The spectacle was now striking.  In front rowed the gondola which contained the remains of the dead.  The widening of the canal, as it approached the port, permitted the rays of the moon to fall upon the rigid features of old Antonio, which were set in such a look as might be supposed to characterize the dying thoughts of a man so suddenly and so fearfully destroyed.  The Carmelite, bare-headed, with clasped hands, and a devout heart, bowed his head at the feet of the body, with his white robes flowing in the light of the moon.  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.

“But the song, the laugh, and the jest, had ceased.  The lights of the coffee-houses had disappeared, the revellers had fled to their homes, fearful of being confounded with those who braved the anger of the Senate, while the grotesque, the ballad-singers, and the buffoon, had abandoned their assumed gaiety for an appearance more in unison with the true feelings of their hearts.

“Giustizia!—­” cried a thousand deep voices, as the body of Antonio was borne into the court—­“Illustrious Doge!  Giustizia. in palazzo, e pane in piazza!  Give us justice!  We are beggars for justice!”