CHAPTER V.

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.