A single gondolier guided the
boat, and no other noise was audible but the plash of the water, as the
oars slowly fell and rose together. This silent procession lasted a few
minutes, and then the tremulous voice of the monk was heard chanting the
prayers for the dead. The practised fishermen, for few in that
disciplined church, and that obedient age, were ignorant of those solemn
rites, took up the responses in a manner that must be familiar to every
ear that has ever listened to the sounds of Italy, the gentle washing of
the element, on which they glided, forming a soft accompaniment.
Casement after casement opened while they passed, and a thousand curious
and anxious faces crowded the balconies as the funeral cortege swept
slowly on.
The gondola of the Republic was towed in the centre of the moving mass
by fifty lighter boats, for the fishermen still clung to their prize. In
this manner the solemn procession entered the port, and touched the quay
at the foot of the Piazzetta. While numberless eager hands were aiding
in bringing the body of Antonio to land, there arose a shout from the
centre of the ducal palace, which proclaimed the presence already of the
other part of their body in its court.
The squares of St. Mark now presented a novel picture. The quaint and
oriental church, the rows of massive and rich architecture, the giddy
pile of the Campanile, the columns of granite, the masts of triumph, and
all those peculiar and remarkable fixtures, which had witnessed so many
scenes of violence, of rejoicing, of mourning, and of gaiety, were
there, like landmarks of the earth, defying time; beautiful and
venerable in despite of all those varying exhibitions of human passions
that were daily acted around them.
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