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 balustrated
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 ribbands 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, walking
through a lane or _calle_ which skirted Messer Pietro's 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 Signory 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, e ammogliato; ma il matrimonio non e 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
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
over-measure 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.