Simple, erect, severe, austere, sublime,
Shrine of all saints and temple of all gods
From Jove to Jesus, spared and blessed by time,
Looking tranquillity, while falls or nods
Arch, empire, each thing round thee, and man plods
His way through thorns to ashes! Glorious dome,
Shalt thou not last? Time’s scythe and tyrants’ rods
Shiver upon thee, sanctuary and home
Of art and piety, Pantheon, pride of Rome!
It is not strange that it was deemed the most fitting place for the burial of the great artist, Raphael, and for that of the King of United Italy, Victor Emmanuel.
Of the former event the poet Rogers says:
When Raphael went,
His heavenly face the mirror of his mind,
His mind a temple for all lovely things
To flock and to inhabit—when he went,
Wrapp’d in his sable cloak, the cloak he wore,
To sleep beneath the venerable dome,
By those attended who in life had loved,
Had worship’d, following in his steps to fame,
’Twas on an April day, when Nature smiles.
All Rome was there.
Victor Emmanuel’s tomb is always covered with wreaths, tributes by the living to his honor.
The remnants of the great mausoleum of Augustus,—in which not only he but many of his successors were interred,—are not now sought out by many except students of antiquities. The last of the emperors buried here was Nerva. Near the river Tiber, on what was then the Campus Martius or field of Mars, on a great platform of stone, now beneath the ground, rose the huge circular building of two stories, in which were the chambers for the dead. Augustus was buried in the central chamber, which was covered with a dome. From this radiated fourteen smaller ones, most of which can now be traced, though in a ruined condition. Above these was a pyramidal mound of earth in terraces planted with cypress trees and surmounted with a large statue of the emperor himself. The whole was surrounded by an attractive park.
For centuries the monument was well known to the people. War, earthquake and neglect have now made its ruins one of the least conspicuous sights in Rome, but some will ever find in them a deep pathetic interest. After some searching I found the entrance to them not far from the Via Di Ripetta. Upon my application, the custodian, who was an old woman, admitted me from a sort of court, where I could look up at a part of the circular exterior and where there was a fountain at the side. An inscription tablet let into the wall informs the visitor (in Latin) that here is the western wall of the mausoleum of Augustus disclosed by the removal of buildings. What seemed to be electric wires, stretched down along the side of the building, suggested a curious connection between the beginning of the first century and the beginning of the twentieth. Within the structure I paced the corridors, gazed at the arched ceiling, and could see out through the large windows into the central space. In the twelfth century the central dome was thrown down by an earthquake. Afterward the center was used as an open-air arena and was occupied by a popular circus until a few years ago. At the time of my visit it was a storehouse for the great plaster models for the sculptures to be placed on the new monument that was building to the memory of King Victor Emmanuel. The Egyptian obelisks, forty-five feet high, which stood before the entrance in the first century, now are to be found, one of them in front of the Quirinal Palace,—which is the royal residence,—and the other one in the square by the great church of Santa Maria Maggiore. Thus, long ago rifled of its contents, the burial-place of the celebrated master of the ancient world has stood for centuries, broken and neglected.
Since the time I was there, however, a new interest in it has awakened and a change has been made. The circular interior has been cleared out, and furnished with platform and seats. It has become a place again of public entertainment and is known as The Augustean. Orchestral concerts of a high order are there performed. In the interlude of the music the visitor can ponder upon the march of the nineteen centuries which have passed away since the walls around him were erected.
Augustus had been upon the throne about twenty-four years when Jesus was born. That holy Child had come to share our lot and to reveal clearly to men the knowledge of the Heavenly Father at a time when all its political kingdoms had thus become consolidated by force or treaty under one name of power, when better conditions and roads were preparing for the diffusion of Christianity, and when men were beginning to dream that there might be such a thing as a common loyalty to one great sovereign. Was it too difficult a step as yet for their minds to take from the contemplation of a universal dominion to the doctrine of a universal brotherhood? The quiet and unobserved beginning of our Lord’s spiritual and gracious mission was thus put in striking contrast with the outward magnificence of the world’s great conqueror, and the purely spiritual methods of the Gospel with the noisy forces of a ponderous army.