“Old women without any charms to conceal, spare themselves the effort, and multitudes of naked cherubs patter about. Yonder sits a victim to paints and dyes—her hair now white, suddenly becomes beautifully black, and the colour streaming over her body bedecks her for the moment à l’Indienne. But that was all washed off, and they proceeded to rub a sort of mud all over her body, to take out the pains. Then she underwent a process of pommelling, as she was stretched out on the marble floor—poor thing, she had both rheumatism and grey hairs, and was a fit subject for the most special and extra efforts of the attendants of the bath. But the children! such victims, of all ages, from one month upwards, were screaming to the highest pitch of their little voices, as they were unmercifully rubbed and lathered from the crown of their heads to the soles of their feet. ‘Rough up and smooth down,’ seemed to be no part of the nursery creed of their unmerciful mothers, but rough all ways. Amid these infantile yells and agonies, the girls, young and pretty, walked up and down, pattering with their clogs, and chanting their wild native melodies, as if to put out all other noises, and the great marble halls did their best to re-echo all these floating sounds.
“Was I in Paradise or Pandemonium; were these peris or demons, I could not tell; everything was so bewildering. I was duly rubbed, and washed like the rest—then it was proposed to take lunch. Our party en déshabillé de-pechetemal, which means, crimson faces and napkin drapery, with long and dripping hair, sea nymphs—maids of the mist—seated themselves on the marble platform in the cooler room, and the large round tray made its appearance.
“How delicious the iced sherbet, the little balls of rice covered with delicate vine leaves—the artichokes à l’huile d’olive, the kebab, the helva—in a word, spite of the strange table, strange costume, and general humidity, we all had tremendous appetites.
“Then, came a chibouk to the old lady, little cigarettes to the young maidens—a delicious cup of coffee, and we all raised our voices in a sweet Turkish song, about loves, jessamines, güle and bülbüls.
“Being thus recruited, we were able to undergo the last ablutions, and with a complete investment of pure white and delicately perfumed towels, we proceeded to our first niche in the great dressing-room, and laid us down to dream, or listlessly to watch the innumerable toilettes of the devotees to Venus and Love.
“Some, all fair and rosy, were reclining luxuriously like ourselves, enveloped in fine white drapery, richly embroidered and fringed with gold, while their beautiful slaves, whose charming figures were not so carefully concealed, were combing, braiding, and perfuming the long silken tresses of the fair hanums.
“After we had amused ourselves at the indifference of the really beautiful, and the minute and strenuous efforts of others to appear so, we again sipped our coffee and completed our toilette, ready at any time, to spend another day in such delightful aquatic luxuries. I could not help contrasting my sensations with those I had often felt on leaving one of the bathing establishments in my own country. There, a solitary closet, a tub, from which perhaps some dirty wench had just emerged, a hook or two, a dirty flesh brush for general service, etc. True, the warm water was agreeable, and for the moment caused an oblivion of all antecedents, the hook convenient, and the brush need not be used. After an immersion of perhaps half an hour, you hurry on your apparel, and hurry home, all à l’Américaine. But here, in this Turkish bath, how imperceptibly a whole day had passed away, how entertaining the scene, how beautiful the fair handmaidens of Nature, so soft and pure, after their watery festivities. Their skin so white, their lips so red, the delicate rosy tinge of their cheeks so tempting; even old age seemed to bloom again, while a universal exhilaration took possession of us all. A delicate tissue of softness seemed to envelop my body, and a wonderful feeling of amiability and love for all the race of human kind glowed within my breast. Every motion gave me pleasure, and I could scarce recognize myself. Alas! for American ladies, they can never feel the true oriental Kief in bathing; for they have no cushions to repose upon, no softly murmuring fountains to lull their senses, nor any such relaxation from all external and internal woes, as follows a Turkish bath. In vain they tinge their complexions, powder, and wash, they cannot attain this τό καλον of beauty, nor be electrified by this wand of enchantment, which renders the humblest Cinderella of the Orient lovely as a princess, and says avaunt to all the modern mysteries of the toilette.”