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.
Once more the shout went up--the quaint love-song of the people--
"Belo ze el mare, e bela 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.
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