"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The sun had withdrawn, and a violet-colored veil wrapped Rome; the streets seemed half empty save for a few passersby, hurrying their steps lest they miss a moment of the night —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?