The Temple of Health
Shewing the magnetico-electric
pathway to Elysian lovemaking.
Part
1
Foreplay.
Dr. James Graham had an electrifying personality -- plus all the other qualities that would make a successful “quack” doctor. He was well-spoken, handsome, and a showman at heart. After studying medicine at Edinburgh (just long enough to become bored with it), he left for America; and following an extended tour of New England, he settled in Philadelphia as an eye specialist. There he became fascinated by Dr. Benjamin Franklin’s electrical experiments, and these revolutionized his whole approach to medicine. Electricity became Graham’s panacea, and soon he was prescribing it for every ill, saying, “electricity invigorates the whole body and remedies all physical defects.”
Armed with his new-found nostrum, and convinced that he could make a fortune with it, Graham moved to London, where he encountered his first milestone by treating the British historian Catherine Macaulay. Testimonials signed by her were a wonderful endorsement and, in due course, they were kept current by her marriage to Graham’s younger brother William. Through her connections, James Graham had aristocratic patients flocking to him. Among them was Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, who marveled at his treatments, which were certainly out of the ordinary.
After supplying his patients with “ætherial balsams,” Dr. Graham made them sit on his “magnetic throne,” or gave them crackling electrical baths. Before long, he was attracting blue-blooded patients like a magnet -- and all the epithets of quackery. But the more he was attacked for quackery, the more fashionable his treatments became.
Current events.
With his steady stream of high-ranking patients Graham could have chosen to remain a “fashionable doctor,” but he decided to take a more stimulating path, and in August of 1779, after months of preparation, he launched an establishment that was to shock all of London --to the enjoyment of many patrons. In the Royal Terrace, Adelphi, facing the Thames, Dr. Graham opened: The Temple Æsculapio Sacrum -- or commonly translated -- “The Temple of Health.” More than a consulting room or operating theatre, the Temple was an amalgam of unparalleled inventiveness, showmanship,--and Graham’s own social commentary. In his words, it was conceived for:
“the propagating of beings rational, and far stronger and more beautiful in mental as well as bodily endowment, than the present puny, feeble and nonsensical race of probationary mortals, which crawl, fret and politely play at cutting one another’s throats for nothing at all, on most parts of this terraqueous globe.”
Words like that could hardly disguise Graham’s opinion of the general public, but the Temple of Health was a moniker that neatly disguised the real purpose of his paradisian palace. Sex, overt or indirect, was the keynote, with emphasis and instruction on how to retain or regain youth, beauty, and fertility. And it was all beautifully packaged and promoted. To advertise the grand opening, Dr. Graham hired two gigantic men nicknamed “Gog” and “MaGog,” dressed them in striking gold-trimmed liveries, and sent them round London town with handbills that read:
The Temple
of Health.
“The Magnificent Electrical Apparatus and the supremely
brilliant and Unique decorations of this Magical Edifice--of this enchanting Elysian
Palace! where wit and mirth, love and beauty--all that can delight the sound and
all that can ravish the senses, will hold their Court, This and every Evening
this Week, in chaste and joyous assemblage. The Celestial Brilliance of the Medico-Electrical
Apparatus in all the apartments of the Temple will be exhibited by Dr. Graham
himself, who will have the honour of explaining the true Nature and Effects of
Electricity, Air, Music and Magnetism when applied to the human body.”
The
handbill further enticed visitors in Graham’s particular style of high-flown rhetoric:
“Precisely at eight o’clock the Gentleman Usher of the Rosy Rod, assisted by the High Priestess, will conduct the rosy, the gigantic, the STUPENDOUS Goddess of Health to the Celestial Throne. The blooming Priestess of the Temple will endeavour to entertain Ladies and Gentlemen of candour and good nature, by reading a Lecture on the simplest and most efficacious means of preserving health, beauty, and personal loveliness, and a serene mental brilliancy even to the extremest old age. VESTINA THE GIGANTIC, on the Celestial Throne, as the Goddess of Health, will exhibit in her own person a proof of the all-blessing effects of virtue, temperance, regularity, simplicity, and moderation; and in these luxurious, artificial and effeminate times, to recommend those great virtues.”
This was all very intriguing and arousing to say the least. And for an affordable 2 shillings/6 pence, patrons could be visually and emotionally stimulated to a high degree within the main hall. But, to get the full experience--to see round the Temple proper and imbibe the full essence of Elysian sensuality--cost 10 shillings/6 pence.
Upon arriving at the Temple, patrons strode by the exquisitely liveried porters, “Gog” and “Magog;” passed beneath the figure of Æsculapius, the father of healing; paid their admission; glided through the entrance hall, which was littered with crutches, spectacles, &c., from the previously restored; then emerged into one of the stylishly decorated rooms illuminated with scented wax candles and filled with libido-rousing paintings, sculpture, and stained-glass windows.
The decor was visually stunning--awe inspiring--and the senses were further elevated by deliciously perfumed air and celestial sounding music from wind instruments, which seemed to emanate from nowhere and followed patrons throughout the entire building. The rooms on the upper floor were in direct contrast to those on the lower floor in almost every respect. Here stood gaudily painted electrical machinery, ready to crackle forth celestial fire at a moment’s notice; chemical equipment, bubbling and smoking with passion and promise; plus mystical jars and other ætherial contrivances calculated to amaze and arouse the multitudes -- which they certainly did.
Dr. Graham had spent over £10,000 on his glorious erotic vision and was determined to make a fortune from it by capitalizing on good old human nature and curiosity.
Venus Envy
At the Temple of Health, Dr. Graham delivered lectures on health, including what would today be considered sexology. He was ably assisted by exemplars of vibrant youth and perfect physical fitness, known to patrons as “Goddesses of Youth and Health.” These lovely young ladies, recruited through newspaper advertisements, delivered “warm lectures” on the nature and effect of love and beauty, written by the doctor. They also posed in classical style white silk robes -- and on some occasions -- less than that.
One of Dr. Graham’s earliest Goddesses, “Hebe Vestina,” was a beautiful 16-year old domestic servant named Amy (Emma) Lyon. She may have joined his entourage as a singer, but was often featured as the main attraction, posing lightly-clad among the marble statues as the Goddess “Hygiea”--a scene which Thomas Rowlandson later recorded in one of his cartoons. But Emma’s most enticing performance came in the form of a warm mud bath divertissement, in which she frolicked tout nu before an entranced audience. After leaving the Temple of Health she embarked on a succession of “apprenticeships” to members of nobility; re-emerged as Emma Hart, then became Lady Hamilton -- before moving on to Lord Nelson’s column.
The Dr. prescribes...
In addition to his lectures and exhibitions of loosely-clad living alfrescoes, Dr. Graham also sold his treatises at the Temple book stall. The most popular of these was Private Advisers, written about ladies and gentlemen for the benefit of gentleman and ladies. Sealed in the ubiquitous “plain brown wrapper,” this provocative tome cost a guinea. Whether or not the price exceeded it’s actual value --or vice-versa-- has never really been determined--but it sold extremely well.
The medical counter at the Temple did an even bigger trade. Here patrons could buy a phial of Electrical Æther, of which, a sniff or two would safeguard them from the germ-laden atmosphere of London. It was recommended for use in theatres, court-rooms and other crowded places.
Nervous Ætherial Balsam was the elixir for “worn-out constitutions” of either sex. Not only did it settle nerves, it had miraculous aphrodisiac powers -- and even guaranteed procreation! Or, at least claimed to.
The third preparation was Imperial Pills, supposedly for purifying the blood. A full round of these life-enhancing mixtures might improve the libido or relieve a sufferer from symptoms --but it certainly would relieve them of excess coins. To accommodate the needs of every pocketbook and health problem, each preparation was available in 3 sizes: 5 shillings; 10 shillings/6 pence; and a guinea. For the convenience of those who lived in large households or really promiscuous neighbourhoods, vast quantities could be packed up in exquisite mahogany cases in a variety of sizes costing from five to twenty-guineas. Quantities to make the whole British Navy stand at attention were probably not out of the question.
Horace Walpole
While many marveled at the sights, sounds, and smells of the Temple of Health, others were not so electrified by the experience. Horace Walpole described the Temple in perfunctory style:
“It is the most impudent puppet-show of imposition I ever saw, and the mountebank himself the dullest of his profession. A woman, invisible, warbled to clarinets on the stairs. The decorations are pretty and odd, and the apothecary, who comes up a trap-door (for no purpose, since he might as well come up the stairs), is a novelty. The electrical experiments are nothing at all singular, and a poor air-pump, that only bursts a bladder, pieces out the farce.”
Certainly, there was no pleasing everyone; but the rest of London seemed to be far less discriminating and came for the show -- to “recharge their batteries.” If not getting their money’s worth, at least they had a good evening’s entertainment. Some even paid a higher price to partake in the “specialty of the house.”
Heir-conditioned comfort
The lectures, illustrative poses, electrical apparatus, prayer temple, and nostrums were a fitting adjunct to the Temple of Health’s real main attraction, The Celestial Bed. This colossus of Elysian coitus was housed in a room of its own on the second floor with a private entrance from the street. Herein--or hereupon--sterility and impotence could be “magically” cured by a good jolt of electricity mixed in with romantic music and a few sensory delights. For only £50 any heretofore barren Lord and Lady could be guaranteed to produce an heir after one night of electrically charged bonking on the bed. And every gentleman ready to part with that sum was entitled to a full upgrade of his sexual abilities. As Dr. Graham so delicately put it:
“The barren must certainly become more fruitful when they are powerfully agitated in the delights of love.”
This piéce de resistance of the Temple of Health, is described in exquisite detail in Graham’s brochure:
“The super-celestial dome of the bed, which contains the odoriferous, balmy and ethereal spices, odours and essences, which is the grand reservoir of those reviving invigorating influences which are exhaled by the breath of the music and by the exhilarating force of electrical fire, is covered on the other side with brilliant panes of looking-glass.
On the utmost summit of the dome are placed two exquisite figures of Cupid and Psyche, with a figure of Hymen behind, with his torch flaming with electrical fire in one hand and with the other, supporting a celestial crown, sparkling over a pair of living turtle doves, on a little bed of roses.
The other elegant group of figures which sport on the top of the dome, having each of them musical instruments in their hands, which by the most expensive mechanism, breathe forth sound corresponding to their instruments, flutes, guitars, violins, clarinets, trumpets, horns, oboes, kettle drums, etc.
The post or pillars too, which support the grand dome are groups of musical instruments, golden pipes, etc., which in sweet concert breathe forth celestial sounds, lulling the visions of Elysian joys.
At the head of the bed appears sparkling with electrical fire a great first commandment: BE FRUITFUL, MULTIPLY AND REPLENISH THE EARTH.” Under that is an elegant sweet-toned organ in front of which is a fine landscape of moving figures, priest and bride’s procession entering the Temple of Hymen.
In the Celestial Bed no feather bed is employed but sometimes mattresses filled with sweet new wheat or oat straw mingled with balm, rose leaves, lavender flowers and oriental spices. The sheets are of the richest and softest silk, stained colour, sky blue, white and purple, and are sweetly perfumed in oriental manner with the tudor rose, or with rich gums or balsams.
The chief principle of my Celestial Bed is produced by artificial lodestones. About 15 cwt. of compound magnets are continually pouring forth in an ever flowing circle.
The bed is constructed with a double frame, which moves on an axis or pivot and can be converted into an inclined plane.
Sometimes the mattresses are filled with the strongest, most springy hair, produced at vast expense from the tails of English stallions which are elastic to the highest degree.”
The Temple of Health quickly became one of the sights of London which all the fashionable world must visit, if only out of curiosity. And to be on display there was to invite the attention of men in search of a mistress -- or ladies in search of excitement and stimulation.
In our next installment: Thy Rod and thy staff...they tingle me.