The third volume of Clarissa opens with a summary of letters that immediately signals a crisis: Miss Howe is “astonished, confounded, aghast.” Clarissa’s first letter recounts being “tricked away” and lays blame on her own “corresponding with him at first against paternal prohibition.” This self-accusation sets a pattern: Clarissa consistently interprets her plight as moral failure, not merely misfortune. Lovelace’s parallel letter to Joseph Leman “lays open the whole of his contrivance,” giving readers direct access to his scheming—a structural choice that forces us to watch the gap between what Clarissa knows and what we know.

Clarissa’s Voice of Self-Reproach

From the first letter, Clarissa frames her situation in moral terms. She writes of “grief and compunction of heart” and insists that her troubles stem from defying parental authority. This is not passive lament; she actively analyzes her own decisions. In Letter XXVIII, she tells Miss Howe, “you know not, my dear, the worth of a virtuous man,” and defends the value of “gentleness of heart” against the allure of “boisterous and unruly spirits.” These passages reveal a mind that reasons even under duress. The reader sees Clarissa not as a victim merely acted upon, but as someone who constantly judges herself and others. Her self-reproach is precise, tied to specific choices—correspondence, meetings, trust—rather than vague guilt. This makes her later predicament more painful to follow.

Lovelace’s Letters as a Counter-Text

Lovelace’s letters to Belford provide a stark contrast. In Letter V, he exults in “the success of his contrivances” and admits he would “show her no mercy” if he suspected preference for another. His tone is boastful, calculating. He describes Clarissa’s person and dress on their first meeting with “extravagant exultation,” and when Belford questions his honor, he answers “doubtfully.” These letters are not mere villain monologue; they are strategic disclosures. Richardson lets the reader see Lovelace’s intentions before Clarissa does. The effect is dramatic irony: we watch Clarissa interpret his actions charitably while knowing his private boasts. For instance, when Lovelace reports that he “dissuaded” her from Windsor, the text includes a note: “This inference of the Lady in his favour is exactly what he had hoped for.” The editorial note itself becomes part of the reading experience.

The Tension Between Instructions and Actions

Clarissa repeatedly sets conditions, and Lovelace exploits them. She insists on “injunctions” before their meeting; he promises “a sacred regard to them.” In Letter VI, she tells Miss Howe that because he keeps his word, she cannot take her advice to marry quickly. The reader sees the trap: Lovelace’s literal compliance with her rules prevents her from changing course. Later, when he proposes Windsor and then argues against it, Clarissa notes that “he came back, dissuading me from it,” and she interprets this as consideration. The text’s footnote undercuts her trust. This pattern—Clarissa setting boundaries, Lovelace appearing to respect them while maneuvering—recurs throughout the excerpts. It creates a rhythm of hope and suspicion. A first-time reader may share Clarissa’s uncertainty, not knowing which of Lovelace’s moves are genuine.

Miss Howe’s Role as a Critical Counterpoint

Miss Howe’s letters offer a different perspective. In Letter I, she repeats her advice to marry Lovelace, but her tone is urgent, not calm. Later, her mother forbids their correspondence at the instigation of Antony Harlowe, and Mr. Hickman becomes a go-between. Miss Howe’s voice is sharp, practical, and often critical of Clarissa’s choices. In the excerpt from Letter XXVIII, she chides Clarissa for undervaluing “the much worthier Mr. Hickman” and quotes a proverb: “Much will bear, much shall bear.” This is not mere friendship; Miss Howe functions as a moral and social commentator. Her letters provide a reality check against Clarissa’s self-blame and Lovelace’s manipulations. For a first reader, Miss Howe’s perspective helps gauge how extreme Clarissa’s situation is—her alarm signals danger more clearly than Clarissa’s measured self-accounting.

Reading Volume 3 requires holding multiple viewpoints at once: Clarissa’s anguished self-analysis, Lovelace’s gleeful scheming, and Miss Howe’s alarmed counsel. The epistolary form makes each letter a performance, and the gaps between them are where the drama lives. Pay attention to the footnotes—they often reveal Lovelace’s calculations or Clarissa’s misreadings. The volume does not resolve the central conflict; it deepens it. A first-time reader is best served by tracking what each correspondent knows and when they know it, and by noticing how often Clarissa’s virtue becomes the very tool used to confine her.