And glory guards, with solemn round,
The Bivouac of the Dead!”
But one almost doubts whether the Pontiff himself appreciated the magnitude of the task he had undertaken. In person he went through the many catacombs, for he was resolved that no smallest, humblest hero of the Lord should miss his share of the final triumph. He had had great cars prepared, decked with all possible richness, to convey the precious remains, which had so long held the outposts of the city, to the Pantheon in its very heart; but when he had gone through all the dark, intricate passages of the underground cemeteries, tapping at the walls and examining every atom of surface that might conceal a once-proscribed tomb, I think his artificers must have had to build more chariots for the returning army than they had expected, for it was very great.
At last, however, all was ready. It was May 13, A.D. 609, and a glorious morning, when the converging processions set forth, met, and entered the city in triumph. The Pontiff in his splendid vestments led the procession, swelled as it went along by all the inhabitants of Rome. Long, serried ranks of prelates, priests, and monks followed him, carrying tall lighted tapers that gleamed but faintly in the Roman sun; the air was sweet with fragrances that grew stronger as the convoy passed along the flower-strewn streets, and the perfume of hundreds of censers swung up on the bright air. Rome was poor then, but the Romans had still found blue and crimson tapestries to hang from the windows, and every portico and window was crowded with eager onlookers who, as the procession approached, took up the roar of welcome with which the city greeted its dead.
But I think a hush fell when the dead came into sight at the turn of the street or the entrance of the square, and the enormous cars moved nearer, their dear terrible burden piled high above the sides, and covered with silks and flowers through which here and there showed just enough of a coffin’s outline to wring the heart and let loose a rain of tears. “Twenty-seven great cars filled with the bones of the Martyrs did Boniface the Pope bring to the Pantheum now consecrated to the service of God and the honour of the Blessed Virgin.”
Truly may that splendid temple, open to the sky, claim its title of “St. Mary of the Martyrs,” and rightly did the Pontiff and his followers, as they brought them in, raise the triumphal shout, “The Saints shall rejoice in their beds! Arise, ye friends of God, and enter into the glory He has prepared for His elect!”
After all these great names it seems strange to have to record a very humble one, that of a poor working-man, in connection with the Pantheon, but I can never pass the famous church without remembering a certain Giovanni Borgi whose memory was held in great benediction in Rome in my young days.
During the preceding century the city was really in a fairly peaceful and prosperous condition, but the many institutions of charity which flourished under Gregory XVI and Pius IX had not reached the point where they could provide night refuges for its many waifs and vagrants. There were numbers of poor boys—street Arabs, as we should call them—who wandered about in the daytime, earning a little here and there, but subsisting chiefly on charity and having no fixed dwelling-place of any kind. To these the broad steps and portico of the Pantheon offered at least shelter from the weather, and they used to gather there in crowds after dark, and sleep—as boys can sleep—on the stones.
Now there was in Rome, towards 1780 or thereabouts, a poor mason called Giovanni Borgi. He belonged to the “opera di San Pietro”—that is, he was one of the workmen engaged for life by the administration of St. Peter’s for the maintenance and repair of the Basilica, the Vatican Palace and its many dependent buildings. The “opera” was a close corporation and included artisans of every necessary craft, from mosaic workers to bricklayers, plumbers, and carpenters. Of course the privileges were largely hereditary, the Italian traditions of Guilds leading the son to follow the trade or profession of his father whenever possible, but high character and a blameless record were also indispensable qualifications for every appointment.