Another silence.
“The Basilica and tomb were here when English Ethelwolf brought his boy Alfred to Rome,” I said aloud.
“But the Popes did their will upon it afterward. Pulled down and built up at the bidding of caprice and architects until not one of the original stones was left upon another. After two centuries of this sort of work—or play—the present church was planned and was one hundred and seventy-odd years in building. I hope Peter’s bones were cared for in the squabble. I should like to believe it!”
We looked for a long minute more at the praying pope. He believed it so much as to desire to kneel there, with clasped hands and bowed head, awaiting through the coming cycles the opening of the sealèd door.
Wanderings in and out of stately chapels ensued, until we had enough of dead popes, marble and bronze.
The surname of Pope Pignatella, signifying “little cream-jug,” suggested to the sculptor the neat conceit of mingling sundry cream-pots with other ornaments of his tomb.
Gregory XIII., he of the Gregorian calendar, is an aged man, invoking the benediction of Heaven upon whomsoever it may concern, while Wisdom, as Minerva, and Faith hold a tablet inscribed—“Novi opera hujus et fidem.”
Urban VIII., the patron of Bernini, is almost forgiven by those who have sickened over the countless and cruel devices of his protégé when one beholds his master-piece of absurdity in his sovereign’s tomb. The pontiff, in the popular attitude of benediction, towers above the black marble coffin, in charge of Prudence and Justice,—the drapery of the latter evidently a decorous afterthought,—while a very airy gilded skeleton is writing, with a dégagé air, the names and titles of Urban upon an obituary list. The Barberini bees crawl over the monument, as busily officious and in as bad taste as was Bernini himself.
Pius VII., the prisoner-Pope of Napoleon I., is there—a mild old man, looking as if he had suffered and forgiven much—sitting dreamily, or drowsily, in a chair, and kept in countenance by Courage and Faith.
Innocent VIII. sleeps, like a tired man, upon his sarcophagus, while his animated Double is enthroned above it, one hand, of course, extended in blessing, the other holding a copy of the sacred lance that pierced the Saviour’s side, presented to him by Bajazet, and by the pope to St. Peter’s.