The young man is looking out of the window of the Gate of Dawn, down a long, winding street though the most splendorous section of old Vilnius. The window was the only source of light. The room itself is above one of the old gates to the city. Passing through it the day before near dawn, I suddenly heard the voices of an angelic choir above, and then behind me. Looking back, I was struck by the sight, because through the open window I could see a small crowd singing very softly, with a hypnotic beauty I'd never heard before.