Her dream of dissipation o'er,
The bubble pleasure charms no more;
The spell dissolv'd--broken the chain,
Reason too late resumes her reign.--
In vain the tear and contrite sigh,
In vain the poignant agony.--
Henceforth--thy portion is despair,
Remorse, and deep corroding care;
Misery!--to madness near allied,
And ignominious suicide,
Thy minion's meed, by law's decree,
Is death--a death of infamy!--E.
[Illustration: MARRIAGE A LA MODE. PLATE V.]
Our exasperated Peer, suspecting his wife's infidelity, follows her
in disguise to the masquerade, and from thence traces these two
votaries of vice to a bagnio. Finding they are retired to a bedroom,
he bursts open the door, and attacks the spoiler of his honour with
a drawn sword. Too much irritated to be prudent, and too violent to
be cautious, he thinks only of revenge; and, making a furious thrust
at the Counsellor, neglects his own guard, and is mortally wounded.
The miscreant who had basely destroyed his peace and deprived him of
life is not bold enough to meet the consequences. Destitute of that
courage which is the companion of virtue, and possessing no spark of
that honour which ought to distinguish the gentleman; dreading the
avenging hand of offended justice, he makes a mean and precipitate
retreat. Leaving him to the fate which awaits him, let us return to
the deluded Countess. Feeling some pangs from a recollection of her
former conduct, some touches of shame at her detection, and a degree
of horror at the fate of her husband, she kneels at his feet, and
entreats forgiveness.
"Some contrite tears she shed."
There is reason to fear that they flow from regret at the detection
rather than remorse for the crime; a woman vitiated in the vortex
of dissipation is not likely to feel that ingenuous shame which
accompanies a good mind torn by the consciousness of having deviated
from the path of virtue.
Alarmed at the noise occasioned by this fatal _rencontre_, the
inmates of the brothel called a watchman: accompanied by a constable,
this nocturnal guardian is ushered into the room by the master
of the house, whose meagre and trembling figure is well opposed to
the consequential magistrate of the night. The watchman's lantern we
see over their heads, but the bearer knows his duty is to follow his
superiors; conscious that though the front may be a post of honour,
yet in a service of danger the rear is a station of safety.
Immediately over the door is a picture of St. Luke; this venerable
apostle being a painter, is so delineated that he seems looking at
the scene now passing, and either making a sketch or a record of the
transaction. On the hangings is a lively representation of Solomon's
wise judgment.[20] The countenance of the sapient monarch is not
sagacious, but his attitude is in an eminent degree dignified,
and his air commanding and regal. He really looks like a tyrant in
old tapestry; and the arm of a chair is ornamented by a carving
fraught with that terrific grace peculiar to the ancient masters. We
cannot say that the Hebrew women who attend for judgment are either
comely or fair to look upon. Were not the scene laid in Jerusalem,
they might pass for two of the silver-toned Naiades of our own
Billingsgate.
The grisly guards, with faces all awry,
Like Herod's hang-dogs in old tapestry:
Each man an Askapart, with strength to toss
For quoits, both Temple-bar and Charing-cross.
The grisly guards have a most rueful and tremendous appearance. The
attractive portrait of a Drury Lane Diana,[21] with a butcher's
steel in one hand and a squirrel perched on the other, is hung in
such a situation that the Herculean pedestals of a Jewish soldier may
be supposed to be a delineation of her legs continued below the frame.
Our Counsellor's mask lies on the floor, and grins horribly, as if
conscious of the fatal catastrophe. Dominoes, shoes, etc., scattered
around the room, show the negligence of the ill-fated Countess,
unattended by her _femme de chambre_. From a faggot and the shadow of
a pair of tongs, we may infer that there is a fire in the room.[22] A
bill near them implies that this elegant apartment is at the Turk's
Head bagnio.
The dying agony of the Earl (whose face is evidently retouched
by Hogarth), the eager entreaty of the Countess, the terror of
mine host, and the vulgar inflected dignity of Mr. Constable, are
admirably discriminated.
I have stated in the former editions that the background of this
plate was engraved by Ravenet's wife, but am since informed by Mr.
Charles Grignion, the engraver, that this is a mistake. See vol. iii.
of this work.