is plain that Lovelace is not a result of observation, but
an almost fantastic mixture of qualities intended to fit him for the
difficult part he has to play. To exalt Clarissa, for example,
Lovelace's family are represented as all along earnestly desirous of a
marriage between them; and Lovelace has every conceivable motive,
including the desire to avoid hanging, for agreeing to the match. His
refusal is unintelligible, and Richardson has to supply him with a
reason so absurd and so diabolical that we cannot believe in it; it
reminds us of Hamlet's objecting to killing his uncle whilst at prayers,
on the ground that it would be sending him straight to heaven. But we
may, if we please, consider Hamlet's conceit as a mere pretext invented
to excuse his irresolution to himself; whereas Lovelace speculates so
long and so seriously upon the marriage, that we are bound to consider
his far-fetched arguments as sincere. And the supposition makes his
wickedness gratuitous, if we believe in his sanity. Lovelace suffers,
again, from the same necessity which injures Sir Charles Grandison; as
the virtuous hero has to be always expatiating on his own virtues, the
vicious hero has to boast of his own vices; it is true that this is, in
an artistic sense, the least repulsive habit of the two; for it gives
reason for hating not a hero but a villain; unluckily it is also a
reason for refusing to believe in his existence. The improbability of a
thoroughpaced scoundrel writing daily elaborate confessions of his
criminality to a friend, even when the friend condemns him, expatiating
upon atrocities that deserved hanging, and justifying his vices on
principle, is rather too glaring to be admissible. And by another odd
inconsistency, Lovelace is described as being all the time a steady
believer in eternal punishment and a rebuker of sceptics--Richardson
being apparently of opinion that infidelity would be too bad to be
introduced upon the stage, though a vice might be described in detail. A
man who has broken through all moral laws might be allowed a little
free-thinking. We might add that Lovelace, in spite of the cleverness
attributed to him, is really a most imbecile schemer. The first
principle of a villain should be to tell as few lies as will serve his
purpose; but Lovelace invents such elaborate and complicated plots,
presenting so many chances of detection and introducing so many persons
into his secrets, that it is evident that in rea