A "bagnio" is one of those wonderfully obscure and fascinating terms, though not necessarily the sort of place in which you would like to find yourself. Since I have only seen the word in print, it turns out that I have been mispronouncing it for years.
Apparently, through the Italian, it could mean either a Turkish prison or bath, and for Londoners it also referred to an exotic coffee house, which quickly degraded into the kind of establishment that would rent rooms for illicit liaisons. A bill on the floor identifies this one as "The Turk's Head".
After attending the masquerade, as they were planning during the previous installment, everything falls apart for our crafty couple. We can reconstruct the events by the tragic evidence of this scene.
Silvertongue and the Countess were hoping for a night all to themselves, but it seems that the Earl decided to follow them, confronting the shifty lawyer after breaking down the door. The two men drew their swords, much like contemporary men at a bar might make the challenge to "take it outside", and the cuckolded husband was run through twice.
Silvertongue now flees out the window in only his nightshirt, as the owner and the night watchman rush into the room. The countess is distraught. Is there actually some genuine love for the Earl in her heart, or is she just realizing that this is the end for her life of luxury? I would like to believe that the shock of loss can suddenly restore our sense of decency and loyalty, even if it has come too little and too late.
As always, the art on the walls gives us food for thought. Over the door is a depiction of St. Luke, which I initially found odd, until I remembered how our local priest would have his way with women in the sacristy—it takes all kinds. Luke is the patron saint of artists, so it is fitting that Providence is keeping a record.
The rear wall has a tapestry of the Judgment of Solomon, though I fear that the lesson of sticking to our priorities is sadly wasted on these folks. I am told that the picture on the right is a pastoral scene of a shepherdess, though it has been marred by the twisted face and the exaggerated bosom of a prostitute. A professor once implied that the squirrel on her hand was a dirty reference, yet I can't for the life of me make the connection. Perhaps I am far more prudish and naive than I had thought.
Those darn mercury pills keep showing up on the floor!
My many "progressive" friends speak of sex as a casual and liberating thing, even as they overlook how the abuse of love can only result in pain. Nature means for marriage to be an act of absolute and unconditional commitment, so is it any surprise when jealousy rears its ugly head? There is a good reason why your blessed polyamory will leave everyone betrayed, bitter, and alone.
William Hogarth, Marriage A-la-Mode V: The Bagnio (painting, 1743)
William Hogarth, Marriage A-la-Mode V: The Bagnio (engraving, 1743)
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