The royal standards of the mighty Lion drooped at
half-mast before the dimmed magnificence of San Marco, their glowing
gold and scarlet deadened to shades of mourning steel; and low, muffled
tones, like the throbbings of the heart of a people, dropped down from
the campanile through an atmosphere still and cold as a breath of dread;
while from the embassies, the homes of the senators and Signoria, the
Patriarch and bishops of Venice, gondolas by twos and threes loomed
black against the gray-dark of the winter dawn, hurrying noiselessly to
the steps of the Piazzetta; and dark, stately figures, each heralded by
its torch-bearer, glided like phantoms under the arcades of the Ducal
Palace, up between the grim, giant guardians of the stairway, and on to
the galleries adjoining the apartments of the Doge, to await the hour of
Mass.
An edict, more unanswerable than any ever issued by Republic or Curia,
had gone forth, and in solemn state Venice awaited its fulfilment.
In that hush of reverent waiting, before the first faint saffron streak
had glimmered in the east, up through the flaring torches of the lower
court, unbidden and unwelcome, came the single figure in all that throng
which seemed to have no part in the solemn drama.
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