Lovelace and the Dark Triad

Many critics consider Clarissa the first “psychological novel,” as it explores the main characters’ emotions, thoughts, and values. Richardson does this by overlaying their first-person accounts of the events, contrasting their understandings of each event. These “dueling perspectives” illustrate not just the difference in the characters’ personalities, but how they change because of the plot events. And he does this by making brilliant use of the epistolary form, such as adding the date and time of letters, showing that Clarissa and Lovelace are sometimes writing at the same time about the same event. This deepens the readers’ identification with Clarissa, making them feel her terror as she dreads the approach of the abusive Lovelace.

Clarissa’s letters to her friend Anna reveal her basic personality—optimistic, indomitable, and pious. As the story goes on (almost interminably!), they also show her changing in response to the drastic events, especially her abduction and rape by Lovelace. “Change” is necessary in a psychological novel, to show the causal relationship between the personality and events— how we are changes the way the events evolve, and the events change the way we are. But what doesn’t change is also important to the exploration of the person’s psychology. In response to the abuse, Clarissa discards her naivete and replaces it with a hard-won realism. She also loses her need to be regarded as respectable. But she retains her faith and her fierce desire for autonomy.

The Libertine Wannabe Belford, Redeemed

Lovelace’s letters to his friend John Belford also reveal his true self, that of a psychopath. What sets this apart from, say, Silence of the Lambs’ Hannibal Lecter is the “dueling perspective” provided in Clarissa’s early letters. As shown by the list of letters that acts as the table of contents, the first thirty letters are all from Clarissa. In those, Lovelace comes across as a reformed man, respectful of her virtue and sympathetic to her difficulties with her avaricious and oppressive family.

But then comes Letter XXXI, and Lovelace gleefully reports on his Machiavellian manipulation of Clarissa and her family. It’s a stark contrast to the Lovelace that Clarissa sees as a potential rescuer. It’s a hallmark of the psychopath, the successful ones at any rate, to be completely deceptive about who they are and what they want.

Why does he reveal himself in all his evil glory to John Belford? Well, Belford, like Clarissa, is naïve, but in a different way. He is, initially, like the weak and impressionable men who buy “pimping primer classes” from the Tate brothers. He is giggling appreciator of Lovelace’s boasts and schemes, evincing little disapproval of the plan to abduct and “seduce” the young lady. But the whole “evil bro” thing starts to bother him once he gets to know Clarissa. (You know—it’s okay to abuse some woman I don’t know, but not my new friend!) When Lovelace gets her put in prison, Belford bails her out and after that becomes her champion. Alas, it’s too late. She is already ill and soon dies. He goes into full-on reformation mode then, inspired by Clarissa’s “holy death.”

Richardson uses this juxtaposition as another contrast to Lovelace, who is irredeemable. I think he’s created Lovelace as a true psychopath, protected by his wealth and position and gender. But he uses the contrast with Belford to show that no one has to be evil, that it’s a series of choices and decisions. Belford eventually realizes that he is supporting abuse, and changes, and tries to persuade Lovelace to release Clarissa. Lovelace just doubles down on his abuse, proving that he is irredeemable.

The Dark Triad

I think Lovelace is an example of the “dark triad” of psychopathy, with the personality disorders of Machiavellianism, malignant narcissism, and psychopathy. Richardson, like Shakespeare before him, understood the dark psychology of abusers. He endows Lovelace with superficial charm, good looks, and social standing, and his seeming empathy initially wins over Clarissa. But it’s only “seeming empathy” because psychopaths can’t feel with other people. His pretense is just part of that manipulation that is the first action of Machiavellians like him.

Some analysts say that Lovelace is redeemed in the end, because he punishes himself when he seeks out Clarissa’s cousin who challenges him to the fatal duel. But Richardson was adamant that Lovelace would not be joining Clarissa in eternal peace. His seeming grief at Clarissa’s death, even his profession of guilt, might seem like repentance. But actually, he has not changed his life or made any actions of redemption. While he begs the dead Clarissa for forgiveness at the end, it’s clear he’s terrified of hell and hoping for some other option.

His very last words, “Let this expiate!” are emblematic of his absolute belief that he should be above human and divine laws. He is demanding that his death must expiate his sins, as if this is a commercial exchange, and he’s in charge of the terms.

Centuries before Freud and Jung, Richardson used this epistolary format to delve into contrasting psychologies through their own voices. This reminds me that great novelists are the greatest psychologists, but also, as Graham Greene wrote, “There is a splinter of ice in the heart of a writer.” The bathetic creator of the saintly Pamela, less than a decade later, had the imagination and the power to create such enormous characters and show their minds and souls from the inside.

“Clarissa’s Choice” (from Desire and Domestic Fiction) by Nancy Armstrong

“The Character of Lovelace” (from Samuel Richardson: Dramatic Novelist) by Mark Kinkead-Weekes