rgione of Venice and his pupils, to this
efflorescence of loveliness, to our statuaries and our builders, to
our goldsmiths and musicians? Ah, we have rediscovered the secret of
Greece. It is Homer that we love, it is Plato, it is the noble
simplicity of Sophocles; our Dante lied when he said it was Virgil who
was his guide. The poet of Mantua never led mortal to those dolorous
regions. He sings of flocks and bees, of birds and running brooks, and
the simple loves of shepherds; and we listen to him again and breathe
the sweet country air, the sweeter for the memory of those hell-fumes
which have poisoned life for centuries. Apollo is Lord, not Christ."

"It is Apollyon who tempts Rome thus with the world and the flesh."

"Thou hast dethroned thy reason, Messer Giuseppe. Thou knowest these
things dignify, not degrade our souls. Hast thou not thrilled with me
at the fairness of a pictured face, at the glow of luminous color, at
the white radiance of a statue?"

"I sinned if I loved beauty for itself alone, and--forgive me if I
wound thee, lady--this worship of beauty is for the rich, the
well-fed, the few. What of the poor and the down-trodden who weep in
darkness? What comfort holds thy creed for such? All these wonders of
the human hand and the human brain are as straws weighed against a
pure heart, a righteous deed. The ages of Art have always been the
ages of abomination, Signora. It is not in cunning but in simplicity
that our Lord is revealed. Unless ye become as little children, ye
shall not enter the Kingdom of Heaven."

"Heaven is here." Her eyes gleamed. Her bosom heaved. The fire of her
glance passed to his. Her loveliness troubled him, the matchless face
and form that now blent the purity of a statue with the warmth of
living woman.

"Verily, where Christ is Heaven is. Thou hast moved in such splendor
of light, Signora de' Franchi, thou dost not realize thy privilege.
But I, who have always walked in darkness, am as a blind man restored
to sight. I was ambitious, lustful, torn by doubts and questionings;
now I am bathed in the divine peace, all my questions answered, my
riotous blood assuaged. Love, love, that is all; the surrender of
one's will to the love that moves the sun and all the stars, as your
Dante says. And sun and stars do but move to this end, Signora--that
human souls may be born and die to live, in oneness with Love. Oh, my
brethren"--he stretched out his arms yearningly, and his eyes and h