At the time when Carpaccio and Gentile Bellini were painting those
handsome youths in tight jackets, parti-coloured hose, and little
round caps placed awry upon their shocks of well-combed hair, there
lived in Venice two noblemen, Messer Pietro and Messer Paolo, whose
palaces fronted each other on the Grand Canal. Messer Paolo was a
widower, with one married daughter, and an only son of twenty years or
thereabouts, named Gerardo. Messer Pietro's wife was still living; and
this couple had but one child, a daughter, called Elena, of exceeding
beauty, aged fourteen. Gerardo, as is the wont of gallants, was paying
his addresses to a certain lady; and nearly every day he had to cross
the Grand Canal in his gondola, and to pass beneath the house of Elena
on his way to visit his Dulcinea; for this lady lived some distance
up a little canal on which the western side of Messer Pietro's palace
looked.
Now it so happened that at the very time when the story opens, Messer
Pietro's wife fell ill and died, and Elena was left alone at home with
her father and her old nurse. Across the little canal of which I spoke
there dwelt another nobleman, with four daughters, between the years
of seventeen and twenty-one. Messer Pietro, desiring to provide
amusement for poor little Elena, besought this gentleman that his
daughters might come on feast-days to play with her. For you must know
that, except on festivals of the Church, the custom of Venice required
that gentlewomen should remain closely shut within the private
apartments of their dwellings. His request was readily granted; and on
the next feast-day the five girls began to play at ball together for
forfeits in the great saloon, which opened with its row of Gothic
arches and balustraded balcony upon the Grand Canal. The four sisters,
meanwhile, had other thoughts than for the game. One or other of them,
and sometimes three together, would let the ball drop, and run to the
balcony to gaze upon their gallants, passing up and down in gondolas
below; and then they would drop flowers or ribands for tokens. Which
negligence of theirs annoyed Elena much; for she thought only of the
game. Wherefore she scolded them in childish wise, and one of them
made answer, 'Elena, if you only knew how pleasant it is to play as we
are playing on this balcony, you would not care so much for ball and
forfeits!'
On one of those feast-days the four sisters were prevented from
keeping their little friend company. Elena, with nothing to do, and
feeling melancholy, leaned upon the window-sill which overlooked the
narrow canal. And it chanced that just then Gerardo, on his way to
Dulcinea, went by; and Elena looked down at him, as she had seen those
sisters look at passers-by. Gerardo caught her eye, and glances passed
between them, and Gerardo's gondolier, bending from the poop, said
to his master, 'O master! methinks that gentle maiden is better worth
your wooing than Dulcinea.' Gerardo pretended to pay no heed to these
words; but after rowing a little way, he bade the man turn, and they
went slowly back beneath the window. This time Elena, thinking to play
the game which her four friends had played, took from her hair a clove
carnation and let it fall close to Gerardo on the cushion of the
gondola. He raised the flower and put it to his lips, acknowledging
the courtesy with a grave bow. But the perfume of the clove and the
beauty of Elena in that moment took possession of his heart together,
and straightway he forgot Dulcinea.
As yet he knew not who Elena was. Nor is this wonderful; for the
daughters of Venetian nobles were but rarely seen or spoken of.
But the thought of her haunted him awake and sleeping; and every
feast-day, when there was the chance of seeing her, he rowed his
gondola beneath her windows. And there she appeared to him in company
with her four friends; the five girls clustering together like sister
roses beneath the pointed windows of the Gothic balcony. Elena, on her
side, had no thought of love; for of love she had heard no one speak.
But she took pleasure in the game those friends had taught her, of
leaning from the balcony to watch Gerardo. He meanwhile grew love-sick
and impatient, wondering how he might declare his passion. Until one
day it happened that, talking through a lane or _calle_ which
skirted Messer Pietro'a palace, he caught sight of Elena's nurse, who
was knocking at the door, returning from some shopping she had
made. This nurse had been his own nurse in childhood; therefore he
remembered her, and cried aloud, 'Nurse, Nurse!' But the old woman did
not hear him, and passed into the house and shut the door behind her.
Whereupon Gerardo, greatly moved, still called to her, and when he
reached the door, began to knock upon it violently. And whether it
was the agitation of finding himself at last so near the wish of his
heart, or whether the pains of waiting for his love had weakened him,
I know not; but, while he knocked, his senses left him, and he fell
fainting in the doorway. Then the nurse recognised the youth to whom
she had given suck, and brought him into the courtyard by the help of
handmaidens, and Elena came down and gazed upon him. The house was now
full of bustle, and Messer Pietro heard the noise, and seeing the son
of his neighbour in so piteous a plight, he caused Gerardo to be laid
upon a bed. But for all they could do with him, he recovered not from
his swoon. And after a while force was that they should place him in
a gondola and ferry him across to his father's house. The nurse went
with him, and informed Messer Paolo of what had happened. Doctors were
sent for, and the whole family gathered round Gerardo's bed. After
a while he revived a little; and thinking himself still upon the
doorstep of Pietro's palace, called again, 'Nurse, Nurse!' She was
near at hand, and would have spoken to him. But while he summoned his
senses to his aid, he became gradually aware of his own kinsfolk
and dissembled the secret of his grief. They beholding him in better
cheer, departed on their several ways, and the nurse still sat alone
beside him. Then he explained to her what he had at heart, and how he
was in love with a maiden whom he had seen on feast-days in the
house of Messer Pietro. But still he knew not Elena's name; and she,
thinking it impossible that such a child had inspired this passion,
began to marvel which of the four sisters it was Gerardo loved. Then
they appointed the next Sunday, when all the five girls should be
together, for Gerardo by some sign, as he passed beneath the window,
to make known to the old nurse his lady.
Elena, meanwhile, who had watched Gerardo lying still and pale in
swoon beneath her on the pavement of the palace, felt the stirring
of a new unknown emotion in her soul. When Sunday came, she devised
excuses for keeping her four friends away, bethinking her that she
might see him once again alone, and not betray the agitation which she
dreaded. This ill suited the schemes of the nurse, who nevertheless
was forced to be content. But after dinner, seeing how restless was
the girl, and how she came and went, and ran a thousand times to the
balcony, the nurse began to wonder whether Elena herself were not in
love with some one. So she feigned to sleep, but placed herself within
sight of the window. And soon Gerardo came by in his gondola; and
Elena, who was prepared, threw to him her nosegay. The watchful nurse
had risen, and peeping behind the girl's shoulder, saw at a glance how
matters stood. Thereupon she began to scold her charge, and say, 'Is
this a fair and comely thing, to stand all day at balconies and throw
flowers at passers-by? Woe to you if your father should come to know
of this! He would make you wish yourself among the dead!' Elena, sore
troubled at her nurse's rebuke, turned and threw her arms about her
neck, and called her 'Nanna!' as the wont is of Venetian children.
Then she told the old woman how she had learned that game from the
four sisters, and how she thought it was not different, but far
more pleasant, than the game of forfeits; whereupon her nurse spoke
gravely, explaining what love is, and how that love should lead to
marriage, and bidding her search her own heart if haply she could
choose Gerardo for her husband. There was no reason, as she knew, why
Messer Paolo's son should not mate with Messer Pietro's daughter. But
being a romantic creature, as many women are, she resolved to bring
the match about in secret.
Elena took little time to reflect, but told her nurse that she was
willing, if Gerardo willed it too, to have him for her husband. Then
went the nurse and made the young man know how matters stood, and
arranged with him a day, when Messer Pietro should be in the Council
of the Pregadi, and the servants of the palace otherwise employed,
for him to come and meet his Elena. A glad man was Gerardo, nor did
he wait to think how better it would be to ask the hand of Elena in
marriage from her father. But when the day arrived, he sought the
nurse, and she took him to a chamber in the palace, where there stood
an image of the Blessed Virgin. Elena was there, pale and timid; and
when the lovers clasped hands, neither found many words to say. But
the nurse bade them take heart, and leading them before Our Lady,
joined their hands, and made Gerardo place his ring on his bride's
finger. After this fashion were Gerardo and Elena wedded. And for some
while, by the assistance of the nurse, they dwelt together in much
love and solace, meeting often as occasion offered.
Messer Paolo, who knew nothing of these things, took thought meanwhile
for his son's career. It was the season when the Signiory of Venice
sends a fleet of galleys to Beirut with merchandise; and the noblemen
may bid for the hiring of a ship, and charge it with wares, and
send whomsoever they list as factor in their interest. One of these
galleys, then, Messer Paolo engaged, and told his son that he had
appointed him to journey with it and increase their wealth. 'On thy
return, my son,' he said, 'we will bethink us of a wife for thee.'
Gerardo, when he heard these words, was sore troubled, and first he
told his father roundly that he would not go, and flew off in the
twilight to pour out his perplexities to Elena. But she, who was
prudent and of gentle soul, besought him to obey his father in this
thing, to the end, moreover, that, having done his will and increased
his wealth, he might afterwards unfold the story of their secret
marriage. To these good counsels, though loth, Gerardo consented.
His father was overjoyed at his son's repentance. The galley was
straightway laden with merchandise, and Gerardo set forth on his
voyage.
The trip to Beirut and back lasted usually six months or at the most
seven. Now when Gerardo had been some six months away, Messer Pietro,
noticing how fair his daughter was, and how she had grown into
womanhood, looked about him for a husband for her. When he had found a
youth suitable in birth and wealth and years, he called for Elena, and
told her that the day had been appointed for her marriage. She, alas!
knew not what to answer. She feared to tell her father that she was
already married, for she knew not whether this would please Gerardo.
For the same reason she dreaded to throw herself upon the kindness of
Messer Paolo. Nor was her nurse of any help in counsel; for the old
woman repented her of what she had done, and had good cause to believe
that, even if the marriage with Gerardo were accepted by the two
fathers, they would punish her for her own part in the affair.
Therefore she bade Elena wait on fortune, and hinted to her that, if
the worst came to the worst, no one need know she had been wedded with
the ring to Gerardo. Such weddings, you must know, were binding; but
till they had been blessed by the Church, they had not taken the force
of a religious sacrament. And this is still the case in Italy among
the common folk, who will say of a man, 'Si, è ammogliato; ma il
matrimonio non è stato benedetto.' 'Yes, he has taken a wife, but the
marriage has not yet been blessed.'
So the days flew by in doubt and sore distress for Elena. Then on the
night before her wedding, she felt that she could bear this life no
longer. But having no poison, and being afraid to pierce her bosom
with a knife, she lay down on her bed alone, and tried to die by
holding in her breath. A mortal swoon came over her; her senses fled;
the life in her remained suspended. And when her nurse came next
morning to call her, she found poor Elena cold as a corpse. Messer
Pietro and all the household rushed, at the nurse's cries, into the
room, and they all saw Elena stretched dead upon her bed undressed.
Physicians were called, who made theories to explain the cause of
death. But all believed that she was really dead, beyond all help
of art or medicine. Nothing remained but to carry her to church for
burial instead of marriage. Therefore, that very evening, a funeral
procession was formed, which moved by torchlight up the Grand Canal,
along the Riva, past the blank walls of the Arsenal, to the Campo
before San Pietro in Castello. Elena lay beneath the black felze
in one gondola, with a priest beside her praying, and other boats
followed bearing mourners. Then they laid her in a marble chest
outside the church, and all departed, still with torches burning, to
their homes.
Now it so fell out that upon that very evening Gerardo's galley had
returned from Syria, and was anchoring within the port of Lido, which
looks across to the island of Castello. It was the gentle custom of
Venice at that time that, when a ship arrived from sea, the friends of
those on board at once came out to welcome them, and take and give the
news. Therefore many noble youths and other citizens were on the deck
of Gerardo's galley, making merry with him over the safe conduct
of his voyage. Of one of these he asked, 'Whose is yonder funeral
procession returning from San Pietro?' The young man made answer,
'Alas, for poor Elena, Messer Pietro's daughter! She should have been
married this day. But death took her, and to-night they buried her
in the marble monument outside the church.' A woeful man was Gerardo,
hearing suddenly this news, and knowing what his dear wife must
have suffered ere she died. Yet he restrained himself, daring not to
disclose his anguish, and waited till his friends had left the galley.
Then he called to him the captain of the oarsmen, who was his friend,
and unfolded to him all the story of his love and sorrow, and said
that he must go that night and see his wife once more, if even he
should have to break her tomb. The captain tried to dissuade him, but
in vain. Seeing him so obstinate, he resolved not to desert Gerardo.
The two men took one of the galley's boats, and rowed together toward
San Pietro. It was past midnight when they reached the Campo and broke
the marble sepulchre asunder. Pushing back its lid, Gerardo descended
into the grave and abandoned himself upon the body of his Elena. One
who had seen them at that moment could not well have said which of the
two was dead and which was living--Elena or her husband. Meantime the
captain of the oarsmen, fearing lest the watch (set by the Masters of
the Night to keep the peace of Venice) might arrive, was calling on
Gerardo to come back. Gerardo heeded him no whit. But at the last,
compelled by his entreaties, and as it were astonied, he arose,
bearing his wife's corpse in his arms, and carried her clasped against
his bosom to the boat, and laid her therein, and sat down by her
side and kissed her frequently, and suffered not his friend's
remonstrances. Force was for the captain, having brought himself into
this scrape, that he should now seek refuge by the nearest way from
justice. Therefore he hoved gently from the bank, and plied his oar,
and brought the gondola apace into the open waters. Gerardo still
clasped Elena, dying husband by dead wife. But the sea-breeze
freshened towards daybreak; and the captain, looking down upon that
pair, and bringing to their faces the light of his boat's lantern,
judged their case not desperate at all. On Elena's cheek there was a
flush of life less deadly even than the pallor of Gerardo's forehead.
Thereupon the good man called aloud, and Gerardo started from his
grief; and both together they chafed the hands and feet of Elena; and,
the sea-breeze aiding with its saltness, they awoke in her the spark
of life.
Dimly burned the spark. But Gerardo, being aware of it, became a man
again. Then, having taken counsel with the captain, both resolved
to bear her to that brave man's mother's house. A bed was soon made
ready, and food was brought; and after due time, she lifted up her
face and knew Gerardo. The peril of the grave was past, but thought
had now to be taken for the future. Therefore Gerardo, leaving his
wife to the captain's mother, rowed back to the galley and prepared to
meet his father. With good store of merchandise and with great gains
from his traffic, he arrived in that old palace on the Grand Canal.
Then having opened to Messer Paolo the matters of his journey, and
shown him how he had fared, and set before him tables of disbursements
and receipts, he seized the moment of his father's gladness. 'Father,'
he said, and as he spoke he knelt upon his knees, 'Father, I bring you
not good store of merchandise and bags of gold alone; I bring you also
a wedded wife, whom I have saved this night from death.' And when
the old man's surprise was quieted, he told him the whole story. Now
Messer Paolo, desiring no better than that his son should wed the
heiress of his neighbour, and knowing well that Messer Pietro would
make great joy receiving back his daughter from the grave, bade
Gerardo in haste take rich apparel and clothe Elena therewith, and
fetch her home. These things were swiftly done; and after evenfall
Messer Pietro was bidden to grave business in his neighbour's palace.
With heavy heart he came, from a house of mourning to a house of
gladness. But there, at the banquet-table's head he saw his dead child
Elena alive, and at her side a husband. And when the whole truth had
been declared, he not only kissed and embraced the pair who knelt
before him, but of his goodness forgave the nurse, who in her
turn came trembling to his feet. Then fell there joy and bliss in
overmeasure that night upon both palaces of the Canal Grande. And with
the morrow the Church blessed the spousals which long since had been
on both sides vowed and consummated.