If an old man—make him stronger—
Suffering mortals soothe and save—
Happier, send them home, and younger,
All who quaff thy fervid wave!
This is denominated the King of the Spas, whilst Baden-Baden is the Queen. I wish his majesty of the “Warm Wassers” had condescended to hold his noisy court a little nearer to that of his royal consort. Two hundred and thirty miles from Frankfort, through a country that is not always very smooth, or very interesting—with dust in some places half a foot deep on the roads—the thermometer at 80°—and the rate of progression five miles an hour, is a tolerable sacrifice to the hygeian goddess of the Sprudel! It is not improbable that many of those who travel to Bohemia, in search of health, might find it in various other directions, and much nearer their own doors. The journey itself requires some good stamina, as well as resolution, and, if borne well, gives promise of success at the Sprudel.[67]
I suppose Carlsbad claims the prerogative of curing by the “Royal touch,” all those maladies that resist the powers of his subject spas—and even of the Queen’s own at Baden.
I think I have discovered one cause of the great efficacy of the Carlsbad waters, which has escaped the notice of the spa doctors, including my friend Dr. Granville. In travelling to Bohemia, the invalid must, on a moderate calculation, swallow full a pound of sand and dust on the road. This being mixed with an indefinite quantity of grease, oil, and vinegar, at the hotels, forms a kind of amalgam, resembling “fuller’s earth,” the clearing away of which, by the hot and alkaline waters of Carlsbad, must leave the stomach, liver, kidneys, and other internal organs, as bright and shining as a newly-scoured copper kettle.
It is ascertained that Carlsbad is built on a thin crust of limestone, forming a dome over several immense cauldrons of boiling mineral water. At present the chief crater of this aqueous volcano offers a safety-valve for all the superfluous soda-water unconsumed by the subterranean spa-goers; but it has often been feared that the whole dome may one day fall in, when the bibbers and bathers, the ramblers and gamblers, the sick and the sound, will all have a dip in the Sprudel at its natural temperature, and without the expense of 48 kreutzers for the bath!
On some occasions the usual vent of the Sprudel has become obstructed, and then the ground in the neighbourhood has trembled and vibrated, as if from an earthquake. At one time the pent up water burst out in the bed of the river: and here they have formed a large shield of wood and stones, clasped with iron, with a plug or safety-valve in the centre, along the sides of which the steam and water now oozes out, and the aperture can be enlarged at any moment by removing the plug, when another Sprudel rises in the middle of the Teple.
Be this as it may, Carlsbad may now be considered as the grand “Maison de Santé” of Europe, where the patients support themselves, on the principle of the Sanataria in general, and where Mr. Owen might find his social system almost perfect. Thus we have at Carlsbad (and indeed at most of the great German spas,) our food in common—our physic in common—and even our physician in common. The air we breathe, the water we drink, and gardens and walks where we exercise, are all in common. The socialists might even find little reason to complain of that “accursed thing,” matrimony, for although matches are occasionally projected at Carlsbad, I believe that marriage is seldom perpetrated there.[68]