"Belo zè el mare, e belà la marina!"
and then a breathless silence fell, for the bark of the ministering
priest of San Donato had taken the lead, the white-robed nuns of the
Matrice grouped about him, chanting as they approached some ancient
wedding canticles of benediction. The bissoni parted and came no
further, having brought their maiden from Murano with every sign of love
and honor; the barges of the people fell back behind them, and through
their ranks the bridal gondolas followed the bark of the priest of San
Donato to the steps of the Piazzetta, where the train of the
Giustiniani, in a magnificence that was well-nigh royal, had just
disembarked, and Marcantonio stood bareheaded among the nobles to
receive his bride.
But it was only for a moment of recognition in the sight of the
thronging people, for messengers were arriving with greetings from the
Doge, which this bride, whom the Senate had taken from the people to
bestow upon a noble, must receive from the lips of the Prince himself
before the wedding ceremony should take place; so the train of
Giustiniani, with all the nobles of Venice--who, from immemorial custom,
had come together to witness and rejoice over this great event in the
life of one of their number--entered San Marco by the great doors of the
Piazza; while the bride, obeying the gracious summons of the Doge,
passed through the gate of the Ducal Palace on the seaside, into the
great court where the Signoria were descending the Giant's Stairway on
their passage to the ducal chapel.
The ceremony of presentation to the Serenissimo was quickly over, and
the bride and her maidens, with Girolamo Magagnati, in sign of the
Prince's favor, followed the Doge and suite into the golden looms and
shifting twilights of this place of symbolism and wonder, where the vast
throng waited in a solemn hush.
The gloom was broken by countless tongues of flame from lamps of silver
and alabaster burning in the farther chapels, while wandering lights
streaming through the openings of the dome filled it with wonderful
waves of color--only half-revealing the treasures of ivory and jewels
and precious marbles and mosaics, wrought with texts and symbols, but
wholly making felt the mystery and beauty. The vague perfume of those
faint mists of floating incense, crossing and recrossing the scattered
rays of sunshine, mingled with the fragrance of the orange blossoms from
which the light tread of the bride-maidens seemed to crush a breath of
benediction.
Coming out of the sunlight into this still, beautiful, holy place--the
chant sweet and sacred accompanying her steps, with the Cross repeated
again and again in the heights of the domes, with the dear familiar form
of the Mother Mary on every side lifting adoring eyes to the crowning
figure of the Christ, while the saints who graciously leaned to her from
their golden backgrounds in the great vaulted spaces above recalled the
legends inseparably linked with their intimate friendly faces and
brought back the atmosphere of her own Matrice--her mother church--this
maiden of Murano felt suddenly at home.
The Patriarch with his pomp, the Signoria and Senate in their robes of
state, the nobles and the pageant were all forgotten. In the sacramental
lights of the ceremonial candles of the great altar, flashing back from
the marvelous _Pala d'Oro_, she saw only Marco waiting for her--to whom
her father, beloved and trusted, was leading her with her heart's
consent.
How should she falter on the path from love to love!