In a small town above Palermo
stands one of Sicily's great art treasures --
the Cathedral of Monreale.
In the 11th century, when the Muslim Arabs
were tossed out by the Christian Normans,
the Normans made Sicilian civilization grander yet --
building monumental Norman churches.
This massive church, so richly ornamented,
shows the glory of that age.
Ancient columns and capitals -- gifted by the pope
to bolster his southern border of Christendom --
were shipped here all the way from Rome.
The church was built to show off the power of the Norman king
William II -- shown here boldly standing,
while being crowned by Christ.
The interior is famous for its exquisite 12th-century mosaics.
Each panel tells a story from the Bible.
There's Adam and Eve being tempted by the serpent,
angels climbing Jacob's ladder,
and Noah building his ark, and filling it with animals.
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It was designed to function as a Bible storybook.
From centuries, early Christians debated
whether or not images were appropriate in church.
To solve this controversy --
called the "Iconoclastic Controversy" --
a pope called a convention,
the Council of Nicaea in the 8th century.
The result? Images are okay,
if they teach the Christian message.
Here at the Cathedral of Monreale,
the art is laid out precisely as the council prescribed.
Siena's 13th-century Gothic cathedral,
with its striped tower,
is dedicated to the Virgin Mary and covered with art.
The richly ornamented facade bristles with ornamentation:
Its striking mosaics framed by patriarchs and prophets,
saints, and gargoyles.
Grand as Siena's cathedral is,
it's actually the unfinished rump of a failed vision.
After nearby Florence began building its huge cathedral,
proud Siena, not to be outdone by its rival,
planned to build an even bigger church...
in fact, the biggest church in all of Christendom.
But Siena was so hilly there wasn't enough flat ground
to support such an enormous church.
What to do?
Build the oversized church anyway,
and prop up the overhanging edge
by building the Baptistery underneath.
The cathedral we see today
was intended only to be a transept, or wing,
off the envisioned nave, or main part of the church.
These towering marble arches
hint at the immensity of the vision.
But the arches were as far as Siena got
before construction problems
and a devastating plague scuttled the project.
I'm standing atop
what would have been the front of that church.
Had it been completed,
this square would have been not a parking lot,
but the nave itself.
It's fun to imagine
that if Siena's grandiose plans had succeeded,
I'd be looking straight down the nave
of that massive church toward the altar.
The resulting church is still impressive.
It's richly decorated from top to bottom.
Peering down from above are 172 heads.
They represent the popes who reigned
from the time of St. Peter to the 12th century.
The exquisite marble floor is paved with Bible scenes,
intricate patterns, and allegories.
This one represents Siena
as a she-wolf at the center of the Italian universe,
orbited by such lesser lights as
Rome, Florence, and Pisa.
The greatest artists of the day
helped decorate Siena's cathedral.
In this side chapel, St. John the Baptist,
carved by Donatello, wears his iconic rags.
And high above, playful cherubs dangle their feet.
This memorial to the Sienese pope Pius II
features a statue of St. Paul carved by Michelangelo himself.
And in another chapel,
you'll see why Lorenzo Bernini
is considered the greatest Baroque sculptor.
His St. Catherine is in spiritual ecstasy.
And St. Jerome caresses the crucifix
like a violinist lost in heavenly music.
A highlight is the church's Piccolomini Library.
Brilliantly frescoed,
it captures the exuberance
and optimistic spirit of the 1400s,
an age of humanism when the Renaissance was born.
The frescoes look nearly as vivid now
as the day they were finished, over 500 years ago.
They celebrate the life of one of Siena's hometown boys --
who became Pope Pius II.
Each of the scenes is framed with an arch,
as if opening a window into the real world.
To gain religious importance and a
kind of legitimacy, the Venetians needed some
important relics. According to legend,
St. Mark actually traveled here, personally bringing
Christianity to the region.
His bones would be perfect.
So, in 828, Venetian merchants smuggled Mark's
remains out of Egypt and into the church -- shown
here as it looked in the 13th century.
Mark -- looking pretty grumpy after the long voyage -- became
the city's patron saint and his symbol --
the winged lion -- became the symbol of Venice.
The grand church of St. Mark's was built in
a distinctly Eastern style. Its domes and
elaborate exterior remind us of Venice's close
ties with the Greek, Byzantine, and Muslim worlds.
The basilica is decorated with a ragtag assortment
of miss-matched columns and statues from different
eras, much of it pillaged from Venice's rivals.
The style? I'd call it "Early Ransack."
These four guys are a favorite of mine.
It's an ancient Roman statue carved of precious
purple porphyry stone -- symbolic of power --
pillaged from far away -- probably Constantinople, and
placed here proudly as spoils of war.
Of all the loot ornamenting this church,
its grandest prize is a set of horses, which for
centuries looked out over the square.
While these are copies, the originals are inside.
These much-coveted and exquisitely cast bronze
horses are a trophy befitting the city's power.
And talk about well-traveled: According to
legend, they were cast for Alexander the Great
in the 4th century BC, taken by Nero to Rome,
then brought by Constantine to his new capital
in the East...Constantinople. Later the Venetians
grabbed them, only to have Napoleon swipe
them to decorate an arch in Paris. Today, they're back in what
Venetians believe is their rightful home.
1,200 years later, the original St. Peter's
was replaced by this most glorious church in Christendom.
Upon entering, your first impression is
it's huge.
600 feet long, bathed in sunbeams.
It can accommodate thousands of worshippers.
The ornamental cherubs dwarf a large man.
As a tour guide, I've lost entire groups in here.
Visitors marvel at grand paintings
decorating the many chapels,
but they're not paintings at all.
Because oil on canvas would soon be covered by candle soot,
you won't find actual paintings in St. Peter's,
just the magnificent work of the Vatican School of Mosaics,
with thousands of different colors
in their arsenal of chips.
This scene, showing Peter looking after early Christians,
while centuries old, looks almost new.
Michelangelo's "Pieta" is adored by pilgrims and tourists alike.
Here the 25-year-old Michelangelo makes
the theological message very clear --
Jesus, once alive but now dead,
gave his life for our salvation.
The contrast provided by Mary's rough robe
makes his body, even though carved
in hard marble, feel soft and believable.
The high altar,
like so much of the art decorating the Vatican,
is another masterpiece by Bernini.
With sunlight illuminating its alabaster window,
as if powering the Holy Spirit,
it encrusts the legendary throne of St. Peter
with a starburst of Baroque praise.
Directly above the altar which marks the tomb of St. Peter
stands Bernini's bronze canopy,
and above that, Michelangelo's dome,
taller than a football field on end.
The inscription declares, in Latin, "Tu es Petrus" --
"You are Peter, and upon this rock
I will build my church."
This is the scriptural basis
for the primacy of Rome in the Catholic Church.
A viewing perch
gives travelers a close-up look at those huge letters
and a heavenly perspective into the church.
From the rooftop,
you can size up the dome you're about to climb.
For a close-up look at
Michaelangelo's dome-within-a-dome design,
climb 300 steps to the cupola.
The view from the top is unrivaled,
both of Rome in general and of the Vatican grounds.
You can survey the entire country from this perch.
The long rectangular building is the Vatican Museum,
with the adjacent
Sistine Chapel --
perhaps the richest collection of Western art anywhere.