The hour for another sacrifice was, however, at hand. It was not long

delayed. The second invasion of Rome had been succeeded by a dreadful

famine, which was followed in its turn by a severe pestilence. Already

one or two cases of the prevailing epidemic had appeared in the Ponziano

Palace, and then Evangelista sickened with it; and one morning Francesca

was told that the son of her love was dying. No sooner had he felt the

first symptoms of the plague, than he asked for a confessor. He never

doubted that his last hour was come; and she believed it too. Don

Antonio hurried to the bed-side of the boy, who, after he had made his

confession, sent for his mother, and taking her hand in his, addressed

her in some such words as follow:

"Mother mine, I have often told you that God would not leave me with you

long; that He will have me dwell with His angels. Jesus is my treasure,

my hope, and my joy. I have ever lived with Him in thought, in desire,

in unutterable longings. Every day I have said 'Thy kingdom come;' and

now He calls me to it. There is a crown prepared for me, my beloved

mother. The Lord is about to give it me, and we must part for awhile.

But bless His name, oh my mother. Praise Him with me; for He delivers me

from all that your love dreaded for me upon earth. There is no sin, no

sorrow, no sickness where I am going. Nothing but peace and joy and the

sight of God in that better land where the blessed are expecting me. I

must not see you weep. I will not have you grieve. Rejoice with your

child; for I see them even now, my holy advocates, St. Anthony and St.

Vauplerius. They are coming to fetch me away. Dearest mother, I will

pray for you. Evangelista will love you in heaven as he has loved you on

earth, and you will come to him there."

The dying boy then remained silent for a few moments. Then a sudden

light illumined his face; his features seemed transformed. Raising his

eyes with a look of rapture, he exclaimed, "Here are the angels come

to take me away. Give me your blessing, my mother. Do not be afraid. I

shall never forget you. God bless you and my dear father, and all who

belong to this house. Blessed be the name of the Lord." Then crossing his

little arms on his chest, he bowed down his head, a last smile passed

over his face--"she had her meed, that smile in death," and his young

spirit passed to the regions of endless bliss.

A touching prodigy, well adapted to cheer the heart of our saint, took

place that very day in a house adjoining her own. A little girl, who had

been dangerously ill for a long time, and had completely lost the power

of speech, at the very moment that Francesca's son had expired suddenly

raised herself in her bed, and exclaimed several times in a loud voice,

and in a state of evident rapture, "See, see! how beautiful! Evangelista

Ponziano is going up into heaven, and two angels with him!" The mortal

remains of the young boy were deposited in the family vault in the

church of Santa Cecilia, in Trastevere. A monument was erected there

with the simple inscription, "Here lies Evangelista Ponziano;" and a

figure in stone, clothed in a long robe, was carved upon it.

Francesca wept over the loss of her dearly-beloved child, but did not

grieve for him. How could she have done so? He was in bliss; and had

only preceded her to that heaven for which she was day by day preparing.

Nor was it a time for the idle 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

contagious disease; their frantic cries and piteous moanings re-echoed

in each piazza and under every portico. Old men were dying surrounded by

the corpses of their children; mothers pressed to their milkless bosoms

their starving infants. Others crept about bereft of all their family,

and haunting like pale ghosts the scenes of their past happiness. No

carriages shook the public ways. The grass grew in the deserted streets;

one mournful equipage alone slowly pursued its course through the doomed

city, gathering as it passed the dead at every door; and when the

dreadful cargo was completed, bearing it away to the crowded cemetery.

The ruin of private property, the general penury occasioned by the

cruelties of Ladislas, and the sacking of Rome by his soldiers, had cut

off almost all the resources of private charity. Anxiety for self,

and the fear of contagion, had worked so deeply on the mind of the

multitude, that many persons abandoned even their near relatives and

friends when they were attacked by the plague. Nothing but the charity

which is of divine not of natural origin could meet such an emergency,

or cope in any degree with the awful misery of those days. Francesca,

bereaved of every thing but her one little girl, and lodged with

Vannozza and Rita 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 scarcely partook of it

themselves, in order to bestow the greatest part on the sick and poor.

There was a large hall in the lower part of the palace which had been

less injured than any other portion of the building. It was at least a

place of shelter against the inclemencies of the weather. The sisters

converted it into a temporary hospital; but 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 went in search of the

sufferers. If they found any too weak to walk, they carried them into

the new asylum; there they washed and dressed their putrefying sores,

and by means which saints have often employed, and which we could hardly

bear even to think of, they conquered in themselves all repugnance to

sights and employments against which the senses and the flesh rise in

rebellion. They prepared both medicine and food; watched the sick by day

and by night; laboured incessantly for their bodies, and still more for

their souls. Many were those who recovered health through Francesca's

care, and many more who were healed of the worst disease of the soul,--a

hardened impenitence under the just judgment of God. She had the art of

awakening their fears, without driving them to despair; to make them

look upon their sufferings as a means of expiation (that great secret

of Catholic consolation), and bring them by degrees to repentance, to

confession, to the practice of long-forgotten duties, and of those

Christian virtues which her own example recommended to their hearts.

The example which the ruined and bereaved wives of the Ponziani had

given kindled a similar spirit among the hitherto apathetic inhabitants

of Rome. The magistrates of the city, struck at the sight of such

unparalleled exertions where the means were so slender, were roused from

their inaction, and in several parts of the city, especially in the

parishes of St. Cecilia and of Santa Maria in Trastevere, hospitals

and asylums were opened for the perishing multitudes. Often and often

Francesca and Vannozza saw the morning dawn, and not a bit of food of

any description did they possess for themselves or for their inmates.

They then went out to beg, as they had done before; but not merely as an

act of humility, nor dressed as heretofore as became their rank, or in

those places only where their names secured respect, and generally

a favourable answer; but in the garb of poverty, in the spots where

beggars were wont to congregate and the rich to bestow alms, they took

their stand, and gratefully received the broken bits that fell from the

tables of the wealthy. Each remnant of food, each rag of clothing, they

brought home with joy; and the mouldiest piece of bread out of their bag

was set aside for their own nourishment, while the best was bestowed on

their guests.

In our own time, in our own rich and luxurious city, there is a

counterpart to these deeds of heroic charity. There are young and

well-educated women, who in their homes never lacked the necessaries or

the comforts, nay perhaps the luxuries of life, who do the same; who

receive into their abode the aged, the maimed, the crippled, and the

deformed; lodging them in their best rooms, and themselves in cellars

or garrets; tending them as their servants, and feeding them as their

mothers; begging for them from door to door the crumbs from the tables

of the rich, and carrying along their basket, rejoicing when it is

heavy, even though their arms ache and their cheeks grow pale with the

labour; like Francesca, feeding upon the remnants of the poor feast

where the poor have sat before them.

Francesca was insulted in her career of mercy through the streets of

Rome, when civil war and anarchy were raging there in the wildest epoch

of lawless strife and fiercest passion; and the gentle sisters of the

poor, the servants of the helpless, who have abandoned home and friends

and comforts, and, above all, _respectability_, that idol of the English

mind, that wretched counterfeit of virtue, for the love which they bear

to Christ in His suffering members, have been insulted and beaten in the

streets of London in the face of day, and only because of the habit they

wore,--the badge of no common vocation,--the nun's black dress, the

livery of the poor. The parallel is consoling to them, perhaps also to

us; for is not Francesca now the cherished saint of Rome, the pride

and the love of every Roman heart? And may not the day come when our

patient, heroic nuns will be looked upon as one of God's best blessings,

in a city where luxury runs riot on the one hand, and starvation and

misery reign on the other? Will not the eye follow them with love, and

many rise up to call them blessed? Their course is like hers; may their

end be the same!

The historians of our saint relate that on one of the occasions above

alluded to, when her only resource was to beg for her sick charges, she

went to the Basilica of San Lorenzo without the walls, where was the

station of the day, and seated herself amongst the crowd of beggars who,

according to custom, were there assembled. From the rising of the sun

to the ringing of the vesper-bell, she sat there side by side with the

lame, the deformed, and the blind. She held out her hand as they did,

gladly enduring, not the semblance, but the reality of that deep

humiliation. When she had received enough wherewith to feed the poor at

home, she rose, and making a sign to her companions, entered the old

basilica, adored the Blessed Sacrament, and then walked back the long

and weary way, blessing God all the while, and rejoicing that she was

counted worthy to suffer for His dear sake.

Those who are well acquainted with Rome, who have frequented the

stations and love the basilicas, and especially that venerable old

pile of San Lorenzo, with its upper and lower chapel, its magnificent

columns, its beautiful pulpit, its wide portico with half-effaced

frescoes, and its rare mosaics--those paintings in stone which time

itself cannot destroy; those whose eyes have gazed with delight on the

glorious view as they approached it, and whose ears are familiar

with the sound of the mendicant's voice, to whom the remembrance of

Francesca's story may have won, perchance, an additional dole,--can form

to themselves with ease a picture of the scene; and when they visit it

again in reality, may be tempted to look out for some saintly face, for

some sweet, angel-like countenance, amongst the sordid and suffering

groups before them, and wonder if ever again such charity as Francesca's

will animate a woman's heart. Not long ago, for a few short years, in

Francesca's city, there was one who bade fair to emulate the virtues

of the dear saint of Rome; but as she was rapidly treading in her

footsteps, and her name was becoming every day more dear to the people

amongst whom she dwelt, death snatched her away. Her memory remains,

and the poor bless it even now. May God grant us such in our own land!

Saints are sorely needed in these busy, restless, money-loving times of

ours; as much as, or more than, in the wild middle ages, or the troubled

centuries that followed.

Francesca possessed a small vineyard near the church of St. Paul without

the walls; and in that time of scarcity, when every little resource had

to be turned to account for the purposes of charity, she used to go

there and gather up into parcels and faggots the long grass and the dry

branches of the vines. When she had collected a certain number of these

packets, she laid them on an ass, and went through the town, stopping at

various poor dwellings to distribute the fruits of her labours. On one

of these occasions her donkey stumbled and fell, and the wood which he

was carrying rolled to a considerable distance. Francesca was looking

about her in considerable embarrassment, not able to lift it up again,

when a Roman nobleman, Paolo Lelli Petrucci, a friend of her husband's,

chanced to pass by. Astonished at seeing her in such a predicament, he

hastened to her assistance; and she received it with as much serenity

and composure as if her occupation had been the most natural thing in

the world.

By this time her virtues were destined to receive a wonderful reward,

and God bestowed upon her the gift of healing to a miraculous degree.

Many a sick person given over by the physicians was restored to health

by the single touch of her hands, or the prayers which she offered up in

their behalf. More than sixty of these cases were well attested at the

time of her canonisation. Francesca was profoundly sensible of the

blessedness of this gift, and grateful for the power it afforded her of

relieving the sufferings of others; but at the same time her humility

prompted her to conceal it as much as possible. She endeavoured to do so

by making up an ointment composed of oil and wax, which she applied

to the sick, whatever their disease might be, in the hope that their

recovery would always be ascribed to its efficacy. But this holy

subterfuge did not always succeed. The physicians analysed the

ointment, and declared that it possessed in itself no healing qualities

whatsoever. One day, upon entering the Hospital of the Trastevere,

Francesca found a poor mule-driver, who had just been carried in, his

foot having been crushed by the fall of a scythe; it was in such a

horrible and hopeless condition, that the surgeons were about to

amputate the limb. Francesca, hearing the cries of the poor wretch, bent

over him, exhorting him to patience; and promising him a speedy relief,

applied some of her ointment to his mangled foot. The wounds instantly

closed, the pain vanished, and a short time after the mule-driver

returned to his customary occupation.

Some days afterwards, the two sisters were returning home from the

basilica of St. John Lateran; and passing by the bridge of Santa Maria,

now the Ponte Rotto, (the very ancient little church opposite to the

Temple of Vesta), they saw extended on the pavement a man whose arm had

been severed by a sword-cut; and unable to procure medical assistance,

the poor wretch had lain there ever since in excruciating tortures,

which had reduced him to the last extremity. Francesca, full of

compassion for his miserable condition, carried him with Vannozza's aid

into her house, put him in a warm bath, cleansed his wound with the

greatest care, and dressed it with her ointment. In a short time, and

without any medical assistance, the severed limb was restored to its

usual position, and a complete recovery ensued.

The bowl in which San Francesca compounded this miraculous remedy is

preserved in the convent of Tor di Specchi. During the novena of the

saint, when the doors are thrown open to crowds of devout persons, it

stands on a table in the entrance-chamber, and is daily filled by the

nuns with fresh sweet-smelling flowers--violets, primroses, anemones,

and the like. The visitor may bear away with him some of these fragrant

remembrances, and cherish them for her sake, the odour of whose virtues

will last as long as the seasons return, and the spring brings back to

our gladdened sight those

"Sweet nurslings of the vernal skies,

Bathed with soft airs and fed with dew."

A still more wonderful miracle than these occurred about this time.

Francesca and her faithful companion Vannozza had been visiting several

churches in that part of Rome which goes by the name of the Rioue de

Monti. Passing before a mean-looking dwelling, they heard the most

heart-rending sobs and cries. Stopping to inquire into the cause of this

despair, they found a mother frantically weeping over the body of a

child, who had died a few hours after its birth without having received

baptism. Francesca gently reproved the woman for the delay which had

endangered her son's salvation; then, taking the little corpse into her

arms, she uttered a fervent prayer, and in a moment gave back the baby

to its mother, fully restored to life and health. She desired her to

have it instantly baptised, and then made her escape, trusting that she

should remain undiscovered; and indeed the woman whose child she had

been the means of saving had never seen her, and wondered awhile if an

angel had visited her in disguise; but the description of her dress,

and the miracle she had worked, convinced all who heard of it that the

visitor was no other than the wife of Lorenzo Ponziano.

Compassionate to others, Francesca was mercilessly severe to herself;

her austerities kept pace with her increasing sanctity. She was enabled

to carry on a mode of life which must have ruined her health had it not

been miraculously sustained. She slept only for two hours, and that on

a narrow plank covered with nothing but a bit of rough carpet. The

continual warfare which she waged against her body brought it more and

more into subjection to the spirit; and her senses were under such

perfect control, that natural repugnances vanished, and the superior

part of the soul reigned supremely over the meaner instincts and

inclinations of the flesh. Such was her spiritual proficiency at the

early age of twenty-nine. CHAPTER VII.

EVANGELISTA APPEARS TO HIS MOTHER-AN ARCHANGEL IS ASSIGNED TO HER AS A

VISIBLE GUARDIAN THROUGHOUT HER LIFE,

EVANGELISTA had been dead about a year. His image was ever present to

his mother's heart; she saw him in spirit at the feet of his Lord.

Never, even in her inmost soul, was she conscious of a wish to recall

him from the heaven he had reached to the earthly home which he had left

desolate; but not for one moment could she forget the child of her love,

or cease to invoke him as a celestial guardian akin to those who had

so long hovered about her path. Her faith and resignation were richly

rewarded. God gave her a sight of her child in heaven, and he was sent

to announce to her one of the most extraordinary favours that was ever

vouchsafed to a daughter of Adam. Francesca was praying one morning in

her oratory, when she became conscious that the little room was suddenly

illuminated in a supernatural manner; a mysterious light shone on every

side, and its radiance seemed to pervade not only her outward senses,

but the inmost depths of her being, and to awaken in her soul a strange

sensation of joy. 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 was another of the same size and height as himself, but

more beautiful still. Francesca's lips move, but in vain she seeks to

articulate; the joy and the terror of that moment are too intense.

Her son draws near to her, and with an angelic expression of love

and respect he bows down his head and salutes her. Then the mother's

feelings predominate; she forgets every thing but his presence, and

opens her arms to him; but it is no earthly form that she encloses

within them, and the glorified body escapes her grasp. And now she gains

courage and addresses him,--in broken accents indeed, but with trembling

eagerness.

"Is it you, indeed? (she cries) O son of my heart! Whence do you come?

who are your companions? what your abode? Angel of God, hast thou

thought of thy mother, of thy poor father? Amidst the joys of Paradise

hast thou remembered earth and its sufferings?"

Evangelista looked up to heaven with an unutterable expression of peace

and of joy; and then, fixing his eyes on his mother, he said, "My abode

is with God; my companions are the angels; our sole occupation the

contemplation of the Divine perfections,--the endless source of all

happiness. Eternally united with God, we have no will but His; and our

peace is as complete as His Being is infinite. He is Himself our joy,

and that joy knows no limits. There are nine choirs of angels in

heaven, and the higher orders of angelic spirits instruct in the Divine

mysteries the less exalted intelligences. If you wish to know my place

amongst them, my mother, learn that God, of His great goodness, has

appointed it in the second choir of angels, and the first hierarchy of

archangels. This my companion is higher than I am in rank, as he is more

bright and fair in aspect. The Divine Majesty has assigned him to you as

a guardian during the remainder of your earthly pilgrimage. Night and

day by your side, he will assist you in every way. Never amidst the joys

of Paradise have I for an instant forgotten you, or any of my loved ones

on earth. I knew you were resigned; but I also knew that your heart

would rejoice at beholding me once more, and God has permitted that I

should thus gladden your eyes. But I have a message for you, my mother.

God asks for Agnese: she may not tarry long with you; her place is ready

in the New Jerusalem. Be of good comfort, nay, rather rejoice that your

children are safely housed in heaven." Evangelista communed a short

while longer with his mother, and then, bidding her tenderly farewell,

disappeared; but the archangel remained, and to the day of her

death was ever present to her sight.

She now understood the sense of the vision that had been sent her at

the time of Agnese's birth. It was not for the cloister, but for

heaven itself, that God claimed her young daughter; and during the few

remaining days of her earthly life she waited upon her with a tenderness

mingled with veneration; looking upon her as one who scarcely belonged

to the rough world she was so soon to leave. And the chosen child of

God, the little maiden on whom the mystic dove had rested in its flight,

soon drooped like a flower in an ungenial air,--soon gave her fond

mother a last kiss and a last smile; and then her gentle spirit went to

seek her brother's kindred soul. They were buried together; and the day

was now come for Francesca, when earthly happiness altogether vanishes,

when life has its duties but has lost all its joys,--and then, what a

lesson is in the story! God's angel henceforward stands visibly by her

side, and never leaves her!

When Evangelista had parted from his mother, she had fallen prostrate

on the ground, and blessed God for His great mercy to her, the most

worthless of sinners, for such she deemed herself; and then, turning

to the angel, who stood near her, she implored him to be her guide and

director; to point out the way she was to tread; to combat with her

against Satan and his ministers; and to teach her every day to become

more like in spirit to his and her Lord. When she left the oratory, the

archangel followed her, and, enveloped in a halo of light, remained

always visible to her, though imperceptible to others. The radiance that

surrounded him was so dazzling, that she could seldom look upon him with

a fixed gaze. At night, and in the most profound darkness, she could

always write and read by the light of that supernatural brightness.

Sometimes, however, when in prayer, or in conference with her director,

or engaged in struggles with the Evil One, she was enabled to see

his form with perfect distinctness, and by Don Antonio's orders thus

described him:--"His stature," she said, "is that of a child of about

nine years old; his aspect 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 by my side, his feet

are never soiled by the mud of the streets or the dust of the road."

Francesca's conduct was now directed in the most infallible manner. By

a special privilege, a companion had been assigned to her from the

heavenly hierarchy; and if she committed any faults, error could not now

be pleaded in excuse. Her actions, her words, and her thoughts, were to

be ever on a par with those of the sinless Being who was to be her guide

throughout her earthly pilgrimage. It was an awful responsibility, a

startling favour; but trusting in God's grace, though fully aware of her

own weakness, she did not shrink from the task. Her greatest wish had

always been to attain a perfect conformity with the Divine Will, and now

this mysterious guidance furnished her with the means of knowing that

Will in its minutest details. In her struggles with the Evil One, the

archangel became her shield of defence; the rays of light which darted

from his brow sent the demons howling on their way. Thus protected, she

feared neither the wiles nor the violence of Satan.

The presence of her heavenly guide was also to Francesca a mirror, in

which she could see reflected every imperfection of her fallen, though

to a great extent renewed, nature. Much as she had discerned, even from

her earliest childhood, of the innate 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

the slightest fault, the angel seemed to disappear; and it was only

after she had carefully examined her conscience, discovered her failing,

lamented and humbly confessed it, that he returned. On the other hand,

when she was only disturbed by a doubt or a scruple, he was wont to

bestow on her a kind look, which dissipated at once her uneasiness. When

he spoke, she used to see his lips move; and a voice of indescribable

sweetness, but which seemed to come from a distance, reached her ears.

His guidance enlightened her chiefly with regard to the difficulty she

felt in submitting to certain cares and obligations which belonged to

her position as mistress and head of a family. She was apt to imagine

that the hours thus employed were lost in God's sight; but her celestial

guardian corrected her judgment on this point, and taught her to discern

the Divine will in every little irksome worldly duty, in every trifling

contradiction, as well as in great trials and on important occasions.

The light of the angelic presence gave her also a marvellous insight

into the thoughts of others. Their sins, their errors, their evil

inclinations, were supernaturally revealed to her, and often caused her

the Keenest sorrow. She was enabled through this gift to bring back to

God many a wandering soul, to frustrate bad designs, and reconcile

the most inveterate enemies. Francesca used sometimes, to say to

Don Antonio, when she requested his permission for some additional

austerities which he hesitated in granting, "Be not afraid, father; the

archangel will not allow me to proceed too far in that course. He always

checks me when I am tempted to transgress the bounds of prudence." And

Don Antonio believed it, for his penitent always spoke the exact truth;

and in the miraculous manner in which she over and over again read his

most secret thoughts, and manifested them to him, he had a pledge of her

veracity, as well as of her extraordinary sanctity.

CHAPTER VIII.

FRANCESCA'S ILLNESS AND RECOVERY--HER VISION OF HELL--RESTORATION OF

TRANQUILLITY III ROME--RETURN OF FRANCESCA'S HUSBAND--HER POWER IN

CONVERTING SINNERS.

Four long years had elapsed, during which Rome had been given up to

dissensions and civil discord, while epidemics of various kinds were

continually succeeding each other, and carrying off many of its

inhabitants. At the opening of the year 1414, Sigismund, king of the

Romans, and John XXIII., had agreed to convene a council at Constance;

and the faithful were beginning to cherish a hope that the schism which

had so long desolated the Church might be drawing to a close. But this

distant prospect of relief was not sufficient to counterbalance

the actual sufferings of the moment; and Francesca beheld with

ever-increasing pain the amount of sin and of misery which filled the

city of her birth. Her exertions, her labours, her bodily and mental

trials, told at last upon her enfeebled frame, and about this time she

fell dangerously ill. Almost all her acquaintances, and even her

own family, fled from her, terrified, it would seem, by the idea of

contagion. Vannozza alone remained, and never left her bed-side. Some

there were who came to visit, but not for the purpose of consoling her;

on the contrary, it was to reproach the dying saint with what they

called her absurd infatuation, which had introduced the plague into her

abode, and endangered her own life, for the sake of a set of worthless

wretches. She listened with her accustomed gentleness, without

attempting to defend herself from the charge. Her soul was perfectly at

peace; she could joyfully accept the death that now appeared inevitable;

she could thank God earnestly that the struggle was past, and

Evangelista and Agnese safely lodged in His arms. She looked forward to

a speedy reunion with these beloved ones; and marked the progress of

her disease as the prisoner watches the process by which his chains

are riven. A few words or love and faith she now and then whispered to

Vannozza; at other times she remained absorbed in divine contemplation.

Overshadowed by an angel's wing, calm in the midst of severe suffering,

she performed her habitual devotions in as far as her strength

permitted, and only gave up painful penances by the express order of her

director. She who had healed so many sick persons cared not to be healed

herself.

It was not, however, God's will that she should die so soon. After

passing several months in prolonged sufferings, her health was suddenly

restored. It was at this period of her life that she had the awful and

detailed visions of hell which have remained on record, and in which

many salutary and fearful lessons are conveyed. She was rapt in spirit,

and carried through the realms of endless woe. What was once chosen by

the genius of man as a theme for its highest poetic effort--a journey

through "the mournful city, amongst that lost people" [Footnote: Per

me si va nella cittá dolente, Per me si va tra la perduta gente."--DANTE.]

--was given to the saint in mystic trance to accomplish. An angel led

her through these terrific scenes; and an intuitive perception was given

to her of the various sufferings of the condemned souls. So deep was the

impression which this tremendous vision left on Francesca's soul, that

never afterwards, as long as she lived, could she speak of it without

tears and trembling; and she would often emphatically warn those persons

who, trusting too implicitly to God's mercy, forgot in their reckless

security the terrors of His justice. Some of the fresco paintings in the

convent of Tor di Specchi represent this vision, and are visible to this

day. The Pope John XXIII., and Sigismund, king of the Romans, had at

last succeeded in forming a league, with the object of delivering Italy

from the intolerable yoke of Ladislas, king of Naples. This tyrant

had assembled a numerous army, and was marching upon Bologna; but the

measure of his iniquities was now full, and the hand of death arrested

him on his way. An illness, occasioned by his incredible excesses,

seized him between Nurni and Perugia, and he died on the 5th of August,

1414. The sovereign Pontiff, free from the terrors which this fierce

usurper had inspired, and yielding to the importunities of the cardinal,

set out for Constance, where he was to meet the Emperor Sigismund. This

same Council of Constance was eventually to be the means of making void

his election, and of ending the great schism of the West, by placing in

the chair of St. Peter the illustrious Pontiff Martin V. The death of

Ladislas restored peace to the states of the Church, and in particular

to the city of Rome. With the cessation of civil broils the famine

disappeared; and with it the grievous pestilence that had so long

accompanied it. The fields were cultivated once more; the peasants

gradually returned to their farms; the flocks grazed unmolested in the

green pastures of the Campagna; and the whilom deserted provinces smiled

again under the influence of returning prosperity.

The sufferings of the Ponziani were also at an end. They were recalled

from banishment, and their property was restored. Lorenzo and his

son--now his only son--Baptista. returned to their home, and to the

wife and mother they had so longed to behold again. But mixed with

sorrow was the cup of joy which that hour seemed to offer. Lorenzo,

who a few years back was in the prime of life--strong, healthy, and

energetic,--he who had met every foe and every trial without shrinking,

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 an

agony of tears. The two beautiful children which he had left by her

side, where were they? Gone! never to gladden his eyes again, or make

music in his home by the sound of their sweet voices. And Francesca

herself, pale with recent illness, spent with ceaseless labours, she

stood before him the perfect picture of a woman and a saint, with the

divine expression of her beloved face unchanged; but how changed in

form, in bloom, in brightness, in every thing but that beauty which

holiness gives and time cannot efface!

Long and bitterly he wept, and Francesca gently consoled him. She told

him how Evangelista had appeared to her; how their children were only

gone before them, companions now of those angels they had so resembled

upon earth. She whispered to him that one of these was ever at her side;

and when he looked upon her, and remembered all she had been to him,

doubtless he found it easy to believe. Taught by adversity, more than

ever influenced by his admirable wife, Lorenzo henceforward adopted a

more thoroughly Christian mode of life than he had hitherto followed.

Not content with praising her virtues, he sought to imitate them, and

practised all the duties of religion with the utmost strictness. On

one point alone his conduct was inconsistent with the principles he

professed, and this was, while it lasted, a source of keen anxiety to

Francesca. There was a Roman nobleman who, several years before, had

grievously offended the lord of Ponziano, and with whom he absolutely

refused to be reconciled. This had formerly been, and was again after

his return, an occasion of scandal to many. The more eminent were his

virtues, the higher his religious profession, the more glaring appeared

such an evident inconsistency. Francesca herself was blamed for it;

and people used to wonder that she who was so often successful in

reconciling strangers and promoting peace in families, had not the power

of allaying an enmity discreditable to her husband and at variance with

the dictates of religion. At last, however, by dint of patience and

gentleness, she accomplished what had seemed for a long time a hopeless

endeavour. The hearts of both parties were touched with remorse.

Lorenzo, who was the aggrieved party, granted his enemy a full and free

pardon, and a perfect reconciliation ensued. This triumph over himself

on the one point where the stubborn natural will had so long held out,

resulted, as is almost always the case, in a rapid advance towards

perfection.

Lorenzo, from this time forth, withdrew more and more from public life,

refused those posts of honour and of responsibility which a friendly

government pressed upon him, and surrendered himself almost entirely

to the duties and exercises of a strictly religious life. In his

conversations with his wife, he daily gained a deeper insight into the

secrets of the spiritual life. Far from complaining of the amount of

money which she spent in charity, of the existence of an hospital within

the walls of his palace, of her various and laborious works of mercy, or

of the length of time which she spent in prayer, he renewed his request

that she would, in every respect, follow what seemed to her the will of

God, and the most perfect manner of life. Francesca gratefully complied

with this his desire. She watched more strictly than ever over the

conduct of those committed to her charge, and recommended to them by

her example even more than by her precepts an exact observance of the

commandments of God and of the Church. What money was exclusively her

own, she regularly divided into two parts: with one-half she bought food

for the poor, with the other clothing and medicine for the sick. Her own

dress cost her next to nothing; she continued to wear her old green gown

patched-up with any odd bits of cloth that fell in her way. Almost every

day she went to her vineyard and gathered wood for the faggots which

she gave away on her return. Her relations, her friends, and even her

servants, were annoyed at her employing herself in such labour, and

bitterly complained of the humiliation it occasioned them to meet her

so meanly dressed and so meanly occupied. Lorenzo did not share those

feelings; on the contrary, he used to look upon her on these occasions

with an increase of affection and veneration; and supported by his

approval, by the approbation of her director, and the dictates of her

own conscience, she cared little for the comments of others.

The kind of apostolate which by this time she exercised in Rome was very

remarkable; and her power over men's minds and hearts scarcely short of

miraculous. There was a subduing charm, an irresistible influence in her

words and in her manner, which told on every variety of persons.

The expression of her countenance, the tones of her voice, her mere

presence, worked wonders in effecting conversions, and in animating to

virtue those whom she approached. Her gift of reading the thoughts of

others, which had increased ever since the archangel had become her

companion, enabled her in several instances to bring about conversions,

several of which are related at length by her biographers.

Amongst them was that of a young woman who was lying dangerously ill in

one of the hospitals of the city. Francesca had been distributing food

to the sick, and was then attending the death-bed of a young man, who

was about to receive the last Sacraments, when a piercing cry from one

of the adjoining wards reached her ears. She hastened to the spot, and

found a young woman stretched on one of the narrow beds, and dying in

all the agonies of despair. No sooner had she looked upon the poor

creature than her dreadful history was supernaturally revealed to her.

She had some time before had an illegitimate child, and, under the

pressure of shame and terror, had destroyed it. The consciousness of

this crime was driving her to despair, and she had not courage to

confess it. But now words were whispered in her ear, which went

straight to the point on which the awful straggle turned; which spoke

of the horrible misery of dying impenitent and unabsolved, and of the

boundless mercy which has provided a remedy for the deepest stains

of sin, the blood of Jesus applied to the soul by the grace of the

Sacrament. For a long time the poor creature resisted, turned her head

away, and refused to be comforted. But when Francesca, in still more

pressing terms, alluded to the intolerable burden of an unacknowledged

crime, of the life-giving humiliation of a sincere confession, of the

dire confusion of an unforgiven soul on the day of Judgment; of the love

of Jesus, of the tenderness of Mary, of the indulgence of the Church,

the sweetness of pardon, the peace of reconciliation; then the stubborn

heart yielded, the seared spirit was softened. Bursting into tears, the

dying sufferer exclaimed, "A priest! a priest!" and one was at hand at

the first call of contrition, and answered that expiring cry, as Matthew

did the royal prophet's confession: "The Lord forgives; thou shalt not

perish." And shortly after in Francesca's arms the pardoned sinner

breathed her last.

About the same time, Francesca was the means of converting one who

would doubtless have turned with contempt from the poor criminal on the

hospital-bed with horror, from the guilty destroyer of her own child,

and deemed that to breathe the same air as such a wretch was in itself

contamination. And yet, in God's right, Gentilezza may have been as,

or perhaps more guilty than the sorely-tempted, unprotected, miserable

being, who in weakness first, and then in terror, almost in madness,

had rushed into crime; for she was rich, noble, and beautiful; had been

nursed in pomp and pleasure; hunger had never tempted, and scorn never

pursued her. Her life had been one continued scene of amusement and of

splendour. She cared for nothing but the homage of men, the incense of

admiration, the intoxication of pleasure. There was not a duty that she

did not neglect, nor one sacred obligation that she felt herself bound

to observe. We are not told that she committed what men call crimes; but

her husband she treated with open contempt, and ridiculed him on

account of his attachment to religious duties; her children she

altogether neglected, and abandoned them to the care of servants, while

her days and nights were devoted to amusements and frivolities of every

description. Several of the Roman ladies, who used to be her companions,

had been induced, by Francesca's example and exhortation, to give up

a life of dissipation, and adopt one better befitting the Christian

profession; but Gentilezza laughed at her and at them, and used to say,

with insolent derision, that she had no vocation for wearing rags and

carrying faggots. Perfectly indifferent to the ridicule with which she

sought to cover her, Francesca prayed incessantly for the vain and

haughty woman, who seemed beyond the reach of reproach or of persuasion.

One day, however, moved by a prophetic impulse, she thus addressed her:

"You scorn my warnings, Gentilezza; you laugh at the advice of your

confessor. But remember that God is powerful, and not to be mocked with

impunity. The day is at hand when you will rue the stubbornness of your

heart."

A few days afterwards, as Gentilezza, who was with child at the time,

was descending the stairs of her palace, her foot slipped, and she fell

headlong to the bottom. Her servants raised her in their arms, and found

her all but dead. The physicians, who were summoned in haste, judged

unfavourably of her case, and pronounced that her child must infallibly

have been killed by the fall. The wretched woman burst into tears, but

it was not so much her own danger, or the death of her infant which she

deplored, as the ruin of her beauty, which had been her pride and her

snare. Her features had been so injured by this accident, that her face

was completely disfigured, and with rebellious anger she wept over her

lost loveliness. Francesca, upon hearing of this event, hurried to the

spot, and nursed the suffering woman with the tenderest care. With the

utmost kindness she reminded her of the duties she had neglected, and of

the means of grace she had despised, and exhorted her to recognise the

hand of a merciful God in the chastisement she had received. She spoke

to her of her husband, of her children, of the true and sweet vocations

of a wife and a mother, of the transitory nature of all earthly

enjoyments; and into the heart subdued by pain and disappointment her

words made their way. It was as if scales had fallen from the eyes of

the sufferer. "God is just," she exclaimed at last; "I deserved even

a greater punishment than I have met with. Pray for me, Francesca

Ponziano; pray for me; and oh, hear me promise, that if my life is

spared, I will give up all my evil ways, and henceforward become a

Christian wife and a Christian mother; so help me God, whom I have so

grievously offended!" Francesca bent over her and embraced her; she saw

that her repentance was sincere, and bade her be of good comfort,

and that her penitence would be accepted. And so it turned out; for

Gentilezza was safely delivered of a healthy little girl, and in time

recovered not only her health but the beauty which she had once turned

to such bad account; and, while faithful to her promise, she ceased to

abuse the gifts of God, and devoted herself to the diligent performance

of her duties, became a chosen friend of Francesca's, and one of the

most pious and exemplary matrons in Rome.

Among the relatives of the saint, there was a young man whose name was

Giovanni Antonio Lorenzi, whose temper was fierce and violent in the

extreme. Having been, as he considered, insulted by another Roman

nobleman, he vowed that he would take his life, and resolved to have him

assassinated. Francesca's angel revealed to her his criminal design,

which was as yet confined to his own breast. She instantly sent for the

object of his enmity, and charged him, as he valued his existence,

not to leave his own house for a certain number of days; and without

informing him of the reason, obtained his promise to that effect. In the

mean time she disclosed to Lorenzi her knowledge of his guilty project,

and induced him to abandon all idea of revenge. Her influence over

Angelo Savelli, on a similar occasion, was still more remarkable. He had

quarrelled with a young man of his acquaintance, and a duel had ensued,

in which he had been severely wounded. His anger was excessive; he did

nothing but threaten and curse his adversary. Neither his own family nor

that of his foe could succeed in appeasing him, and he was dying with

vengeance in his heart, and accents of rage on his lips. Francesca was

informed of his condition, and went, straightway to his bed-side. She

had no sooner uttered a few words, than he bade her bring his enemy to

him, that he might forgive and embrace him. He was himself astonished

at the change thus wrought by her presence, and declared that the Holy

Spirit had moved him by her means. He received the last Sacrament with

the best dispositions, and died soon after, full of peace and hope, and

repeatedly assured his family that God, in mercy to his soul, had sent

the wife of Ponziano to save him from the ruin which was so nearly

overtaking him.

One more instance amongst many of Francesca's powers of persuasion may

be adduced, in addition to the preceding. She was, as we have seen,

a constant attendant at the church of Santa Maria Nuova, where her

confessor, Don Antonio Savello officiated. It so happened that one of

the monks of his order, Don Ippolito, who subsequently played a part in

the history of the saint, and who had been now residing ten years in

the convent, was about this time appointed to the office of sacristan,

although he had previously filled with distinction divers important

functions in the monastery. He had accepted this appointment out of

obedience and humility of spirit; but after a while the devil sorely

tempted him to regret having done so; to repine at what he began to

consider as an act of tyranny and injustice; and these reflections,

gradually indulged in, made sad havoc of his peace of mind. An

oppressive melancholy beset him; and at last he came to the resolution

of abandoning his habit and the monastery, if the obnoxious

appointment were not cancelled. But one day that he had been invoking

Mary, our Lady of good counsel, he felt a sudden inspiration to go and

communicate to Francesca his discontent, his restlessness, and the

resolution he had formed. She listened attentively to his statement, and

then quietly addressed to him some questions which placed the subject

in its true light. She asked him with what purpose he had entered the

religious state; whom he had intended to serve in doing so; which he

preferred, the God who descends and dwells on the altar, or the servants

who wait upon Him elsewhere? Which was the highest post, that of

watching over the sanctuary, in company with the angels, or of

ministering to men, however holy and eminent they might be, as would be

his lot in another office? The wisdom and simplicity of this answer

went straight to Don Ippolito's heart. He instantly acquiesced in its

justice, and went directly to confession. With earnest benevolence he

betook himself to the duties of his at once humble and exalted office,

edified all his brethren by his unfeigned humility, and became in time

the model of his order. He was afterwards successively named sub-prior,

and then prior of the monastery of Santa Maria Nuova; and was later the

associate and support of Francesca in the foundation of her congregation

of the Noble Oblates of Tor di Specchi.

CHAPTER IX.

FRESH SUPERNATURAL EVENTS IN FRANCESCA'S HISTORY--HER OBEDIENCE TO HER

HUSBAND AND TO HER CONFESSOR REWARDED BY TWO MIRACLES--MARRIAGE OF HER

SON, AND ILL CONDUCT OF HIS WIFE--HER CONVERSION THROUGH FRANCESCA'S

PRAYERS--FRESH MIRACLES WORKED BY FRANCESCA.

Francesca's obedience to her director in spiritual matters, and to her

husband in other respects, continued to be exemplary. In both instances

she received a miraculous proof that God regarded with especial favour

that humble submission of spirit in one whom He endowed with such

marvellous gifts. The story of these miracles mighht well furnish a

subject to a painter or a poet. One day that she and Vannozza had asked

permission to visit the shrine of Santa Croce in Gierusalemme, Don

Antonio had given them leave to do so; on condition that, as an exercise

of self-control, and a test of their obedience, they should walk there

and back without once raising their eyes to look about them. He wished

them to employ all the time of that long walk in mental prayer and

meditation. They proceeded on their way without interruption, till, on

approaching the hospital adjoining the church of St. John of Lateran, a

sudden rush of people overtook them, and sounds of terror were heard on

every side. A bull had escaped from its leaders, and driven frantic by

the cries of the multitude, it was dashing savagely along. Francesca and

Vannozza stood directly in his path. Loud shouts warned them to get

out of the way; but, faithful to the obedience they had received, and

probably inwardly assured that they would be protected against the

danger, whatever it was, they advanced calm and unmoved with their eyes

fixed on the ground. The bystanders, who were cowering at a distance,

shuddered; for it seemed that the next moment must see them under the

feet of the bellowing animal. But no; the same influence that tamed the

lions in Daniel's den was at work with the savage beast. At sight of the

two women, it suddenly stopped in its course, became perfectly tranquil,

stood still while they passed, and then resumed its flight; while they

proceeded to the church without having experienced the slightest emotion

of fear. There is an ancient saying, that a wild beast is appeased by

the sight of a maiden in her purity; and there can be no doubt that

those saints who have regained in some measure, by mortification,

penance, and heroic virtue, the purity of man's original nature, have

at the same time recovered, in a certain degree, the power which Adam

possessed over the animal creation. It is a fact of frequent occurrence

in their lives, that mysterious homage paid to them by the wild

inhabitants of the desert, or the gentle denizens of the grave. St.

Francis of Assisi, and St. Rose of Lima, amongst others, were singularly

endowed with this gift. There are few more touching thoughts, or any

better calculated to make us understand the true character of sanctity,

and the gradual restoration of a fallen nature to one akin to that of

the angels.

The other miracle was one attested by Vannozza, who witnessed its

occurrence. Francesca devoted all her leisure moments to prayer, but

never allowed her delight in spiritual exercises to interfere with her

duty as a wife. 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 upon her time might occasion. One day that she

was reciting in her room the office of the Blessed Virgin, he 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,

she was 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 four times begun and

four times left unfinished, written in letters of gold. Vannozza, who

was present, witnessed the miracle; and the archangel whispered to

Francesca, "Thus the Lord rewards the virtue of obedience." The gilded

letters remained in the book to the day of her death.

Her prayers were frequent; her fervour in proportion. Beginning with the

"Our Father" and the "Hail Mary," it was her practice to recite them

slowly, and to ponder on each word as she pronounced it. The Office of

the Blessed Virgin she repeated daily at the appointed hours, and almost

always on her knees; the Rosary also, and a great number of psalms

besides, as well as various devotions for the holy souls in purgatory.

As to mental prayer, her whole life was one continued orison; ever in

communion with God, she never lost the sense of His presence. From this

time forward (she was now thirty-two years old), her life grew more and

more supernatural. The mystical wonders that have manifested themselves

in so many saints were displayed in her to an eminent degree. When

she approached the tribunal of penance, but, above all, in going to

communion, her body sometimes emitted a fragrant odour, and a halo of

light surrounded her head. Often and often, after receiving the Bread of

Life, she fell into a long ecstasy, and for hours remained motionless,

and wrapt up in silent contemplation, unable to move from the spot but

at the command of her director; the virtue of obedience overcoming

even the mystical insensibility to all outward objects. Her intimate

intercourse with heaven during those moments; the prophecies which she

uttered; the manner in which distant and future occurrences were made

manifest to her spiritual perceptions, testified to the supernatural

nature of these ecstasies. An intimate union established itself between

her and the objects of her incessant contemplation. When she meditated

on the glorious mysteries, on the triumphs of Mary, or the bliss of the

angelic spirits, an intense joy beamed in her face, and pervaded her

whole person. When, on the other hand, she mused on the Passion of our

Lord, or on the sorrows of His Mother, the whole expression of her face

was changed, and bore the impress of an unutterable woe; and even by

physical pains she partook in a measure of the sufferings of her God.

The anxious torments of the Passion were rehearsed as it were in her

body; and ere long a wound in her side manifested one of the most

astonishing but indubitably established instances of the real though

mystical share which some of the saints have had in the life-giving

agonies of the Lord. None but Vannozza, who used to dress that touching

and awful wound, and Don Antonio, to whom she revealed it in confession,

were acquainted with this extraordinary token of union between the

crucified Redeemer and His favoured servant. She suffered intense pain

while it lasted, but it was a joyful suffering. Love made it precious

to her. She had desired to drink of His cup, and be baptised with His

baptism; and He destined her one day to sit at His side and share His

glory. She had drunk to the dregs the cup of earthly sorrow; the anguish

of bereavement, the desolation of loneliness, the torments of fear, the

pangs of sickness and poverty. And now the most mysterious sufferings

fell to her lot, of a nature too sacred for common mention, for man's

investigation, but not the less real and true than the others. The

relief was as miraculous as the infliction. In a vision she saw herself

transported into the cave of Bethlehem, and into the presence of the

Infant Jesus and of His Mother. With a sweet smile, the Blessed Virgin

bade Francesca discover the wound which love had made, and then with

water that flowed from the rock, she washed her side, and dismissed

her. When her ecstasy was over, she found that the miraculous wound was

perfectly healed.

It was at this time that she predicted in the most positive manner, and

when appearances were all against such a result, that the papal schism

was about to end. The Council of Constance was sitting, and new

difficulties and conflicts continually arose. War was on the point of

bursting out again, and every body trembling at the thought of fresh

disasters. Contrary, however, to all expectations, the last weeks of the

year 1415 saw the conclusion of the schism. The assembled fathers, with

a courage that none had foreseen, and indifferent to the threats of

Frederick of Austria on the one side, and of the King of France on the

other, who were each advocating the cause of an anti-pope,--the former

supporting John XXIII., the latter Benedict XIII.,--they deposed these

two usurpers, obliged Gregory XII. to renounce his pretensions also,

and on the 11th of November unanimously elected Otto Colonna, Cardinal

Deacon of St. George in Velabro, who took the name of Martin V.; and

by his virtues and his talents succeeded in restoring: peace to Rome

itself, and to the whole Catholic world. It was generally supposed, even

during her lifetime, and much more after her death, that Francesca's

prayers, her tears and her sufferings, had accelerated that blessed

event, and drawn down the mercy of God on His afflicted Church.

The son of Lorenzo and Francesca. Baptista Ponziano, had now arrived at

the age of eighteen, and was considered the most promising of the young

Roman noblemen. The excellent education he had received was bearing its

fruits. In appearance and in manners, in talents and in character, he

was equally distinguished. Lorenzo, anxious to perpetuate his family,

and secure heirs to his large possessions, pressed his son to marry. It

was with the greatest satisfaction that Francesca seconded his wishes.

She longed to give up to a daughter-in-law the management of domestic

affairs, and to be more free to devote her time to religious and

charitable employments. The young person on whom the choice of Baptista

and of his parents fell was Mobilia, a maiden of whom it is recorded

that she was of noble birth and of singular beauty, but her family

name is not mentioned. Immediately upon her marriage, according to the

continental custom of the time, 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 of their kindness. Brought up by an

excellent mother in a very strict manner and entire seclusion, her head

was completely turned at suddenly finding herself her own mistress:

adored by her husband, furnished with the most ample means of gratifying

all her fancies, she was bent on making up for the somewhat austere life

she had led as a young girl, and gave no thought to any thing 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 gave herself all the

airs imaginable, and treated her mother-in-law with the most supreme

contempt, hardly paying her more attention than if she had been the

lowest menial in the house. In the gay societies which she frequented,

it was her favourite amusement to turn Francesca into ridicule, to

mimic her manners and her style of conversation; and she often declared

herself perfectly ashamed of being related to a person so totally

ignorant of the ways of the world. "How can one feel any respect," she

used to ask, "for a person who thinks of nothing but the poor, dresses

as one of them, and goes about the streets carrying bread, wood, and old

clothes?" It was not that Mobilia's disposition was absolutely bad; on

the contrary, she was naturally sweet-tempered; but never having been

left before to her own management, and tasting for the first time the

exciting pleasures of the world, the contrast which her mother-in-law's

appearance, manners, and whole mode of life presented to that which

seemed to her so attractive, irritated her beyond measure, till at last

her dislike amounted to aversion; she could hardly endure Francesca

in her sight. Vain were the remonstrances of her husband and of her

father-in-law, vain their entreaties and their reproofs; unavailing also

proved the interference of some mutual friends, who sought to convince

her of the culpability of her conduct, and to persuade her that she was

bound to show Baptista's mother at least the attentions of ordinary

civility. The headstrong young woman persisted in exhibiting the utmost

contempt for her. The Saint endured all her frowardness with unvarying

gentleness and patience, never uttering a sharp or unkind word in

return, and spending long hours in prayer that the heart so closed

against her, and so given up to the world, might through God's mercy be

softened and changed. One day, when she was renewing these petitions

with more than common fervour, she heard the following words distinctly

pronounced in her hearing: "Why do you grieve, Francesca? and why is

your soul disquieted? Nothing takes place without My permission, and all

things work together for the good of those who love Me." And her trial

was even then about to end. It happened a few days afterwards, when all

the inhabitants of the palace were assembled round the fire in the hall

(for it was in the winter season), that Mobilia began as usual to attack

her mother-in-law, and to turn her mode of life into ridicule, with even

greater bitterness than usual; and turning to her husband and to his

father, she exclaimed impatiently that she could not understand how they

allowed her to follow her mean and degrading pursuits, to mix with the

refuse of the rabble, and draw down upon the whole family not only

merited disgrace, but intolerable inconveniences. She was going on in

this way, and speaking with great violence, when all of a sudden she

turned as pale as death, a fit of trembling came over her, and in a

moment she fell back senseless. Francesca and Vannozza carried her to

her bed, where, recovering her consciousness, she was seized with most

acute pains. The intensity of her sufferings drew from her the most

piteous cries. Then her conscience was roused; then, as if suddenly

awakened to a sense of the enormity of her conduct, with a faltering

voice she murmured: "My pride! my dreadful pride!" Francesca bent over

her gently, entreated her to bear her sufferings patiently, assured her

they would soon subside. Then Mobilia burst into an agony of tears, and

exclaimed before all the bystanders, "They will subside, my dear mother,

if you ask it of God; but I have deserved more, much more, by my

horrible behaviour to you. Forgive me, dear mother; pray for me. I

acknowledge my fault. Henceforward, if God spares my life, your daughter

will be to you the most loving, the most obedient of handmaids. Take me

in your arms, mother, and bless your child." Francesca pressed to her

bosom the beautiful young creature in whom such a change had been

suddenly wrought, and while she fervently blessed her, Mobilia felt that

all her pains had left her.

From that day forward the whole tone of her mind was altered; her

conversion was complete. Francesca became to her an object of the most

affectionate veneration; she consulted her about all her actions, and

communicated to her her most secret thoughts. Utterly despising the

vanities of the world which had led her astray, she adopted her views

and opinions, and set entirely at naught the seductions of worldly

grandeur. The sanctity of Francesca was now so evident to her that she

began to watch her actions, her words, every detail of her life, with a

mixture of awe and of interest; and kept a record in writing of all that

she observed, and of the miraculous occurrences which were so often

taking place through her instrumentality, as well as in her own person.

The forementioned particulars she attested upon oath after the Saint's

death, when the depositions were taken which served at a later period

for the process of her canonisation. The most intimate friendship

established itself between Baptista's wife and his mother; nothing

could exceed the devoted and affectionate reverence of the one, or the

tenderness with which it was repaid by the other. Francesca, with the

most watchful love, attended to Mobilia's slightest wants or wishes:

nursed her assiduously in her confinements, and bestowed upon her

grandchildren the same cares that she had lavished on her own children.

It was a great relief to her that Mobilia, who was now only occupied

with her duties, assumed at her request the management of the house, and

the regulation of all domestic affairs. She was thus enabled to devote

herself more unreservedly to the service of the poor and of the

hospitals. The hospital which she visited most constantly was that which

her father-in-law had founded near the Chiesa del Salvatore, called at a

later period Santa Maria in Cappella. The miracles wrought by the laying

on of her hands became more numerous than ever, and her fame increased

in proportion. The degree in which her assistance was sought, her

prayers implored, and the reputation of her sanctity extended, was

painful to her humility; but her supernatural gifts were too evident to

be concealed from others or from herself, and there only remained to her

to humble herself more deeply at the feet of the God who thus showed

forth His power in one whom she deemed the most worthless of His

creatures.

A great work was preparing for her hand to do; the first stone of a

spiritual building was to be laid; she was growing ripe for the work;

and God was drawing men's eyes upon her with wonder and with awe, that

when that day came they might listen to her voice. The warnings which

she gave to persons threatened by secret dangers were innumerable; her

insight into the condition of their souls marvellous. One day she sends

word to her confessor that he will be "sent for on the following night

to attend a sick person, but that he must on no account leave his

house;" and it turns out that assassins were lying in wait for him in

the street, and that the pretended sick man was a lure to draw him out.

Another time a youth of sixteen, Jacopo Vincenzo, is lying dangerously

ill in the Piazza Campitelli. His mother hastens to the Saint, who

smiles when she enters the room, and bids her go in peace, for her son

has recovered; and on her return she finds him in perfect health. She

sees a priest at the altar, and he appears to her sight as if covered

with a frightful leprosy. By her confessor's order she relates her

vision to the object of it; and, confounded and amazed, the unhappy

man acknowledges that he was celebrating in a state of mortal sin. He

repents, confesses, and amends his life. Two men pay a visit together

to the Ponziano Palace; one is the nephew of Vannozza, a pious and

exemplary priest; the other a young man of twenty, whom he has adopted.

Anger is working in the bosom of the youth; he has suffered from his

benefactor some imaginary wrong, and he is planning his revenge, and

is about to utter a calumny which will affect his character. Francesca

takes him aside: what can she know of what is passing in his soul: how

read what has not been revealed to any human creature? She tells him

what he designs, and awakens him to a sense of his ingratitude, he no

sooner has left the house than, falling at the feet of his companion,

he confesses to him his crime, and implores his forgiveness. Cecca

Clarelli, a relation of the Ponziani, is delivered of a little girl in

such apparent good health that no one thinks of baptising her; a grand

ceremony for the purpose is preparing in a neighbouring church, to

take place the following day; but in the middle of the night Francesca

arrives, and entreats that the child may be instantly baptised. The

parents and the priest object, but the Saint is urgent; she will take no

denial; with reluctance her request is complied with, and no sooner has

the sacrament been conferred than the infant expires. A child of the

same parents, a lovely little girl, is dumb; she is four years old,

and not a single word has she ever pronounced. Andreozzo, her father,

entreats his wife to carry her to the Saint, and implore her assistance.

Francesca's humility cannot endure this direct appeal, and she tries to

put them off; but, deeply affected by their tears, she at last touches

with her finger the tongue of the little Camilla, and says, "Hope every

thing from the mercy of God; it is as boundless as His power." The

parents depart full of faith and comfort; and ere they reach their

house, the child has uttered with perfect distinctness the blessed names

of Jesus and Mary; and from that day forward acquires and retains the

power of speech.

No wonder that the name of Francesca grows every day more famous, and

that she is every day more dear to the people amongst whom she dwells;

that hearts are subdued, sinners reclaimed, mourners consoled by the

sight of her blessed face, by the sweet sound of her voice. Many rise

about her and call her blessed; but children, and more especially her own

spiritual children, are soon to call her mother. A new epoch is 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 her tears, and fostered

by her prayers. Never impatient, never beforehand with God's providence,

she waited: His time was she knew to be her time; His will was the

passion of her heart, her end, her rule, and God had made her will His,

and brought about by slow degrees its accomplishment. Permission to

labour first,--the result far distant, but clear, the vision of that

result, when once He had said to her, "Begin and work." To tarry

patiently for that signal, to obey it unhesitatingly when once given, is

the rule of the saints. How marvellous is their instinct! how accordant

their practice! First, the hidden life, the common life; the silence of

the house of Nazareth; the carpenter's shop; the marriage-feast, it may

be, for some; and at last, "the hour is come," and the true work for

which they are sent into the world has to be done, in the desert or in

the cloister, in the temple or in the market-place, on Mount Thabor or

on Mount Calvary; and the martyr or the confessor, the founder or the

reformer of a religious order, comes forth, and in an instant, or in a

few years, performs a work at which earth wonders and angels rejoice.

CHAPTER X.

FRANCESCA LAYS THE FOUNDATION OF HER FUTURE CONGREGATION--HER

PILGRIMAGE TO ASSISI.

LORENZO PONZIANO'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 an

unbounded reverence. His continual prayer, the ardent desire of his

heart, was to have her by his side as his guide and his guardian angel

during the remainder of his life and at the hour of his death. Perhaps

it was to win, as it were, from Providence the favour he so earnestly

implored, that he resolved in no way to be a clog on her actions, or an

obstacle in the way of God's designs upon her. Taking her aside one day,

he spoke to her with the greatest affection, and 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 own

person, her own time, and her own conduct, on one only condition,--that

she would promise never to cease to inhabit his house, and to guide

him in the way in which her example had hitherto led him. Francesca,

profoundly touched by his kindness, did not hesitate to give this

promise. She accepted his proposal joyfully and gratefully, in so much

as it conduced to the accomplishment of God's will and of His ulterior

designs upon her; 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.

The religious life, the natural complement of such a course as hers had

been, often formed the subject of her meditations; and God, who destined

her to be the foundress of a new congregation of pious women, suggested

to her at this time the first steps towards its accomplishment.

It will be remembered that from her childhood upward she had been used

to frequent the church of Santa Maria Nuova, on the Foro Romano; her

mother had done so before her, and had intrusted her to the spiritual

direction of one of the most eminent members of the order by whom that

church was served. Santa Maria Nuova is one of the oldest churches in

Rome. It had been destroyed and rebuilt in the eighth century; and in

1352 had been given up to the Olivetan monks of St. Benedict. As the

congregation which Francesca instituted was originally formed on the

model, and aggregated to that of the religions of Mount Olivet, it will

not be irrelevant to give some account of their origin and the life of

their illustrious founder.

Bernard Ptolomei or Tolomei, who was supposed to be descended from the

Ptolemies of Egypt, was born in 1272. Distinguished by his precocious

abilities, he became, at the early age of twenty-two, chief-magistrate

(_gonfaloniere_) of his native town, Sienna; and at twenty-five

attained to the dignity of doge. Soon after he was suddenly struck with

blindness, and the material darkness in which he found himself involved

opened his mental sight to the light of religious truth. He turned with

his whole heart to God, and irrevocably devoted himself to His

service and to a life of austerity and meditation. The Blessed Virgin

miraculously restored his sight, and his purpose stood firm. Dividing

his fortune into two equal parts, he bestowed one half on the poor, and

the other to the foundation of pious institutions. With a few companions

he retired into the mountainous deserts of Accona, about fifteen miles

from Sienna, where they gave themselves up to a life of asceticism and

prayer, which attracted to their solitude many devout souls from various

parts of the world. Satan, as usual, set his batteries in array against

the new anchorites, and trials of various sorts assailed them in turn.

They were even denounced to Pope John XXII. as persons tainted with

heresy; but Tolomei, with Piccolomini, one of his companions, made their

way to Avignon, and there, in the presence of the sovereign Pontiff,

completely cleared themselves from the calumnious imputation. Their

order was approved, and they returned to Accona, where they took the

name of "Congregation of Mary of Mount Olivet of the Benedictine Order."

This was by the express desire of the Blessed Virgin, who had appeared

to the saint, and enjoined him to adopt the rule of St. Benedict,

promising at the same time her protection to the new order. On the 26th

of March, 1319, the new religious received their habits; and Mount

Accona took the name of Mount Olivet, in honour of the agony of our

Lord. Terrible were the conflicts of the holy founder with the Evil One;

but out of them all he came victorious. His expositions of Scripture

were wonderful, and derived, it was said, from his mystical colloquies

with the archangel St. Michael. The austerity of his life was extreme;

his penances severe and continual. In 1348 St. Benedict appeared to him

and announced the approach of the pestilence which was soon to visit

Italy, and warned him of his own death, which speedily followed. Many

of his disciples had visions of the glorious translation of his soul to

heaven; and numerous miracles wrought at his tomb bore witness to his

sanctity. His monks inhabited the church and the cloisters of Santa

Maria in Dominica, or, as it is more commonly called, in Navicella, from

the rudely-sculptured marble monument that stands on the grass before

its portal, a remnant of bygone days, to which neither history nor

tradition has given a name, but which has itself given one to the

picturesque old church that stands on the brow of the Coelian Hill. As

their numbers afterwards increased, they were put to great inconvenience

by the narrow limits of their abode; and Cardinal Beltorte, titular of

Santa Maria Nuova, obtained for them from Pope Clement VI. possession of

the church of that name. They accepted the gift with joy; for not

only did it owe its origin to the first ages of Christianity, but it

contained many valuable relics; and amongst other treasures one of those

pictures of the Blessed Virgin which tradition has ascribed to St. Luke

the Evangelist; to this day it is venerated in that spot; and those who

kneel at the tomb of St. Francesca Romana, on raising their eyes to the

altar above it behold the sacred image which has been venerated for so

many generations.

Through prosperity and adversity Francesca had never ceased to frequent

that church. At its confessional and at its altars she had been a

constant attendant. Other women, her friends and imitators, had

followed her example; bound by a tender friendship, bent on the same

objects, united by the same love of Jesus and of Mary, often and often

they had been there together, those noble women who had resolved to

glory in nothing but the Cross, to have no rank but that of handmaids in

the house of the Lord. Francesca was their model, their teacher, their

cherished guide: they clung to her with the tenderest affection; they

were, according to an Eastern poet's expression,

[Footnote:"They a row of pearls, and I

The silken cord on which they lie."

a row of goodly pearls, and she the silken cord which bound them

together. They were coming out of the church one evening, when Francesca

gave them the first intimation of her hopes of their future destiny.

They were not shown the distant scene, only the first step they were to

take.

[Footnote:"Lead thou me on; I do not ask to see

The distant scene: one step enough for me."

Newman's _Verses on Religious Subjects_]

It was one of those small beginnings so trifling in men's sight, so

important in their results,--the grain of mustard-seed hereafter to grow

into a tree. Francesca spoke to them, as they walked along, of the order

of St. Benedict, of the sanctity of its founder, of the virtues, the

piety, the good works of its members, and submitted to them that by

taking the name of "Oblates of Mount Olivet," and observing conjointly

certain rules, such as might befit persons living in the world, they

might participate in their merits, and enjoy their privileges. Her

companions hailed this proposal with joy, and begged her to use all her

efforts to carry it into effect. Don Antonio, to whom Francesca

communicated their pious wishes, lent a favourable ear to the request,

and in his turn brought it under the notice of the Vice-Prior Don

Ippolito, who, in the absence of the superior, was charged with the

government of the monastery. He was the same who at one time formed the

project of leaving the order, and was deterred from so doing by

Francesca's advice. He readily received their overtures, and obtained

for her and for her companions from the General of the Order permission

to assume the name of "Oblates of Mary," a particular aggregation to the

monastery of Santa Maria Nuova, and a share in the suffrages and merits

of the order of St. Benedict.

Greatly rejoiced at the happy result of their application, they gave

themselves to fasting, prayer, and penance, in preparation for their

special consecration to the Blessed Virgin. It took place on the Feast

of the Assumption of the year 1425.

At break of day, in the church of Santa Maria Nuova, Francesca,

Vannozza, Rita de Celli, Agnese Selli, and six more noble Roman

ladies, confessed, received the pious instructions of Don Antonio, and

communicated at a Mass which Don Ippolito said before the miraculous

image of the Blessed Virgin. Immediately after the holy sacrifice, they

dedicated themselves to her service, according to the formula used by

the Olivetan monks; only that the phrase "me offero" was substituted for

"profiteor;" and that instead of taking solemn vows, they were simply

affiliated to the Benedictine Order of Mount Olivet. Such was the first

beginning of the congregation of which Francesca was the mother and

foundress. In these early times, Don Antonio, their director, did not

assign them any special occupation, and only urged them to the most

scrupulous obedience to the commandments of God and of the Church, to a

tender devotion to the Mother of God, a diligent participation in the

Sacraments, and the exercise of all the Christian virtues, and the

various works of mercy. The link between them consisted in their

constant attendance at the church of Santa Maria Nuova, where they

received communion on all the Feasts of our Lady, and in a tender

veneration for Francesca, whom they looked upon as their spiritual

mother. They had incessant recourse to her advice; and her simplest

words were as a law to them, her conduct their example. She assumed no

power, and disclaimed all authority; but the sovereign empire of love

was forced into her reluctant hands. They insisted on being governed by

one they held in such affection, and gave up every pleasure for the sake

of being with her, and sharing in her pursuits.

It was in the summer of the following year that Francesca decided on

performing a pilgrimage to Santa Maria, or, as it is more commonly

called "La Madonna degli Angeli," in honour of our Lady and of the

seraphic Saint of Assisi. Vannozza and Rita eagerly agreed to accompany

her; and they resolved to set on on the 2d of August, in order to arrive

in time for the celebrated indulgence "del Perdono." It was in poverty,

not only of spirit but of actual reality that they wished, to perform

their journey to the tomb of the great apostle of poverty,--to go on

foot, and unprovided with money, provisions, or comforts of any sort.

Lorenzo and Parazza, who had readily consented to the proposed

pilgrimage, demurred for a while at this mode of carrying it out; but

Francesca prayed in her oratory that God would incline their hearts to

consent to it; and soon, with a reluctant smile, they consented to all

she proposed, and both only ejaculated, "Go on your way in peace; do as

you list, and only pray for us." Out of the gates of Rome they went,

through that country so well known to those who have often visited the

Eternal City; up the hill from whence the first sight of its domes and

its towers, of its tombs and of its pines, is hailed with rapture, from

whence a long last lingering look of love is cast upon what the heart

whispers is its own Catholic home. It was the first, and as it would

seem the only occasion (at least none other is mentioned in her life) in

which Francesca left its walls, and trod other ground than that which

the steps of so many martyrs have hallowed, the blood of so many saints

has consecrated. The valleys of Veii on the one hand, the heights of

Baccano on the other, the beautiful and stately mountain of Soracte, met

their eyes as they do ours: would that we looked upon them with the same

earth-abstracted gaze as theirs! The Gothic towers of Civita Castellana

looked down upon the humble pilgrims as they passed by in pious

meditation. The sound of their sweet voices, reciting prayers or

chanting hymns, mingled with the murmurs of the stream that bathes the

old walls of Nurni; and then through the wild defile of Monte Somma into

the lovely Umbrian Vale they went, through that enchanting land where

every tree and rock wears the form that Claude Lorraine or Salvator Rosa

have made familiar to the eye and dear to the poetic mind; where the

vines hang in graceful garlands, and the fireflies at night dance from

bough to bough; where the brooks and the rivers are of the colour of

the sapphire or the emerald, and the purple mountains smile rather than

frown on the sunny landscape; where the towns and the convents, the

churches and the cottages, are set like white gems in the deep verdure

that surrounds them. There is no land more fair, no sky more tenderly

blue, no breeze more balmy, than the land where Spoleto and Toligno and

Assisi rise in their picturesque beauty, than the sky which spreads its

azure roof over the Umbrian traveller's head, than the airs which

are wafted from the heights of Monte Falco, or the hill of Perugia.

Beautiful is that country! fair these works of God!--but more beautiful

still is the invisible world which Francesca and her companions

contemplated, the while, with weary patient feet, in the sultry August

weather, they trod the lengthening road from one humble resting-place to

another. Fairer the inward perfection of a soul which God has renewed,

than all the gorgeous but evanescent loveliness of earth's most lovely

scenes.

At length their pilgrimage is drawing to a close; the towers of the

Madonna degli Angeli are conspicuous in the distance; half unconsciously

they hasten in approaching it; but the heat is intense, and their lips

parched with thirst; they can hardly speak, for their tongues cleave to

the roof of their mouths, when a stranger meets them, one of striking

and venerable appearance, and clothed in the religious habit of St.

Francis. He hails the travellers, and straightway speaks of Mary and of

Jesus, of the mystery of the Passion, of the wonders of Divine love.

Never have such words of fire met the ears of the astonished pilgrims.

Their hearts burn within them, and they are ready to exclaim, "Never

did man speak like to this man." Francesca sees her angel assume his

brightest aspect. Hays of light seem to dart from his form, and to

envelope in a dazzling halo the monk who is addressing them. She knows

him now; and makes a sign to her companions. It is St. Francis himself.

It is the seraphic saint of Assisi. He blesses the little troop, and

touching a wild pear-tree by the road-side, he brings down to the ground

a fruit of such prodigious size, that it serves to allay the thirst and

restore the strength of the exhausted travellers.

That day they reached the shrine where they had so longed to kneel;

that little hut, once the abode of the saint, which stands in its rough

simplicity within the gorgeous church; where the rich and great of the

world come daily to do homage to the apostle of poverty, the close

imitator of Him who had not often where to lay His head. There they

received communion the next morning; there they prayed for their absent

friends; there Francesca had a vision, in which she was encouraged

to persevere in her labours, to accomplish her pious design, and the

protection of Jesus and His Mother was promised to her. Let us follow

them in thought up the steep hill to Assisi--to the church where the

relics of the saint, where his mortal remains are laid. Let us descend

into the subterranean chapel, pause at every altar, and muse on the

records of that astonishing life, the most marvellous perhaps of any

which it has ever been permitted to mortal man to live. Let us go with

them to the home of his youth, where his confessorship began in childish

sufferings for the sake of Christ. Let us venerate with them the relics

of St. Clare, the gentle sister spirit whose memory and whose order are

linked with his; and for a moment think what prayers, what vows, what

acts of faith, of hope, of charity, must have risen like incense

from those devoted hearts in such scenes, amidst such recollections.

Doubtless they bore away with them a host of sweet and pious thoughts.

Their faces must have shone with heaven's own light as they retraced

their steps to the home where loving hearts were awaiting them. Few such

pilgrimages can have ever been performed, Francesca at the tomb of St.

Francis of Assisi must have been a blessed sight even for an angel's

eyes.

CHAPTER XI.

DEATH OF FRANCESCA'S FRIEND AND DIRECTOR, DON ANTONIO--TROUBLES IN ROME

AND ITALY FORETOLD BY FRANCESCA--DEATH OF VANNOZZA, FRANCESCA'S SISTER

IN LAW--FOUNDATION OF THE CONGREGATION OF OBLATES OF TOR DI SPECCHI.

THE extraordinary graces which had attended our Saint during her

pilgrimage were the prelude of a trial which was awaiting her in Rome.

Her earliest friend, her long-trusted guide, Don Antonio Savello, had

died during her absence. Though she accepted this dispensation of God's

providence with her habitual resignation, it cut her to the heart. She

had deeply loved and reverenced her spiritual father; he had instructed

her in childhood; directed her ever since with wisdom and faithfulness;

and his loss was in one sense greater to her than that of any other

friend. It occurred, too, at the very moment when she was about to

carry out the Divine intimation with regard to the foundation of a new

Congregation, when difficulties were every where staring her in the

face, and the want of a powerful and willing auxiliary more than ever

needful. She did not, however, lose courage, but prayed fervently that

God would inspire her choice of a director; and much time she spent on

her knees imploring this favour. No doubt the selection she made was the

result of these prayers; and one of the proofs that God's ways are not

as our ways, nor His thoughts as our thoughts. Her choice fell on Don

Giovanni Mattiotti, the curate of Santa Maria in Trastevere, to whom she

had already sometimes been to confession. He was a man of irreproachable

character and distinguished piety, but of an irresolute and vaccillating

disposition, easily disheartened; nor would he at first sight have

appeared qualified for the direction of a person as far advanced in

perfection as Francesca, on whom God had such great designs, and with

whom He chose to deal in such wonderful ways. But the trials which

Francesca had to endure from the irresolution of Don Giovanni; the

patience with which she submitted to his varying commands; and the

supernatural means through which he was taught to recognise her

sanctity, and to assist in carrying out her designs, tended in the end

to the glory of God, and the praise of the Saint, whose very humility

was a trial to her, in those days of small beginnings, and often of

painful doubts. Crosses of various kinds arose in connection with the

undertaking. Some of the monks of Santa Maria Nuova, for instance,

took occasion, on the visits of a father inspector, to complain of Don

Ippolito, and to accuse him of transgressing the statutes, and going

beyond his powers, in admitting a congregation of women to the name and

the privileges of their order; especially considering that several of

these women were married, and living in the world. But the visitor was

a man of piety and prudence. He closely examined into the question, and

satisfied himself that the institution tended to edification, and was

pleasing to God; and he sanctioned it accordingly, as far as was in his

power, and promised to advocate its cause with the father-general.

In the month of July of 1430 Francesca had a remarkable vision, which

indicated to her the events that were speedily to follow, and which

she prophesied with an accuracy, that, in the end, occasioned general

astonishment. One night, after spending several hours in prayer, she saw

a lurid light, through which a number of Satan's ministers were hurrying

to and fro, shaking their torches, and rejoicing with dreadful glee

over the impending calamities of Rome. The Saint fell on her knees,

and besought the Lord to spare her unhappy country. Then falling into

ecstasy, she beheld the Infant Jesus in His Mother's arms surrounded

with angels, and St. Peter, St. Paul, and St. John the Baptist in the

attitude of prayer, pleading for mercy to the Eternal City, which they

seemed to protect by their fervent supplications. At the same time she

heard a voice that said, "The prayers of the saints have stayed the arm

of the Lord; but woe to the guilty city if she repent not, for great

afflictions are at hand." Some days afterwards the lightning fell

simultaneously on the churches of St. Peter, St. Paul, and on the shrine

of St. John Baptist in the Lateran Basilica. Francesca shuddered when

she heard of it; she felt at once that the day of grace had gone by;

and in thrilling words described to her confessor, and to several other

persons that were present, the misfortunes that were about to fall upon

Rome.

The fulfilment of her predictions was not long delayed, though nothing

at the time seemed to give them weight. The unwearied exertions of

Martin V. had succeeded in healing the wounds of Christendom. In Rome

he had repressed anarchy, recalled the exiled citizens to their homes,

rebuilt the churches, given a new impulse to the government, to the

administration of justice, to politics, to literature, to science, and

to art. He had worked hard to promote a reformation in the manners of

the clergy, and effected in many places the re-establishment of the

discipline of the Church. The legates whom he sent to all the courts of

Europe had restored some degree of union between the Christian princes,

and preached a crusade against the Turks and the followers of John Huss.

He had called together a council, which was first convened at Pavia, and

afterwards removed, first to Sienna, and then to Basle. But before he

could him self join the assembly, death overtook him. Worn out with his

indefatigable labours for the welfare of Christendom, he went to receive

his reward at an unadvanced age, in the month of February of the year

1431.

Gabriel Candalucero succeeded him under the name of Eugenius IV. The

first Consistory which he held was marked by a fearful accident, which

people chose to consider as an evil omen. The floor of the hall gave

way, and in the midst of the confusion that ensued a bishop was killed,

and many persons grievously wounded. A discontented monk put about the

report that Martin V. had died in possession of a considerable treasure;

and the Colonnas, catching eagerly at this pretext, took up arms to

make good their claims to this supposed heritage. Once more the adverse

factions rose against each other, and blood flowed in the streets of

Rome. The Colonnas were constrained to fly; and the monk, convicted of

having conspired to deliver up the Castle of St. Angelo to the rebels,

and to get the Pope assassinated, was condemned to death and executed. A

temporary reconciliation was effected between Eugenius IV. and the too

powerful family of the Colonnas; but their haughty and violent temper

soon brought about a rupture. They advanced upon Rome at the head of

their troops; a bloody engagement took place under the walls of the

city, in which the pontifical troops had the upper hand, but many of the

nobles perished in the affray.

Conflicts of a still more harrowing nature now arose between the Pope

and the Council of Basle. Duke Philip of Milan availed himself of this

opportunity to retrieve the sacrifices he had made in a treaty which the

Pope had led him to sign with the Venetians. He forged a decree which,

purported to proceed from the fathers of the council, appointing him

lieutenant-general of the Church in Italy; and armed with this assumed

title, he despatched to the Roman States Francesca Sforza and Nicholas

Fortebraccio, two famous adventurers in his pay. The latter advanced

upon Rome, and began to devastate its neighbourhood. The Pope, wholly

unprepared for defence, warded off the danger by sowing dissension

between the two generals, which he effected by giving up to Sforza, for

his lifetime, the possession of Ancona, and of the provinces which he

had conquered in the states of the Church. Sforza, in consequence, took

part with Eugenius, and defeated Fortebraccio at Tivoli; but in the

meantime a general insurrection broke out in Rome itself. The Ghibelline

party attacked the Pope, laid siege to the church of the Holy Apostles,

where he had taken shelter, and from whence he escaped with difficulty

disguised as a monk, embarked on the Tiber, and found a refuge first at

Pisa and then at Bologna. Rome was given up for five months to all the

horrors of anarchy, the pontifical palace pillaged, and new magistrates

chosen in lieu of those appointed by the Pope; the garrison of the

castle of St. Angelo alone remaining firm in its allegiance to the

sovereign Pontiff. Weary at last of so much disorder, the city of its

own accord submitted itself to lawful authority. Eugenius sent a legate,

who in some measure succeeded in re-establishing peace; but he himself

remained in the north of Italy, engaged in convoking a council,

wherewith to oppose the irregular decrees of that assembled at Basle.