I was once more offering the key to the lock, when, starting from his knees, with a voice of affrightment, loudly whispering, and as if out of breath, they are at the door, my beloved creature! and taking the key from me, he fluttered with it, as if he would double lock it. And instantly a voice from within cried out, bursting against the door, as if to break it open, the person repeating his violent pushes, Are you there?—come up this moment!—this moment!—here they are—here they are both together!—your pistol this moment!—your gun!—Then another push, and another. He at the same moment drew his sword, and clapping it naked under his arm, took both my trembling hands in his; and drawing me swiftly after him, Fly, fly, my charmer; this moment is all you have for it, said he.—Your brother!—your uncles!—or this Solmes!—they will instantly burst the door—fly, my dearest life, if you would not be more cruelly used than ever—if you would not see two or three murders committed at your feet, fly, fly, I beseech you.
O Lord:—help, help, cried the fool, all in amaze and confusion, frighted beyond the power of controuling.
Now behind me, now before me, now on this side, now on that, turned I my affrighted face, in the same moment; expecting a furious brother here, armed servants there, an enraged sister screaming, and a father armed with terror in his countenance more dreadful than even the drawn sword which I saw, or those I apprehended. I ran as fast as he; yet knew not that I ran; my fears adding wings to my feet, at the same time that they took all power of thinking from me—my fears, which probably would not have suffered me to know what course to take, had I not had him to urge and draw me after him: especially as I beheld a man, who must have come out of the door, keeping us in his eye, running now towards us; then back to the garden; beckoning and calling to others, whom I supposed he saw, although the turning of the wall hindered me from seeing them; and whom I imagined to be my brother, my father, and their servants.
Thus terrified, I was got out of sight of the door in a very few minutes: and then, although quite breathless between running and apprehension, he put my arm under his, his drawn sword in the other hand, and hurried me on still faster: my voice, however, contradicting my action; crying, no, no, no, all the while; straining my neck to look back, as long as the walls of the garden and park were within sight, and till he brought me to the chariot: where, attending, were two armed servants of his own, and two of Lord M.’s on horseback.
…
But if it shall come out, that the person within the garden was his corrupted implement, employed to frighten me away with him, do you think, my dear, that I shall not have reason to hate him and myself still more? I hope his heart cannot be so deep and so vile a one: I hope it cannot!
At last! The long anticipated action we've been waiting for. Clarissa finally leaves! What does everyone think about Clarissa's decision to run away with Lovelace this way? Did she make the right choice given her alternatives? What would you have done?
I thought Clarissa's running away with Lovelace was pretty funny to be honest. But I don't believe she really had a choice in running away. I think that given the circumstances she made the best of the situation. If she had stayed behind she would have possibly been forced to married Solmes or some other dramatic thing for a girl like Clarissa in the eighteenth century. She seemed very bewildered when she finally took off with Lovelace and it shows even in her letter to Anna. Clarissa seems to be trying to not only figure out if she made the right decision but also what really happened. Given her limited alternatives and knowing how she felt about them, Clarissa really didn't have much of a choice. She could have tried to plead with her family again but they had already chosen another minister who didn't seem to share the same qualms about Clarissa's confinement as Dr. Lewin did. If I had been in her position I probably would have just run away with Anna and went to London. It seemed like a much safer alternative although Clarissa raised all the points about it not working. At least with Anna she would have another human being to interact with and she wouldn't be so stuck in her own head — analyzing actions and planning what to do to fix her situation.
I find the scene to be one of the most compelling in the novel, revealing so much as it does about Clarissa and Lovelace. We don't really know yet how sincere he is, because we know him to be a good actor, a deep schemer, and an experienced seducer. Clarissa's conflicted heart and mind are well paired up in dialogue with Lovelace's emotional and rational speeches. But–notably–he physically restrains her, a revealing action. What is newly revealed about Clarissa is her capacity, finally, to act; though forced to it by the alarms raised, she does commit herself and her future life to Lovelace by fleeing with him. What is also confirmed by the alarms raised is Lovelace's deep commitment to deception (surely we all found the outcry on the other side of the door a bit suspicious–and Richardson doesn't wait to confirm our suspicions, in the very next letter). So, let's hope the next 1211 pages maintain the raised narrative stakes!
I have bolded another sentence in the letters, where Clarissa says "What can you mean, Mr. Lovelace?—said I—Would you thus expose yourself? Would you thus expose me?—Is this your generosity? Is every body to take advantage thus of the weakness of my temper?" No one, it seems (except Anna) will let Clarissa decide for herself. If Clarissa does act in this letter, it seems to me the act is to refuse Lovelace. She meets him to tell him no. He doesn't take no for an answer. Instead, he tricks her into going: ."Now behind me, now before me, now on this side, now on that, turned I my affrighted face, in the same moment; expecting a furious brother here, armed servants there, an enraged sister screaming, and a father armed with terror in his countenance more dreadful than even the drawn sword which I saw, or those I apprehended." This is her quandry throughout the first two volumes. And what to do now?
I was originally really glad to see that Clarissa had left her home when it was revealed in letter 92. I guess I had assumed from this letter that it had been her decisions. She wanted to get away from the possibility of marrying Solmes, so she left with Lovelace. This letter, that shows quite the opposite of my assumptions, just made me sad. We do not see Clarissa making her own decisions; she instead reveals that she has an encounter with Lovelace where she feels her only option is to run away from her family members who are pursuing them (though I agree with you Tony, this pursuit by her family is dubious at best). She doesn't make her own decision. She is tricked into it by Lovelace. Will we ever see Clarissa make a decision for herself? I had sincerely hoped that when she left her house it would be her choice, but that was not the case.
My reaction to this much-anticipated scene was similar to those already described. As many of you noted here, Clarissa does act in this episode, but she acts still with very little agency of her own because she was subjected to Lovelace’s trickery. I think what interested me most about this scene in this respect is that Clarissa does meet Lovelace to stand up to him and tell him that she refuses to go with him. In fact, we see this determination to deny Lovelace’s wishes in much of her language leading up to the point where she must quickly decide whether to run or stay. The discrepancy between her language and her actions, then, is what shows Clarissa’s true lack of power here. Overcome with emotions (the intense fear caused by Lovelace’s machinations), Clarissa still has no choice even though she attempted to gain agency and control over the situation through her words prior to this chaotic scene. She even claims that her fears “took all power of thinking from [her],” demonstrating that yet again Lovelace has anticipated her response and uses it to fulfill his goal of gaining power over her once and for all.
One of the lines that stood out to me was this one: "But their faults are their own, and not excuses for mine. And mine began early: for I ought not to have corresponded with him."Others have addressed the issue of agency–which I think continues to be so important in Vol. 3 as she and Lovelace "negotiate" what will happen, and where, and when–and I think the question(s) of blame are closely related.Who acts? is a question that is related to Who can be held accountable for the actions? And here it’s very telling that Clarissa seems, instantaneously, to blame herself.I think this is a great moment of complexity for her as a character and for us as modern readers: Clarissa blames herself because, culturally, she has no power to blame anyone else. For so long, she has been inculcated to revere her family and their power, and as a woman now under Lovelace’s “obligation,” she cannot entirely bring herself to assign blame/agency to him without incurring some of the moral wrath herself.I’ve been admiring Lovelace’s wit and manipulation thus far (considering his cleverness, not his immorality)—but this was one of the moments in the novel that I felt sorry for Clarissa rather than frustrated with her obliviousness to her own danger.I had trouble, as a reader, deciding what choice Clarissa really did have (when faced with Lovelace’s domineering physical presence, as others noted) and deciding how much I agreed or disagreed with her on this point. Was her lack of wisdom partially to blame for any of the events that led up to this particular moment? (I feel horrible even asking that question–casting blame on the victim.) Or was this destined to occur from the beginning, because of Lovelace’s plotting, deception, contrivances, and sheer persistence?
I find this moment in the novel so frustrating! I don't see it as a moment where Clarissa exercises any agency at all; in fact, I think kind of the opposite. As Debra pointed out, she meets Lovelace in order to tell him "no," and he quite literally doesn't take no for an answer. Instead the scene and it's flurry of activity where Clarissa is frightened and confused and rendered helpless by her partial understanding of what's happening seems like the whole novel in microcosm. Later in the novel, Lovelace uses the metaphor of the spider and its web to represent the kind of intrigue that he's involved Clarissa in, and I think it's a great metaphor. All Clarissa's logic and skill at rhetoric and desire to to the right thing is useless as her view of what's "actually" happening is so occluded. She may be acting (in a way) by running, but she's acting on her impression of a version of the events that are happening around her that is missing so much key information, and that information has been so carefully designed to cause her to act in the way that she does, that I see her less as acting and more as being herded (if you'll forgive the metaphor).
I had the same reaction, Stephen. Sadly, I've given up on the hope that Clarissa is going to "have," "use," "exercise," or whatever any kind of agency – it might not be the point anymore. I expect, though, that we'll see her resisting. Difference between agency and resistance? I might have to draw in some other concepts and theories, but my initial thought is that resistance is evidence of agency denied – an appropriate response to losing control over one's body, life, etc. I just can't stand to think of Clarissa as a passive person who was targeted by some jerk rake – and at that moment, become a non-actor forever.
"He had as great a confidence in my weakness, as I had in my own strength." Clarissa nailed it. The revelation is in retrospect, though. In the moment Lovelace was working through his usual routine: breathlessly begging her to leave, stammering over his words, and repeatedly getting down on his knees like a damn fool (my only relief after this scene is the possibility that the self-sacrificing-anxious-man-in-love routine comes to an end). The insult to Clarissa's intelligence is staggering. But the workings of that persona seemed to have a limited function. Deception, contrivance, and/or deceit – and plain physical force – picked up where the persona didn't deliver.