Behold how Vice her votary rewards,
After a night of folly, frolic, cards,
The phantom pleasure flies,--and in its place
Comes deep remorse and torturing disgrace,
Corroding care, and self-accusing shame,
A ruin'd fortune, and a blighted fame.--E.
[Illustration: MARRIAGE A LA MODE. PLATE II.]
Wearied, languid, and spiritless from the dissipations of the night,
with his sword broken in a riotous frolic, the modish Viscount
comes home at noon, and finds his lady just arisen, and seated _en
déshabillé_ at her matin meal. From the melancholy cast of his
countenance, and both hands being in his pockets, we may infer that
he has been unsuccessful at the gaming-table. A cap and riband,
which hang out of his coat pocket, lead us to suppose that part of
his night has been passed in the company of a female; and from the
attention a dog pays to the cap, we are led to suspect that he may
have originally belonged to the lady who is its proprietor.
The Viscountess[5] has been contemplating her face in a
pocket-mirror, and is scarcely recovered from the fatigue of a rout,
which by the cards, instruments, and music book on the floor, we
conclude to have been the preceding night's amusement.[6]
An ungartered servant, who is yawning in the background, pays little
attention to his master or mistress, and is totally regardless of a
chair, which is in great danger from the blaze of an expiring candle;
this, with those left burning in the sockets since the conclusion
of their nocturnal revelry, must give a pleasing perfume to the
breakfast-room.
The old steward's attitude and countenance clearly indicate that
he foresees the gulf into which an united torrent of dissipation
will inevitably plunge this infatuated pair. He has brought a great
number of bills for payment: to one, and only one, is a receipt,
which, being dated January 4, 1744, determines the time when vulgar
tradesmen are extremely troublesome to men of rank.
Of the paintings in this stately saloon, that of which we see only
a part is properly concealed by a curtain. The four cartoons, very
judiciously placed in the same line, are, I believe, intended for the
four evangelists. Next to that which is opposite the chandelier is a
faint representation of another picture. The lines are ambiguous, but
seem intended to represent a ship in a storm: a very proper emblem of
the wreck which is likely to succeed the negligence and dissipation
of this noble family. A marble head, in a cut wig, perhaps intended
for one of the Cæsars, with the nose broken, to show that it is a
genuine antique, decorates the centre of the chimney-piece. In most
of the other grotesque and fantastic ornaments,
"Gay china's unsubstantial forms supply
The place of beauty, strength, simplicity;
Each varied colour of the brightest hue,
The green, the red, the yellow, and the blue,
In every part the dazzled eyes behold,
Here streak'd with silver, there enrich'd with gold."
A painting over the chimney-piece represents Cupid playing upon the
bagpipes. Both subject and frame prove the classical taste of the
proprietor. The ornaments round a clock are equally elegant and
peculiarly appropriate. It is encompassed by a kind of grove, with a
cat on the summit and a Chinese pagoda at the bottom. If the branches
were tenanted by the feathered tribe, it would be no more than we see
every day; it would be vulgar nature. To make it uncommonly grand,
and peculiarly magnifique, they are occupied by two fishes.[7]
The crowned chandelier, candlesticks, chairs, footstool,
chimney-piece, and grate, are evidently made from the designs of
William Kent.[8] To that fashionable architect they are indebted
for the plan of the stupendous saloon, which has an air of grandeur
and magnificence that is not often seen in Mr. Hogarth's works. It
produces such a sensation as Pope describes on seeing Timon's villa,
"Where all cry out, what sums are thrown away!"
This plate was engraved by Baron, but the old steward's face is, I
think, marked by the burin of Hogarth.