(A.D. 1440.)
[Roman Martyrology. Canonized by Paul V., in 1608. Authorities:--Her
life by her confessor, John Mattiotti, and another by Maria Magdalena
d'Aguillar. The following life is condensed from that by Lady
Georgiana Fullerton.]
Frances of Rome was born in stormy days. War was raging all over
Europe. Italy was torn by inward dissentions, and the Church was
afflicted, not only by the outward persecutions which strengthens her
vitality, though for a while they appear to cripple her action, but by
trials of a far deeper and more painful nature. Heresy had torn from
her arms a great number of her children, and repeated schisms were
dividing those who, in appearance, and even in intention, remained
faithful to the Holy See. The successors of S. Peter had removed the
seat of their residence to Avignon, and the eternal city presented the
aspect of one vast battle-field, on which daily and hourly conflicts
were occurring. In the capital of Western Christendom ruins of recent
date lay side by side with the relics of past ages; the churches were
sacked, burned, and destroyed, and the eyes of the people of Rome were
turned beseechingly to Heaven to restore to them that tranquillity to
which they had almost become strange.
It was at that time, during the pontificate of Urban VI., in the year
1384, that Francesca was born at Rome; that "she rose as a star in a
dark night," according to the expression of the most ancient of her
biographers. Her father's name was Paul Russa; her mother's Jacobella
de' Roffredeschi; they were both of noble descent. On the day of her
birth she was carried to the Church of S. Agnes, and there baptized.
Little could the worshippers who may have been praying there that day
for a blessing on their bereaved and distracted city, have guessed in
what form that blessing was bestowed, and that that little babe, a few
hours old, was to prove a most powerful instrument in the hands of God
for the extinction of schism, the revival of piety, and the return of
peace.
From her infancy, Francesca was not like other children. At two or
three years old she manifested a precocious intelligence and piety.
Instead of playing, she loved to retire into a silent corner of her
father's palace, and kneeling down join her little hands in prayer.
From the time that Francesca had understood the meaning of the words,
her greatest desire had been to enter a convent; it was therefore
with profound grief that she received, at the age of twelve, the
announcement from her father that he had promised her hand to Lorenzo
Ponziano, a young nobleman of illustrious birth, and not less eminent
for his virtues and talents than from his fortune and position. She
flew to her director and besought his advice. "If your parents persist
in their resolution," said he, "take it, my child, as a sign that
God expects of you this sacrifice. Offer up to him in that case your
earnest desire for the religious life. He will accept the will for
the deed; and you will attain at once the reward of that wish, and
the peculiar graces attached to the sacrament of marriage." Francesca
submitted, and was married to Lorenzo Ponziano, and took up her abode
in his palace in the heart of the Trastevere. It is a well-known spot;
and on the 9th of March, the people of Rome flock to it in crowds. The
modern building erected on the foundations of the old palace is the
Casa dei Esercizii Pii. On the day of her festival its rooms are thrown
open, every memorial of the gentle saint is exhibited, lights burn on
numerous altars, flowers deck the passages, leaves are strewn in the
chapel, on the stairs, in the entrance court; figured tapestry and
crimson silks hang over the door, and crowds of people go in and out,
and kneel before the relics and pictures of the dear saint of Rome, and
gaze on each altar, and linger in these chambers, like kinsfolk met on
a birthday to rejoice together.
Francesca was received into her new home tenderly and joyfully by her
father-in-law Andrew, his wife Cecilia, and Vannozza, the wife of her
husband's brother, a holy and loving woman, in whom Francesca found a
kindred spirit. The manner of Francesca was so gentle and kind, that
it inspired affection in all who approached her; but there was also a
profound and awful purity in her aspect and in her demeanour, which
effectually checked the utterance of a free or licentious word in her
presence. Faithful to her early habits of piety, she continued every
Wednesday to visit the church of S. Maria Nuova; and after confessing
to her director, Antonio Savelli, she communicated. Rising betimes in
the morning, Francesca devoutly said her prayers, made her meditations,
and read attentively out of a spiritual book. In the course of the day,
whenever she had a moment's leisure, she withdrew into a church, or
into her own room, and gave herself up to prayer. At the same time, so
devout a life in a young person of twelve years old could not fail to
attract the attention and draw down the censures of the worldly. Many
such began to laugh at Francesca, and to turn her piety into ridicule.
But her husband was to her a shield, as far as in him lay, against
spiteful tongues. His young wife was much too precious to him, much
too perfect in his sight, her whole life bore too visibly the stamp
of God's dealings with her, for him to dream of interfering with the
course she had taken. On the contrary, he looked upon her with that
affectionate veneration which the presence of true sanctity always
awakens in a noble and religious mind.
There was not a single member, friend, or servant, of that noble family
into which she had been received, that did not love her. Paluzzo,
Lorenzo's brother, delighted in encouraging the intimacy that had
arisen between his young sister-in-law and his own wife Vannozza. Day
by day her influence--her tender, noiseless, gentle influence--was felt
subduing, winning, drawing them all to God.
The happiness which the family of Ponziano had enjoyed since Lorenzo's
marriage was interrupted by the sudden and dangerous illness of his
wife, which baffled all medical skill, and soon brought her to the
verge of the grave. She endured excruciating pain, and was unable to
take nourishment. She declined rapidly, and all hope of her recovery
was abandoned, when, one night, as she was lying motionless on her
couch of suffering, listening to the breathing of her nurses who had
fallen asleep, a sudden light filled the room, and she saw standing
before her in pilgrim's robe, S. Alexis, the noble Roman penitent, who
had passed many years as a despised beggar at the door of his father's
palace. Drawing near to Francesca's bed, he said "I am Alexis, and
am sent from God to enquire of thee if thou choosest to be healed?"
"I have no choice but the good pleasure of God," she answered. "Then
live," said he, "for He choosest that thou shouldest remain in the
world to glorify His name." Then he drew his mantle over Francesca and
vanished, leaving her perfectly recovered.
Confounded at this extraordinary favour, she rose in haste, and
slipping out of the room without awaking her nurses, she hurried to
the bedside of her sister-in-law. "My dear Vannozza, my own Vannozza!"
she exclaimed, putting her arm round her neck, and her cheek next
hers. Vannozza suddenly awoke, and distrusting the evidence of her
senses, said, "Who are you? Am I dreaming? It sounds like the voice of
my little Frances?" "Yes, it is your little sister who is speaking
to you." "What! I left you only an hour ago at the point of death!"
"It is I, nevertheless, come to thank you, dear companion, for having
nursed me so tenderly, and now help me to thank God for his wonderful
mercy towards me." Then sitting on her bed, with the hands of her
sister clasped in her own, she related to her the vision, and the
instantaneous recovery that had followed; and then, as the light began
to break into the chamber, she added with eagerness, "Now let us hasten
to S. Maria Nuova, and then to the church of S. Alexis, that I may
return him my thanks, before others learn what God has done for me."
The year 1400 opened under melancholy auspices. The wars for the
succession of the kingdom of Naples between Louis of Anjou and Ladislas
were agitating the whole of Italy; and Rome was exposed to all the fury
of the contending parties. Lorenzo Ponziano, from his rank and fidelity
to the sovereign pontiff, was especially marked out as an enemy by the
adverse faction. But while on every side the storm was brewing, and the
aspect of public affairs each day became more gloomy, a blessing was
granted him, which for the last five years he had ardently desired.
Francesca became the mother of a little son, who received at the font
the name of John Baptist, or, in Italian, Giovanni Baptista. It was not
at that time the custom for ladies of rank to nurse their children; but
Francesca set aside all such considerations, and never consented to
forego a mother's sacred privilege.
In obedience to her director, and guided by her own sense of duty,
she modified, for the time being her usual mode of life, and occupied
herself with the care of her child in preference to all other
observances of charity or of devotion.
About a year after, Lorenzo's mother died, and Francesca was called
to take her place as head of the household, and to superintend all
the domestic affairs. Distressed at the proposal, she pleaded her
youth and inexperience, and urged that Vannozza, as the wife of the
eldest brother, was, as a matter of course, entitled to that position.
Vannozza, however, steadily refused it, and at length, overcome by the
general importunity, Francesca found herself obliged to comply. Now it
was that her merit shone conspicuously. Placed at the head of the most
opulent house in Rome, no symptom of pride revealed itself in her looks
or in her actions. She was never heard to speak a harsh or impatient
word. Firm in requiring every person in her house to fulfil their
duties, she did it in the gentlest manner. Always courteous to her
servants, she watched over their souls as precious treasures entrusted
to her custody by God.
Francesca had just attained the age of twenty when her second son was
born. He was baptized on the day of his birth, and received the name
of John Evangelist. He might well have been termed his mother's own
child; for in his veriest infancy, he showed that he had inherited
her sweetness and spirit of devotion. He was to her as one of God's
own angels, and tears of joy filled her eyes as she mused on the
extraordinary signs of grace which he daily evinced. Evangelista was
not quite three years old when his little sister Agnes was born, who in
beauty, heavenly sweetness of temper, and precocious piety, proved the
counterpart of her brother.
In the year 1409, when she was about twenty-seven years old,
Francesca's temporal calamities began. After Ladislas of Naples,
befriended by the enemies of the pope, had in 1498 gained possession
of Rome, he left behind him as governor of the city the count of
Troja, a rough and brutal soldier. In an engagement with the count's
soldiers Lorenzo Ponziano was stabbed, and taken up and carried home
as if dead. Francesca however found that he still breathed, and by her
unremitting attention, he was restored to health.
Meanwhile the count of Troja, pressed on every side, began to foresee
the necessity of leaving Rome; but, in his exasperation, resolved
previously to wreak his vengeance on the families most devoted to the
pope, and especially on that of the Ponziani. He accordingly arrested
Paluzzo, Vannozza's husband, and understanding that Lorenzo had a son
of eight or nine years old, he commanded that he should be given up
into his hands as a hostage.
This was to Francesca a trial almost beyond endurance, as she trembled
for the soul of her little one about to be committed to unprincipled
soldiers. The report of the order had spread through Rome, and as she
passed through the streets clasping the hand of her dear child whom she
was about to surrender, crowds of commiserating women pressed round
her. She mounted the Capitol, walked straight to where the tyrant was
standing, and gave up her son to him, and then, without once looking
back, she hastened to the church of Ara Cœli, and falling prostrate
before the feet of the Mother of Mercy, poured out her soul in tears
and supplication. In the mean time the count of Troja had ordered one
of his officers to take little Baptista on his horse, and carry him
away to a place he appointed; but from the instant the child was placed
on the saddle, no efforts could induce the animal to stir. Four of
the knights of Naples renewed the attempt with other horses, and the
same result. There is a strength greater than man's will; there is a
power that defeats human malice. Struck with a secret terror by this
evident prodigy, the count of Troja gave up the unequal contest, and
ordered the child to be restored to his mother. Before the altar of Ara
Cœli, where in her anguish she had fallen, Francesca received back
into her arms the son of her love, and blessed the God who had given
her strength to go through this the severest of her trials.
The States of the Church and Rome were again overrun by the troops
of Ladislas, in 1410. The horrors of this invasion, and of the sack
that followed it, surpassed in atrocity almost all those that had
previously afflicted the capital of Western Christendom. Lorenzo,
scarcely recovered from his long illness, fled into a distant province.
It had been impossible to remove his wife and children; and Francesca
remained exposed to a succession of the most trying disasters. The
wealth of the family chiefly consisted in their country possessions;
and day after day intelligence was brought to her that one farmhouse
or another was burnt or pillaged, the cattle dispersed or destroyed,
and the peasants murdered by a ruthless soldiery. One fatal morning a
troop of savage ruffians, drunk with rage, broke into the palace, and
after pillaging, and all but destroying the time-honoured residence of
the Ponziani, carried off her son Baptista. In the space of a few hours
that gorgeous abode was turned into a heap of ruins. Bereft of her
husband, of her son, and of all the conveniences of life, Francesca,
with her two younger children, remained alone, and unprotected, for her
brother-in-law, Paluzzo, was still a prisoner in the tyrant's hands.
How Baptista escaped is not recorded, but by some means or other he was
enabled to get away from Rome and rejoin his father.
Francesca took shelter in a corner of her ruined habitation; and there,
with Evangelista and Agnese, she managed to live in the most complete
seclusion. These two children were now their mother's only comfort,
as their education was her principal occupation. Evangelista, as he
advanced in age, in no way belied the promise of his infancy. He lived
in spirit with the angels and saints, and seemed more fitted for their
society than for any earthly companionship. "To be with God," was his
only dream of bliss. The hour for another sacrifice was at hand. The
second invasion of Rome was succeeded by a dreadful famine, which was
followed in its turn by a severe pestilence. Evangelista sickened and
died of it. Francesca wept over the loss of her dearly-beloved child,
but did not grieve for him. It was not a time for indulgence of sorrow.
Want and sickness were turning Rome into a charnel house. Wild voices
were screaming for bread on every side. The streets were encumbered by
the victims of the plague. The ruin of private property, the general
penury occasioned by the extortion of Ladislas, and the sacking of
Rome by his soldiers, had cut off almost all the resources of private
charity. Francesca, bereaved of everything but her one little girl,
and lodged with Vannozza in a corner of their dismantled house, had no
longer at her command the resources she had formerly possessed for the
relief of the poor. A little food from their ruined estates was now
and then supplied to these lonely women; and they stinted themselves,
that they might bestow the greatest part on the sick and poor. There
was a large hall in the lower part of the palace; the sisters converted
it into a temporary hospital; out of the shattered furniture that lay
scattered about the house, they contrived to make up beds and covering,
and to prepare some clothing for the wretched creatures they were about
to receive. When all was ready they brought in sufferers, carrying
the weakest in their arms. They washed and dressed their wounds and
sores, prepared both medicine and food, watched the sick by day and by
night; laboured incessantly for their bodies, and still more for their
souls. The example which the ruined and bereaved wives of the Ponziani
had given kindled a similar spirit among the hitherto apathetic
inhabitants of Rome, and in several places hospitals were opened to
the perishing multitudes. Often Francesca and Vannozza were without
a morsel of food for themselves and their poor, then they went forth
to beg, and gratefully accepted the broken bits that fell from the
table of the wealthy. Each remnant of food, each rag of clothing, they
brought home with joy; and the best was invariably bestowed on their
guests.
Evangelista had been dead about a year, when one morning as Francesca
was praying in her oratory, she became conscious that the little room
was suddenly and supernaturally illumined. She raised her eyes, and
Evangelista stood before her; his familiar aspect unchanged, but his
features transfigured and beaming with ineffable splendour. By his
side stood an angel of exquisite beauty. Evangelista smiling on his
mother, told her of his present happiness, and then bade her prepare
to surrender her little Agnese, for God called the child. But a
consolation was promised her. Thenceforth the angel who stood beside
Evangelista was to be ever with her, as a visible companion. Having
said this, Evangelista disappeared, but the angel remained, and to the
day of her death was ever present to her sight.
The following is the description of the angel as given by Francesca to
her confessor, and written down by her, at his order:--
"His stature is that of a child, of about nine years; his countenance
full of sweetness and majesty; his eyes generally turned towards
heaven. Words cannot describe the divine purity of that gaze. His brow
is always serene; his glances kindle in the soul the flame of ardent
devotion. When I look upon him, I understand the glory of the angelic
nature, and the degraded condition of our own. He wears a long, shining
robe, and over it a tunic, either as white as the lilies of the field,
or of the colour of a red rose, or of the hue of the sky, when it is
most deeply blue. When he walks at my side his feet are never soiled by
the mud of the streets, or the dust of the roads."
The presence of her heavenly guide was to her as a mirror, in which she
could see reflected every imperfection of her character. Much as she
had discerned, even from her earliest childhood, of the corruption of
her heart, yet she often told her director that it was only since she
had been continually in the presence of an angelic companion that she
had realised its amount. So that this divine favour, far from exalting
her in her own eyes, served to maintain her in the deepest humility.
When she committed any fault, the angel faded away, and it was only
when she had felt compunction and confessed her fault, that he shone
out upon her once more in all his brilliancy.
And now her little Agnes was taken from her, and was laid beside her
brother Evangelista.
Four long years had elapsed, during which Rome had been given up to
war, famine, and pestilence. The exertions of Francesca told at last on
her enfeebled frame, and she fell dangerously ill. Vannozza never left
her bedside, and nursed her with such love and care that she restored
her to health. It was during this illness that Francesca had a vision
of Hell. And now, in 1414, Ladislas died, and peace was restored to
the States of the Church. The Ponziani were recalled from banishment,
and their property was restored. Lorenzo and his son Baptista returned
to their home, and to the wife and mother they had so longed to behold
again. But the cup of joy was mixed with sorrow. Lorenzo, who a few
years back was strong and active, was now broken by long sufferings,
aged more through exile and grief than through years. We are told that
when he entered his palace and looked upon his wife, deep sobs shook
his breast, and he burst into tears. The two beautiful children whom
he had left by her side were gone, and Francesca herself, pale with
recent sickness, spent with ceaseless labour, was changed in form, and
bloom, and brightness, by what she also had endured.
The household life was now to some extent restored. Francesca devoted
all her leisure moments to prayer, but never allowed her spiritual
exercises to interfere with her duty as a wife and mistress of a
household. Her attention to Lorenzo's slightest wants and wishes was
unceasing. She never complained of any amount of interruption or of
trouble which his claims, or those of the house, or of her position
in society, occasioned. One day that she was reciting in her room the
office of the Blessed Virgin, her husband sent for her. Instantly
rising from her knees, she obeyed his summons. When she had performed
the trifling service he required, she returned to her prayers. Four
successive times, for the most insignificant of purposes, was she sent
for; each time with unwearied good humour she complied, and resumed her
devotions without a shadow of discontent or annoyance. On resuming her
book the last time that this occurred, great was her astonishment in
finding the antiphon which she had begun four times, and had four times
left unfinished, written in letters of gold. Vannozza, who was present,
witnessed the miracle, and the gilded letters remained in the book to
the day of her death.
Her son, Baptista, had now arrived at the age of eighteen, and at his
father's advice he married a maiden, named Mobilia, of noble birth
and singular beauty. Immediately upon her marriage, the bride came
to reside under the same roof as her father and mother-in-law. She
was received as a beloved daughter by Francesca and Vannozza, but
she neither returned their affection nor appeared sensible to their
kindness. Her head was completely turned at finding herself her own
mistress, adored by her husband, and furnished with the most ample
means of gratifying all her fancies. She gave no thought to anything
but her beauty, her dress, and all the amusements within her reach.
Wholly inexperienced, she declined to ask or to receive advice,
and chose in every respect to be guided by her inclinations alone.
Imperious with her equals, haughty with her superiors, she treated her
mother-in-law with the most supreme contempt. In the gay societies
which she frequented, it was her favourite amusement to turn Francesca
into ridicule, and mimic her manners and style of conversation. "How
can one feel respect," said she, "for an old woman who thinks of
nothing but the poor, dresses plainly, and goes about the streets
carrying bread and old clothes?"
It was in vain that Baptista, seriously annoyed at the insults
offered to his dearly-loved mother, remonstrated with his wife.
Mobilia persisted for long, till struck with sudden illness in the
midst of a sharp and bitter speech addressed to her mother-in-law,
she became alarmed lest God should punish her with greater severity,
and she resolved to behave towards her with respect and love. And
this grew till the young wife became passionately fond of Francesca,
and venerated her for her virtues, which she strove hard to imitate.
Francesca, with the most watchful love, nursed Mobilia in her
confinements, and bestowed on her grandchildren the same cares that
she had lavished on her own children. It was a great relief to her
that Mobilia was able to assume the management of the house, and
thus enable her to devote herself more unreservedly to the service
of the poor and of the hospitals. A new epoch was now at hand in her
career. God had placed in her heart many years ago a hope, which she
had nursed in secret, and watered with tears, and fostered by prayer.
Never impatient, never beforehand with God's providence, she waited.
Lorenzo's admiration and affection for his wife had gone on increasing
with advancing years; the perfection of her life, and the miracles he
had so often seen her perform, inspired him with unbounded reverence.
Taking her aside one day, he offered to release her from all the
obligations imposed by the state of marriage, to allow her the fullest
liberty of action, and the most absolute control over her person, her
time, and her conduct, on one condition, that she would promise never
to cease to inhabit his house. She accepted his proposal joyfully
and gratefully, but she continued to devote herself to her excellent
husband, and with the most attentive solicitude to render him every
service in her power. He was now in very declining health, and she
rendered him by day and by night all the cares of the tenderest nurse.
Seeing the necessity of a religious society for women living in the
world, Francesca now formed a congregation of pious women, which was
affiliated to the Olivetian monastery of S. Maria Nuova, and which
comprised about ten noble Roman ladies, devoted like herself and
Vannozza, to the service of God and the poor. She now lost her beloved
sister Vannozza, and her director, Antonio Savelli, who had instructed
her childhood, and guided her ever since with wisdom and faithfulness.
She chose as her director and that of her congregation, Giovanni
Mattiotti, curate of S. Maria in Trastevere, to whom she had already
sometimes been to confession. He was a man of distinguished piety, but
of an irresolute and vacillating disposition, easily disheartened. Her
society, which was called the Congregation of Oblates of Mary, had
lasted seven years, when Francesca decided that it would be advisable
that it should have a convent in which to dwell. She took a house
adapted to the requirements of a religious community, on the spot where
an old tower, named "Tor di Specchi," used to stand. Various obstacles
arose to the purchase of this house, which disheartened Mattiotti;
but they were finally overcome, and the acquisition was completed
towards the end of the year 1432. This house, which was at first
considered only as a temporary residence, was subsequently added to,
and has remained to this day the central house of the order. It was,
doubtless, a trial to Francesca that whilst she was providing a home
for her disciples, she was unable to avail herself of it, but she never
hesitated as to her line of duty. Lorenzo had released her from all
obligations but one, that of residing in his house, and watching over
his old age. His infirmities were increasing, and her attentions were
indispensable to his comfort. The rule adopted by the Oblates of Tor di
Specchi remains the same to this day. They are not, strictly speaking,
nuns: they take no vows, and are bound by no obligations under pain of
sin; they are not cloistered, and their dress is that which was worn at
the period of their establishment by the widows of the Roman nobles.
It was on the Feast of the Annunciation, 1433, that the Oblates, ten
in number, met in the church of S. Maria in Trastevere, heard Mass,
and communicated, then went in procession to the house they were
thenceforth to inhabit. That house, which now-a-days is thrown open
during the Octave of the Feast of S. Frances, is no gloomy abode. The
beautiful chapel; the garden, with its magnificent orange trees; the
open galleries, with their little oratories, where a holy picture or
figure takes you by surprise, and meets you at every turn; the light,
airy rooms, where religious prints and ornaments, with flowers, birds,
and ingenious toys, testify that innocent enjoyments are encouraged
among the children educated therein by the Oblates of S. Mary.
But on the day when Francesca's companions first entered these walls,
there was nothing very fair or beautiful to greet them, though they
carried thither, in their hearts, from the altar they had just left,
the source of all light and love. With delight they exchanged their
ordinary dress for that which the rule prescribed. Francesca alone
stood among them no nun in her outward garb, but the truest nun of all,
through the inward consecration of her whole being to God.
Francesca had been forty years married to Lorenzo Ponziano, and blessed
had that union been by the tender affection which had reigned between
the husband and the wife, and sanctified by the exercise of no common
virtues, by the pursuit of no transitory object. Francesca had led the
way, in meekness, in humility, in subjection, but with a single aim
and an unwavering purpose. Lorenzo's health had been breaking up for
some years past, and now it utterly failed, and his disease assumed an
alarming character. Few men would have shown themselves as worthy as
he did of such a wife as Francesca. From the moment of his marriage
he had appreciated her virtues, rejoiced in her piety, encouraged her
good works, and to a great extent shared in them. He had his reward.
Francesca tended him to the last with indefatigable love. He had been a
just man, and his death was the death of the righteous. Francesca was
now free to follow the bent of her desire. She took leave of Mobilia
and her son, and went straight to Tor di Specchi. It was on the 21st
of March, the feast of S. Benedict, that she entered its walls, not as
the foundress, but as a humble suppliant for admission. At the foot of
the stairs, having taken off her black gown, her veil, and her shoes,
she knelt down, and made her general confession in the presence of the
community, and then asked permission to dwell amongst the Oblates. The
spiritual daughters of S. Frances hastened to raise and to embrace her,
and clothing her with their habit, they led the way to the chapel,
where they all returned thanks to God.
At the same moment, her angel guardian was changed; another, brighter
and more beautiful, stood beside her, weaving a golden woof out of
threads, which he drew from a palm branch. And this angel, ever busy on
this mystic work, remained beside her till her death, in place of the
other.
Agnes de Lellis, the superior, then resigned her office, and the
sisters with one accord insisted on Francesca assuming the direction
of the house. She positively refused to do so, but her objections were
overruled by the director, and unable to resist his orders, she assumed
the office on March 25th.
We have not space to give an account of the life of the blessed
Francesca as a superior, or to detail the miracles she was enabled to
work; for these we refer the English reader to the life of this saint
by Lady Georgiana Fullerton. On March 3rd, 1440, when Francesca was
fifty-six years old, she was sent for to see her son Baptista, who
was laid up with a sharp attack of fever. She instantly obeyed the
summons, and spent the day at the Ponziano palace; but towards evening
she grew so ill that she could scarcely stand. However, she persisted
in returning to her convent. On her way she stopped at the church
of S. Maria in Trastevere, and found there her confessor, Giovanni
Mattiotti, who, noticing her altered looks, ordered her at once to
return to her son's house. The order was a trial to her, for she felt
that she would never again enter the hallowed walls of Tor di Specchi;
but, faithful to the spirit of perfect obedience, she went back to the
palace. In the course of the night a virulent fever came on, and she
became so seriously ill that all hopes of her recovery were abandoned.
And now the angel had nearly done his mystic task, the golden web was
complete, and he folded up the glistening tissue about the palm. The
day of March 9th was far advanced. "What are you saying?" asked her
confessor, seeing her lips move. "The vespers of the Blessed Virgin,"
she answered, in a scarcely audible voice. As an infant she had begun
the practice; and on the eve of her death she had not omitted it.
S. Francesca was canonized May 29th, 1608.
Relics in S. Maria Nuova, at Rome.
In art she appears with an angel by her side, sometimes contemplating
Hell open.
[Illustration: HATRED AND MALICE. Symbolic carving at the Abbey of S.
Denis.]
March 10.
SS. CAIUS AND ALEXANDER, _MM. at Apamea, in Phrygia, after_ A.D. 171.
SS. CODRATUS, DIONYSIUS, CYPRIAN, ANECTUS, AND OTHERS, _MM. at
Corinth, circ._ A.D. 258.
SS. FORTY MARTYRS OF SEBASTE, _circ._ A.D. 320.
S. MACARIUS, _B. of Jerusalem, circ._ A.D. 335.
S. KESSOG, _B. in Scotland, 6th cent._
S. ANASTASIUS THE PATRICIAN, _C. in Egypt_, A.D. 567.
S. DROCTOVEUS, _Ab. at S. Germain, in Paris, circ._ A.D. 576.
S. ATTALUS, _Ab. of Bobbio, in Italy_, A.D. 626.
S. HYMELIN, _P. at Visenaeken, in Belgium, 8th cent._
B. JOHN SARCANDER, _P.M. at Holleschan, in Upper Silesia_,
A.D. 1620.[40]
[40] Roman Martyrology. He was born at Skotsoehan, in 1576, then
became priest of Holleschan, where he was put to death with the utmost
barbarity by Protestants, on March 10th, 1624, partly out of hatred to
his religion, partly because he would not disclose the secrets of the
confessional.