Now it is the habit even of the most broad-minded of our Protesting brethren deliberately to close every avenue by which information might reach their intelligences, and to seal them up tightly, before they embark upon any study of the Saints, or of the Church. In parenthesis it must be said of the Germans, doubtless true to the Teutonic passion for accuracy, that as a general rule they will and do search after and transcribe the true facts of a happening, at whatever cost to their own private feelings—as Haeckel found to his cost. Not so with the English. They glory in incredulity—and prune their belief daily until nothing more than the bare tree is left. So that one is not in the least astonished to find in the middle of an Englishman’s otherwise fairly faithful tale a shocked horror—indeed it cannot be described in any other terms—at the thought of the desert’s being an abiding-place for devils. Unprejudiced people, on the other hand, find that persons with any real experience of the desert are quite ready to believe that anything horrible might be found there. If ever there was a proper ball-room for Satan, says one, it is the desert!
St. Raniero found them there, aplenty—so did St. Anthony, and St. Ephrem, and St. Procopius, and St. Jerome, and many, many more.
St. Raniero vowed himself to abstinence, and a hard struggle he found it to be until one morning, very early, when, after a night of tossing and turning and praying, he fell asleep and dreamed that a wonderfully wrought vessel of gold, covered with the most beautiful gems, stood beside him. It was full of pitch and sulphur, and these presently ignited, burning fiercely, and threatening the destruction of the vase. But, just as it seemed to be on the point of destruction, a little phial containing a few drops of water appeared, and he was bidden to sprinkle some upon the fire; he did so with some difficulty, since it was burning so fiercely, and behold, the fire was extinguished in a moment.
On awakening he considered the dream for some time, trying to read some meaning into it, and presently it was borne in upon him that the vessel was his body, the pitch and sulphur his passions and appetites, and that the water was temperance, which would quench these. From that time onward he lived altogether upon bread and water, even performing the most of his miracles with water, for which he had an especial reverence, so that he came to be known in Pisa as “San Domini dell’ Acqua.”
That he was a water-drinker himself did not affect his detestation of dishonesty in the matter of wine, however. Being at one time in Messina, he stayed one night at an inn there, and, after watching the inn-keeper for a little while, became persuaded that he was mixing water with the wine which he was selling. Beckoning to him, Raniero told him to cease, but the host first laughed and then grew angry, telling him to mind his own business. Then the Saint took him by the shoulder and turned him round, and pointed to a cask which was set in a distant corner.
“See there,” he said. Every one by now was looking in the same direction, and, to their terror and amazement, there appeared upon the cask a huge black cat with enormous wings. The host flung himself at the Saint’s feet, howling, and the rest of the company began to crowd and push out of the place, but the Saint directed them to remain, and dismissed the demon swiftly.
He returned afterwards to Pisa, where he lived for many years, and performed many wonders, healings, and conversions before he died, and his tomb is in the wall of the Duomo, where an altar has been erected to his memory.
CHAPTER XI QUEEN JOAN OF NAPLES
Of all feminine sinners known to history, Joan of Anjou, Queen of Naples and of Jerusalem, affords, perhaps, the most conspicuous example of the perils attendant upon what are known as “marriages of State”—that is to say, marriages brought about for reasons of State and without reference to the personal inclinations of the contracting parties themselves.