Spas are under the dominion of more influences than fashion. Who could have supposed that the medicinal virtues of mineral waters should be deteriorated or even destroyed by politics. Yet such is the case. While Holland and Belgium were under one crown, the Dutch dolls flocked annually in great numbers to paint their cheeks in the Pouhon or Geronsterre, returning to their dykes with a cargo of steel that secured them, for ten months, against the damps and debilities of their vapoury atmosphere. But no sooner had the “Braves Belges” revolted, than the chalybeates of Spa lost all their efficacy, and grass is now likely to grow, and water to run in the streets of this celebrated place! The Dutch and most of the English at present resort to the Brunnens of Nassau—the chalybeates of Brucknau—or the boiling Sprudel, for that health and renovation which they used to seek and obtain in the forest of the Ardennes!
It would be equally useless and impertinent in me to attempt a revulsion in the tide of spa-goers; yet, when I reflect on the locality of Spa—its facility of access (forty-eight hours from London)—the efficacy of its waters—the salubrity of its air—the variety of its promenades and drives—the excellence of its hotels—the cheapness of living—and the seclusion which is attainable by all—I cannot help regretting that fashion, caprice, or some inexplicable spell should turn the tide of British invalids so completely from Spa, and impel it with irresistible impetus towards the Brunnens of Germany.
AIX-LA-CHAPELLE.
Antiquity is to a city what noble blood is to an individual. The former may fall into decay, and the latter into poverty; but the pride of ancestry supports them both in their fallen greatness. The Romans had excellent olfactories, and a keen scent for steam or sulphuretted hydrogen gas, wherever these issued through cracks or fissures of the earth, in their wide domains. They were very fond of warm baths—and very wisely made frequent use of them with no small advantage, considering that these Lords of the Creation had no linen shirts, and wore thick woollen, and probably somewhat greasy garments next the skin. The boiling cauldron under Aix poured forth its nauseous and malodorous broth as freely when Cæsar was mustering his legions on the banks of the Rhine, or when Charlemagne, many a century afterwards, was uniting his Franco-German subjects in the same place, as now, when the “Dampschippe” and “Chemin de Fer” are daily bringing hundreds of customers and guests from the distant shores of Albion and Erin. Innumerable Roman relics are here found—and actual baths were discovered, where the brother of Nero probably bathed.
Aix is situated in latitude 50° in the midst of a gentle valley, environed, at some distance, by well-wooded hills. The substratum is calcareous, but there are unequivocal marks of volcanic agency in the neighbourhood. The town, like London, presents an old city environed by a new one—especially towards the Borcette. The old town, in which almost all the hotels, and indeed the baths are situated, is very irregular, and cedes to few continental cities in the roughness of its pavements.
The Fontaine Elisée, the chief or only place for drinking the waters, is situated exactly between the old and new towns, close to the theatre, and is one of the handsomest places of the kind amongst the spas of Germany—forming a remarkable contrast with the Hygeian fonts of Ems, Wisbaden, and Baden-Baden. In the midst of the façade, 270 feet in length, rises the rotunda (resembling the Temple of Vesta at Rome) nearly fifty feet in height, supported by columns, flanked by two open colonnades ending in cafées, and fronted by a promenade among trees. The fountain, from which issue two streams, is situated ten or twelve feet below the colonnade, at the bottom of two flights of marble steps—one for descending to the font, and the other for ascending from it. There is ample space in front of the fountain for slowly bibbing the fervid spring. The whole is surmounted by a marble bust of Hygeia—taken from a German Princess—and certainly exhibiting more benignity of mein than beauty of feature. The two High Priests who fill the glasses from the two streams, have no sinecure of it from six till eight o’clock every morning. I counted 300 drinkers the first morning—and then, being tired, I counted no more. It must be the reputation, and not the taste or flavour of these waters, that draws such multitudes of invalids to them every year. The odour of sulphur is exceedingly strong—the temperature 129° Fahrenheit—the taste most nauseous—exactly resembling the washings of a gun-barrel, with a dash of rotten eggs. It is astonishing how soon the palate and olfactories get reconciled to these and other malodorous waters. On the second morning I felt little or no repugnance to them. They are clear as crystal.
The best baths are at the Hotel de l’Empereur (where the superior and hottest source is found), and which is also a very good hotel. The maitre (Mr. Nuellens) is a pleasant fellow, who speaks English, and is very attentive to his guests.
As Aix-la-Chapelle is not a place of resort for those who seek pleasure only, the great body of the real visitors are really invalids, or think themselves such. The few attendants on sick friends are seldom seen taking either the waters or baths.