Clorinia at first was satisfied with looking at the Cavalier without being seen; but soon she felt a wish that he should see her also, without knowing why she wished it, and answering by little and little to his amorous looks, she at last conceived a passion in the same way in which she had inspired it,—I mean by appearing at her lattice. Dorido soon guessed that he had made on her all the impression he desired, and since he was denied more, indulged himself in the transports of believing himself beloved. Nevertheless, he sought to reap a more solid satisfaction from his conquest. He contrived to form an acquaintance with Valerio, and succeeded so well as to attach him in such a degree, that they were inseparable. Valerio could no longer live without his friend Dorido; they were always together, sometimes at one house, sometimes at another. This gave Dorido an opportunity of sometimes seeing his charmer, and even speaking to her, but never alone. The eyes of the lovers alone communicated to each other the secrets of their hearts. This state of affairs, however, did not last for ever. Clorinia made her maid Scintila the confidante of her passion; this old woman, who had wit, and wished to serve her mistress, called upon Dorido, and having met with him: “noble Cavalier,” said she, “you need not attempt to disguise the truth from me, I know the state of your heart. You love Clorinia, and I am much mistaken if your love is not returned. You are both dying with impatience for an interview, and I cannot see your situation without pity; I shall never rest till I have procured you the satisfaction you both so ardently desire.” The lover, transported with joy at these words, thanked the Duenna for her good will, assuring her that she should not find him ungrateful if she succeeded. Then making use of so excellent an opportunity, he wrote a very passionate billet, which he conjured her to convey to the amiable sister of Valerio. Scintila returned immediately to her mistress, to acquaint her with the step she had taken, and presented her with Dorido’s letter. Clorinia blamed her for taking charge of it—but soon forgave her: and nothing was now thought of but how to manage the interview with the lovers. The lady raised so many difficulties, that she would have relinquished it altogether, if the old woman, who was more ingenious, had not hit upon a plan they both approved of. Scintila’s bedchamber was on the ground floor; and adjoining to her room there was another, which was filled with old and useless furniture: this room was lighted only by a small window defended by two strong bars of iron, through which there was only room sufficient for a hand to pass. This window, which was about five or six feet from the ground, looked into a lane or blind alley quite uninhabited; and the place appeared exactly suited to lovers, who were satisfied to limit their happiness to conversation only. The old woman, as soon as she saw her young mistress disposed to speak with Dorido through this little window, hastened to inform the Cavalier, who on the ensuing night at eleven o’clock placed himself at a convenient spot. He approached the bars, where he found Scintila expecting him; who requested him to wait patiently until the servants were gone to bed. He did not languish long in suspense: the wished for moment soon arrived. Clorinia came trembling to the window, at which her lover presented himself in speechless agitation. As they both now loved for the first time, they were agitated at the sight of each other, and the excess of their feelings at first prevented them from speaking; but love has more than one language. The lady passed one of her beautiful hands between the bars of the window, and the lover clasping it with ardor, covered it with a thousand kisses. At last, by degrees, they broke silence, and indulged in passionate protestations of eternal love. Their souls were so entirely occupied by the pleasure of seeing each other, that they would have suffered daylight to find them together, if the old woman had not interrupted their conversation to warn them that it was time to separate. Before he would retire, Dorido entreated his mistress to allow him to return the next night at the same hour to the window, and the lady could not resolve to refuse him this favour. At last they separated, equally delighted with the conversation they had just had with each other, and filled with impatience for another interview. Dorido especially was too much agitated to be able to take any rest, or, to speak more correctly, he was miserable until the time of his return to the window. You may easily suppose he did not fail to be punctual; his mistress, finding no obstacle to her design, appeared again at the same place, and their meeting was the second time less embarrassed by timidity than the first. The Cavalier, who had a great deal of wit, said a thousand fine things to his mistress, who replied to them in as lively a manner. This conversation lasted for three hours, and their discourse was mingled with innocent caresses; so that the second interview pleased them both as much as the first. The prudent Scintila was again obliged to separate them. Again and again they accused her of cruelty, not reflecting, that though she disturbed their pleasures, it was only with a view to render them more lasting; for, in fact, they continued to enjoy their stolen interviews with so much secrecy and good management, that not a soul living knew of them but the old woman and one other person.
This other person was a young man of rank, named Horatio, a native of this city. He also loved Clorinia, having by chance seen her at her lattice, and had revealed his love to her by signs, but finding them very badly received, he concluded that he had a rival who was more happy, and judged that rival to be Dorido, as he was united in so strict a friendship with Valerio. To clear up his well founded suspicions, he sought out Dorido, who was one of his friends, to whom he spoke in these words, “My dear Dorido, I am come to ask a favour of you, and I conjure you not to refuse me; my happiness depends upon it. You are continually with Valerio; you very often visit at his house, and I cannot help thinking that you are in love with his sister: if I am mistaken in my conjectures, oblige me by declaring it. You are too well deserving the heart of that lady, for me to dispute it with you.” “You love Clorinia then,” exclaimed Dorido, a little ruffled; “I confess that I am quite charmed with her,” replied Horatio, “but nevertheless I do you justice, and agree that you deserve better than I, the happiness of being her husband.”—“Let us speak without flattery,” interrupted Dorido. “I should doubtless consider myself highly honoured in becoming the husband of Clorinia; but I frankly confess to you, that I have no design to marry her.” “Is it possible,” cried Horatio, eagerly, “that you do not mean to marry her? ah! my friend, how different are my intentions from yours. My highest ambition is to unite my fate with hers; your views should yield to mine: sacrifice the mad hopes you have conceived. I expect this effort from your friendship and your virtue.” “You might add,” said Dorido, “that I owe it to the family of Clorinia; yes,” continued he, “I will leave the field open to you; and if Valerio’s sister should accept your addresses and consent to give you her hand, I will cease to be your rival. I will do more, I will speak in your favour, and I assure you that in that case it shall not be my fault if your wishes be not fulfilled.” Horatio was so well satisfied with this speech, that he testified his gratitude to Dorido, without thinking that his promise was only conditional, and therefore that he ought to mistrust it. He made no reflection of this kind, but even requested Dorido to use his good offices in his behalf with Clorinia. Dorido could not but be touched at the frankness of Horatio; and being generous enough to prefer the happiness of his friend to his own inclinations, as his views were purer, he resolved to do all in his power to wean his affections from this lady. In fact the very next time he saw her, he addressed her thus: “You are not ignorant, Madam, that Horatio is added to the number of your slaves, but I am doubtful whether you know how truly he adores you. Learn then that he thinks only of you, and that to receive your hand is the only wish of his heart.” “I am charmed to hear it,” replied Clorinia; “my reception of him shall convince you how little I wish for any other lover but Dorido.” “I well know,” replied the Cavalier, “the value of preference so glorious for me, but I should think that I abused your goodness, if I was not capable of some self-denial; Horatio has many good qualities, and when you know him better you will not be sorry, perhaps, if your friends should second his wishes.” “How!” cried the lady, “to hear you is enough to make me believe that you would make me miserable; is it possible that you can wish me to reply to the tenderness of Horatio?” “Never,” answered Dorido; “I have no such thought: I only wished to convince you that if you feel any inclination for Horatio, and your friends approve of his addresses, my heart would in vain rebel; that I would sacrifice myself to the happiness of my rival, to shew you how entirely devoted I am to all your wishes.” “I fear,” replied she, “that the victim would be as submissive as you represent him, and that your love for me is not quite so sincere as you profess it to be. “But,” continued she, “I do not pretend to put you to the trial. Dorido shall be my first lover and my last: upon this assurance you may rely: let Horatio persevere as much as he pleases in his love for me, he will never be more successful. I will confess to you that I was acquainted with his passion, which I learnt from his gestures before my window, and have been so little pleased by it, that I have conceived a dislike for him, which almost borders on hatred.”
After these words, Dorido did not dare to mention Horatio again, as he perceived very plainly that the topic was extremely disagreeable to Clorinia. He changed the conversation for the rest of the time they were together, and the night was passed in mutual protestations of eternal love. On the next day Dorido received a visit from Horatio. “Well my friend,” said the latter, “have you seen Clorinia,—did anything fall from her lovely lips which could be interpreted in my favour?” “I am very sorry,” replied the other, “that I cannot give you a very flattering account; you have but little room to hope; I extolled your merit,—I pointed out the splendor of the alliance,—I represented you as much more in love with her than perhaps you really are,—but the cruel beauty silenced me by declaring that she could not reply to your love, and that the soft bonds of Hymen should never unite her fate with yours.” At these words, Horatio turned pale and fell into a profound reverie, while Dorido sympathising in his grief like a true friend, pointed out to him that he ought to relinquish his pretensions rather than attempt to constrain the inclinations of Clorinia, and that there were in Rome many other ladies equally amiable, who would do more justice to his merit. “To conclude, my dear Horatio,” added he, “I am sure I have given you no cause to be dissatisfied with me. I would willingly have yielded the sister of Valerio to you, provided she had been at all inclined to favour your passion. I would have made this sacrifice to friendship. Can you now refuse to abandon a conquest that you are by no means sure to gain?” Horatio then broke silence, and replied to his friend: “Far from reproaching you, I must consider myself under a great obligation to you for the service you have fruitlessly attempted to render me, in pleading my cause. I confess that it is more reasonable that I should renounce my pretensions to a hand which I am not able to obtain, than that you should relinquish a heart which you already possess—farewell my friend, I will spare no pains to enable me to profit by your advice, and form an attachment elsewhere.” He quitted Dorido as he concluded these words, and with an air which persuaded him, that, struck by the force of his arguments, he intended to employ his utmost endeavours to conquer his passion for a woman whose ingratitude convinced him that he loved her too well. But his intentions were far different. He looked upon Dorido as a traitor. “He is a false friend,” said he to himself: “far from saying any thing to Clorinia in my favor, he has only spoken to my disadvantage; however, be that as it may, I am resolved to persevere; I will ask her in marriage through my father, who will be more ready to serve me than my rival was.” Thus Horatio resolved to impart his passion to his father, who approved of his choice, and promised to interpose in his behalf, undertaking to speak to Clorinia’s father on the subject; which he did soon afterwards. The two old men had a long conversation together; and the result was that a marriage was agreed upon, provided that the lady should show no repugnance to it; as her father was resolved not to constrain her inclinations. But as soon as a marriage with Horatio was proposed to her, she testified so much aversion for that gentleman, that they lost all hopes of her ever being more favourably inclined towards him, and every thing was consequently broken off. How pitiable is the situation of that man whose love tyrannizes over his reason! Horatio, seeing that his passion was despised, and his rival triumphant, felt all his love changed into hate: he now considered Clorinia only as an object of detestation; and refusing to listen to the voice of reason, he desired nothing more ardently than an opportunity to avenge himself at once on the lady and her favored lover. He employed a faithful servant of his own to watch them, and having by this means discovered the time and place of their nocturnal meetings, he conceived one of the most cruel and horrible designs that ever entered into the heart of man. One night he took care to be in the lane before the arrival of Dorido, and approached the grated window where the sister of Valerio had already placed herself. The darkness of the night caused her to mistake him for the lover she expected, and she addressed him with so much kindness that Horatio became still more irritated than ever. The traitor took care not to speak lest he should betray himself, but seizing with his left hand one of the hands of Clorinia, which that lady, in her mistake, had extended to him through the grating, he suddenly severed it from her arm with a very sharp knife which he held in his right hand: after which he speedily retreated from the lane, highly delighted with the success of his scheme. Figure to yourself the deplorable spectacle which presented itself to the relations of Clorinia, when, attracted to the spot by the cries of Scintila, they rushed half undressed into the room where the unfortunate lady lay stretched on the floor senseless, and weltering in her blood. But when they perceived the loss of her hand, the unfortunate parents fainted on the spot, and it was not without difficulty that they were recalled to life by the exertions of Valerio and the servants, who were aroused by the noise.
The father and mother being a little recovered, began to doubt as well as their son, whether Clorinia were not to blame in this lamentable affair. This was a mystery which Scintila could easily have elucidated, if she had not thought it more advisable to defer this explanation until a more convenient opportunity; so that they now thought only of saving Clorinia’s life if possible. Valerio instantly withdrew to his chamber, where he dressed himself with all expedition, in order that he might go himself, and bring a very skilful surgeon, who was a friend of his; while the father, after he had enjoined the strictest secrecy to all his servants on the subject of this disastrous affair, endeavoured with their assistance to staunch the blood of his daughter, by wrapping up in linen the arm which had been so cruelly mangled.
Valerio was soon ready; he went out and first of all hastened into the lane, to see if he could by the light of a lantern which he ordered a servant to carry before him, discover the lost hand: but Horatio had carried it away with him, and nothing was to be seen beneath the little window but a track of blood running down the wall. The wretched brother of Clorinia felt all his grief renewed at this sight; but as he proceeded, he met and recognised Dorido, who was hastening towards the lane with all the feelings of a happy lover. “Ah, my friend!” cried Valerio to him in a mournful voice, “whither are you going? I see that you are unacquainted with the tragic catastrophe that has just occurred. Oh wretched Clorinia!” “Gracious Heaven,” cried her unfortunate lover, “what misfortune do you deplore,—what has happened?” “A misfortune,” answered Valerio, “which our family ought to conceal from all mankind; but I will not hide any thing from you; I ought even to inform you of it as a friend who will not refuse to assist me in discovering the assassin of my unhappy sister.” These last words pierced Dorido’s heart; in a faint and trembling voice he enquired what was the matter. Valerio told him in a few words, and requested him to accompany him to the surgeon, but Dorido refused, saying to him, with an air which shewed the fury that began to animate him; “No no, Valerio, I shall employ my time better; there is no occasion to engage ourselves both on the same errand, when there is so much more to be done. Do you alone undertake to conduct the surgeon to your house, while I seek for the barbarian who could commit a crime which no one can hear of without trembling. If I can discover this perfidious wretch, let him expect a chastisement worthy of his treason. In a word,” added he, “leave me to revenge you; I feel as acutely as you the misfortune of Clorinia.” Upon this the two friends separated. Dorido returned homewards, vowing to listen only to his anger in the revenge which he purposed to take upon Horatio; for he could suspect no one but him of having committed this action. As soon as he arrived at home, he shut himself up in his chamber that he might freely lament the loss of his mistress. “My dear Clorinia,” cried he, “my rival, envious of your love for me, has deceived you in the darkness of this fatal night: you have mistaken him for your Dorido; I am then the unhappy cause of the misfortune which has happened to you. Were it not for me, you still would have been living in perfect peace with your father. It is I who have assassinated you; but your death shall but little precede my own. No sooner shall I have sacrificed Horatio to your ashes, than I also will join you in eternal darkness. Oh that it were permitted to thee to see and rejoice in the just vengeance which I will inflict on the wretch who has dared to deprive thee of thy innocent hand!”
Thus did Dorido bewail his mistress’s fate until day-break, when he repaired to her house, where every one was in the greatest distress and agitation. Valerio and his father seemed to be doubly afflicted at the sight of him, and they embraced each other almost drowned in tears. “Oh Dorido, my son,” said the old man, “my daughter is at the point of death, having lost so great a quantity of blood as alone would be sufficient to terminate her existence. Was there ever so unfortunate a father? Who can have been capable of committing so horrible an act? What punishment can console us under our present affliction?” “Sir,” answered Dorido, “suspend we our lamentations for a while, and let us think of one thing only which concerns us all. The author of this misery must perish; I will inflict on him an adequate punishment. But before I execute a revenge on him which shall astonish and horrify posterity, I must make myself what I now am not. Receive me, therefore, for your son-in-law; it will be more for the honour of us all that it should be said that Clorinia was avenged by her husband, than by her father’s friend.”
Both father and son accepted Dorido’s proposal most willingly. In fact, it was very honourable towards them, and very necessary to prevent the disadvantageous reports which might be circulated respecting their misfortune. The old man went himself to acquaint Clorinia with it, who, debilitated as she was from her extreme illness, shed tears of joy, and exclaimed, with transport, that “were she but the wife of Dorido, she could die contented.” She requested to be allowed to speak to him; and as she had then but little fever, it was considered that this consolation might be allowed her without danger; but no sooner did he appear at her bed-side, than she fainted from extreme joy. She was soon restored to her senses; but the surgeon, fearful of a relapse, would not permit the lovers to converse together. They were obliged, therefore, to express their thoughts by looks instead of words. Dorido, finding that his presence seemed to console the invalid, would not leave her the whole of the day. In the evening a priest and notary arrived, and the marriage was celebrated before three relations, who had been sent for as witnesses.
Clorinia was much better the two following days, and the surgeon seemed to entertain some hopes of her life; but he was deceived. On the third day the fever returned with such increased violence, that he pronounced her dissolution to be at hand. Dorido, now giving her up for dead, no longer delayed the execution of his vengeance. He went in search of Horatio to every place in which he was likely to find him; and having met him, he was most profuse in his compliments, and, as though he knew nothing of what had happened, invited him to sup at his house. Horatio, who had committed this barbarous action in the most private manner, and who as yet had not heard the affair whispered either in the City or in Clorinia’s neighbourhood, imagined that Dorido could not yet have heard of it, and suspecting no ill design, went to sup with him as he had frequently done before. They both sat down to table, and began to eat and drink. Dorido had caused some lethargic drugs to be mixed with Horatio’s wine; so that that gentleman soon fell into a sort of trance, during which Dorido and his two servants bound his hands and feet, and having slung a rope round his neck, with another rope they bound him to a pillar in the parlour, after having carefully shut every door in the house. In this condition they chafed his nose and temples with some strong spirits and restored him to his senses.
When the wretched Horatio found himself so extremely fast bound that he could not stir, he soon perceived the danger which threatened him, and, hoping to soften his rival’s anger, he confessed his crime, and implored his mercy in terms the most pathetic that his fear of death could inspire him with. Useless were his prayers! he had to appease an enemy who was inexorable, a husband who beheld his dying wife before his eyes! Dorido, so far from being moved by his entreaties, cut off both his hands himself, and bade his servants to strangle him, ordering them afterwards to carry his corpse at midnight to the top of the street, with his two hands tied to his neck. As for himself, not being able to support the loss of his wife, he left Rome this morning. It is not known whither he has directed his steps; and I am just informed that Clorinia died a few hours after his departure.
The Neapolitan gentleman here concluded his story, which much affected the Ambassador and his company, who deplored the lady’s untimely fate. They pitied Dorido also; but all concluded by observing that in the conduct of both the gentlemen there was manifested a spirit of vengeance which savoured very little of Christianity.