Where They Worship Art!

"Here man bows down twice — once to God and once to the artist."

I said this and looked at my companion, awaiting his answer; but he too was drowned in a spiritual rapture that widens the distance between a man and the earth at which his feet end...

The sun had withdrawn, and a violet-colored veil wrapped Rome; the streets seemed half empty save for a few passersby, hurrying their steps lest they miss a moment of the night — for the flowers of Rome open only when night draws near... And the statues planted in every corner stood silent, resting among the green boughs...

I was wondering what these people are after. Where do they spend their hours? In what opera?... or club? And are they content with a single evening, when the table of night spreads before them a thousand dishes?... I was wondering in amazement when I felt my companion's hand press my arm and lead me through a huge doorway into the church of "Santa Maria Maggiore"...

A strange name — and what lies within is stranger... I closed my eyes more than once, then opened them to make sure I was not in a dream, one of those dreams that surrounded my life as a child. Statues of angels flutter their golden wings in every corner; the exquisite ornament shifts and changes color; and more than one echo rises into the air — here a group of worshippers supplicating in whispers, there a band of young people chanting with fervor... young people come from dozens of countries to chant here and glorify God... The sight of youth at worship stirs in the soul currents of strange feelings; and I found myself weeping, because I have no voice raised high in song...

These worship God with chant; but "Michelangelo," "Raphael," "Leonardo da Vinci," and dozens besides them expressed their worship with the chisel and the brush, and with the heart's blood, which they poured out upon the walls of the churches or with which they colored their floors...

Art in Italy is a tale whose beginning is known — but no one knows where it ends!... Once, standing before one of the statues, I wished I might live for generations, so as to be able to read more chapters of the tale...

In the Vatican City is one chapter of it, written in the ancient tapestries which the generations presented to the popes of Rome; some of the letters were colored with pieces of gold and marble, and bathed in incense and the fragrance of the ages... What a treasure is that in the Vatican Library, the greatest library in the world — whose contents, were they laid out in a row, would stretch a distance of 650 kilometers... And what shall I say of the artistic panels embracing one another across ceiling and walls, all of them pieces of mosaic woven by the fingers of the most famous geniuses of art in Italy?

Another chapter meets the eye in the church of Saint Peter. Here is the statue of the "bearer of the keys of heaven": he is still in his strength and his majesty, though made of bronze, not flesh and blood; and the witness to his majesty is his right foot, one of whose toes has melted away from the touch of worshipping lips... "Michelangelo" wished them to worship him in the worship of their religion — and to worship him too in his masterpiece the "Pietà"... the Mother bereaved of her son; the sorrowful Virgin and the slack body upon her lap. The artist made this work of his speak in the body's delicate veins, and in the mute tears on the Mother's cheek...

And the artist who made of the Christian religion a cornerstone that remains immortal as long as the colors of his brush and the traces of his magic chisel endure was not content with worship alone: he accompanied man outside the temple, saw him in his vigor and his weakness, in his joys and his sorrows, and left a marvel for every passing thought. The palace of the "Medici" in Florence is one of several witnesses: in one of its halls are four figures, each representing a time of the day — here the lilac dawn, there the drowsy dusk, this the strong day, and that the terrifying darkness!...

What is said of Michelangelo is said also of "Raphael"... I content myself with a single witness from the "Sistine" church — the room of the Emperor Constantine, on whose walls he left five hundred and twelve figures, representing persons who differ in their ages, in the shapes of their faces, in their costumes, and even in their postures and glances. And the people of Rome remember the artist "Bernini" whenever they drink from a fountain or pass along a street, for he has left them a monument at every turning: his statues guard the springs of water and the corners of the streets, and adorn the halls of kings. The "Villa Borghese" museum today contains many of his marvels — the most famous of them "Paolina," the sister of Napoleon, who married one of the princes of that family, and the statue of "The Abductor of the Beautiful Girl," in which are the most delicate expressions and details... As for "Paolina," she still reclines upon her silken bed, dreaming with the generations of the brother whom everyone abandoned — save her... The reader will say I have gone too far, perhaps; but this is only part of the preface to the first chapter.

... "Emily the bride," in the course of her honeymoon wanderings among the realms of genuine Italian art, did not forget what she promised "The Woman's Voice" before her departure: to convey to the magazine's readers some of what would sweep her away there...
Thank you, Emily, for this delightful chapter — and if you have more of it, let us have it!...