Russians themselves, though they may enjoy it, think of the bania as a kind of punishment as well. The colloquialism “zadat’ baniu” (literally, “to give a bath”) means “to give it (to someone) hot,” “to let ‘em have it,” as in a reprimand. Earlier, according to Dahl’s dictionary, this expression meant “to flog” (“vysech’”), as in: “Dam baniu, chto do novykh venikov ne zabudesh’” (lit., “I’ll give you such a bath that you won’t forget it before the next veniki”).7 Elsewhere, in his collection of proverbs, Dahl provides some related expressions:
They gave him such a bath that he was scared out of his wits (or: that the very devils were sickened) (Takuiu baniu zadali, chto nebo s ovchinku pokazalos’ [ili: chto chertiam toshno stalo]).
You’ll remember (or: you won’t forget) this bath till the next veniki (Budesh’ baniu etu pomnit’ [ili: ne zabudesh’] do novykh venikov).
Don’t mention banias, for there are veniki for you as well (Ne pominai bani: est’ veniki i pro tebia).8
The last item is paradoxical. It refers to someone who lives well and has so much leisure time as to be able to take a bania often. But this person should not brag, that is, should not mention the bania, for he or she will encounter misfortune in the future as well, will be punished by veniki just as everyone else is.
The bania cleans not only the body, but the soul. That is, it removes guilt: “Bania vse grekhi smoet”9 (“The bania will wash away all sins”). Were there no pain involved in going to the bania, this would not be the case. An American hot shower does not wash away sins, but a Russian bania does. Guilt is removed by means of punishment. A bania is a handy device for periodically dealing with the chronic, low-level guilt feelings of most Russians.
“The essence of the steam bath,” says ethnographer Dmitrii Zelenin, “is to be beaten over the body with a hot venik.”10 The veniki are understood to be the chief instruments of punishment in the bania. The organ they stimulate is the skin, which becomes red with irritation. The process might be termed skin masochism of a non-erotogenic type. Apparently there is no real damage to the skin, although there are fantasies of severe damage, such as the narrations about bathhouse demons who peel away a person’s skin.11 In a hellish scene in Dostoevsky’s House of the Dead the prisoners’ scars from previous floggings turn a bright, glistening red in the bathhouse steam.12
When wet the veniki are soft and do not hurt very much. Were someone to be beaten (“steamed”) with a dry venik the pain would be much greater (“Poparit’ sukhim venikom”).13 The venik can also be personified: “Venik v bane vsekh (i tsaria) starshe” (“The venik in the bania is older than everybody, including the tsar,” i.e., is the highest authority). There is also: “Venik v bane vsem gospodin/nachal’nik,”14 literally, “The venik in the bania is everybody’s master/boss.” This expression might be used in a context where, in English, someone would say “I’m the boss here!” But the venik has its limits: “Bez pereviasla i venik rassypalsia”15 (“Without its binding the venik would fall apart”).
In Mikhail Zoshchenko’s famous 1924 short story Bania the customary veniki are never once mentioned. However, the narrator manages to “beat himself” throughout the course of the story by means of laughter. It takes an hour for him just to find a tub to use for washing himself. He then has to wash standing up, and he is so irritated by noisy, soap-splattering fellow bathers that he decides to go home to finish bathing. Upon leaving he discovers that one of his claim checks has been lost, and someone else’s trousers are returned to him. The joke is on him—or on urban Soviet bathhouses generally, which do not measure up to (fantasized) American bathhouses.16
There is a series of delightful paintings by the contemporary artist Sima Vasil’eva depicting the bania. One pair from this series is reproduced in a volume of the Biblioteka russkogo fol’klora.17 These two pictures illustrate, among many other things, contrasting attitudes toward the venik. In the first picture, titled “Ban’ka,” the interior of a normal Russian village bania is represented. The men and women inside are naked, and are flailing themselves with veniki. A woman on the roof of the bania is sitting astride a venik, about to fly off. In the other picture, titled “Alternative Bania,” sits a group of staid, fully dressed Soviet officials. Some veniki are hung up on the wall, others are being held as if they were rifles by two policemen, one on each side of the bania. The veniki connote punishment in both pictures, but whereas in the first they are instruments of an erotically charged masochism, in the second they will be wielded sadistically by the policemen against anyone who might dare approach the bania.
Digression on Russian Birches
Normally the veniki used in a bania are prepared from small branches cut from a birch tree (“bereza”). This is done in the spring when the leaves are just coming out on the twigs, and birch fragrance is at a maximum. Appropriately enough, the birch itself has connotations of punishment and pain.
The birch makes one smarter, about the rod (Bereza uma daet, o rozgakh).
Sent away to count birches, sent off to Siberia, along the great road (Uslan berezki schitat’, soslan v Sibir’, po bol’shoi doroge).
To feed somebody birch kasha, to whip (Nakormit’ kogo berezovoi kashei, postegat’).18
These expressions are as comprehensible to Russians today as they were over a century ago, when the birch switch was commonly used as a means of administering corporal punishment.19 They might be compared with the somewhat pale English verb “to birch,” that is, to whip with a birch rod. As for the “birch kasha,” it refers to the greenish mess that a venik turns into when it has been used to hit someone over and over again. The image is curiously oral, suggesting that eating is a punishment (cf. English “eat crow”). A threat to punish someone might be stated as: “You’ll find out what birch kasha tastes like” (“Uznaesh’ vkus berezovoi kashi”).20 There is also a denial that the birch is dangerous: “The birch is no threat—it rustles but can’t move” (“Bereza ne ugroza: gde stoit, tam i shumit”).21 The English equivalent might be: “All bark and no bite” (macaronic pun unintended).
The birch is of course the favorite tree of Russian peasant culture. This no doubt has something to do with the fact that various species of the birch genus (Betula) are common throughout vast stretches of European and Asian Russia. Dahl reports that, in the Saint Petersburg area, “bereza” was simply the generic term for any deciduous tree.22 In the spring the birch tree provides a tasty and healthful sap (from which a birch kvas might also be made). The birch’s freshly green branches, in addition to being cut for making bathhouse veniki, were formerly used to decorate the interior of the peasant hut. During Semik week (seventh after Easter) and on Whitsun (Troitsa) young girls would dance around a special birch tree, some of whose branches they had “curled” (“zavivali”), that is, twisted into the form of wreaths. The top branches of the tree would be bent over and tied to the ground, or two birches standing side by side might be tied together at the top. Girls who kissed through the wreaths (“kumit’sia”) were said to be friends for life. Sometimes the girls decorated the birch wreaths with flowers or ribbons and wore them on their heads. The birch might be cut down, dressed in human (usually a woman’s) clothing, and later abandoned in a rye field (to promote crop growth) or thrown into a river. Birch wreaths, too, were thrown into water in fortunetelling rituals. Birch buds were supposed to have special curative and protective powers. Mermaids (“rusalki”) might choose to live in the branches of the birch tree. Patriotic Soviet films almost invariably featured birch imagery. During the late Soviet period an early summer holiday, termed “Russkaia berezka,” was celebrated in some areas. As Russian national self-awareness intensified during the late Soviet period, birch references became common in such conservative journals as Sovetskaia Rossiia, where one could find such slogans as: “the birch is the symbol of the Russian land.”23