“Alleluia, Alleluia!” came the sequel in one burst from that great multitude, as the angels’ voices grew fainter and were lost in the depths overhead. And then, on hearts bursting now with relief and joy there fell the awe that mortals feel in the presence of the Heavenly Ones, for there, on the summit of the towering fortress, stood the radiant archangel—and he was sheathing his flaming sword. The pestilence was over. Once more God had had mercy on his people. And, since the angels’ song was addressed to the Queen of Heaven, we know that it was she whose prayers had stayed the arm that had clung round her neck in Bethlehem. St. Gregory passed to his reward on March 12, 604, having reigned nearly fourteen years. The mourning city chose Sabinianus of Volterra to succeed him, but only three years had elapsed when Sabinianus in his turn made place for a Boniface (III) who lived but one year after his election, and then came another Boniface, a Saint, a strong man of the Abruzzi, and in his reign the world found out that though imperial Rome was indeed dead, the Rome that Gregory and Benedict and their fellow-workers had planted on her grave during that century of apparent eclipse had taken root below and shot out branches above, and had become as a mighty tree affording guidance, shelter, and sustenance to the whole Christian world. Each of the great Popes seems to have had a special mission to fulfil, one that coloured all his acts and sheds its individual lustre on his memory. No doubt or hesitation seems to accompany the acceptance and fulfilment of it. Boniface’s mission bade him place the seal of visible Christianity on the city and consecrate it to the Faith for all time. To it was Boniface, the fourth of that name, who decreed and carried out the triumph of which I spoke in a preceding chapter. But it is a big subject and it must have a chapter to itself. CHAPTER IV MEMORIES OF THE PANTHEON