In May 1780, amidst the burgeoning crisis in the Portuguese linen trade, Achmet Borumborad, frequently referred to as Dr Achmet in contemporary sources, was invited to present his views on the matter to a committee in the Irish parliament.Footnote 1 At this juncture, Achmet had reached the zenith of his fame in Ireland. His name was ubiquitous, appearing everywhere from charity balls to parliamentary debates. Aided by the British ambassador to Spain, Lord Grantham, Achmet had engaged in the profitable linen trade for some time.Footnote 2 In a letter to Grantham, Achmet discussed his good fortune as a foreigner, who, he wrote, enjoyed the utmost favour from Dublin's high society.Footnote 3 Nearly 100 years later, however, Achmet had become a cautionary tale, used to illustrate allegations of Irish gullibility: ‘The best way to know what would happen if they had Home Rule’, Robert Lowe (d. 1892), 1st Viscount Sherbrooke said to criticise its proponents, ‘is to consider what did happen when they had Home Rule, and if you can spare me so much time, I will tell you a story which will illustrate what I say … There was a certain Turk came to Dublin named Achmet …’Footnote 4
In the 1760s, Achmet Borumborad, presenting himself as a doctor fleeing political persecution in Istanbul, became a prominent fixture in Dublin.Footnote 5 His mastery of English, his lavish attire and his practice of offering free treatments to the poor made him extremely popular.Footnote 6 This article posits that Borumborad's warm reception in the city was not solely due to his charismatic personality but was also reflective of the prevailing zeitgeist as the waning power of the Ottoman Empire coincided with a growing European fascination with Turkish culture and oriental fashion, collectively known as Turquerie. In this epoch, the Ottoman state was still a respected force, albeit not powerful enough to pose a significant threat to the western world.Footnote 7 Consequently, Achmet was welcomed in Dublin as a representative of this fading empire and evoked a blend of curiosity and admiration. Though his fortunes and influence were short-lived, Borumborad's story has continued to captivate the public imagination, even finding its way into James Joyce's Finnegans wake.Footnote 8
The Turquerie movement, which began in the sixteenth century and lasted until the end of the eighteenth, continues to garner the attention of art and architectural historians, primarily due to its rich visual aspects. Recent scholarly works have considerably enhanced our understanding of the influence of Turkish fashion on Europe's elite by elucidating the complex interplay between Turquerie, representation, and power.Footnote 9 Despite recent advancements, however, an important aspect of this subject remains underexplored: the relevance of Turquerie to the common people. The existence of taverns and inns with names incorporating the term ‘Turk’ in remote areas of eighteenth-century Ireland suggests that Turkish fashion also held a certain significance for the general public at that time.Footnote 10 However, the nature and meaning of this confluence remain unexamined even with its very existence overlooked. In this context, Achmet Borumborad's extraordinary career provides valuable insights into both eighteenth-century Dublin and the broader influence of Turkish fashion during this period.
This study also aims to contextualise Achmet's biography, which has long been enshrouded in speculation. Existing explanations, including academic writings, have depicted his story comically, often in the context of nineteenth-century satire. However, the distinct and more compelling narrative uncovered here illuminates societal perceptions and the interplay of identity and cultural exchange in eighteenth-century Ireland. To this end, the article begins by concentrating on Dublin, whose historical transformations shaped the contours of Achmet's narrative. It then explores Achmet's ascent to prominence and the establishment of his successful bathhouse, his associations with the Irish aristocracy and his strategies for ingratiating himself with the elite. In following the factors contributing to his downfall, including his entanglements and unforeseen rivalries, this article challenges conventional explanations and offers an alternative interpretation of his true persona. By situating Achmet's life story within the broader sociocultural setting of early modern Europe, this article demonstrates that his biography exemplifies a not-so-unusual trend of this time.
I
In the mid eighteenth century, Dublin stood out as an anomaly among Europe's major cities. Its population burgeoned to approximately 125,000 by 1750, likely doubling from fifty years earlier. Surpassing Madrid and Berlin in size, Dublin was distinctive: it was not the capital of an independent state or empire. As a major urban centre within the British colonial structure, Dublin's character was shaped more by its cultural and economic vibrancy than by political sovereignty.Footnote 11 This unique position, greatly influenced by the Protestant ascendancy, carved out a distinctive path for Dublin's urban and social evolution.
The years before and after Achmet's appearance on the scene witnessed the emergence of influential institutions such as the Dublin Philosophical Society in 1683, the Dublin Society in 1731 (Royal Dublin Society from 1820) and the Royal Irish Academy in 1785.Footnote 12 These societies were intricately interwoven with the prevailing ‘improvement’ culture of the time, a concept that originated in seventeenth-century England, and emphasised gradual, wealth-driven progress.Footnote 13 The Georgian architectural style, characterised by its hallmark symmetry, classical proportions and elegance, graced both public buildings and leisure spaces.Footnote 14 Notable constructions such as Leinster House (now the seat of the Irish parliament) and the new additions to Trinity College, Dublin paralleled the growth of theatres, pleasure gardens and public houses.Footnote 15 These developments transformed areas such as Sackville Street (present-day O'Connell Street) and turned them into vibrant hubs of social and commercial activity.Footnote 16 Within this framework of growth and metamorphosis, Achmet's emergence in the 1760s was far from coincidental. Dublin, in its vibrancy, provided the perfect setting for his appearance. Two principal factors, particularly discernible in Dublin and possibly emblematic of larger western urban centres of the time, were instrumental in facilitating Achmet's rapid acceptance and ensuing meteoric rise. The first was the commercialisation of leisure, a phenomenon vividly documented in the newspapers from the period preceding Achmet's arrival. J. H. Plumb has considered this phenomenon, noting its various forms, with music and theatre at the forefront.Footnote 17 Indeed, musical organisations were significant in both the inception and the progression of Achmet's career. The high-profile social events he organised, such as masquerade balls and assemblies, where music was a major component, were fundamental to his strategy throughout his career. Equally vital was the role of theatre.Footnote 18 Achmet's marriage to an actress active in Dublin's theatre scene, followed by his involvement in theatre management, revealed his strategic approach to and profound understanding of Dublin's evolving social landscape in the 1760s and 1770s.
A second factor vital to Achmet's rise pertained to the latitude that Dublin in the eighteenth century extended to personalities on the periphery of the medical profession. In stark contrast to the stringent regulations governing the medical profession in the German states and France, in Britain and Ireland, the law and government predominantly adhered to the laissez-faire principle of caveat emptor (let the buyer beware).Footnote 19 Although the professionalisation of medicine was gradually evolving during this time, it was a protracted process. This atmosphere provided individuals without formal training, such as Achmet, ample opportunities to operate freely. Achmet, as we will illustrate, skilfully capitalised on this societal openness and his ‘miraculous cures’, that were extensively reported in the press, attracted attention from all social strata.
II
Achmet first appears in the records in May 1769. A deed dated 1 May 1769 identifies him as a grantor in a mortgage for a development project around St Patrick's Well in present-day Finglas, County Dublin.Footnote 20 This, alongside other contemporaneous accounts, indicates his involvement as a ‘Doctor of Physick’ in the installation of a water pump system in the region.Footnote 21 In the same year, he also authored a treatise on the therapeutic properties of the waters of St Patrick's spring, particularly for the treatment of scurvy.Footnote 22 Furthermore, a document dated 9 September 1769 details his connection to another mortgage agreement for the same well, this time incorporating plans for a ‘Ballroom and Baths’.Footnote 23
Contemporary newspapers, on the other hand, offer insights into what might be described as the social dimension of Achmet's presence in 1769. An article from Freeman's Journal reported that a musical event was scheduled for 23 October in Finglas, organised to benefit Dr Achmet.Footnote 24 The event featured a short opera titled Paoli, composed by Mr Claget specifically for this occasion, with the proceeds designated for Achmet.Footnote 25 While archival and newspaper sources do not elucidate the specifics of his arrival and settlement in Ireland, the organisation of such an event indicates that he must have been residing in the Dublin area for some time.
Probably emboldened by the success of Paoli's staging, Achmet sought to organise a masquerade ball (a popular type of entertainment at the time) in March 1770 at the Great Music Hall in central Dublin, a popular venue where Handel's Messiah oratorio had premiered. The newspapers noted that ‘Dr Achmet will attend in person to return thanks to all such ladies and gentlemen as will honour him with his presence’.Footnote 26 It was common for private individuals to arrange such events for considerable financial returns.Footnote 27 However, at the last minute, with musicians arranged and tickets sold, permission for the ball was revoked.Footnote 28 While balls in Dublin were occasionally banned for moral reasons, the specific language used in this case signifies that the cancellation stemmed from concerns regarding Achmet.Footnote 29 Officials described him as a ‘strange imposter’ (strange here signifying a ‘foreigner’).Footnote 30 Clearly, there were doubts about his medical practice or even his true identity among certain circles. Nevertheless, as will be revealed, this setback did not impede Achmet's progress.
In January 1771, a letter authored under the pseudonym ‘Philophysicus’ was featured on the first page of Freeman's Journal.Footnote 31 The anonymous author discussed the health benefits of bathing by referencing classical thinkers like Cicero and Hippocrates. Interestingly, the text highlighted two people who would considerably impact Achmet's life, the first being Charles Lucas (d. 1771), a distinguished physician and politician.Footnote 32 Lucas had written a treatise in 1756 titled An essay on waters in three parts, emphasising the therapeutic use of water. In 1772, shortly following Lucas's death, Achmet reprinted this pamphlet, with his own addendum. This publication played a crucial role in cementing Achmet's authority as a ‘physician’ in the city. The second notable reference in the 1771 letter was to Bartholomew Dominiceti, another so-called doctor who, just like Achmet, was compelled to leave his homeland. Dominiceti arrived in England from Italy in the 1750s and established successful baths in Chelsea in 1765. His influence on Achmet's professional journey will be discussed later.
Towards the text's conclusion, Philophysicus introduced the subject of a foreigner in Finglas who achieved extraordinary feats through his bathing practices. The author's language was arresting, replete with religious allusions. For example, referring to Achmet, the author declared that ‘he pitched his tent among us’. While the use of the term ‘tent’ may be interpreted metaphorically as a reflection of Achmet's alleged Turkish heritage, the phrasing itself constitutes a direct quote from the Gospel of John.Footnote 33 He professed immense admiration for Achmet and after a thorough analysis of his brilliance and the remarkable remedies he provided in Finglas, he implored Achmet to establish his baths in Dublin as a ‘public service’. He suggested the implementation of a ‘general subscription.’ Philophysicus composed two additional letters elaborating on the same topic in quick succession.Footnote 34 His proficiency in language and use of Latin expressions suggests a formal education. During this period, Europe was beginning to show a growing enthusiasm for Turkish baths, driven by an increased focus on personal hygiene and a fascination with exotic cultures.Footnote 35 These letters capture this unique historical moment and its social and cultural dynamics.Footnote 36 With their eloquent prose and vivid descriptions, the author effectively conveyed the allure of Turkish baths and their potential impact on the Irish public.
Approximately two months after Philophysicus's first letter, on 23 April 1771, a proposal was printed in the same newspaper.Footnote 37 This included a detailed description of the recommended construction of a bathhouse in Dublin. The document bore the signatures of fifty of Ireland's most respected doctors and surgeons at the time, including John Curry (d. 1780), Francis Hutcheson (d. 1784) and Charles Lucas (d. 1771).Footnote 38 The physicians declared their belief that Achmet was the right person to undertake the project. This proposal was featured in nearly every issue of the newspaper until 18 May. A thank-you letter from Achmet was attached to the main text in the 7 May issue and in subsequent editions.Footnote 39 These announcements became so influential that the Irish parliament ultimately decided to subsidise the project.Footnote 40 On 21 August, a price list for the patrons was established and Achmet's bathhouse commenced service to the Dublin public.Footnote 41
III
The project's rapid garnering of such support is remarkable and the question of how Achmet convinced these distinguished figures certainly deserves some reflection. His benefactors extended beyond doctors and surgeons. Even the duke of Leinster (Lord Kildare), one of the most illustrious names in the Anglo-Irish aristocracy, presented a petition to parliament in 1774 requesting financial aid for ‘Achmet Borumbadad’.Footnote 42 The viceroy also partook in charity balls organised to benefit the bathhouse on multiple occasions. Sir Jonah Barrington, a student at Trinity College, Dublin during those years, discusses Achmet's ability to maintain a delicate balance: ‘A submissive Turk would have been out of character, and a haughty one excluded from society: the Doctor was aware of this, and regulated his demeanour with remarkable skill upon all occasions (and they were numerous) whereon (as a lion) he was invited to the tables of the great.’ Footnote 43 Additionally, the first masquerade ball that Achmet attempted to organise in the city included a note stating: ‘by particular desire of several persons of distinction’.Footnote 44 Clearly, Achmet's adeptness at cultivating relationships and leveraging connections played a pivotal role in driving his bathhouse project to success.
By a fortunate coincidence, extant documents provide important clues into Achmet's modus operandi. For example, in a letter dated 8 March 1773, the second Baron Grantham (Thomas Robinson), writing to his sister from Madrid where he was serving as an ambassador, expressed his astonishment at receiving salted meat from Ireland sent by someone named Dr Achmet, whom he had never encountered before.Footnote 45 Following Grantham's amicable response, Achmet capitalised on the opportunity to fortify this acquaintance by dispatching a variety of items, including dried meat, magazines, books (such as The history of the decline and fall of the Roman Empire and the political polemic The rights of the British colonies asserted and proved) and gossip.Footnote 46 As his rapport with Grantham deepened, Achmet, who had begun to export poplin to Spain with Grantham's assistance, started making demands.Footnote 47 On 2 October 1777, for instance, he requested Grantham's help to obtain permission from the king of Spain for the transportation of a pair of Spanish horses to Cork, intended as a gift for his Irish benefactors, the duke of Leinster and his wife.Footnote 48 Similarly, he implored Grantham to employ his influence in Ireland to aid him in numerous affairs, such as asking Grantham to assist him by using his influence with the lord lieutenant.Footnote 49 Grantham politely declined these appeals, and their correspondence came to an abrupt end in 1780 when he ceased responding to Achmet's letters.Footnote 50
It is evident that Achmet worked hard to foster friendly relationships with the city's elite. Several sources mention a silver medallion that Achmet presented to John Beresford (d. 1805), who was often dubbed the ‘King of Ireland’ due to his extensive political influence.Footnote 51 This medallion was intended as a token of Achmet's gratitude for the assistance he had received from him.Footnote 52 If the testimony of Sir Jonah Barrington is to be considered credible, it appears that Achmet attracted significant interest among women as well. Notably, he garnered attention from Countess Brandon, a distinguished figure of the era.Footnote 53 During this time, Achmet was also appointed as the Dublin secretary for the Humane Society, an organisation established in London in 1774 with the aim of resuscitating drowning victims: at one point, meetings were held at the bathhouse.Footnote 54 This strategic move allowed him to associate with members of the Irish aristocracy, including the aforementioned duke of Leinster. (In a peculiar twist of fate, an incident in February 1781 involved a woman attempting suicide by immersing herself in the waters of Achmet's bathhouse who was resuscitated through medical intervention — perhaps the teachings of the society were influential).Footnote 55 Furthermore, Achmet's name frequently appeared among the subscribers in prestigious publications of that period.Footnote 56 As indicated by some contemporary paintings, he also closely monitored the meetings of the Irish parliament and developed friendships within governmental circles.Footnote 57
It is not, of course, surprising that Achmet's swift ascent engendered criticism and adversaries. In 1772, pricing issues arose, with complaints about Achmet charging ten shillings for entry to the baths and one night's stay in the hotel.Footnote 58 At a Bath Committee meeting, it was determined that this fee was reasonable. Achmet, on the other hand, pledged to make new additions and expansions to the bathhouse on this occasion. His shrewd business acumen is evident in his strategy of marketing the baths as either ‘poor baths’ or ‘royal baths’ as per the prevailing demand, successfully attracting both wealthy and underprivileged clientele.Footnote 59 City gossip mills also frequently targeted Achmet, often with accusations more humorous than serious. For instance, one rumour alleged that he attempted to drown members of parliament who opposed the construction of baths — a topic that will be discussed in more detail later.Footnote 60 However, more serious accusations likely troubled him. Among these, one can cite allegations suggesting that before arriving in Ireland, Achmet had killed Christians in Istanbul's Yedikule Fortress.Footnote 61 Early in 1773, another charge surfaced, which asserted that Achmet was Jewish ‘by profession and principle’. While Ireland did not experience as intense anti-Semitism as the Rhine countries, this claim was perceived as a grave attack by Achmet's friends, who sought to refute it by highlighting his generosity and benevolence.Footnote 62
Between 1776 and 1781, Achmet's influence reached its zenith, as evidenced by his presence in parliamentary debates and social events. During a debate in parliament in 1776, a speaker recommended that the opposing member took a bath at Dr Achmet's bathhouse, citing its calming effects.Footnote 63 In a publication of 1781, the curative qualities of the Finglas spa were conveyed as being ‘Particularly recommended by Dr Achmet’. Footnote 64 He also seems to have taken an interest in acting, making appearances on stage in certain theatrical productions, notably portraying the ‘sultan’ in 1780.Footnote 65 One can easily imagine the intrigue generated by a well-known individual like Achmet playing the role of the Grand Seigneur. Possibly, the experience and encouragement obtained from these performances led him to venture into theatre management in the subsequent years. It should be noted that in 1785, he also made a sensational marriage to Catherine Ann Egan, a theatre actress.Footnote 66 From this point onwards, Egan appeared in numerous plays and shows under the name Mrs Achmet.
During this period, Achmet compiled a collection of patient analyses titled Report of the cases in serialised form, which was later printed as a book.Footnote 67 Achmet's anthology of sixty-one cases has been historically invaluable, and provided useful revelations into the health and social dynamics of eighteenth-century Dublin.Footnote 68 The selected cases, drawn from among 1,900 testimonies, generally adhere to a consistent format: the patient's name, address, referral to Achmet, and, notably, their recovery. Some bordered on the miraculous, like a person completely paralysed and deemed hopeless by hospitals, who regained their health after using the baths. As this compilation illustrates, Achmet was among the pioneers in adopting a customer satisfaction-oriented approach, a strategy that many medical professionals would later emulate to increase patient numbers with a blend of authentic and embellished testimonies.Footnote 69 Furthermore, these cases contributed to establishing Achmet's persona as a servant of the people. He never missed an opportunity to emphasise that his baths, and of course, he, served the public.Footnote 70 This approach was likely vital in securing continued financial support from the Irish parliament.
IV
Retrospectively, 1782 emerges as a critical juncture in Achmet's life — a turning point. The articles written about him, the charity balls organised for the bathhouse, and the letters Achmet penned in newspapers all ceased. This abrupt end to his public activities raises the question: what happened in this fateful year? Sir Jonah Barrington, a key source of information and interest about Achmet in following years, offers a somewhat unusual explanation. According to Barrington, Achmet customarily organised lavish parties in his bathhouse for members of the Irish parliament. These gatherings, replete with Irish singers and alcohol, took place shortly before Achmet's requests for assistance. Consequently, this would ensure that members of the parliament were more amenable to the bathhouse's expansion plans and providing funding.Footnote 71
Barrington's account indeed fits the known profile of Achmet, who was ever keen to exploit social occasions to further his business interests. According to Barrington, however, the final gathering was marred by unfortunate events. As per custom, around thirty MPs and prominent citizens were invited to Achmet's bathhouse for a night of revelry. As the evening progressed, the more reserved attendees gradually departed for their homes and left the younger or more spirited guests to continue the festivities. At one point, Achmet went to the cellar to retrieve several bottles of wine. During his absence, one of the older guests, Sir John S. Hamilton, seized the opportunity to discreetly exit the meeting room and head toward the door. However, due to the night's darkness and the advanced hour, he inadvertently ended up not outside, but in one of the bathhouse's cold-water pools.
Barrington recounts that the evening ended abruptly when others, trying to rescue Sir John, similarly fell into the pool. Consequently, the parliamentarians found themselves compelled to return home wearing ‘Turkish’ attire supplied by Achmet. Despite Achmet's efforts to make amends for the incident, the M.P.s were ridiculed throughout the city. Following this episode, no one in parliament could even broach the subject of assisting Achmet, leading to the deterioration of his business. Later, Achmet fell in love with a woman known as Miss Hartigan and found himself compelled to reveal his identity. In the climax of Barrington's vivid tale, it is disclosed that Achmet was actually an Irishman called Patrick Joyce, hailing from Kilkenny.
This outlandish tale has been accepted as factual with little scrutiny for almost two centuries and remains cited as the reason for Achmet's downfall.Footnote 72 Notably, the Dictionary of Irish biography also concludes Achmet's life in this vein, and gives Patrick Joyce as his real name.Footnote 73 However, upon a more detailed examination, gaps in this narrative are evident. Firstly, there is no record of an Irish M.P. called Sir John S. Hamilton during that time.Footnote 74 This discrepancy alone should have cast doubts on the story's veracity. The name Patrick Joyce, alleged to be Achmet's real name, is also rather generic. However, there are additional issues indicating that Barrington's version substantially diverges from reality. For example, even though the charity balls for Achmet's benefit ceased abruptly after 1782, his name still appeared, albeit infrequently, in contemporary sources. In June 1784, when a woman, referred to as Sally, collapsed in the street, bystanders attempted to transport her to Achmet's bathhouse. However, she died en route before the arrival of the ‘doctor’.Footnote 75 A 1785 article mockingly criticised Achmet for popularising beards among Dublin's men.Footnote 76 In 1789, a news story circulated claiming that Mrs Achmet has been discovered as a baby in a basket in Dublin by Dr Achmet, who then raised her.Footnote 77
By 1789, it is certain that Achmet's bathhouse had closed. This is evidenced by a newspaper article about the construction of a new bridge, describing the planned location as ‘near where Doctor Achmet formerly held his bath’.Footnote 78 Nevertheless, Achmet remained an active citizen in Dublin. A year later, in 1790, a Dublin man, for instance, paid tribute to Achmet in a lengthy poem.Footnote 79 Then, in 1791, an article reviewing the failure of Sir Vere Hunt's theatre in Waterford revealed that Mrs Achmet played the lead role on stage and hinted at rumours of Dr Achmet's involvement in the theatre's management.Footnote 80
Thus, it is evident that Achmet did not vanish from public life after embracing his Irish persona and marrying a Miss Hartigan. Considering his ability to collaborate with aristocratic names such as Baron Vere Hunt, or even the plausibility of such collaborations, Dr Achmet's name must have retained some respectability among certain circles.Footnote 81 Therefore, Barrington's amusing anecdote about Dr Achmet should be interpreted as a satire of the Irish parliament. This explanation is consistent with Barrington's broader narrative of the English administration's failure on the island.Footnote 82 Indeed, the tale of Achmet and his bathhouse has long been utilised to discredit the Irish parliament.Footnote 83 In other words, historians who accept Barrington's tale at face value may overlook the actual intent behind this chronicle.
If we set aside Barrington's version as fictitious, or exaggerated in parts, the obvious question is what transpired in 1782 that led to Achmet losing political backing? Here we return to Bartholomew Dominiceti, owner of a Turkish bathhouse in London. Dominiceti, even more elusive than Achmet, has received scant attention from academics with his writings being largely unnoticed. Like Achmet, Dominiceti's name occasionally surfaces in the archives. For instance, he was implicated in a fraud case in 1779 at the Old Bailey but was subsequently acquitted.Footnote 84 Contemporary newspaper references to him show that he was a prominent character of his time. Exploring Dominiceti's life and work, in fact, uncovers meaningful connections to Achmet and provides clues about the events of 1782.
In late 1781, Dominiceti published his Medical anecdotes of the last thirty years, a recounting of individuals and events from his medical career.Footnote 85 On page 506, he included a copy of a business proposal extended to him by none other than Achmet. The letter and Dominiceti's accompanying commentary are both highly intriguing. In the correspondence, dated 23 October 1770, Achmet proposed a partnership with Dominiceti in a bathhouse he hoped to establish in Dublin. It is important to remember that at this juncture Achmet had not yet secured the patronage of Irish doctors and surgeons. According to Dominiceti, Achmet had reiterated this partnership proposal several times by various methods. However, he dismissed each offer with ‘deserved disdain’ and declared that it was impossible for him to collaborate with someone ‘of that character’. Describing Achmet as an Irish imposter who could only masquerade as a Turk ‘among fools’, he condemned the financial aid the Irish parliament provided to Achmet's bathhouse. Dominiceti, not failing to mention that he had never received such favours himself, concluded his narrative with a quote attributed to Italian Cardinal Oliviero Carafa: si populus vult decipi, decipiatur (if people wish to be deceived, let them be deceived).
Despite his own conclusion, however, Dominiceti had no intention of leaving those who wished to be deceived alone. Shortly after the book's publication, on 14 January 1782, he released a comprehensive twenty-eight-page open letter to the House of Commons. This text is a good summary of Dominiceti's career: similar to Achmet, he initially settled in a suburban area — Bristol. In a manner similar to Achmet, he established relationships with the prominent figures of that time. For instance, he asserted that the duke of York financially supported his baths. However, the untimely death of the duke left Dominiceti without a benefactor. There is no doubt that this is the reason for his resentment and attacks against Achmet. While Achmet, employing the medical devices for which Dominiceti held patents, secured the patronage of the Irish parliament with a subpar imitation of his baths, Dominiceti received no help from the British parliament.Footnote 86 Within this extensive description of his projects, Dominiceti sought funding from the House of Commons once more, using Achmet as an exemplar and reiterating the accusations made in his first book. This letter reveals a new detail. In 1766, Achmet resided in Chelsea, close to Dominiceti's residence. At that time, despite his pronounced Irish accent, he had donned ‘Eastern attire’ and professed to be a Turkish doctor called Achmet.Footnote 87
It is easy to guess that these charges became a source of annoyance for both Achmet and the members of the Irish parliament. Beyond political issues, claims of irregularity such as these contributed to the dissolution of the Irish parliament and ultimately led to the acts of union in 1800 (and, as we have seen, allegations of the gullibility of the Irish in accepting Achmet as a Turk were to be employed as an argument against self-government for years to come).Footnote 88 In other words, it was following the publication of Dominiceti's letter (and not due to an incident involving M.P.s falling into Achmet's pool) that support for both the bathhouse and its owner was completely withdrawn. Interestingly, evidence suggests that the Dublin elite were aware from the beginning that Achmet was, in fact, an Irishman. Francis Andrews (d. 1774), the provost of Trinity College Dublin, referred to him as ‘an Irish Hercules in Turkish disguise’ in a letter to Baron Grantham dated May 1773.Footnote 89 In another letter penned two months later, Andrews again described Achmet as ‘a tall, handsome Irishman’.Footnote 90 For at least some Dubliners, there was no mystery whatsoever regarding Achmet's real identity.
V
A further document from 1782 unveils another fascinating aspect of Achmet's life. In that year, a Belfast merchant, William Gregg, left his estate, Parkmount in County Antrim, to Achmet Borumborad, with the condition that Achmet change his name to William Gregg.Footnote 91 The peculiarity and unexpectedness of this document suggest that there was a crucial reason behind this bequest. Parkmount, encompassing nearly 3,000 hectares, was one of the most valuable farms in the region.Footnote 92 That Achmet retained his own name and stayed in Dublin is surprising when we consider the substantial inheritance offered. It is equally surprising that William Gregg, a prominent figure in the region, would bequeath such an inheritance to a ‘foreigner’ like Achmet. This episode prompts further questions. After William Gregg's demise, the property was instead inherited by his nephew, Nathaniel Cairns, who was the son of Gregg's sister, Agnes. Nathaniel's father, William Cairns, originated from a distinguished Ulster-Scots family.While the exact date of their marriage is unknown, it likely took place before Nathaniel's birth in 1759. Agnes died in 1785.Footnote 93
Meanwhile, a biographical sketch of the young theatre actress, Mrs Achmet, in 1788, reveals a troubled family history. The daughter of a Kilkenny surgeon (who had apparently spent time on the coast of Africa and in the West Indies) and a Dublin woman, Miss O'Neil, Catherine Ann Egan was impoverished after her father's death, but had embarked on a successful career, and had met and married Dr Achmet. It is implied that their cultural differences caused difficulties, not least about whether the couple were legally married (it being a ‘mixed’ marriage), having first married before a Catholic priest — allegedly, Catherine converted to the Church of Ireland and a second ceremony took place.Footnote 94 In 1790, Joseph Haslewood, a theatre enthusiast, wrote a two-volume work titled The secret history of the green-room, which chronicled the lives of contemporary theatre actors. Haslewood filled the book with various pieces of gossip and anecdotes, including a section dedicated to Mrs Achmet. He also gives Mrs Achmet's maiden name as Egan and says that the real name of Mrs Achmet's husband was Cairns. Haslewood portrayed Mr Cairns, born in the north of Ireland, as a man who led an adventurous life, ill-suited for settling down. Despite lacking formal medical education, Cairns practiced medicine on pirate ships, driven by his interest in pharmacy and even joined the crew of the renowned French ‘corsair’, François Thurot.Footnote 95 Curiously, some of this biography echoes that of Mrs Achmet's deceased father as given in 1788. After surviving numerous ordeals, Cairns allegedly eventually settled in London, where he had the chance to closely study the Turkish baths that were popular during that time.Footnote 96
Haslewood reported that Cairns shared his plans to establish and develop baths in Dublin with a medical doctor known as ‘Mr Jebb’. This Mr Jebb was likely to be Sir Henry Jebb (d. 1811), a distinguished physician and the future head of the Royal College of Surgeons in Ireland.Footnote 97 Jebb, appreciating the idea of establishing baths in Dublin, persuaded Cairns to adopt a Turkish persona, believing the venture would receive more encouragement if Cairns impersonated an Ottoman Turk. Thus, Cairns became known as Achmet. It should be noted that contemporary testimonies mention Sir Henry Jebb's inclination for unconventional humour.Footnote 98 Given this context, it seems quite plausible that Sir Henry Jebb was the author behind the 1771 letters to newspapers penned under the pseudonym Philophysicus, which endorsed the project. The language in these articles displays a sophistication level surpassing that of Achmet's own writing style. Additionally, it is important to note that Dr Jebb and Achmet were either friends or, at minimum, part of the same social circle during the time Achmet's baths were operational in Dublin.Footnote 99
Haslewood's account of Achmet aligns well with what we know.Footnote 100 He stated that a specific portion of the city's population, especially the upper classes, had been aware of Achmet's Irish origins from the outset. Conversely, among the majority of the townspeople, Achmet was admired as a ‘good Ottoman’. Eventually, rumours started circulating that Achmet was, in fact, an Irishman. Haslewood does not provide a specific date, but we can surmise that this shift likely occurred around 1782, around the same time with Dominiceti's publication. Consequently, the favour previously bestowed upon him dissipated, which ultimately compelled Mr Cairns to close his bathhouses due to financial difficulties.
Thus, the central question is straightforward: can we establish Mr Cairns of Haslewood as a William Cairns of the Antrim Gregg/Cairns family, and are Dr Achmet and William Cairns indeed the same man? The evidence seems suggestive. Though the original documents were lost in 1922, the 1895 list of the P.R.O. marriage licences includes one for Catherine Egan (Mrs Achmet) and William Cairns.Footnote 101 The marriage was recorded in 1785 (Egan had first performed in Dublin in late 1784), coinciding with the death of Agnes Gregg, wife of a William Cairns, sister of William Gregg, the man who sought to leave Parkmount to Dr Achmet. Furthermore, records show that Dr Achmet and his wife, Mrs Achmet, embarked on a ‘family visit’ to Belfast shortly after their wedding, which implies a connection to the region from which William Cairns originated.Footnote 102 Given this evidence, even though his exact place in the family tree is not clear we can be somewhat confident that Achmet was the William Cairns who married the actress Catherine Egan. At the time of their marriage, Achmet/William Cairns was forty-seven, while Catherine was eighteen.Footnote 103
The descendants of Agnes and her husband William Cairns, did well. One of them, Hugh Cairns (d. 1885), notably served as the Lord High Chancellor twice in Benjamin Disraeli's cabinet. Little is known about Dr Achmet's fate, after his identity was revealed by Haslewood's disclosure. His name subsequently vanished from the records. Even his date of death remains a mystery. The 1793 edition of an almanac lists a William Cairns as one of the medical personnel in the Bengal Presidency.Footnote 104 No such entry appears in the 1792 edition of the same publication.Footnote 105 Mrs Achmet, or Catherine Egan, also vanished after 1792 (there were rumours that she had ‘eloped’, at least for a while, with a Limerick baronet).Footnote 106 It is conceivable that after their identities were exposed in Ireland and Britain, the Cairns family, singly or together, pursued new opportunities internationally.
VI
We are still fascinated by cases of people passing themselves off as ‘somebody else’, and by attempts to get behind the fraud to the ‘real’ person. But Achmet/Cairns's story also offers valuable insights into the society in which he prospered. Primarily, Achmet exemplifies a type of persona that emerged during a time when people were becoming more and more aware, via newspapers and material culture, of far-flung places and products — for example, by the 1760s, advertisements for products such as Gallipoli olive oil or Turkish figs are to be found in Dublin newspapers.Footnote 107 During the eighteenth-century, the notion of the cosmopolitan ‘adventurous global citizen’ appeared with increasing frequency. Referred to by scholars as ‘trans-imperial subjects’ or ‘go-betweens’, these characters established their lives in realms beyond their native cultures. Of course, we should not forget that Achmet was not actually Turkish or Ottoman, despite his own claims. Nonetheless, it is crucial to highlight that his adventure was viable only in a world where such typologies were recognised and accepted. From figures like Humbaracı Ahmet PashaFootnote 108 to Campbell Mustafa Agha,Footnote 109 and from Hacı MustafaFootnote 110 to Sheikh Din Muhammad,Footnote 111 the eighteenth-century should be viewed as the century of these early pioneers of globalisation and Achmet's career stands as a notable example of this phenomenon.
Another key aspect of this story must be the way ‘Turkish’ personas were adopted and perceived in Europe as a form of cultural capital, in line with Pierre Bourdieu's theories.Footnote 112 Haslewood observed in his discussion about Achmet that Cairns ‘was making a fortune, and in every respect deserved that encouragement as an Irishman, which he obtained as a Turk’.Footnote 113 The concept of positive discrimination towards Ottoman citizens is so unusual that that it warrants some analysis. The transformation of the Ottomans’ image in Europe, beginning in the early eighteenth century and influenced by the Turquerie movement, has already been addressed earlier in this article. The Irish ascribed superior medical knowledge to Dr Achmet, venerating him as ‘a curer of diseases by the arts, long since deservedly exploded, of conjuration and magic’, because of his Turkish identity.Footnote 114 This seems to be a not so unusual phenomenon. In a political engraving from the Netherlands, King Louis XIV is depicted receiving treatment in his bed from his favoured Turkish doctor.Footnote 115 Undoubtedly, these early representations are connected not only to Turquerie but also to Eastern wisdom or Arab medicine.Footnote 116 They illustrate how the fascination with the exotic and the allure of the ‘other’ facilitated a unique form of cultural exchange and appreciation.
Despite the allure of Eastern medicine, the character of Achmet was a product of the Turkish fashion prevalent in Europe at that time. In 1769, the same year Achmet arrived in Ireland, an interesting coincidence took place in the world of Turquerie. This was the year that saw the debut of the mechanical chess-playing automaton known as ‘the Turk’ (Schachtürke). This device captivated audiences including Maria Theresia and triumphed over eminent figures such as Benjamin Franklin and Napoleon Bonaparte: it represented the swan song of Turquerie.Footnote 117 Although the Ottoman Empire withstood the tumultuous 1768-1774 Russo-Turkish War, the conflict signified a critical turning point in both the internal and external perceptions of the empire as it edged towards its eventual decline.Footnote 118 While European emulation of Turkish costumes persisted into the nineteenth century, these later representations were mere visual expressions rather than substantive transformations of personal identity.Footnote 119
The fluidity of identities embodied by Achmet indeed adds another layer of intrigue to his story. As mentioned earlier, there were individuals, including the provost of Trinity College, Dublin, who knew about Achmet's Irish background. Nonetheless, they appeared to have no objections to him assuming a Turkish persona. In other words, while Achmet's conduct may be deemed unusual, it was not considered out of line with the societal norms and cultural expectations of that era. Naturally, drawing sweeping conclusions from a single instance would be unwise. Nevertheless, the accepting attitude displayed by certain members of Irish public at the time suggests that, at least for some people, identities were something malleable, akin to garments that could be donned or doffed at will. A similar sentiment was also apparant in the Ottoman Empire, where an Ottoman officer lamented, around the same time, how easily identities could be altered simply by changing costumes — that non-Muslims in particular could claim to be Swedish by simply ‘wearing yellow boots and white fur caps.’.Footnote 120 This intimates that, before the emergence of rigid nation-states with strict membership criteria, individuals may have felt more comfortable selecting different affiliations, contingent on context or expediency. Therefore, Achmet's tale serves as a reminder of the level of inclusivity that existed during imperial times and offers a point of departure for deeper reflection on this subject.
In the end, however, Achmet was essentially an opportunist leveraging the Turquerie trend. Research into his account reveals that his case was far from being an isolated incident.Footnote 121 Rather, he stood among a cohort of audacious souls who, during that epoch, assumed Turkish identities in pursuit of various schemes, some of them elusive. What are we to make, for example, of the case of a man prosecuted before the Old Bailey in London in May 1787 for stealing from a person alleged to have been impersonating a Turk: ‘the Turk told him to go about his business; the prisoner told the Turk he was no Turk, that he was a beggar.’Footnote 122 During the 1780s in Dublin, we also come across Achmet ben Ali, a freemason claiming to have come from Izmir. The story of this interesting man certainly deserves a closer look.Footnote 123 In 1769 — the same year Achmet appeared in Dublin — a ‘Turk’ surfaced in Stockholm as well. He asserted himself as an envoy assigned by the Istanbul government to recover a debt owed by Charles XII of Sweden (d. 1718) from his time in exile in the Ottoman Empire.Footnote 124 Reports indicate that interpreters struggled to comprehend him, as he spoke Turkish in a ‘very heavy Egyptian dialect’.Footnote 125 This particular person, convincing enough to gain an audience with Carl Fredrik Scheffer, may have been successful in his endeavour or not. We do not know.Footnote 126 However, one thing is clear: these people, including Dr Achmet, the ‘Ottoman envoy’ in Stockholm, and many others, represent an undercharted and captivating facet of Turquerie. They serve as striking contrasts to the nobles in their Turkish masquerades and offer narratives that are potentially even more intriguing.
