“Maridite, maridite, donzela,
    Che dona maridada e sempre bela;
  Maridite finche la fogia e verde,
    Perche la zoventu 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 fete-like only to see the bissoni, those great boats with twelve oars, each from a stabilimento of Murano, wreathed for the fete, 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 fetes, 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 ze el mare, e bela 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.

Once more the shout went up—­the quaint love-song of the people—­

  “Belo ze el mare, e bela la marina!”