s 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
fete; 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 fete, 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 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.

B