Part 2

"We are now at the house of the Alderman. London Bridge, which is seen through the window, shows the quarter where the people of business live. The furniture of this house does not contribute to its ornament;--everything shows niggardliness; and the dinner, which is on the table, the highest frugality. You see the tobacco-pipes set by in the corner: this, too, is a mark of great economy. Some pictures you see, upon very low subjects, to give you to understand by this choice that persons who, like the Alderman, pass their whole life in thinking of nothing but enriching themselves, generally want taste and elegance. Besides, everything here is contrasted with what you saw at the Earl's: the pride of one, and the sordidness of the other, are always equally ridiculous by the odd subjects of the pictures which are there seen; but generally in the choice of pictures, neither the analogy, taste, or agreement one with another are consulted. The broker only is advised with, who on his part consults only his own interest, of which he is much more capable of being a judge than he is of painting; like a seller of old books, who knows how to say, Here is an Elzevir Horace, or one of the Louvre edition,--and who knows all this without being acquainted with poetry, or capable of distinguishing an epigram from an epic poem. There is only one difference between a bookseller and a broker: the first has certain marks by which he knows the edition; and the other is obliged to have recourse to inspiration, which is the only way whereby he is able to judge infallibly, as he does, whether a picture is an original or no. But to return to our subject. The daughter of the Alderman, now a widow, is returned to her father. Her lover has been taken and hanged for the murder of her husband: this she has learned from the dying speech which is at her foot upon the floor. A conscience disturbed and tormented with remorse is very soon driven to despair. This woman, who by the consequence of her infidelity has destroyed her husband, her lover, her reputation, and her quiet, has nothing to lose but her life. This she does by taking laudanum. She dies. An old servant in tears makes her kiss her child, the melancholy production of an unfortunate marriage. The Alderman, more sensible of the least acquisition than of the most tragical events, takes, without emotion, a ring from the finger of his expiring daughter. The apothecary is severely reprimanding the ridiculous footman of the house who had procured the poison, the effects of which finish the catastrophe."

Thus ends this explanation; and whether it was copied from what Hogarth wrote, or, as is more probable, made up from verbal remarks which he had made at different times, it does not in any material points differ from the following description of the plates, which was published some years before the editor saw or heard of the above paper.

PLATE I.

While the proud Earl of Rollo's royal race Points to the peers his pompous parchment grace; Builds all his honours on a noble name, And on his father's deeds depends for fame; The wary citizen, with heedful eye, Inspects what's settled on posterity; Pours out the pelf by rigid avarice pil'd, To gain an empty title for his child. In vain the pomp, in vain the gold, Love cannot thus be bought and sold; Such sordid motives he disdains, Nor can be bound in Mammon's chains. With cold contempt, disgust, and deadly hate, The new-made wife regards her tawdry mate; While he, Narcissus-like, with eager gaze, Eyes those fine features which his glass displays, In his own person centres all his pride, And as his bride loves him, he loves his bride. Like Satan, whispering in the ear of Eve (By nature form'd to ruin and deceive), A black-rob'd, smooth-tongued son of Belial see, That would betray his Saviour for a fee; With base, insidious smile, and tender air, Bend o'er the inexperienc'd, thoughtless fair, Assaying by his devilish art to reach The organs of her fancy, and to teach Pernicious, wicked tenets, that would taint The pure chaste virgin or the hallowed saint; Tenets of baneful, deadly, sinful dye, That lead to shame, remorse, and infamy.--E.

It has been observed that woman, among savages, is a beast of burden; in the East, a piece of furniture; and in Europe, a spoiled child. Under the last denomination we may safely class the heroine of this history. She has all the pouting humours of a boarding-school girl. This alliance originated in her father wishing to aggrandize his family, and the sire of the Viscount wishing to clear his estate. These purposes answered, the two patriarchs troubled themselves no further. A similarity of disposition, or union of hearts, the nobleman considered as too vulgar an idea for a man of rank; and in the citizen's ledger of happiness there were no such items. Their dispositions are strongly marked by the different objects which engage their attention.

The portly nobleman, with the conscious dignity of high birth, displays his genealogical tree, the root of which is "William Duke of Normandy, and conqueror of England." The valour of his great progenitor, and the various merits of the collateral branches which dignify his pedigree, he considers as united in his own person, and therefore looks upon an alliance with his son as the acme of honour, the apex of exaltation. While he is thus glorying in the dust of which his ancestors were once compounded, the prudent citizen, who in return for it has parted with dust of a much more weighty and useful description, paying no regard to this heraldic blazonry, devotes all his attention to the marriage settlement. The haughty and supercilious Peer is absorbed in the contemplation of his illustrious ancestry, while the worshipful Alderman, regardless of the past, and considering the present as merely preparatory for the future, calculates what provision there will be for a young family. Engrossed by their favourite reflections, neither of these sagacious personages regards the want of attachment in those who are to be united as worthy a moment's consideration. To do the Viscount justice, he seems equally indifferent; for though evidently in love--it is with himself. Gazing in the mirror with delight,[1] and in an affected style displaying his gold snuff-box and glittering ring, he is quite a husband _à la mode_. The lady, very well disposed to retaliate, plays with her wedding-ring, and repays this chilling coldness with sullen contempt; her heart is not worth the Viscount's attention, and she determines to bestow it on the first suitor. An insidious lawyer, like an evil spirit ever ready to move or second a temptation, appears at her right hand. That he is an eloquent pleader, is intimated by his name, Counsellor Silvertongue: that he can make the worse appear the better cause, is only saying in other words that _he is great in the profession_. To predict that with such an advocate her virtue is in danger, would not be sufficiently expressive. His captivating tones and insinuating manners would have ensnared Lucretia.

Two dogs in a corner, coupled against their inclinations, are good emblems of the ceremony which is to pass.[2]

The ceiling of this magnificent apartment is decorated with the story of Pharaoh and his host drowned in the Red Sea. The ocean on a ceiling proves a projector's taste,[3] and attention to the costume; the sublimity of a painter is exemplified in the hero delineated with one of the attributes of Jove. This fluttering figure is probably intended for one of the Peer's high-born ancestors, and is invested with the Golden Fleece and some other foreign orders. To give him still greater dignity, he is in the character of Jupiter; while one hand holds up an ample robe, the other grasps a thunderbolt. A comet is taking its rapid course over his head; and in one corner of the picture two of the family of Boreas are judiciously blowing contrary ways. To some such supernatural cause we must attribute the drapery and long peruke flying in opposite directions. Immediately before him a cannon is represented in the moment of explosion: to leave the spectator no doubt of its being intended for serious business, and not as a mere _feu-de-joie_, the ball is seen in its progress. All this is ridiculous enough, but not an iota more absurd than many of the French portraits which Hogarth evidently intended to burlesque by this parody.[4] Their painters have mistaken extravagance for spirit, and violence for freedom. Fine as are many of their engravings, they frequently give us lines that resemble the flourishes of a writing-master more than the free strokes of an artist.

In the painting which represents Goliah slain by David, the gigantic Philistine is stretched on the earth, and, in truth, appears to cover many a rood. Beneath is the _merciful_ Judith: one hand grasps the sword with which she decollated Holofernes, and the other rests upon his bleeding head. The adjoining picture exhibits a view of St. Sebastian pierced with arrows, and that on the other side of the room displays Prometheus and the vulture; beneath is a representation of Cain slaying Abel. St. Lawrence upon the gridiron is placed under a painting of Herod's cruelty. As the ornament of a chandelier, over the sofa on which the hymeneal pair are seated, is a relievo of Medusa's head; both this and other _agreeable_ subjects may possibly have some covert allusions, but to me they are not obvious.

Hogarth's leading object in them all seems to be a ridicule of those who gave these barbarous delineations a preference to his own paintings.

The self-important consequence of the noble inhabitant of this mansion is displayed in every part of his furniture. The coronet glitters not only upon the canopy, but the crutches; is mounted upon the frame of the mirror, and marked on the side of the dog.

Mr. Nichols observes, that "among such little circumstances as might escape the notice of a careless spectator, is the thief in the candle, emblematical of the mortgage on his lordship's estate."--As the mortgage is now paying, one thinks the thief might have been spared. The artist, however, might mean to intimate that his lordship's estate was run to waste by the negligence and carelessness of the proprietor. The same commentator properly remarks that the unfinished edifice seems at a stand for want of money, no workman appearing on the scaffolds, or near them; and adds, that a number of figures which are before the building were designed for "the lazy vermin of his lordship's hall, who, having nothing else to do, are sitting on the blocks of stone, or staring at the building."

The characters in this print are admirably marked. Nothing can be better contrasted than the cautious, calculating countenance of the Alderman, and the haughty overbearing air of the Peer. To this may be added the stare of the Serjeant, astonished at so magnificent an edifice, and the cunning craft of the Usurer delivering up the mortgage.

The plate was engraved by G. Scotin, and published April 1, 1745.

PLATE II.

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.

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.

PLATE III.

"To Galen's great descendant list,--oh list! Behold a surgeon, sage, anatomist, Mechanic, antiquarian, seer, collector, Physician, barber, bone-setter, dissector. The sextons, registers, and tombstones tell, By his prescriptions, what an army fell; Med'cines--by him compos'd will stop the breath, And every pill is fraught with certain death."[9]--E.

This has been said to be the most obscure delineation that Hogarth ever published: how far the short explanation copied from Mr. Lane's papers may contribute to sanction my previous description, I do not presume to judge. Hitherto there have certainly been many different opinions as to the meaning of this print, and Churchill is said to have asserted, that from its appearing so ambiguous to him, he once requested Hogarth to explain it, but that the artist, like many other commentators, left his subject as obscure as he found it. "From this circumstance," added the poet, "I am convinced he formed his tale upon the ideas of Hoadley, Garrick, Townley, or some other friend, and never perfectly comprehended what it meant."

How it was possible for Hoadley, Garrick, and Townley, or any other friend, to furnish Hogarth with ideas to compose the third plate of an historical series, I cannot comprehend.

I can suppose it possible that the artist might not choose to explain to Churchill what he himself thought obvious, and therefore declined giving him any explanation. I can suppose that, admirably as Hogarth told a story with his pencil, he might not be qualified to express his verbal meaning with equal accuracy, and therefore be misunderstood; but, above all, I can suppose it not only possible, but probable, that this bitter satirist, making the declaration _after_ the publication of "Wilkes' Portrait," "The Bruiser," and "The Times," might, from resentment to the artist, be provoked to give a poetical colouring to the story about the "Marriage à la Mode."

I think it must be considered as a sort of episode, no further connected with the main subject than as it exhibits the consequences of an alliance entered into from sordid and unworthy motives. In the two preceding prints the hero and heroine of this tragedy show a fashionable indifference towards each other. On the part of the Viscount, we see no indication of any wish to conciliate the affections of his lady. Careless of her conduct, and negligent of her fame, he leaves her to superintend the musical dissipations of his house, and lays the scene of his own licentious amusements abroad. The female heart is naturally susceptible, and much influenced by first impressions. Formed for love, and gratefully attached by delicate attentions; but chilled by neglect, and frozen by coldness,--by contempt it is estranged, and by habitual and long-continued inconstancy sometimes lost.

To show that our unfortunate victim to parental ambition has suffered this mortifying climax of provocation, the artist has made a digression, and exhibited her profligate husband attending a quack doctor. In the last plate he appears to have dissipated his fortune; in this he has injured his health. From the hour of marriage he has neglected the woman to whom he plighted his troth. Can we wonder at her conduct? By the Viscount she was despised; by the Counsellor adored. This insidious, insinuating villain, we may naturally suppose acquainted with every part of the nobleman's conduct, and artful enough to make a proper advantage of his knowledge. From such an agent the Countess would probably learn how her lord was connected: from his subtle suggestions, being aided by resentment, she is tempted to think that these accumulated insults have dissolved the marriage vow, and given her a right to retaliate. Thus impelled, thus irritated, and attended by such an advocate, can we wonder that this fair unfortunate deserted from the standard of honour, and sought refuge in the camp of infamy? To her husband many of her errors must be attributed. She saw he despised her, and therefore hated him; found that he had bestowed his affections on another, and followed his example. To show the consequence of his unrestrained wanderings, the author, in this plate, exhibits his hero in the house of one of those needy empirics who play upon public credulity, and vend poisons under the name of drugs. This quack being family surgeon to the old procuress who stands at his right hand, formerly attended the young girl, and received his fee as having recovered his patient. That he was paid for what he did not perform, appears by the countenance of the enraged nobleman, who lifts up his cane in a threatening style, accompanying the action with a promise to bastinado both surgeon and procuress for having deceived him by a false bill of health. These menaces our natural son of Æsculapius treats with that careless nonchalance which shows that his ears are accustomed to such sounds; but the haggard high priestess of the temple of Venus,[10] tenacious of her good name, and tremblingly alive to any aspersion which may tend to injure her professional reputation, unclasps her knife, determined to wash out this foul stain upon her honour with the blood of her accuser.

The nick-nackitory collection that forms this motley museum is exactly described by Doctor Garth; one would almost think Hogarth made the dispensary his model in designing the print.

"Here mummies lie, most reverently stale, And there, the tortoise hung her coat of mail: Not far from some huge shark's devouring head, The flying fish their finny pinions spread; Aloft, in rows, large poppy-heads were strung, And near, a scaly alligator hung: In this place, drugs in musty heaps decay'd, In that, dry'd bladders and drawn teeth were laid."

An horn of the sea unicorn is so placed as to give the idea of a barber's pole; this, with the pewter basin and broken comb, clearly indicate the former profession of our mock doctor. The high-crowned hat and antique spur, which might once have been the property of Butler's redoubted knight, the valiant Hudibras, with a model of the gallows, and sundry nondescript rarities, show us that this great man, if not already a member of the Antiquarian Society, is qualifying himself to be a candidate. The dried body[11] in the glass-case, placed between a skeleton and the sage's wig-block, form a trio that might serve as the symbol of a consultation of physicians. A figure above the mummies seems at first sight to be decorated with a flowing periwig, but on a close inspection will be found intended for one of Sir John Mandeville's _anthropophagi_, a sort of men "whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders." Even the skulls have character; and the principal mummy has so majestic an aspect, that one is almost tempted to believe it the mighty Cheops, king of Egypt, whose body was certainly to be known, being the only one entombed in the large pyramid.[12]

By two machines, constructed upon the most complicated principles, though intended for performing very simple operations, we discover that our quack studies mechanics. On one of them lies a folio treatise descriptive of their uses; by which we are informed that the largest is to reduce a dislocated limb, the smallest is to draw a cork!--each of them invented by Monsieur De la Pilulæ, and inspected and approved by the Royal Academy of Paris.

PLATE IV.

The new-made Countess treads enchanted ground, And madly whirls in pleasure's airy round; From Circe's cup delicious poison quaffs, And, drunk with pomp, at cold discretion laughs. While the soft warbling of a senseless song, Pour'd from a neutral nothing,[13] charms the throng; To love's fond tale the fair her ear inclines, To Satan's agent all her soul resigns. Beware his soft insidious smiles, Fly from his glance, and shun his wiles; Avoid the serpent's poisonous breath, 'Tis fraught with infamy and death.--E.