XIII

When the first faint flush of dawn was waking in the east, the fair,

sweet face of Marina of Murano was outlined for the last time, vague as

some dream memory, against the deep shadows of the interior, between the

quaint columns that framed her window.

Birds were twittering in the vines of the pergola not far away;

honeysuckles were pouring forth their fragrant morning oblations; and

the salt sea-breeze wafted her its invigorating breath as the early

tide, with slow, increasing motion, brimmed the channels that wound

through the marshes on the borders of Murano and overflowed till the

lagoon was a broad, unbroken vista of silver-gray, in whose shimmer and

radiance, when the tide was at its full, the morning stars died out. But

still they glistened dimly in the twilight of the sky to which she

raised her questioning, believing eyes. Life was always beautiful to her

loving soul; for when the shadows held a meaning deeper than she could

solve, her answer was faith; and now, that her new joy was to grow out

of a deep solitariness for the father so tenderly beloved, it was he who

upheld her courage.

"Life may not be," he said, "without some shadow; this is the shade of

thine, which, without it, were too bright. Heaven hath some purpose in

its sending, but not that it should darken our eyes to miss the joy."

"The day will be o'er-lonely in this home, my father."

"Nay, Marina, let love suffice; so shall we be always together! Shall I

not go to thee? And thou wilt come to me, bringing thy new interests and

holding thy dear heart ever pure and loyal to Venice, and thy home, and

thy God--not forgetting. For thou hast chosen with thy whole heart, my

daughter?" since she had not answered. "Thou dost not fear thyself?"

"Dearest father," she had said, hiding her face in his tender embrace,

"all of my heart which is not thine is wholly his--only my happiness is

too great."

"Nay, daughter, since it is of God's own sending; take all the joy and

grieve not."

"Only at leaving thee."

"I would not keep thee here, to leave thee mourning and alone when my

days are closed."

"Father!"

"Not to sadden thee, my child, but to show thee that life is linked to

life--God wills it so. Thou and I are bound to that which has been and

to that which is to be. We do not stand alone to choose. The sweetness

of our life together should make it easier for me to yield thee to the

fuller life which calleth thee. We must each bear our part in the beauty

of the whole. For perfect love, there must be sacrifice."

She was thinking of these things as she stood in the gray dawn waiting

for the beauty of the on-coming day, quite alone with her thoughts and

with her God, the giver of this beauty; and often as she had stood there

with her morning offering of trust and adoration, never before had the

day-dawn seemed so full of mystery and promise, nor the new life which

the morning held within its keeping so full of hope and beauty. The very

tide, flowing round her island home, brought thoughts of her home that

was to be, as it swept through the channels of the City of the Sea, past

the palace where her lover was waiting, bringing murmurs and messages of

liquid harmony. The marsh grasses swayed and yielded to its flow,

lending new depths of color to the water-bed, as they bowed beneath the

masterful current--so the difficulties which had seemed to beset their

hopes had been vanquished by the resistless tide of his love and

constancy.

The stars were lost in the deep gray-blue of the sky; a solemn

stillness, like the presage of some divine event, seemed for a moment to

hold the pulses of the universe; then a soft rose crept into the shimmer

of the water and crested the snows on the distant Euganean Hills, the

transient, many-tinted glory of the east reflected itself in opal lights

upon the silver sea, then suddenly swept the landscape in one dazzling

glow of gold--and the joy-bells rang out. For to-day a festa had been

granted in Murano.

Then, wrapping herself closely in the soft folds of her gray mantle,

falling Madonna-wise from her head and shrouding her figure, she glided

for the last time over the _ponte_ and down past the sleeping homes of

Murano; for it was yet early for matins, and she would have the Madonna

all to herself as she knelt with her heart full of tenderness for the

dear life this day should merge in that other which beckoned her with

joyous anticipation--yet stilled to serenity by the golden glory and

promise of the dawn, and the beautiful, self-sacrificing, upholding

faith of the great-hearted Girolamo.

He had followed her and folded her passionately to his heart, as she

crossed the threshold of their home on her way to San Donato. "I must be

first," he said, "to bless thee on thy bridal day. Fret thee not, for

thou art bidden to a mission, since thou goest forth from the people to

the highest circle of the nobles. And love alone hath bidden and drawn

thee. Forget it not, Marina! So shall a blessing go with thee and rest

upon thee!"

She had brought a gift to the Madonna of San Donato--an exquisite altar

lamp of ivory and silver--and from the flowers which she had laid upon

the altar while she knelt in prayer, she gathered some to scatter over

the grave of the tiny Zuane.

When Marina returned slowly through the little square, Murano was awake;

the painted sails of the fishing-boats were tacking in the breeze, the

activities of the simple homes had commenced, women with their

water-jugs were chatting round the well, detaining little ones clinging

to the fringes of the tawny mantles which hung below their waists; a few

stopped her with greetings; here and there a child ran to her

shyly--their mothers, from the low cottage doorways, calling to them

that "the donzel Marina had given them festa."

Yes, there was to be festa in Murano. Girolamo had obtained from the

Senate the grace of providing it. For now, since his daughter would have

no need of the gold which his industry had brought him, he might spend

it lavishly on her wedding day to gladden the hearts of the people whom

she was leaving; for to him this bridal had a deeply consecrated meaning

which divested it of half its sadness.

The workmen of Murano were to have holiday, and a great feast was spread

for them by Girolamo in the long exhibition hall of the stabilimenti,

for which it had been needful to procure permission of the Senate; but

for once it suited well the humor of this august and autocratic body

that one of the people should, for a day, make himself great among them.

Thus for the inhabitants of Murano--men, women, and children--there was

a welcome waiting the day long in the house of the bride, where they

should come to take her bounty and shower their blessings; for this time

only Murano had no voice for _critica_--it was too busy in

congratulation.

When Marina reached her home she found it garlanded from column to

column with festal wreaths of green, while the maidens from the village

still lingered, veiling the walls between the windows with delicate

frosts of fruit-bloom from the gardens of Mazzorbo. And closely

following this village tribute came a priest from San Donato with the

band of white-robed nuns who formed the choir of the Matrice, bearing

perfumes of incense and benediction for the home of the bride, that all

who passed beneath its portal, going out or coming in, might carry

blessing with their steps.

In Venice also there were joy-bells ringing; and to overflowing tables,

spread in the water-storey of the Ca' Giustiniani, the people of Venice

were freely bidden by silken banners floating legends of welcome above

the open doorway. But now the expectant people were thronging the

Piazza; the _fondamenta_ along the Riva was alive with color, balconies

were brilliant with draperies, windows were glowing with vivid shawls,

rugs, brocades--tossed out to lean upon in the splendor that became a

fête; above them the spaces were crowded with enthusiastic spectators in

holiday dress; the children of the populace, shouting, ecstatic,

ubiquitous, swarmed on the quay below.

The splendor of the pageant which brought a bride from Murano to the

highest patrician circle of the Republic--to that house which held its

patent of nobility from those days of the seventh century when an

ancestor had ruled as tribune over one of the twelve Venetian isles--was

long remembered, almost as a royal wedding fête, and for days before and

after it was the talk of Venice.

They were coming over the water to the sound of the people's native

songs and the echo of their laughter, the young men and maidens of

Murano, in barks that were wreathed with garlands and brilliant with the

play of color that the Venetians love.

"Maridite, maridite, donzela,

Che dona maridada è sempre bela;

Maridite finchè la fogia è verde,

Perchè la zoventù presto se perde."[4]

[4] Marry, maiden, marry,

For she that is wedded is ever fair;

Marry then, in thy tender bloom,

Since youth passeth swiftly.

By the port of the Lido many a royal pageant had entered into Venice,

but never before had such a procession started from the shores of

Murano; it made one feel fête-like only to see the _bissoni_, those

great boats with twelve oars, each from a stabilimento of Murano,

wreathed for the fête, each merchant master at its head, robed in his

long, black, fur-trimmed gown and wearing his heavy golden chain, the

workmen tossing blossoms back over the water to greet the bride, the

rowers chanting in cadence to their motion:

"Belina sei, e'l ciel te benedissa,

Che in dove che ti passi l'erba nasse!"[5]

[5] Beautiful thou art, and may Heaven bless thee,

So that in thy footprints the grass shall spring.

A cry rang down the Canal Grande from the gondoliers of the Ca'

Giustiniani, who were waiting this sign to start their own train from

the palazzo; for the bridal gondolas were coming in sight, with _felzi_

of damask, rose, and blue, embroidered with emblems of the Giustiniani,

bearing the noble maidens who had been chosen for the household of the

Lady Marina, each flower-like and charming under her gauzy veil of

tenderest coloring. It was indeed a rare vision to the populace, these

young patrician beauties whose faces never, save in most exceptional

fêtes, had been seen unveiled beyond their mother's drawing-rooms,

floating toward them in a diaphanous mist which turned their living

loveliness into a dream.

The shout of the Giustiniani was echoed from gondola to gondola of the

waiting throng, from the gondoliers of all the nobles who followed in

their wake, from the housetops, the balconies, the fondamenta, mingled

with the words of the favorite folk-song:

"Belo zè el mare, e belà la marina!"[6]

[6] Beautiful is the sea, and beautiful the marsh.

It was like a fairy dream as the bridal procession came floating toward

San Marco, in the brilliant golden sunshine, between the blue of the

cloudless sky and the blue of the mirroring sea, each gondola garlanded

with roses, its silver dolphins flashing in the light, and in the midst

of them the bark that bore the bride. The stately pall of snowy damask,

fringed with silver, swept almost to the water's breast, behind the

felze of azure velvet, where, beside her father, sat the bride, in robe

of brocaded silver shimmering like the sea--a subtle perfume of orange

blossoms heralding her advance.