether it would not be possible to strike
out to right and left, and, just as I am, make a break for life and
liberty. It is too late, though: one of my tormentors, putting on a
camel’s-hair glove, has fallen to rubbing my back, breast, arms, and
legs with the same cheerful energy a lively groom might employ in
currying a horse; after this has been prolonged for fully five minutes
a stream of tepid water is poured down my back, and I take breath and
return devout thanks to Heaven that it is all over at last. I soon
find, however, that this is premature: that ferocious mulatto, taking
the glove off, promptly falls to once more with his bare hand, until,
losing all patience, I sign to him to stop, with the result that,
exhibiting his hand, he proves to his own entire satisfaction and my
complete bewilderment that he must still continue, and does so. Next
follows another deluge of water, and after that a fresh operation: each
of them, now taking a piece of tow cloth, rubs a quantity of Candia
soap upon it, and then proceeds to soap me well from head to foot; then
another torrent of perfumed water, followed by the tow cloths again,
but, Heaven be praised! without soap this time, and the process is one
of drying me off. When this has been accomplished they tie up my head
again, wrap the cloth about my body, and then, enveloping me in a large
sheet, reconduct me to the second room, where I am allowed to rest a
few moments before being taken to the first; here a warm mattress is in
readiness, upon which I stretch myself luxuriously. The two instruments
of justice give a few final pinches to equalize the circulation of
blood throughout all my members, and then, placing an embroidered
cushion under my head, a white covering over me, a pipe in my mouth,
and a glass of lemonade at my side, depart, leaving me light, fresh,
airy, perfumed, with a mind serene, a contented heart, and such a sense
of youth and vitality that I feel as though, like Venus, I had just
been born from the foam of the sea, and seem to hear the wings of the
loves fluttering above my head.