Captain Wentworth and the Structure of Dominance

One morning, very soon after the dinner at the Musgroves, at which Anne had not been present, Captain Wentworth walked into the drawing-room at the Cottage, where were only herself and the little invalid Charles, who was lying on the sofa.

The surprise of finding himself almost alone with Anne Elliot, deprived his manners of their usual composure: he started, and could only say, “I thought the Miss Musgroves had been here—Mrs. Musgrove told me I should find them here,” before he walked to the window to recollect himself, and feel how he ought to behave.

“They are up stairs with my sister—they will be down in a few moments, I dare say,”—had been Anne’s reply, in all the confusion that was natural; and if the child had not called her to come and do something for him, she would have been out of the room the next moment, and released Captain Wentworth as well as herself.

He continued at the window; and after calmly and politely saying, “I hope the little boy is better,” was silent.

She was obliged to kneel down by the sofa, and remain there to satisfy her patient; and thus they continued a few minutes, when, to her very great satisfaction, she heard some other person crossing the little vestibule. She hoped, on turning her head, to see the master of the house; but it proved to be one much less calculated for making matters easy—Charles Hayter, probably not at all better pleased by the sight of Captain Wentworth, than Captain Wentworth had been by the sight of Anne.

She only attempted to say, “How do you do? Will not you sit down? The others will be here presently.”

Captain Wentworth, however, came from his window, apparently not illdisposed for conversation; but Charles Hayter soon put an end to his attempts, by seating himself near the table, and taking up the newspaper; and Captain Wentworth returned to his window.

Another minute brought another addition. The younger boy, a remarkable stout, forward child, of two years old, having got the door opened for him by some one without, made his determined appearance among them, and went straight to the sofa to see what was going on, and put in his claim to any thing good that might be giving away.

There being nothing to be eat, he could only have some play; and as his aunt would not let him teaze his sick brother, he began to fasten himself upon her, as she knelt, in such a way that, busy as she was about Charles, she could not shake him off. She spoke to him—ordered, intreated, and insisted in vain. Once she did contrive to push him away, but the boy had the greater pleasure in getting upon her back again directly.

“Walter,” said she, “get down this moment. You are extremely troublesome. I am very angry with you.”

“Walter,” cried Charles Hayter, “why do you not do as you are bid? Do not you hear your aunt speak? Come to me, Walter, come to cousin Charles.”

But not a bit did Walter stir.

In another moment, however, she found herself in the state of being released from him; some one was taking him from her, though he had bent down her head so much, that his little sturdy hands were unfastened from around her neck, and he was resolutely borne away, before she knew that Captain Wentworth had done it.

Her sensations on the discovery made her perfectly speechless. She could not even thank him. She could only hang over little Charles, with most disordered feelings. His kindness in stepping forward to her relief—the manner—the silence in which it had passed—the little particulars of the circumstance—with the conviction soon forced on her by the noise he was studiously making with the child, that he meant to avoid hearing her thanks, and rather sought to testify that her conversation was the last of his wants, produced such a confusion of varying, but very painful agitation, as she could not recover from, till enabled by the entrance of Mary and the Miss Musgroves to make over her little patient to their cares, and leave the room. She could not stay. It might have been an opportunity of watching the loves and jealousies of the four; they were now all together, but she could stay for none of it. It was evident that Charles Hayter was not well inclined towards Captain Wentworth. She had a strong impression of his having said, in a vext tone of voice, after Captain Wentworth’s interference, “You ought to have minded me, Walter; I told you not to teaze your aunt;” and could comprehend his regretting that Captain Wentworth should do what he ought to have done himself. But neither Charles Hayter’s feelings, nor any body’s feelings, could interest her, till she had a little better arranged her own. She was ashamed of herself, quite ashamed of being so nervous, so overcome by such a trifle; but so it was; and it required a long application of solitude and reflection to recover her.

— Jane Austen, Persuasion

Persuasion is in many ways a book opposite to both Pride and Prejudice and Sense and Sensibility. The basic structure of the latter two is that first impressions can be misleading, that the man who is viscerally impressive and who immediately commands his environment is not the man to be trusted — is not the good man. These books tell us that first impressions are bad and that studied, rational examination is good when it comes to determining excellence.

The less popular Persuasion tells us that studied, rational examination can fail to see truths that first impressions reveal. That in fact the man whose excellence is immediately apparent may be the best man.

Let us turn to the quoted narrative. We have three primary characters: Anne Elliot, Captain Wentworth, and Charles Hayter. We have two adult male characters: Wentworth and Hayter. We have a crisis. A stout two-year-old is terrorizing Anne.

In a sense, Wentworth and Hayter are equally morally good in this moment. For they are both morally correct about what “ought” to happen. Walter ought to stop terrorizing Anne.

But in another, more real sense, the two men are not equally good. For they take different tacts to achieve the shared goal. Charles Hayter, the priest, offers words as his means to achieve the goal. He offers an “ought.”

Wentworth offers action.

In fact, Wentworth, the naval captain, needs no words. He needs only to enact his will on the environment at hand, to take command, to offer dominance, and the shared goal is immediately realized.

We learn earlier that Charles Hayter is “a scholar and a gentleman,” with excellent “cultivation and manners.” He has the best of words and reasons to navigate his moral environment!

We learn also that Captain Wentworth is “full of life and ardour,” possessing a “confidence, powerful in its own warmth, and bewitching in the wit which often expressed it.”

The priest Hayter’s scholarship is rendered impotent in the same scene where Wentworth’s boldness requires not a word for its efficacy.

And in Austen fashion, the women (who are for Austen the observers, the evaluators, of excellence) cannot help but reflect this in their thoughts and actions. Hayter’s former and subsequent beau Henrietta ignores him in Wentworth’s presence. And Anne “required a long application of solitude and reflection to recover her.”