This story of Captain Tomlinson employed us not only for the time we were together last night, but all the while we sat at breakfast this morning. She would still have it that it was the prelude to some mischief from Singleton. I insisted (according to my former hint) that it might much more probably be a method taken by Colonel Morden to alarm her, previous to a personal visit. Travelled gentlemen affected to surprise in this manner. And why, dearest creature, said I, must every thing that happens, which we cannot immediately account for, be what we least wish?
She had had so many disagreeable things befall her of late, that her fears were too often stronger than her hopes.
And this, Madam, makes me apprehensive, that you will get into so low- spirited a way, that you will not be able to enjoy the happiness that seems to await us.
Her duty and her gratitude, she gravely said, to the Dispenser of all good, would secure her, she hoped, against unthankfulness. And a thankful spirit was the same as a joyful one.
So, Belford, for all her future joys she depends entirely upon the invisible Good. She is certainly right; since those who fix least upon second causes are the least likely to be disappointed—And is not this gravity for her gravity?
She had hardly done speaking, when Dorcas came running up in a hurry— she set even my heart into a palpitation—thump, thump, thump, like a precipitated pendulum in a clock-case—flutter, flutter, flutter, my charmer’s, as by her sweet bosom rising to her chin I saw.
This lower class of people, my beloved herself observed, were for ever aiming at the stupid wonderful, and for making even common incidents matter of surprise.
Why the devil, said I to the wench, this alarming hurry?—And with your spread fingers, and your O Madams, and O Sirs!—and be cursed to you! Would there have been a second of time difference, had you come up slowly?
Captain Tomlinson, Sir!
Captain Devilson, what care I?—Do you see how you have disordered your lady?
Good Mr. Lovelace, said my charmer, trembling [see, Jack, when she has an end to serve, I am good Mr. Lovelace,] if—if my brother,—if Captain Singleton should appear—pray now—I beseech you—let me beg of you—to govern your temper—My brother is my brother—Captain Singleton is but an agent.
My dearest life, folding my arms about her, [when she asks favours, thought I, the devil’s in it, if she will not allow such an innocent freedom as this, from good Mr. Lovelace too,] you shall be witness of all passes between us.—Dorcas, desire the gentleman to walk up.
Let me retire to my chamber first!—Let me not be known to be in the house!
Charming dear!—Thou seest, Belford, she is afraid of leaving me!—O the little witchcrafts! Were it not for surprises now-and-then, how would an honest man know where to have them?
She withdrew to listen.—And though this incident has not turned out to answer all I wished from it, yet is it not necessary, if I would acquaint thee with my whole circulation, to be very particular in what passed between Captain Tomlinson and me.
Enter Captain Tomlinson, in a riding dress, whip in hand.
Your servant, Sir,—Mr. Lovelace, I presume?
My name is Lovelace, Sir.
Excuse the day, Sir.—Be pleased to excuse my garb. I am obliged to go out of town directly, that I may return at night.
The day is a good day. Your garb needs no apology.
When I sent my servant, I did not know that I should find time to do myself this honour. All that I thought I could do to oblige my friend this journey, was only to assure myself of your abode; and whether there was a probability of being admitted to the speech of either you, or your lady.
Sir, you best know your own motives. What your time will permit you to do, you also best know. And here I am, attending your pleasure.
My charmer owned afterwards her concern on my being so short. Whatever I shall mingle of her emotions, thou wilt easily guess I had afterwards.
Sir, I hope no offence. I intend none.
None—None at all, Sir.
Sir, I have no interest in the affair I come about. I may appear officious; and if I thought I should, I would decline any concern in it, after I have just hinted what it is.
And pray, Sir, what is it?
May I ask you, Sir, without offence, whether you wish to be reconciled, and to co-operate upon honourable terms, with one gentleman of the name of Harlowe; preparative, as it may be hoped, to a general reconciliation?
Oh how my heart fluttered, cried my charmer!
I can’t tell, Sir—[and then it fluttered still more, no doubt]: The whole family have used me extremely ill. They have taken greater liberties with my character than are justifiable; and with my family too; which I can less forgive.
Sir, sir, I have done. I beg pardon for this intrusion.
My beloved was then ready to sink, and thought very hardly of me.
But, pray, Sir, to the immediate purpose of your present commission; since a commission it seems to be?
It is a commission, Sir; and such a one, as I thought would be agreeable to all parties, or I should not have given myself concern about it. […]
Sir, I will tell you, as briefly as I can, the whole of what I have to say; but you’ll excuse me also a previous question, for what curiosity is not my motive; but it is necessary to be answered before I can proceed; as you will judge when you hear it.
What, pray, sir, is your question?
Briefly, whether you are actually, and bona fide, married to Miss Clarissa Harlowe?
I started, and, in a haughty tone, is this, sir, a question that must be answered before you can proceed in the business you have undertaken?
I mean no offence, Mr. Lovelace. Mr. Harlowe sought to me to undertake this office. I have daughters and nieces of my own. I thought it a good office, or I, who have many considerable affairs upon my hands, had not accepted of it. I know the world; and will take the liberty to say, that if the young lady—
Captain Tomlinson, I think you are called?
My name is Tomlinson.
Why then, Tomlinson, no liberty, as you call it, will be taken well, that is not extremely delicate, when that lady is mentioned.
When you had heard me out, Mr. Lovelace, and had found I had so behaved, as to make the caution necessary, it would have been just to have given it.—Allow me to say, I know what is due to the character of a woman of virtue, as well as any man alive.
Why, Sir! Why, Captain Tomlinson, you seem warm. If you intend any thing by this, [Oh how I trembled! said the lady, when she took notice of this part of our conversation afterwards], I will only say, that this is a privileged place. It is at present my home, and an asylum for any gentleman who thinks it worth his while to inquire after me, be the manner or end of his inquiry what it will. […]Sir, you must first allow me to repeat my question: Are you really, and bona fide, married to Miss Clarissa Harlowe? or are you not yet married?
Bluntly put, Captain. But if I answer that I am, what then?
Why then, Sir, I shall say, that you are a man of honour.
That I hope I am, whether you say it or not, Captain Tomlinson.
Sir, I will be very frank in all I have to say on this subject—Mr. John Harlowe has lately found out, that you and his niece are both in the same lodgings; that you have been long so; and that the lady was at the play with you yesterday was se’nnight; and he hopes that you are actually married. He has indeed heard that you are; but as he knows your enterprising temper, and that you have declared, that you disdain a relation to their family, he is willing by me to have your marriage confirmed from your own mouth, before he take the steps he is inclined to take in his niece’s favour. You will allow me to say, Mr. Lovelace, that he will not be satisfied with an answer that admits of the least doubt.
Let me tell you, Captain Tomlinson, that it is a high degree of vileness for any man to suppose—
Sir—Mr. Lovelace—don’t put yourself into a passion. The lady’s relations are jealous of the honour of their family. They have prejudices to overcome as well as you—advantage may have been taken—and the lady, at the time, not to blame.
This lady, Sir, could give no such advantages: and if she had, what must the man be, Captain Tomlinson, who could have taken them?—Do you know the lady, Sir?
I never had the honour to see her but once; and that was at a church; and should not know her again.
Not know her again, Sir!—I thought there was not a man living who had once seen her, and would not know her among a thousand.
I remember, Sir, that I thought I never saw a finer woman in my life. But, Mr. Lovelace, I believe, you will allow, that it is better that her relations should have wronged you, than you the lady. I hope, sir, you will permit me to repeat my question.
Enter Dorcas, in a hurry.
A gentleman, this minute, sir, desires to speak with your honour—My lady, Sir!—(aside)
Could the dear creature put Dorcas upon telling this fib, yet want to save me one?—
Desire the gentleman to walk into one of the parlours. I will wait upon him presently.
(Exit Dorcas.
The dear creature, I doubted not, wanted to instruct me how to answer the Captain’s home put. I knew how I intended to answer it—plumb, thou may’st be sure—but Dorcas’s message staggered me. And yet I was upon one of my master-strokes—which was, to take advantage of the captain’s inquiries, and to make her own her marriage before him, as she had done to the people below; and if she had been brought to that, to induce her, for her uncle’s satisfaction, to write him a letter of gratitude; which of course must have been signed Clarissa Lovelace. I was loth, therefore, thou may’st believe, to attend her sudden commands: and yet, afraid of pushing matters beyond recovery with her, I thought proper to lead him from the question, to account for himself and for Mr. Harlowe’s coming to the knowledge of where we are; and for other particulars which I knew would engage her attention; and which might possibly convince her of the necessity there was for her to acquiesce in the affirmative I was disposed to give. And this for her own sake; For what, as I asked her afterwards, is it to me, whether I am ever reconciled to her family?—A family, Jack, which I must for ever despise. […]
I will tell you, Mr. Lovelace, and the occasion; and be very explicit upon it, and upon all that concerns you to know of me, and of the commission I have undertaken to execute; and this the rather, as when you have heard me out, you will be satisfied, that I am not an officious man in this my present address to you.
I am all attention, Captain Tomlinson.
And so I doubt not was my beloved. […]
‘Well, Sir; but Mr. John Harlowe could not but better consider the matter afterwards. And he desired my advice how to act in it. He told me that no father ever loved a daughter as he loved this niece of his; whom, indeed, he used to call his daughter-niece. He said, she had really been unkindly treated by her brother and sister: and as your alliance, Sir, was far from being a discredit to their family, he would do his endeavour to reconcile all parties, if he could be sure that ye were actually man and wife.’
And what, pray, Captain, was your advice?
‘I gave it as my opinion, that if his niece were unworthily treated, and in distress, (as he apprehended from the application to him,) he would soon hear of her again: but that it was likely, that this application was made without expecting it would succeed; and as a salvo only, to herself, for marrying without their consent. And the rather thought I so, as he had told me, that it came from a young lady her friend, and not in a direct way from herself; which young lady was no favourite of the family; and therefore would hardly have been employed, had success been expected.’
Very well, Captain Tomlinson—pray proceed.
‘Here the matter rested till last Sunday evening, when Mr. John Harlowe came to me with the man who had seen you and your lady (as I presume she is) at the play; and who had assured him, that you both lodged in the same house.—And then the application having been so lately made, which implied that you were not then married, he was so uneasy for his niece’s honour, that I advised him to dispatch to town some one in whom he could confide, to make proper inquiries.’
Very well, Captain—And was such a person employed on such an errand by her uncle?
‘A trusty and discreet person was accordingly sent; and last Tuesday, I think it was, (for he returned to us on the Wednesday,) he made the inquiries among the neighbours first. [The very inquiry, Jack, that gave us all so much uneasiness]. But finding that none of them could give any satisfactory account, the lady’s woman was come at, who declared, that you were actually married. But the inquirist keeping himself on the reserve as to his employers, the girl refused to tell the day, or to give him other particulars.’
You give a very clear account of every thing, Captain Tomlinson. Pray proceed.
‘The gentleman returned; and, on his report, Mr. Harlowe, having still doubts, and being willing to proceed on some grounds in so important a point, besought me (as my affairs called me frequently to town) to undertake this matter. ‘You, Mr. Tomlinson, he was pleased to say, have children of your own: you know the world: you know what I drive at: you will proceed, I am sure, with understanding and spirit: and whatever you are satisfied with shall satisfy me.’
Enter Dorcas again in a hurry.
Sir, the gentleman is impatient.
I will attend him presently.
The Captain then accounted for his not calling in person, when he had reason to think us here. […]
And now, Sir, that I believe I have satisfied you in every thing relating to my commission, I hope you will permit me to repeat my question—which is—
Enter Dorcas again, out of breath.
Sir, the gentleman will step up to you.— My lady is impatient. She wonders at your honour’s delay (aside). […]
It shall be by seven o’clock, if you please, Captain. We are early folks. And this I will tell you, that if ever I am reconciled to a family so implacable as I have always found the Harlowes to be, it must be by the mediation of so cool and so moderate a gentleman as yourself.
And so, with the highest civilities on both sides, we parted. But for the private satisfaction of so good a man, I left him out of doubt that we were man and wife, though I did not directly aver it.
I apologize for posting this lengthy and tedious letter, but I felt it warranted a closer examination. This entire letter reads like a script for a play, complete with dialogue, actions, and even stage directions. Lovelace loves his disguises and this letter shows his flair for the dramatic. Is the framing of this letter as a sort of theatrical piece foreshadowing for the character of Captain Tomlinson and Lovelace's elaborate plan to use Clarissa's family against her? How does this letter portray Lovelace?
I think the letter shows, among other things, Lovelace's pleasure in writing. Embedded in that is the pleasure of plotting (a narrative term as well as a word about contriving scenes) as well as the pleasure of of describing it to his best reader, Belford. In fact, I'm not sure which is the stronger pleasure: the tricks or the writing about the tricks. Lovelace, whatever we think of him, is a witty writer: the stage directions about Dorcas, increasingly out of breath are really funny (I think). And then, to top it all off, after writing this long, witty stage set, Lovelace reveals to Bedford that it was all a trick: Captain Tomlinson is his creature.
You both touched on what I found interesting about this letter, and really this series of letters in Volume V, that Lovelace writes. As Debra notes, Lovelace derives pleasure just from writing. He writes numerous letters addressed to Belford that receive no response, or he receives one letter from Belford (later in this volume) that merely touches on Lovelace's madness and his displeasure with the whole of Lovelace's scheme. That said, because of the frequency with which he writes the letters while receiving very few responses from the addressee, I don't think Lovelace actually needs/wants a response from Belford. He just needs to write.
This letter portrays Lovelace's love of writing and as Debra points out, "embedded [in Lovelace's love of writing] is the pleasure of plotting (a narrative term as well as a word about contriving scenes) as well as the pleasure of of describing it to his best reader, Belford." Lovelace writes numerous letters and Keri notes that "because of the frequency with which he writes the letters while receiving very few responses from the addressee, I don't think Lovelace actually needs/wants a response from Belford. He just needs to write."
After considering what Debra has mentioned in class, what we've discussed in class, and now Turner's article on Lovelace's libertinism–I'm interested the question of control. How much does Lovelace use his writing to (attempt to) control his reality? And control Clarissa's? Yet at the same time, writing does seem to control him. I'm just not sure it's to the extent that Turner seems to suggest, that this makes Lovelace the more “feminine,” more powerless, in the relationship of writer to writing–I'm still focusing too much (or just enough?) on the physical and material conditions of the power that Lovelace ultimately holds in the novel/society.