In that holy city of Jerusalem, an ancient miracle renewed itself, and I call it ancient because the Latin world does not know when it begun. Our conjecture is that it began when, after the city had begun to be trampled by pagans, before our times, the Lord granted it both to those who lived there, and to those who happened to be there at that time. Every year, on the Sabbath of Easter, the lamp of the Lord's tomb seemed to be kindled by divine power; it was the custom in that city that the pagans went through everyone's house, extinguishing every fire, leaving only ashes in the hearths; the pagans made such a search, because they thought that the miracle was the product of the fraud, and not of the faith of the faithful. When Vulcan had been turned out by this means from the city, at the hour at which our religion's law has determined that the Catholic people are to be present at the service of the solemn resurrection and baptism, you would have seen pagans moving throughout the basilica with their swords drawn, threatening to kill our people. You would also have seen those natives who worshipped our faith entrusting their profound grief to God, both those whose prayers had drawn them from the furthest reaches of the world, and those who had come because of the miracle, all to pray singlemindedly for the gift of light. Nor was there any unsuitable delay, but the passionate request was granted swiftly. I have heard from some old men who went there that the papyrus or wick (I don't know which of them was used) was once removed by a pagan's trick, and the metal remained empty, but, by means of a miracle from heaven, when light shone from the metal, he who wanted to defraud the heavenly powers learned that natural forces fight even against their own natures for their God.