This huge mass of stone had hitherto defied all efforts made by different architects to raise it to its pedestal; many lives had been lost in the attempts, much money and time wasted; and the Pope had at last declared that the next architect who should volunteer for the task would, if unsuccessful, be severely punished. There was one, however, Fontana, who felt confident that he could raise the obelisk, and well knew, if he did succeed, he should have an assured career before him; so, carefully making his preparations, he applied to the Pope for permission, only stipulating that, in order to insure success, there must be perfect quiet during the operation. This was why the gibbets stood at the corners, the Pope having officially announced that, as unbroken stillness must be preserved, and the workmen not disturbed by cries or acclamations from the excited spectators, any one who made a noise or spoke during the time set apart for the raising should be hanged; and with this wholesome terror before their eyes, it was believed the crowd would not be tempted to disobey the order.
All were intent on the one thing, and watched anxiously the workmen, as cautiously they heaved the ropes, and slowly the mighty obelisk began to move, then gradually to assume a more erect position, and finally hung suspended in mid-air, needing but one more effort, when it would stand on its pedestal, its lofty spire pointing heavenward.
But, alas! the strained, overwrought ropes seemed able to bear no more; already tense with the enormous weight, they were slowly beginning to separate. It was a moment of breathless suspense; the mighty crowd stood motionless, scarce daring to breathe, so great was their anxiety; and the wretched Fontana, foreseeing the overthrow of all his hopes of fame and wealth, and his destruction in the downfall, now imminent, of the ponderous column, in his despair hid his face in his hands. Suddenly a voice broke the death-like silence. It uttered but one word—"Aqua" (water); but no word ever sounded sweeter or brought more hope than did that to Fontana, whose energy revived. With a gesture he pointed to the fountains in the square, and the crowd aiding the workmen, they dashed the water over the smoking, quivering ropes; the final haul was given, and the obelisk stood firm and straight on its pedestal.
One long, heart-felt acclamation broke from the throng, and the lately wretched Fontana saw himself in one brief moment rescued from the depths of despair. The acclamations ceased, and the Pope, commanding silence, ordered the workman who had disobeyed the decree of silence to be brought before him, and asked what reason he had to give why the forewarned punishment should not be executed upon him. The poor fellow pleaded the benefit which the pronouncing of the one word had caused, and the Pope not only graciously admitted the plea, but bade him ask any favor, and it should be granted.
With humility, the workman asked only for the privilege of selling palms on Palm-Sunday in the great square of St. Peter's; and if we only knew his name, which unfortunately was not thought worthy of being recorded, we could tell, when in Rome on Palm-Sunday, if his descendants still enjoy the grant given by the Pope.