IV

When Raniero broke away from the camp at Jerusalem, he intended to

travel from Joppa to Italy by sea, but changed his mind after he had

been robbed of his money, and concluded to make the journey by land.

It was a long journey. From Joppa he went northward along the Syrian

coast. Then he rode westward along the peninsula of Asia Minor, then

northward again, all the way to Constantinople. From there he still had

a monotonously long distance to travel to reach Florence. During the

whole journey Raniero had lived upon the contributions of the pious.

They that shared their bread with him mostly were pilgrims who at this

time traveled _en masse_ to Jerusalem.

Regardless of the fact that he nearly always rode alone, his days were

neither long nor monotonous. He must always guard the candle flame, and

on its account he never could feel at ease. It needed only a puff of

breeze—a rain-drop—and there would have been an end to it.

As Raniero rode over lonely roads, and thought only about keeping the

flame alive, it occurred to him that once before he had been concerned

with something similar. Once before he had seen a person watch over

something which was just as sensitive as a candle flame.

This recollection was so vague to him at first that he wondered if it

was something he had dreamed.

But as he rode on alone through the country, it kept recurring to him

that he had participated in something similar once before.

“It is as if all my life long I had heard tell of nothing else,” said

he.

One evening he rode into a city. It was after sundown, and the

housewives stood in their doorways and watched for their husbands. Then

he noticed one who was tall and slender, and had earnest eyes. She

reminded him of Francesca degli Uberti.

Instantly it became clear to him what he had been pondering over. It

came to him that for Francesca her love must have been as a sacred flame

which she had always wished to keep burning, and which she had

constantly feared that Raniero would quench. He was astonished at this

thought, but grew more and more certain that the matter stood thus. For

the first time he began to understand why Francesca had left him, and

that it was not with feats of arms he should win her back.

* * * * *

The journey which Raniero made was of long duration. This was in part

due to the fact that he could not venture out when the weather was bad.

Then he sat in some caravansary, and guarded the candle flame. These

were very trying days.

One day, when he rode over Mount Lebanon, he saw that a storm was

brewing. He was riding high up among awful precipices, and a frightful

distance from any human abode. Finally he saw on the summit of a rock

the tomb of a Saracen saint. It was a little square stone structure with

a vaulted roof. He thought it best to seek shelter there.

He had barely entered when a snowstorm came up, which raged for two days

and nights. At the same time it grew so cold that he came near freezing

to death.

Raniero knew that there were heaps of branches and twigs out on the

mountain, and it would not have been difficult for him to gather fuel

for a fire. But he considered the candle flame which he carried very

sacred, and did not wish to light anything from it, except the candles

before the Blessed Virgin’s Altar.

The storm increased, and at last he heard thunder and saw gleams of

lightning.

Then came a flash which struck the mountain, just in front of the tomb,

and set fire to a tree. And in this way he was enabled to light his fire

without having to borrow of the sacred flame.

* * * * *

As Raniero was riding on through a desolate portion of the Cilician

mountain district, his candles were all used up. The candles which he

had brought with him from Jerusalem had long since been consumed; but

still he had been able to manage because he had found Christian

communities all along the way, of whom he had begged fresh candles.

But now his resources were exhausted, and he thought that this would be

the end of his journey.

When the candle was so nearly burned out that the flame scorched his

hand, he jumped from his horse and gathered branches and dry leaves and

lit these with the last of the flame. But up on the mountain there was

very little that would ignite, and the fire would soon burn out.

While he sat and grieved because the sacred flame must die, he heard

singing down the road, and a procession of pilgrims came marching up the

steep path, bearing candles in their hands. They were on their way to a

grotto where a holy man had lived, and Raniero followed them. Among them

was a woman who was very old and had difficulty in walking, and Raniero

carried her up the mountain.

When she thanked him afterwards, he made a sign to her that she should

give him her candle. She did so, and several others also presented him

with the candles which they carried. He extinguished the candles,

hurried down the steep path, and lit one of them with the last spark

from the fire lighted by the sacred flame.

* * * * *

One day at the noon hour it was very warm, and Raniero had lain down to

sleep in a thicket. He slept soundly, and the candle stood beside him

between a couple of stones. When he had been asleep a while, it began to

rain, and this continued for some time, without his waking. When at last

he was startled out of his sleep, the ground around him was wet, and he

hardly dared glance toward the light, for fear it might be quenched.

But the light burned calmly and steadily in the rain, and Raniero saw

that this was because two little birds flew and fluttered just above the

flame. They caressed it with their bills, and held their wings

outspread, and in this way they protected the sacred flame from the

rain.

He took off his hood immediately, and hung it over the candle. Thereupon

he reached out his hand for the two little birds, for he had been seized

with a desire to pet them. Neither of them flew away because of him, and

he could catch them.

He was very much astonished that the birds were not afraid of him. “It

is because they know I have no thought except to protect that which is

the most sensitive of all, that they do not fear me,” thought he.

* * * * *

Raniero rode in the vicinity of Nicæa, in Bithynia. Here he met some

western gentlemen who were conducting a party of recruits to the Holy

Land. In this company was Robert Taillefer, who was a wandering knight

and a troubadour.

Raniero, in his torn cloak, came riding along with the candle in his

hand, and the warriors began as usual to shout, “A madman, a madman!”

But Robert silenced them, and addressed the rider.

“Have you journeyed far in this manner?” he asked.

“I have ridden like this all the way from Jerusalem,” answered Raniero.

“Has your light been extinguished many times during the journey?”

“Still burns the flame that lighted the candle with which I rode away

from Jerusalem,” responded Raniero.

Then Robert Taillefer said to him: “I am also one of those who carry a

light, and I would that it burned always. But perchance you, who have

brought your light burning all the way from Jerusalem, can tell me what

I shall do that it may not become extinguished?”

Then Raniero answered: “Master, it is a difficult task, although it

appears to be of slight importance. This little flame demands of you

that you shall entirely cease to think of anything else. It will not

allow you to have any sweet-heart—in case you should desire anything of

the sort—neither would you dare on account of this flame to sit down at

a revel. You can not have aught else in your thoughts than just this

flame, and must possess no other happiness. But my chief reason for

advising you against making the journey which I have weathered is that

you can not for an instant feel secure. It matters not through how many

perils you may have guarded the flame, you can not for an instant think

yourself secure, but must ever expect that the very next moment it may

fail you.”

But Robert Taillefer raised his head proudly and answered: “What you

have done for your sacred flame I may do for mine.”

* * * * *

Raniero arrived in Italy. One day he rode through lonely roads up among

the mountains. A woman came running after him and begged him to give her

a light from his candle. “The fire in my hut is out,” said she. “My

children are hungry. Give me a light that I may heat my oven and bake

bread for them!”

She reached for the burning candle, but Raniero held it back because he

did not wish that anything should be lighted by that flame but the

candles before the image of the Blessed Virgin.

Then the woman said to him: “Pilgrim, give me a light, for the life of

my children is the flame which I am in duty bound to keep burning!” And

because of these words he permitted her to light the wick of her lamp

from his flame.

Several hours later he rode into a town. It lay far up on the mountain,

where it was very cold. A peasant stood in the road and saw the poor

wretch who came riding in his torn cloak. Instantly he stripped off the

short mantle which he wore, and flung it to him. But the mantle fell

directly over the candle and extinguished the flame.

Then Raniero remembered the woman who had borrowed a light of him. He

turned back to her and had his candle lighted anew with sacred fire.

When he was ready to ride farther, he said to her: “You say that the

sacred flame which you must guard is the life of your children. Can you

tell me what name this candle’s flame bears, which I have carried over

long roads?”

“Where was your candle lighted?” asked the woman.

“It was lighted at Christ’s sepulchre,” said Raniero.

“Then it can only be called Gentleness and Love of Humanity,” said she.

Raniero laughed at the answer. He thought himself a singular apostle of

virtues such as these.

* * * * *

Raniero rode forward between beautiful blue hills. He saw he was near

Florence. He was thinking that he must soon part with his light. He

thought of his tent in Jerusalem, which he had left filled with

trophies, and the brave soldiers who were still in Palestine, and who

would be glad to have him take up the business of war once more, and

bear them on to new conquests and honors.

Then he perceived that he experienced no pleasure in thinking of this,

but that his thoughts were drawn in another direction.

Then he realized for the first time that he was no longer the same man

that had gone from Jerusalem. The ride with the sacred flame had

compelled him to rejoice with all who were peaceable and wise and

compassionate, and to abhor the savage and warlike.

He was happy every time he thought of people who labored peacefully in

their homes, and it occurred to him that he would willingly move into

his old workshop in Florence and do beautiful and artistic work.

“Verily this flame has recreated me,” he thought. “I believe it has made

a new man of me.”

V

It was Eastertide when Raniero rode into Florence.

He had scarcely come in through the city gate—riding backwards, with

his hood drawn down over his face and the burning candle in his

hand—when a beggar arose and shouted the customary “Pazzo, pazzo!”

At this cry a street gamin darted out of a doorway, and a loafer, who

had had nothing else to do for a long time than to lie and gaze at the

clouds, jumped to his feet. Both began shouting the same thing: “Pazzo,

pazzo!”

Now that there were three who shrieked, they made a good deal of noise

and so woke up all the street urchins. They came rushing out from nooks

and corners. As soon as they saw Raniero, in his torn coat, on the

wretched horse, they shouted: “Pazzo, pazzo!”

But this was only what Raniero was accustomed to. He rode quietly up the

street, seeming: not to notice the shouters.

Then they were not content with merely shouting, but one of them jumped

up and tried to blow out the light. Raniero raised the candle on high,

trying at the same time to prod his horse, to escape the boys.

They kept even pace with him, and did everything they could to put out

the light.

The more he exerted himself to protect the flame the more excited they

became. They leaped upon one another’s backs, puffed their cheeks out,

and blew. They flung their caps at the candle. It was only because they

were so numerous and crowded on one another that they did not succeed in

quenching the flame.

This was the largest procession on the street. People stood at the

windows and laughed. No one felt any sympathy with a madman, who wanted

to defend his candle flame. It was church hour, and many worshipers were

on their way to Mass. They, too, stopped and laughed at the sport.

But now Raniero stood upright in the saddle, so that he could shield the

candle. He looked wild. The hood had fallen back and they saw his face,

which was wasted and pale, like a martyr’s. The candle he held uplifted

as high as he could.

The entire street was one great swarm of people. Even the older ones

began to take part in the play. The women waved their head-shawls and

the men swung their caps. Every one worked to extinguish the light.

Raniero rode under the vine-covered balcony of a house. Upon this stood

a woman. She leaned over the lattice-work, snatched the candle, and ran

in with it. The woman was Francesca degli Uberti.

The whole populace burst into shrieks of laughter and shouts, but

Raniero swayed in his saddle and fell to the street.

As soon as he lay there stricken and unconscious, the street was emptied

of people.

No one wished to take charge of the fallen man. His horse was the only

creature that stopped beside him.

As soon as the crowds had got away from the street, Francesca degli

Uberti came out from her house, with the burning candle in her hand. She

was still pretty; her features were gentle, and her eyes were deep and

earnest.

She went up to Raniero and bent over him. He lay senseless, but the

instant the candle light fell upon his face, he moved and roused

himself. It was apparent that the candle flame had complete power over

him. When Francesca saw that he had regained his senses, she said: “Here

is your candle. I snatched it from you, as I saw how anxious you were to

keep it burning. I knew of no other way to help you.”

Raniero had had a bad fall, and was hurt. But now nothing could hold him

back. He began to raise himself slowly. He wanted to walk, but wavered,

and was about to fall. Then he tried to mount his horse. Francesca

helped him. “Where do you wish to go?” she asked when he sat in the

saddle again. “I want to go to the cathedral,” he answered. “Then I

shall accompany you,” she said, “for I’m going to Mass.” And she led the

horse for him.

Francesca had recognized Raniero the very moment she saw him, but he did

not see who she was, for he did not take time to notice her. He kept his

gaze fixed upon the candle flame alone.

They were absolutely silent all the way. Raniero thought only of the

flame, and of guarding it well these last moments. Francesca could not

speak, for she felt she did not wish to be certain of that which she

feared. She could not believe but that Raniero had come home insane.

Although she was almost certain of this, she would rather not speak with

him, in order to avoid any positive assurance.

After a while Raniero heard some one weep near him. He looked around and

saw that it was Francesca degli Uberti, who walked beside him; and she

wept. But Raniero saw her only for an instant, and said nothing to her.

He wanted to think only of the sacred flame.

Raniero let her conduct him to the sacristy. There he dismounted. He

thanked Francesca for her help, but looked all the while not upon her,

but on the light. He walked alone up to the priests in the sacristy.

Francesca went into the church. It was Easter Eve, and all the candles

stood unlighted upon the altars, as a symbol of mourning. Francesca

thought that every flame of hope which had ever burned within her was

now extinguished.

In the church there was profound solemnity. There were many priests at

the altar. The canons sat in a body in the chancel, with the bishop

among them.

By and by Francesca noticed there was commotion among the priests.

Nearly all who were not needed to serve at Mass arose and went out into

the sacristy. Finally the bishop went, too.

When Mass was over, a priest stepped up to the chancel railing and began

to speak to the people. He related that Raniero di Raniero had arrived

in Florence with sacred fire from Jerusalem. He narrated what the rider

had endured and suffered on the way. And he praised him exceeding much.

The people sat spellbound and listened to this. Francesca had never

before experienced such a blissful moment. “O God!” she sighed, “this is

greater happiness than I can bear.” Her tears fell as she listened.

The priest talked long and well. Finally he said in a strong, thrilling

voice: “It may perchance appear like a trivial thing now, that a candle

flame has been brought to Florence. But I say to you: Pray God that He

will send Florence many bearers of Eternal Light; then she will become a

great power, and be extolled as a city among cities!”

When the priest had finished speaking, the entrance doors of the church

were thrown open, and a procession of canons and monks and priests

marched up the center aisle toward the altar. The bishop came last, and

by his side walked Raniero, in the same cloak that he had worn during

the entire journey.

But when Raniero had crossed the threshold of the cathedral, an old man

arose and walked toward him. It was Oddo, the father of the journeyman

who had once worked for Raniero, and had hanged himself because of him.

When this man had come up to the bishop and Raniero, he bowed to them.

Thereupon he said in such a loud voice that all in the church heard him:

“It is a great thing for Florence that Raniero has come with sacred fire

from Jerusalem. Such a thing has never before been heard of or

conceived. For that reason perhaps there may be many who will say that

it is not possible. Therefore, I beg that all the people may know what

proofs and witnesses Raniero has brought with him, to assure us that

this is actually fire which was lighted in Jerusalem.”

When Raniero heard this he said: “God help me! how can I produce

witnesses? I have made the journey alone. Deserts and mountain wastes

must come and testify for me.”

“Raniero is an honest knight,” said the bishop, “and we believe him on

his word.”

“Raniero must know himself that doubts will arise as to this,” said

Oddo. “Surely, he can not have ridden entirely alone. His little pages

could certainly testify for him.”

Then Francesca degli Uberti rushed up to Raniero. “Why need we

witnesses?” said she. “All the women in Florence would swear on oath

that Raniero speaks the truth!”

Then Raniero smiled, and his countenance brightened for a moment.

Thereupon he turned his thoughts and his gaze once more upon the candle

flame.

There was great commotion in the church. Some said that Raniero should

not be allowed to light the candles on the altar until his claim was

substantiated. With this many of his old enemies sided.

Then Jacopo degli Uberti rose and spoke in Raniero’s behalf. “I believe

every one here knows that no very great friendship has existed between

my son-in-law and me,” he said; “but now both my sons and I will answer

for him. We believe he has performed this task, and we know that one who

has been disposed to carry out such an undertaking is a wise, discreet,

and noble-minded man, whom we are glad to receive among us.”

But Oddo and many others were not disposed to let him taste of the bliss

he was yearning for. They got together in a close group and it was easy

to see that they did not care to withdraw their demand.

Raniero apprehended that if this should develop into a fight, they would

immediately try to get at the candle. As he kept his eyes steadily fixed

upon his opponents, he raised the candle as high as he could.

He looked exhausted in the extreme, and distraught. One could see that,

although he wished to hold out to the very last, he expected defeat.

What mattered it to him now if he were permitted to light the candles?

Oddo’s word had been a death-blow. When doubt was once awakened, it

would spread and increase. He fancied that Oddo had already extinguished

the sacred flame forever.

A little bird came fluttering through the great open doors into the

church. It flew straight into Raniero’s light. He hadn’t time to snatch

it aside, and the bird dashed against it and put out the flame.

Raniero’s arm dropped, and tears sprang to his eyes. The first moment he

felt this as a sort of relief. It was better thus than if human beings

had killed it.

The little bird continued its flight into the church, fluttering

confusedly hither and thither, as birds do when they come into a room.

Simultaneously a loud cry resounded throughout the church: “The bird is

on fire! The sacred candle flame has set its wings on fire!”

The little bird chirped anxiously. For a few moments it fluttered about,

like a flickering flame, under the high chancel arches. Then it sank

suddenly and dropped dead upon the Madonna’s Altar.

But the moment the bird fell upon the Altar, Raniero was standing there.

He had forced his way through the church, no one had been able to stop

him. From the sparks which destroyed the bird’s wings he lit the candles

before the Madonna’s Altar.

Then the bishop raised his staff and proclaimed: “God willed it! God

hath testified for him!”

And all the people in the church, both his friends and opponents,

abandoned their doubts and conjectures. They cried as with one voice,

transported by God’s miracle: “God willed it! God hath testified for

him!”

Of Raniero there is now only a legend, which says he enjoyed great good

fortune for the remainder of his days, and was wise, and prudent, and

compassionate. But the people of Florence always called him Pazzo degli

Ranieri, in remembrance of the fact that they had believed him insane.

And this became his honorary title. He founded a dynasty, which was

named Pazzi, and is called so even to this day.

It might also be worth mentioning that it became a custom in Florence,

each year at Easter Eve, to celebrate a festival in memory of Raniero’s

home-coming with the sacred flame, and that, on this occasion, they

always let an artificial bird fly with fire through the church. This

festival would most likely have been celebrated even in our day had not

some changes taken place recently.

But if it be true, as many hold, that the bearers of sacred fire who

have lived in Florence and have made the city one of the most glorious

on earth, have taken Raniero as their model, and have thereby been

encouraged to sacrifice, to suffer and endure, this may here be left

untold.

For what has been done by this light, which in dark times has gone out

from Jerusalem, can neither be measured nor counted.