midnight
And now to strange , solemn music , -- the sobbing of the ` cellos , the tenderer melancholy of the flute -- the long procession was moving up the Canal Grande -- the ducal barge and the gondola of the Patriarch not keeping decorous line , for the roughness of the waters . From the portals of the Palazzo Corner Regina a bridge of boats had been thrown across the Canal Grande to the mouth of the Rio of San Cassan , and out of the blackness of the great Cornaro Palace the bearers met them , bringing in reverent state the form of the gracious Queen for whom all earthly problems were solved -- who might never again answer their devotion with smiles or benediction . Silently each noble stepped up from his gondola , crossing himself devoutly and bowing his head as he joined the long , never-ending procession : like a phantom vision it swept through the mists -- each dark figure bearing its torch -- _ as if it were the soul of him above his head _ , casting a ghostly reflection , in lessening rays , down through the blackness -- gliding in air across the water , over the arch of the bridge which was all but invisible in the darkness -- and down through the narrow rio to the Church of the Sant ` Apostolli -- the weird harmonies of the songs of the dead echoing faintly back through the windings of the rio , like half-heard whispers from the spirit land . When the solemn music of the midnight mass had been chanted over the noble company in the Church of the Sant ` Apostolli , they left her lying in state before the altar of the Cappella Cornaro , while in the church , outside the chapel , the Ducal guards kept watch . Very still and pale she was in the light of the tall wax candles burning about her and the torches flaring from the funeral pyre , and strange to look upon in the coarse brown cape and cowl of the habit of St. Francis , with a hempen cord for girdle . But the Lady Margherita had tenderly folded the hood away from the beautiful face and head , and in the pale patrician hands a rose lay lightly clasped , and a wealth of floral tributes heaped her bier -- which was crowned with the royal crown of Cyprus . Now that the gentle Sovereign had put aside forever her robes of royalty and donned for her last vestment the symbol of service and humility , how should Venice fear the unconfessed rivalry of her rare spirit , -- a mere woman -- conquered by the power of the State and stricken by death ?