Went ashore at Castle Europe, with one or two of the officers, to take a bath. An old Turk, sitting upon his hams, at the entrance, pointed to the low door at his side, without looking at us, and we descended, by a step or two, into a vaulted hall, with a large, circular ottoman in the centre, and a very broad divan all around. Two tall young Mussulmans, with only turbans and waistcloths to conceal their natural proportions, assisted us to undress, and led us into a stone room, several degrees warmer than the first. We walked about here for a few minutes, and as we began to perspire, were taken into another, filled with hot vapour, and, for the first moment or two, almost intolerable. It was shaped like a dome, with twenty or thirty small windows at the top, several basins at the sides into which hot water was pouring, and a raised stone platform in the centre, upon which we were all requested, by gestures, to lie upon our backs. The perspiration, by this time, was pouring from us like rain. I lay down with the others, and a Turk, a dark-skinned, fine-looking fellow, drew on a mitten of rough grass cloth, and laying one hand upon my breast to hold me steady, commenced rubbing me without water, violently. The skin peeled off under the friction, and I thought he must have rubbed into the flesh repeatedly. Nothing but curiosity to go through the regular operation of a Turkish bath prevented my crying out “Enough!” He rubbed away, turning me from side to side, till the rough glove passed smoothly all over my body and limbs, and then handing me a pair of wooden slippers, suffered me to rise. I walked about for a few minutes, looking with surprise at the rolls of skin he had taken from me, and feeling almost transparent as the hot air blew upon me.
In a few minutes my Mussulman beckoned to me to follow him to a smaller room, where he seated me on a stone beside a fount of hot water. He then made some thick soap-suds in a basin, and, with a handful of fine flax, soaped and rubbed me all over again, and a few dashes of the hot water, from a wooden saucer, completed the bath.
The next room, which had seemed so warm on our entrance, was now quite chilly. We remained here until we were dry, and then returned to the hall in which our clothes were left, where beds were prepared on the divans, and we were covered in warm cloths, and left to our repose. The disposition to sleep was almost irresistible. We rose in a short time, and went to the coffee-house opposite, when a cup of strong coffee, and a hookah smoked through a highly ornamented glass bubbling with water, refreshed us deliciously.
I have had ever since a feeling of suppleness and lightness, which is like wings growing at my feet. It is certainly a very great luxury, though, unquestionably, most enervating as a habit.
LETTER XXVIII.
A Turkish Pic-Nic, on the plain of Troy—Fingers v. Forks—Trieste—The Boschetto—Graceful freedom of Italian Manners—A Rural Fête—Fireworks—Amateur Musicians.
Dardanelles.—The oddest invitation I ever had in my life was from a Turkish Bey to a fête champètre, on the ruins of Troy! We have just returned, full of wassail and pillaw, by the light of an Asian moon.
The morning was such a one as you would expect in the country where mornings were first made. The sun was clear, but the breeze was fresh, and as we sat on the Bey’s soft divans, taking coffee before starting, I turned my cheek to the open window, and confessed the blessing of existence.