When I have opened my view to thee so amply as I have done in my former letters; and have told thee, that my principal design is but to bring virtue to a trial, that, if virtue, it need not be afraid of; and that the reward of it will be marriage (that is to say, if, after I have carried my point, I cannot prevail upon her to live with me the life of honour;* for that thou knowest is the wish of my heart); I am amazed at the repetition of thy wambling nonsense.
* See Vol. III. Letter XVIII.
I am of opinion with thee, that some time hence, when I am grown wiser, I shall conclude, that there is nothing but vanity, conceit, and nonsense, in my present wild schemes. But what is this saying, but that I must be first wiser?
I do not intend to let this matchless creature slide through my fingers.
Art thou able to say half the things in her praise, that I have said, and am continually saying or writing?
Her gloomy father cursed the sweet creature, because she put it out of his wicked power to compel her to have the man she hated. Thou knowest how little merit she has with me on this score.—And shall I not try the virtue I intended, upon full proof, to reward, because her father is a tyrant?—Why art thou thus eternally reflecting upon so excellent a woman, as if thou wert assured she would fail in the trial?—Nay, thou declarest, every time thou writest on the subject, that she will, that she must yield, entangled as she is: and yet makest her virtue the pretence of thy solicitude for her.
An instrument of the vile James Harlowe, dost thou call me?—O Jack! how could I curse thee!—I am instrument of that brother! of that sister! But mark the end—and thou shalt see what will become of that brother, and of that sister!
Play not against me my own acknowledged sensibilities, I desire thee. Sensibilities, which at the same time that they contradict thy charge of an adamantine heart in thy friend, thou hadst known nothing of, had I not communicated them to thee.
If I ruin such a virtue, sayest thou!—Eternal monotonist!—Again; the most immaculate virtue may be ruined by men who have no regard to their honour, and who make a jest of the most solemn oaths, &c. What must be the virtue that will be ruined without oaths? Is not the world full of these deceptions? And are not lovers’ oaths a jest of hundreds of years’ standing? And are not cautions against the perfidy of our sex a necessary part of the female education?
I do intend to endeavour to overcome myself; but I must first try, if I cannot overcome this lady. Have I not said, that the honour of her sex is concerned that I should try?
Lovelace responds to Belford's letter which demonstrates a strong disapproval of his plans with Clarissa here. I am interested in analyzing the rhetoric Lovelace uses in this letter in order to try to convince Belford (and possibly himself) that his plans with Clarissa are, in fact, not malevolent — that he is instead merely attempting to put her virtue under trial. In what ways is Lovelace convincing here? In what ways do we see Lovelace's language change in this letter to Belford now that he has received resistance from Belford? Is he more or less open with his plans with Clarissa?
Constant justification! Does this mean that Lovelace knows he's wrong? Or merely that he is aware of the mainstream definition of 'wrong' and how he is positioned against such conventions?I'm not quite sure, at times, whether Lovelace is justifying to himself, to Belford, or to a potentially larger audience (in his fictional world, not necessarily in ours)–aware that people will hear of his story, as Clarissa knows people will hear of hers.
The rhetoric Lovelace uses here with Belford seems of a piece with his typical raillery (common when he writes to Belford–almost always trying to maintain some kind of jesting light tone); I don't think he's ready to understand or respond to Belford's attitude (he likely expected no resistance from him), and offers in return for Belford's urgent concerns more arrogance (and base motive) than we've seen from him before.Later in the letter he speaks of his disdain, when a boy, for any dog that "ran away from me through fear"–and how this provoked him to treat it more badly if he could (nice indirect comparison for Clarissa, by the way). He then asks Belford this damning–and dangerous (for Clarissa) question: "What signifies power, if we do not exert it?"And what should be make of this heartless description of Belford's melancholy thoughts upon attending his dying uncle–"tedious whining over thy departing relation." In his arrogance and certainty, he reveals more and more of his worst traits as his letters unfold.
This is a moment of such weak rationalization; I don't believe even Lovelace can truly believe he's just testing Clarissa's virtue. But then again, maybe he can– I'm reminded of a conversation from last week's reading about Lovelace and performance. He's performing a particular Lovelace for Belford, but for all his great ability to pick and choose which Lovelace to be at a certain moment for a certain audience, I think there's a truly tragic chance that he has a hard time deciding which Lovelace to perform for himself. In other words (in case this last point is as lacking in sense as I'm afraid it may be) this is one of the moments in the novel where the instability of Lovelace's identity is foregrounded. Even Lovelace doesn't really know who Lovelace is most of the time.
I agree, Steve. It seems like Lovelace is becoming more and more unsure of who he is as we read. He even agrees with Belford that he is "of opinion with [him], that some time hence, when [he is] grown wiser, [he] shall conclude, that there is nothing but vanity, conceit, and nonsense, in [his] present wild schemes", but he's so stubborn that he continues regardless.
I agree, Steve. It seems like Lovelace is becoming more and more unsure of who he is as we read. He even agrees with Belford that he is "of opinion with [him], that some time hence, when [he is] grown wiser, [he] shall conclude, that there is nothing but vanity, conceit, and nonsense, in [his] present wild schemes", but he's so stubborn that he continues regardless.
Great responses here on Lovelace's rhetoric and performance. It seems to be a general consensus that Lovelace needs justification (as Rachel and Tony noted) and needs to perform in a way in which he'll receive praise – whatever that role may be (as Steve and Meghan noted). I think Tony's response reveals something very key in trying to understand Lovelace and his rhetoric: “In his arrogance and certainty, he reveals more and more of his worst traits as his letters unfold.” Lovelace's pride and certainty that he is always right no matter what certainly uncover some of his deepest and most unsettling characteristics that continue to become more prevalent as the novel unfolds.