_The loves of Dorido and Clorinia; or the Sever’d Hand._
A Cavalier of this city, called Dorido, a young man of an illustrious
family, an engaging person and great bravery, fell in love with a young
lady of the name, of Clorinia, who was about seventeen years old,
virtuous, beautiful, and of equal rank. The relations of this charming
girl brought her up with so much care, that they would not allow her to
make any connection by which her virtue might be at all endangered. She
was hardly ever suffered even to approach her latticed window, lest some
misfortune should be the consequence, as no one could gaze upon her
extreme beauty with impunity: either her father or her mother, or her
brother Valerio, attended her every where, and watched her every action.
Some months ago, Dorido having accidentally obtained a sight of her,
became violently enamoured: but could declare his love by no other means
than by casting empassioned glances towards the window of her chamber
when she happened to be there, as he passed by the house. If the homage
of his eyes was not always remarked by the object of it, at least it was
sometimes noticed; at all events, it was practised often enough to
produce the wished for effect.
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.