{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_8495/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_8495","id":"gutenberg_8495","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/8495","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Biographies","Category: History - Religious","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Christian women saints -- Biography","Dominica da Paradiso, -1553","Frances, of Rome, Saint, 1384-1440","Lucia, da Narni, 1476-1544","Montmorency, Anne de, active 1666-1699"],"text":"Produced by Juliet Sutherland, David Widger\nand the Online Distributed Proofreading Team\n\n\n\n\nTHE LIFE\n\nOF\n\nST. FRANCES OF ROME,\n\nBY\n\nLADY GEORGIANA FULLERTON;\n\n\nOF\n\nBLESSED LUCY OF NARNI,\n\n\nOF\n\nDOMINICA OF PARADISO\n\n\nAND OF\n\nANNE DE MONTMORENCY:\n\n\nWITH\n\nAn Introductory Essay\n\nON THE MIRACULOUS LIFE OF THE SAINTS,\n\nBY J. M. CAPES, ESQ. _N.B. The proprietorship of this Series is secured\nin all countries where the Copyright is protected._ The authorities on\nwhich the History of St. Frances of Rome rests are as follows:\n\nHer life by Mattiotti, her Confessor for ten years. Mattiotti enjoined\nher, as a matter of obedience, to relate to him from time to time her\nvisions in the minutest detail. He was a timid and suspicious man,\nand for two or three years kept a daily record of all she told him;\nafterwards, as his confidence in her sanctity and sanity grew complete,\nhe contented himself with a more general account of her ecstasies, and\nalso put together a private history of her life. After her death, he\nwrote a regular biography, which is now to be found in the Bollandist\ncollection (Venice, 1735, vol. ii.).\n\nEarly in the seventeenth century, Ursinus, a Jesuit, wrote a life, which\nwas highly esteemed, but which was never printed, and, except in certain\nfragments, is now lost.\n\nIn 1641, Fuligato, a Jesuit, wrote the second life, in the Bollandist\ncollection, which contains particulars of events that happened after\nMattiotti's time.\n\nOther well-written lives have since appeared: especially a recent one by\nthe Vicomte de Bussi\u00e8re, in which will be found various details too\nlong to be included in the sketch here presented to the English reader.\nINTRODUCTORY ESSAY.\n\nTHE MIRACULOUS LIFE OF THE SAINTS.\n\nIn presenting to the general reader a newly-written Life of so\nextraordinary a person as St. Frances of Rome, together with the\nbiographical sketches contained in the present volume, it may be useful\nto introduce them with a few brief remarks on that peculiar feature in\nthe histories of many Saints, which is least in accordance with the\npopular ideas of modern times. A mere translation, or republication of a\nforeign or ancient book, does not necessarily imply any degree of assent\nto the principles involved in the original writer's statements. The new\nversion or edition may be nothing more than a work of antiquarian or\nliterary interest, by no means professing any thing more than a belief\nthat persons will be found who will, from some motive or other, be glad\nto read it.\n\nNot so, however, in the case of a biography which, though not pretending\nto present the results of fresh researches, does profess to give an\naccount new in shape, and adapted to the wants of the day in which\nit asks its share of public attention. In this case no person can\nhonourably write, and no editor can honourably sanction, any statements\nbut such as are not only possible and probable, but, allowing\nfor the degree of authenticity in each case claimed, on the whole\nhistorically true. No honest man, who absolutely disbelieves in all\ndocuments in which the original chronicler has mingled accounts of\nsupernatural events with the record of his own personal knowledge,\ncould possibly either write or edit such Lives as those included in\nthe following pages; still less could they be made public by one who\ndisbelieves in the reality of modern miracles altogether.\n\nIn presenting, then, the present and other similar volumes to the\nordinary reader, I anticipate some such questions as these: \"Do you\nreally put these stories into our hands as history? Are these marvellous\ntales to be regarded as poetry, romance, superstitious dreaming, or as\nhistorical realities? If you profess to believe in their truth, how do\nyou reconcile their character with the universal aspect of human life,\nas it appears _to us and to our friends?_ And finally, if you claim for\nthem the assent to which proved facts have a right from every candid\nmind, to what extent of detail do you profess to believe in their\nauthenticity?\" To these and similar questions I reply by the following\nobservations:\n\nThe last of these questions may be answered briefly. The lives of Saints\nand other remarkable personages, which are here and elsewhere laid in\na popular form before the English public, are not all _equally_ to be\nrelied on as undoubtedly true in their various minute particulars. They\nstand precisely on the same footing as the ordinary events of purely\nsecular history; and precisely the same degree of assent is claimed\nfor them that the common reason of humanity accords to the general\nchronicles of our race. No man, who writes or edits a history of distant\nevents, professes to have precisely the same amount of certainty as to\nall the many details which he records. Of some his certainty is all but\nabsolute; of others he can say that he considers them highly probable;\nof a third class he only alleges that they are vouched for by\nrespectable though not numerous authorities., Still, he groups them\ntogether in one complete and continuous story, and gives them to the\nworld as _history;_ nor does the world impute to him either dishonesty,\nignorance, credulity, or shallowness, because in every single event he\ndoes not specify the exact amount of evidence on which his statement\nrests.\n\nJust such is the measure of belief to be conceded to the Life of St.\nFrances, and other biographies or sketches of a similar kind. Some\nportions, and those the most really important and prominent, are well\nascertained, incontrovertible, and substantially true. Others again, in\nall likelihood, took place very much, though not literally, in the way\nin which they are recorded. Of others, they were possibly, or even\nprobably, the mere colouring of the writer, or were originally adopted\non uninvestigated rumour. They are all, however, consistent with known\nfacts, and the laws on which humanity is governed by Divine Providence;\nand therefore, as they may be true, they take their place in that vast\nmultitude of histories which all candid and well-informed persons agree\nin accepting as worthy of credit, though in various degrees.\n\nSupposing, then, that miraculous events may and do occur in the present\nstate of the world's history, it is obvious that these various degrees\nof assent are commanded alike by the supernatural and the natural\nevents which are here so freely mingled together. Some are undoubtedly\ntrue, others are probably either fictitious or incorrectly recorded.\nThe substance rests on the genuine documents, originally written by\neye-witnesses and perfectly competent judges; and as such, the whole\nstands simply as a result of the gathering together of historical\ntestimony.\n\nHere, however, the ordinary English reader meets us with the assertion,\nthat the supernatural portions of such lives are simply _impossible_. He\nassumes--for I am not exaggerating when I say that he never tries _to\nprove_--that these marvellous interruptions of the laws of nature never\ntake place. Consequently, in his judgment, it is purely ridiculous to\nput forth such stories as history; and writers who issue them are guilty\neither of folly, ignorance, superstition, or an unprincipled tampering\nwith the credulity of unenlightened minds. Of those who thus meet the\nquestion of historical evidence by an assumption of a universal abstract\nimpossibility, I earnestly beg an unprejudiced attention to the\nfollowing considerations:\n\nIf it be once admitted that there is a God, and that the soul is not\na mere portion of the body, the existence of miracles becomes at once\nprobable. Apart from the records of experience, we should in fact have\nexpected that events which are now termed miraculous would have been\nperhaps as common as those which are regulated by what we call the laws\nof nature. Let it be only granted that the visible universe is not the\n_whole_ universe, and that in reality we are ever in a state of most\nintimate _real_ communion with Him who is its Creator; then, I say,\nwe should have expected to have been as habitually conscious of our\nintercourse with that great Being, as of our intercourse with one\nanother. The true marvel is, that we are not thus habitually conscious\nof the Divine Presence, and that God is really out of our sight. If\nthere is a God, who is ever around us and within us, _why_ does He not\ncommunicate with us through the medium of our senses, as He enables us\nto communicate with one another? Our souls hold mutual communion through\nthe intervention of this corporal frame, with such a distinct and\nundeniable reality, that we are as _conscious_ of our intercourse as\nof the contact of a material substance with our material bodies. Why,\nthen,--since it is so infinitely more important to us to hold ceaseless\ncommunication with our Maker,--why is it that our intercourse with Him\nis of a totally different nature? Why is it that the material creation\nis not the ordinary instrument by which our souls converse with Him? Let\nany man seriously ponder upon this awful question, and he must hasten to\nthe conclusion, that though experience has shown us that the world of\nmatter is not the _ordinary_ channel of converse between God and man,\nthere yet remains an overwhelming probability that some such intercourse\ntakes place _occasionally_ between, the soul and that God through whose\npower alone she continues to exist.\n\nIn other words, the existence of miracles is probable rather than\notherwise. A miracle is an event in which the laws of nature are\ninterrupted by the intervention of Divine agency, usually for the\npurpose of bringing the soul of man into a conscious contact with the\ninhabitants of the invisible world. With more or less exactness of\nsimilitude, a miracle establishes between God and man, or between other\nspiritual beings and man, that same kind of intercourse which exists\nbetween different living individuals of the human race. Such a conscious\nintercourse is indeed asserted by infidels as well as by atheists,\nto be, if not impossible, at least so utterly improbable, that it is\nscarcely within the power of proof to make it credible to the unbiased\nreason. Yet surely the balance of probability inclines to the very\nopposite side. If there _is_ a God, and our souls _are_ in communication\n(of some kind) with Him, surely, prior to experience, we should have\nexpected to be habitually conscious of this communion. And now that we\nsee that we are not at any rate habitually so, still the burden of proof\nrests with those who allege that such conscious intercourse _never_\ntakes place. Apart from all proof of the reality of any one professed\nmiracle, the infidel is bound to show _why_ all miracles are improbable\nor impossible; in other words, why man should never be conscious of the\npresence and will of his ever-present God.\n\nProtestants, however, and even weak Catholics, regard the record of one\nof those mysterious lives, in which the soul of a man or woman has been\nrepeatedly brought into this species of communion with invisible beings,\nas a tale which, though it is just possible that it may be true, is yet,\non the face of it, so flagrant a violation of the laws of nature, as\nto be undeserving of positive hearty belief. They confound the laws of\nphysical nature with the laws of universal nature. They speak of the\nnature of this material earth, as if it was identical with the _nature\nof things_. And this confusion of thought it is to which I would\nespecially call attention. Miracles are contrary to the ordinary laws of\nphysical nature, and therefore are so far improbable, but they are in\nthe strictest conformity with the nature of things, and therefore _in\nthemselves_ are probable. If the laws of nature rule God as they control\nman, a miracle is almost an impossibility; but if God rules the laws of\nnature, then it is wonderful that something miraculous does not befall us\nevery day of our lives.\n\nAgain, it is in a high degree probable that miraculous events will\ngenerally, so to say, take their colour from the special character of\nthat relation which may exist between God and man at the time when they\ncome to pass. If, in the inscrutable counsels of the Almighty, man is\nplaced, during different eras in his history, in different circumstances\ntowards his Creator and Preserver, it would seem only natural that\nthe variations in those circumstances should be impressed upon the\nextraordinary intercourse between God and His people. Or, to use the\ncommon Christian term, each _dispensation_ will have its peculiar\nsupernatural aspect, as well as its peculiar spiritual and invisible\nrelationship. If man was originally in a higher and more perfect state\nof being than he is now, it is probable that his communion with God was\nsingularly, if not totally, unlike what it has been since he fell from\nprimeval blessedness. If after his fall, two temporary states have been\nappointed to him by his God, then the miracles of each epoch will bear\ntheir own special corresponding characteristics. And lastly, if by a\nnew exercise of regenerating and restoring power it has pleased the\nInvisible One to rescue His creatures from the consequences of their\nancient ruin, then again we may expect to recognise the history of that\nredemption in the whole course of the miraculous intercourse between\nthe Redeemer and the redeemed until the end of time. The supernatural\nelements in the Paradisiacal, the Patriarchal, the Mosaic, and the\nChristian states, may be expected to be in many respects distinct, each\nembodying with awful and glorious power the invisible relations which\nthe God of nature and of grace has thought fit to assume towards His\ncreatures.\n\nAnd such, in fact, has been the case. Not only is the ceaseless\nexistence of a miraculous intercourse between God and man one of the\nmost completely proved of all historical events, but the miracles of\neach dispensation are found in a wonderful degree to correspond with\nthe relationship of God to man in each of the separate epochs. The same\nsuperhuman consistency is found to pervade all the works of God, both\nwhere nature and grace are separate from one another, and where the\ncommon laws of nature are burst through, and the material universe\nis made as it were the bondslave of the unseen. The impiously meant\nassertions of unbelief are fulfilled in a sense which unbelievers little\nlook for; and they who cry out in their hatred of miracles, that all\nthings are governed by unchanging _law_, may learn that in truth\nunchanging laws do rule over all, although those laws have a range and a\nunity in the essence and will of God, of which mortal intelligence\nnever dreamed. The natural and the supernatural, the visible and the\ninvisible, the ordinary and the miraculous, the rules of the physical\ncreation and the interruptions of those rules,--all are controlled by\none law, shaped according to one plan, directed by one aim, and bound to\none another by indissoluble ties, even where to human eyes all seem lost\nin confusion and thwarted by mutual struggle.\n\nOf what we should now call the miraculous, or supernatural, communion\nbetween God and man in Paradise, we know historically but little. The\nrecords of revelation being for the most part confined to the state of\nman as he is, and his actual and future prospects, present but a glimpse\nof the conscious communion which was permitted to the first of our race\nin their original bliss. It is, however, believed by theologians, that\nin Paradise what we should now term miracles did not exist; for this\nreason, that what is now extraordinary was then ordinary. God conversed\nwith man, and man held communion with angels, directly and habitually;\nso that in a certain sense man saw God and the world now unseen.\n[Footnote: See St. Thomas, Summa, pars prima, qu\u00e6st. 94. art. 1,2.] For\nit is not the mere possession of a body which binds the soul with the\nchains of sense; it is the corruption and sinfulness of our present\nframes which has converted them into a barrier between the spirit within\nand the invisible universe. As Adam came forth all pure and perfect from\nthe hands of his Creator, a soul dwelling in a body, his whole being\nministered fitly to the purposes of his creation, and with body and soul\ntogether he conversed with his God. It was not till the physical sense\nbecame his instrument of rebellion, that it was dishonoured and made his\nprison-house, and laid under a curse which should never be fully removed\nuntil the last great day of the resurrection.\n\nUpon the fall of Adam, a new state was introduced, which lasted\nabout two thousand five hundred years. During its continuance, the\nsupernatural intercourse between Almighty God and His degraded creatures\ntook an entirely different character. What had originally been\ncontinual, and as it were natural, became comparatively rare and\nmiraculous. Henceforth there _seemed_ to be no God among men, save when\nat times the usual laws of the earth and the heavens were suspended\nand God spoke in accents which none might refuse to hear. Of these\nsupernatural manifestations the general aspect was essentially typical\nof the future redemption of the lost race by a Saviour. That promise\nof deliverance from the consequences of sin, which Almighty God had\nvouchsafed to the first sinners, was repeated in a vast variety of\nmiraculous interventions. Though there may have been many exceptions to\nthe ordinary character of the Patriarchal miracles, still, on the whole,\nthey wear a typical aspect of the most striking prominence.\n\nThe first miracle recorded after the fall is the token granted to Abel\nthat his _sacrifice_ was accepted. A deluge destroys all but one family,\nwho are saved in an ark, the type of the Church of God, and a rainbow is\nset in the sky as a type of the covenant between God and man. A child is\nmiraculously born to Abraham in his old age, who is afterwards offered\nto God as a type of the Redeemer, and saved from death by a fresh\nsupernatural manifestation of the Divine will. The chosen race become\ncaptive in Egypt, as a figure of man's bondage to sin; a series of awful\nmiracles, wrought by the instrumentality of Moses himself, a type of\nJesus Christ, delivers them from their slavery, terminating with the\ninstitution of the Passover, when the paschal lamb is eaten, and they\nare saved by its blood, as mankind is saved by the blood of the Lamb\nof God. The ransomed people miraculously pass through the Red Sea,\nforeshadowing the Christian's regeneration by baptism; as they wander\nafterwards in the desert, manna descends from heaven to feed them, and\nwater gushes from the rock to quench their thirst, and to prefigure that\nsacred food and those streams of grace which are to be the salvation of\nall men. Almost every interruption of the laws of nature bespeaks the\nadvent of the Redeemer, and does homage to Him as the Lord of earth and\nheaven.\n\nAt length a code of laws is given to the chosen race, to separate them\ncompletely from the rest of men, and a promise of perpetual temporal\nprosperity is granted to them by God as the reward of their obedience,\nand as a figure of the eternal blessedness of the just. From that time\nwith, as before, occasional exceptions, the supernatural events which\nbefall them wear a new aspect. Their peculiarly typical import is\nexchanged for one more precisely in conformity with the leading\nprinciple of the new dispensation. The rites and ceremonies of the new\nLaw prefigure the Sacrifice and Redemption of the Messias; but the\nmiracles of the next fifteen hundred years are for the most part\ndirected to uphold that rule of present reward and punishment, which was\nthe characteristic feature of the Jewish theocracy. The earth opens to\npunish the disobedience of Core and his companions. Fiery serpents\nsmite the murmuring crowd with instant death; while the promised Saviour\nis prefigured, not by a miracle, but by the erection of a brazen serpent\nby the hands of Moses. The walls of Jericho fall prostrate before the\ntrumpets of the victorious Israelites; one man, Achan, unlawfully\nconceals some of the spoil, and an immediate supernatural panic, struck\ninto his countrymen, betrays the committal of the sin. Miraculous water\nfills the fleece of Gideon, to encourage him to fight for his country's\ndeliverance. An angel foretells the birth of Samson to set his people\nfree, when they are again in bondage. Samson himself is endowed with\nsupernatural strength; exhausted with the slaughter of his foes, he\nprays for water to quench his thirst, and a stream bursts forth from the\nass's jawbone with which he had just slain the Philistines. Bound in\nchains, blinded, and made a jest by the idolaters, his prayer for a\nreturn of his strength is heard by God, and he destroys a multitude in\nhis last moments.\n\nAnd thus, through all the history of the Kings and the Prophets, the\npower of God is repeatedly put forth to alter the laws of nature for the\npurpose of enforcing the great rule of the Mosaic law. The disobedience\nof the Jews might, if God had so pleased, have been invariably punished\nby the instrumentality of the ordinary course of events, shaped by the\nsecret hand of Divine Providence so as to execute His will, just as\nnow we find that certain sins inevitably bring on their own temporal\npunishment by the operation of the laws of nature. And so, in the vast\nmajority of instances in which the Jews were rewarded and punished,\nwe find that the Divine promises and threats were fulfilled by the\noccurrence of events in the natural order of things. But yet frequently\nmiracles confirmed and aided the work of chastisement and blessing; and\nof the numerous wonders which were wrought from the giving of the law\nto the coming of Christ, we find that nearly all bore this peculiar\ncharacter. For many centuries also a constant miraculous guidance was\ngranted to the people in the \"Urim and Thummim,\" by which they were\nenabled, when they chose to remain faithful, to escape all national\ncalamities and enjoy the fullest blessings of the promised land.\n\nUnder the Christian dispensation, again, a new character is imprinted\nupon the supernatural history of the Church, which is, in fact, the\nimpression of the Cross of Christ. While the characteristics of the\nPatriarchal and Jewish miracles are not wholly obliterated, an element,\nwhich if not entirely new, is new in the intensity of its operation, is\nintroduced into the miraculous life of the children of Christ, which\nlife is really the prolongation of the supernatural life of Jesus Christ\nHimself. It is accompanied also with a partial restoration of that\npeculiar power which was possessed by man before he fell, when his\nbody became a veil to hide the world of spirits from his soul. While\nprophecies of future events have not wholly ceased in the Christian\nChurch, and miracles are frequently wrought for the conferring of some\ntemporal blessings, yet these other wonderful features distinguish the\nsupernatural records of Christianity from those of both Patriarchal\nand Jewish times. The undying power of the Cross is manifested in the\npeculiar sufferings of the Saints, in their mystic communion with\nthe invisible world, and in that especial sanctity to which alone\nmiraculous gifts are for the most part accorded under the Gospel. Not\nthat all these three peculiarities are to be observed in the life of\nevery Saint under the Gospel. Far from it, indeed. The supernatural\nlife of the Saints varies with different individuals, according to the\npleasure of that Almighty Spirit, who communicates Himself to His elect\nin ten thousand mysterious ways, and manifests Himself according to His\nown will alone. Still, at times, they are found united, in conjunction\nwith those miraculous powers which were possessed under the old\ndispensations in one individual. In such cases we behold the Life and\nPassion of the King of Saints visibly renewed before our eyes; the\nlaw of _suffering_,--that mysterious power, as life-giving as it is\nunfathomable,--is set before us in an intensity of operation, which at\nonce calls forth the scoffs of the unbeliever, and quickens the faith of\nthe humble Christian; the privileges of eternity are anticipated, and\nthe blessings of a lost Paradise are in part restored. Jesus Christ\nlives, and is in agony before us; the dread scene of Calvary is renewed,\nunited with those ineffable communications between the suffering soul\nand its God, which accompanied the life and last hours of the Redeemer\nof mankind. Our adorable Lord is, as it were, still incarnate amongst\nus, displaying to our reverent faith the glories of His Passion in the\npersons of those who are, in the highest sense that is possible, His\nmembers, a portion of His humanity, in whom He dwells, who dwell in Him,\nand whose life, in a degree incomprehensible even to themselves, is hid\nwith Christ in God. Such a Saint was St. Frances of Rome, one of those\nglorious creations of Divine grace by means of which, at the time when\nthe Holy City was filled with bloodshed and ravaged with pestilence, and\nwhen the heaviest disasters afflicted the Church, Almighty God set\nforth before men the undying life of the Cross, and the reality of that\nreligion which seemed to be powerless to check the outrages of its\nprofessed followers.\n\nIn Paradise, then, as has been said, the whole nature of man ministered\nto the fulfilment of the end for which he was created, namely, the\nknowledge and love of God. He came forth from his Maker's hands endowed\nnot only with a natural soul and body untainted with sin, but with such\nsupernatural gifts, arising from the Divine Presence within him, that\nnothing was wanting but perseverance to his final perfection. The\nvarious elements in his nature were not, as now, at war with one\nanother. His body did not blind the eye of his soul, and agitate it with\nthe storms of concupiscence; nor did the soul employ the body as its\ninstrument of rebellion against God. Though not yet admitted to that\nglorious vision of the Eternal which was to be the reward of his\nobedience, yet he lived in direct commerce with the world of spirits. He\nknew and conversed with God and His angels in a way which is now wholly\nincomprehensible to the vast majority of his descendants.\n\nWhen Adam fell, he became, in one word, what we all are now by nature.\nNot only was he placed under a curse, but his God was hidden from his\neyes; and that corporeal habitation, which he had abused to his soul's\ndestruction, became the prison of his soul's captivity. Though\ncreated in the image of God, and retaining, even when fallen, certain\ntraces of his celestial origin, he became a mere helpless denizen of\nearth, and a veil descended and hid his God and all spiritual beings\nfrom his mind. From that time forwards _suffering_ became not merely the\nlaw of his daily life, but the only means by which he could be first\nrestored to the Divine favour, and finally be taken to a happy eternity.\nAnd inasmuch as he was to be redeemed by the sufferings of One who\nwas at once man and not man, He was in a certain sense to share those\nsufferings, in order to partake in the blessings they purchased for him.\nA mystic union was to take place between the Saviour and the fallen\nrace, of which a community in suffering, as the instrument of\nrestoration, was to be for ever and in every case established. This\nanguish, further, was to be twofold, including all the faculties both of\nthe body and the soul. Man had sinned in his whole being; in his whole\nbeing, therefore, he was to suffer, both in the person of his Redeemer,\nwho was to suffer for him, and in himself, who was to suffer with his\nSaviour. A \"holocaust\" was to be offered to the offended Majesty of God;\nan offering, not only of his _entire_ nature, but a _burnt_ offering; a\nsacrifice which should torture him in the flames of Divine vengeance,\nand kill him with its annihilating fierceness.\n\nAs, however, it pleased the Divine Wisdom to postpone for forty\ncenturies the advent and atonement of the Redeemer, so, for the same\nperiod, the race redeemed participated, in a comparatively slight\ndegree, in those restorative sufferings which derived all their virtue\nfrom the sacrifice upon the Cross. Pangs of body and bitterness of soul\nwere, in truth, the lot of man from the moment that Adam sinned; but\nthey were the pangs and bitterness of a criminal under punishment, far\nmore than the sacrificial pains of the members of Christ crucified.\nAsceticism formed but a small portion of the religious worship of the\npeople of God, until the great atonement was completed upon Calvary. Not\nthat any degree, even the lowest, of acceptable obedience could ever be\nattained without some measure of the crucifixion of the natural man.\nPatriarchs and Israelites alike felt the power of the Cross as the\ninstrument of their sanctification. But still earthly prosperity,\nincluding bodily pleasures, was, as a rule, the reward with which God\nrecompensed His faithful servants. That which became the rule under the\nGospel, was the exception from Adam till Moses, and from Moses until\nChrist. Here and there some great example of Christian asceticism\nenforced upon a sensual people the nature of perfect sanctity. Elias\nfasted on Mount Carmel, and beheld the skirts of the glory of the Most\nHigh. The Baptist fasted and tamed his natural flesh in the wilderness,\nand beheld not only the Incarnate Son of God, but the descent of the\nEternal Spirit upon Him. Yet, for the most part, the favoured servants\nof God lived the lives of ordinary men; they possessed houses, riches,\nand honours; and married wives, even more than one.\n\nAt length the Cross was set up in all its awful power; suffering\nreceived its perfect consecration, and took its ruling place in the\neconomy of man's redemption. Jesus, in descending from the Cross,\nbestowed that Cross upon His children, to be their treasure until the\nend of the world. Crucifixion with Him, and through Him, as their Head,\nbecame their portion and their glory. Every soul that was so buried\nin His wounds as to receive the full blessings of His sacrifice, was\nthereby nailed, in Christ, to the Cross, not to descend from its\nhallowed wood until, like Christ, it was dead thereon. Henceforth the\nsanctity of God's chosen servants assumes its new character. It is no\nlonger written, \"I will bring you into a land flowing with the milk and\nhoney of this earth;\" but, \"Blessed are the poor, and they that suffer\npersecution.\" The lot of Abraham and of David is exchanged for that of\nSt. Peter and St. Paul. In place of triumph in war with the idolaters,\nthe Christian is _promised_ persecution; in place of many herds and\nflocks, and treasures of gold, God _gives_ him poverty and sickness; the\nfast, the vigil, the scourge, take place of the palaces of cedar and\nthe luxuriant couch; marriage gives way to celibacy; and long life is a\nprivilege in order that in many years we may suffer much, and not that\nwe may enjoy much. Such is the ordinary course of the Divine dealings\nwith the soul since the Cross received its full mysterious saving power.\n\nAnd to the full as mysterious is the new character imprinted upon\nthe miraculous life of Christian sanctity. The phenomena of that new\nexistence, in which certain souls are brought into mystic communion with\nthe unseen world, bear the print of the wounds of the Eternal Son in\na manner which fills the ordinary Christian mind with amazement and\ntrembling. It is by a painful crucifixion of the natural man, both soul\nand body, carried to a far more than ordinary perfection, that the soul\nis introduced into this miraculous condition. Imprisoned in her fleshly\ntabernacle, which, though regenerated, is through sin foul, earthly,\nand blinding as ever, the mind can only be admitted to share in the\ncommunion which Jesus Christ unceasingly held with His Father and with\nthe world invisible, by attaining some portion of that self-mastery\nwhich Adam lost by his fall. The physical nature must be subdued by the\nvigorous repetition of those many painful processes by which the animal\nportion of our being is rendered the slave of the spiritual, and the\nwill and the affections are rent away from all creatures, to be fixed on\nGod alone. Fasting and abstinence are the first elements in this ascetic\ncourse. The natural taste is neglected, thwarted, and tormented, till,\nwearied of soliciting its own gratification, it ceases to interfere with\nthe independent action of the soul. The appetite is further denied\nits wonted satisfaction as to quantity of food. By fasts gradually\nincreasing in severity, new modes of physical existence are introduced;\nthat which was originally an impossibility becomes a second law of\nnature; and the emaciated frame, forgetting its former lusts, obeys\nalmost spontaneously the dictates of the victorious spirit within.\nThe hours of sleep are curtailed under judicious control, until that\nmysterious sentence which compels us to pass a third of our existence in\nunconscious helplessness is in part repealed. The soul, habituated to\nincessant and self-collected action, wakes and lives, while ordinary\nChristians slumber, and as it were are dead. The infliction of other\nsevere bodily pains co-operates in the purifying process, and enables\nthe mind to disregard the dictates of nature to an extent which to\nmany Catholics seems almost incredible, and to the unbeliever an utter\nimpossibility. Physical life is supported under conditions which would\ncrush a constitution not supported by the miraculous aid of almighty\npower; and feeble men and women accomplish works of charity and heroic\nself-sacrifice from which the most robust and energetic of the human\nrace, in their highest state of _natural_ perfection, would shrink\nback in dismay as hopeless impossibilities. The senses are literally\ntyrannised over, scorned, derided, insultingly trampled on. The sight,\nthe smell, the hearing, the touch, and the taste, are taught to exercise\nthemselves upon objects revolting to their original inclinations. They\nlearn to minister to the will without displaying one rebellious symptom.\nMatter yields to spirit; the soul is the master of the body; while the\nperceptions of the intelligence attain an exquisite sensibility, and the\nmind is gifted with faculties absolutely new, the flesh submits, almost\ninsensible to its condition of servitude, and scarcely murmurs at the\ndaily death it is compelled to endure.\n\nThe process is the same in all that regards the affections and passions\nof the mind itself. The heart is denied every thing that it desires,\nwhich is not God. However innocent, however praiseworthy, may be the\nindulgence in certain feelings, and the gratification of certain\npursuits in ordinary Christians, in the case of these favoured souls\nnature is crushed in _all_ her parts. Her faculties remain, but they are\ndirected to spiritual things alone. Possessions of all kinds, lands,\nhouses, books, pictures, gardens, husband, wife, children, friends,\n--all share the same tremendous sentence. God establishes Himself\nin the soul, not only supreme, but as the _only inhabitant_. Whatsoever\nremains to be done in this world is done as a duty, often as a most\nobnoxious duty. Love for the souls that Christ has redeemed is the only\nhuman feeling that is left unsubjugated; and wheresoever the emotions of\nnatural affection and friendship mingle with this Christian love, they\nare watched, and restrained with unsparing severity, that the heart may\ncome at last to love nothing, except _in_ Christ Himself.\n\nAll this, indeed, repeatedly takes place in the case of persons in\nwhom the purely miraculous life of the Christian Saint is never even\ncommenced. It is that which all monks and nuns are bound to struggle\nfor, according to the different rules to which they have respectively\nreceived their vocation. And, by the mercy of God, this perfect\ndetachment from earth, and this marvellous crucifixion of the flesh, is\naccomplished in many a devout religious, to whom the _extraordinary_\ngifts of the Holy Ghost are as unknown as His extraordinary graces are\nfamiliar. Still, in those exceptional instances where miraculous powers\nof any species are bestowed, this bitter death, this personal renewal\n(as far as man can renew it) of the agonies of Calvary, is ordinarily\nthe necessary preparation for admission to the revelations of the Divine\nglory, and to the other mysteries of the miraculous life.\n\nThe physical nature, then, being thus subdued, and taught to be the\nobedient servant of the sanctified will, the history of the Catholic\nChurch records a long series of instances in which the soul has been\nbrought into direct communion with God, with angels, and with devils,\nmore or less through the _sensible_ instrumentality of the bodily\nsenses, thus spiritualised and exalted to a new office. The ineffable\nglories of the _life_ of Christ are renewed in those who have thus\nendured the _cross_ of Christ. The death of the body is the life of the\nsoul; and the Son of God is, as it were, again visibly incarnate in the\nworld which He has redeemed.\n\nThe phenomena of this miraculous state are as various as they are\nwonderful. There is scarcely a natural law of our being which is not\nfound to be frequently suspended. Such is the _odour of sanctity_,\na celestial perfume that exhales from the person of the Saint, in\nconditions where any such delicious fragrance could not possibly spring\nfrom natural causes, and where even, as in the case of a dead body,\nnature would send forth scents of the most repulsive kind. In such\ninstances, sometimes in life, sometimes in death, sometimes in health,\nsometimes in loathsome diseases, there issues from the physical frame an\nodour of unearthly sweetness, perhaps communicating itself to objects\nwhich touch the saintly form.\n\nOr a strange supernatural warmth pervades the entire body, wholly\nindependent of the condition of the atmosphere, and in circumstances\nwhen by the laws of nature the limbs would be cold; sometimes, while\nsickness has reduced the system to such a degree of exhaustion, and\nbrought on so morbid an action of the functions, that the stomach\nrejects, with a sort of abhorrence, every species of food, the most holy\nEucharist is received without difficulty, and seems not only to be thus\nreceived, but to furnish sufficient sustenance for the attenuated frame.\nNot unfrequently corruption has no power over a sacred corpse; and\nwithout the employment of any of the common processes for embalming,\ncenturies pass away, and the body of the Saint remains untouched by\ndecay, bearing the impress of life in death, and not crumbling to dust,\nas in cases of natural preservation, when exposed to the action of the\natmosphere. Add to these, the supernatural flexibility and lightness\nwith which at times the living body is endowed by Divine power; the\nphysical accompaniment of ecstasy; the elevation of the entire body from\nthe ground, and its suspension in the air for a considerable space of\ntime; and we have sufficient examples of the mysterious ways in which\nthe bodies of Saints bespeak the purity which dwells within them, and\nin a degree anticipate the corporeal perfections of those glorified\nhabitations in which the souls of the just will dwell after the\nresurrection.\n\nBy another class of miraculous powers possessed by Christian Saints,\nthey are enabled to recognise the true nature or presence of purely\nspiritual objects by the instrumentality of their natural organs of\nsense. Thus, a mere touch at times reveals to them the moral condition\nof the person on whom they lay their hands. A singular distaste for\nnatural food is accompanied by a perception of a celestial sweetness in\nthe holy Eucharist. Gross sinners appear to the sight in the form of\nhideous monsters, demoniacal in their aspect, or as wearing the look of\nthe most repulsive of the brute creation. The sense of smell, in like\nmanner, detects the state of the soul, while the ear is opened to\nheavenly sounds and voices, and Almighty God speaks to the inner\nconsciousness in a manner which, inexplicable as it is when defined\nin the language of human science, is shown by incontestable proofs to be\na real communication from heaven to the enlightened intelligence.\n\nIn certain cases the animal creation are taught to do homage to the\npresence of a Saint. As God opened the eyes of Balaam's ass, and it\nbeheld the messenger of Divine wrath standing with a sword in his hand,\nso birds, fishes, insects, sheep, and the wildest beasts of the forests,\nhave at times saluted the Saints with joy and sweetness, laying aside\ntheir natural timidity or their natural ferocity, and recalling the hour\nwhen Adam dwelt in sinless peace in Eden, surrounded by the creatures\nwhich the hand of God had made. All nature is bid thus to arise to\nwelcome the elect of the Lord of nature. Flowers spring up beneath their\nfeet; fruits suddenly ripen, and invite them to gather and eat; storms\ncease, and gentle winds refresh the sky. Every where the presence of Him\nwho lulled the tempest with a word is recognised in the souls in whom He\ndwells, and in whom He thus, in a mystic sense, fulfils His own promise,\nthat the meek shall possess the land.\n\nThus, again, time and space are in their degree comparatively\nannihilated for the sake of some of these favoured servants of the\nEternal and Omnipresent. St. Pius V., while bodily in Rome, was a\nwitness of the naval victory of the Christians over the Turks; St.\nJoseph of Cupertino read letters addressed to him while their authors\nwere writing them far away; St. Dominic foresaw the war of the\nAlbigenses, and the death of Peter of Arragon; and St. Ignatius beheld\nhis successor in the Duke of Gandia. A similar mysterious faculty\nenables its possessor to discern the presence of relics and other sacred\nobjects, more especially of the adorable Eucharistic species; or even to\nbehold Jesus Christ Himself in His glorified human form, in place of the\nusual appearance of bread and wine; while in some instances the Host\nhas darted, unborne by mortal hand, into the mouth of a Saint about to\ncommunicate at the foot of the altar.\n\nOn those species of miracles which are in no way peculiar to the\nChristian dispensation I need not linger. Such is the gift of healing,\nwhether by the Saint's will and touch while alive, or by his relics and\nintercession when dead. Such is the gift of prophecy, which abounded, as\nwe might have expected, far more in the Saints before the advent of\nthe Redeemer than since His coming, and which, indeed, was not rigidly\nconfined to men of religious character. Such are those supernatural\npowers by which our present temporal blessings, in addition to the\ncure of diseases, are conferred upon individuals or communities by the\ninstrumentality of holy men and women. I confine myself to those more\npeculiarly Christian privileges, which, though they were not wholly\nunknown to the Patriarchal and Mosaic Saints, are yet eminently\ncharacteristic of those times in which the glorification of the humanity\nof Jesus appears to have shed a measure of glories upon the bodies of\nthose who most intensely share the sufferings of His cross.\n\nSome of these tokens of the perpetual death of the Son of God in\nHis Saints were, indeed, for several centuries either unknown, or\nextraordinarily rare in the Christian Church herself. Such is that most\nawful of the displays of the undying power of the Cross, in which the\nactual wounds and tortures of the crucified Jesus are visibly renewed,\nby a miraculous agency, in the persons of His chosen ones. This most\nterrible of the gifts of the great God is generally preceded by some\nsupernatural occurrence foreshadowing the visible representation of the\nscene on Calvary about to be set up before the eyes of men. At one time\nit is a species of bloody sweat, like that of Jesus Christ in the garden\nof Gethsemani; at another, a visible print of the cross is impressed\nupon the shoulders; or angels present a mystic cup of suffering to\nthe hands of the self-sacrificing Saint. Then follows what is termed\n_stigmatisation_, or the renewal of the actual wounds of the Crucified,\naccompanied with the bloody marks of the crown of thorns upon the\nsufferer's head; for the most part one by one, until the whole awful\ncommemoration is complete, the skin and flesh are rent on the forehead\nand round the head, in the hands, in the feet, and in the side; a stream\nof gore pours forth, at times trickling down in slow drops, at times (as\non Fridays) in a fuller tide, accompanied with agonising pangs of body,\nand except in the fiercest moments of spiritual conflict, with interior\nconsolations of ravishing sweetness. The wounds pierce deep down into\nthe flesh, running even through the hands and the feet.\n\nThe state of _ecstasy_ is another of the most wonderful of the elements\nof the miraculous life of the Saints. Under the Divine influence the\nphysical frame undergoes a change in many respects similar to that which\nis supposed (whether truly or falsely) to result from the operation of\nmagnetism or somnambulism. Many features, at the same time, distinguish\nthe Christian ecstatic condition from that which is produced by purely\nphysical or (it may be) diabolical causes, on which we cannot at present\nenter in detail. It is sufficient to say, that the results of the true\necstasy are in the strictest conformity with the doctrines of the\nChristian revelation, and in perfect harmony with the perfections and\nrules of the _moral_ world.\n\nThe soul in this state becomes, as it were, independent of the power of\nthe body, or she uses her physical senses in an absolute subordination\nto her own illumined will. Visions, such as are recorded in the Old\nTestament in the case of the prophets, are presented to her faculties.\nShe is introduced into the courts of heaven, and beholds and converses\nwith Saints in glory, with the Mother of God, with Jesus Christ\nHimself. Or the whole mystery of the Passion is re-enacted before her\nspiritualised sight, the evangelical history being filled up with all\nthose actual but minuter details which are omitted in the written\nrecords of the Gospels. In certain cases, the body itself is lifted up\nfrom the ground, and so remains for a while in the presence of a crowd\nof bystanders. In others, the soul, while in ecstasy, is the medium of\ncommunication between Almighty God and other persons then present, and\nthe Saint's voice repeats the revelations to those for whom they are\ndesigned. Or, again, an unearthly flame shining around the head or whole\nperson of the ecstatic, like the cloven tongues upon the Apostles at\nPentecost, attests the presence of the Invisible, and symbolises the\nmessage sent forth from His throne to men.\n\nA more purely intellectual vision or revelation is another of the works\nof the Holy Ghost in His Saints. By such revelations, for the most part,\nthe truths of holy Scripture were communicated to its writers. God, who\ncreated the human soul with all its faculties, and who is able to make\nknown His will in any way that He pleases to the intelligence, has His\nown mysterious but not less accurate tests, by which He enables the\nfavoured spirit to discern a revelation from a mere product of the\nhuman imagination, and to distinguish between the voice of God and the\nsuggestions of Satan. Nor was this mode of intercourse between the\nsoul and her God confined exclusively to the elder dispensations or\nto apostolic ages. Many a Christian Saint has been privileged to\ncontemplate God Himself, in a certain sense, in His essence; beholding\nthe depths of such mysteries as those of the Holy Trinity, the\nIncarnation, the Eucharistic Presence, or the true nature of sin, with a\ndirectness of vision, and comprehending them to an extent, which passes\nthe powers of human language to define.\n\nLastly, all that we read in the Bible respecting the visible and\ntangible intercourse between man and the angelic and diabolic host is\ncontinued in the times of Christianity. The reality of the ministration\nof angels and of the assaults of demons, in the case of all Christians,\nis believed by every Catholic; but in very many cases the Saints have\nbecome as conscious of the presence and actions of their unseen friends\nand foes as of the presence and actions of mortal men. To some Saints,\nour blessed Lord Himself has appeared in human form, perhaps in that of\nthe most despised and miserable of the poor and sick; to others, their\nguardian-angels or other pure spirits have presented themselves,\nsometimes in the guise of ordinary men, and sometimes in a manifestly\nsupernatural shape. Often, too, the enlightened soul has beheld Satan\nand his accursed spirits, either working it some bodily injury, or\nassaulting it with some subtle temptation, or seeking to scare it by\nassuming some hideous loathsome shape, or assuming the garb of an angel\nof light for the purpose of accomplishing his hellish ends. Of all these\nsupernatural phenomena, however, illustrations will readily occur to\nthose who are familiar with the lives of Saints, or, indeed, to those\nwho have studied the Bible only, and who read the inspired writings as\nreally _true_, remembering that the miraculous events there recorded did\nnot cease the moment that the canon of Scripture was closed, but that\nsuch as was the relation between God and man and angels and devils for\nmore than four thousand years, such it has been until this very hour.\n\nSuch, then, are the doctrines and opinions which are implied in what\nmay be termed the miraculous life of Catholic Saints, and of which the\nhistory of Frances of Rome presents one of the most remarkable examples.\nThey are here but briefly sketched: but I trust that enough has been\nsaid to indicate the general character of the principles involved in\nthese wonderful histories; and I now pass on to offer a few remarks on\nthe self-contradictions into which those persons fall who refuse to\ninvestigate this species of subject on the ordinary rules of historical\nevidence.\n\nI need hardly remind the reader that an immense number of persons,\nboth infidels and Protestants, especially in sober-minded England and\nScotland, treat every professed Catholic miracle as a portion of the\nvast gigantic system of deliberate fraud and villany which they conceive\nto be the very life of Catholicism. From the Pope to the humblest priest\nwho says Mass and hears confessions in an ugly little chapel in the\nshabbiest street of a country town, all are regarded as leagued in\none wide-spreading imposture. Pius IX., for instance, it is imagined,\n_knows_ the liquefaction of St. Januarius's blood to be a trick of the\nNeapolitan clergy; but he keeps up the falsehood for the sake of gain\nand power. In like manner, he has an extensive Roman laboratory ever at\nwork for the manufacture of all the instruments of delusion which his\nemissaries propagate throughout Christendom. There he makes false\nrelics, from portions of the true cross downwards; there he sells\npardons and indulgences; and there he has a _corps_ of writers employed\nin the invention of fictitious miraculous tales, saints' lives, and the\nlike. All over the world he has \"agents\" for the sale of these goods,\nthe Catholic Bishops in England being his \"English Correspondents,\" who\ndoubtless receive a handsome percentage on the profits realised. The\nstaff of underlings is also complete, energetic, and well paid. Thus,\nthe Oratorian Fathers are busily employed in scattering \"Saints' Lives\"\nthroughout this country, greatly to their own profit. Thus, too, I am\nmyself engaged in a similar work, either laughing in my sleeve at the\ncredulity on which I practise, or submitting from sheer intellectual\nincompetence to be the tool of some wily Jesuit who enjoins the\nunhallowed task. Such, when drawn out into details, and stripped of the\npompous declamation of the platform, is, in serious truth, the idea\nwhich innumerable persons imagine to be the Catholic system of\npropagandism and deceit; and every Catholic miracle is thus accounted\nfor by the supposed wickedness of all Catholics, except a few blinded\nignorant devotees.\n\nAny argument, therefore, addressed to prejudgments of this class must\nmerge in the general argument, which shows that, whether the Catholic\nreligion be true or false, it is beyond the limits of credibility that\nits ruling principle can be one of intentional deception. I insist,\nthen, that it would not merely be a miracle,--if is an _impossibility_\nthat such an imposture should remain undetected to this day, and that\nmen and women of all ranks, ages, and countries, the ablest and the most\nsimple, including uncounted fathers and mothers of families, should\npersist in submitting to and upholding the authority of a few thousand\npriests, who are really no better than incarnate devils. Whether the\nCatholic system be an error or not, it must have fallen to pieces a\nhundred times over, if its chief ruler and his subordinates were mere\ntricksters, playing upon the credulity of a fanatical and besotted\nworld. By this same test, then, its miraculous histories must be judged,\nlike the general characters of its supporters. They who propagate these\nstories believe them to be true. They do not, of course, assert that\n_every_ supernatural story is what it professes to be. They may even\nadmit that many are the mere creations of well-meaning but ill-informed\nreport. Nor is every Catholic priest, monk, or layman to be accounted a\nsincere and honest man. There are betrayers of their Lord, from Judas\nIscariot to the last wretched apostates, who remain for years in the\nChurch, deceiving others without deceiving themselves. But on the whole,\nand viewed as a body, the Catholic Church is as honest and truthful,\nwhen she asserts that many wonderful miracles are incessantly taking\nplace within her, as the most scrupulous of moralists can desire.\n\n\"But she is herself deceived,\" exclaims the more candid separatist\nor sceptic, taking up the argument declined by his scoffing brother.\nCatholics, it is supposed, are under the dominion of so abject a\nsuperstition, that the moment the subject of their religion is\nintroduced, they cease to exert their ordinary common sense and powers\nof criticism, and believe any thing and every thing that seems to be\nmarvellous. Granting them to be sincere, the charitable Protestant is\nof opinion that they are intellectually incapable of testing the\npretensions of these wonders to be real and true miracles. If, in plain\nwords, Catholics are not knaves, they _must be_ fools. Now, let me ask\nany candid person who thus accounts for our belief in modern miracles,\nto furnish me with an intelligible answer on two points. First, let him\nexplain how it comes to pass that an innumerable multitude of persons,\nmany of them distinguished for the highest intellectual powers, and\nproving by their lives and their deaths that they are ready to make\nevery sacrifice for the sake of religion, should suffer themselves to be\nimposed upon in so momentous a subject, should willingly accept as true\na series of absurd fabrications, whose falsehood they might detect by\nthe exercise of any ordinary acuteness, and should risk their reputation\nwith the world by professing to believe these fictions. If we _are_\nsincere in our faith, it is impossible to suppose us so willing to be\nimposed upon. The hollowness of these supernatural pretensions must\nhave betrayed itself to _some_ amongst us. The bubble must have burst\n_somewhere_. If not at Rome, where Protestants imagine Catholic\nintellect to be at its lowest ebb, at least in England, or France,\nor Belgium, or Germany, _some_ of our great Catholic philosophers,\nhistorians, politicians, and men of science, must have unveiled the\ntruth. [Footnote: It is a remarkable fact, that the most celebrated\nwork on the supernatural gifts accorded by God to Christians, is the\nproduction of one of the greatest intellects, and by far the most\ninfluential political writer, that modern Europe has seen. G\u00f6rres, the\nauthor of the _Christliche Mystik_, was the Wellington of literature\nduring the last European war. The influence which he exercised over\nthe whole German mind by his _Rhenish Mercury_ is altogether without\nparallel in the history of journalism. It was, indeed, regarded as\nso formidable by Napoleon himself, that he styled G\u00f6rres a _fourth\ncontinental power_. Yet this first of publicists devoted his whole life\nto the investigation of the wonders of Catholic mysticism, and believed\nwith undoubting conviction in their reality.]\n\nAnd, secondly, I desire to be told _who_ are the deceivers. If our\nnumerous miracles are all errors, there must be gross deception in a\nhost of instances _somewhere_. _Where_ is it, then? I ask; which are the\ndupes, and which the rogues? Do the clergy cheat the laity? Or do the\nlaity (who have quite as much to do with these miracles) cheat the\nclergy? Do the Jesuits entrap the Pope? Or does the Pope mystify the\nJesuits? When missionaries shed their blood in hundreds in heathen\nlands, are we to believe that _they_ are the fabricators of the\nwonderful tales which they have been in the habit of sending home to\nChristendom? Or did they leave Europe with the intention of becoming\nmartyrs, without troubling themselves to ascertain whether they were\nnot the dupes of delusions already surrounding them in a Christian land?\nAgain I say, if Catholic miracles are all false, there must be boundless\ntrickery _somewhere_, and I demand to know _where_ it is. In an English\ncourt of justice a charge of conspiracy cannot be entertained unless\nthe accuser can point out certain parties on whom to fasten his charge.\nJudge and jury would laugh at a plaintiff who came into court crying out\nthat he was victimised by some invisible, indescribable, and unknown,\nbut yet very numerous band of foes. So it is with this popular theory\nabout Catholic miracles. We are told that we are deceived. We are all\ncheated together. The bishops are victims; the priests are victims;\nmonks and nuns are victims; the laity are victims; the old Catholics in\nEngland are victims; the converts are victims; the best of us all are\nvictims; the most learned, the most pious, the most able, the most\nself-denying,--all _these_ are dupes. If there are deceivers, they are\nthe few, the ignorant, the cunning, and the vile. The Roman Church, as a\nChurch, is supposed to be under the dominion of a band of conspirators,\nwho have blinded her eyes without her having found it out, and who\nare now using her for their own godless purposes. Does not such\na supposition confute itself? Is it worth admitting, even as an\nhypothesis? Would such a statement be endured for a moment by a judge\nand twelve men in a jury-box? I say, therefore, before moving a step to\noverthrow the Protestant accusation, \"Make a distinct and intelligible\ncharge of certain definite crimes against certain definite individuals.\nWhen that is done, the proof still remains with you. Show us both who\nare the deceivers, and how they deceive us; or admit that there is\nno credulity so open-mouthed as that of Protestants when they attack\nCatholics; no superstition so base as that which worships this visible\norder of nature as an eternal rule which not even God Himself can ever\ninterrupt.\"\n\nThe fact is, however, that no Protestant ever attempts any thing like a\nprofound investigation of the Catholic miracles. A calm, critical, and\njudicial inquiry into the worth of the Roman process of canonisation has\nnever been risked. Here is an enormous catalogue of incidents, whose\nsupernatural character is vouched for by the decrees of a long series\nof Popes, professedly based upon the most prolonged and anxious legal\nexamination. For centuries a tribunal has been declaring that one series\nof miracles after another has come before it; that it has weighed them\nall with the utmost care; that it has heard every thing that could be\nurged against them; that it has rejected, as not proved, a very large\nnumber; and that, after the most searching inquiry, it _has_ found such\nand such supernatural incidents to be established by every law of\nhuman evidence. [Footnote: For the steps followed in the processes of\ncanonisation, see Faber's _Essay on Beatification, Canonisation, and\nthe Processes of the Congregation of Rites_.] No man can look at the\nprocesses of the canonisation of Catholic Saints without admitting that\nvery few of those secular events which we unhesitatingly believe are\nsupported by so overwhelming a weight of proof. Men's fortunes and lives\nare incessantly taken away by law at our very doors on lower degrees of\nevidence, and no one exclaims. And yet the decisions of this Catholic\ntribunal are set aside without hesitation. People think them not even\nworthy of listening to. The whole affair they count a childish trifling;\nand with a shrug or a sneer they pass it by.\n\nAnd it is the same with those miracles which have not been brought\nbefore any such high tribunal, but which rest on undeniable private\nevidence. Those who are not Catholics put them aside simply as\nincredible. They assume that they cannot be true, and therefore that\nthey are not true. Press them in argument, and they will shirk your most\nstringent proofs. You can make no impression upon their _wills_. They\nwill believe any thing but that God has interrupted the course of nature\nin favour of any one but themselves. In short, if we wish to see\nhuman reason in its most irrational mood, we have but to enter into\nconversation with a Protestant who asserts and thinks that he believes\nthe Bible miracles to be true, and urge upon him the proofs of such\nmodern miracles as are recorded of St. Frances of Rome. You will\nperceive first, that though he has made up his mind on the subject with\nunhesitating dogmatism, he has never investigated its bearings or facts,\neven in outline. Nevertheless, to your surprise, you will find him\nperfectly ready to start some random theory, at a moment's notice,\nunconscious of the momentous, the awful nature of the matter he is\nhandling. You see, perhaps, that his mind is powerfully influenced\nby the singular character of many Catholic miracles. He thinks them\nstrange, unnecessary, unaccountable, absurd, disgusting, degrading. His\nnervous sensibilities are shocked by an account of the fearful pangs\naccompanying the _stigmata_. In the phenomena of ecstasy he can see\nnothing more than the ravings of delirium, or (if he believes in\nmesmerism) than the tales of a clairvoyante, and the rigidity of\ncatalepsy. His physical frame, accustomed to its routine of breakfast,\nluncheon, and dinner, its sofas and easy-chairs, and its luxurious bed,\nshudders at the thought of the self-inflicted penances of the Saints,\nand at the idea of God's bestowing a miraculous power of enduring such\nhorrors. He would be as much surprised to be told that Smithfield was\nliterally the abode of incarnate demons, as to hear that demons have\noften assumed the shapes of beasts and monsters in their conflicts with\nthe elect. The notion that an angel might visibly appear to a pious\ntraveller on the Great Western or Birmingham railroad, and protect him\nfrom death in a frightful collision of trains, makes him open his eyes\nand contemplate you as scarcely sane to hint at such a thing. That \"the\nVirgin,\" as he calls her, should come down from heaven and enter a\nchurch or a room, and hold a conversation with living men, women, or\nchildren in the nineteenth century, and give them a trumpery medal, or\ntell them to wear a piece of cloth round their neck, or cure them of\nsome disease, he regards about as likely and rational as that the\nstories in the _Arabian Nights_ and the _Fairy Tales_ should turn out to\nbe true histories. Be as serious as you please, he simply laughs in his\nsleeve, thinking to himself, \"Well, who would have believed that the\nintellect of an educated Englishman should submit itself to such\ndrivelling as this?\"\n\nPerceiving that this is the state of his mind, you open the Bible, which\nlies, handsomely bound, upon his table, and running rapidly through\nthe four Gospels and the Acts of the Apostles, point out to him a long\nseries of supernatural events there recorded; and show him that in\ntheir nature they are precisely the same as those modern miracles which\nprovoke his disgust or contempt. You remind him, first of all, that our\nLord Jesus Christ is the Head of the Church, and that all His people\nare made _like Him_, in His life and His sufferings, as well as in His\nglory; and then proceed to your summary. He accounts the penances of\nSaints needless and impossible; you remind him of our blessed Lord's\nfast of forty days and forty nights. He is horror-struck at the details\nof the sufferings of those in whom the Passion of Christ has been\nvisibly renewed; you beg him to attempt to realise the bloody sweat\nin the Garden of Olives. He speaks of mesmerism and clairvoyance, and\nderides the thought of a Saint's being illuminated with radiant light,\nor exhaling a fragrant odour; you ask him how he explains away the\ntransfiguration of Jesus. He says that it is physically impossible that\na man's body can be (as he expresses it) in two places at once; you\ndesire him to say by what law of nature our Lord entered the room where\nthe disciples were when the doors were shut; how St. Peter was delivered\nfrom chains and imprisonment by the angel; how St. Paul was rapt into\nthe third heaven, _whether in the body or out of the body, he could not\ntell_. He says that when a Saint has thought himself attacked by devils\nin hideous shapes, his brain has been diseased; you entreat him to\nbeware of throwing a doubt on the temptation of Jesus Christ by Satan in\nthe wilderness. He pities you for believing that the Mother of God has\nappeared for such needless purposes to excited devotees; you ask him why\nthe Son of God appeared long after His death and ascension to St. Paul,\nand told him what he might have learnt in a natural way from the other\nApostles. He calls your miraculous relics childish trumpery; you ask\nwhether the handkerchiefs and aprons which cured the sick, after having\ntouched St. Paul's body, were trumpery also; and whether St. Luke is\ncountenancing superstition when he relates how the people crowded near\nSt. Peter to be healed by his very shadow passing over them. Then, as he\nfeels the overwhelming force of your rebukes, he insinuates that there\nis something divine, something evidently touching, pure, and strict in\nmorality in the Bible narratives, which is wanting in these lives of\nCatholic Saints; and you refer him to such biographies as that of St.\nFrances of Rome, and compelling him to read the narratives of her\nrevelations, ask him if all that she says when in a state of ecstasy\ndoes not wear, even in his judgment, the impress of a Divine origin, and\nseem to be dictated by the God of all purity, humility, and love.\n\nAt length your opponent, after brief pondering, changes his ground, and\nasserts that you are yourself deceived; that the real defect in Catholic\nmiraculous stories is the want of evidence. He tells you that he would\nbelieve, if he could; but that you have not proved your point. You next\ncall his attention to the distinct promise made by our blessed Lord to\nthe Church, that miracles should always continue with her; and ask him\nhow, on his theory, he accounts for the non-fulfilment of this promise.\nYou desire him to lay his finger on the epoch when its fulfilment\nceased; and not only to assert that it then ceased, but to prove his\nassertion. He says nothing, for he has nothing to say which he can even\nattempt to prove; and you proceed to furnish a few examples of miracles,\nfrom patristic, medi\u00e6val, or modern times, or perhaps of the present\nday, which are supported by at least as cogent an amount of evidence\nas the historical proof of the Scripture miracles. You insist upon his\n_disproving_ these. He cannot. He resorts to some new hypothesis. He\nsays that there is deception _somewhere_, though he cannot tell where;\nand probably by this time is showing symptoms of a wish to end the\ndiscussion. You urge him again, and press him to give an intelligible\nreason for supposing that there _must_ be deception any where. He thinks\na while; and when at length you are looking for a rational conclusion,\nhe starts backwards to his old assumption that the Catholic miracles\n_cannot_ be true. He begs the whole question, and says that they are in\nfavour of Catholicism, and that Catholicism is false. You too recur to\nyour old reference to the Bible, and so on. And thus you run again the\nsame round; and you may run it a thousand times over, till you perceive\nthat there is but one reason why your opponent is not convinced; which\nis, that he _will not_ be convinced. And thus it was in the days when\nthose very miracles were wrought which Protestants profess to believe.\nThe Jews _would not_ believe our Lord's words and doctrines. He then\nbade them believe Him because of His miracles; and they instantly\nimputed them to the power of the devil. He showed them that this theory\nwas impossible; but, so far from being convinced and converted, they\nwent their ways, and plotted His death. Now, our controversialists\ncannot, or do not wish, to take away our lives; but when not a word is\nleft them in the way of argument, they go their ways, and protest\nto their fellows, that we are obstinate, unfair, superstitious,\nand insolent; and too often encourage one another in the bitterest\npersecution of those who are convinced by our reasonings, and submit to\nthe Church.\n\n\nI now turn to the objections which are at times felt by Catholics\nthemselves to the publication of Saints' Lives, abounding in\nsupernatural incidents. Such persons are, indeed, not numerous; and\ntheir number is rapidly diminishing. Still it can scarcely be doubted\nthat conscientious Catholics _are_ to be found who take the view I am\nspeaking of, from ideas which, though erroneous (as I believe), are yet\nso truly founded in sincerity, as to demand respect and explanation from\nthose who differ from them.\n\nThe objections they raise are twofold. First, they allege that such\nbooks scandalise Protestants and drive them from the Church; and\nsecondly, they do not see _how_ incidents, wholly unlike our ordinary\ndaily experience, _can_ practically serve us in our private Christian\nlives.\n\nTo the idea that non-Catholics are thus needlessly prejudiced against\nthe faith, I reply, that this assertion is wholly unproved. That they\ndo, as a matter of fact, laugh and attack such biographies, I fully\nadmit; but they laugh at them on grounds which we cannot admit without\ngiving up the Christian revelation itself. They scoff at them, not\nbecause they think them not supported by credible testimony, but because\nthey are not what they call dignified, refined, and just such as they\nshould have supposed all things to be that come from God. That such a\ntemper of mind is indicative of pure Deism, it needs no words to prove.\nA man who derides a miraculous event merely as _trifling_, thereby\nasserts that he himself is the judge of what is great and what is little\nin the sight of God. He lays down laws for the guidance of the Almighty.\nHe is adopting the identical reasoning of professed infidels, who on\nthis very ground reject Christianity itself. And it is obvious that\nnothing can be more perilous than the encouragement of so fatal a\nprinciple of judgment. Once let the acute and logical Protestant\nperceive that you move one step backwards in deference to this\nobjection, and he will press you with fresh consequences of the very\nsame admission until he lands you in undisguised scepticism, if not in\nthe blackest Atheism.\n\nCan any single instance, in fact, be named in which a mind that was\napparently determined to seek salvation at all costs, has been actually\ndeterred from entering the Catholic Church by meeting with these\nextraordinary histories? Are they not a butt for determined and\nobstinate Protestants, and for such Protestants only? Ask any convert\nwhether, on looking back, he can say that the knowledge of these\npeculiarities in Catholic hagiology ever practically held him back for\nfour-and-twenty hours in his journey towards the Church. That the world\nis angry, and that the world vents its spleen and its contempt in bitter\njests, is true enough; but _pious souls are not made to sin, or kept\naway from their Saviour_, by any thing of the kind. And that the rage\nand mocking of man afford not the slightest reason for inducing the\nChurch to turn out of her natural path, I shall not dishonour my readers\nby attempting to prove to them.\n\nThat it _is_ her natural course to make these histories public, for\nthe practical edification of her children, is clear from one fact\nalone,--they are precisely parallel to the life of our blessed Lord, as\nnarrated in the four Gospels. The whole question resolves itself into\nthis: If such lives as that of St. Frances, and many others, recently\npublished in England, are not edifying to the ordinary Christian, then\nthe life of Jesus Christ is not edifying. The Gospels, as well as the\nActs of the Apostles and the Epistles, must be rigorously expurgated and\ncut down to the type of the common domestic life of the present day.\nNothing can be further removed from the circumstances of most men than\nthe records of our Lord's miracles and supernatural acts in general.\nWhat has the temptation, the transfiguration, the driving the devils\ninto the swine, the turning the water into wine at what we should now\ncall a \"wedding-breakfast,\" and, in fact, almost every _act_ in our\nblessed Lord's life, in common with our amusement, our business, our\nsociety, our whole experience? Yet, to say that a devout soul can\nmeditate on these transcendently mysterious events, and not derive from\nthem practical instruction to enable her to fulfil her little trivial\nearthly duties with Christian perfection, is nothing short of blasphemy.\nThe Son of God incarnate, all glorious, all awful, all unfathomable as\nHe was even in the days of His sojourning on earth, was yet our example,\nour model, our embodied series of precepts. The eye of the simplest\nregenerate child cannot be turned for an instant upon His Divine glories\nand ineffable sufferings without drawing light therefrom to guide it\neven in its play with its fellows, or in the most trivial of the duties\ntowards its parents and teachers.\n\nAnd such, I am convinced, is the experience of Catholics of all ranks,\nof every age and every degree of intellectual cultivation, who study\nreligiously the miraculous lives of the Saints, believing them to be, on\nthe whole, correct histories. It is not needful that they should regard\nthem to be literally true in all their details, as the Bible is true. We\nhave but to regard them as we regard other authentic human narratives,\nwith the addition of that veneration and confidence which is due to such\nportions of them as have been formally sanctioned by the Church, to\nderive from them unceasing spiritual comfort and instruction. Doubtless,\nif we are so ignorant as to fancy that all Saints' histories are to\nbe alike in details, and that therefore we ought to wish that the\ncircumstances of our lives were the same as theirs, we shall be doing\nourselves great mischief. But let us study them with a true knowledge of\nthe mere elements of the Christian faith, and they will be to us what\nSt. Paul desires his disciples to seek for in _his_ life, namely, a\ncontinuation, as it were, of the life of Jesus Christ, carried on\nthrough all the successive ages of His Church on earth. They will\nimpress upon our minds with an intensity peculiarly their own, the\nreality of the invisible world and the ensnaring tendencies of every\nthing that we possess. Weak and ignorant as is the imaginative and\nsensitive portion of our nature, it needs every possible help that it\ncan find to counteract the paralysing effects of the worldliness of the\nworld, of the lukewarmness of Christians, and of the enthralling\nnature of the universe of sight and sense. Our courage is wonderfully\nstrengthened, and our love for things invisible is inflamed, by every\nthing that forces us, as it were, to _see_ that this visible creation\n_is not_ the only thing that is real, mighty, and present. The general\nprecepts and the dogmatic statements of religion acquire a singular\nand living force when we perceive them carried out and realised in the\nactual affairs of life in a degree to which our personal experience is a\nstranger. Influenced as human nature is by example, these unpretending\nnarratives, whose whole strength lies in the facts which they record,\nand not in the art of the biographer, undeniably _strike_ the mind with\nan almost supernatural force. They enchain the attention; they compel us\nto say, Are these things true? Are these things possible? Is religion,\nafter all, so terribly near to us? Are this life and this world so\nliterally vain and worthless, so absolutely nothing worth? Are suffering\nand awful bodily anguish blessings to be _really_ coveted? Are the\nmaxims which I daily hear around me so hopelessly bad and accursed? Are\nangels and devils so near, so very near, to us all? Is purgatory so\nterrible and so inevitable to all but the perfect, that these fearful\nvisions of its pains are in substance what I myself shall endure? And\nif I fall from grace and die in sin before one of the innumerable\ntemptations that hourly beset me, is it true that nothing less than\nan eternity of such torments, the very reading of which even thus\nrepresented makes me shudder with horror, will be my _inevitable_\nlot? And is the bliss of the Saints and the joy of loving God so\ninexpressibly sweet to any souls here on earth? Is it possible that any\none should escape from a state of coldness, deadness, worldliness, and\nunwilling performance of his religious duties, and positively come to\nlose all taste for bodily and mere intellectual pleasures through the\nabsorbing of his whole being into the love of Jesus and of Mary, and\nthrough a burning thirst for the beatific vision of the Eternal Trinity?\n\nAnd who will venture to say that it is not good _for us all_ to have\nsuch thoughts frequently pressed upon our attention? If there is any\nmeaning in the command that we are to aim at being perfect, whatever be\nthe state of life _in which_ we are called to seek perfection, surely\nit is no ordinary advantage thus to have the essentially supernatural\ncharacter of our religious life forced again and again upon our\nattention. For, be it never forgotten, this very _supernaturalness_ is\none of its essential features. There are innumerable varieties in our\nvocations. The earthly circumstances in which we are to serve God are\nalmost innumerable in their variety; but the supernatural element\nappertains to them all alike. Our actual relationship to the awful and\nglorious realities of the unseen world is precisely the same in kind as\nthat of the most miraculously endowed Saints. The only difference is\nthis, that in their case that relationship was perceived and visibly\nmanifested in a peculiar mode, to which we are strangers. Heaven,\npurgatory, and hell are as near to us as if we beheld the visions of St.\nFrances. The cross is as literally our portion, in its essential nature,\nas if the five sacred wounds were renewed physically in our agonising\nframe. Our angel-guardian is as incessantly by our side, as if our eyes\nwere opened to behold his effulgent radiance. Satan strikes the same\nblows at our souls, whether he shows himself to our sight or not. The\nrelics of Saints, which we carefully look at or criticise, _may be_\nat any moment the vehicles of the same miraculous powers as the\nhandkerchiefs from the body of St. Paul. Who would say to a blind man,\n\"Forget the tangible realities of this life, because you cannot see\nthem\"? Who would not rather say, \"Bear constantly in mind what is the\nexperience of those who _can_ see, that you may practically remember\ntheir ceaseless nearness to you\"? And just such is the experience of the\nSaints, in whose histories faith has partly merged into sight, and the\nveil which blinds our eyes has been partially and at certain seasons\nwithdrawn. It tells us, as few things else can tell, of the _reality_ of\nthe objects of our faith.\n\nI add a word or two on the question, how far the actual conduct of the\nextraordinary persons whose lives are here related is to serve as\na model for practical imitation by ordinary Christians. To the\nwell-instructed Catholic, it would be an impertinence in me to suggest\nthat they are not in every detail thus to be followed. It is the duty\nof a Christian to follow the rules for daily life which it has pleased\nAlmighty God to lay down in the Gospel, and not to imagine that those\nexceptional cases of conduct to which He has supernaturally prompted\ncertain individuals are to be imitated by those who have only the\nordinary graces of the Holy Spirit.\n\nThe general reader, however, may be reminded that Catholics believe,\nthat as the Creator of the universe occasionally interrupts the order of\nthe laws of nature, so He at times interrupts the relative order of the\nlaws of duty; not, of course, the essential laws of morality, but those\npositive laws which are obligatory simply because they are enacted by\ncompetent authority. No person, indeed, can be justified in acting on\nsuch an idea in his own case, unless guided by supernatural light,\nbeyond the usual spiritual illumination given to all Christians. This\nsupernatural light is rarely vouchsafed, and it is accordingly in the\nhighest degree presumptuous in any person to overstep the ordinary\nroutine of distinctly ordered duty, under the idea that he is called by\nGod to break the rules given for the guidance of mankind in general. In\nall such supposed cases, the Catholic Church has the proper tests to\napply, by which the soul can learn whether she is led by a Divine\nafflatus, or betrayed by her own disordered imagination, or the deceits\nof an invisible tempter.\n\nJ.M.C.\n\n[Illustration] CONTENTS.\n\nI.\n\nST. FRANCES OF ROME.\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nGeneral character of the Saint's life--Her childhood and early piety\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nFrancesca's early inclination for the cloister--By her father's desire\nshe marries Lorenzo Ponziano--Her married life--Her illness and\nmiraculous cure\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nFrancesca proceeds in her mortifications and works of charity --Her\nsupernatural temptations and consolations\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nThe birth of Franceseca's first child--Her care in his education--She\nundertakes the management of her father-in-law's household--A famine\nand pestilence in Rome--Francesca's labours for the sick and poor--The\nmiracles wrought in her behalf\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nThe birth of Francesca's second son--His supernatural gifts --The\nbirth of her daughter--Satanic attacks upon Francesca --Troubles of\nRome--Francesca's husband is severely wounded--Her eldest son, when\ngiven up as a hostage to the Neapolitans, is miraculously restored to\nher\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nSufferings of Rome from the troops of Ladislas--Death of Francesca's son\nEvangelista--The famine and plague in Rome--Francesca's labours for the\nstarving and sick--Her miracles\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nEvangelista appears to his mother--An archangel is assigned to her as a\nvisible guardian throughout her life\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nFrancesca's illness and recovery--Her vision of hell--Restoration of\ntranquillity in Rome--Return of Francesca's husband--Her power in\nconverting sinners\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nFresh supernatural events in Francesca's history--Her obedience to her\nhusband and to her confessor rewarded by two miracles--Marriage of her\nson, and ill conduct of his wife--Her conversion through Francesca's\nprayers--Fresh miracles worked by Francesca\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nFrancesca lays the foundation of her future congregation-- Her\npilgrimage to Assisi\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nDeath of Francesca's friend and director, Don Antonio-- Troubles in\nRome and Italy foretold by Francesca--Death of Vannozza, Francesca's\nsister-in-law--Foundation of the Congregation of Oblates of Tor di\nSpecchi\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nProgress and trials of the young community--It is confirmed by the\nPope--Troubles in Rome and the Church terminated through Francesca's\nintercession and the council of Florence\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nDeath of Francesca's husband--She goes to reside with the community of\nTor di Specchi--Her life as superioress\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nFrancesca's last illness and death\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nFrancesca's funeral, and her subsequent canonization\n\n\nII. BLESSED LUCY OF NARNI\n\n\nIII. DOMINICA OF PARADISO\n\n\nIV. ANNE DE MONTMORENCY, THE SOLITARY OF THE PYRENEES\n\n\n(Illustration) ST. FRANCES OF ROME\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nGENERAL CHARACTER OF THE SAINT'S LIFE--HER CHILDHOOD AND EARLY PIETY.\n\n(Illustration)\n\nThere have been saints whose histories strike us as particularly\nbeautiful, not only as possessing the beauty which always belongs\nto sanctity, whether exhibited in an aged servant of God, who for\nthreescore years and more has borne the heat and burden of the day, or\nin the youth who has offered up the morning of his life to His Maker,\nand yielded it into His hands before twenty summers have passed over\nhis head; whether in a warrior king like St. Louis, or a beggar like\nBenedict Labr\u00e9, or a royal lady like St. Elizabeth of Hungary; but also\nas uniting--in the circumstances of their lives, in the places they\ninhabited, and the epochs when they appeared in the world, much that\nis in itself poetical and interesting, and calculated to attract the\nattention of the historian and the man of letters, as well as of the\ntheologian and the devout. In this class of saints may well be included\nFrancesca Romana, the foundress of the religious order of the Oblates\nof Tor di Specchi. She was the model of young girls, the example of a\ndevout matron, and finally a widow, according to the very pattern drawn\nby St. Paul; she was beautiful, courageous, and full of wisdom, nobly\nborn, and delicately brought up: Rome was the place of her birth, and\nthe scene of her labours; her home was in the centre of the great\ncity, in the heart of the Trastevere; her life was full of trials\nand hair-breadth escapes, and strange reverses; her hidden life was\nmarvellous in the extreme: visions of terror and of beauty followed her\nall her days; favours such as were never granted to any other saint were\nvouchsafed to her; the world of spirits was continually thrown open to\nher sight; and yet, in her daily conduct, her character and her ways,\nminute details of which have reached us, there is a simplicity as well\nas a deep humility, awful in one so highly gifted, touching in one so\nhighly favoured.\n\nTroubled and wild were the times she lived in; perhaps if one had to\npoint out a period in which a Catholic Christian would rather not have\nhad his lot cast,--one in which there was most to try his faith and\nwound his feelings, he would name the end of the fourteenth century, and\nthe beginning of the fifteenth. War was raging all over Europe; Italy\nwas torn by inward dissensions, by the rival factions of the Guelphs and\nthe Ghibellines. So savage was the spirit with which their conflicts\nwere carried on, that barbarism seemed once more about to overspread\nthat fair land, and the Church itself was afflicted not only by the\noutward persecutions which strengthen its vitality, though for a while\nthey may appear to cripple its action, but by trials of a far deeper and\nmore painful nature. Heresy had torn from her arms a great number of her\nchildren, and repeated schisms were dividing those who, in appearance\nand even in intention, remained faithful to the Holy See. The successors\nof St. Peter had removed the seat of their residence to Avignon, and the\nEternal City presented the aspect of one vast battle-field, on which\ndaily and hourly conflicts were occurring. The Colonnas, the Orsinis,\nthe Savellis, were every instant engaged in struggles which deluged the\nstreets with blood, and cut off many of her citizens in the flower of\ntheir age; strangers were also continually invading the heritage of the\nChurch, and desecrated Rome with massacres and outrages scarcely less\ndeplorable than those of the Huns and the Vandals. In the capital of the\nChristian world, ruins of recent date lay side by side with the relics\nof past ages; the churches were sacked, burned, and destroyed; the\nsolitary and indestructible basilicas stood almost alone, mournfully\nerect amidst these scenes of carnage and gloom; and the eyes of the\npeople of Rome were wistfully directed towards that tutelary power,\nwhich has ever been to them a pledge of prosperity and peace, and whose\nremoval the signal of war and of misery.\n\nIt was at that time, during the Pontificate of Urban VI., in the year\n1384, that Francesca was born at Rome; that \"she rose as a star in a\ndark night,\" according to the expression of the most ancient of her\nbiographers. Her father's name was Paul Bussa; her mother's Jacobella\nde' Roffredeschi; they were both of noble and even illustrious descent,\nand closely allied to the Orsinis, the Savellis, and the Mellinis. On\nthe day of her birth she was carried to the church of Santa Agnese, in\nthe Piazza Navona, and there baptised. Little could the worshippers who\nmay have been praying there that day for a blessing on their bereaved\nand distracted city, have guessed in what form that blessing was\nbestowed, and that that little babe, a few hours old, was to prove a\nmost powerful instrument in the hands of God for the extinction of\nschism, the revival of piety, and the return of peace.\n\nFrom her infancy, Francesca was not like other children. Her mother,\nwhen she held her in her arms or hushed her to sleep on her knee, had\nalways an involuntary feeling of reverence for her little daughter; it\nwas as if an angel of God, not an earthly child, had been lent her; a\nheavenly expression shone in her eyes, and the calm serenity of her\ninfant features struck all who approached her with admiration. Francesca\nlearned to read at the same time that she began to speak; the first\nwords she was taught to utter were the sacred names of Jesus and Mary;\nat her mother's knee she lisped the Little Office of the Blessed Virgin,\nand during the whole course of her life she never omitted that practice.\n\nAt two or three years old she had the sense and intelligence of a\ngrown-up person; an extraordinary piety revealed itself in all her words\nand actions. She never played like other children; but when left to\nherself would often retire into silent corners of her father's palace,\nand kneeling down, join her little hands in prayer; and lifting up her\ninfant heart to God, would read a devout book, or repeat hymns to the\nBlessed Virgin, her own dear mother as she used to call her. Silence\nappeared to be the delight of this young child--the deepest reserve and\nmodesty an instinct with her. At the age of six years the practices of\nthe saints were already familiar to her. She had left off eating\nmeat, eggs, or sweets of any description, and lived on plainly boiled\nvegetables and bread. The necessity of eating at all seemed irksome to\nher, and she never drank any thing but pure water. Then also had begun\nher unwearied study of the lives of holy women, and especially of the\nvirgin martyrs who have shed their blood for the love of Jesus Christ.\nThe Sacrament of Confirmation, which she received at that time in the\nchurch of Santa Agnese, the same in which she had been baptised, filled\nher with ardour to show her love for her Lord by every imaginable means,\neven those the most painful to the flesh.\n\nHer mother was a very devout person, and in the habit of visiting every\nday some of the churches, especially those where indulgences were to\nbe gained, and she also frequented the stations with affectionate\nassiduity. For in that troubled epoch, as in the earliest times of the\nChurch, as now, as always, on certain days, in certain places, the\nrelics of apostles, of martyrs, and of confessors were exhibited to the\nfaithful, often on the very spot where they had finished their course\nwith joy, having kept their faith and won their crown. The devotion of\n\"the stations,\" as it is performed in Rome, is one of the most touching\nlinks with the past that it is possible to conceive. To pass along the\nstreet, so often trod by holy feet in former and in latter days, and\nseek the church appointed for that day's station; to approach some\ntime-worn basilica, or ancient sanctuary, without the city walls may be,\nand pausing on the threshold, give one look at the glorious works of\nAlmighty God in the natural world,--at the wide Campagna, that land-sea,\nso beautiful in its broad expanse and its desolate grandeur, at the\npurple hills with their golden lights and their deep-blue shadows, and\nthe arched sky telling so vividly the glory of its Maker; and then\nslowly lifting the heavy curtain that stands between that vision of\nearthly beauty, and the shrine where countless generations have come\nto worship,--to tread under feet the green boughs, the sweet-smelling\nleaves, the scattered flowers, that morning strewn upon the uneven,\ntime-trod, time-honoured pavement; bowing in adoration before the Lord\nin His tabernacle, to thank Him for the wonders that He has worked in\nHis saints,--for the beauty of the world of grace, of which that of the\nvisible world is but the type and the shadow; and then move from one\nshrine to the other, wherever the lights upon the altars point the way,\nand invoke the assistance, the prayers of the saints whose relics are\nthere displayed;--all this is one of those rare enjoyments which at once\nfeed the soul and awake the imagination, and which the devout Christian\ncan find in no place but Rome.\n\nIt was these \"stations\" that Francesca's mother frequented, and took her\nlittle daughter with her. Sometimes she went to some church in the heart\nof the city; sometimes to some lonely shrine without the walls. Then,\nas now, the beggars (so we find it mentioned later in the life of the\nSaint) congregated at the doors, and clamoured for alms. Then, as now,\nthe lights burned upon the altars, and the sweet smell of fragrant\nand crushed leaves perfumed the air. During sermons the little girl's\nattention never wandered; and on her return home she was wont to repeat\nwhat she had heard with unction and delight.\n\nHer mother's favourite church was that of Santa Maria Nuova; in our day\nmore frequently called that of San Francesca Romana. It stands in the\nToro Romano, close to the ruins of the ancient Temple of Peace. It was\nserved at that time by the Benedictine monks of Mount Olivet; and to\none of them, Don Antonio di Monte Savello, Jacobella de' Roffredeschi\nintrusted the spiritual direction of her daughter. He was a man of great\nlearning and piety, and continued her director for five and thirty\nyears. Every Wednesday the little maiden came to him for confession. She\nconsulted him about her occupations, her religious exercises, and\nher studies, and exactly obeyed his most minute directions, even in\nindifferent things. Often she tried for his permission to practise\ngreater austerities; and such was her fervour, and the plain indications\nof God's designs upon her, that he occasionally allowed her to perform\npenances which might have been considered in ordinary cases too severe\nfor her tender age. At other times he forbade them altogether; and she\nsubmitted cheerfully to his commands, without a word of remonstrance or\ncomplaint, and resumed them again at his desire, with the equanimity\nof one who well knew that the spirit of perfect obedience is more\nacceptable to God than any works of devotion.\n\n  \"A celestial brightness, a more eternal beauty,\n  Shone on her face, and encircled her form, when after confession\n  Homeward serenely she walked, with God's benediction upon\n  her.\n  When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite\n  music.\" [Footnote: Longfellow: _Evangeline_.]\nFrancesca's daily life was as perfect as a child's could be. No untrue\nwords sullied her pure lips; no gross thought dwelt in her mind. She\nseldom laughed, though a sweet smile was often on her lips. Up to the\nage of eleven, her life was one long continual prayer. Every little\naction was performed with a view to the glory of God. Her trifling\nfailings she deplored with anguish; every stain on the pure mirror of\nher conscience was instantly washed away by tears. It was not long\nbefore it pleased God to vouchsafe to her extraordinary graces. Her\nearly and almost intuitive acquaintance with the mysteries of religion\nwas wonderful. Every day she meditated on the Incarnation and the\nPassion of Jesus Christ; and her devotion to the Blessed Virgin\nincreased in proportion to her love for our Lord. Her face flushed with\ndelight, and a seraphic expression beamed in her eyes, when she spoke\nof the sufferings of Jesus, and the glories of Mary. From the little\noratory where she held secret communion with heaven, she went out into\nthe world with the most ardent desire to serve the poor, to console the\nafflicted, to do good to all. The affection of her young heart found\nvent in numerous works of charity; and Francesca's name, and Francesca's\nsweet voice, and Francesca's fair face, were even then to many of the\nsufferers of that dark epoch a sign of hope,--a pledge that God was\nstill amongst them as of yore, and His Spirit at work in the hearts of\nmen.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nFRANCESCA'S EARLY INCLINATION FOR THE CLOISTER--BY HER FATHER'S DESIRE\nSHE MARRIES LORENZO PONZIANO--HER MARRIED LIFE--HER ILLNESS AND\nMIRACULOUS CURE.\n\n\nFrom the time that Francesca had understood the meaning of the words,\nher greatest desire had been to enter a convent; but with that spirit of\nhumility and reserve which so particularly belonged to her, she had kept\nher desire concealed in her heart, and had manifested it to none but\nGod and her director. Don Antonio encouraged her to persevere in this\nsilence, and to prove her own resolution by secretly adhering to the\nrules, and practising the austerities of one of the strictest religious\norders. She gladly assented to this, and persevered in it for a\nconsiderable time. Stronger and deeper every day grew her inclination to\nforsake the world, and to hold communion with God alone in the solitude\nof the cloister; with that God whose love had already driven from her\nheart all care for comfort, for pleasure, and for self. But not so\nsmooth was to be her path through life; not much longer was she to sit\nin silence at the feet of her Lord, with no other thought than to live\non the words, which fell from His lips.\n\nThough she concealed as much as possible the peculiarities of her mode\nof life, they could not altogether escape the notice of her parents; and\nthey soon questioned her on the subject. When she informed them of her\nwish to embrace the religious life, her father chose to consider her\nvocation as a childish fancy, and informed her in return that he had\nalready promised her in marriage to Lorenzo Ponziano, a young nobleman\nof illustrious birth, and not less eminent for his virtues and for his\ntalents than from his fortune and position. He reckoned amongst his\nancestors St. Paulianus, pope and martyr; his mother was a Mellini; and\nhis eldest brother Paluzzo had married Vannuzza, a daughter of the\nnoble house of Santo Croce. Francesca's heart sank within her at this\nannouncement, and falling on her knees she implored her father to alter\nhis determination, and allow her to follow what she believed to be the\nwill of God in her regard. She went even so far as to protest that\nnothing should induce her to consent to this marriage; torrents of tears\nfell from her eyes as she poured forth her supplications and urged her\nrequest. But it was all in vain that she wept and prayed. Paul Bussa\nturned a deaf ear to her pleadings; declared that his word was pledged,\nthat nothing should ever persuade him to retract it; and he insisted\nthat, as a dutiful daughter, she should submit herself to his will.\nSeeing him thus immovable, Francesca rose from her knees, withdrew\nin silence from his presence, and retiring into her little oratory,\nprostrated herself before the crucifix, and asked counsel of Him at\nwhose feet she wished to live and to die; and implored Him, if such was\nHis good pleasure, to exert His Almighty Power, and raise obstacles to\nthe projected marriage. Then, strengthened by prayer, she was inspired\nto seek direction from him who was the organ of the divine will to her,\nand hurrying to Santa Maria Nuova, she requested to see Don Antonio\nSavello.\n\nKindly and gently the good priest spoke to his afflicted penitent. He\npromised to consult the Lord for her in prayer, and suggested some\ndevotions to be used by herself for that purpose. Then, seeing her\ncountenance assume a calmer expression, he endeavoured to prepare her\nmind for what he doubtless already knew was the will of God, and the\ntrue, though in one so minded, the singular vocation of Francesca. \"If\nyour parents persist in their resolution (he said), take it, my child,\nas a sign that God expects of you this sacrifice. Offer up to Him in\nthat case your earnest desire for the religious life. He will accept the\nwill for the deed; and you will obtain at once the reward of that wish,\nand the peculiar graces attached to the sacrament of marriage. God's\nways are not as our ways, Francesca. When St. Mary Magdalene had sent\nfor the Lord Jesus Christ to come and heal her brother, it was no doubt\na severe trial to her that He came not; that the long hours of the day\nand of the night succeeded each other, and that He tarried on the way,\nand sent no message or token of His love. But when her brother rose from\nthe dead, when the shroud fell from his limbs, and he stood before her\nfull of life and strength, she understood the mystery, and adored\nthe divine wisdom of that delay. God indeed asks of you your heart,\nFrancesca; but He also claims your whole self as an oblation, and\ntherefore your will that He may mould it into entire conformity with\nHis own. For works may be many and good, my daughter, and piety may be\nfervent, and virtues eminent, and yet the smallest leaven of self-love\nor self-will may ruin the whole. Why do you weep, Francesca? That God's\nwill is not accomplished, or that your own is thwarted? Nothing but sin\ncan mar the first, and in this your trial there is not the least shade\nof sin. As to your own will, bend, break, annihilate it, my child, and\ntake courage. Have but one thought--the good pleasure, the sweet will\nof God; submit yourself to His Providence. Lay down your wishes as an\noblation on His altar; give up that highest place which you had justly\ncoveted; take the lower one which He now appoints you; and if you cannot\nbe His spouse, be His loving and faithful servant.\"\n\nFrancesca went home, and awaited in silence her father's further\ncommands. She was very pale, for the struggle was a painful one. She\nprayed night and day, watched and fasted. When Paul Bussa renewed his\ninjunctions, she gently gave her assent, begged him to forgive her past\nresistance, and henceforward gave no outward signs of the suffering\nwithin, all the greater that it came in the form of rejoicing, and that\nothers deemed that to be happiness which cost her so many secret tears.\nThe family of Ponziano were overjoyed at the marriage,--the bride was so\nrich, so beautiful, and so virtuous; there was not a young man in Rome\nwho did not look with envy on Lorenzo, and wish himself in his stead.\nThere was no end to the banquets, the festivities, the merry-makings,\nwhich took place on the occasion; and in the midst of these rejoicings\nFrancesca left her father's palace for that of the Ponziani. It stood in\nthe heart of the Trastevere, close to the Yellow River, though not quite\nupon it, in the vicinity of the Ponte Rotto, in a street that runs\nparallel with the Tiber. It is a well-known spot; and on the 9th of\nMarch, the Festival of St. Francesca, the people of Rome and of the\nneighbourhood flock to it in crowds. The modern building that has been\nraised on the foundation of the old palace is the Casa dei Esercizii\nPii, for the young men of the city. There the repentant sinner who longs\nto break the chain of sin, the youth beset by some strong temptation,\none who has heard the inward voice summoning him to higher paths of\nvirtue, another who is in doubt as to the particular line of life to\nwhich he is called, may come, and leave behind them for three, or five,\nor ten days, as it may be, the busy world, with all its distractions and\nits agitations, and, free for the time being from temporal cares, the\nwants of the body provided for, and the mind at rest, may commune with\nGod and their own souls. Here they listen daily, nay hourly, to the\ninstructions of devout priests, who, in the manner prescribed by St.\nIgnatius, place before them in turn the most awful truths and the most\nconsoling mysteries of the Kingdom of God. Resolutions are thus taken,\nconversions often effected, good purposes strengthened in a way which\noften seems little short of miraculous. The means are marvellously\nadapted to the end; and though many a wave may sweep over the soul,\nwhen it again returns to the world, a mark has been stamped upon it not\neasily effaced.\n\nOver the Casa dei Esercizii Pii the sweet spirit of Francesca seems\nstill to preside. On the day of her festival its rooms are thrown open,\nevery memorial of the gentle saint is exhibited, lights burn on numerous\naltars, flowers deck the passages, leaves are strewn in the chapel, on\nthe stairs, in the entrance-court; gay carpets, figured tapestry and\ncrimson silks hang over the door, and crowds of people go in and out,\nand kneel before the relics or the pictures of the dear saint of Rome,\nand greet on each altar, and linger in these chambers, like kinsfolk met\non a birthday to rejoice together. The well-dressed and the ragged, the\nrich and the poor, without distinction, pay their homage to her sweet\nmemory whose living presence once adorned the spot which they visit. It\nis a joyous and touching festival, one which awakens tender thoughts,\nand brings the world of memory into close connection with that of hope.\nThe mind is forcibly carried back to the day when the young bride of\nLorenzo Ponziano entered these walls for the first time, in all the\nsacred beauty of holiness and youth--\n\n  \"Pure as the virgin snow that dwells\n  Upon the mountain's crest,\n  Cold as the sheet of ice that lies\n  Upon the lake's deep breast.\"\n\nPure from the least taint of worldly vanity, cold to all that belongs\nto human passion; but with a heart burning with love to God, and\noverflowing with charity to every creature of His.\n\nShe was received tenderly and joyfully by Lorenzo himself, by his father\nAndrew, his mother Cecilia, and Vannozza, the wife of his elder brother.\nFrancesca smiled sweetly as she returned their caresses; but the noise,\nand the gaiety, and the visiting, that attended a wedding in those\ndays weighed heavily on her spirits; and though she never complained,\nVannozza perceived that her little heart was oppressed with some secret\nsorrow, and tenderly inquired into its cause. Francesca could not resist\nthe gentle appeal, and disclosed her grief to her kind sister. She told\nher that the world had never given her pleasure, that her affections\nwere elsewhere set, that she longed to live for God alone, and felt\nsad, in spite of all her efforts, at the tumult and dissipation, which\nwas now her portion. \"If such are your feelings, my beloved little\nsister,\" exclaimed Vannozza, \"my sympathy may serve to console you; for\nneither do I find any delight in the vanities of the world, but only in\nprayer and meditation. Let us be friends, Francesca; I will help you to\nlead the life you desire, and together we shall arrive at the end we\nhave in view.\"\n\nThese kind words filled Francesca's heart with joy; and from that day\nforward there sprung up a friendship between these two young women,\nwhich lasted for eight-and-thirty years, and was a source of the\ngreatest consolation to them through all the trials they had to\nencounter, at the same time that it edified all those who beheld that\ntender affection.\n\nIn her new home Francesca followed the same mode of life which she had\npursued in her father's house; but her zeal was tempered with so much\nwisdom and prudence, that she offended no one, and contrived to win the\naffection of all her relations. Her good sense, her sweetness of temper,\nher earnest piety, charmed them all; and they were astonished that so\nyoung a girl could at once assume the part and fulfil the duties of a\ndevoted wife and a noble matron. Anxious in every way to conform herself\nto Lorenzo's wishes, she received the visits of the high-born ladies her\nequals and companions, and returned them with punctuality. She submitted\nto appear in public with all the state which belonged to her position,\nand accepted and wore the costly dresses and the splendid jewels which\nher husband lavished upon her; but under those gorgeous silks and rich\nbrocades a hair-shirt was concealed. Always ready to comply with any\nobservance which duty or propriety required, she at the same time\nsteadily abstained even from the innocent amusements in which others\nindulged; and never danced or played at cards, or sat up late at night.\nHer manner was so gentle and kind, that it inspired affection in all who\napproached her; but there was also a profound and awful purity in her\naspect and in her demeanour, which effectually checked the utterance of\na free or licentious word in her presence. Faithful to her early habits\nof piety, she continued every Wednesday her visits to Santa Maria Nuova;\nand after confessing to Don Antonio, she went to communion with such\nfervent devotion, that those who saw her at the altar absorbed in\nadoration, foresaw that God would ere long bestow extraordinary graces\non her soul. Rising betimes in the morning, Francesca devoutly said her\nprayers, made her meditation, and read attentively out of a spiritual\nbook. In the course of the day, whenever she had a moment's leisure\nunclaimed by any of the duties of her state, she withdrew into a church\nor into her own room, and gave herself up to prayer. Every Saturday she\nhad a conference with Fra Michele, a Dominican monk, the prior of San\nClemente, and an intimate friend of her father-in-law. He was a learned\ntheologian, as well as a man of great piety and virtue, and instructed\nher with care in all the doctrines of religion.\n\nAt the same tune, so austere and devout a life in a young person of\ntwelve years old could not fail to attract the attention and draw down\nthe censures of the worldly. Many such began to laugh at Francesca, and\nto turn her piety into ridicule. They intruded their advice on Lorenzo\nPonziano, and urged him to put a stop to what they termed his wife's\neccentricities. But happily for Francesca, he was not one of those men\nwho are easily influenced by the opinion of others. He formed his\nown judgment, and pursued his own line of conduct undisturbed by the\ncomments and animadversions of his would-be advisers. His young wife was\nmuch too precious to him, much too perfect in his sight, her whole life\nbore too visibly the stamp of God's dealings with her, for him to dream\nof interfering with the course she had taken. On the contrary, he looked\nupon her with that affectionate veneration which the presence of true\nsanctity always awakens in a noble and religious mind. His father and\nmother were of the same way of thinking, and all but idolised the holy\nchild who had come amongst them as an angel of peace. They regarded\nher as the blessing of their house, and the comfort of their old age.\nPaluzzo, Lorenzo's brother, delighted in encouraging the intimacy that\nhad arisen between his young sister-in-law and his own wife Vannozza.\nThere was not a single member, friend, or servant, of that noble family,\nthat did not look with delight upon Francesca. She was the joy of every\nheart, the sweet consoler of every sorrow, the link that bound them\nall by the sacred cord of love. Day by day her influence--her tender,\nnoiseless, gentle influence--was felt, subduing, winning, drawing them\nall to God.\n\nThe happiness which the family of Ponziano had enjoyed since Lorenzo's\nmarriage was interrupted by the sudden and dangerous illness of his\nwife, which baffled all medical skill, and soon brought her to the verge\nof the grave. The affliction of her husband and of his whole family was\nextreme. Their pearl of great price seemed about to be taken from them.\nNo remedies afforded the slightest relief to her sufferings; she was\nunable to rest, or to retain any nourishment; and every day her strength\ndeclined. The consternation of her friends knew no bounds; her father\nwas inconsolable. He secretly reproached himself with the constraint he\nhad placed on her inclinations, and considered her illness as a Divine\nchastisement. Francesca alone remained unmoved amidst the general\naffliction. She placed her life in the hands of God, and waited the\nevent with perfect submission. Unable to speak, or even to move, the\nsweet expression of her earnest eyes alone spoke her gratitude to those\nwho nursed her and wept over her sufferings. At other times they were\nfixed on the Crucifix with an unutterable look of trust and love. Once\nonly she was disturbed, and indignation gave her strength to protest\nagainst the guilty suggestions of some friends of the family, who,\naccording to the notions of that time, persisted in believing that a\nspell had been cast upon her, and proposed to have recourse to some\npersons in Rome who dealt, or pretended to deal, in magic arts.\nFrancesca declared herself ready to die, rather than countenance so\nimpious a proceeding. After all medical resources had been exhausted,\nwhen despair had succeeded to hope, Almighty God restored her health for\na while; and the news of her recovery was hailed with rapture within and\nwithout the palace.\n\nHer sufferings, however, returned with double violence; she endured the\nmost excruciating pains; and was again considered to be at the point\nof death. During a whole year she remained as it were on the brink of\neternity: her soul prepared to take its wing; continually sustained by\nthe Sacraments of the Church, her only remaining thought was to soothe\nthe anguish of her husband and parents. Once again, those persons who\nhad previously proposed to resort to magic arts for her cure, managed to\nthrust into her room, on some pretence or other, a woman celebrated in\nthat line. Francesca, enlightened by a divine inspiration, instantly\ndetected the fraud; and raising herself in her bed, with a voice, the\nstrength of which astonished the bystanders, exclaimed, \"Begone,\nthou servant of Satan, nor ever venture to enter these walls again!\"\nExhausted by the effort, she fell back faint and colourless; and for a\nmoment they feared that her spirit had passed away. But that very day\nGod was preparing a miracle in her behalf; and as she had refused to\nhold any communication with the Evil One, He was about to send His young\nservant a heavenly messenger, with health and healing on his wings. It\nwas the eve of the Festival of St. Alexis,--that noble Roman penitent,\nwho passed so many years at the threshold of his own palace, unpitied,\nunrecognised by his own relations, who went in and out at the gate, and\nstopped not to question the silent, lonely, patient beggar, who lay\nthere with his face hid in a poor cloak, finding peace in the midst of\nbitterness.\n\nThe Ponziani had all withdrawn to rest for a few hours; the women\nwho attended on the dying Francesca had fallen asleep. She was lying\nmotionless on her couch of pain. Her sufferings had been sharp; they\nwere sharper than ever that night. She endured them in the strength of\nthe Cross, from which neither her eyes nor her thoughts wandered. The\nwhole house, and apparently the city also, was wrapt in slumber; for not\na sound marred the stillness of the hour,--that stillness so trying\nto those who watch and suffer. Suddenly on the darkness of the silent\nchamber a light broke, bright as the day. In the midst stood a radiant\nfigure, majestic in form and gracious in countenance. He wore a\npilgrim's robe; but it shone like burnished gold. Drawing near to\nFrancesca's bed, he said: \"I am Alexis, and am sent from God to inquire\nof thee if thou choosest to be healed?\" Twice he repeated the words,\nand then the dying one faintly murmured, \"I have no choice but the good\npleasure of God. Be it done unto me according to His will. For my own\npart, I would prefer to die, and for my soul to fly to Him at once; but\nI accept all at His hands, be it life or be it death.\" \"Life, then,\nit is to be,\" replied St. Alexis; \"for He chooses that thou shouldest\nremain in the world to glorify His name.\" With these words he spread his\nmantle over Francesca and disappeared, leaving her perfectly recovered.\n\nConfounded at this extraordinary favour, more alive to the sense\nof God's wonderful mercy than to her own sudden freedom from pain,\nFrancesca rose in haste, and prostrate on the floor, made a silent and\nfervent thanksgiving; then slipping out of her room without awaking her\nnurses, she hurried to the bedside of her friend and sister. Putting her\narm round her neck and her cheek next to her's, she exclaimed, \"Vannozza\ncara! Vannozza mia!\" (My dear Vannozza, my own Vannozza.) And the\nbewildered Vannozza suddenly awoke out of her sleep, and distrusting the\nevidence of her senses, kept repeating, \"Who calls me? Who are you? Am\nI dreaming? It sounds like the voice of my Cecolella.\" [Footnote: The\nItalian diminutive for Francesca.] \"Yes, it is your Cecolella; it is\nyour little sister who is speaking to you.\" \"My Francesca, whom I left\nan hour ago at the point of death?\" \"Yes, the very same Francesca who\nnow holds you to her breast; you, you, my beloved companion, who day and\nnight have comforted and consoled me during my long illness, and who\nmust now help me to thank God for His wonderful mercy.\" Then sitting\nupon her bed, with her hands clasped in her's, she related to her her\nvision, and the instantaneous recovery that had followed it; and then,\nas the light was beginning to break into the chamber, she added with\neagerness, \"Now, now the day is come. Let us not delay a moment longer,\nbut hasten with me to Santa Maria Nuova, and then to the church of St.\nAlexis. I must venerate his relics, and return him my thanks, before\nothers learn what God has done for me.\"\n\nThis pious purpose fulfilled, they returned home, where Francesca was\nlooked upon as one risen from the dead. The affection she inspired was\nmingled with awe; every one considered her as the special object of the\nDivine mercy, and venerated her accordingly. Not so joyfully had Lorenzo\nreceived her on their bridal-day, as when she came to him now, restored\nto his arms by the miraculous interposition of a merciful God.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nFRANCESCA PROCEEDS IN HER MORTIFICATIONS AND WORKS OF CHARITY--HER\nSUPERNATURAL TEMPTATIONS AND CONSOLATIONS.\n\nNot in vain had Francesca been brought so near to death, and so\nwonderfully restored to perfect health. A favour such as she had\nreceived could not fail of producing signal results in one who so\nwell corresponded with every degree of grace vouchsafed to her. This\nlast manifestation of God's mercy disposed her to meditate deeply and\nearnestly on the designs of Providence in her regard. She seemed now\nto discern, in a clear and overpowering manner, the nature of the\nparticular judgment which she had been about to undergo, the amount of\nresponsibility incurred by every grace conferred on her soul, the severe\naccount which would be demanded of every talent committed to her charge;\nand at the sight she shuddered, as a man draws back affrighted at the\ndistinct appearance of a precipice which he has skirted in the night, or\nat the waves dashing wildly on a beach on which he has been landed in\nsafety. Her meditations at that time assumed a very solemn character;\nevery moment that she could spare was spent in the neighbouring church\nof St. Cecilia or in her own oratory, and employed in a minute review of\nher past life, and in forming heroic resolutions for the future.\n\nThe government of the tongue is one of the most difficult and important\npoints in the spiritual life. From this time forward Francesca avoided\nall unnecessary conversations, and became habitually silent. There was\nno moroseness in her silence; it never interfered with the kindnesses or\nthe courtesies of life; but as in childhood she had been remarkable\nfor it, so in womanhood it distinguished her, and especially since her\nillness and miraculous recovery. Vannozza inquired of her one day what\nit was that made her so habitually silent, and she answered, \"God\nexpects more of us than heretofore;\" and then she proposed to her\na still stricter mode of life than they had yet adopted. Vannozza\nwillingly assented, and they agreed to give up all useless amusements,\nfashionable drives, and diversions, and to devote to prayer and to good\nworks the hours thus withdrawn from the service of the world. They\nresolved to observe with the most exact punctuality every law of God,\nand every precept of the Church; to obey their husbands with the most\nattentive and Christian-like submission; to be invariably docile to\ntheir ghostly father, and submit to him their actions, their words, and\neven their thoughts; and thus to secure themselves against the deceits\nof the evil one. They then proceeded to arrange for themselves a place\nof retreat, where they could withdraw to pray at any hour of the day or\nof the night. It was not easy to accomplish this in a palace inhabited\nby a numerous family and a large number of servants; but in a sort of\ncave at one end of the garden, and in a little room that happened to be\nunoccupied under the roof of the house, they established two oratories,\nwhich they furnished with crucifixes, images of our Blessed Lady, and\npictures of saints, as well as with various other objects of devotion\nand with instruments of penance. These two little cells became their\ncomfort and delight; whenever their domestic duties or their religious\nobservances out of doors left them at liberty, they were in the habit\nof retiring into the garden oratory, and at night they frequently spent\nwhole hours in prayer in the upper chamber. The first dawn of day often\nfound them at their orisons. The hours that were not devoted to prayer\nor to the duties of their state, they employed in works of charity.\nAlmost every day they went to the hospital of San Spirito, and nursed\nthe sick with the kindest attention; consoling them by their gentle\nwords and tender care, bestowing alms upon the most needy, and above\nall, tending affectionately the most disgusting cases of disease\nand infirmity. Throughout their whole lives they never omitted this\npractice. To serve Christ in His afflicted brethren was a privilege they\nnever consented to forego.\n\nFrancesca was at this time very anxious to lay aside the insignia of\nwealth and rank, and to dress as simply as the poor she so much loved;\nbut, always obedient, she would not attempt to do so without the\npermission of her spiritual guide. Don Antonio Savello would not give\nher leave to relinquish the splendid robes then worn by persons of her\nrank; he feared it might annoy her husband, and that there might be\ndanger of ostentation in any thing that attracted public attention; but\nhe allowed both the sisters to wear a coarse woollen garment under\ntheir magnificent dresses, and to practise in secret several other\nausterities. Their fasts and abstinences became more rigid than ever;\nbut were carried on with so much simplicity, and such a total absence\nof display, that the very persons who habitually took their meals in\ncompany with them, scarcely remarked their mortifications, or else\nattributed them to a peculiarity of taste or the observance of a\nregimen. Disciplines and other bodily penances of a very severe nature\nwere by this time habitual to Francesca, and she persevered in them to\nthe end of her life. With whatever care they concealed all these things,\nit was not possible that the city of Rome should remain ignorant of\ntheir piety and their generosity to the poor. The common people looked\nupon Francesca and Vannozza as two saints; and their example began to\ntell beneficially upon the women of their own class. Several noble\nladies were inspired with the desire to walk in their steps, and to\nimitate their virtues. But it was not likely that Satan should behold\nunmoved the work of grace thus advancing in the hearts of these two\nyoung servants of God, and through them on many others. He chafed at the\nsight; and now began that long series of attacks, of struggles, and of\nartifices, by which he endeavoured to mar the glorious progress of\nthese heroic souls. Almighty God seems to have granted to the prince of\ndarkness, in San Francesca's case, a permission in some respects similar\nto that which He gave him with regard to His servant Job. He was allowed\nto throw temptations in her way, to cause her strange sufferings, to\npersecute her by fearful manifestations of his visible presence, to\nhaunt her under various shapes, some seductive in their appearance,\nothers repulsive and terrific in their nature; but he was not permitted\n(as, thanks be to God, he never is permitted,) to deceive or to injure\nHis faithful servant, who for every trial of the sort obtained some\ndivine favour in compensation; who for every vision of diabolical\nhorror, was allowed a glimpse into the world of glory; and to whom at a\nlater period was appointed a heavenly guardian to defend her against the\nviolence of her infernal foe.\n\nThe first time that Satan presented himself in a visible form to\nFrancesca's sight, God gave her an earnest of His protection in the\nstrife about to be waged between her and the old serpent by miraculously\nrevealing to her the character of her visitor. It was under the aspect\nof a venerable hermit, emaciated with fasts and watchings, that he\nentered the Ponziano palace: his intention was, by some artful words, to\ninspire Francesca with aversion and disgust for the solitary life, and\nat the same time for that hidden life which she so zealously practised\nin the midst of the world. He was shown into a large room, where the\nassembled family were sitting and conversing together. No sooner had\nFrancesca set her eyes upon him, than she was supernaturally enlightened\nas to his true character; she knew at once the dreadful enemy, thus\nfor the first time made manifest to her sight; and, suddenly changing\ncolour, she rose and left the room. Vannozza followed (alarmed at her\nhasty departure), and found her in the oratory kneeling before the\nCrucifix, and as pale as death. She inquired into the cause of her\nemotion; but Frances simply desired her to return to the sitting-room,\nand request Lorenzo to dismiss the hermit. As soon as he was departed,\nshe re-appeared amongst them as serene and calm as usual; and to no one\nbut to her confessor did she mention the circumstance. Yet it was a most\nawful moment, that first initiation into the supernatural world, that\nfirst contact with the powers of darkness, that opening of the visible\nwar between her and the great enemy. No wonder that she was habitually\nsilent; her soul must have lived in very close communion with the\ninvisible world, and the presence of God must have been realised in\nan extraordinary decree by one whose spiritual discernment was so\nmiraculously keen.\n\nA more ordinary snare was the tempter's next resource, and he chose as\nhis instrument a person of piety and virtue, but whose human fears and\naffections were too strong for her faith. He suggested to Cecilia, the\nmother-in-law of the two saints, who was most fondly attached to them,\nand maternally solicitous about their healths, that the ascetic life\nwhich they led must necessarily impair it; that amusements were\nessential to young persons; and that the singularity of their conduct\nreflected discredit on the family. Under this impression, she strove by\nevery means in her power to counteract their designs, to thwart them in\ntheir devotional and charitable practices, and to induce them to give up\nmore of their time and of their attention to the world. She thus gave\nthem occasion to practise a very peculiar kind of patience, and to gain\nthe more merit in the eyes of God, in that they had daily to encounter a\nsort of opposition particularly trying to young and ardent spirits. It\nis related, that one day, when they had gently but steadily refused\nto pay some visits which, far from being absolute duties, were only\npretexts for gossip and the most frivolous conversations, Francesca and\nVannozza had retired into the garden oratory; and after spending some\ntime in prayer, began conversing together on the life which the early\nFathers were wont to lead in the deserts, and of the happiness it must\nbe to live entirely devoted to the service of God, and to commune with\nHim above, far from the distracting thoughts and cares of the world.\nThey went on picturing to themselves the manner in which they would\nhave divided their time and arranged their occupations under similar\ncircumstances, and together they made out a complete rule of life.\n\nAbsorbed in the subject, Vannozza exclaimed, with childlike simplicity,\n\"But what should we have to eat, sister?\" and Francesca replied, \"We\nshould search for fruits in the desert, dearest; and God would surely\nnot let us seek in vain.\" As she said these words they rose to return\nhome, and from a tree which grew out of a ruined wall on one side of\nthe garden there fell at her feet a quince of the largest size and most\nshining colour, and another similar to it was lying in Vannozza's path.\nThe sisters looked at each other in silent astonishment; for the time of\nthe year was April, and nothing but a miracle could have brought these\napples to maturity at this unwonted season. The taste of the fruit was\nas excellent as its colour was beautiful. They were divided amongst\nthe members of the family, who wondered at the marvels which seemed\ncontinually to attend the steps of Francesca. She was profoundly\ngrateful for such favours, but probably marvelled less than others at\ntheir occurrence. Her youth; the simplicity of her faith; her total\nabstraction from worldly thoughts; her continual study and meditation\nof the Holy Scriptures and of the lives of the Saints,--must have\nnecessarily familiarised her mind with such ideas. It could not seem\nincredible to her, that the God who in less favoured times, and under\na severer dispensation, had so often suspended the laws of nature, in\norder to support, to guide, and to instruct His people; that the Saviour\nwho had turned water into wine by a single word, and withered the\nunprofitable fig-tree by a look,--should at all times display the same\npower in favour of His children, in ways not a whit more marvellous or\nmysterious.\n\nCecilia made one more effort to check what she considered exaggeration\nin the mode of life of her daughters-in-law. She urged their husbands to\ninterfere, and by their authority to oblige them to mix more with the\nworld. But Paluzzo and Lorenzo had too deep an esteem for their wives,\nand too great a sense of the advantages they derived from their singular\nvirtues, to be persuaded into putting a restraint on their actions.\nSince they had come into the family, and united their pious efforts for\ntheir own and others' spiritual improvement, disputes and quarrels had\ngiven way to the most edifying concord. The servants, moved by their\nexample, performed their duties with exemplary zeal, frequented the\nchurches and the sacraments, and abstained from profane or idle words.\nThey accordingly entreated their mother to give up her fruitless\nattempts, and allow the two young women liberty to follow the rule of\nlife they had adopted; and thus put an end to the kindly meant but\ntrying persecution they had gone through.\n\nAbout this time the devil, thwarted in his designs, but always on\nthe watch, was permitted to vent his anger against Francesca and her\nsister-in-law in a way to which he often had recourse, and which, while\nit seemed to display a momentary power over their bodies, only proved\nin the end that a stronger one than he was always at hand to defeat his\nmalice, and snatch from him his prize. Francesca and Vannozza had gone\nto St. Peter's on an intensely hot day in July, in the year 1399.\nAbsorbed in prayer, they had hardly noticed the lapse of time, and\ntwelve o'clock had struck when they set out on their way home. In order\nto avoid observation, and the marks of veneration which the people\nlavished upon them as soon as they set eyes on the two saints (as they\nalways called them), they chose the most unfrequented streets they could\nfind. The heat grew intolerable. The sultry air seemed on fire, and not\na breath stirred it. Exhausted with fatigue, their mouths parched with\nthirst, they reached the church of St. Leonardo; and holding each\nother's hands, approached the brink of the river, in order to cool their\nburning lips and throbbing heads with a little water. As they bent over\nthe stream for that purpose, a violent blow from an invisible arm was\naimed at Francesca, and hurled her into the Tiber. Vannozza fell with\nher; and, clasped in each other's arms, they were rapidly carried away\nby the current, and saw no means of escape. \"They were lovely in their\nlives, and in their deaths they were not divided,\" might well have been\nsaid of them, had the watery grave, which seemed inevitable, swallowed\nup on that day the two brides of the Ponziani. But it was not the will\nof God that they should perish. Human aid was not at hand; the stream\nwas rapid, the current deep, and the eddies curled around them; but they\ncalled upon God with one voice, and in an instant the waters, as if\ninstinct with life, and obedient to a heavenly command, bore them gently\nto the shore, and deposited them unhurt on the green margin of the\nriver.\n\nAbout this time also a supernatural favour of the most extraordinary\nnature was vouchsafed to Francesca. Her guardian angel, who was one day\nto accompany her, not by an invisible presence only, as in the case of\nall Christians, but, by a rare privilege of grace, in a visible form,\never manifest to her spiritual sight, now began to reveal himself to her\nby the most watchful observance of her conduct. At all times and in\nall places, by day and by night, her slightest faults were noticed and\npunished by this still invisible, but now evidently present monitor. At\nthe least imperfection in her conduct, before she had time to accuse and\nto condemn herself, she felt the blow of a mysterious hand, the\nwarning of an ever-attentive guardian; and the sound of that mystical\nchastisement was audible to others also. Great was the astonishment\nof those who could thus discern something of God's dealings with this\nchosen soul. Once, when she had abstained through human respect from\ninterrupting the course of a very frivolous and useless conversation,\nthe warning was inflicted with such severity that she bore the mark of\nthe blow for several succeeding days.\n\nSuch a rapid advance in holiness, such new and ever-increasing virtues,\nwere the results of this supernatural tuition, that Satan now attempted\nto seduce her by the wiliest of his artifices, the master-piece of\nhis art, his favourite sin,--\"the pride that apes humility.\" So many\nmiracles wrought in her favour, such strange revelations of God's\npeculiar love for her soul, awakened in Francesca's mind, or rather the\ndevil suggested to her the thought, that it might be better to conceal\nthem from her director, or at least to acquaint him with only a portion\nof the wonders that were wrought in her behalf; and accordingly, the\nnext time she went to confession she refrained from mentioning the\nsignal grace which had been vouchsafed to her. At the very instant she\nwas thrown prostrate on the ground, and recognised the hand of her\nheavenly monitor in the blow which thus warned her of the grievous\nerror into which she was falling. In that short moment she had time to\nperceive and acknowledge it; and with intense contrition she confessed\nto her director the false humility which had beguiled her into a\ndangerous reserve, with perfect openness revealed to him the whole of\nGod's past and present dealings with her soul, and explained to him\nthe meaning of what had just taken place. Don Antonio listened with\nastonishment and gratitude, and thus addressed her: \"You have just\nescaped from a great danger, my daughter; for those who aim at\nperfection cannot conceal any thing from their spiritual guide without\nrunning the risk of delusion. By your mistaken silence you were\ncomplying with the suggestions of Satan, who, under the semblance of\nhumility, was seeking to awaken in you a secret and baneful pride. You\nwould have been led by degrees to over-estimate these supernatural\nfavours, to deem them not merely means of grace, but rewards due to your\nmerits; to despise those to whom God does not grant them; and to give\nyourself up to extravagant and unauthorised austerities in order to\nsecure their continuance, and to distinguish yourself in your own and\nothers' sight. I should have forbidden you to practise them; you would\nhave been tempted to renounce my guidance, to take one confessor after\nanother, until you had found one weak or blind enough to approve your\nself-will; and then the arch-enemy of mankind, under the garb of an\nangel of light, would have made you the prey of his delusions, till\nat last you might have fallen from one error into another, and made\nshipwreck of your faith. Such has been the downward course of many a\nsoul, that has begun by yielding to a false humility--the offspring of\npride--and has ended in sin and perdition.\"\n\nFrom that time forward, Francesca was on her guard against every species\nof pride and self-reliance, however disguised and refined. She related\nher faults and temptations, the graces she received and the favours she\nobtained, with the same childlike openness and simplicity. It was at the\nage of sixteen that she was thus advanced in the science of the saints;\nand every day her virtues and her piety increased.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nTHE BIRTH OF FRANCESCA'S FIRST CHILD--HER CARE IN HIS EDUCATION--SHE\nUNDERTAKES THE MANAGEMENT OF HER FATHER-IN-LAW'S HOUSEHOLD--A FAMINE\nAND PESTILENCE IN ROME--FRANCESCA'S LABOURS FOB THE SICK AND POOR--THE\nMIRACLES WROUGHT IN HER BEHALF.\n\nThe year 1400 was opening under melancholy auspices. Boniface IX. was at\nthat moment in possession of the pontifical throne, and celebrating the\njubilee, the periodical recurrence of which at the end of every fifty\nyears had been decreed by Clement VI. in 1350; but Rome was even then\nin a lamentable state, and presages were not wanting of still more\ndisastrous times. The wars for the succession of the kingdom of Naples,\nbetween Louis of Anjou and Ladislas Durazzo, were agitating the whole\nof Italy; and the capital of the Christian world was exposed to all the\nfury of the contending parties. The powerful faction of the Colonnas,\nin arms against the Pope, invaded the Capitol at the head of a numerous\nbody of insurgents on horseback and on foot; and the air resounded with\nthe cries of \"Long live the people! Death to the tyrant Boniface IX.!\"\nOn that day the signal was given for a division of parties, which led\nshortly afterwards to the appalling tragedy which decimated the nobility\nof the Eternal City and deluged her streets with blood.\n\nLorenzo Ponziano, from his rank and his great possessions, as well\nas from his fidelity to the Church and the Sovereign Pontiff, was\nespecially marked out as an enemy by the adverse faction. But while on\nevery side the storm was brewing, and the aspect of public affairs each\nday more gloomy, a blessing was granted to him which for the last five\nyears he had ardently desired. The expectation of an heir to the family\nof Ponziano filled him and his parents with inexpressible delight.\nFrancesca, in the meantime, was incessantly occupied in recommending to\nGod the child she was about to bear; and offered up her every little\nact of devotion in its behalf, with the hope of drawing down the Divine\nblessing on its future existence. In the same year she was happily\ndelivered of a son, who was immediately baptised in the church of Santa\nCecilia in Trastevere, and received the name of Giovanni Baptista.\nIt was not at that time the custom for ladies of rank to nurse their\nchildren; but Francesca set aside all such considerations, and never\nconsented to forego a mother's sacred privilege. She did not intrust her\nchild for a moment to the care of others, afraid that, in her absence,\nthe utterance of unworthy sentiments, bad manners and habits, which even\nin infancy may cause impressions not easily eradicated, should taint\nwith the least evil the heart and mind of her son. It is remarkable how\ncareful the holy mothers which we read of in the lives of the Saints\nappear to have been of the circumstances attending the infancy of their\nchildren,--that period during which we are apt to suppose that no\nimpressions can be given or received. Are we not perhaps in error\non that point?--As much that we read and apparently forget leaves\nnotwithstanding a certain deposit in our minds, which comes into play\nwhen called forth by association, so, may not certain sights, sounds,\nand words, not understood at the time, impart a certain colour, stamp\ncertain images on the mind of an infant, which, however dim and\nconfused, deepen and grow with it as it expands? There have been\ncurious psychological instances of names, of languages, of dormant\nrecollections, reawakening as it were under a peculiar condition of the\nnervous system, and which could only be traced to impressions received\nin the earliest stages of existence.\n\nFrancesca, in obedience to her director, as well as guided by her own\nsense of duty, modified for the time being her usual mode of life, and\noccupied herself with the care of her child in preference to all other\nobservances of charity or of devotion. She did not complain or regret\nthat she had to give up her habitual religious exercises, in order to\ntend and to nurse the little creature whom she looked upon as the gift\nof God, and whose careful training the best offering she could make in\nreturn. The joy which she had felt in her infant's birth was marred by\nthe death of her father, who, when his grandson was placed in his arms,\nexclaimed in the words of St. Simeon, \"Lord, now lettest Thou thy\nservant depart in peace;\" and the words seem to have been prophetic, for\nhe died almost immediately afterwards, and was buried in the vaults of\nSanta Agnese, in the Piazza Nuova. At a later period, when that church\nwas reconstructed, his remains were transported to the cloisters of\nTor Di Specchi, where the simple inscription, \"Here lies Paul Bussa,\"\nremains to this day. Francesca, in pursuance of her desire, not only to\nexclude evil, but to infuse good dispositions at the earliest possible\nperiod into her baby's soul, lost no opportunity of imparting to him the\nfirst notions of religion. Before he could speak, she used to repeat\nto him every day the Lord's Prayer and the Hail Mary, clasp his little\nhands together, and direct his eyes to heaven, and to the images of\nJesus and Mary, whose names were of course the first words he learned to\nutter. She checked in him by grave looks, and slight punishments fitted\nto his age, every ebullition of self-will, obstinacy, and anger; and\nlater, of deceit, envy, and immodesty. Though she had the most tender\nmother's heart, she seldom indulged in passionate caresses, and never\nleft unchastised any of his faults, or gave way in any instance to his\ntears and impatience. When others objected that it was absurd to expect\nself-command from a creature whose reason was not developed, she\nmaintained that habits of self-control are to be acquired at the\nearliest age, and that the benefit thus obtained extends to the whole of\nlife. The child thus trained lived to prove the wisdom of her views, and\nbecame in difficult times the support of his family and an honour to\ntheir name.\n\nAbout a year after the birth of Giovanni Baptista, Cecilia, Lorenzo's\nmother, died. Andreazzo Ponziano, and both his sons, fully conscious of\nthe prudence and virtue of Francesca, resolved to place her at the head\nof the house, and to commit to her alone the superintendence of their\ndomestic affairs and the whole management of the household. Distressed\nat the proposal, she pleaded her youth and inexperience, and urged that\nVannozza, as the wife of the eldest brother, was as a matter of course\nentitled to that position. Vannozza, however, pleaded with such\neagerness that it was her most anxious desire not to occupy it, and\nthat all she wished was to be Francesca's disciple and companion, that,\novercome by the general importunity, she found herself obliged to\ncomply. Now it was that her merit shone conspicuously. Placed at\nthe head of the most opulent house in Rome, no symptom of pride, of\nhaughtiness, or of self-complacency, ever revealed itself in her looks\nor in her actions. She was never heard to speak a harsh or impatient\nword. Firm in requiring from every person in her house the proper\nfulfilment of their duties, she did it in the gentlest manner. Always\ncourteous to her servants, she urged them to serve God with diligence,\nand watched over their souls redeemed by His precious blood. Her address\nwas so winning and persuasive, that it seldom failed of its effect. She\ncontrived to arrange the hours of their labour with so much order and\nskill, that each had sufficient leisure to hear Mass, to attend the\nparochial instructions on Sundays and holidays, to frequent the\nSacraments, and join every day in family prayer,--fulfilling the whole\nof a Christian's duty. If by any chance (and it was a rare one in a\nhouse thus governed) a quarrel arose between any of the servants, she\nwas always ready to come forward, appease angry passions, and reconcile\ndifferences. If, in so doing, she had occasion to speak with what she\nconsidered undue severity to one of the parties, she would immediately\napologise with tears, and in the humblest manner entreat forgiveness.\nThis extreme sweetness of disposition, however, did not degenerate into\nweakness; and she could testify the utmost displeasure, and reproved\nwith energy when offences were committed against God. It was intolerable\nto her that His Divine Majesty should be insulted in her abode; and\nshe, the gentlest and most unassuming of women, could display on such\noccasions the greatest firmness.\n\nOne day, it is recorded, several gentlemen had been dining with Lorenzo;\nand one of them after dinner drew from his pocket a book which contained\na treatise on magic. Lorenzo took it up, and was examining it with some\ncuriosity, when his wife stole noiselessly behind him, took it out of\nhis hands, and threw it into the fire. Nettled by this proceeding, her\nhusband reproached her in rather bitter terms for her incivility to\ntheir guest; but she, who was habitually submissive to his least word,\nonly replied that she could not regret the destruction of what might\nhave proved to many an occasion of sin. She inexorably consigned to the\nflames in the same manner every bad book that came in her way.\n\nHer tender charity was evinced when any of the inmates of the palace\nwere ill. She was then the affectionate nurse of the sufferers, and\nspent whole nights by their bedside. Nothing ever discouraged or wearied\nher; the lowest servant in the house was attended to, as if she had been\nher own mother or sister. More anxious still for their soul's health\nthan their body's, she was known to go out herself alone at night in\nsearch of a priest when a sudden case of danger had occurred beneath her\nroof. Her charity was in one instance miraculously rewarded by a direct\ninterposition of Providence, in a matter apparently trifling, but on\nwhich, humanly speaking, her dear sister Vannozza's existence seemed to\nturn. She was dangerously ill, and had been for days unable to swallow\nany food; the very sight of it caused her intolerable nausea; and from\nsheer exhaustion her life was reduced to so low an ebb, that the worst\nwas apprehended. On Francesca's inquiring if she could think of any\nthing which she could imagine it possible to eat, she named a certain\nfish, which was not in season at that time. The markets were scoured by\nthe servants, but naturally in vain, and they returned empty-handed to\nthe dejected Francesca, who, kneeling by the bedside of her friend,\nbetook herself, with arduous faith and childlike simplicity, to prayer.\nWhen she raised her head, the much-wished-for article of food was lying\nbefore her; and the first morsel of it that Vannozza eat restored her to\nhealth.\n\nShe had been about a year at the head of her father-in-law's house,\nwhen Rome fell under the double scourge of famine and pestilence. The\nPonziani were immensely rich, and their palace furnished with every kind\nof provisions. Francesca forbade her servants to send away a single poor\nperson without relieving their wants; and not content with this, she\nsought them out herself, invited them to come to her, and made them\ncontinual presents of corn, wine, oil, and clothing. She exhorted them\nto bear their sufferings with patience, to return to God and to their\nreligious duties, and to strive by fervent prayer to appease the Divine\nwrath, provoked by the crimes of mankind. Vannozza and herself were\nindefatigable in their visits to the hospitals and the out-of-the-way\ncorners of the city.\n\nAndreazzo Ponziano, a good man, but not a saint, was alarmed at the\nexcessive liberality of his daughter-in-law, and feared that it would\nend in producing a famine in his own house. He began by prudently\nwithdrawing from their hands the key of the granary; and then, for\ngreater security, afraid perhaps of yielding to their entreaties, which\nhe was not accustomed to resist, he took to selling whatever corn he\npossessed beyond what was required for the daily consumption of the\nfamily. Nothing, therefore, remained in the corn-loft but a huge heap of\nstraw. The provident old man followed the same plan with his cellar, and\nsold all the wine it contained, with the exception of one cask, which\nwas reserved for his own and his children's use.\n\nMeanwhile the scarcity went on increasing every day, and the number\nof starving wretches in proportion. Franceses, unable to meet their\ndemands, and still more incapable of leaving them to perish, braved at\nlast all false shame and repugnance, and resolved with Vannozza to go\ninto the streets and beg for the poor. Then were seen those two noble\nand lovely women standing at the doors of the churches, knocking at the\ngates of the palace, following the rich in the public places, pleading\nwith tears the cause of the sufferers, gladly receiving the abundant\nalms that were sometimes bestowed upon them, and not less gladly the\nsneers, the repulses, the insulting words that often fell to their share\nin these pilgrimages of mercy. At last the famine reached its height. At\nevery side,--on the pavement, in the corners of the streets,--were lying\ncrowds of persons, barely clothed with a few tattered rags, haggard\nwith hunger, wasted with fever, and calling upon death to end their\nsufferings. It was a grievous, a horrible sight,--one that well-nigh\nbroke the heart of our saint. The moanings of the dying were in her\nears; the expression of their ghastly faces haunted her day and night.\nShe would have gladly shed her blood for them, and fed them with\nher life. A sudden inspiration came over her one day: \"Come to the\ncorn-loft,\" she exclaimed, turning to Vannozza, and to Clara, a\nfavourite and pious servant of theirs; \"Come with me to the corn-loft;\nlet us see if amongst the straw we may not succeed in finding a few\ngrains of corn for the poor.\" And on their knees for several hours those\npatient, loving women sifted the straw, and by dint of labour collected\nabout a measure of corn, which they were bearing away in triumph, when\nthe God who caused the widow's oil not to fail, and made her barrel of\nmeal last through a scarcely more grievous famine, was preparing their\nreward. Lorenzo had entered the granary just as they were carrying off\ntheir hard-earned treasure, and, looking about him, beheld in place of\nthe straw which was lying there a moment before, 40 measures of\nbright yellow corn, so shining and so full, says Francesca's earliest\nbiographer, that it seemed as though it had been raised in Paradise, and\nreaped there by angels. In silent astonishment he pointed out to them\nthe miraculous supply, and must have felt in that hour what such virtue\nas his wife's and his sister's could even in this world win of mercy at\nGod's hands. But corn was not enough; the sick wanted wine. They came,\npoor pallid ghosts, just risen from their beds of suffering, to beg it\nof Francesca; aged men and delicate children, mothers with infants at\ntheir breasts, poor worn-out priests sinking with exhaustion, and yet\nwilling to assist others, they had recourse to her for a little wine to\nstrengthen them in their works of mercy, and she had no wine to give,\nsave out of the single cask in the cellar. She gave it, nevertheless;\nand day after day drew from it, till not a drop was left. Andreazzo,\nprovoked, waxed very wroth; he had never before been angry with\nFrancesca, but now he stormed and raved at her; he had been to the\ncellar to see the wine drawn for that day's use, and not a drop was in\nthe cask. \"Charity indeed!\" he exclaimed, \"charity begins at home;\na pretty sort of virtue this, which, under the pretext of assisting\nstrangers, introduces penury and privation into the midst of a person's\nown family.\" He vented his anger in bitter reproaches; Lorenzo and\nPaluzzo were also inclined to take his part, and joined in severely\nblaming Francesca. She the while, with a gentle voice and quiet manner,\nbreathing most probably a secret prayer to her who at the marriage-feast\nof Cana turned to her Son and said, \"They have no wine,\" doubtless with\nan inward assurance that God would befriend her in an extraordinary,\nbut not to her an unprecedented manner, thus addressed them: \"Do not be\nangry; let us go to the cellar; may be, through God's mercy, that the\ncask may be full by this time.\" They followed her with an involuntary\nsubmission; and on reaching the spot, saw her turn the cock of the\nbarrel, out of which there instantly flowed the most exquisite wine,\nwhich Andreazzo acknowledged to be superior to any he had ever tasted.\nThe venerable old man turned to his daughter-in-law, and, with tears in\nhis eyes, exclaimed,\n\n\"Oh, my dear child, dispose henceforward of every thing I possess, and\nmultiply without end those alms that have gained you such favour in\nGod's sight.\"\n\nThe report of this miracle spread far and wide; and, in spite of\nher humility, Francesca did not object to its being divulged, as it\ntestified to the Divine virtue of almsgiving, and encouraged the rich to\nincrease their liberality, and minister more abundantly to the suffering\nmembers of Christ.\n\nA kind of religious awe seems to have taken possession of Lorenzo's\nmind, at the sight of so many wonders wrought in his house. The great\nesteem in which he had always held his wife, now took the form of a\nprofound veneration. He recommended her to follow in every respect the\ndivine inspirations she received, and left her entirely free to order\nher life and dispose of her time in any way she thought fit. Francesca,\nafter consulting with her director, took advantage of this permission to\nexecute what had been her long-cherished desire. Selling all her rich\ndresses, her jewels, and her ornaments, she distributed the money\namongst a number of poor families, and from that time forward never\nwore herself any other gown than one of coarse dark-green cloth. Her\nmortifications became so continual and severe, her fasts so rigid, that\nit is difficult to conceive how her health could have sustained them\nwithout miraculous support, or how she can have found time for all\nher duties, and the incredible number of good works which she daily\nperformed. When we consider that she was unremitting in her attention\nto her children, that she was never known to neglect the diligent\nsuperintendence of household affairs, that she repeatedly visited the\nhospitals and the poor sick in their houses, that morning and evening\nshe went to the churches where indulgences were to be gained, recited\nnumerous vocal prayers, often spent hours in contemplation, and in the\ngarden oratory, where with Vannozza, Clara, and Rita Celli, a devout\nyoung person who was admitted into their intimacy, she read spiritual\nbooks or conversed on religious subjects,--our admiration is\nquickened; for that zeal and strong will could work wonders all but\nincomprehensible to those who have not put their shoulder to the wheel\nin good earnest, or learnt to appreciate the priceless value of every\nminute of this short life.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nTHE BIRTH OF FRANCESCA'S SECOND SON--HIS SUPERNATURAL GIFTS--THE\nBIRTH OF HER DAUGHTER--SATANIC ATTACKS UPON FRANCESCA---TROUBLES OF\nROME--FRANCESCA'S HUSBAND IS SEVERELY WOUNDED--HER ELDEST SON, WHEN\nGIVEN UP AS A HOSTAGE TO THE NEAPOLlTANS, IS MIRACULOUSLY RESTORED TO\nHER.\n\nFRANCESCA had just attained the age of twenty when her second son was\nborn. He was baptised on the day of his birth, and received the name\nof Giovanni Evan--gelista. The contemporary biographer, some of whose\nsayings have been already quoted, mentions of this child that he was\nendowed with wonderful gifts of grace, and that the love of God was\nmanifested in him even before he could speak. In his quaint language he\nthus describes him: \"Evangelista was old in sense, small in body, great\nin soul, resplendent in beauty, angel-like in all his ways.\" He might\nwell have been termed, in familiar language, his mother's own child;\nfor in his veriest infancy his only pleasure was to be carried into\nchurches, or to give alms to the needy, especially to the poor\nreligious, for whom he had a special predilection. Francesca's delight\nin this lovely little infant was indescribable. He was to her as one of\nGod's own angels, and tears of joy filled her eyes as she mused on the\nextraordinary signs of grace which he daily evinced. Supernatural had\nbeen the mother's virtues, supernatural were the qualities of the child;\nat the age of three years old he was endowed with the gift of prophecy,\nand the faculty of reading the un-uttered thoughts of men's hearts.\n\nSingular instances of this power are on record. He was in his mother's\narms one day, when two mendicant friars approached the Ponziano Palace.\nInstantly stretching out his little hands, Evangelista took from\nFrancesca the alms she was wont to bestow on such visitors, and held\nit out to them; but at the same time looking steadfastly at one of the\nmonks, he said to him, \"Why will you put off this holy habit? you will\nwear a finer one; but woe to you who forget your vow of poverty.\"\n\nThe friar coloured and turned away; but it was soon evident that the\nwords were prophetic, for within a short time, and after obtaining a\nbishopric through a simoniacal act, the unhappy man died a violent\ndeath. That same year, Evangelista was in his parent's room one day;\nand his father taking him up on his knees, was playing with him, and\ndevouring him with kisses. In the midst of his sport, the child turned\nsuddenly pale, and laying hold of a dagger which had been left on the\ntable, he placed the point of it against Lorenzo's side, and said to him\nas he looked up into his face with a strange melancholy smile, \"Thus\nwill they do to you, my father.\" And it so happened that at the time\nof the invasion of Rome by the troops of Ladislas Durazzo, the lord of\nPonziano was dangerously wounded in the exact place and manner which his\nlittle son had pointed out.\n\nEvangelista was not quite three years old when his little sister Agnese\nwas born, who in beauty, heavenly sweetness of temper, and precocious\npiety, proved the exact counterpart of her brother. Soon after her\nconfinement, Francesca had a vision which impressed her with the belief\nthat God would one day claim this child as His own. She saw a dove of\ndazzling whiteness, bearing in its beak a tiny lighted taper, enter the\nroom; and after making two or three circles in the air, it stooped over\nAgnese's cradle, touched her brow and limbs with the taper, gently\nfluttered its wings, and flew away. Looking upon this as a sign that the\nlittle maiden would be called to the monastic life, she brought her up\nas a precious deposit only lent her for a time, and to be delivered up\nat no distant period. With even stricter care than she had used with her\nbrother, if that were possible, she watched over the little girl; never\nleaving her for a single moment, and performing towards her the\noffices of a servant as well as of a mother. She kept her in complete\nretirement, never taking her out of doors except to church; teaching her\nto love Jesus supremely--better even than her parents--and entertaining\nher with descriptions of that dear Saviour's adorable perfections. She\nencouraged her to observe silence, to work with her hands at stated\ntimes, and taught her to read in the lives of the saints of holy virgins\nand martyrs. Agnese's character and turn of mind answered precisely to\nher mother's wishes; and the perfection of her conduct was such, that\nshe was generally designated by all who knew her as the little saint or\nthe little angel.\n\nThe years of Evangelista's and Agnese's infancy had been most disastrous\nones to the unhappy inhabitants of Rome. The factions which had arisen\nin consequence of the schism, and of the intrigues of Ladislas of\nNaples, had banished all security, and converted the town into a\nfield of battle, where bloody conflicts were daily taking place. The\nprinciples of union seemed banished from the world. The nations and\nsovereigns of Europe, given up to the most selfish policy, ceased to\nacknowledge the chief pastor of the Church; and the Eternal City,\nbeyond any other place, had become an arena for ferocious struggles\nand sanguinary conspiracies. The year 1406 brought with it a momentary\nsemblance of peace, and Francesca and Vannozza availed themselves of\nthat breathing-time to revisit some of the distant churches, and attend\nthe Italians as before. They used to walk to them on foot at the\nearliest break of day, accompanied by Rita Celli, the young person\nalready mentioned, and Lucia degli Aspalli, a devout married woman\nnearly related to the Ponziano family. They repeated psalms and litanies\non their way, or spent the time in pious meditation, and remained some\nhours in prayer before the altars which they visited in turn,--taking\ncare to be at home again by the time that their presence was required.\nIn that troubled epoch the voice of the preacher was seldom heard;\nsermons, however, were occasionally delivered by the Franciscans and the\nDominicans in the churches of Ara Coeli and Santa Maria sopra Minerva;\nand at these our saints never failed to assist. Their spiritual guide\nhad given them leave to go to communion several times a week. This was\na privilege seldom granted and seldom sought for in those distracted\ntimes. The blessed practice of daily communion, which universally\nprevailed amongst the early Christians,--that practice which turns earth\ninto heaven, and converts the land of exile into a paradise of peace\nand joy,--was all but entirely neglected, or only kept up in some few\ncloisters. The two sisters habitually communicated in the church of\nSanta Cecilia, the nearest to their house. One of the priests of that\nparish was scandalised at the frequency of their communions, and\npersuaded himself that it was incredible that young women of their age,\nand in such a position of life, could possibly be in possession of\nthe requisite dispositions. This unhappy man ventured one day to give\nFraneesca an unconsecrated wafer; God instantly revealed to the saint\nthe sin of the priest, and she informed her director of the fact. Don\nAntonio disclosed to the astonished offender the secret which had been\nconfined to his own breast. He confessed his fault with the deepest\ncontrition, implored God's pardon, asked forgiveness of the saint, and\nreceived the humiliation as a warning against rash judgments.\n\nThe warfare which Satan was permitted to carry on against Francesca\nbecame more and more violent at this period of her life. In actual\noutrages, in terrific visions, in mystical but real sufferings, which\nafflicted every sense and tortured every nerve, the animosity of the\nevil spirit evinced itself; and Almighty God permitted it, for she was\nof those chosen through much tribulation to ascend the steep path which\nis paved with thorns and compassed with darkness, but on which the ray\nof an unearthly sunshine breaks at times. She was to partake of the\nmiraculous gifts of the saints; to win men's souls through prayer, to\nread the secrets of their hearts, to see angels walking by her side, to\nheal diseases by the touch of her hands, and hold the devils at bay,\nwhen they thought to injure the bodies of others or wage war with\nher own spirit. But such heights of glory are not gained without\nproportionate suffering; the cup of which Jesus drank to the dregs in\nHis agony she was to drink of, the baptism of horror with which He\nwas baptised was to be her's also in a measure; and that mysterious\nweakness, that divine helplessness of His, which allowed Satan to carry\nHim, the Lord of all, to the pinnacle of the temple or the brow of the\nmountain, was not unshared by His servant. Strange and bewildering were\nthe assaults she endured, but still more wonderful the defeats of the\nevil one. Of her triumph, as of those of her Lord, it may be said, \"that\nwhen the devil left her, then angels came and ministered unto her.\"\nStrange, that those who believe the history of Jesus should turn\nincredulously away from that of His saints; for did He not expressly\nsay, that what He suffered, they should suffer; that where He had\novercome, they would triumph; and that the works that He performed, aye\nand greater works still, they should accomplish?\n\nOn one occasion, when on the point of setting out for the Basilica of\nSt. Peter's, Vannozza was violently precipitated down the stairs of the\npalace by the power of the evil spirit, and fell at her sister's feet,\nwho at that instant heard a voice whispering in her ear, \"I would kill\nthy sister, and drive thee to despair;\" but at the same moment an inward\nrevelation bade Francesca raise up the prostrate form of her friend,\nand apply to her bruised limbs an ointment which instantly relieved the\npains of her fall. Another time our saint was lifted up by the hair of\nher head, and suspended over a precipice for the space of some minutes;\nwith perfect calmness she called upon Jesus, and in a moment found\nherself in safety within her room. Her first act was to cut off her\nbeautiful hair, and, offer it up as a thank-offering to Him who had\nsaved her from the hands of the infernal enemy. These are only specimens\nof the trials of this nature to which Francesca was more or less\nsubjected all her life, but to which it will not be necessary again to\nmake more than casual allusion.\n\nIn the year 1409, when she was about twenty-seven years old, her\ntemporal calamities began. After Ladislas of Naples, befriended by the\nenemies of the Pope, and in 1408 gained possession of Rome by fraudulent\nmeans he left behind him as governor of the city the Count Pietro Traja,\na rough and brutal soldier, well fitted to serve the fierce passions of\nhis master. He was continually looking out for occasions to persecute\nthose Roman nobles who remained faithful to the cause of the Church.\nHe was abetted in this by the faction of the Colonnas, and some other\npowerful families, who supported the pretensions of the anti-Popes\nGregory XII. and Benedict XIII. against the legitimate pontiff Alexander\nV., recently elected by the Council of Pisa. The troops of Lewis of\nAnjou, the rival of Ladislas in the kingdom of Naples, had in the mean\ntime entered that portion of Rome which went by the name of the Leonine\nCity, and gained possession of the Vatican and the castle of St. Angelo.\nSeveral skirmishes took place between the forces of the usurper and the\ntroops of the Pope and of Lewis of Anjou. Lorenzo Ponziano, who from\nhis birth and his talents was the most eminent man of his party, and an\nardent supporter of the legitimate cause, commanded the pontifical army\non one of these occasions, and was personally engaged in a conflict\nwith the Count of Traja's soldiers. In the midst of the fray he was\nrecognised by the opposite party, and became the special mark of their\nattacks. Fighting with heroic courage, he had nearly succeeded in\ndispersing his assailants, when, as Evangelista had foretold the year\nbefore, a dagger was treacherously thrust into his side, and inflicted\nso deep a wound that he fell to the ground, and was taken up for dead.\nThe terrible news was carried to the Ponziano palace, and announced\nto Francesca. The anguish that her countenance revealed filled the\nbystanders with compassion; but it was only for an instant that she\nstood as if transfixed and overwhelmed with grief.\n\nRepressing by a strong effort her bursting sobs and the cries that were\nbreaking from her heart, she soon raised her eyes to heaven with a\nsteadfast gaze, forgave the assassin, offered up Lorenzo's life and her\nown, and murmured the words of Job, \"The Lord had given him, the Lord\nhas taken him away; blessed be the name of the Lord.\" Then, calm,\ncomposed, braced for endurance, she courageously advanced to meet the\nslow approach of those who were bringing back to his home the body of\nher murdered husband. As they laid him in the hall of the palace, she\nknelt by his side, and putting her face close to his, she discerned in\nthe apparently lifeless form the faint symptoms of lingering vitality.\nThe sudden revulsion of hope did not overcome her presence of mind. She\ninstantly desired those about her to send for a priest and for a doctor;\nand then, bending over Lorenzo, she suggested to him, in words which\nfound their way to the understanding of the dying man, whatever the most\naffectionate tenderness and the most ardent piety could devise at such a\nmoment,--to prepare the soul for its last flight, pardon for his foes,\nand especially for his assassin, a firm trust in God, and the union of\nhis sufferings with those of his Lord.\n\nThe palace presented a scene of wild confusion. Armed men were moving to\nand fro; the clash of arms was mingled with the groans of the servants:\nthe weeping and waitings of the women and of the children, vows of\nvengeance, curses deep and loud, frantic regrets, were heard on every\nside. Francesca alone was as an angel of peace, in the midst of the\nuproar of passion and the outpouring of grief. Her's was the keenest\nsorrow of all; but it was kept under by the strength of a long-practised\nfaith, and thus it interfered with no duty and staggered at no trial.\nDay and night she watched by Lorenzo's couch. Her experience in nursing\nthe sick, and in dressing wounds, enabled her to render him the most\nminute and efficacious assistance. Her watchful love, her tender\nassiduity, received its reward; God gave her that life, far dearer to\nher than her own. Contrary to all expectation, Lorenzo slowly recovered;\nbut for a long time remained in a precarious condition.\n\nMeanwhile the Count of Traja, pressed on every side, began to foresee\nthe necessity of leaving Rome; but, in his exasperation, resolved\npreviously to wreak his vengeance on the families most devoted to the\nPope, and especially on that of the Ponziani, which was especially\nobnoxious to him. He accordingly arrested Paluzzo, Vannozza's husband,\nand kept him in close confinement; and understanding that Lorenzo had a\nson of eight or nine years old, he commanded that he should be given\nup into his hands as a hostage, and swore that in case of a refusal\nhe would put Paluzzo to death. Now, indeed, is Francesca tried almost\nbeyond the power of endurance: now is her cup of anguish filled to the\nbrim. She can ask counsel of none: Lorenzo she dares not consult: it\nmight kill him to hear the fearful truth. Others would say, \"Give up the\nchild;\" and she looks at his fair face, at his innocent eyes, at the\npurity of his spotless brow; and she cannot, she will not, she must not\ngive him up. Oh, that she had the wings of a dove to fly away and carry\nhim hence! She takes him by the hand, and, like a second Hagar, goes\nforth, whither she knows not. It is an instinct, an impulse, an\ninspiration. It is the mother's heart within her that bids her fly from\nthe horrible dilemma, and save her child from the tyrant who seeks more\nthan his life,--who would ruin his soul. Through out-of-the-way streets,\ninto the deserted corners of the city she goes, clasping the boy's hand\nwith an agonising grasp, with but one thought--to hide him from every\neye. Suddenly she stops short; before her stands Don Antonio, her\nlong-trusted director, who has led her through the green pastures\nin which her spirit has found rest. He questions her, and hears the\nincoherent account of her fears, her anguish, and her flight. By a\nsupernatural light he sees the drift of this trial, and puts her faith\nto the test. \"Francesca,\" he said, \"you fly to save the child; God bids\nme tell you that it is to the Capitol you must carry him--there lies his\nsafety; and do you go to the Church of Ara Cceli.\" A fierce struggle\nrose in Francesca's heart--the greatest storm that had ever convulsed\nit. \"To the Capitol!\" she is about to cry. \"It is at the Capitol that\nthe tyrant awaits him!\" But ere the words are uttered, they die away\non her lips. Grace has gained the mastery; the faith of the saint has\nasserted its power. The wild expression passes away from her eyes; she\nbows her head in silence, and with a firm step retraces her steps, in\nobedience to him who has spoken in God's name. In the mean time the\nreport of the event had spread through Rome, and in the more crowded\nstreets which she had to pass through a cry of pity and of terror arose.\nCrowds press about her, and bid her turn back; they tell her she is mad\nto surrender the child, they try to take him from her, and to carry him\nback by force to his father's palace; but in vain. She waves them\noff, and pursues her way till she has reached the Capitol. She walked\nstraight up to the place where the Neapolitan tyrant was standing, and\nsurrendered up the boy to him; and then, without once looking back, she\nhurried into the Church of Ara Coeli, fell prostrate at the feet of the\nMother of Mercy, and before that sacred image, dear to this day to every\nCatholic parent, she made the sacrifice of her child, of her life, of\nher soul, of all that in that hour she had felt to give up. Then, for\nthe first time, a torrent of tears relieved her tight-bound heart; and\ngazing on the picture, she saw the dove-like eyes of the Blessed Virgin\nassume the tenderest and most encouraging expression, and in her ears\nwere whispered words welcome as the dew to the thirsty ground; sweet as\nthe notes of the bird when the storm has subsided: \"Be not afraid; I am\nhere to befriend you.\"\n\nShe was at peace; she felt sure that her son was safe; and on her knees,\nin speechless prayer, she waited the event. Nor did she wait long. When\nshe had left the Count of Traja's presence, he had ordered one of his\nofficers to take the little Baptista on his horse, and carry him away to\na place he appointed; but, from the instant that the child was placed on\nthe saddle, no efforts could induce the animal to stir from the spot.\nIn vain his rider urged him with spurs and whip: neither the severest\nblows, nor the accustomed voice of his master, succeeded in moving him\nan inch from the place, where he stood as motionless as a statue. Four\nof the knights of Naples renewed the attempt. Four successive steeds\nwere tried for the purpose, and always with the same result. There is a\nstrength greater than man's will; there is a power that defeats human\nmalice. Struck with a secret terror and dismay by the evident prodigy,\nthe Count of Traja gave up the unequal contest, and ordered the child\nto be restored to his mother. Before the altar of the Ara Coeli, at the\nfoot of that image, where in her anguish she had fallen and found hope\nwhen hope seemed at end, Francesca received back into her arms the\nson of her love, and blessed the God who had given her strength to go\nthrough this the severest of her trials.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nSUFFERINGS OF ROME FROM THE TROOPS OF LADISLAS--DEATH OF FRANCESCA'S SON\nEVANGELISTA--THE FAMINE AND PLAGUE IN ROME--FRANCESCA'S LABOURS FOR THE\nSTARVlNG AND SICK--HER MIRACLES.\n\nPOPE ALEXANDER V. died at Bologna in 1410. Sixteen cardinals assembled\nin that city, and chose for his successor Balthazar Cossa, who took\nthe name of John XXIII. While they were proceeding with the election,\nLadislas seized the opportunity of the interregnum once more to advance\nupon Rome; and from Veletri he threatened it with a second invasion. The\nnew Pope renewing the alliance with Lewis of Anjou, they combined their\nforces against Ladislas, and endeavoured to drive him back from the\nposition he had taken. Their arms proved successful in a first battle;\nbut Lewis having withdrawn his troops immediately after the victory,\nLadislas deceived the Holy Father by a pretended peace, gained\npossession of Rome, and gave it up to pillage. The horrors of this\ninvasion, and of the sack that followed it, surpassed in atrocity almost\nall those which had previously afflicted the capital of the Christian\nworld. A number of palaces and houses were destroyed, the basilicas\nwere despoiled of their treasures and desecrated by the most abominable\norgies, the churches turned into stables, and many of the faithful\nadherents of the Church subjected to the torture or barbarously put to\ndeath.\n\nThe Ponziani were amongst the principal of the Pope's supporters; and\nLorenzo, scarcely recovered from his long illness, was persuaded by his\nfriends to withdraw himself by flight from the fury of the conqueror,\nand conceal himself in a distant province. It had been impossible to\nremove his wife and children; and Francesca remained exposed to a\nsuccession of the most trying disasters. The wealth of the family\nchiefly consisted in their country possessions, and the immense number\nof cattle which were bred on those broad lands; and day after day\nintelligence was brought to her that one farm-house or another was\nburnt or pillaged, the flocks dispersed or destroyed, and the shepherds\nmurdered by a ruthless soldiery. Terrified peasants made their escape\ninto the city, and scared the inhabitants of the palace with dreadful\naccounts of the death of their companions, and of the destruction of\nproperty which was continually going on. A cry of despair rang from\nMount Soracte to the Alban Hill, extended to the shores of the\nMediterranean, and resounded in the palaces of Rome, carrying dismay to\nthe hearts of its ruined and broken-spirited nobles.\n\nFrancesca received the tidings with an aching heart indeed; for her\ncompassion for the sufferings of others did not permit her to remain\nunmoved amidst such dire misfortunes. Still she never lost her habitual\ncomposure; her only occupation was to console the mourners: her first\nimpulse on these occasions to bless God, and accept at His hands all\nthat His providence ordained. It was well that she was resigned, and\nhad learned the lesson of courage at the foot of the Cross; for, like\na flood at spring-tide, her afflictions were increasing every day,\nthreatening to overwhelm all landmarks but those of an indomitable\nfaith. One fatal morning, a troop of savage ruffians, drunk with rage,\nand vociferating blasphemies, broke into the palace, clamouring after\nLorenzo, and threatening to torture the servants if they did not\ninstantly reveal his place of concealment; and ended by carrying away\nBaptista, who clung in vain to his mother's neck, and was only parted\nfrom her by force. When they had succeeded in tearing him away from\nher arms, they proceeded to pillage, and all but to destroy, the\ntime-honoured residence of the Ponziani. In the space of a few hours\nthat gorgeous abode was turned into a heap of ruins. Bereft of her\nhusband, of her son, and of all the conveniences of life, Francesca,\nwith her two younger children, remained alone and unprotected; for her\nbrother-in-law, Paluzzo, who might have been a support to her in that\ndreadful moment, was still a prisoner in the tyrant's hands, and her\ninnocent boy shared the same fate. It is not exactly known how long\nhis captivity lasted; but it may be supposed that means were found of\neffecting his release, and sending him to Lorenzo; for it is mentioned\nthat, at the period when the troubles were at an end, and peace restored\nto the city of Rome, the father and the son returned together.\n\nIn the mean time, Francesca took shelter in a corner of her ruined\nhabitation; and there, with Evangelista and Agnese, she managed to\nlive in the most complete seclusion. These two children were now their\nmother's only comfort, as their education was her principal occupation.\nEvangelista, as he advanced in age, in no way belied the promise of his\ninfancy. He lived in spirit with the angels and saints, and seemed more\nfitted for their society than for any earthly companionship. \"To be with\nGod\" was his only dream of bliss. Though scarcely nine years old, he\nalready helped his mother in all the pains she took with Agnese's\neducation\n\nThe hour for another sacrifice was, however, at hand. It was not long\ndelayed. The second invasion of Rome had been succeeded by a dreadful\nfamine, which was followed in its turn by a severe pestilence. Already\none or two cases of the prevailing epidemic had appeared in the Ponziano\nPalace, and then Evangelista sickened with it; and one morning Francesca\nwas told that the son of her love was dying. No sooner had he felt the\nfirst symptoms of the plague, than he asked for a confessor. He never\ndoubted that his last hour was come; and she believed it too. Don\nAntonio hurried to the bed-side of the boy, who, after he had made his\nconfession, sent for his mother, and taking her hand in his, addressed\nher in some such words as follow:\n\n\"Mother mine, I have often told you that God would not leave me with you\nlong; that He will have me dwell with His angels. Jesus is my treasure,\nmy hope, and my joy. I have ever lived with Him in thought, in desire,\nin unutterable longings. Every day I have said 'Thy kingdom come;' and\nnow He calls me to it. There is a crown prepared for me, my beloved\nmother. The Lord is about to give it me, and we must part for awhile.\nBut bless His name, oh my mother. Praise Him with me; for He delivers me\nfrom all that your love dreaded for me upon earth. There is no sin, no\nsorrow, no sickness where I am going. Nothing but peace and joy and the\nsight of God in that better land where the blessed are expecting me. I\nmust not see you weep. I will not have you grieve. Rejoice with your\nchild; for I see them even now, my holy advocates, St. Anthony and St.\nVauplerius. They are coming to fetch me away. Dearest mother, I will\npray for you. Evangelista will love you in heaven as he has loved you on\nearth, and you will come to him there.\"\n\nThe dying boy then remained silent for a few moments. Then a sudden\nlight illumined his face; his features seemed transformed. Raising his\neyes with a look of rapture, he exclaimed, \"Here are the angels come\nto take me away. Give me your blessing, my mother. Do not be afraid. I\nshall never forget you. God bless you and my dear father, and all who\nbelong to this house. Blessed be the name of the Lord.\" Then crossing his\nlittle arms on his chest, he bowed down his head, a last smile passed\nover his face--\"she had her meed, that smile in death,\" and his young\nspirit passed to the regions of endless bliss.\n\nA touching prodigy, well adapted to cheer the heart of our saint, took\nplace that very day in a house adjoining her own. A little girl, who had\nbeen dangerously ill for a long time, and had completely lost the power\nof speech, at the very moment that Francesca's son had expired suddenly\nraised herself in her bed, and exclaimed several times in a loud voice,\nand in a state of evident rapture, \"See, see! how beautiful! Evangelista\nPonziano is going up into heaven, and two angels with him!\" The mortal\nremains of the young boy were deposited in the family vault in the\nchurch of Santa Cecilia, in Trastevere. A monument was erected there\nwith the simple inscription, \"Here lies Evangelista Ponziano;\" and a\nfigure in stone, clothed in a long robe, was carved upon it.\n\nFrancesca wept over the loss of her dearly-beloved child, but did not\ngrieve for him. How could she have done so? He was in bliss; and had\nonly preceded her to that heaven for which she was day by day preparing.\nNor was it a time for the idle indulgence of sorrow. Want and sickness\nwere turning Rome into a charnel-house. Wild voices were screaming for\nbread on every side. The streets were encumbered by the victims of\ncontagious disease; their frantic cries and piteous moanings re-echoed\nin each piazza and under every portico. Old men were dying surrounded by\nthe corpses of their children; mothers pressed to their milkless bosoms\ntheir starving infants. Others crept about bereft of all their family,\nand haunting like pale ghosts the scenes of their past happiness. No\ncarriages shook the public ways. The grass grew in the deserted streets;\none mournful equipage alone slowly pursued its course through the doomed\ncity, gathering as it passed the dead at every door; and when the\ndreadful cargo was completed, bearing it away to the crowded cemetery.\nThe ruin of private property, the general penury occasioned by the\ncruelties of Ladislas, and the sacking of Rome by his soldiers, had cut\noff almost all the resources of private charity. Anxiety for self,\nand the fear of contagion, had worked so deeply on the mind of the\nmultitude, that many persons abandoned even their near relatives and\nfriends when they were attacked by the plague. Nothing but the charity\nwhich is of divine not of natural origin could meet such an emergency,\nor cope in any degree with the awful misery of those days. Francesca,\nbereaved of every thing but her one little girl, and lodged with\nVannozza and Rita in a corner of their dismantled house, had no longer\nat her command the resources she had formerly possessed for the relief\nof the poor. A little food from their ruined estates was now and\nthen supplied to these lonely women; and they scarcely partook of it\nthemselves, in order to bestow the greatest part on the sick and poor.\nThere was a large hall in the lower part of the palace which had been\nless injured than any other portion of the building. It was at least a\nplace of shelter against the inclemencies of the weather. The sisters\nconverted it into a temporary hospital; but of the shattered furniture\nthat lay scattered about the house, they contrived to make up beds and\ncovering, and to prepare some clothing for the wretched creatures they\nwere about to receive. When all was ready, they went in search of the\nsufferers. If they found any too weak to walk, they carried them into\nthe new asylum; there they washed and dressed their putrefying sores,\nand by means which saints have often employed, and which we could hardly\nbear even to think of, they conquered in themselves all repugnance to\nsights and employments against which the senses and the flesh rise in\nrebellion. They prepared both medicine and food; watched the sick by day\nand by night; laboured incessantly for their bodies, and still more for\ntheir souls. Many were those who recovered health through Francesca's\ncare, and many more who were healed of the worst disease of the soul,--a\nhardened impenitence under the just judgment of God. She had the art of\nawakening their fears, without driving them to despair; to make them\nlook upon their sufferings as a means of expiation (that great secret\nof Catholic consolation), and bring them by degrees to repentance, to\nconfession, to the practice of long-forgotten duties, and of those\nChristian virtues which her own example recommended to their hearts.\n\nThe example which the ruined and bereaved wives of the Ponziani had\ngiven kindled a similar spirit among the hitherto apathetic inhabitants\nof Rome. The magistrates of the city, struck at the sight of such\nunparalleled exertions where the means were so slender, were roused from\ntheir inaction, and in several parts of the city, especially in the\nparishes of St. Cecilia and of Santa Maria in Trastevere, hospitals\nand asylums were opened for the perishing multitudes. Often and often\nFrancesca and Vannozza saw the morning dawn, and not a bit of food of\nany description did they possess for themselves or for their inmates.\nThey then went out to beg, as they had done before; but not merely as an\nact of humility, nor dressed as heretofore as became their rank, or in\nthose places only where their names secured respect, and generally\na favourable answer; but in the garb of poverty, in the spots where\nbeggars were wont to congregate and the rich to bestow alms, they took\ntheir stand, and gratefully received the broken bits that fell from the\ntables of the wealthy. Each remnant of food, each rag of clothing, they\nbrought home with joy; and the mouldiest piece of bread out of their bag\nwas set aside for their own nourishment, while the best was bestowed on\ntheir guests.\n\nIn our own time, in our own rich and luxurious city, there is a\ncounterpart to these deeds of heroic charity. There are young and\nwell-educated women, who in their homes never lacked the necessaries or\nthe comforts, nay perhaps the luxuries of life, who do the same; who\nreceive into their abode the aged, the maimed, the crippled, and the\ndeformed; lodging them in their best rooms, and themselves in cellars\nor garrets; tending them as their servants, and feeding them as their\nmothers; begging for them from door to door the crumbs from the tables\nof the rich, and carrying along their basket, rejoicing when it is\nheavy, even though their arms ache and their cheeks grow pale with the\nlabour; like Francesca, feeding upon the remnants of the poor feast\nwhere the poor have sat before them.\n\nFrancesca was insulted in her career of mercy through the streets of\nRome, when civil war and anarchy were raging there in the wildest epoch\nof lawless strife and fiercest passion; and the gentle sisters of the\npoor, the servants of the helpless, who have abandoned home and friends\nand comforts, and, above all, _respectability_, that idol of the English\nmind, that wretched counterfeit of virtue, for the love which they bear\nto Christ in His suffering members, have been insulted and beaten in the\nstreets of London in the face of day, and only because of the habit they\nwore,--the badge of no common vocation,--the nun's black dress, the\nlivery of the poor. The parallel is consoling to them, perhaps also to\nus; for is not Francesca now the cherished saint of Rome, the pride\nand the love of every Roman heart? And may not the day come when our\npatient, heroic nuns will be looked upon as one of God's best blessings,\nin a city where luxury runs riot on the one hand, and starvation and\nmisery reign on the other? Will not the eye follow them with love, and\nmany rise up to call them blessed? Their course is like hers; may their\nend be the same!\n\nThe historians of our saint relate that on one of the occasions above\nalluded to, when her only resource was to beg for her sick charges, she\nwent to the Basilica of San Lorenzo without the walls, where was the\nstation of the day, and seated herself amongst the crowd of beggars who,\naccording to custom, were there assembled. From the rising of the sun\nto the ringing of the vesper-bell, she sat there side by side with the\nlame, the deformed, and the blind. She held out her hand as they did,\ngladly enduring, not the semblance, but the reality of that deep\nhumiliation. When she had received enough wherewith to feed the poor at\nhome, she rose, and making a sign to her companions, entered the old\nbasilica, adored the Blessed Sacrament, and then walked back the long\nand weary way, blessing God all the while, and rejoicing that she was\ncounted worthy to suffer for His dear sake.\n\nThose who are well acquainted with Rome, who have frequented the\nstations and love the basilicas, and especially that venerable old\npile of San Lorenzo, with its upper and lower chapel, its magnificent\ncolumns, its beautiful pulpit, its wide portico with half-effaced\nfrescoes, and its rare mosaics--those paintings in stone which time\nitself cannot destroy; those whose eyes have gazed with delight on the\nglorious view as they approached it, and whose ears are familiar\nwith the sound of the mendicant's voice, to whom the remembrance of\nFrancesca's story may have won, perchance, an additional dole,--can form\nto themselves with ease a picture of the scene; and when they visit it\nagain in reality, may be tempted to look out for some saintly face, for\nsome sweet, angel-like countenance, amongst the sordid and suffering\ngroups before them, and wonder if ever again such charity as Francesca's\nwill animate a woman's heart. Not long ago, for a few short years, in\nFrancesca's city, there was one who bade fair to emulate the virtues\nof the dear saint of Rome; but as she was rapidly treading in her\nfootsteps, and her name was becoming every day more dear to the people\namongst whom she dwelt, death snatched her away. Her memory remains,\nand the poor bless it even now. May God grant us such in our own land!\nSaints are sorely needed in these busy, restless, money-loving times of\nours; as much as, or more than, in the wild middle ages, or the troubled\ncenturies that followed.\n\nFrancesca possessed a small vineyard near the church of St. Paul without\nthe walls; and in that time of scarcity, when every little resource had\nto be turned to account for the purposes of charity, she used to go\nthere and gather up into parcels and faggots the long grass and the dry\nbranches of the vines. When she had collected a certain number of these\npackets, she laid them on an ass, and went through the town, stopping at\nvarious poor dwellings to distribute the fruits of her labours. On one\nof these occasions her donkey stumbled and fell, and the wood which he\nwas carrying rolled to a considerable distance. Francesca was looking\nabout her in considerable embarrassment, not able to lift it up again,\nwhen a Roman nobleman, Paolo Lelli Petrucci, a friend of her husband's,\nchanced to pass by. Astonished at seeing her in such a predicament, he\nhastened to her assistance; and she received it with as much serenity\nand composure as if her occupation had been the most natural thing in\nthe world.\n\nBy this time her virtues were destined to receive a wonderful reward,\nand God bestowed upon her the gift of healing to a miraculous degree.\nMany a sick person given over by the physicians was restored to health\nby the single touch of her hands, or the prayers which she offered up in\ntheir behalf. More than sixty of these cases were well attested at the\ntime of her canonisation. Francesca was profoundly sensible of the\nblessedness of this gift, and grateful for the power it afforded her of\nrelieving the sufferings of others; but at the same time her humility\nprompted her to conceal it as much as possible. She endeavoured to do so\nby making up an ointment composed of oil and wax, which she applied\nto the sick, whatever their disease might be, in the hope that their\nrecovery would always be ascribed to its efficacy. But this holy\nsubterfuge did not always succeed. The physicians analysed the\nointment, and declared that it possessed in itself no healing qualities\nwhatsoever. One day, upon entering the Hospital of the Trastevere,\nFrancesca found a poor mule-driver, who had just been carried in, his\nfoot having been crushed by the fall of a scythe; it was in such a\nhorrible and hopeless condition, that the surgeons were about to\namputate the limb. Francesca, hearing the cries of the poor wretch, bent\nover him, exhorting him to patience; and promising him a speedy relief,\napplied some of her ointment to his mangled foot. The wounds instantly\nclosed, the pain vanished, and a short time after the mule-driver\nreturned to his customary occupation.\n\nSome days afterwards, the two sisters were returning home from the\nbasilica of St. John Lateran; and passing by the bridge of Santa Maria,\nnow the Ponte Rotto, (the very ancient little church opposite to the\nTemple of Vesta), they saw extended on the pavement a man whose arm had\nbeen severed by a sword-cut; and unable to procure medical assistance,\nthe poor wretch had lain there ever since in excruciating tortures,\nwhich had reduced him to the last extremity. Francesca, full of\ncompassion for his miserable condition, carried him with Vannozza's aid\ninto her house, put him in a warm bath, cleansed his wound with the\ngreatest care, and dressed it with her ointment. In a short time, and\nwithout any medical assistance, the severed limb was restored to its\nusual position, and a complete recovery ensued.\n\nThe bowl in which San Francesca compounded this miraculous remedy is\npreserved in the convent of Tor di Specchi. During the novena of the\nsaint, when the doors are thrown open to crowds of devout persons, it\nstands on a table in the entrance-chamber, and is daily filled by the\nnuns with fresh sweet-smelling flowers--violets, primroses, anemones,\nand the like. The visitor may bear away with him some of these fragrant\nremembrances, and cherish them for her sake, the odour of whose virtues\nwill last as long as the seasons return, and the spring brings back to\nour gladdened sight those\n\n \"Sweet nurslings of the vernal skies,\n  Bathed with soft airs and fed with dew.\"\n\nA still more wonderful miracle than these occurred about this time.\nFrancesca and her faithful companion Vannozza had been visiting several\nchurches in that part of Rome which goes by the name of the Rioue de\nMonti. Passing before a mean-looking dwelling, they heard the most\nheart-rending sobs and cries. Stopping to inquire into the cause of this\ndespair, they found a mother frantically weeping over the body of a\nchild, who had died a few hours after its birth without having received\nbaptism. Francesca gently reproved the woman for the delay which had\nendangered her son's salvation; then, taking the little corpse into her\narms, she uttered a fervent prayer, and in a moment gave back the baby\nto its mother, fully restored to life and health. She desired her to\nhave it instantly baptised, and then made her escape, trusting that she\nshould remain undiscovered; and indeed the woman whose child she had\nbeen the means of saving had never seen her, and wondered awhile if an\nangel had visited her in disguise; but the description of her dress,\nand the miracle she had worked, convinced all who heard of it that the\nvisitor was no other than the wife of Lorenzo Ponziano.\n\nCompassionate to others, Francesca was mercilessly severe to herself;\nher austerities kept pace with her increasing sanctity. She was enabled\nto carry on a mode of life which must have ruined her health had it not\nbeen miraculously sustained. She slept only for two hours, and that on\na narrow plank covered with nothing but a bit of rough carpet. The\ncontinual warfare which she waged against her body brought it more and\nmore into subjection to the spirit; and her senses were under such\nperfect control, that natural repugnances vanished, and the superior\npart of the soul reigned supremely over the meaner instincts and\ninclinations of the flesh. Such was her spiritual proficiency at the\nearly age of twenty-nine. CHAPTER VII.\n\nEVANGELISTA APPEARS TO HIS MOTHER-AN ARCHANGEL IS ASSIGNED TO HER AS A\nVISIBLE GUARDIAN THROUGHOUT HER LIFE,\n\nEVANGELISTA had been dead about a year. His image was ever present to\nhis mother's heart; she saw him in spirit at the feet of his Lord.\nNever, even in her inmost soul, was she conscious of a wish to recall\nhim from the heaven he had reached to the earthly home which he had left\ndesolate; but not for one moment could she forget the child of her love,\nor cease to invoke him as a celestial guardian akin to those who had\nso long hovered about her path. Her faith and resignation were richly\nrewarded. God gave her a sight of her child in heaven, and he was sent\nto announce to her one of the most extraordinary favours that was ever\nvouchsafed to a daughter of Adam. Francesca was praying one morning in\nher oratory, when she became conscious that the little room was suddenly\nilluminated in a supernatural manner; a mysterious light shone on every\nside, and its radiance seemed to pervade not only her outward senses,\nbut the inmost depths of her being, and to awaken in her soul a strange\nsensation of joy. She raised her eyes, and Evangelista stood before her;\nhis familiar aspect unchanged, but his features transfigured and beaming\nwith ineffable splendour.\n\nBy his side was another of the same size and height as himself, but\nmore beautiful still. Francesca's lips move, but in vain she seeks to\narticulate; the joy and the terror of that moment are too intense.\nHer son draws near to her, and with an angelic expression of love\nand respect he bows down his head and salutes her. Then the mother's\nfeelings predominate; she forgets every thing but his presence, and\nopens her arms to him; but it is no earthly form that she encloses\nwithin them, and the glorified body escapes her grasp. And now she gains\ncourage and addresses him,--in broken accents indeed, but with trembling\neagerness.\n\n\"Is it you, indeed? (she cries) O son of my heart! Whence do you come?\nwho are your companions? what your abode? Angel of God, hast thou\nthought of thy mother, of thy poor father? Amidst the joys of Paradise\nhast thou remembered earth and its sufferings?\"\n\nEvangelista looked up to heaven with an unutterable expression of peace\nand of joy; and then, fixing his eyes on his mother, he said, \"My abode\nis with God; my companions are the angels; our sole occupation the\ncontemplation of the Divine perfections,--the endless source of all\nhappiness. Eternally united with God, we have no will but His; and our\npeace is as complete as His Being is infinite. He is Himself our joy,\nand that joy knows no limits. There are nine choirs of angels in\nheaven, and the higher orders of angelic spirits instruct in the Divine\nmysteries the less exalted intelligences. If you wish to know my place\namongst them, my mother, learn that God, of His great goodness, has\nappointed it in the second choir of angels, and the first hierarchy of\narchangels. This my companion is higher than I am in rank, as he is more\nbright and fair in aspect. The Divine Majesty has assigned him to you as\na guardian during the remainder of your earthly pilgrimage. Night and\nday by your side, he will assist you in every way. Never amidst the joys\nof Paradise have I for an instant forgotten you, or any of my loved ones\non earth. I knew you were resigned; but I also knew that your heart\nwould rejoice at beholding me once more, and God has permitted that I\nshould thus gladden your eyes. But I have a message for you, my mother.\nGod asks for Agnese: she may not tarry long with you; her place is ready\nin the New Jerusalem. Be of good comfort, nay, rather rejoice that your\nchildren are safely housed in heaven.\" Evangelista communed a short\nwhile longer with his mother, and then, bidding her tenderly farewell,\ndisappeared; but the archangel remained, and to the day of her\ndeath was ever present to her sight.\n\nShe now understood the sense of the vision that had been sent her at\nthe time of Agnese's birth. It was not for the cloister, but for\nheaven itself, that God claimed her young daughter; and during the few\nremaining days of her earthly life she waited upon her with a tenderness\nmingled with veneration; looking upon her as one who scarcely belonged\nto the rough world she was so soon to leave. And the chosen child of\nGod, the little maiden on whom the mystic dove had rested in its flight,\nsoon drooped like a flower in an ungenial air,--soon gave her fond\nmother a last kiss and a last smile; and then her gentle spirit went to\nseek her brother's kindred soul. They were buried together; and the day\nwas now come for Francesca, when earthly happiness altogether vanishes,\nwhen life has its duties but has lost all its joys,--and then, what a\nlesson is in the story! God's angel henceforward stands visibly by her\nside, and never leaves her!\n\nWhen Evangelista had parted from his mother, she had fallen prostrate\non the ground, and blessed God for His great mercy to her, the most\nworthless of sinners, for such she deemed herself; and then, turning\nto the angel, who stood near her, she implored him to be her guide and\ndirector; to point out the way she was to tread; to combat with her\nagainst Satan and his ministers; and to teach her every day to become\nmore like in spirit to his and her Lord. When she left the oratory, the\narchangel followed her, and, enveloped in a halo of light, remained\nalways visible to her, though imperceptible to others. The radiance that\nsurrounded him was so dazzling, that she could seldom look upon him with\na fixed gaze. At night, and in the most profound darkness, she could\nalways write and read by the light of that supernatural brightness.\nSometimes, however, when in prayer, or in conference with her director,\nor engaged in struggles with the Evil One, she was enabled to see\nhis form with perfect distinctness, and by Don Antonio's orders thus\ndescribed him:--\"His stature,\" she said, \"is that of a child of about\nnine years old; his aspect full of sweetness and majesty; his eyes\ngenerally turned towards heaven: words cannot describe the divine purity\nof that gaze. His brow is always serene; his glances kindle in the soul\nthe flame of ardent devotion. When I look upon him, I understand the\nglory of the angelic nature, and the degraded condition of our own. He\nwears a long shining robe, and over it a tunic, either as white as the\nlilies of the field, or of the colour of a red rose, or of the hue of\nthe sky when it is most deeply blue. When he walks by my side, his feet\nare never soiled by the mud of the streets or the dust of the road.\"\n\nFrancesca's conduct was now directed in the most infallible manner. By\na special privilege, a companion had been assigned to her from the\nheavenly hierarchy; and if she committed any faults, error could not now\nbe pleaded in excuse. Her actions, her words, and her thoughts, were to\nbe ever on a par with those of the sinless Being who was to be her guide\nthroughout her earthly pilgrimage. It was an awful responsibility, a\nstartling favour; but trusting in God's grace, though fully aware of her\nown weakness, she did not shrink from the task. Her greatest wish had\nalways been to attain a perfect conformity with the Divine Will, and now\nthis mysterious guidance furnished her with the means of knowing that\nWill in its minutest details. In her struggles with the Evil One, the\narchangel became her shield of defence; the rays of light which darted\nfrom his brow sent the demons howling on their way. Thus protected, she\nfeared neither the wiles nor the violence of Satan.\n\nThe presence of her heavenly guide was also to Francesca a mirror, in\nwhich she could see reflected every imperfection of her fallen, though\nto a great extent renewed, nature. Much as she had discerned, even from\nher earliest childhood, of the innate corruption of her heart, yet she\noften told her director, that it was only since she had been continually\nin the presence of an angelic companion that she had realised its\namount. So that this divine favour, far from exalting her in her own\neyes, served to maintain her in the deepest humility. When she committed\nthe slightest fault, the angel seemed to disappear; and it was only\nafter she had carefully examined her conscience, discovered her failing,\nlamented and humbly confessed it, that he returned. On the other hand,\nwhen she was only disturbed by a doubt or a scruple, he was wont to\nbestow on her a kind look, which dissipated at once her uneasiness. When\nhe spoke, she used to see his lips move; and a voice of indescribable\nsweetness, but which seemed to come from a distance, reached her ears.\nHis guidance enlightened her chiefly with regard to the difficulty she\nfelt in submitting to certain cares and obligations which belonged to\nher position as mistress and head of a family. She was apt to imagine\nthat the hours thus employed were lost in God's sight; but her celestial\nguardian corrected her judgment on this point, and taught her to discern\nthe Divine will in every little irksome worldly duty, in every trifling\ncontradiction, as well as in great trials and on important occasions.\nThe light of the angelic presence gave her also a marvellous insight\ninto the thoughts of others. Their sins, their errors, their evil\ninclinations, were supernaturally revealed to her, and often caused her\nthe Keenest sorrow. She was enabled through this gift to bring back to\nGod many a wandering soul, to frustrate bad designs, and reconcile\nthe most inveterate enemies. Francesca used sometimes, to say to\nDon Antonio, when she requested his permission for some additional\nausterities which he hesitated in granting, \"Be not afraid, father; the\narchangel will not allow me to proceed too far in that course. He always\nchecks me when I am tempted to transgress the bounds of prudence.\" And\nDon Antonio believed it, for his penitent always spoke the exact truth;\nand in the miraculous manner in which she over and over again read his\nmost secret thoughts, and manifested them to him, he had a pledge of her\nveracity, as well as of her extraordinary sanctity.\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nFRANCESCA'S ILLNESS AND RECOVERY--HER VISION OF HELL--RESTORATION OF\nTRANQUILLITY III ROME--RETURN OF FRANCESCA'S HUSBAND--HER POWER IN\nCONVERTING SINNERS.\n\nFour long years had elapsed, during which Rome had been given up to\ndissensions and civil discord, while epidemics of various kinds were\ncontinually succeeding each other, and carrying off many of its\ninhabitants. At the opening of the year 1414, Sigismund, king of the\nRomans, and John XXIII., had agreed to convene a council at Constance;\nand the faithful were beginning to cherish a hope that the schism which\nhad so long desolated the Church might be drawing to a close. But this\ndistant prospect of relief was not sufficient to counterbalance\nthe actual sufferings of the moment; and Francesca beheld with\never-increasing pain the amount of sin and of misery which filled the\ncity of her birth. Her exertions, her labours, her bodily and mental\ntrials, told at last upon her enfeebled frame, and about this time she\nfell dangerously ill. Almost all her acquaintances, and even her\nown family, fled from her, terrified, it would seem, by the idea of\ncontagion. Vannozza alone remained, and never left her bed-side. Some\nthere were who came to visit, but not for the purpose of consoling her;\non the contrary, it was to reproach the dying saint with what they\ncalled her absurd infatuation, which had introduced the plague into her\nabode, and endangered her own life, for the sake of a set of worthless\nwretches. She listened with her accustomed gentleness, without\nattempting to defend herself from the charge. Her soul was perfectly at\npeace; she could joyfully accept the death that now appeared inevitable;\nshe could thank God earnestly that the struggle was past, and\nEvangelista and Agnese safely lodged in His arms. She looked forward to\na speedy reunion with these beloved ones; and marked the progress of\nher disease as the prisoner watches the process by which his chains\nare riven. A few words or love and faith she now and then whispered to\nVannozza; at other times she remained absorbed in divine contemplation.\nOvershadowed by an angel's wing, calm in the midst of severe suffering,\nshe performed her habitual devotions in as far as her strength\npermitted, and only gave up painful penances by the express order of her\ndirector. She who had healed so many sick persons cared not to be healed\nherself.\n\nIt was not, however, God's will that she should die so soon. After\npassing several months in prolonged sufferings, her health was suddenly\nrestored. It was at this period of her life that she had the awful and\ndetailed visions of hell which have remained on record, and in which\nmany salutary and fearful lessons are conveyed. She was rapt in spirit,\nand carried through the realms of endless woe. What was once chosen by\nthe genius of man as a theme for its highest poetic effort--a journey\nthrough \"the mournful city, amongst that lost people\" [Footnote: Per\nme si va nella citt\u00e1 dolente, Per me si va tra la perduta gente.\"--DANTE.]\n--was given to the saint in mystic trance to accomplish. An angel led\nher through these terrific scenes; and an intuitive perception was given\nto her of the various sufferings of the condemned souls. So deep was the\nimpression which this tremendous vision left on Francesca's soul, that\nnever afterwards, as long as she lived, could she speak of it without\ntears and trembling; and she would often emphatically warn those persons\nwho, trusting too implicitly to God's mercy, forgot in their reckless\nsecurity the terrors of His justice. Some of the fresco paintings in the\nconvent of Tor di Specchi represent this vision, and are visible to this\nday. The Pope John XXIII., and Sigismund, king of the Romans, had at\nlast succeeded in forming a league, with the object of delivering Italy\nfrom the intolerable yoke of Ladislas, king of Naples. This tyrant\nhad assembled a numerous army, and was marching upon Bologna; but the\nmeasure of his iniquities was now full, and the hand of death arrested\nhim on his way. An illness, occasioned by his incredible excesses,\nseized him between Nurni and Perugia, and he died on the 5th of August,\n1414. The sovereign Pontiff, free from the terrors which this fierce\nusurper had inspired, and yielding to the importunities of the cardinal,\nset out for Constance, where he was to meet the Emperor Sigismund. This\nsame Council of Constance was eventually to be the means of making void\nhis election, and of ending the great schism of the West, by placing in\nthe chair of St. Peter the illustrious Pontiff Martin V. The death of\nLadislas restored peace to the states of the Church, and in particular\nto the city of Rome. With the cessation of civil broils the famine\ndisappeared; and with it the grievous pestilence that had so long\naccompanied it. The fields were cultivated once more; the peasants\ngradually returned to their farms; the flocks grazed unmolested in the\ngreen pastures of the Campagna; and the whilom deserted provinces smiled\nagain under the influence of returning prosperity.\n\nThe sufferings of the Ponziani were also at an end. They were recalled\nfrom banishment, and their property was restored. Lorenzo and his\nson--now his only son--Baptista. returned to their home, and to the\nwife and mother they had so longed to behold again. But mixed with\nsorrow was the cup of joy which that hour seemed to offer. Lorenzo,\nwho a few years back was in the prime of life--strong, healthy, and\nenergetic,--he who had met every foe and every trial without shrinking,\nwas now broken by long sufferings; aged more through exile and grief\nthan through years. We are told that when he entered his palace and\nlooked upon his wife, deep sobs shook his breast, and he burst into an\nagony of tears. The two beautiful children which he had left by her\nside, where were they? Gone! never to gladden his eyes again, or make\nmusic in his home by the sound of their sweet voices. And Francesca\nherself, pale with recent illness, spent with ceaseless labours, she\nstood before him the perfect picture of a woman and a saint, with the\ndivine expression of her beloved face unchanged; but how changed in\nform, in bloom, in brightness, in every thing but that beauty which\nholiness gives and time cannot efface!\n\nLong and bitterly he wept, and Francesca gently consoled him. She told\nhim how Evangelista had appeared to her; how their children were only\ngone before them, companions now of those angels they had so resembled\nupon earth. She whispered to him that one of these was ever at her side;\nand when he looked upon her, and remembered all she had been to him,\ndoubtless he found it easy to believe. Taught by adversity, more than\never influenced by his admirable wife, Lorenzo henceforward adopted a\nmore thoroughly Christian mode of life than he had hitherto followed.\nNot content with praising her virtues, he sought to imitate them, and\npractised all the duties of religion with the utmost strictness. On\none point alone his conduct was inconsistent with the principles he\nprofessed, and this was, while it lasted, a source of keen anxiety to\nFrancesca. There was a Roman nobleman who, several years before, had\ngrievously offended the lord of Ponziano, and with whom he absolutely\nrefused to be reconciled. This had formerly been, and was again after\nhis return, an occasion of scandal to many. The more eminent were his\nvirtues, the higher his religious profession, the more glaring appeared\nsuch an evident inconsistency. Francesca herself was blamed for it;\nand people used to wonder that she who was so often successful in\nreconciling strangers and promoting peace in families, had not the power\nof allaying an enmity discreditable to her husband and at variance with\nthe dictates of religion. At last, however, by dint of patience and\ngentleness, she accomplished what had seemed for a long time a hopeless\nendeavour. The hearts of both parties were touched with remorse.\nLorenzo, who was the aggrieved party, granted his enemy a full and free\npardon, and a perfect reconciliation ensued. This triumph over himself\non the one point where the stubborn natural will had so long held out,\nresulted, as is almost always the case, in a rapid advance towards\nperfection.\n\nLorenzo, from this time forth, withdrew more and more from public life,\nrefused those posts of honour and of responsibility which a friendly\ngovernment pressed upon him, and surrendered himself almost entirely\nto the duties and exercises of a strictly religious life. In his\nconversations with his wife, he daily gained a deeper insight into the\nsecrets of the spiritual life. Far from complaining of the amount of\nmoney which she spent in charity, of the existence of an hospital within\nthe walls of his palace, of her various and laborious works of mercy, or\nof the length of time which she spent in prayer, he renewed his request\nthat she would, in every respect, follow what seemed to her the will of\nGod, and the most perfect manner of life. Francesca gratefully complied\nwith this his desire. She watched more strictly than ever over the\nconduct of those committed to her charge, and recommended to them by\nher example even more than by her precepts an exact observance of the\ncommandments of God and of the Church. What money was exclusively her\nown, she regularly divided into two parts: with one-half she bought food\nfor the poor, with the other clothing and medicine for the sick. Her own\ndress cost her next to nothing; she continued to wear her old green gown\npatched-up with any odd bits of cloth that fell in her way. Almost every\nday she went to her vineyard and gathered wood for the faggots which\nshe gave away on her return. Her relations, her friends, and even her\nservants, were annoyed at her employing herself in such labour, and\nbitterly complained of the humiliation it occasioned them to meet her\nso meanly dressed and so meanly occupied. Lorenzo did not share those\nfeelings; on the contrary, he used to look upon her on these occasions\nwith an increase of affection and veneration; and supported by his\napproval, by the approbation of her director, and the dictates of her\nown conscience, she cared little for the comments of others.\n\nThe kind of apostolate which by this time she exercised in Rome was very\nremarkable; and her power over men's minds and hearts scarcely short of\nmiraculous. There was a subduing charm, an irresistible influence in her\nwords and in her manner, which told on every variety of persons.\nThe expression of her countenance, the tones of her voice, her mere\npresence, worked wonders in effecting conversions, and in animating to\nvirtue those whom she approached. Her gift of reading the thoughts of\nothers, which had increased ever since the archangel had become her\ncompanion, enabled her in several instances to bring about conversions,\nseveral of which are related at length by her biographers.\n\nAmongst them was that of a young woman who was lying dangerously ill in\none of the hospitals of the city. Francesca had been distributing food\nto the sick, and was then attending the death-bed of a young man, who\nwas about to receive the last Sacraments, when a piercing cry from one\nof the adjoining wards reached her ears. She hastened to the spot, and\nfound a young woman stretched on one of the narrow beds, and dying in\nall the agonies of despair. No sooner had she looked upon the poor\ncreature than her dreadful history was supernaturally revealed to her.\nShe had some time before had an illegitimate child, and, under the\npressure of shame and terror, had destroyed it. The consciousness of\nthis crime was driving her to despair, and she had not courage to\nconfess it. But now words were whispered in her ear, which went\nstraight to the point on which the awful straggle turned; which spoke\nof the horrible misery of dying impenitent and unabsolved, and of the\nboundless mercy which has provided a remedy for the deepest stains\nof sin, the blood of Jesus applied to the soul by the grace of the\nSacrament. For a long time the poor creature resisted, turned her head\naway, and refused to be comforted. But when Francesca, in still more\npressing terms, alluded to the intolerable burden of an unacknowledged\ncrime, of the life-giving humiliation of a sincere confession, of the\ndire confusion of an unforgiven soul on the day of Judgment; of the love\nof Jesus, of the tenderness of Mary, of the indulgence of the Church,\nthe sweetness of pardon, the peace of reconciliation; then the stubborn\nheart yielded, the seared spirit was softened. Bursting into tears, the\ndying sufferer exclaimed, \"A priest! a priest!\" and one was at hand at\nthe first call of contrition, and answered that expiring cry, as Matthew\ndid the royal prophet's confession: \"The Lord forgives; thou shalt not\nperish.\" And shortly after in Francesca's arms the pardoned sinner\nbreathed her last.\n\nAbout the same time, Francesca was the means of converting one who\nwould doubtless have turned with contempt from the poor criminal on the\nhospital-bed with horror, from the guilty destroyer of her own child,\nand deemed that to breathe the same air as such a wretch was in itself\ncontamination. And yet, in God's right, Gentilezza may have been as,\nor perhaps more guilty than the sorely-tempted, unprotected, miserable\nbeing, who in weakness first, and then in terror, almost in madness,\nhad rushed into crime; for she was rich, noble, and beautiful; had been\nnursed in pomp and pleasure; hunger had never tempted, and scorn never\npursued her. Her life had been one continued scene of amusement and of\nsplendour. She cared for nothing but the homage of men, the incense of\nadmiration, the intoxication of pleasure. There was not a duty that she\ndid not neglect, nor one sacred obligation that she felt herself bound\nto observe. We are not told that she committed what men call crimes; but\nher husband she treated with open contempt, and ridiculed him on\naccount of his attachment to religious duties; her children she\naltogether neglected, and abandoned them to the care of servants, while\nher days and nights were devoted to amusements and frivolities of every\ndescription. Several of the Roman ladies, who used to be her companions,\nhad been induced, by Francesca's example and exhortation, to give up\na life of dissipation, and adopt one better befitting the Christian\nprofession; but Gentilezza laughed at her and at them, and used to say,\nwith insolent derision, that she had no vocation for wearing rags and\ncarrying faggots. Perfectly indifferent to the ridicule with which she\nsought to cover her, Francesca prayed incessantly for the vain and\nhaughty woman, who seemed beyond the reach of reproach or of persuasion.\nOne day, however, moved by a prophetic impulse, she thus addressed her:\n\"You scorn my warnings, Gentilezza; you laugh at the advice of your\nconfessor. But remember that God is powerful, and not to be mocked with\nimpunity. The day is at hand when you will rue the stubbornness of your\nheart.\"\n\nA few days afterwards, as Gentilezza, who was with child at the time,\nwas descending the stairs of her palace, her foot slipped, and she fell\nheadlong to the bottom. Her servants raised her in their arms, and found\nher all but dead. The physicians, who were summoned in haste, judged\nunfavourably of her case, and pronounced that her child must infallibly\nhave been killed by the fall. The wretched woman burst into tears, but\nit was not so much her own danger, or the death of her infant which she\ndeplored, as the ruin of her beauty, which had been her pride and her\nsnare. Her features had been so injured by this accident, that her face\nwas completely disfigured, and with rebellious anger she wept over her\nlost loveliness. Francesca, upon hearing of this event, hurried to the\nspot, and nursed the suffering woman with the tenderest care. With the\nutmost kindness she reminded her of the duties she had neglected, and of\nthe means of grace she had despised, and exhorted her to recognise the\nhand of a merciful God in the chastisement she had received. She spoke\nto her of her husband, of her children, of the true and sweet vocations\nof a wife and a mother, of the transitory nature of all earthly\nenjoyments; and into the heart subdued by pain and disappointment her\nwords made their way. It was as if scales had fallen from the eyes of\nthe sufferer. \"God is just,\" she exclaimed at last; \"I deserved even\na greater punishment than I have met with. Pray for me, Francesca\nPonziano; pray for me; and oh, hear me promise, that if my life is\nspared, I will give up all my evil ways, and henceforward become a\nChristian wife and a Christian mother; so help me God, whom I have so\ngrievously offended!\" Francesca bent over her and embraced her; she saw\nthat her repentance was sincere, and bade her be of good comfort,\nand that her penitence would be accepted. And so it turned out; for\nGentilezza was safely delivered of a healthy little girl, and in time\nrecovered not only her health but the beauty which she had once turned\nto such bad account; and, while faithful to her promise, she ceased to\nabuse the gifts of God, and devoted herself to the diligent performance\nof her duties, became a chosen friend of Francesca's, and one of the\nmost pious and exemplary matrons in Rome.\n\nAmong the relatives of the saint, there was a young man whose name was\nGiovanni Antonio Lorenzi, whose temper was fierce and violent in the\nextreme. Having been, as he considered, insulted by another Roman\nnobleman, he vowed that he would take his life, and resolved to have him\nassassinated. Francesca's angel revealed to her his criminal design,\nwhich was as yet confined to his own breast. She instantly sent for the\nobject of his enmity, and charged him, as he valued his existence,\nnot to leave his own house for a certain number of days; and without\ninforming him of the reason, obtained his promise to that effect. In the\nmean time she disclosed to Lorenzi her knowledge of his guilty project,\nand induced him to abandon all idea of revenge. Her influence over\nAngelo Savelli, on a similar occasion, was still more remarkable. He had\nquarrelled with a young man of his acquaintance, and a duel had ensued,\nin which he had been severely wounded. His anger was excessive; he did\nnothing but threaten and curse his adversary. Neither his own family nor\nthat of his foe could succeed in appeasing him, and he was dying with\nvengeance in his heart, and accents of rage on his lips. Francesca was\ninformed of his condition, and went, straightway to his bed-side. She\nhad no sooner uttered a few words, than he bade her bring his enemy to\nhim, that he might forgive and embrace him. He was himself astonished\nat the change thus wrought by her presence, and declared that the Holy\nSpirit had moved him by her means. He received the last Sacrament with\nthe best dispositions, and died soon after, full of peace and hope, and\nrepeatedly assured his family that God, in mercy to his soul, had sent\nthe wife of Ponziano to save him from the ruin which was so nearly\novertaking him.\n\nOne more instance amongst many of Francesca's powers of persuasion may\nbe adduced, in addition to the preceding. She was, as we have seen,\na constant attendant at the church of Santa Maria Nuova, where her\nconfessor, Don Antonio Savello officiated. It so happened that one of\nthe monks of his order, Don Ippolito, who subsequently played a part in\nthe history of the saint, and who had been now residing ten years in\nthe convent, was about this time appointed to the office of sacristan,\nalthough he had previously filled with distinction divers important\nfunctions in the monastery. He had accepted this appointment out of\nobedience and humility of spirit; but after a while the devil sorely\ntempted him to regret having done so; to repine at what he began to\nconsider as an act of tyranny and injustice; and these reflections,\ngradually indulged in, made sad havoc of his peace of mind. An\noppressive melancholy beset him; and at last he came to the resolution\nof abandoning his habit and the monastery, if the obnoxious\nappointment were not cancelled. But one day that he had been invoking\nMary, our Lady of good counsel, he felt a sudden inspiration to go and\ncommunicate to Francesca his discontent, his restlessness, and the\nresolution he had formed. She listened attentively to his statement, and\nthen quietly addressed to him some questions which placed the subject\nin its true light. She asked him with what purpose he had entered the\nreligious state; whom he had intended to serve in doing so; which he\npreferred, the God who descends and dwells on the altar, or the servants\nwho wait upon Him elsewhere? Which was the highest post, that of\nwatching over the sanctuary, in company with the angels, or of\nministering to men, however holy and eminent they might be, as would be\nhis lot in another office? The wisdom and simplicity of this answer\nwent straight to Don Ippolito's heart. He instantly acquiesced in its\njustice, and went directly to confession. With earnest benevolence he\nbetook himself to the duties of his at once humble and exalted office,\nedified all his brethren by his unfeigned humility, and became in time\nthe model of his order. He was afterwards successively named sub-prior,\nand then prior of the monastery of Santa Maria Nuova; and was later the\nassociate and support of Francesca in the foundation of her congregation\nof the Noble Oblates of Tor di Specchi.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nFRESH SUPERNATURAL EVENTS IN FRANCESCA'S HISTORY--HER OBEDIENCE TO HER\nHUSBAND AND TO HER CONFESSOR REWARDED BY TWO MIRACLES--MARRIAGE OF HER\nSON, AND ILL CONDUCT OF HIS WIFE--HER CONVERSION THROUGH FRANCESCA'S\nPRAYERS--FRESH MIRACLES WORKED BY FRANCESCA.\n\nFrancesca's obedience to her director in spiritual matters, and to her\nhusband in other respects, continued to be exemplary. In both instances\nshe received a miraculous proof that God regarded with especial favour\nthat humble submission of spirit in one whom He endowed with such\nmarvellous gifts. The story of these miracles mighht well furnish a\nsubject to a painter or a poet. One day that she and Vannozza had asked\npermission to visit the shrine of Santa Croce in Gierusalemme, Don\nAntonio had given them leave to do so; on condition that, as an exercise\nof self-control, and a test of their obedience, they should walk there\nand back without once raising their eyes to look about them. He wished\nthem to employ all the time of that long walk in mental prayer and\nmeditation. They proceeded on their way without interruption, till, on\napproaching the hospital adjoining the church of St. John of Lateran, a\nsudden rush of people overtook them, and sounds of terror were heard on\nevery side. A bull had escaped from its leaders, and driven frantic by\nthe cries of the multitude, it was dashing savagely along. Francesca and\nVannozza stood directly in his path. Loud shouts warned them to get\nout of the way; but, faithful to the obedience they had received, and\nprobably inwardly assured that they would be protected against the\ndanger, whatever it was, they advanced calm and unmoved with their eyes\nfixed on the ground. The bystanders, who were cowering at a distance,\nshuddered; for it seemed that the next moment must see them under the\nfeet of the bellowing animal. But no; the same influence that tamed the\nlions in Daniel's den was at work with the savage beast. At sight of the\ntwo women, it suddenly stopped in its course, became perfectly tranquil,\nstood still while they passed, and then resumed its flight; while they\nproceeded to the church without having experienced the slightest emotion\nof fear. There is an ancient saying, that a wild beast is appeased by\nthe sight of a maiden in her purity; and there can be no doubt that\nthose saints who have regained in some measure, by mortification,\npenance, and heroic virtue, the purity of man's original nature, have\nat the same time recovered, in a certain degree, the power which Adam\npossessed over the animal creation. It is a fact of frequent occurrence\nin their lives, that mysterious homage paid to them by the wild\ninhabitants of the desert, or the gentle denizens of the grave. St.\nFrancis of Assisi, and St. Rose of Lima, amongst others, were singularly\nendowed with this gift. There are few more touching thoughts, or any\nbetter calculated to make us understand the true character of sanctity,\nand the gradual restoration of a fallen nature to one akin to that of\nthe angels.\n\nThe other miracle was one attested by Vannozza, who witnessed its\noccurrence. Francesca devoted all her leisure moments to prayer, but\nnever allowed her delight in spiritual exercises to interfere with her\nduty as a wife. Her attention to Lorenzo's slightest wants and wishes\nwas unceasing. She never complained of any amount of interruption or of\ntrouble which his claims upon her time might occasion. One day that she\nwas reciting in her room the office of the Blessed Virgin, he sent for\nher. Instantly rising from her knees, she obeyed his summons. When she\nhad performed the trifling service he required, she returned to her\nprayers. Four successive times, for the most insignificant of purposes,\nshe was sent for: each time, with unwearied good humour, she complied,\nand resumed her devotions without a shadow of discontent or annoyance.\nOn resuming her book the last time that this occurred, great was her\nastonishment in finding the antiphon, which she had four times begun and\nfour times left unfinished, written in letters of gold. Vannozza, who\nwas present, witnessed the miracle; and the archangel whispered to\nFrancesca, \"Thus the Lord rewards the virtue of obedience.\" The gilded\nletters remained in the book to the day of her death.\n\nHer prayers were frequent; her fervour in proportion. Beginning with the\n\"Our Father\" and the \"Hail Mary,\" it was her practice to recite them\nslowly, and to ponder on each word as she pronounced it. The Office of\nthe Blessed Virgin she repeated daily at the appointed hours, and almost\nalways on her knees; the Rosary also, and a great number of psalms\nbesides, as well as various devotions for the holy souls in purgatory.\nAs to mental prayer, her whole life was one continued orison; ever in\ncommunion with God, she never lost the sense of His presence. From this\ntime forward (she was now thirty-two years old), her life grew more and\nmore supernatural. The mystical wonders that have manifested themselves\nin so many saints were displayed in her to an eminent degree. When\nshe approached the tribunal of penance, but, above all, in going to\ncommunion, her body sometimes emitted a fragrant odour, and a halo of\nlight surrounded her head. Often and often, after receiving the Bread of\nLife, she fell into a long ecstasy, and for hours remained motionless,\nand wrapt up in silent contemplation, unable to move from the spot but\nat the command of her director; the virtue of obedience overcoming\neven the mystical insensibility to all outward objects. Her intimate\nintercourse with heaven during those moments; the prophecies which she\nuttered; the manner in which distant and future occurrences were made\nmanifest to her spiritual perceptions, testified to the supernatural\nnature of these ecstasies. An intimate union established itself between\nher and the objects of her incessant contemplation. When she meditated\non the glorious mysteries, on the triumphs of Mary, or the bliss of the\nangelic spirits, an intense joy beamed in her face, and pervaded her\nwhole person. When, on the other hand, she mused on the Passion of our\nLord, or on the sorrows of His Mother, the whole expression of her face\nwas changed, and bore the impress of an unutterable woe; and even by\nphysical pains she partook in a measure of the sufferings of her God.\nThe anxious torments of the Passion were rehearsed as it were in her\nbody; and ere long a wound in her side manifested one of the most\nastonishing but indubitably established instances of the real though\nmystical share which some of the saints have had in the life-giving\nagonies of the Lord. None but Vannozza, who used to dress that touching\nand awful wound, and Don Antonio, to whom she revealed it in confession,\nwere acquainted with this extraordinary token of union between the\ncrucified Redeemer and His favoured servant. She suffered intense pain\nwhile it lasted, but it was a joyful suffering. Love made it precious\nto her. She had desired to drink of His cup, and be baptised with His\nbaptism; and He destined her one day to sit at His side and share His\nglory. She had drunk to the dregs the cup of earthly sorrow; the anguish\nof bereavement, the desolation of loneliness, the torments of fear, the\npangs of sickness and poverty. And now the most mysterious sufferings\nfell to her lot, of a nature too sacred for common mention, for man's\ninvestigation, but not the less real and true than the others. The\nrelief was as miraculous as the infliction. In a vision she saw herself\ntransported into the cave of Bethlehem, and into the presence of the\nInfant Jesus and of His Mother. With a sweet smile, the Blessed Virgin\nbade Francesca discover the wound which love had made, and then with\nwater that flowed from the rock, she washed her side, and dismissed\nher. When her ecstasy was over, she found that the miraculous wound was\nperfectly healed.\n\nIt was at this time that she predicted in the most positive manner, and\nwhen appearances were all against such a result, that the papal schism\nwas about to end. The Council of Constance was sitting, and new\ndifficulties and conflicts continually arose. War was on the point of\nbursting out again, and every body trembling at the thought of fresh\ndisasters. Contrary, however, to all expectations, the last weeks of the\nyear 1415 saw the conclusion of the schism. The assembled fathers, with\na courage that none had foreseen, and indifferent to the threats of\nFrederick of Austria on the one side, and of the King of France on the\nother, who were each advocating the cause of an anti-pope,--the former\nsupporting John XXIII., the latter Benedict XIII.,--they deposed these\ntwo usurpers, obliged Gregory XII. to renounce his pretensions also,\nand on the 11th of November unanimously elected Otto Colonna, Cardinal\nDeacon of St. George in Velabro, who took the name of Martin V.; and\nby his virtues and his talents succeeded in restoring: peace to Rome\nitself, and to the whole Catholic world. It was generally supposed, even\nduring her lifetime, and much more after her death, that Francesca's\nprayers, her tears and her sufferings, had accelerated that blessed\nevent, and drawn down the mercy of God on His afflicted Church.\n\nThe son of Lorenzo and Francesca. Baptista Ponziano, had now arrived at\nthe age of eighteen, and was considered the most promising of the young\nRoman noblemen. The excellent education he had received was bearing its\nfruits. In appearance and in manners, in talents and in character, he\nwas equally distinguished. Lorenzo, anxious to perpetuate his family,\nand secure heirs to his large possessions, pressed his son to marry. It\nwas with the greatest satisfaction that Francesca seconded his wishes.\nShe longed to give up to a daughter-in-law the management of domestic\naffairs, and to be more free to devote her time to religious and\ncharitable employments. The young person on whom the choice of Baptista\nand of his parents fell was Mobilia, a maiden of whom it is recorded\nthat she was of noble birth and of singular beauty, but her family\nname is not mentioned. Immediately upon her marriage, according to the\ncontinental custom of the time, the bride came to reside under the same\nroof as her father and mother-in-law. She was received as a beloved\ndaughter by Francesca and Vannozza; but she neither returned their\naffection nor appeared sensible of their kindness. Brought up by an\nexcellent mother in a very strict manner and entire seclusion, her head\nwas completely turned at suddenly finding herself her own mistress:\nadored by her husband, furnished with the most ample means of gratifying\nall her fancies, she was bent on making up for the somewhat austere life\nshe had led as a young girl, and gave no thought to any thing but her\nbeauty, her dress, and all the amusements within her reach. Wholly\ninexperienced, she declined to ask or to receive advice, and chose in\nevery respect to be guided by her inclinations alone. Imperious with\nher equals, haughty with her superiors, she gave herself all the\nairs imaginable, and treated her mother-in-law with the most supreme\ncontempt, hardly paying her more attention than if she had been the\nlowest menial in the house. In the gay societies which she frequented,\nit was her favourite amusement to turn Francesca into ridicule, to\nmimic her manners and her style of conversation; and she often declared\nherself perfectly ashamed of being related to a person so totally\nignorant of the ways of the world. \"How can one feel any respect,\" she\nused to ask, \"for a person who thinks of nothing but the poor, dresses\nas one of them, and goes about the streets carrying bread, wood, and old\nclothes?\" It was not that Mobilia's disposition was absolutely bad; on\nthe contrary, she was naturally sweet-tempered; but never having been\nleft before to her own management, and tasting for the first time the\nexciting pleasures of the world, the contrast which her mother-in-law's\nappearance, manners, and whole mode of life presented to that which\nseemed to her so attractive, irritated her beyond measure, till at last\nher dislike amounted to aversion; she could hardly endure Francesca\nin her sight. Vain were the remonstrances of her husband and of her\nfather-in-law, vain their entreaties and their reproofs; unavailing also\nproved the interference of some mutual friends, who sought to convince\nher of the culpability of her conduct, and to persuade her that she was\nbound to show Baptista's mother at least the attentions of ordinary\ncivility. The headstrong young woman persisted in exhibiting the utmost\ncontempt for her. The Saint endured all her frowardness with unvarying\ngentleness and patience, never uttering a sharp or unkind word in\nreturn, and spending long hours in prayer that the heart so closed\nagainst her, and so given up to the world, might through God's mercy be\nsoftened and changed. One day, when she was renewing these petitions\nwith more than common fervour, she heard the following words distinctly\npronounced in her hearing: \"Why do you grieve, Francesca? and why is\nyour soul disquieted? Nothing takes place without My permission, and all\nthings work together for the good of those who love Me.\" And her trial\nwas even then about to end. It happened a few days afterwards, when all\nthe inhabitants of the palace were assembled round the fire in the hall\n(for it was in the winter season), that Mobilia began as usual to attack\nher mother-in-law, and to turn her mode of life into ridicule, with even\ngreater bitterness than usual; and turning to her husband and to his\nfather, she exclaimed impatiently that she could not understand how they\nallowed her to follow her mean and degrading pursuits, to mix with the\nrefuse of the rabble, and draw down upon the whole family not only\nmerited disgrace, but intolerable inconveniences. She was going on in\nthis way, and speaking with great violence, when all of a sudden she\nturned as pale as death, a fit of trembling came over her, and in a\nmoment she fell back senseless. Francesca and Vannozza carried her to\nher bed, where, recovering her consciousness, she was seized with most\nacute pains. The intensity of her sufferings drew from her the most\npiteous cries. Then her conscience was roused; then, as if suddenly\nawakened to a sense of the enormity of her conduct, with a faltering\nvoice she murmured: \"My pride! my dreadful pride!\" Francesca bent over\nher gently, entreated her to bear her sufferings patiently, assured her\nthey would soon subside. Then Mobilia burst into an agony of tears, and\nexclaimed before all the bystanders, \"They will subside, my dear mother,\nif you ask it of God; but I have deserved more, much more, by my\nhorrible behaviour to you. Forgive me, dear mother; pray for me. I\nacknowledge my fault. Henceforward, if God spares my life, your daughter\nwill be to you the most loving, the most obedient of handmaids. Take me\nin your arms, mother, and bless your child.\" Francesca pressed to her\nbosom the beautiful young creature in whom such a change had been\nsuddenly wrought, and while she fervently blessed her, Mobilia felt that\nall her pains had left her.\n\nFrom that day forward the whole tone of her mind was altered; her\nconversion was complete. Francesca became to her an object of the most\naffectionate veneration; she consulted her about all her actions, and\ncommunicated to her her most secret thoughts. Utterly despising the\nvanities of the world which had led her astray, she adopted her views\nand opinions, and set entirely at naught the seductions of worldly\ngrandeur. The sanctity of Francesca was now so evident to her that she\nbegan to watch her actions, her words, every detail of her life, with a\nmixture of awe and of interest; and kept a record in writing of all that\nshe observed, and of the miraculous occurrences which were so often\ntaking place through her instrumentality, as well as in her own person.\nThe forementioned particulars she attested upon oath after the Saint's\ndeath, when the depositions were taken which served at a later period\nfor the process of her canonisation. The most intimate friendship\nestablished itself between Baptista's wife and his mother; nothing\ncould exceed the devoted and affectionate reverence of the one, or the\ntenderness with which it was repaid by the other. Francesca, with the\nmost watchful love, attended to Mobilia's slightest wants or wishes:\nnursed her assiduously in her confinements, and bestowed upon her\ngrandchildren the same cares that she had lavished on her own children.\nIt was a great relief to her that Mobilia, who was now only occupied\nwith her duties, assumed at her request the management of the house, and\nthe regulation of all domestic affairs. She was thus enabled to devote\nherself more unreservedly to the service of the poor and of the\nhospitals. The hospital which she visited most constantly was that which\nher father-in-law had founded near the Chiesa del Salvatore, called at a\nlater period Santa Maria in Cappella. The miracles wrought by the laying\non of her hands became more numerous than ever, and her fame increased\nin proportion. The degree in which her assistance was sought, her\nprayers implored, and the reputation of her sanctity extended, was\npainful to her humility; but her supernatural gifts were too evident to\nbe concealed from others or from herself, and there only remained to her\nto humble herself more deeply at the feet of the God who thus showed\nforth His power in one whom she deemed the most worthless of His\ncreatures.\n\nA great work was preparing for her hand to do; the first stone of a\nspiritual building was to be laid; she was growing ripe for the work;\nand God was drawing men's eyes upon her with wonder and with awe, that\nwhen that day came they might listen to her voice. The warnings which\nshe gave to persons threatened by secret dangers were innumerable; her\ninsight into the condition of their souls marvellous. One day she sends\nword to her confessor that he will be \"sent for on the following night\nto attend a sick person, but that he must on no account leave his\nhouse;\" and it turns out that assassins were lying in wait for him in\nthe street, and that the pretended sick man was a lure to draw him out.\nAnother time a youth of sixteen, Jacopo Vincenzo, is lying dangerously\nill in the Piazza Campitelli. His mother hastens to the Saint, who\nsmiles when she enters the room, and bids her go in peace, for her son\nhas recovered; and on her return she finds him in perfect health. She\nsees a priest at the altar, and he appears to her sight as if covered\nwith a frightful leprosy. By her confessor's order she relates her\nvision to the object of it; and, confounded and amazed, the unhappy\nman acknowledges that he was celebrating in a state of mortal sin. He\nrepents, confesses, and amends his life. Two men pay a visit together\nto the Ponziano Palace; one is the nephew of Vannozza, a pious and\nexemplary priest; the other a young man of twenty, whom he has adopted.\nAnger is working in the bosom of the youth; he has suffered from his\nbenefactor some imaginary wrong, and he is planning his revenge, and\nis about to utter a calumny which will affect his character. Francesca\ntakes him aside: what can she know of what is passing in his soul: how\nread what has not been revealed to any human creature? She tells him\nwhat he designs, and awakens him to a sense of his ingratitude, he no\nsooner has left the house than, falling at the feet of his companion,\nhe confesses to him his crime, and implores his forgiveness. Cecca\nClarelli, a relation of the Ponziani, is delivered of a little girl in\nsuch apparent good health that no one thinks of baptising her; a grand\nceremony for the purpose is preparing in a neighbouring church, to\ntake place the following day; but in the middle of the night Francesca\narrives, and entreats that the child may be instantly baptised. The\nparents and the priest object, but the Saint is urgent; she will take no\ndenial; with reluctance her request is complied with, and no sooner has\nthe sacrament been conferred than the infant expires. A child of the\nsame parents, a lovely little girl, is dumb; she is four years old,\nand not a single word has she ever pronounced. Andreozzo, her father,\nentreats his wife to carry her to the Saint, and implore her assistance.\nFrancesca's humility cannot endure this direct appeal, and she tries to\nput them off; but, deeply affected by their tears, she at last touches\nwith her finger the tongue of the little Camilla, and says, \"Hope every\nthing from the mercy of God; it is as boundless as His power.\" The\nparents depart full of faith and comfort; and ere they reach their\nhouse, the child has uttered with perfect distinctness the blessed names\nof Jesus and Mary; and from that day forward acquires and retains the\npower of speech.\n\nNo wonder that the name of Francesca grows every day more famous, and\nthat she is every day more dear to the people amongst whom she dwells;\nthat hearts are subdued, sinners reclaimed, mourners consoled by the\nsight of her blessed face, by the sweet sound of her voice. Many rise\nabout her and call her blessed; but children, and more especially her own\nspiritual children, are soon to call her mother. A new epoch is now at\nhand in her career. God had placed in her heart many years ago a hope\nwhich she had nursed in secret, and watered with her tears, and fostered\nby her prayers. Never impatient, never beforehand with God's providence,\nshe waited: His time was she knew to be her time; His will was the\npassion of her heart, her end, her rule, and God had made her will His,\nand brought about by slow degrees its accomplishment. Permission to\nlabour first,--the result far distant, but clear, the vision of that\nresult, when once He had said to her, \"Begin and work.\" To tarry\npatiently for that signal, to obey it unhesitatingly when once given, is\nthe rule of the saints. How marvellous is their instinct! how accordant\ntheir practice! First, the hidden life, the common life; the silence of\nthe house of Nazareth; the carpenter's shop; the marriage-feast, it may\nbe, for some; and at last, \"the hour is come,\" and the true work for\nwhich they are sent into the world has to be done, in the desert or in\nthe cloister, in the temple or in the market-place, on Mount Thabor or\non Mount Calvary; and the martyr or the confessor, the founder or the\nreformer of a religious order, comes forth, and in an instant, or in a\nfew years, performs a work at which earth wonders and angels rejoice.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nFRANCESCA LAYS THE FOUNDATION OF HER FUTURE CONGREGATION--HER\nPILGRIMAGE TO ASSISI.\n\nLORENZO PONZIANO'S admiration and affection for his wife had gone on\nincreasing with advancing years; the perfection of her life, and\nthe miracles he had so often seen her perform, inspired him with an\nunbounded reverence. His continual prayer, the ardent desire of his\nheart, was to have her by his side as his guide and his guardian angel\nduring the remainder of his life and at the hour of his death. Perhaps\nit was to win, as it were, from Providence the favour he so earnestly\nimplored, that he resolved in no way to be a clog on her actions, or an\nobstacle in the way of God's designs upon her. Taking her aside one day,\nhe spoke to her with the greatest affection, and offered to release her\nfrom all the obligations imposed by the state of marriage, to allow her\nthe fullest liberty of action and the most absolute control over her own\nperson, her own time, and her own conduct, on one only condition,--that\nshe would promise never to cease to inhabit his house, and to guide\nhim in the way in which her example had hitherto led him. Francesca,\nprofoundly touched by his kindness, did not hesitate to give this\npromise. She accepted his proposal joyfully and gratefully, in so much\nas it conduced to the accomplishment of God's will and of His ulterior\ndesigns upon her; but she continued to devote herself to her excellent\nhusband, and with the most attentive solicitude to render him every\nservice in her power. He was now in very declining health, and she\nrendered him by day and by night all the cares of the tenderest nurse.\nThe religious life, the natural complement of such a course as hers had\nbeen, often formed the subject of her meditations; and God, who destined\nher to be the foundress of a new congregation of pious women, suggested\nto her at this time the first steps towards its accomplishment.\n\nIt will be remembered that from her childhood upward she had been used\nto frequent the church of Santa Maria Nuova, on the Foro Romano; her\nmother had done so before her, and had intrusted her to the spiritual\ndirection of one of the most eminent members of the order by whom that\nchurch was served. Santa Maria Nuova is one of the oldest churches in\nRome. It had been destroyed and rebuilt in the eighth century; and in\n1352 had been given up to the Olivetan monks of St. Benedict. As the\ncongregation which Francesca instituted was originally formed on the\nmodel, and aggregated to that of the religions of Mount Olivet, it will\nnot be irrelevant to give some account of their origin and the life of\ntheir illustrious founder.\n\nBernard Ptolomei or Tolomei, who was supposed to be descended from the\nPtolemies of Egypt, was born in 1272. Distinguished by his precocious\nabilities, he became, at the early age of twenty-two, chief-magistrate\n(_gonfaloniere_) of his native town, Sienna; and at twenty-five\nattained to the dignity of doge. Soon after he was suddenly struck with\nblindness, and the material darkness in which he found himself involved\nopened his mental sight to the light of religious truth. He turned with\nhis whole heart to God, and irrevocably devoted himself to His\nservice and to a life of austerity and meditation. The Blessed Virgin\nmiraculously restored his sight, and his purpose stood firm. Dividing\nhis fortune into two equal parts, he bestowed one half on the poor, and\nthe other to the foundation of pious institutions. With a few companions\nhe retired into the mountainous deserts of Accona, about fifteen miles\nfrom Sienna, where they gave themselves up to a life of asceticism and\nprayer, which attracted to their solitude many devout souls from various\nparts of the world. Satan, as usual, set his batteries in array against\nthe new anchorites, and trials of various sorts assailed them in turn.\nThey were even denounced to Pope John XXII. as persons tainted with\nheresy; but Tolomei, with Piccolomini, one of his companions, made their\nway to Avignon, and there, in the presence of the sovereign Pontiff,\ncompletely cleared themselves from the calumnious imputation. Their\norder was approved, and they returned to Accona, where they took the\nname of \"Congregation of Mary of Mount Olivet of the Benedictine Order.\"\nThis was by the express desire of the Blessed Virgin, who had appeared\nto the saint, and enjoined him to adopt the rule of St. Benedict,\npromising at the same time her protection to the new order. On the 26th\nof March, 1319, the new religious received their habits; and Mount\nAccona took the name of Mount Olivet, in honour of the agony of our\nLord. Terrible were the conflicts of the holy founder with the Evil One;\nbut out of them all he came victorious. His expositions of Scripture\nwere wonderful, and derived, it was said, from his mystical colloquies\nwith the archangel St. Michael. The austerity of his life was extreme;\nhis penances severe and continual. In 1348 St. Benedict appeared to him\nand announced the approach of the pestilence which was soon to visit\nItaly, and warned him of his own death, which speedily followed. Many\nof his disciples had visions of the glorious translation of his soul to\nheaven; and numerous miracles wrought at his tomb bore witness to his\nsanctity. His monks inhabited the church and the cloisters of Santa\nMaria in Dominica, or, as it is more commonly called, in Navicella, from\nthe rudely-sculptured marble monument that stands on the grass before\nits portal, a remnant of bygone days, to which neither history nor\ntradition has given a name, but which has itself given one to the\npicturesque old church that stands on the brow of the Coelian Hill. As\ntheir numbers afterwards increased, they were put to great inconvenience\nby the narrow limits of their abode; and Cardinal Beltorte, titular of\nSanta Maria Nuova, obtained for them from Pope Clement VI. possession of\nthe church of that name. They accepted the gift with joy; for not\nonly did it owe its origin to the first ages of Christianity, but it\ncontained many valuable relics; and amongst other treasures one of those\npictures of the Blessed Virgin which tradition has ascribed to St. Luke\nthe Evangelist; to this day it is venerated in that spot; and those who\nkneel at the tomb of St. Francesca Romana, on raising their eyes to the\naltar above it behold the sacred image which has been venerated for so\nmany generations.\n\nThrough prosperity and adversity Francesca had never ceased to frequent\nthat church. At its confessional and at its altars she had been a\nconstant attendant. Other women, her friends and imitators, had\nfollowed her example; bound by a tender friendship, bent on the same\nobjects, united by the same love of Jesus and of Mary, often and often\nthey had been there together, those noble women who had resolved to\nglory in nothing but the Cross, to have no rank but that of handmaids in\nthe house of the Lord. Francesca was their model, their teacher, their\ncherished guide: they clung to her with the tenderest affection; they\nwere, according to an Eastern poet's expression,\n\n[Footnote:\"They a row of pearls, and I\n  The silken cord on which they lie.\"\n\na row of goodly pearls, and she the silken cord which bound them\ntogether. They were coming out of the church one evening, when Francesca\ngave them the first intimation of her hopes of their future destiny.\nThey were not shown the distant scene, only the first step they were to\ntake.\n\n[Footnote:\"Lead thou me on; I do not ask to see\nThe distant scene: one step enough for me.\"\nNewman's _Verses on Religious Subjects_]\n\nIt was one of those small beginnings so trifling in men's sight, so\nimportant in their results,--the grain of mustard-seed hereafter to grow\ninto a tree. Francesca spoke to them, as they walked along, of the order\nof St. Benedict, of the sanctity of its founder, of the virtues, the\npiety, the good works of its members, and submitted to them that by\ntaking the name of \"Oblates of Mount Olivet,\" and observing conjointly\ncertain rules, such as might befit persons living in the world, they\nmight participate in their merits, and enjoy their privileges. Her\ncompanions hailed this proposal with joy, and begged her to use all her\nefforts to carry it into effect. Don Antonio, to whom Francesca\ncommunicated their pious wishes, lent a favourable ear to the request,\nand in his turn brought it under the notice of the Vice-Prior Don\nIppolito, who, in the absence of the superior, was charged with the\ngovernment of the monastery. He was the same who at one time formed the\nproject of leaving the order, and was deterred from so doing by\nFrancesca's advice. He readily received their overtures, and obtained\nfor her and for her companions from the General of the Order permission\nto assume the name of \"Oblates of Mary,\" a particular aggregation to the\nmonastery of Santa Maria Nuova, and a share in the suffrages and merits\nof the order of St. Benedict.\n\nGreatly rejoiced at the happy result of their application, they gave\nthemselves to fasting, prayer, and penance, in preparation for their\nspecial consecration to the Blessed Virgin. It took place on the Feast\nof the Assumption of the year 1425.\n\nAt break of day, in the church of Santa Maria Nuova, Francesca,\nVannozza, Rita de Celli, Agnese Selli, and six more noble Roman\nladies, confessed, received the pious instructions of Don Antonio, and\ncommunicated at a Mass which Don Ippolito said before the miraculous\nimage of the Blessed Virgin. Immediately after the holy sacrifice, they\ndedicated themselves to her service, according to the formula used by\nthe Olivetan monks; only that the phrase \"me offero\" was substituted for\n\"profiteor;\" and that instead of taking solemn vows, they were simply\naffiliated to the Benedictine Order of Mount Olivet. Such was the first\nbeginning of the congregation of which Francesca was the mother and\nfoundress. In these early times, Don Antonio, their director, did not\nassign them any special occupation, and only urged them to the most\nscrupulous obedience to the commandments of God and of the Church, to a\ntender devotion to the Mother of God, a diligent participation in the\nSacraments, and the exercise of all the Christian virtues, and the\nvarious works of mercy. The link between them consisted in their\nconstant attendance at the church of Santa Maria Nuova, where they\nreceived communion on all the Feasts of our Lady, and in a tender\nveneration for Francesca, whom they looked upon as their spiritual\nmother. They had incessant recourse to her advice; and her simplest\nwords were as a law to them, her conduct their example. She assumed no\npower, and disclaimed all authority; but the sovereign empire of love\nwas forced into her reluctant hands. They insisted on being governed by\none they held in such affection, and gave up every pleasure for the sake\nof being with her, and sharing in her pursuits.\n\nIt was in the summer of the following year that Francesca decided on\nperforming a pilgrimage to Santa Maria, or, as it is more commonly\ncalled \"La Madonna degli Angeli,\" in honour of our Lady and of the\nseraphic Saint of Assisi. Vannozza and Rita eagerly agreed to accompany\nher; and they resolved to set on on the 2d of August, in order to arrive\nin time for the celebrated indulgence \"del Perdono.\" It was in poverty,\nnot only of spirit but of actual reality that they wished, to perform\ntheir journey to the tomb of the great apostle of poverty,--to go on\nfoot, and unprovided with money, provisions, or comforts of any sort.\nLorenzo and Parazza, who had readily consented to the proposed\npilgrimage, demurred for a while at this mode of carrying it out; but\nFrancesca prayed in her oratory that God would incline their hearts to\nconsent to it; and soon, with a reluctant smile, they consented to all\nshe proposed, and both only ejaculated, \"Go on your way in peace; do as\nyou list, and only pray for us.\" Out of the gates of Rome they went,\nthrough that country so well known to those who have often visited the\nEternal City; up the hill from whence the first sight of its domes and\nits towers, of its tombs and of its pines, is hailed with rapture, from\nwhence a long last lingering look of love is cast upon what the heart\nwhispers is its own Catholic home. It was the first, and as it would\nseem the only occasion (at least none other is mentioned in her life) in\nwhich Francesca left its walls, and trod other ground than that which\nthe steps of so many martyrs have hallowed, the blood of so many saints\nhas consecrated. The valleys of Veii on the one hand, the heights of\nBaccano on the other, the beautiful and stately mountain of Soracte, met\ntheir eyes as they do ours: would that we looked upon them with the same\nearth-abstracted gaze as theirs! The Gothic towers of Civita Castellana\nlooked down upon the humble pilgrims as they passed by in pious\nmeditation. The sound of their sweet voices, reciting prayers or\nchanting hymns, mingled with the murmurs of the stream that bathes the\nold walls of Nurni; and then through the wild defile of Monte Somma into\nthe lovely Umbrian Vale they went, through that enchanting land where\nevery tree and rock wears the form that Claude Lorraine or Salvator Rosa\nhave made familiar to the eye and dear to the poetic mind; where the\nvines hang in graceful garlands, and the fireflies at night dance from\nbough to bough; where the brooks and the rivers are of the colour of\nthe sapphire or the emerald, and the purple mountains smile rather than\nfrown on the sunny landscape; where the towns and the convents, the\nchurches and the cottages, are set like white gems in the deep verdure\nthat surrounds them. There is no land more fair, no sky more tenderly\nblue, no breeze more balmy, than the land where Spoleto and Toligno and\nAssisi rise in their picturesque beauty, than the sky which spreads its\nazure roof over the Umbrian traveller's head, than the airs which\nare wafted from the heights of Monte Falco, or the hill of Perugia.\nBeautiful is that country! fair these works of God!--but more beautiful\nstill is the invisible world which Francesca and her companions\ncontemplated, the while, with weary patient feet, in the sultry August\nweather, they trod the lengthening road from one humble resting-place to\nanother. Fairer the inward perfection of a soul which God has renewed,\nthan all the gorgeous but evanescent loveliness of earth's most lovely\nscenes.\n\nAt length their pilgrimage is drawing to a close; the towers of the\nMadonna degli Angeli are conspicuous in the distance; half unconsciously\nthey hasten in approaching it; but the heat is intense, and their lips\nparched with thirst; they can hardly speak, for their tongues cleave to\nthe roof of their mouths, when a stranger meets them, one of striking\nand venerable appearance, and clothed in the religious habit of St.\nFrancis. He hails the travellers, and straightway speaks of Mary and of\nJesus, of the mystery of the Passion, of the wonders of Divine love.\nNever have such words of fire met the ears of the astonished pilgrims.\nTheir hearts burn within them, and they are ready to exclaim, \"Never\ndid man speak like to this man.\" Francesca sees her angel assume his\nbrightest aspect. Hays of light seem to dart from his form, and to\nenvelope in a dazzling halo the monk who is addressing them. She knows\nhim now; and makes a sign to her companions. It is St. Francis himself.\nIt is the seraphic saint of Assisi. He blesses the little troop, and\ntouching a wild pear-tree by the road-side, he brings down to the ground\na fruit of such prodigious size, that it serves to allay the thirst and\nrestore the strength of the exhausted travellers.\n\nThat day they reached the shrine where they had so longed to kneel;\nthat little hut, once the abode of the saint, which stands in its rough\nsimplicity within the gorgeous church; where the rich and great of the\nworld come daily to do homage to the apostle of poverty, the close\nimitator of Him who had not often where to lay His head. There they\nreceived communion the next morning; there they prayed for their absent\nfriends; there Francesca had a vision, in which she was encouraged\nto persevere in her labours, to accomplish her pious design, and the\nprotection of Jesus and His Mother was promised to her. Let us follow\nthem in thought up the steep hill to Assisi--to the church where the\nrelics of the saint, where his mortal remains are laid. Let us descend\ninto the subterranean chapel, pause at every altar, and muse on the\nrecords of that astonishing life, the most marvellous perhaps of any\nwhich it has ever been permitted to mortal man to live. Let us go with\nthem to the home of his youth, where his confessorship began in childish\nsufferings for the sake of Christ. Let us venerate with them the relics\nof St. Clare, the gentle sister spirit whose memory and whose order are\nlinked with his; and for a moment think what prayers, what vows, what\nacts of faith, of hope, of charity, must have risen like incense\nfrom those devoted hearts in such scenes, amidst such recollections.\nDoubtless they bore away with them a host of sweet and pious thoughts.\nTheir faces must have shone with heaven's own light as they retraced\ntheir steps to the home where loving hearts were awaiting them. Few such\npilgrimages can have ever been performed, Francesca at the tomb of St.\nFrancis of Assisi must have been a blessed sight even for an angel's\neyes.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nDEATH OF FRANCESCA'S FRIEND AND DIRECTOR, DON ANTONIO--TROUBLES IN ROME\nAND ITALY FORETOLD BY FRANCESCA--DEATH OF VANNOZZA, FRANCESCA'S SISTER\nIN LAW--FOUNDATION OF THE CONGREGATION OF OBLATES OF TOR DI SPECCHI.\n\nTHE extraordinary graces which had attended our Saint during her\npilgrimage were the prelude of a trial which was awaiting her in Rome.\nHer earliest friend, her long-trusted guide, Don Antonio Savello, had\ndied during her absence. Though she accepted this dispensation of God's\nprovidence with her habitual resignation, it cut her to the heart. She\nhad deeply loved and reverenced her spiritual father; he had instructed\nher in childhood; directed her ever since with wisdom and faithfulness;\nand his loss was in one sense greater to her than that of any other\nfriend. It occurred, too, at the very moment when she was about to\ncarry out the Divine intimation with regard to the foundation of a new\nCongregation, when difficulties were every where staring her in the\nface, and the want of a powerful and willing auxiliary more than ever\nneedful. She did not, however, lose courage, but prayed fervently that\nGod would inspire her choice of a director; and much time she spent on\nher knees imploring this favour. No doubt the selection she made was the\nresult of these prayers; and one of the proofs that God's ways are not\nas our ways, nor His thoughts as our thoughts. Her choice fell on Don\nGiovanni Mattiotti, the curate of Santa Maria in Trastevere, to whom she\nhad already sometimes been to confession. He was a man of irreproachable\ncharacter and distinguished piety, but of an irresolute and vaccillating\ndisposition, easily disheartened; nor would he at first sight have\nappeared qualified for the direction of a person as far advanced in\nperfection as Francesca, on whom God had such great designs, and with\nwhom He chose to deal in such wonderful ways. But the trials which\nFrancesca had to endure from the irresolution of Don Giovanni; the\npatience with which she submitted to his varying commands; and the\nsupernatural means through which he was taught to recognise her\nsanctity, and to assist in carrying out her designs, tended in the end\nto the glory of God, and the praise of the Saint, whose very humility\nwas a trial to her, in those days of small beginnings, and often of\npainful doubts. Crosses of various kinds arose in connection with the\nundertaking. Some of the monks of Santa Maria Nuova, for instance,\ntook occasion, on the visits of a father inspector, to complain of Don\nIppolito, and to accuse him of transgressing the statutes, and going\nbeyond his powers, in admitting a congregation of women to the name and\nthe privileges of their order; especially considering that several of\nthese women were married, and living in the world. But the visitor was\na man of piety and prudence. He closely examined into the question, and\nsatisfied himself that the institution tended to edification, and was\npleasing to God; and he sanctioned it accordingly, as far as was in his\npower, and promised to advocate its cause with the father-general.\n\nIn the month of July of 1430 Francesca had a remarkable vision, which\nindicated to her the events that were speedily to follow, and which\nshe prophesied with an accuracy, that, in the end, occasioned general\nastonishment. One night, after spending several hours in prayer, she saw\na lurid light, through which a number of Satan's ministers were hurrying\nto and fro, shaking their torches, and rejoicing with dreadful glee\nover the impending calamities of Rome. The Saint fell on her knees,\nand besought the Lord to spare her unhappy country. Then falling into\necstasy, she beheld the Infant Jesus in His Mother's arms surrounded\nwith angels, and St. Peter, St. Paul, and St. John the Baptist in the\nattitude of prayer, pleading for mercy to the Eternal City, which they\nseemed to protect by their fervent supplications. At the same time she\nheard a voice that said, \"The prayers of the saints have stayed the arm\nof the Lord; but woe to the guilty city if she repent not, for great\nafflictions are at hand.\" Some days afterwards the lightning fell\nsimultaneously on the churches of St. Peter, St. Paul, and on the shrine\nof St. John Baptist in the Lateran Basilica. Francesca shuddered when\nshe heard of it; she felt at once that the day of grace had gone by;\nand in thrilling words described to her confessor, and to several other\npersons that were present, the misfortunes that were about to fall upon\nRome.\n\nThe fulfilment of her predictions was not long delayed, though nothing\nat the time seemed to give them weight. The unwearied exertions of\nMartin V. had succeeded in healing the wounds of Christendom. In Rome\nhe had repressed anarchy, recalled the exiled citizens to their homes,\nrebuilt the churches, given a new impulse to the government, to the\nadministration of justice, to politics, to literature, to science, and\nto art. He had worked hard to promote a reformation in the manners of\nthe clergy, and effected in many places the re-establishment of the\ndiscipline of the Church. The legates whom he sent to all the courts of\nEurope had restored some degree of union between the Christian princes,\nand preached a crusade against the Turks and the followers of John Huss.\nHe had called together a council, which was first convened at Pavia, and\nafterwards removed, first to Sienna, and then to Basle. But before he\ncould him self join the assembly, death overtook him. Worn out with his\nindefatigable labours for the welfare of Christendom, he went to receive\nhis reward at an unadvanced age, in the month of February of the year\n1431.\n\nGabriel Candalucero succeeded him under the name of Eugenius IV. The\nfirst Consistory which he held was marked by a fearful accident, which\npeople chose to consider as an evil omen. The floor of the hall gave\nway, and in the midst of the confusion that ensued a bishop was killed,\nand many persons grievously wounded. A discontented monk put about the\nreport that Martin V. had died in possession of a considerable treasure;\nand the Colonnas, catching eagerly at this pretext, took up arms to\nmake good their claims to this supposed heritage. Once more the adverse\nfactions rose against each other, and blood flowed in the streets of\nRome. The Colonnas were constrained to fly; and the monk, convicted of\nhaving conspired to deliver up the Castle of St. Angelo to the rebels,\nand to get the Pope assassinated, was condemned to death and executed. A\ntemporary reconciliation was effected between Eugenius IV. and the too\npowerful family of the Colonnas; but their haughty and violent temper\nsoon brought about a rupture. They advanced upon Rome at the head of\ntheir troops; a bloody engagement took place under the walls of the\ncity, in which the pontifical troops had the upper hand, but many of the\nnobles perished in the affray.\n\nConflicts of a still more harrowing nature now arose between the Pope\nand the Council of Basle. Duke Philip of Milan availed himself of this\nopportunity to retrieve the sacrifices he had made in a treaty which the\nPope had led him to sign with the Venetians. He forged a decree which,\npurported to proceed from the fathers of the council, appointing him\nlieutenant-general of the Church in Italy; and armed with this assumed\ntitle, he despatched to the Roman States Francesca Sforza and Nicholas\nFortebraccio, two famous adventurers in his pay. The latter advanced\nupon Rome, and began to devastate its neighbourhood. The Pope, wholly\nunprepared for defence, warded off the danger by sowing dissension\nbetween the two generals, which he effected by giving up to Sforza, for\nhis lifetime, the possession of Ancona, and of the provinces which he\nhad conquered in the states of the Church. Sforza, in consequence, took\npart with Eugenius, and defeated Fortebraccio at Tivoli; but in the\nmeantime a general insurrection broke out in Rome itself. The Ghibelline\nparty attacked the Pope, laid siege to the church of the Holy Apostles,\nwhere he had taken shelter, and from whence he escaped with difficulty\ndisguised as a monk, embarked on the Tiber, and found a refuge first at\nPisa and then at Bologna. Rome was given up for five months to all the\nhorrors of anarchy, the pontifical palace pillaged, and new magistrates\nchosen in lieu of those appointed by the Pope; the garrison of the\ncastle of St. Angelo alone remaining firm in its allegiance to the\nsovereign Pontiff. Weary at last of so much disorder, the city of its\nown accord submitted itself to lawful authority. Eugenius sent a legate,\nwho in some measure succeeded in re-establishing peace; but he himself\nremained in the north of Italy, engaged in convoking a council,\nwherewith to oppose the irregular decrees of that assembled at Basle.\n\nThese events, which spread over several years, are related in\nconfirmation of the prophetical gifts of Francesca, who accurately\nforesaw and foretold them when nothing presaged their occurrence. At the\ntime when this storm was about to burst over Italy, and the beginning of\nsorrow was at hand, she was doomed to experience another of the heavy\nafflictions that life had yet in store for her. Vannozza, her cherished\ncompanion, her sister, her counsellor, her bosom friend, was summoned to\nreceive her heavenly crown; and she herself to add to all her virtues a\nmore perfect detachment from all earthly ties. They had been united by\nevery link that affection, sympathy, and similarity of feeling, tastes,\nand opinions can create between two hearts devoted to God, and through\nHim to each other. Their union had not been obscured by the smallest\ncloud. Together they had prayed, suffered, and laboured; and in trials\nand joys alike they had been inseparable. Francesca had been warned in\na vision of the approaching end of her sister-in-law; and at length,\nstrong in faith, she stands by her dying-bed; and when the Evil One,\nbaffled in life, makes a final effort to disturb the departing soul,\nshe prays for the beloved of her heart, sprinkles holy water on that\nmuch-loved form, reads aloud the history of the Passion of our Lord;\nand Vannozza, supported by those sacramental graces which Satan cannot\nwithstand, followed almost beyond the verge of life by that watchful\ntenderness which had been her joy on earth, sees the evil spirit retire\nbefore the might of Francesca's angel, and breathes her last in perfect\npeace. The soul which had served and loved God so fervently upon earth\nwas carried up to heaven in a form visible to the eyes of her friend; a\npure flame, enveloped in a light transparent cloud, was the symbol of\nthat gentle spirit's flight into its kindred skies.\n\nThe mortal remains of Vannozza were laid in the church of the Ara Coeli,\nin the chapel of Santa Croce. The Roman people resorted there in crowds\nto behold once more their loved benefactress,--the mother of the poor,\nthe consoler of the afflicted. All strove to carry away some little\nmemorial of one who had gone about among them doing good; and during the\nthree days which preceded the interment, the concourse did not abate. On\nthe day of the funeral, Francesca knelt on one side of the coffin, and,\nin sight of all the crowd, she was rapt in ecstasy. They saw her body\nlifted from the ground, and a seraphic expression in her uplifted face.\nThey heard her murmur several times with an indescribable emphasis the\nword, \"When? when?\" (_Quando? quando?_) When all was over, she still\nremained immovable; it seemed as if her soul had risen on the wings of\nprayer, and followed Vannozza's spirit into the realms of bliss. At last\nher confessor ordered her to rise, and to go and attend on the sick.\nShe instantly complied, and walked away to the hospital which she had\nfounded, apparently unconscious of every thing about her, and only\nroused from her trance by the habit of obedience which, in or out of\necstasy, never forsook her.\n\nFrom that day her visions grew more frequent and more astonishing. She\nseemed to live in heaven; and during those hours of mystical intercourse\nwith saints and angels, and with the Lord of angels and of saints, to\nobtain supernatural lights which guided her in the foundation of her\nnew congregation. The Blessed Virgin revealed to her that St. Paul, St.\nBenedict, and St. Mary Magdalene were to be its protectors; and that Don\nGiovanni Mattiotti, her director, Fra Bartolommeo Biondii, of the order\nof St. Francis, and Don Ippolito, of the Olivetan Obedience, were to\nco-operate with her in its establishment. To Don Giovanni a particular\nmessage was sent to confirm him in the intention of forwarding the work,\nand to warn him against discouragement from the many difficulties it\nwould meet with. Wonderful were the sights which it was given her to see\nin those long ecstasies, during which her soul seemed to absent\nitself from her all-but spiritualised body. Sometimes a speechless\ncontemplation held all her faculties in abeyance; at others, in burning\nwords, she described what passed before her mental sight. At times her\nmotionless attitude almost wore the semblance of death; while often\nshe moved about and performed various actions in connection with the\nsubjects of her visions. In the churches which she frequented,--in Santa\nCroce in Gerusalemme, in Santa Maria in Trastevere, in the Chapel of the\nAngels in Santa Cecilia, in her own oratory,--she is favoured with the\npresence of celestial visitants. The various ecclesiastical feasts of\nthe year bring with them analogous revelations; she spends her time in\nthe cave of Bethlehem and the house of Nazareth, on the mountains, where\nJesus was wont to pray, where He was transfigured, where He agonised,\nand where He died. She adores with the shepherds and the wise men; she\nlistens to His voice with the disciples and the devout multitude; she\nsuffers with the Mother of sorrows, and weeps with the Magdalene at\nthe foot of the Cross. The beauties of the New Jerusalem, the lovely\npastures, the fresh waters, the bright flowers, the precious stones,\nwhich typify the glories of the world to come, are spread before her\nin those mystic trances. Deeper and more mysterious revelations are\nvouchsafed, wonderful secrets disclosed to her under expressive symbols,\nand St. Paul is her guide through those regions where he was ravished in\nspirit while still, like her, an inhabitant of earth. One day that she\nwas in ecstasy a voice of more than common sweetness addressed to her\nthese words--\"Thy path is strewn with thorns, Francesca, and many an\nobstacle will stand in thy way, ere thy little flock can be gathered\ntogether in our abode. But remember that hail does not always follow\nupon thunder, and that the brightest sunshine often breaks through the\ndarkest clouds.\"\n\nEncouraged by this intimation, the Saint began in earnest to consider of\nthe means of establishing her congregation. During a short absence which\nher husband made from Rome, she invited all the Oblates to her house,\nand having made them share her slight repast, she assembled them around\nher, and spoke to them to the following effect: \"My dear companions, I\nhave called you together in order to impart to you the lights which I\nhave received from the Lord and His blessed Mother with regard to our\ncongregation. For seven years we have been especially consecrated to her\nservice, and have bound ourselves to live in chastity and obedience, and\nto observe the rules prescribed to us; and I have long thought that as\nwe have been united in spirit and in intention, so ought we to be in our\noutward mode of life. For a while I fancied that this my desire\nmight only be the result of my maternal affection for you, and of my\nsolicitude for your advancement. But the Lord has at last revealed to me\nthat it is His will that I should found a new spiritual edifice in this\ncity, the ancient stronghold of religion and of faith. It will form an\nasylum for those persons of your sex and of your rank who have conceived\nthe generous resolution of forsaking the world and its allurements; I\nhave tagged of the Lord to select for His purpose one less unworthy than\nmyself, but I dare no longer withstand the manifestation of His will. I\nam prepared to accomplish His bidding; but without you, my sisters what\ncan I do? You are the foundations of the building, the first stones of\nthe new spiritual house of His mother. You are the seed from which a\nplentiful harvest is to spring. Earthly cares, the temporal affairs of\nlife, must no longer take up your time. He summons you to a retreat,\nwhere you will live in His presence, imitate His example, and copy the\nvirtues of Mary, where you will pray for Rome, and turn away His wrath\nfrom the degenerate and guilty city. Have you not heard how two years\nago the thunderbolts fell on her sacred towers? Do you not see how every\nday fresh miseries are gathering on the devoted heads of her people? But\nGod is full of mercy; when most incensed at our sins, He casts about for\nsouls that will appease His anger. He has turned His eyes upon us.\nHe bids us unite, and stand in the breach between Him and the daring\nsinners who each day defy Him. Why tarry we longer? why further delay?\nThe arms of the Blessed Virgin are wide open to receive us. Shall we\ndraw back from her embrace?--No, rather let us fly to her feet.\"\n\nAs she pronounced these last words Francesca fell into an ecstasy, which\nlasted for some time, and during which she pleaded with God for those\nwho were to belong to the new institute. Her companions gazed upon her\nwith silent veneration; and when she came to herself, all with one\naccord, and with tears of joy, professed themselves ready to make every\nsacrifice which God might require of them, and to adopt the mode of life\nand the rule which Francesca might suggest. But their assent was only a\npreliminary step in the undertaking. It was necessary to find a house\nsuitable to their purpose, to obtain the consent of the still existing\nparents of some of the Oblates, to fix in a definitive manner their\nrule and constitutions, and finally to procure the sanction of the Holy\nFather, and his approval of the new order. Francesca attended in turn\nto each of these objects. To the first place she consulted her three\ncoadjutors on the choice of a house; and difficulties without number\narose on this point. The priests were alarmed at the sensation which\nthis undertaking would produce, and were quite at a loss to find money\nfor the purchase. Francesca had long since given away almost all that\nshe possessed. What little remained was devoted to works of charity\nwhich could not be abandoned, and all agreed that she was on no account\nto have recourse on this occasion to her husband or to her son. While\nthey were deliberating, Francesca was favoured with a vision, in which\nthe divine assistance was promised to the Oblates, and their protectors\n(Don Giovanni in particular) exhorted to perseverance. Encouraged\nby these assurances, they looked out for a house adapted to the\nrequirements of a religious community; and after many researches Don\nIppolito proposed to Don Giovanni a building in the Campitelli district,\non the spot where the old tower, known by the name of \"Tor di Specchi,\"\nused to stand, directly opposite to the Capitol, and not far from the\nSanta Maria Nuova. Various obstacles arose to the purchase of this\nhouse, which was neither as large nor as convenient as might have been\nwished; but they were finally overcome, and the acquisition completed\ntowards the end of the year 1432. This house, which was at first\nconsidered only as a temporary residence, was subsequently added to,\nand has remained to this day the central house of the order; and in the\npontifical bull the congregation is designed by the name of \"Oblates\nof Tor di Specchi.\" This matter once arranged, Francesca succeeded in\ndissipating the objections raised by the parents of some of the younger\nOblates, and to reconcile them to the proposed alteration in their\ndaughters' mode of life. It was doubtless a trial to her that while she\nwas removing all the difficulties in the way of the more perfect life\nwhich her companions were about to lead, she herself could only, like\nMoses, look on the promised land of spiritual seclusion which they, her\ndisciples and her children, were entering on, and after which she had\nyearned from the days of her childhood. But she never hesitated as to\nher line of duty; it was clear before her. Lorenzo had released her from\nall obligations but one--that of residing in his house and watching\nover his old age. His infirmities were increasing, and her attentions\nindispensable to his comfort. No one could supply to him Francesca's\ncare. She offered up to God the daily self-denial of her existence; and\nby fresh tokens of His favour He rewarded her obedience.\n\nHer next anxiety was the formation of the constitution and of the\nrules which were to govern the infant congregation; and in frequent\nconferences with her pious coadjutors the subject was discussed. After\nmany deliberations, during which they could arrive at no conclusion,\nit was agreed that the matter should be laid before God in prayer; and\ntheir hope was not deceived. In a series of visions,--in which St. Paul\nin the first instance, and on other occasions the blessed Virgin and St.\nJohn the Evangelist, appeared to Francesca,--directions were given her\nso ample and so detailed as to the rule which her spiritual daughters\nwere to follow, that there remained no room for hesitation. The several\nfasts which they were to observe; the length of time which they were\nto devote to prayer, to work, and to sleep; the manner in which their\nactions were to be performed; the vocal prayers they were to recite; the\nsolitude, the silence they were to keep; the poverty, the community of\ngoods which they were to practise; their dress, their occupations, their\nseparation from the world, their detachment from all earthly ties of\ninterest and kindred which they were at all times to be inspired with;\nthe precautions to be taken in procuring the consent of parents, and\nsecuring the free action of the Oblates who might hereafter join the\norder, were all indicated with the greatest precision; and instructions\nwere transmitted to Don Giovanni and his co-operators to enlighten them\nas to the guidance and government of the congregation. The miraculous\nmanner in which the Saint had often read their most secret thoughts, the\nmiracles they saw her perform, and the admirable tenour of her life, in\nwhich the most active virtues were combined with the deepest humility,\nand supernatural favours received with the most profound self-abasement,\nwere to them a warrant of the genuineness of her revelations, the\nsubstance of which, condensed and reduced into a series of rules, are to\nthis day observed by the Oblates of Tor di Specchi.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nPROGRESS AND TRIALS OF THE YOUNG COMMUNITY--IT IS CONFIRMED BY THE\nPOPE--TROUBLES IN ROME AND THE CHURCH TERMINATED THROUGH FRANCESCA'S\nINTERCESSION AND THE COUNCIL OF FLORENCE.\n\nIt was on the 25th of March, the Feast of the Annunciation, in the year\n1433, that the Oblates, ten in number, met in the church of Santa Maria\nin Trastevere, where their holy foundress had so long been in the habit\nof resorting. They all heard Mass, and went to communion with the\nutmost fervour, and then in procession proceeded to the house they were\nhenceforward to inhabit. That house, which now-a-days is thrown open\nduring the Octave of the Feast of San Francesca, where young women come\nwith their little children, and point out to them the room which they\ninhabited in their own childhood, when under the gentle care of the\nOblates of Mary. It is no gloomy abode, the Convent of Tor di Specchi\neven in the eyes of those who cannot understand the happiness of a nun.\nIt is such a place which one loves to see children in; where religion is\ncombined with every thing that pleases the eye and recreates the mind.\nThe beautiful chapel; the garden with its magnificent orange-trees; the\nopen galleries, with their fanciful decorations and scenic recesses,\nwhere a holy picture or figure takes you by surprise, and meets you at\nevery turn; the light airy rooms where religious prints and ornaments,\nwith flowers, birds, and ingenious toys, testify that innocent\nenjoyments are encouraged and smiled upon, while from every window\nmay be caught a glimpse of the Eternal City, a spire, a ruined\nwall,--something that speaks of Rome and its thousand charms. On Holy\nThursday no sepulchre is more beautiful than that of Tor di Specchi.\nFlowers without end, and bright hangings, all sweet and costly things,\ndo homage to the Lord in the hours of His loving imprisonment.\n\nBut on the day when Francesca's companions first entered those walls,\nthere was nothing very fair or beautiful to greet them, though they\nearned there, however, in their hearts, from the altar they had just\nleft, the source of all light and love; and to the eyes of faith the\nscene must have been a bright one. With delight they exchanged then\nordinary dress for that which the rule prescribed: Francesca alone\nstood among them no nun in her outward garb, but the truest nun of all,\nthrough the inward consecration of her whole being to God. Agnese de\nSellis, a relation of hers, and a woman highly distinguished for virtue\nand prudence was elected superior of the house. There was a truly\nadmirable spectacle presented to the people of Rome; these women were\nall of noble birth, and accustomed to all the comforts and conveniences\nof life. Most of them had been wealthy; some of them were still young;\nand for the love of God they had given op every thing, and made over\ntheir possessions to their relations; for it was not to lead a life of\nease, of religious quietude, of holy contemplation alone, that they had\nseparated themselves from the world. It was to imitate the poverty of\nChrist, to place in the common stock, as the first Christians did, the\nlittle they had reserved, and to endure all the privations incident on\npoverty. Their exact and spontaneous obedience to the gentle Agnese was\nas remarkable as the sweetness and humility with which she ruled. Seldom\nseen abroad, their hours were divided between prayer, meditation,\nspiritual reading, and works of mercy. (Footnote: The rule which they\nthen adopted remains the same to this day. The Oblates of Tor di Speechi\nare not, strictly speaking, nuns: they take no vows, and are bound by no\nobligations under pain of sin; they are not cloistered, and their dress\nis that which was worn at the period of their establishment by the\nwidows of the Roman nobles.) Francesca, obliged to be absent from them\nin body, was ever present with them in spirit. She was the tenderest\nmother to the little flock that had gathered under her sheltering wing:\nministering to their necessities; visiting them as often as she could\nleave her husband's side; exciting them on to perfection by her words\nand example; consoling the weak, and confirming the strong.\n\nIt was not to be expected that the infant congregation could be free\nfrom evil reports, and from the kind of persecution which ever attends\nthe undertakings and tries the courage of God's most faithful servants.\nThe mode of life of the Oblates became the general subject of\nconversation; and though the wiser and better portion of the community\nwere filled with respect and admiration for their virtues, there were\nnot wanting persons to raise a cry against them and against their\nfoundress, and to complain that women should be allowed to lend an\nexistence which was strictly speaking neither secular nor religious; a\nmonastery without enclosure, without vows, without revenues, without any\nsecurity for its permanent support. Their comments were not without\neffect on the naturally irresolute mind of Don Giovanni Mattiotti and\nFra Bartolommeo Biandii. The former, in particular, grew discontented\nand desponding. The direction of the order was a heavy burden to him;\nand his faith in Francesca's revelations was shaken by the many worldly\ndifficulties which he foresaw. The miraculous manner in which the Saint\nread his thoughts, and transmitted to him and his companion the reproofs\nand encouragements which were supernaturally addressed to them through\nthe medium of one of her visions, opened their eyes to a sense of their\npusillanimity, and made them ashamed of their misgivings.\n\nAnother threatened trial was, by the mercy of God, turned into a\nconsolation. One of the youngest of the Oblates, Augustina Coluzzi, was\nthe only child of her mother, who was a widow. This mother had made a\ngenerous sacrifice to God in gladly surrendering this beloved daughter\nto the exclusive service of Him who had called her to that high\nvocation; but she had miscalculated her sacrifice, or, perhaps, trusted\ntoo much to her own strength. When the sacrifice was made, the human\nfeelings rose in her heart with terrible violence, and life appeared to\nher as one dreary blank, now that her home was shorn of its light, now\nthat the beloved child of her heart had ceased to gladden her eyes.\nSelf-reproach for their vain repinings heightened her misery, and misery\nat last grew into despair. In an instant of wild recklessness she seized\na knife, and was about to destroy herself, when, like an angel at the\nhour of her utmost need, her daughter was at her side, and arrested her\narm. It was so against all rules and all probabilities that she should\nhave come to her at that moment, that she gazed on her in silent\nastonishment. Francesca was in prayer at the moment, when Satan had been\ntempting the unfortunate woman; and the dreadful danger she was in was\nmiraculously revealed to her. She instantly ordered Augustina to leave\nwhat she was about, and hurry to her mother. The young girl arrived in\ntime; and so great was th\u00ab impression which this merciful interposition\nproduced on the mother, so deep her sense of the peril to which her soul\nhad been exposed, that she hastened to throw herself at Francesca's\nfeet, and with blessings on her and on her daughter, she expressed her\ngratitude for Augustina's vocation, and her earnest wish that she should\nremain faithful to it.\n\nAnother trial arose in those early days at Tor di Specchi from the\nresolution formed by a wealthy young heiress to join the order. She\nbelonged to one of the noblest families in Rome, and was bent on\nemploying her fortune in supporting the infant congregation. Francesca\nwas reluctant to receive her; but, over persuaded by the opinions of\nothers, she gave way. A violent opposition immediately arose; and there\nwas no end to the calumnies and vituperations which were employed on the\noccasion. Francesca, again enlightened by a divine intimation, insisted\non restoring the young person to her family; and a rule was henceforward\nmade that none but persons of a more advanced age should be admitted\ninto the order.\n\nThese and many other difficulties rendered it very desirable that the\napproval of the Holy Father should set its seal on the work, and furnish\nit with a shield against the malice of the world. The permissions which\nthey sought were as follows: 1st, that the Oblates should be allowed\nthe rights to live in community, and to admit other persons into their\nsociety; 2d, that they might elect for themselves a superioress; 3d,\nthat this superioress should have the power of choosing a confessor for\nthe house; 4th, that they should have a chapel in which to hear Mass, to\ngo to confession and to communion, and be exempted from the jurisdiction\nof the parish and the parish priests. This scheme was fully approved of\nby the three coadjutors; but it was some time before Don Giovanni could\nbe induced to lay it before the sovereign Pontiff. He alleged that the\ndisturbed state of Rome, and the many distracting cares which were\nbesetting the Holy Father, held out no prospect of success in such a\nmission; but, urged by various irresistible proofs that God willed that\nhe should undertake it, he at last consented. The petition was framed in\nthe name of the Oblates, Francesca absolutely refusing to be mentioned\nas the foundress. While he bent his way to the pontifical palace, the\nOblates of Tor di Specchi and the monks of Santa Maria Nuova joined in\nfervent prayer to God for the success of his application. Eugenius IV.\nreceived Francesca's messenger with great kindness, and bade him carry\nback to her assurances of his favourable disposition towards the\ncongregation, recommending himself at the same time to her prayers and\nto those of her sisters. He commended the examination of the case to\nGaspard, Archbishop of Conza, and enjoined him to verify the facts\nrecited in the petition, and to communicate on the subject with the\nprior and the monks of Santa Maria Nuova; and if satisfied with the\nresult, to grant the privileges therein requested. The archbishop\napplied himself with diligence to the execution of these orders; and the\noriginal document in which this authorisation is recorded still exists\namongst the archives of the monastery. It stipulates that the Oblates\nshall be subject to the jurisdiction of the superior and of the monks of\nSanta Maria Nuova, and that they may continue to inhabit the house of\nTor di Specchi until such time as they shall have made purchase of\nanother. A short time afterwards the Oblates, full of gratitude and joy\nat the favours which had been granted them, and every day more satisfied\nwith their abode, solicited and obtained permission to remain in it in\nperpetuity. This last transaction took place at the very time when Rome\nwas given up to anarchy, and frightful disorders reigned within its\nwalls; when the pontifical magistrates had been thrust aside, and\nfurious demagogues installed in their places. The Pope had taken refuge\nin Bologna, and it is from that town that is dated the last-mentioned\ndecree. The congregation was successively confirmed by three of the\ngenerals of the Olivetan order; and in 1444 Eugenius IV. extended\nstill further the privileges and franchises of the Oblates.\n\nFrancesca was deeply impressed with the responsibility she had incurred\nin the establishment of her congregation, and felt herself bound to\nadvance more and more in virtue herself, as well as further the piety of\nher spiritual daughters. During her visits to the convent she used to\nwork indiscriminately in the kitchen or in the parlour; waited at table,\nand cleaned the plates, as it might happen; and could not bear to be\ntreated with the least distinction. In coming in, and in going away, she\nalways reverently kissed the hand of Agnese de Sellis the superioress,\nand asked for her blessing. She sometimes accompanied the sisters to her\nvineyard near St. Paul without the Walls, where they gathered wood,\nand carried it back to Rome bound in faggots for burning. She gently\nreproved one of the Oblates who, on one of these occasions, sought to\nscreen her from observation when an illustrious personage was passing\nby. She took them with her to visit the hospitals and the poverty-houses\nin the city: and the miraculous cures which she performed in their\npresence confirmed their faith, and inflamed them with the most ardent\ndesire to imitate her example.\n\nAt the time that the misfortunes of Rome were at their height, Francesca\nappeared one morning at the monastery, and gathering around her her\nspiritual daughters, she thus addressed them: \"What shall we do, my\nchildren? The wrath of God is warring fierce against our unhappy\ncountry; Rome is in the hands of cruel and lawless men; the Holy Father\nin exile; his ministers prison, his life sought after as if he were\nan odious oppressor, and we know not when to look for his return.\nImmorality is increasing, vice triumphant, hell yawning for souls which\nChrist's blood has redeemed, and those who ought to extinguish do but\nexcite the flame, and draw upon us the just judgment of God. The Blessed\nVirgin requires at our hands more fervent prayers, more tears, more\npenances. We must supply for the great dearth of love. Mortifications\nand prayer are the weapons we are furnished with; our hearts are the\nvictims which must he slain for men's sins; our tears must quench those\nunholy fires; we shall not be true Oblates until we have made a complete\nsacrifice of ourselves, of our souls and of our bodies, to the Lord. We\nare few; but do not doubt the strength of prayer. Let us be fervent\nand persevere, and soon we shall reap the fruit of our intense\nsupplications, of our long-continued pleadings; and liberty, peace, and\nall God's blessings, will be restored to Rome.\" Francesca's exhortations\nhad their effect, and the fervent prayers they drew forth had theirs\nalso; for in the same year the Bishops of Recaunti and of Turpia\nreassumed, in the Pope's name, possession of the city; and the Romans,\nwearied with anarchy, gladly welcomed their rule.\n\nA more terrible evil, a more appalling danger now threatened not only\nRome but the whole Catholic world. The undutiful conduct of the Council\nof Basle, with the violence of their language with regard to the Holy\nSee, brought matters to such a point that a deplorable schism appeared\ninevitable. Pope Eugenius was divided between the fear of hurrying\nit on, and that of compromising by undue concessions the legitimate\nauthority of the Chair of Peter. It was at this juncture that the\nBlessed Virgin appeared one night to Francesca, surrounded by saints and\napostles, serenely beautiful, and with a compassionate expression in\nher countenance. After some preliminary spiritual instructions, she\nintimated to the Saint that God was waiting to have mercy, and that His\nwrath had to be softened by assiduous prayers and good works. She named\ncertain religious exercises, certain penitential practices; which\nwere to be observed on the principal feasts of the ensuing year; and\nrecommending to the faithful in general, and more particularly to the\nOblates, a great purity of heart, a sincere contrition for past sin,\nand a spirit of earnest charity, she charged Francesca to see that her\norders were complied with; and disappeared after bestowing her blessing.\nIt was in vain, however, that this revelation was communicated by Don\nGiovanni to the clergy of Rome. They rejected it as the dream of a pious\nand sickly woman; and even the most earnest amongst them absolutely\ndeclined to attach to it the slightest importance. Not so the Vicar of\nChrist, when Francesca's confessor carried to him at Bologna the message\nof the saint; he listened to it with reverence and gratitude, and sent\nback by his means all the necessary mandates for the execution of the\norders which the Blessed Virgin had given. When he arrived at Tor di\nSpecchi, Francesca met him; and before he could open his mouth, she gave\nhim an exact account of all that had taken place on his journey, and of\nthe very words which the Holy Father had used during their interview.\nThe Pope's directions were attended to, the appointed Masses said, the\nprocessions organised; and in a short time it was seen that a favourable\nresult ensued. The Pope was happily inspired to convene the council that\nmet at Ferrara, and subsequently continued its labours at Florence. This\nat last put an end to the pretensions of the illegal assembly at Basle,\nand the wounds of the Church were gradually healed. There was but one\nopinion at the time as to the cause of this favourable change in the\naspect of affairs. It was unanimously ascribed to the prayers of\nFrancesca and to the Pope's compliance with the orders she had received;\nand in the process of her canonisation this point is treated of at\nlength, and satisfactorily established; and those who are acquainted\nwith the extreme caution observed on these occasions in admitting\nevidence on such a subject, will he impressed with the conviction that\nshe was used as an instrument of God's mercy towards His suffering\nChurch.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nDEATH OF FRANCESCA'S HUSBAND--SHE GOES TO RESIDE WITH THE COMMUNITY OF\nTOR DI SPECCC--HER LIFE AS SUPERIORESS.\n\nFRANCESCA had been forty years married to Lorenzo Ponziano; and through\nher married life, the heart that had been consecrated to God from the\nfirst dawn of existence had been faithful in its love to him whom God\nHimself had appointed to be her chief earthly care: and blessed had been\nthe course of that union; blessed by the tender affection which had\nreigned between the husband and the wife, and by the exercise of no\ncommon virtues, multiplied by the pursuits of one common object.\nFrancesca had led the way; in meekness, in humility, in subjection; but\nwith a single aim and an unwavering purpose. Many and severe trials had\nbeen their portion at different epochs of their lives; but the latter\npart of Lorenzo's existence had been comparatively tranquil. Lorenzo was\nthe first to be called away. God spared him the trial he had probably\ndreaded. We seldom are called upon to suffer the particular grief that\nfancy has dwelt upon. His health had been breaking for some years\npast, and now it utterly failed, and his disease assumed an alarming\ncharacter. Francesca, though apparently worn out with toil, with\nabstinence, and mental and bodily labours, found strength for every\nduty, and energy for every emergency. During Lorenzo's prolonged\nand painful illness, she was always at his side, nursing him with\nindefatigable tenderness, and completing the work which her example had\nwrought. His passage from life to eternity appeared but a journey. The\nefforts of Satan to disturb him on his death-bed, though often repeated,\nwere each time frustrated. Lorenzo had been a just man, and his death\nwas the death of the righteous. Few men would have shown themselves as\nworthy as he did of such a wife as Francesca. From the moment of\nhis marriage he had appreciated her virtues, rejoiced in her piety,\nencouraged her good works, and to a great extent shared in them. No\nmean feelings of jealousy, no human respect, no worldly sentiment of\nexpediency had influenced him. When he saw her renouncing all the\npleasures and vanities of the world, dressing like a poor person,\nwearing herself out in the zeal of her charity, turning the half of his\npalace into a hospital, he did not complain, but rather rejoiced that\nshe was one of those \"whom fools have for a time in derision, and for\na parable of reproach; whose life is esteemed madness, and their end\nwithout honour; but who are numbered amongst the children of God, and\nwhose lot is amongst the saints.\" He had his reward; he had it when his\nsight failed him and his breath grew short, when he felt that his hour\nwas come. He had it when in his dying ears she whispered words of peace;\nand Satan, with a cry of despair, for ever fled away from his couch; and\nwhen the everlasting portals opened, and the sentence was pronounced\nat the immediate judgment that follows death. Masses, prayers, fervent\ncommunions, and pious suffrages followed him beyond the grave; and when\nthe saint, who had been the model of wives, stood by that grave a widow,\nher earthly task was, in one sense, done: but work remained; but it was\nof another sort. From her earliest youth she bad been a nun in spirit;\nand the heart which had sighed for the cloister in childhood yearned for\nits shelter in these her latter days. She must go and live in the shade\nof the tabernacle; she must be alone with her Lord during the few\nremaining years of life. This must have been foreseen by her children;\nand yet, like all trials of the kind, however long looked forward to, it\ncame upon them at last as a surprise. When she said, \"I must go,\" there\nwas a loud cry of sorrow in the Ponziano palace. Baptista, the only son\nof her love, wept aloud. Mobilia threw herself into her arms, and with\nimpetuous grief, protested against her leaving them. \"Are you not\nafraid for me?\" she exclaimed, \"if you abandon me, you who have taught\nme to love God and to serve Him I What am I without you? Too much, too\ntenderly you have loved me. It cannot be that you should forsake me. I\ncannot endure existence without you.\" Her grandchildren also, whom she\nwas tenderly attached to, clung to her, weeping. Moved by their tears,\nbut unshaken in her resolution, she gently consoled them; bade them\nrecollect that she was still to inhabit Rome; that her affection for\nthem would be unchanged, and that she would always be at hand to advise\nand to aid them; but that her vocation must now he fulfilled, and the\nsacrifice completed. Then turning to Mobilia, as to a dearly-beloved\nchild, she fondly said, \"Do not weep, my daughter; you will survive\nme, and bear witness to my memory.\" This prediction was fulfilled;\nfor Mobilia was alive at the time that the process for Francesca's\ncanonisation was commenced, and the testimony she gave to her virtues\nand to her miracles was on that occasion most important, and the most\ndetailed.\n\nAfter this, Francesca took leave of her family, and went straight to\nthe Tor di Specchi. It was on the 21st of March, the festival of St.\nBenedict, that she entered its walls, not as the foundress but as a\nhumble suppliant for admission. At the foot of the stairs, having taken\noff her black gown, her veil, and her shoes, and placed a cord around\nher neck, she knelt down, kissed the ground, and, shedding an abundance\nof tears, made her general confession aloud in the presence of all the\nOblates; described herself as a miserable sinner, a grievous offender\nagainst God, and asked permission to dwell amongst them as the meanest\nof their servants; and to learn from them to amend her life, and enter\nupon a holier course. The spiritual daughters of Francesca hastened to\nraise and to embrace her; and clothing her with their habit, they led\nthe way to the chapel, where they all returned thanks to God. While she\nremained there engaged in prayer, Agnese de Sellis the superioress,\nassembled the sisters in the chapter-room, and declared to them, that\nnow that their true mother and foundress had come amongst them, it would\nbe absurd for her to remain in her present office; that Francesca was\ntheir guide, their head, and that into her hands she would instantly\nresign her authority. They all applauded her decision, and gathering\naround the Saint, announced to her their wishes. As was to be expected,\nFrancesca strenuously refused to accede to this proposal, and pleaded\nher inability to the duties of a superioress. The Oblates had recourse\nto Don Giovanni, who began by entreating, and finally commanded\nher acceptance of the charge. His orders she never resisted; and\naccordingly, on the 25th of March, she was duly elected to that office.\n\nShe was favoured with a vision which strengthened and encouraged her in\nthe new task she had before her. The angel who for twenty-four years had\nbeen by her side, defending and assisting her on all occasions, took\nleave of her now with a benignant smile, and in his place another, more\nrefulgent still, was ordained to stand. By day and by night he was\ncontinually weaving a mysterious woof, the threads of which seemed to\ngrow out of the mystical palm which he carried. St. Benedict appeared to\nFranceses on the day of her election, and explained to her the meaning\nof those symbols. Gold was the type of the love and charity which was\nto govern her dealings with her daughters, while the palm implied the\ntriumph she was to obtain over human weakness and human respect. The\nunceasing labours of the angel was to mark the unwearied efforts she was\nto use for the right ordering and spiritual welfare of the community\nintrusted to her care; and truly she laboured with indefatigable zeal in\nher new vocation. She had ever before her eyes the words of St. Paul to\nTimothy and to Titus: \"Preach the word. Be patient in season and out of\nseason. Entreat, rebuke, in all patience and doctrine. In all things\nshow thyself an example of good works, in doctrine, in integrity, in\ngravity.\" Preaching far more by her actions than by her words, she gave\nan example of the most heroic virtues. It would be difficult to imagine\nany thing mom perfect than her life in the world; but the new duties,\nthe new privileges of her present vocation added each day new splendour\nto her virtues. She appointed Agnese de Sellis her coadjutress, and\nbegged her to share her room, and watch over her conduct, entreating\nher at the same time to warn her of every fault she might commit. Her\nstrictness with her spiritual children, though tempered by love, was\nextreme. She never left a single imperfection unreproved, and allowed\nof no infractions, however slight, of the rule. Sometimes, when through\nshyness or false shame, they concealed some trifling offence which they\nwere bound to confess, she read their hearts, and reminded them not to\ngive Satan a hold upon them by such reserve. She was most careful of\ntheir health, and sought to procure them as often as she could some\ninnocent recreation. They used occasionally to go with her to one or\nother of her vine-gardens without the walls, to take exercise in the\npure open air. Francesca's gentle gaiety on these occasions increased\ntheir enjoyment; and the labour of gathering wood and grass, of making\nup faggots, and carrying away their spoil on their heads at night, was\na part of their amusement. The conversation that was carried on between\nthem the while was as merry as it was innocent. These young persons,\nborn in palaces and bred in luxury, worked like peasants, with more than\na peasant's lightness of heart.\n\nOne fine sunny January day--and those who have inhabited Rome well know\nhow fine a January day can be--Francesca and seven or eight of her\ncompanions had been since early dawn in the vine-gardens of Porta\nPortese. They had worked hard for several hours, and then suddenly\nremembered that they had brought no provision with them. They soon\nbecame faint and hungry, and above all very thirsty. Perna, the youngest\nof all the Oblates, was particularly heated and tired, and approaching\nthe Mother Superior, with a wearied expression of countenance, she\nasked permission to go and drink some water at a fountain some way off\non the public road.\n\n\"Be patient, my child,\" Francesca answered; \"the fountain is too\ndistant.\" She was afraid of these young persons drinking cold water,\nheated as they were by toil and exposure to the sun. They went on with\ntheir work; and withdrawing aside, Francesca knelt down, clasped her\nhands, and with her eyes raised to heaven, said, \"Lord Jesus, I have\nbeen thoughtless in bringing my sisters here, and forgetting to provide\nfood for them. Help us in our need.\"\n\nPerna, who had kept near to the Mother Superior, probably with the\nintention of urging her request, overheard this prayer, and, a little\nirritated by the feverish thirst she was enduring, said to herself with\nsome impatience, \"It would be more to the purpose to take us home at\nonce.\"\n\nFrancesca read the inward thought, and turning to the discontented girl\nshe said, \"My child, you do not trust enough in God. Look up and see.\"\nPerna obeyed, and following the direction of Francesca's hand, she saw a\nvine entwined around a tree, from whose dead and leafless branches were\nhanging a number of the finest bunches of grapes, of that purple and\nburnished hue which the fervid sunbeams of August and September impart\nto that glorious fruit.\n\n\"A miracle! a miracle!\" exclaimed the enraptured Perna; and the other\nOblates assembled round the tree in speechless astonishment, for they\nhad seen all day the bare and withered branches. Twenty times at least\nthey had passed and repassed before it; and at all events the season for\ngrapes had long gone by.\n\nAfter kneeling to give thanks to God for this gracious prodigy, they\nspread a cloth on the grass, and gathered the precious fruit. There were\nexactly as many bundles as persons present; and with smiling faces and\njoyful hearts Francesca's children fed on the supply which her prayer\nhad obtained for them. Obedience was a virtue of which the Saint herself\ngave a most perfect example, and which she unremittingly required of\nothers. One of the Oblates having refused one day to comply with an\norder she had received, Francesca fixed her eyes upon her with an\nexpression of so much severity, that the person in question suddenly\nfainted away, and remained afterwards speechless and in a state of\ninsensibility. The doctors were sent for, and declared that her life was\nin imminent danger. This was a severe trial to the Saint; she could not\nreproach herself for a severity which had been a matter of duty, not of\npassion, but at the same time she trembled for the soul of one who had\napparently lost the use of reason at the very moment she was committing\na serious fault. After addressing a fervent prayer to God, and invoking\nthe Blessed Virgin, she went straight to the bed-side of the sister,\nand taking her by the hand with great solemnity, addressed to her these\nwords: \"If it be true that our congregation is approved of God, and has\nHis Holy Mother for its foundress, in the name of Holy Obedience, I\ncommand you to speak to me.\" The Oblate seemed to awake from a long\ndream, and opening her eyes, she distinctly said, \"Mother, what would\nyou have me to do?\" From that moment she rallied, and was soon restored\nto health.\n\nAnother time, when an aged member of the congregation was dying, and\nevery moment expected to be her last, Franceses prayed that she might\nnot be allowed to depart in the absence of Don Giovanni, the director of\nthe house. For six days and six nights the sick woman lingered between\nlife and death. On the arrival of her spiritual father she revived, went\nto confession, and received the last Sacrament Then, as she again sank\ninto insensibility, Francesca bent over her and said, \"Sister Catherine,\ndepart in peace, and pray for us;\" and in that instant the aged woman\nexpired.\n\nThe poverty of the congregration was extreme. The slender means of the\nfirst Oblates had been exhausted by the purchase of the house and the\nerection of a small chapel. Francesca had indeed made over to it her two\nvineyards of Porta Portese and of St. Paul without the Walls; but the\ntrifling revenue they furnished was wholly inadequate to the support\nof fifteen persons; and moreover the religions were so endued with the\nspirit of their foundress, that they never could bring themselves to\nturn away a beggar from their doors as long as they had a slice of bread\nto bestow. They often went a whole day without eating, rather than deny\nthemselves the happiness of feeding the poor. Francesca, happy in the\nvirtues of her children, but tenderly anxious for their welfare, was\nindefatigable in her efforts to procure them the necessaries of life.\nShe used on these occasions to beg of her relations, or even of\nstrangers; and Almighty God allowed her sometimes to provide for them in\na miraculous manner.\n\nOne day that the sister whose turn it was to attend to the victualling\ndepartment found herself unable to put upon the table any thing but two\nor three small fragments of bread, she went to consult the Saint, who\nimmediately proposed to go out with her and beg. According to her\ninvariable custom, she asked Agnese de Sellis, her coadjutoress, for\npermission so to do. Contrary to her habit on such occasions, Agnese\nrefused, and said, that if it was necessary for any one to beg, she,\nwith another of the sisters, would undertake it. Then Francesca, after a\nmoment's thought, replied, \"I think that God will provide for us\nwithout any one going out of the house;\" and calling the Oblates to the\nrefectory, she asked a blessing on the bread, and distributed it in\nminute portions amongst them. Each on beginning to eat her share saw\nit multiply apace; and not only were their wants thus supplied at the\nmoment, but enough remained when they had done to furnish them with food\nfor the next day.\n\nThe gift of prophecy she also exercised more frequently than ever at\nthis period. Once, when she was praying in her cell, the nuns heard\nher exclaim, \"O King of Heaven, support and comfort that poor unhappy\nmother;\" and some hours afterwards, they heard that at that very moment\na young nobleman, Jacobo Maddaleni, had been thrown from his horse and\nkilled on the spot, to the inexpressible grief of his mother. Lorenzo\nAltieri was dying, and his wife Palozza overwhelmed with sorrow; she had\nseveral young children, and was almost in despair at the idea of losing\nher husband. The physician had declared his case hopeless; and when she\nsent for Francesca her heart was breaking. The Saint came up to her, and\nsaid compassionately, \"Dear sister, give up the love and the vanities of\nthe world, and God will take pity upon you. Lorenzo will yet recover;\nhe will be present at my burial.\" The prediction was fulfilled, and\nLorenzo, restored to health, assisted, as she had said, at the funeral\nof the Saint; and Palozza, whose heart had been entirely converted at\nthat moment, and who had vowed in case of his death to retire into a\nconvent, whenever her children could spare her, led henceforward, in\nevery respect, the life of a Christian wife and mother.\n\nThe Superioress of the Sisters of the third order of St. Francis\nconsulted her one day on the admission of a young girl, who had\nrequested to be admitted among them. Francesca had not seen or known any\nthing of the candidate, but unhesitatingly answered, that the vocation\nwas not a real one, and she recommended that she should be refused. \"She\nwill enter another monastery,\" she added, \"and after remaining in it a\nshort time, will return to the world, and soon after she will die.\" It\nhappened exactly as the Saint had foretold: Francesca da Fabrica went\ninto the convent of Casa di Cento Finestre, on the shores of the Tiber,\ngave up the habit before the end of the year, and a sharp fever carried\nher off soon after her return. Gregorio and Gentilesca Selli had a\nlittle girl of four years old, who was paralysed, and up to her waist\nher frame appeared completely withered. They had often been urged to\nhave recourse to the spells or charms then so much in vogue, but had\nalways refused to seek a blessing through such means. They were carrying\nthe little child to Francesca, full of faith in her prayers, which they\nwere coming to ask, when she exclaimed at the first sight of them:\n\"Happy are you who have not sought your child's recovery in unlawful\nways. In three days, my friends, she will be restored to health;\" and\nthe prediction was fulfilled to the letter.\n\nIt would be useless to multiply such recitals as these. As she advances\nin years, especially since her retirement at Tor di Specchi, more and\nmore frequent become the exercise of those supernatural gifts with which\nGod had endowed the gentle Saint of Rome. No day elapses that some new\nprodigy does not call forth the grateful enthusiasm of the warm-hearted\nand devout Trasteverini. If a child is trodden under foot by a runaway\nhorse, Francesca is sent for, and at the sight of the Saint he revives.\nIf a young boatman, in the prime of youth, is thrown into the Tiber, and\ncurried away by the stream under the arches of the Ponte Rotto, from\nwhence his afflicted mother receives him into her arms without a symptom\nof life, she calls out to her friends, \"Run, ran to the servant of God:\ngo to Francesca dei Ponziano, and bid her pray for the boy.\" And when\nthey return, the mother is weeping still over her apparently lifeless\nchild; but they shout from a distance, \"The servant of God says he will\nnot die;\" and in a few instants, Paul Guidolini opens his eyes, and\nsmiles on his mother, who some years later becomes one of the Oblates of\nTor di Specchi. If Francesca sits down for a moment to rest on the\nsteps of a church, as she did one Good Friday, after the service at St.\nPeter's, a paralytic woman kneels at her feet, and obtains that she\nshould lay her hand on her withered limbs, which are instantly restored.\nThere is no illness on record which her prayers, or the touch of her\nhand, does not dispel and subdue. She restores sight to the blind, the\ndumb speak, the deaf hear, the lame walk at her bidding; pestilence and\nmadness and fits and wounds and possession itself disappear before the\npower with which Almighty God has endued her; and she walks this earth\nof ours dispensing blessings, as the faithful handmaid of Him who went\nabout doing good.\n\nAt the same time, more and more ecstatic grew her prayers, more visible\nto all eyes the indwelling of the Holy Spirit in her soul, more removed\nfrom the natural conditions of existence the tenour of her life. At\nthe hours of meals, which she observed in obedience to the rule, her\ncompanions notice that she hardly ever eats, but that her face is turned\nto the window, and her eyes fixed on the sky, while rays of light\nseem to play around her, and her countenance grows dazzling from the\ncelestial brightness which overspreads it. Longer and longer became her\norisons; often in visiting a church she falls into an ecstasy, which\nlasts till night. The sublimity of her vision, the glimpses of heaven\nwhich she enjoys, the sight of angels, and of the Lord of angels,\nis occasionally exchanged for the terrific apparitions, the renewed\nassaults of Satan, who attack her at times with redoubled violence, now\nthat her ultimate triumph is at hand, and the crown about to descend on\na brow which already shines with the mystic radiance of sanctity. The\nold frescoes of the original chapel of Tor di Specchi represent some of\nthese mysterious struggles between Francesca and the Evil One; and her\ncell bears the impress of that strange violence which Satan is permitted\nto exercise at certain moments, and which is the type of the warfare\nwhich is ever waged between him and God's Church. He can shake it at\ntimes by the storms he raises; but vain are his attempts to overthrow\nit. The mark of Satan's fury is stamped on the roof of Franceses's lowly\ncell; but the relics of the canonised Saint now fill the chamber which,\nin his impotent rage, the tempter once sought to destroy. But this life\nof wonders, of trials, and of miracles, was drawing to a close. She who\nhad been the holiest of maidens, of wives, and of widows, had all but\nfinished her course, and many were the intimations she received of her\napproaching end.\n\nOn one of these occasions she selected one of the chapels in Santa Maria\nNuova as a place of sepulture for the Oblates, and obtained from the\nOlivetan Monks that it should be reserved for that purpose. She often\nspoke of her death to the sisters, and told Rita, one of the companions\nof her youth, that she would succeed her in the government of the\ncongregation. Don Ippolito, one of her coadjutors in the foundation of\nthe order, had often implored two favours of her, that she would look\nupon him as her spiritual son, and that she would summon him to her\ndeath-bed. She assured him that the prayers of such a worthless\nsinner as herself were not deserving of a thought; but, moved by his\nimportunities, she promised in the end to comply with his request.\nAccordingly, towards the end of the year 1439, when he was in Sienna on\nbusiness, he received a letter from Francesca, in which she reminded\nhim of his desire to be present at her last moments, and in consequence\nexhorted him to conclude his affairs, and return to Rome as soon as\npossible, which he accordingly did. On Christmas-day and on the Feast\nof St. Stephen she had visions of the Blessed Virgin and of the infant\nJesus, which she communicated to Don Ippolito in the church of Santa\nMaria Nuova, where she had gone on her way back from San Lorenzo without\nthe Walls and St. John of Lateran, which she had successively visited.\nThe religious said to her with emotion: \"Mother, you will now grant me\nthe favour I have so often asked of you.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied the Saint, who had been all day in a kind of ecstasy,\nthough she moved from one place to another; \"yes; I look upon you now as\nmy father, as my brother, and as my son.\" And so saying she left him,\nand returned to Tor di Specchi, still absorbed in contemplation.\n\nDon Ippolito followed her with his eyes till she had disappeared from\nhis sight, and joy and sorrow were struggling in his heart; for he felt\nthat the time was come for her great gain and her children's unspeakable\nloss.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nFRANCESCA'S LAST ILLNESS AND DEATH.\n\nFRANCESCA was fifty-six years old. Her frame, worn out with labour, with\nfastings, and austerities, was enfeebled also by frequent illnesses;\nbut her activity, her indomitable energy, was still the same. She never\nflagged, never wearied, never gave way under the pressure of physical or\nmoral sufferings. It was probably a trial of the latter description, one\nwhich she had always been keenly alive to, that hurried her end.\n\nA fresh schism broke out in the Church, to the scandal and grief of all\nthe faithful. The refractory bishops assembled at Basle, ventured to\ndecree the deposition of Pope Eugenius, and to elect as anti-pope the\naged Amadeus, Duke of Tuscany, who had abdicated in favour of his son,\nand was living as a hermit on the shores of the Lake of Geneva. The\nusurper took the name of Felix V., and this unhappy schism lasted ten\nyears. Francesca turned to heaven her weary eyes--she besought her Lord\nto take her away from this scene of trial: too keenly did she feel\nthe woes of the Church; too deeply did she sorrow over these renewed\nconflicts, and the consequent dangers to which the souls of Christians\nwere exposed. Perhaps it was given to her in that hour to foresee the\nfearful storm that was lowering over the Church,--the monster heresy\nthat, in less than a century, was to rise against the Mystical Bride of\nChrist, and rob her of her children.\n\nOn the 3d of March, 1440, Francesca was sent for by her son Baptista,\nwho was laid up with a sharp attack of fever. She instantly obeyed the\nsummons; and, on arriving at the Ponziano palace, found him already much\nbetter, and able to leave his bed; but, at the earnest request of the\nwhole family, she agreed to spend the whole day with them, the Oblate\nAugustina, who had accompanied her, also remaining to return with her at\nnight. Towards evening she grew so weak that she could hardly stand; and\nBaptista and Mobilia implored her to stay at the palace, or else to let\nherself be carried in a litter to the convent; but she persisted in\nsetting out on foot. Stopping on her way at the church of Santa Maria\nin Trastevere, she went in to ask, for the last time, her spiritual\nfather's blessing, and found Don Giovanni in the Chapel of the\nAngels--that spot where she had so often been favoured with divine\nrevelations. As he was inquiring after Baptista, he was struck with the\nmore than habitual paleness of her face, and the evident exhaustion\nshe was labouring under, and commanded her, as a matter of obedience,\ninstantly to return to the Ponziano Palace, and to spend the night\nthere, This order was a severe trial to Francesca, for she felt at once\nthat if she was not now to return to Tor di Specchi, she would never\nagain enter those hallowed walls; but, faithful to the spirit of perfect\nobedience, she meekly bowed her head in token of submission, and went\nback to her son's house.\n\nIn the course of the night a virulent fever came on, and in the morning\nshe was as ill as possible. Francesca's first care was to send for her\ndirector, and to request him to apprise her spiritual daughters of her\nillness. Four of them (Agnese, Rita, Catherina, and Anastasia,) hurried\nto her side; and when they heard her entreat Don Giovanni not to omit\nany of the necessary precautions for her soul's welfare, they all burst\ninto tears, and seemed at once to understand that their beloved mother\nwas about to leave them. Francesca gently consoled them, and dismissed\nthem towards the evening, only keeping with her Augustina, who watched\nher during the night, and witnessed the ecstasy during which the\nfollowing vision was vouchsafed to the sufferer:--Our Lord appeared,\nsurrounded with angels and with saints, and announced to her that in\nseven days she would die, and receive the crown which was prepared for\nher in heaven. Sister Augustina saw her face shining with supernatural\nbrightness; a radiant smile playing on her lips, and heard her say with\nineffable unction: \"Be Thou eternally praised and blessed, O my dear\nLord Jesus Christ! Thanks be to Thee for the unmerited favours I\nhave received at Thy hands. To Thee, to Thee alone, do I owe all the\nblessings I have, and have yet to receive.\" When Don Giovanni saw her\nafterwards, he imagined she was rallying; but she related to him her\nvision, and bade him tell her daughters that her end was approaching.\nTheir tears and their sobs choked their utterance; and the Saint gently\nreproved that excess of sorrow, and bade them rejoice with her, and\nbless the Divine goodness for the great mercy that was shown to her.\nDuring the next two days she suffered much; but no word or sound of\ncomplaint escaped her. Her face was as serene as if her body had been\nperfectly free from pain; and to those who expressed a hope that she\nwould yet recover, she only answered with a sweet smile, \"God be\npraised, my pilgrimage will end from Wednesday to Thursday next.\" She\nasked for the Sacraments, confessed, went to communion, and received\nExtreme Unction. Ardent ejaculatory prayers, devout aspirations, burning\nexpressions of love, were ever rising from her heart to her lips. Each\nday she repeated, as if she had been in perfect health, the Office of\nthe Blessed Virgin, the Rosary, and all her usual prayers. The Oblates\nwatched by her in turns, and Mobilia hardly ever left her side; so that\nthe smallest particulars of that wonderful death-bed were carefully\nrecorded. Francesca allowed all those who wished to see her to come in.\nShe had words of advice, of warning, and of consolation for all.\n\nWhen the news of her illness was spread in Rome, the heart of the great\ncity was stirred to its very depths, and a mournful, anxious, loving\nmultitude beset the palace and the very bed of the dying Saint. Nowise\ndisturbed or annoyed at this oppressive testimony of their affection,\nshe had a smile, or a look, or a kind word for each. No cloud obscured\nher understanding; no irritability affected her temper. Peace was within\nand around her, and heaven's own calm on her brow and in her heart. The\nevil spirits, the arch-enemy himself--who, for her sanctification and\nthe glory of God, had been permitted so often to haunt her path and\nassault her during life--are banished now, and stand at bay, gazing, no\ndoubt, from afar, with envious rage, on that peace which they may no\nlonger mar. Don Giovanni, who had known so well her former trials, often\ninquired, during her last illness, if Satan's ministers were molesting\nher. \"No,\" she wouldd answer, with a smile; \"I see them no more. God has\nconquered; His foes have fled.\" But the bright archangel, whose task is\nnearly at an end, is still at his post; he weaves the last threads of\nthe mystic woof, and seems to make haste to finish his work. The halo of\nlight which surrounds him grows brighter and brighter, and Francesca's\ndying form reflects that splendour.\n\nOn the Monday morning she is still in the same state. Glorious visions\npass before her; divine forms bend over her, and whisper words of\nwelcome. During Mass, which her confessor says in her room, the Lord\nHimself appears to her again; and from the consecrated Host He speaks to\nher entranced soul. The Blessed Virgin and the angels surround her, and\nthe voices of the blest make sweet music in her ears. Late on that day,\nwhen her ecstasy was over, the weeping Oblates surround her bed, and\nwith suppliant accents implore her to ask of God yet to leave her upon\nearth, for the sake of the souls intrusted to her care. It was a hard\nrequest: to have had a glimpse of heaven, and to turn back; to have\ntasted the cup of celestial bliss, and to draw back from its sweetness!\nFull of love, of pity, of resignation, of holy indifference, she\nexclaims: \"God's will is my will; His good pleasure mine. If He Chooses\nme to tarry yet on earth, so be it then. I am ready to remain in this\nmiserable world, if He commands it.\"\n\nBut it was not ordained. The next day she grew rapidly worse, and from\nthat time slept not again. \"I shall soon rest in God,\" she replied to\nthose who were urging her to repose. The Oblates once more kneel around\nher to receive her last instructions: one of them alone, Francesca del\nVeruli, is kept away by a severe illness, which confines her to her\nbed. Touching were the last words of the dying mother to her spiritual\nchildren; sweet the words of blessing she pronounced on their heads.\n_Love, love_, was the burden of her teaching, as it had been that of the\nbeloved disciple. \"Love one another (she said), and be faithful unto\ndeath. Satan will assault you, as he has assaulted me; but be not\nafraid. You will overcome him through patience and obedience; and no\ntrial will be too grievous, if you are united to Jesus; if you walk in\nHis ways, He will be with you.\" Then with earnest accents she thanked\nDon Giovanni, in her own name and in that of the order, for all he had\ndone to them; and commended the Oblates to his fatherly care.\n\nAt that moment her son Baptista entered the room. His mother sat up in\nthe bed, and gazing upon him with an expression of anxious scrutiny, she\nsaid: \"And can it be that you quarrel with poor shepherds? And do you\nrob God of His glory by unlawful dealings with hell?\" The persons who\nwere standing around the bed looked at each other in surprise, and\nimagined that Francesca was delirious; but Baptista's countenance and\nactions soon undeceived them. Tears rushed into his eyes, and with great\nemotion he publicly acknowledged that he had been guilty of striking,\nin his anger, some peasants who had injured his fields, and had gone to\nconsult in secret one of the persons who dealt in occult sciences, as to\nthe possibility of his mother's recovery. No one but himself knew of his\ntwofold sin; and the rebuke of the dying Saint came upon him as a direct\nreproof from God, and an awful warning for the rest of his life. As the\nday advanced, Francesca grew weaker and weaker; but the flame of love\nwas burning more brightly, as that of life was waning. \"What are you\nsaying?\" asked Don Giovanni at one moment, on seeing her lips move.\n\"The Vespers of the Blessed Virgin,\" she answered in a scarcely audible\nvoice. As an infant almost she had begun that practice; and on the eve\nof her death she had not yet omitted it. On the seventh day of her\nillness, as she had herself announced, her life came to a close. A\nsublime expression animated her face; a more ethereal beauty clothed her\nearthly form. Her confessor for the last time inquires what it is her\nenraptured eyes behold, and she whispers, \"The heavens open! The angels\ndescend! The archangel has finished his task. He stands before me. He\nbeckons to me to follow him.\" These are the last words that Francesca\nutters; a smile of indescribable brightness beams from her face. The\neyes that have so long been closed to the vanities of life are now\nclosed in death, and her spirit has taken its final leave of earth.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nFRANCESCA'S FUNERAL, AND HER SUBSEQUENT CANONIZATION.\n\nTHE body of the Saint remained during a night and a day at the Ponziano\npalace, the Oblates watching by turns over the beloved remains. Their\ngrief was tempered with joy, for they felt she was in heaven; though\nthe pang of separation was keen, and their home on earth desolate. Don\nGiovanni, Don Ippolito, and Don Francesco dello Schiano recited the\nprayers of the Church over the corpse; and though deeply affected\nthemselves, strove to console the bereaved sisterhood, chiefly by\nextolling the rare merits and the heroic virtues of their departed\nmother. Almighty God vouchsafed, even during the first night of their\nloving watch, to give them a proof of that sanctity which was so soon to\nbe triumphantly demonstrated. Sister Margaret, of the third order of St.\nFrances, had been present at Francesca's death, and remained by her\nside during the night that followed. Her arm had been paralysed for six\nmonths, and to all appearance withered. Inspired with a lively faith,\nshe touched the body of the Saint, and was instantaneously cured. The\nOblates all fell on their knees at the sight of this miracle, and\nblessed God for the earnest He thus gave of the wonders which\nFrancesca's intercession was to accomplish. Each moment they were\nconfirmed in the blessed assurance of her immediate admission into\nheaven; each moment brought with it a new occasion for joyful\nexultation. The sweet perfume, the \"odour of sanctity,\" which expression\nis so often supposed to be simply metaphorical, whereas it often\nindicates an actual physical and miraculous fact, soon pervaded the room\nand filled it with fragrance. Francesca's face, which had recently borne\nthe traces of age and of suffering, became as beautiful again as in the\ndays of youth and prosperity; and the astonished bystanders gazed with\nwonder and awe at that unearthly loveliness. Many of them carried away\nparticles from her clothes, and employed them for the cure of several\npersons who had been considered beyond the possibility of recovery. In\nthe course of the day, the crowd augmented to a degree which alarmed the\ninhabitants of the palace, and Baptista took measures to have the body\nremoved at once to the church and a procession of the regular and\nsecular clergy escorted the venerated remains to Santa Maria Nuova,\nwhere they were to be interred.\n\nThe popular feeling burst forth on the occasion; it was no longer to be\nrestrained: a sort of pious insurrection, which the Church smiles upon,\neven though it refuses to sanction it; as a mother can scarcely rebuke a\nsomewhat irregular action in one of her children when it springs from\na generous feeling, even though she feels herself bound to check it.\n\"Francesca was a saint--Francesca was in heaven.\" Francesca was invoked\nby the crowd, and her beloved name was heard in every street, in every\npiazza, in every corner of the Eternal City. It flew from mouth to\nmouth; it seemed to float in the air, to be borne aloft by the grateful\nenthusiasm of a whole people, who had seen her walk to that church by\nher mother's side in her holy childhood; who had seen her kneel at that\naltar in the grave beauty of womanhood, in the hour of bereavement, and\nnow in death; carried thither in state, she the gentle, the humble Saint\nof Rome, the poor woman of the Trastevere, as she was sometimes called\nat her own desire.\n\nFrancesca del Veruli, the Oblate whom illness had detained from the\ndeath-bed of her beloved mother, hears from her sick-room the confused\nhum of voices, the sound of hurrying feet, which indicate the approach\nof the procession. Full of faith, she starts up, and with clasped hands\nexclaims, \"Oh, my mother! oh, Francesca! I have not seen you die; I have\nnot received your last blessing; obtain for me now that I may visit your\nremains.\" With a violent effort, and leaning on one of her sisters, she\ncontrives to rise and to make her way to the bier. The very instant she\nhas touched it, her health and strength return. Meanwhile the crowd\naugments, and hurries into the church. They press round the precious\nbody; they refuse to let it be buried. As a favour, as a boon of the\ngreatest price, they obtain that the obsequies be put oft to the\nSaturday; and in the meantime, day and night, there is no limit to the\nconcourse of people that assemble in the chapel. Still the saintly body\nexhales its perfume; still the sweet features retain their beauty; and\nto that spot, in an apparently never-ending succession, come the blind,\nand the lame, and the halt, and the sick, and the suffering; and each\nof those who touch the bier, or to whom is carried something that has\nbelonged to Francesca, is instantaneously cured. Truly God was wonderful\nin this His Saint, and wonderful are the details of the miracles wrought\nduring those days; and not only were the ills of the body relieved by\ncontact with the holy corpse, but grace reaches the souls of many who\nhave been hitherto steeled against its entrance.\n\nAmongst others, two young men of dissolute lives and irreligious\nspirits, on hearing of the miracles at Santa Maria Nuova, begin to\njeer and laugh on the subject, and, moved only by curiosity, go to the\nchurch, approach the bier with mock demonstrations of respect. But no\nsooner have they knelt before it, than their hearts are simultaneously\ntouched; a sudden change comes over them. Having come to scoff, they\nremain to pray,--they rise from their knees only to seek a confessor;\nand return home that night converted to God, and ever after lead the\nlives of pious Christians. The miracles wrought before and after\nFrancesca's burial are so multifarious, that it might be tedious (a\nstrange word to use on such an occasion, but nevertheless correct) to\nattempt to relate them all. Great was the moral effect of this singular\noutpouring of God's powers through His servant. Faith grew more timid,\nand hope more strong; charity burned in the hearts of many with an\never-increasing fervour; and the examples which the Saint had given, and\nwhich were now dwelt upon with affectionate veneration, induced many to\nwalk in the same path, and look to the same end. It was in Lent that she\nhad died; and from every pulpit in Rome her praises were heard. The most\neminent ecclesiastics of the time all foretold her canonisation; and\nthe public voice and the public devotion ratified the burst of popular\nenthusiasm that had hailed her as a Saint on the very day of her\ndeath, and long preceded the formal recognition of her sanctity by the\nauthority of the Church.\n\nA few months after her death, her tomb was opened in order to remove\nthe corpse into a monument which Baptista, Mobilia, and several Roman\nnoblemen had erected in her honour. It was found in a state of perfect\npreservation, and still exhaling the same fragrance as before. The most\nexact and detailed examinations were taken in the year of her death,\nboth as to all the particulars of her life, and as to the supernatural\nand miraculous events which had marked its course, as well as those\nwhich had succeeded her death.\n\nFrom time to time earnest endeavours were made to hasten her formal\ncanonisation. The materials were ample, and the evidence complete; but a\nvariety of circumstances interfered with the conclusion of the process;\nand though several Popes, namely, Eugenius IV., Nicholas V., Pius II.,\nInnocent VIII., and Julius II., promoted the question, it was not much\nadvanced till the accession of Clement VIII., who had a great devotion\nto the Saint, and brought the matter nearly to a close; but his death\noccurring in the meantime, and his successor, Leo XI, only outliving\nhim twenty-seven days, it was Paul V. (Borghese) who decreed the\ncanonisation of Francesca, to the joy of the Oblates of Tor di Specchi,\nof the monks of Santa Maria Nuova, and of the whole people of Rome. Her\nfestival was appointed to be kept on the 9th of March; and those who\nhave been in Rome on that day can tell how vivid is the devotion that\nstill exists,--the worship that is yet paid to the holy Francesca, the\nbeloved Saint of the Trastevere, the model of Christian matrons; and in\nthe church of Santa Francesca Romana, as the old Santa Maria Nuova is\nnow called, and in the Casa dei Esercizii Pii (the old Ponziano Palace),\nand in the time-honoured walls of Tor di Specchi, a tribute of love and\nof devotion is yielded, which touches the heart, and carries the mind\nback to the days when, amidst the strife of war and the miseries or\nanarchy, faith, fresh, strong, and pure, asserted its power, and wrought\nwonders through such feeble instruments as a woman's heart and a woman's\nworks.\n\nOn the 29th of May, 1608, in the church of St. Peter, then lately\nerected, and adorned for the occasion with the utmost magnificence,\nafter a pontifical High Mass, in the presence of the Sacred College, and\nof an immense affluence of strangers as well as of Romans, the decree\nwas proclaimed which placed Francesca amongst the canonised saints, and\nsanctioned the worship which a devout people had paid her, with but few\ninterruptions, since the day of her death. Rome was illuminated that\nnight; the fiery cupola of St. Peter, and the sound of innumerable\nbells, told the neighbouring plains and hills that \"God had regarded the\nlowliness of His handmaiden,\" and that, in her measure, all generations\nwere to call her Blessed.\n\nIn 1633, the tomb of Francesca, which, in consequence of some\nalterations in the church, had remained out of sight for a great number\nof years, was, through the pious exertions of the Oblates, assisted by\nthe abbot of Santa Maria Nuova, and the Cardinals Borghese, Barberini,\nand Altiere, discovered in the spot where it had been placed two\ncenturies before. Her bones were exposed to the veneration of the\nfaithful, and a number of religious processions and services took place\non the occasion. Various miracles again gave testimony to the virtues of\nthose holy relics, and a magnificent monument was erected beneath that\naltar where the Saint had so often prayed. BLESSED LUCY OF NARNI.\nBLESSED LUCY OF NARNI.\n\nIT was towards the latter end of the 15th century that Lucia Broccoletti\nwas horn in the ancient city of Narni, in Umbria, where her father's\nhouse had long held a noble and distinguished rank. Even as a baby in\nthe cradle, there were not wanting signs which marked her as no ordinary\nchild; and if we may credit the account given us by her old biographers,\nboth her nurses and mother were accustomed to see her daily visited by\nan unknown religious dressed in the Dominican habit, whose majestic\nappearance seemed something more than human, and who, taking her from\nher cradle, embraced her tenderly, and gave her her blessing. They\nwatched closely, to see whence this mysterious visitor came and whither\nshe went, but were never able to follow her; and the mother becoming\nat length alarmed at the daily recurrence of this circumstance, it was\nrevealed to her that her child's unknown visitor was no other than St.\nCatherine of Sienna, to whom she was given as an adopted daughter.\n\nThe accounts that have been preserved of Lucia's childhood have a\npeculiar interest of their own. Whilst the early biographies of many\nsaints present us with instances of extraordinary graces and favours\ngranted to them in infancy, quite as numerous and remarkable as those\nbestowed on Blessed Lucy, yet in her case we find them mixed with the\ndetails of a characteristic vivacity of temperament, which give them a\nlifelike reality, and show her to us, in the midst of her supernatural\nvisitations, with all the impetuosity of an imaginative child. When she\nwas only four years old, her mother's brother, Don Simon, came on a\nvisit to his sister's house, and brought with him from Rome various toys\nand presents for the children. Lucy was given her choice; and whilst the\nothers were loudly clamouring for the dolls and puppets, she selected a\nlittle rosary with an image of the Child Jesus; and this being given\nto her, she took it in her arms, bestowing every name of childish\nendearment on it, kissing its hands and feet, and calling it her dear\nChristarello, a name which continued to be given to it ever afterwards.\nThe rest of the day she spent in her own little room, where she arranged\na corner for the reception of the Christarello, and was never tired of\nseeing and caressing her new treasure. Henceforth it was here that she\nspent the happiest moments of the day. If ever she got into any trouble\nin the house, it was here she came to pour out all her sorrow; and the\ninnocent simplicity of her devotion was so pleasing to God, that more\nthan once He permitted that the Christarello should wipe away the tears\nwhich she shed on these occasions with His little hand, as was several\ntimes witnessed by her mother, who watched her through the half-open\ndoor. As she grew a little older, she began to accompany her mother\nto church; and they frequently went to visit the great church of St.\nAugustine, which was close to the house where they lived. Now it\nhappened that in this church, among other devout images, there was a\nsmall has-relief of the Blessed Virgin holding her Divine Son in her\narms, which took the child's fancy the first time they entered, so that\nshe stopped to look at it. Her mother observed her as she lingered\nbehind: \"Lucy,\" she said, \"do you know who that beautiful lady is whom\nyou see there? She is the Mother of your Christarello; and the little\nChild whom she carries in her arms is the Christarello also. If you\nlike, we will come here sometimes; and you shall bring the rosary you\nare so fond of, and say it before her image.\" Lucy was delighted at the\nidea; and whenever she could escape from her nurse's hand, she found her\nway to the church, to admire this new object of her devotion. One day,\nbeing thus occupied, the thought came into her head, how much she would\nlike to hold the Christarello for once in her own arms, as she had\nlearnt to hold her little baby brother. She therefore prayed to the\nBlessed Virgin with great earnestness that her request might be granted,\nand immediately the marble figure of the little Jesus was extended to\nher by His Mother, and placed in her arms. Nor was this all: no sooner\nhad she received her precious burden, than she felt the cold marble\nbecome a living Child; and, full of delight, she ran home still carrying\nHim; and though she met many people on the way, who stopped her as she\nhurried along, and tried to take Him from her, she succeeded in getting\nsafe to her own room at home, where she shut herself up with her\ntreasure, and remained with Him for three days and nights without food\nor sleep, insensible to all the entreaties and remonstrances of her\nastonished mother. Conquered at length by fatigue, on the third day she\nfell asleep; and when she woke she became sensible of the truth that God\nabides only with those who watch with Him; for, on opening her eyes, the\nfirst thing she perceived was that the Christarello was gone. Her cries\nof distress were heard by her mother, who, to console her, carried her\nonce more to the church; and there they found the marble child restored\nto the image as before, although for the three previous days its place\nin the arms of the Virgin's figure had been empty.\n\nShe was accustomed from time to time to pay a visit to the uncle before\nmentioned, and when about seven years old she went as usual to spend\nsome time with him at his country house. She remembered, on the occasion\nof a former visit, to have seen a room in some part of the house where\nthere were some little angels painted on the walls, as it seemed to\nher, holding their hands and dancing; and the first morning after her\narrival, she determined to set out on a diligent search after the\ndancing angels. The room in which they were painted was in a wing of\nthe house which had fallen out of repair, and was no longer used by the\nfamily; a staircase had led to the upper story, but this was now fallen\nand in ruins; and though Lucy, as she stood at the bottom, could see\nthe little angels on the wall above her head, all her efforts were\nunavailing to climb the broken staircase and reach the object of\nher search. She had recourse to her usual expedient, prayer to the\nChristarello, and instantly found herself in the empty room, without\nwell knowing how she came there. But her thoughts were soon busy with\nthe angels. There they were; little winged children, their heads\ngarlanded with flowers, their mantles floating as it seemed in the air;\nand they danced with such an air of enjoyment and superhuman grace, that\nLucy sat on the ground before them, absorbed in admiration. As she sat\nthus, she heard her own name called from the window. She turned round,\nexpecting to see her uncle or some of the servants of the house; but a\nvery different spectacle met her eye. A glorious company of saints and\nangels stood round the Person of Jesus Himself. On His right was His\nVirgin Mother; on His left, St. Catherine and the great Patriarch St.\nDominic, with many others. Then those mystic espousals were celebrated\nwhich we read of in so many other tales of the Saints of God: the Divine\nSpouse receiving the hand of the delighted child from His Blessed\nMother, placed a ring on her finger, which she preserved to the hour of\nher death; after which He assigned her to the special guardianship of\nSt. Dominic and St. Catherine, whom from that day she always was used to\ncall her \"father and mother.\" \"And have you nothing to give Me?\" He then\nasked of His little Spouse; \"will you not give Me that silk mantle and\npretty necklace?\" Lucy was dressed in the rich fashion of the day, with\na crimson damask mantle over her other garments, and a necklace of gold\nand coral beads about her neck; but at these words of her Spouse, she\nhastily stripped them off, and lay them at His feet. He did not fail,\nhowever, to give her a richer dress in their place; for she had no\nsooner taken off the silk mantle, than St. Dominic clothed her with the\nscapular of his order, which she continued to wear during the rest of\nher life under her other clothes. When the vision had disappeared, Lucy\nfound herself full of a new and inexpressible joy. She turned to the\nlittle angels on the wall, the only companions left her after the last\nof the heavenly train had faded from her eyes, and with the simplicity\nof her childish glee, she spoke to them as though they were alive. \"You\ndear little angels,\" she said, \"are you not glad at what our Lord has\ndone?\" Then the angels seemed to move from the wall, and to become,\nindeed, full of life; and they spoke to her in reply, and said they were\nvery glad to have her for their queen and lady, as the Spouse of their\ndear Lord. And they invited her to join in their dance of joy, and sang\nso sweet and harmonious a music, and held out their hands so kindly and\ngraciously, that Lucy would have been well content never to have left\nher happy place of retreat; nor would she have done so, if she had not\nbeen found by her uncle, and carried against her will back to the house.\n\nThe death of her father, left her whilst still young, to the\nguardianship of her uncle. All her own wishes were fixed on a life of\nreligion, but her uncle had different views for her; and after long\nresistance on her part, he succeeded in inducing her to accept as her\nhusband Count Pietro of Milan, a young nobleman of considerable worth\nand abilities. The marriage was accordingly celebrated; but not until,\nin answer to earnest prayers, Lucy had received a divine revelation that\na life so contrary to all her own wishes and intentions was indeed God's\nwill regarding her.\n\nDoubtless it is one of those cases in which it is not easy for us to\nfollow the ways of Divine Providence. The marriage was followed by much\nsuffering to both parties; yet, if we be willing to take the Saints'\nlives as they are given us, without seeking to reduce the supernatural\nelements we find in them to the level of our own understanding, we shall\nnot he disposed to doubt the truth of the revelation which commanded it,\nor to fancy things would have been much better if Blessed Lucy had never\nbeen placed in a position so little in harmony with her own wishes. On\nthe contrary, we must admire the grace of God, which would perhaps never\nhave been so amply manifested in His servant, had she been called to a\nmore congenial way of life. We are accustomed to admire the wonderful\nvariety of examples which are presented to us in the lives of the\nSaints: that of Blessed Lucy offers us one of a soul with all her\nsympathies and desires fixed on the higher life of religion, yet\nfulfilling with perfect exactitude the minutest duties of a different\nvocation. She sanctified herself in the will of God, though that will\nwas manifested to her in a position which the world is used to call the\nhardest of all to bear--an ill-assorted marriage. She found means to\npractise the humiliation of the cloister, without laying aside the\nduties, or even the becoming dignity, of her station.\n\nHer first care, on finding herself the young mistress of a house full of\nservants, was with them, whom she ever looked on less as menials than as\na cherished portion of her family. And in the beautiful account given\nus of her intercourse with them, we must remember that at the period in\nwhich she lived, it was considered nothing uncommon or unbecoming for\nladies of the highest rank to join in the household occupations, and\ntake their part in the day's employment, working with their servants,\nand presiding amongst them with an affectionate familiarity, which,\nwithout rendering them less a mistress, gave them at the same time\nalmost the position of a mother. Blessed Lucy delighted in the\nopportunities, which the simple manners of the day thus afforded her,\nof laying aside her rich dress and ornaments, and assisting in her own\nkitchen, where she always chose the meanest and most tiresome offices.\nWhat was with others only done in compliance with the ordinary habit of\nthe day, was with her made the occasion of secret humiliations. One of\nher servants, a woman of very holy life and disposition, she took into\nher confidence, submitting herself to her direction, and obeying her as\na religious superior. On Holy Thursday, she washed the feet of all her\ndomestics; and that with so touching a devotion as to draw tears from\nthe eyes of the rudest and most indifferent among them. So perfect was\nthe discipline she succeeded in introducing among them, that, far from\npresenting the spectacle of disorder so common in households filled with\na crowd of feudal retainers of all kinds, her palace had the quietude\nand serenity of a monastery. Never was an oath or licentious word heard\namong them; the name of God was honoured; and habits of devotion became\ncherished and familiar, where before they had been too often an occasion\nof mockery. All the family dined at the same table; and during the\nrepast the Lives of the Saints, or the Holy Scriptures, were read aloud.\nIf any fault were committed by any of the household, Blessed Lucy\nknew how to punish it so rigorously as to prevent a repetition of the\noffence; and in this she was often assisted by the gift of prophecy,\nwhich she enjoyed in a remarkable degree. We read an amusing account of\ntwo of her maidens, who took the opportunity of their mistress's\nabsence at church to kill two fine capons, which they resolved to dress\nprivately for their own eating. The birds were already on the spit, when\ntheir mistress was heard entering the house. Fearful of discovery, they\ntook the half-roasted capons from the fire, and hid them under a bed.\nBlessed Lucy, however, knew all that had happened. \"Where are the\ncapons,\" she said, \"that were in the court this morning?\" \"They have\nflown away,\" said the two women, in great confusion: \"we have been\nlooking for them every where.\" \"Do not try to deceive God, my children,\"\nreplied Blessed Lucy: \"they are both under your bed; if you will follow\nme, I will show them to you.\" The servants followed her in silent\ndismay; but their astonishment was still more increased, when not only\ndid she lead them to the very place where they had hidden their spoils,\nhut calling the birds to come out, they flew out alive, and began to\ncrow lustily.\n\nIn another story of her life, we find her represented with her women\nwashing the linen of the house by the side of a river that flowed by the\ncastle. Whilst so engaged, one of them fell into the river and sank to\nthe bottom; but Blessed Lucy made the sign of the cross over the water,\nand immediately the drowning woman appeared on the surface safe and\nsound, close to the river's bank.\n\nAnd in the midst of these simple and homely occupations, the\nsupernatural life of prayer, and ecstacy, and communion with God, was\nnever for a moment interrupted. Strange and beautiful sights were seen\nby many of those who were present in the church when she communicated:\nsometimes a column of fire rested on her head; sometimes her face itself\nshone and sparkled like the sun. Once two little children, whom she had\nadopted as her own, saw, as they knelt behind her, two angels come and\ncrown their mother with a garland, of exquisite roses. But the children\nbegan to weep; for they said one to another, \"Certainly our mother\ncannot have long to live, for the angels are even now crowning her with\nflowers.\"\n\nThe beauty of her face, and its extraordinary brilliancy at these times,\nhad a singular power in controlling those who beheld it. Even Count\nPietro himself was tamed and conquered by a glance from her eye, when it\nshone with this more than human splendour.\n\nThis mention of Count Pietro's name reminds us that it is tune we should\nsay something of him, and of his share in a story which has in some\nparts, as we read it, the character of a romance. He was not a bad\nman; he seems indeed to have had many good qualities, and to have been\npossessed in some respects of a degree of refinement beyond what was\ncommon at the time. He was sincerely attached to his saintly wife; but\nhe could not understand her. They were beings of different worlds; and\nthe very qualities which extorted his respect and admiration often sadly\nperplexed and worried him. Her very affection for himself was above his\ncomprehension; his own feelings were too much made up of the ordinary\nselfishness of the world, for him to know how to measure the love of one\nwhose love was in God. He felt her power over himself; and whilst he\nyielded to it, it irritated him, and not the less because there was\nnothing of which he could complain. This irritation showed itself in a\nmorose jealousy, sometimes varied by fits of passionate violence; in\nwhich he went so far as to confine his wife to her room, and once even\nto threaten her life.\n\nAll this, and the yet more wearing trial of their daily intercourse,\nwas borne by Blessed Lucy with unvarying sweetness and gentleness. But\nthough she accommodated herself in every thing to his sullen temper,\nand even showed him a true and loyal obedience, the desire after those\nheavenly espousals to which she had been promised whilst still a child\nnever left her heart; and as time went on, she began to look about for\nsome opportunity of carrying her wishes into effect. In those days it\nwas no uncommon spectacle to see a wife or a husband, in obedience to\nthe interior call of heaven, abandon every tie of flesh and blood for\nthe retirement of the cloister; nor was the propriety of such a step\never questioned. Society, as a body, in the ages of faith, acknowledged\nthe principle, that one whom Christ calls should leave all and follow\nHim. When, therefore, we hear that Blessed Lucy at length resolved to\nleave her husband's house, and take the habit of religion in the Order\nof St. Dominic, we must remember that she was no more acting contrary\nto the custom of the age, than when she worked with her servants in the\nkitchen. It is not an easy matter at any time for us to judge of the\nvocation or conscience of another; but when we have to carry back our\ninvestigation four hundred years, we can hardly hope that the whole\nhistory of a resolution of this nature,--why it was carried out now, and\nwhy it was not carried out before her marriage,--should be laid\nopen before us like the pages of a book. Of one thing only we cannot\ndoubt,--God's will had been very clearly and sufficiently declared; both\nat first, when she consented to give up her own wishes, and now, when\nthe time was come for them to be granted. She contented herself at\nfirst with receiving the habit of the third order, and remaining in her\nmother's house for a year; during which time she had to endure much from\nthe indignation of her husband, who expressed his own disapproval of her\nstep in a very summary way, by burning down the monastery of the prior\nwho had given her the habit. But her uncles at length took the case into\ntheir own hands; and after considering the very extraordinary signs of a\ndivine call which had been made manifest in her life, they decided that\nshe should be suffered to follow it without further molestation, and\nplaced her in the monastery of St. Catherine of Sienna at Rome.\n\nWithin a year from her entrance there, the fame of her sanctity had\nbecome so universal, that Father Joachim Turriano, the General of the\nOrder, being about to found a new convent of nuns at Viterbo, selected\nher as the prioress of the new foundation; on which office she\naccordingly entered in the year 1496, being then exactly twenty years of\nage. So great was the reputation she enjoyed, that though the number of\nreligious sent with her to Viterbo by the general was only five, the\ncrowds that applied for admission as soon as her presence was known was\nso great that the convent had to be enlarged; and she soon saw herself\nat the head of a numerous and flourishing community.\n\nMeanwhile, her unhappy husband had not abandoned all hopes of inducing\nher even yet to return to the world. He had followed her to Rome, and\nmade vain efforts to see and speak with her: he now followed her also to\nViterbo; and though unsuccessful in his attempts to obtain the slightest\nanswer to his continual applications and appeals, he continued to linger\nabout the convent, in the restless mood of one who would not give up\nhis design as hopeless. Every tongue around him was busy with the fame\nof Lucy's saintliness; from one he heard of her almost continual prayer,\nfrom another, of the glory which was seen to hover over her face in the\npresence of the Blessed Sacrament: but soon, in the February following\nher removal to Viterbo, the interest of all was absorbed in a new\nreport,--that she had received the sacred stigmata; and that in so\nremarkable a manner as to put all doubt on the subject out of the\nquestion. For it was hi the choir, with the other religious, that, being\nengaged in profound meditation on the Passion, she was observed by one\nof the sisters to look pale and as if suffering acute pain. The sister\nwent up to her to support her, and was struck with the appearance of\nher hands, the bones of which seemed dislocated, and the nerves torn.\n\"Mother of God!\" she exclaimed, \"what is the matter with your hands?\"\n\"Nothing,\" was the faint reply; \"they are only gone to sleep.\" But\nwithin a few moments the agony she was enduring and endeavouring to\nconceal overpowered her, and she became perfectly senseless. They\ncarried her from the choir and restored her to consciousness, so that\nshe was able to return within an hour and receive Holy Communion; but\nthe same sister who had first observed her, being convinced something\nvery extraordinary had happened, continued to watch her, and followed\nher to her cell. She then remarked that her hands were livid, and the\nskin raised and much inflamed; and by the end of the week the wounds\nbecame large and open, and shed so great an abundance of blood that it\ncould no longer be concealed. The excitement which followed, when these\ncircumstances became generally known, can hardly be described. A minute\ninvestigation was first made by the Bishop of Viterbo; after which three\nsuccessive commissions of inquiry were appointed by the command of the\nPope to examine the affair, and each of these inquiries terminated in\nthe declaration that the truth of the miracle was beyond all dispute.\nMultitudes flocked to the convent to see and touch the sacred wounds,\nand came back full of the wonders which their own eyes had witnessed.\nDuke Hercules of Este, the Pope's nephew, made earnest applications to\nhis uncle to suffer her to be removed to his own city of Ferrara; and\nwhilst all these things were going on, Count Pietro still remained in\nViterbo.\n\nThe world about him was echoing with his wife's renown, but none knew\nhis own connection with her. Each marvel that he heard did but seem to\nwiden the gulf between them; yet still he stayed and lingered within\nsight of the walls that shut her from him for ever: now bitterly\naccusing himself for the blindness of his own conduct towards her; now\nstriving to keep alive a kind of despairing hope that, could he but once\ngain admittance to her presence, he might even yet regain possession of\na treasure which, when it was his, he knew not how to value. At length\nhis desires were granted. A sudden inspiration induced Lucy to consent\nto an interview: it was the first that had taken place since she had\nfled from his house, and it was the last they ever had in this life.\n\nIt must have been a singular meeting: the two years of their separation\nhad altered both. As to the Count, his restless despair had worn him to\nan old man. He had never seen Narni since the day of her departure for\nRome, whither he had followed her; and had spent the long days of those\ntwo years hanging about the convent-gates like some miserable beggar.\nAnd the same two years had placed Lucy far beyond his reach, as it were\nin a supernatural world above him. When she stood before him at the\ngrate, and he beheld her marked with those sacred and mysterious wounds,\nand bearing in her whole appearance the air of one whose sympathies were\nfor ever removed from the affections of humanity, his heart failed him.\nHe had thought to speak to her of her home, and the claims which should\nrecall her to the world; he saw before him something a little lower than\nthe angels; and falling on his knees, he bent his eyes to the ground,\nand remained silent. Then she spoke; and heaven seemed to speak to him\nby her voice. The mists of earthly passion rolled away from his heart\nas he listened; the world and its hopes died in him at that moment; an\nextraordinary struggle tore his very soul, then passed away, and left\nit in a profound calm. For the first time he caught a glimpse of that\nreality which till now he had treated as a dream; the world and its\nunquiet joys were now themselves the dream, and heaven opened on him as\nthe reality. All life fell away from him in that hour; and when his wife\nceased speaking, she had won his soul to God. He dragged himself to her\nfeet, and bathed them in his tears; he conjured her pardon for all the\npersecutions and violence of the past, and renounced every right or\nclaim over her obedience for ever. Then, leaving her without another\nword, he obeyed the voice which had so powerfully spoken to his heart;\nfor within a few weeks he took the habit of the Friars Minor of the\nstrict observance; and persevering in it for many years, died a little\nbefore his wife, with the reputation of sanctity.\n\nWere this a romande, the story of Blessed Lucy might well end here. But\nher life was yet scarcely begun. Shortly after the interview with her\nhusband just spoken of, Duke Hercules obtained the Pope's orders for her\nremoval to Ferrara. This was only done by stealth; for the people of\nViterbo having got intelligence of the design, guarded the city night\nand day; so that, in order to gain possession of the Saint, the duke was\nreduced to the expedient of loading several mules with large baskets,\nas if full of goods; and in one of these Blessed Lucy was concealed and\ncarried off, under the guardianship of a strong body of armed men. Being\narrived at Ferrara, the duke received her with extraordinary honours,\nand built a magnificent convent for her reception, to which Pope\nAlexander VI. granted singular privileges, by a brief wherein he\ndeclared her to have \"followed the footsteps of St. Catherine of Sienna\nin all things.\" In this convent she gave the habit to her own mother, as\nwell as to many noble ladies of Ferrara.\n\nIt were too long to tell of all the signs of Divine favour which were\ngranted to her during the first years of her new government; of the\nmiracles wrought by her hands, the visions of marvellous beauty that\nwere given to her gaze; and the familiarity with which she seemed\nto live among the saints and angels. Thus one day, passing into the\ndormitory, she was met by the figure of a religious, whom she knew to be\nSt. Catherine of Sienna. Prostrating herself at her feet, she prayed her\nto bless the new monastery, which was dedicated in her name. The saint\nwillingly complied, and they went through the house together; Blessed\nLucy carrying the holy water, whilst St. Catherine sprinkled the cells,\nas the manner is in blessing a house. Whilst they went along, they sang\ntogether the hymn _Ace Maris Stella_; and having finished, St. Catherine\nleft her staff with Blessed Lucy, and took her leave. And another time\nthey saw in the same dormitory a great company of angels, and the form\nof one of surpassing beauty, and clad in an azure robe in the midst of\nthem, standing among them as their queen. Then she sent them hither and\nthither, like soldiers to their posts, and bid them guard the various\noffices of the monastery; \"for,\" she said, \"we must take possession of\nthis house.\"\n\nOne lingers over this period of her story, unwilling to pass on to the\nsorrowful conclusion. God, who had elevated her so highly in the sight\nof the world, was about to set upon her life the seal of a profound\nhumiliation. Hitherto she had been placed before the eyes of man as an\nobject of enthusiastic veneration: her convent gates were crowded by\npeisons of all ranks, who thronged only to see her for a moment. Duke\nHercules of Este applied to her for counsel in all difficulties of\nstate. The Pope had issued extraordinary briefs to enable the religious\nof other convents and orders to pass under her government, and even to\nleave the second order to join her community, which belonged to the\nthird,--a privilege we shall scarcely find granted in any other case.\nBut now these triumphs and distinctions were about to have an end.\nBlessed Lucy was about twenty-nine years of age. The honour in which she\nwas held, and the public celebrity she enjoyed, were a continual source\nof sorrow and humiliation to her; and with the desire to escape from\nsomething of the popular applause which followed her, she ceased not\nearnestly to implore her Divine Spouse to remove from her the visible\nmarks of the sacred stigmata, which were the chief cause of the\nveneration which was paid her by the world. Her request was in part\ngranted, the wounds in her hands and feet closed; but that of the side,\nwhich was concealed from the eyes of others, remained open to the hour\nof her death. Whether the withdrawal of these visible tokens of the\nDivine favour was the cause of the change in the sentiments of her\nsubjects, we are not told; but we find shortly after, that some among\nthem, disgusted at her refusal to allow the community to become\nincorporated with the second order, rose in rebellion, and even\nattempted her life. The scandal of this crime was concealed through the\nexertions of Lucy herself; but on the death of her great protector, Duke\nHercules, in 1505, the discontented members of the community recommenced\ntheir plots against her authority and reputation. Then--designs were\nlaid with consummate art; and at length they publicly accused her of\nhaving been seen in her cell endeavouring to re-open the wounds of her\nhands and feet with a knife, in order to impose on the public. Their\nevidence was so ably concocted, that they succeeded in gaining over the\nheads of the order to their side. Hasty and violent measures were at\nonce adopted; every apostolic privilege granted by Pope Alexander was\nrevoked; she was degraded from her office of prioress, deprived of every\nright and voice in the community, and placed below the youngest novice\nin the house. She was, moreover, forbidden to speak to any one except\nthe confessor, kept in a strict imprisonment, and treated in every way\nas if proved guilty of an infamous imposture. Nor was this disgrace\nconfined within the enclosure of her own monastery; it spread as far as\nher reputation had extended. All Italy was moved with a transport of\nindignation against her; the storm of invective which was raised reached\nher even in her prison; her name became a proverb of reproach through\nEurope; and the nuns whonad been professed at her hands made their\nprofessions over again to the new prioress, as if their vows formerly\nmade to her had been invalid.\n\nOne can hardly picture a state of desolation equal to that in which\nBlessed Lucy now found herself. It was as if this token of deep\nabjection and humiliation were required as a confirmation of her\nsaintliness. If any such proof were indeed needed, it was furnished by\nthe conduct which she exhibited under this extraordinary trial. During\nthe whole remaining period of her life, a space of eight-and-thirty\nyears, she bore her heavy cross without a murmur. Perhaps its hardest\nsuffering was, to live thus among those whom she had gathered, together\nwith her own hands, and had sought to lead to the highest paths of\nreligion, compelled now to be a silent witness of their wickedness. Her\nlife was a long prayer for her persecutors, and we are assured that no\nsorrow or regret ever seemed to shadow the deep tranquillity of her\nsoul. So far as it touched herself, she took it as a more precious token\nof her Spouse's love than all the graces and favours He had ever heaped\non her before. But it is no part of saintliness to be indifferent to the\nsins of others; and we can scarcely fathom the anguish which must hourly\nhave pierced her heart, at the ingratitude and malignity of her unworthy\nchildren.\n\nAnd so closed the life which had opened in such a joyous and beautiful\nchildhood. God indeed knew how to comfort one whom the world had utterly\ncast out; and though cut off from the least communication with any human\nbeing, she could scarcely be pitied whilst her neglected and solitary\ncell was the resort of celestial visitants and friends. The reader is\npossibly a little tired of such tales; yet we ask his indulgence whilst\nreferring to one of these last incidents in the life of Blessed Lucy,\nwhich we can scarcely omit. There lived at the same time, at Caramagna\nin Savoy, another beatified saint of the same illustrious order, Blessed\nCatherine of Raconigi. She had never seen Blessed Lucy; but had heard of\nher saintly fame, and the lustre of her life and miracles, and then also\nof her sufferings and disgrace. But the saints of God judge not as the\nworld judges; and Catherine knew by the light of divine illumination the\nfalsehood of the charges brought against her sister. She had ever longed\nto see and speak with her; and now more than ever, when the glitter of\nthe world's applause was exchanged for its contumely and persecution.\nThe thought of her sister, never seen with mortal eye, yet so dearly\nloved in God, never left her mind; and she prayed earnestly to their\ncommon Lord and Spouse, that He would comfort and support her, and, if\nsuch were His blessed will, satisfy in some way her own intense desire\nto hold some kind of intercourse with her even in this life. One night,\nas she was thus praying in her cell at Caramagna, her desires were heard\nand granted. The same evening Lucy was also alone and in prayer; and to\nher in like manner God had revealed the sanctity of Catherine, kindling\nin her heart a loving sympathy with one who, though a stranger in\nthe world's language, had been brought very near to her heart in the\nmysteries of the Heart of Jesus. We cannot say how and in what way it\nwas, but they spent that night together; but when morning came, and\nfound her again alone as before, Lucy had received such strength and\nconsolation from her sister's visit, that, as her biographer says, \"she\ndesired new affronts and persecutions for the glory of that Lord who\nknew so well how to comfort and suppoit her in them.\"\n\nHer last illness came on her in her sixty-eighth year: for\neight-and-thirty years she had lived stripped of all human consolation;\nand the malice of her enemies continued unabated to the last. None came\nnear her, as she lay weak and dying on her miserable bed. Like her Lord\nand Master, they hid their faces from her, counting her as a leper. The\nordinary offices of charity, which they would have done to the poorest\nbeggar in the streets, they denied to her; she was left to die as she\nhad lived, alone. But if the world abandoned her, God did not. Her\npillow was smoothed and tended by more than a mother's care. Saint\nCatherine did not neglect her charge. It is said she was more than once\nseen by the sick-bed, having in her company one of the sisters of the\ncommunity, who had departed a short time before, with the reputation of\nsanctity; and together they did the office of infirmarians to the dying\nSaint. When the last hour drew nigh, she called the sisters around her\nbed, and humbly asked their pardon for any scandal she had given them in\nlife. We do not find one word of justification, or remonstrance, or even\nof regret; only some broken words of exhortation, not to be offended at\nher imperfection, but to love God and be detached from creatures, and\nabide steadfastly by their rule. At midnight, on the 15th of November,\n1544, she felt the moment of release was at hand; and without any\ndeath-struggle or sign of suffering, she raised her hands and cried, \"Up\nto heaven, up to heaven!\" and so expired, with a smile that remained on\nthe dead face with so extraordinary a beauty, that none could look on it\nwithout a sentiment of awe, for they knew it was the beauty of one of\nGod's Saints.\n\nThe truth could not longer be concealed; one supernatural token after\nanother was given to declare the blessedness of the departed soul.\nAngelic voices were heard singing above the cell by all the sisters;\nan extraordinary perfume filled the cell and the whole house; and the\ncommunity, who had probably for the most part been deceived by one or\ntwo in authority, without any malice on their own part, now loudly\ninsisted on justice being done to the deceased. It was done, so far as\nfuneral honours can make amends for a life of cruelty and calumniation.\nThe body was exposed in the church; and the fickle crowds who had called\nher an impostor while living, crowded now to see and touch the sacred\nremains. The wound in her side was examined, and found dripping with\nfresh wet blood; the sick were cured, and evil spirits cast out, by\ncloths which had been placed on the relics.\n\nFour years after the body was taken from its grave, and found fresh and\nbeautiful as in life. Then it was again exposed in the church to the\nveneration of the faithful, who crowded once more to pay it honour, and\nwere wonder-struck at the perfume, as of sweet violets, which issued\nfrom it, and attached to every thing which it touched. And it was again\ndisinterred, little more than a century ago, in 1710, when it presented\nthe same appearance as before, and the sacred stigmata were observed\ndistinct and visible to all. On this occasion a part of the body was\ntranslated to Narni, where it now reposes in a magnificent shrine, and\nreceives extraordinary honours, amid the scene of her childish devotion\nto the Christarello. Perhaps, as we read of these honours to the dead,\nwe may feel they were but poor reparation for the calumnies and injuries\nheaped on her while living: or, if we seek to measure these things in\nthe balance of the sanctuary, we can believe that to her blessed spirit\nnow, those long years of abandonment and desolation, which cut her off\nfrom all communion with this earth for more than half her mortal life,\nwere a far more precious gift than all the shrines, and funeral honours,\nand popular veneration, which the world in its tardy repentance was\nmoved to give her.\n\nShe was finally beatified by Benedict XIII. towards the middle of the\nlast century.\n\n\n\n\n\nDOMINICA OF PARADISO DOMINICA OF PARADISO.\n\nAbout four hundred years ago there lived at a small country village near\nFlorence, called Paradiso, a poor gardener and his wife, whose names\nwere Francis and Costanza. They had several children, of whom the\nyoungest was named Dominica, who was brought up to the life of labour\nand hardship ordinary among the poorer peasantry of Italy, and whose\ndaily task it was to help in the cultivation of the garden on which the\nwhole family depended for support. Beyond the first rudiments of the\nChristian faith, Dominica received no education; for her parents were\nin no way superior in intelligence to others of their class in life.\nNevertheless, from her very infancy she showed signs that the few\ninstructions which they were able to give her had made a wonderful\nimpression on her heart; and as her soul received each new religious\nidea, it was cherished and meditated on; so that she gathered materials\nenough out of these simple elements to build up a life of the highest\ncontemplative prayer. Among all the biographies of the saints which have\nbeen preserved to us, there are few which so vividly illustrate the\ngrowth of a profound and supernatural devotion in the heart of an\nuneducated child as that before us. Nor will it be thought that the\nextreme simplicity which mingles with some of the passages of her\nlife which are here selected, lessens the beauty of a narrative whose\nincidents charm us like a poem.\n\nDominica was marked in a special way as the child of Mary, even from her\ncradle. The first occasion when we read of the Blessed Virgin appearing\nto her was one day when she was lying on her poor little bed, being then\nonly four years old. The presence of the Divine Mother with a train of\nshining angels then first awoke in her little heart a longing after God\nand heaven; and she began to pray-though scarcely knowing the meaning of\nthe words she uttered-that she might be taught the way to reach that\nglory, the vision of which had captivated her imagination. Then she came\nto understand that fidelity to God's precepts, and contrition for sin,\nwas the path of saintliness; and so were traced out on her soul the\nfirst lineaments of perfection. Now she had learnt that contrition was\na sorrow for sin; and the simple sort of catechism which her mother was\naccustomed to teach her spoke also of the heart being full of sin,\nand how tears of penitence were necessary to wash it from its corrupt\nsteins. A metaphor of any kind was far beyond the reach of Dominica's\ncomprehension; she therefore took these expressions in a very\nstraightforward way, and wept heartily to think her heart should be so\ndefiled and dangerous a thing. And the handkerchief which was wet with\nher childish tears she laid over her breast, thinking that this must be\nthe way to wash away the stains they talked of.\n\nAll day long she revolved in her mind the one idea which had been\nrevealed to her soul,--perfection, as the road to God's presence; and\nthinking incessantly of these things amid the various occupations in\nwhich she was engaged, she came to make every part of her day's work\nassociated with the subjects of her meditation. To her eye, all untaught\nby man, but enlightened by the Divine light, the invisible things of God\nwere clearly seen by the things that were visible. Once she was\nhelping an elder sister to make some cakes mixed with poppy-seeds, to\ngive to her brother who was ill and suffering from want of sleep. As she\nbaked the cakes, her thoughts were, as usual, busy finding divine\nmeanings in the things before her. The interior voice, whose whispers\nshe as yet scarcely understood, seemed to speak to her of another kind\nof food which should satisfy the soul, so that it should slumber and\nrepose in the sleep of Divine love. Then she prayed very earnestly to be\ngiven this wonderful food; and the voice spoke in answer, and said,\n\"Daughter, the food of which I spake is none other than My love, with\nwhich when the saints in heaven are filled and satisfied, they sleep so\nsweetly, that they forget all created things, and watch only unto Me.\"\nAnd Dominica wondered how the saints took this marvellous slumber, and\nwhether it were on beds made like her own straw mattress, or in the\nbosom of God, even as her mother was wont to rock the little baby to\nsleep. When she was at work, in the garden, she would raise her eyes to\nheaven, and think how she could make her heart a garden of flowers for\nthe delight of God. And once, as she so mused, He who had undertaken the\noffice of teacher and director to her soul appeared to her, and taught\nher that prayer would keep that soul ever fresh and green before Him;\nand that He would open in that garden five limpid and crystal fountains\nto refresh it, even the five wounds of His Sacred Passion; and that she,\non her part, must keep it free from weeds, daily plucking up evil\npassions, and the idle thoughts of vanity and the world; that so it\nmight be beautiful to the eye, and abundant in all-pleasant fruits. If\nshe ran upstairs, her thoughts ascended to heaven; if she came down, she\nabased herself in the depths of lowliness and humility. The oxen\nploughing in the field reminded her to bear meekly the yoke of\nobedience; and as she stood in her father's wine-press she taught\nherself to tread under her own will and nature, if she would taste of\nthe sweetness of divine consolations. Once the sight of a hen with her\nbrood of chickens so vividly brought before her the mystery of the\nIncarnation, and that wonderful love which gave its life to cover our\nsins and shield us from the wrath of God, that she was rapt in a state\nof ecstasy, and so remained in the garden all that day and the following\nnight. And again, as she gathered the ripe apples which her mother was\nhoarding for the winter, she became absorbed in contemplating the beauty\nof that soul wherein the fruits of virtue are brought forth, making it\npleasant in the eye of God. And she sighed deeply, and said, \"Oh, that I\nknew how to store my soul with these precious fruits! how happy should I\nthen be!\" And the Spouse of her heart came swiftly to her, and showed\nher how for every apple she gathered for the love of Him, there was\nbrought forth a glorious fruit within her soul, more gracious and\nbeautiful in His sight than the fairest apples of her garden. All this\nwas going on in her mind whilst yet not six years old; and so her life\ndivided itself between the homely exterior labour and rough discipline\nof a peasant life, and an interior of spiritual contemplation, wherein\nwere revealed to her many of the profoundest secrets of mystic theology.\nThe world became to her a book written within and without with the name\nof God; all creatures talked to her of Him. And this was sometimes\npermitted to be manifested in extraordinary ways; as once, when walking\nby the side of a lake near their cottage, the thought suggested itself\nthat the fish, being creatures of God, must be obedient to Him, and\nready to do Him service. Therefore she stood by the water-side, and\ncalled them to come and help her whilst she sang His praises; and the\nfish, swimming to the shore, did so after their kind, leaping and\njumping about out of the water; while she sat on the grass, and sang a\nlittle song which she had learnt, and was fond of repeating to herself\nover her work in the garden.\n\nOne day she was ill, and her mother desired her to eat some meat, which\nshe did, although it was Friday; and afterwards felt great scruples,\nfearing she had committed a great sin. She had never yet been to\nconfession, being under the age when it is usual for children to\nconfess. But she now felt very anxious to relieve her conscience of\nthis weight; only, being confined to her bed, she could not get to the\nchurch; nor did she dare to ask her mother to send for the priest.\nShe therefore considered within herself what she should do; and she\nremembered to have seen the people in the church not only kneeling in\nthe confessionals, but also before the crucifixes and devout images on\nthe altars; and in her simplicity, she thought that they were likewise\nconfessing their sins to them. Now there was a little picture of the\nMadonna holding the Holy Child in her arms, which hung in her room, and\nDominica thought she could confess to this; therefore, getting out of\nbed, she knelt down devoutly before it, and confessed her fault in\neating the meat with many tears, praying the little Jesus to give her\nabsolution for her fault, which she thought He would do by placing\nHis hand on her head, as she had seen the old priest do to the little\nchildren of the village. But when she had knelt a long time, and saw\nthat the image did not move, she became very unhappy, and prayed all the\nharder that He would not deny her absolution, but would give her the\nsign she asked for. Then it pleased our Lord to grant her the answer\nwhich her simple confidence extorted from Him; and the figures of the\nMother and the Son raised their hands, and placed them on the child's\nhead, who remained filled with delight at the thought that her sins were\nnow forgiven her, and her conscience at rest.\n\nAfter this her mother took her once a year to confession in the church.\nIt grieved her much not to be able to go oftener; but her angel-guardian\ntaught her to submit in this matter to her mother's pleasure, and to\nsupply the place of more frequent confession by every evening examining\nher conscience, and confessing her daily faults before the same picture\nas before. Nor was this the only teaching which she received from him;\nhe taught her that the path to Paradise was a way of suffering; and that\nthey who aspired to the mystic nuptials of Christ were careful to clothe\nthemselves with the livery of the cross. And Dominica, in obedience\nto these instructions, began to afflict her body with fasts and other\nausterities, and gave the food which she saved from her own dinner\nto the poor. She ever showed great devotion to the Blessed Virgin,\nespecially after the circumstances narrated above; and made it her\nparticular duty to light the lamp before her picture every Saturday, and\nto garland it with flowers on that day, as being specially dedicated to\nher. On one of these occasions, Mary appeared to her with her Divine\nChild in her arms, and promised her that in reward for her devotion she\nshould one day become His spouse, but not until she had grown further\nin perfection and in His love. This promise became thenceforth the\nabsorbing subject of her thoughts; and at seven years of age she\nconsecrated herself to Him, whom from that hour she considered her\nSpouse, by a solemn vow, cutting off her beautiful golden hair, as she\nunderstood the custom was, and offering it to her Lord. When her mother\nsaw her hair cut off, she was greatly displeased, and commanded her to\nsuffer it to grow again, and not to attempt to cut it a second time.\nDominica obeyed; but she secretly prayed that God would send her some\ninfirmity of the head, which might prevent the growth of the hair. And\nthis indeed happened; so that the head remained closely cut until her\nfifteenth year, when it was cured, and miraculously crowned, as we shall\nsee, by God.\n\nOur Blessed Lady very often favoured her with her visible presence; but\non these occasions she appeared alone, and without her Son. Dominica\nwas greatly grieved at the absence of her Lord, and at length one day\nresolved to ask the Blessed Virgin the reason why He never came. \"O\nDivine Lady,\" she said, \"you come very often to see me and talk to me;\nbut you never bring Him who is to be my Spouse; why is this, for it\ngrieves me that I never see Him?\" Then our Lady, smiling on her, showed\nher the Holy Infant sleeping in her bosom. Dominica was delighted at the\nsight. \"But how very small He is!\" she exclaimed \"He will grow,\" replied\nMary, \"when you will, and as much as you will; and as she spoke, Dominica\nperceived that He was already much larger. \"Ah! He is already\ngrowing,\" she exclaimed; \"now He is twice the size He was!--how is\nthat?\" \"He grows with your growth,\" again replied Mary; \"and your growth\nmust be not in the flesh, but in the spirit: when you have attained to\nyour full growth in holiness, He will come and celebrate those espousals\nwhich you desire so much.\" Then the Child extended His hand to Dominica\nas a token of His renewed promise; and the vision disappeared. She\nremained very sad and disconsolate; and her grief, when she thought of\nthe loveliness of Jesus, and the long time that was yet to elapse before\nHis promise could be fulfilled, became so poignant, that she fell ill,\nand spent eight days in continual tears and sorrow of heart. This\nabandonment of her soul to grief was by no means pleasing to the Blessed\nVirgin, who appeared again at the end of the eight days, and gave her a\nsharp reproof for her want of resignation. \"Daughter,\" she said, \"you\ngrieve for the loss of sensible consolations; but know this, that to\nthose who attach themselves to such things, visions, and revelations,\nand the sensible presence of the Beloved, are not blessings but evils:\nwherefore put away your sorrow, and serve God with a joyful and\ncontented heart.\" \"But how can I be joyful,\" said the weeping child,\n\"whilst I am so far from my Spouse and His palace, and still kept a\nprisoner in this vale of tears?\" Then the merciful heart of Mary was\nmoved with pity, and she said, \"Follow me with your eyes, and you shall\nsee a glimpse of the country where He dwells;\" and so saying, she rose\ntowards heaven before her eyes. Dominica watched her as she had said,\nand she saw how the heavens opened to receive their queen; and caught\nthrough the parted doors of those celestial regions something of the\nglory of the New Jerusalem. She saw her pass on through the countless\nchoirs of the angels, till she came close to the throne of God; and in\nthe midst of the unapproachable light she saw the Child Jesus, more\nbeautiful and glorious than she had ever seen Him before; and then, even\nas she gazed on Him, forgetting all beside, the golden gates closed on\nthe scene, and shut it from her eyes. Now when Dominica looked round,\nand saw that it had all passed away, she remained full of an unspeakable\nlonging to reach that glorious country, or at least to see it once\nagain. She kept her eyes constantly fixed on the sky, for she thought\nperhaps it might once more open; and in her simplicity she thought she\nshould be nearer to her Lord, and to the beauty amid which He dwelt, on\nhigh places: therefore, at night, when all the family were asleep, she\nrose softly, and taking a ladder, mounted to the roof, where she spent\nthe night in prayer, looking wistfully at the stars, which she thought\nwere at least little sparks of that great glory which had been revealed\nto her. And having repeated this several times, it pleased God more than\nonce to open the vision of heaven to her again; so that she came to have\na familiarity with that blessed place, and to know the choirs of angels\none from another, and to tell the different degrees of the blessed by\nthe crowns they wore, and many ether mysteries which, whilst she beheld,\nshe as yet did not fully comprehend.\n\nWhen Easter came, her mother took her to church, and she saw all the\npeople going to Communion, and grieved much to think she was too young\nto be suffered to approach with them. It seemed also very strange to her\nthat they should come to so wonderful a banquet, and go away again, just\nas if nothing had happened to them; and she thought it would not be so\nwith her: for, indeed, whenever she was present at Mass, and the priest\nelevated the Sacred Host before her eyes, she saw the visible person of\nher divine Spouse, adorned with so wonderful a beauty that it seemed\nmarvellous to her that no one else seemed moved by the sight; and she\nthought that all saw what she saw, and never dreamt that it was a\nrevelation granted to her eyes alone. And once, as she thus reasoned\nwithin herself, and looked sorrowfully on the crowds who were going\nto receive a happiness which was denied to her, the Lord of her soul\nHimself drew near to comfort her with a foretaste of His presence, and\nDominica felt on her tongue a drop of His precious Blood.\n\nAutumn brought the harvest, and with it hard work in the fields for\nDominica, whose prayers and visions never interrupted her life of daily\nlabour. She was one day in the fields watching them burn the stubble,\nand helping to heap the loads of straw and rubbish on to the fire. With\nchildlike glee, she danced and clapped her hands to see the flames\nleaping high into the air; and she thought to herself that the fire was\nlike Divine love, and longed that her own heart could be consumed in\nits flames like the worthless straw. Then the voice of her Spouse spoke\nwithin her and said, \"What would you do, Dominica, if you saw your\nSpouse in the midst of those flames?\" And she answered, \"I would run to\nHim and embrace Him.\" \"But,\" replied the voice, \"would you not fear the\nfire? do you not remember how terrible was the pain when your sister\nburnt her hand?\" And even at that moment Dominica saw through the\nflames, how a beautiful lady entered the field on the other side of\nthe fire, leading a child of surpassing loveliness by the hand. As she\nlooked at them the lady spoke to her: \"Dominica,\" she said, \"why are you\nhere, and what do you seek?\" And Dominica replied, \"I am looking at the\nflames, and I am seeking for God in them!\" \"God.\" answered the lady, \"is\nvery near you, and yet you do not know Him.\" Then her eyes opened, and\nshe knew that she had been speaking to no other than Jesus and Mary; and\nforgetting the fire and her own danger, and all but the presence of her\nBeloved, she ran through the flames to the other side, and cast herself\nat His feet. In doing this she was severely burnt, for her legs and arms\nwere bare like other peasant children; but Dominica did not feel the\npain, for she was gazing on her Lord. And the glorious Child took her\nlovingly by the hand, and said, \"O Dominica, thou has conquered\nflames for the love of Me; therefore shall thou ever abide in My grace,\nand shalt dwell with Me for ever.\" Then he blessed her; and disappearing\nfrom sight, Dominica was again alone. On looking round her, she found\nthat it was quite dark, and the stars were shining brightly; for the\nmoments that had seemed to her to fly so quickly had indeed been hours,\nand it was now night. She began to be very frightened; knowing that her\nabsence would cause great alarm; but we are assured that, on returning\nin the morning, she found she had not been missed, her angel-guardian\nhaving taken her form, and discharged all the household offices which it\nwas her duty to perform.\n\nOn another occasion, she was as usual at work in the garden, whilst her\nbrothers were bringing in a load of manure which smelt very offensive.\nThe habit of drawing spiritual meanings from all external objects had\nbecome so completely second nature to Dominica, that her thoughts seem\nto have shaped themselves into these analogies on all occasions. The bad\nsmell therefore suggested to her mind an image of mortal sin, and she\nprayed that she might be taught in some way how it appeared in the\neyes-of God. At that moment a soldier entered the garden for the purpose\nof purchasing some vegetables, and Dominica perceived that his soul\nwas very offensive in the sight of God. She looked in his face, and it\nseemed to her so disfigured by foul and monstrous deformity, that she\nwas moved with a deep compassion for him; she prayed therefore very\nearnestly, that God would give him the grace of conversion, and save him\nfrom his miserable state. She longed to say something to him; but not\ndaring to address him, she remained before him, still looking up in his\nface, and weeping bitterly. Her manner at length drew his attention, and\nhe asked her what was the matter, and why she kept thus looking at him\nand weeping. \"I weep,\" she answered, \"because your soul is so ugly;\nyou must certainly be very unhappy. How is it you do not remember the\nPrecious Blood which redeemed you from the power of the devil? Do you\nnot see the bow bent, and the arrow ready to fly?\" \"What bow, and what\narrow, are you talking of?\" said the astonished man. \"The bow,\" replied\nthe child, \"is divine justice, and the arrow is death and the judgment,\nwhich will certainly overtake you if you do not change your wicked life\nand become a good man.\" As she spoke, the simplicity of her words fairly\nconquered the obdurate heart to which they were addressed. With tears\nrolling down his cheeks, he knelt before her, and confessed he was\nindeed an enormous sinner, who deserved nothing but hell; but that\nif she would help him with her prayers, he would go that very day to\nconfession, and begin a new life; and with this promise he left her. For\neight days Dominica continued in very earnest prayer for him, in spite\nof unheard-of troubles and persecutions of the devils; but on the eighth\nshe knew that her prayers had been heard, for she saw his soul white and\nclean like that of a newly-baptised child; and he himself came to thank\nher for the grace she had obtained for him, and by means of which he\nhad been enabled to make a good and contrite confession. He told her,\nmoreover, that he was resolved to leave the world and retire to a\nhermitage, to spend the remainder of his life in penance; but prayed\nher, before he went, at least to give him her blessing. This request\npuzzled Dominica; and she replied she would readily oblige him, but she\ndid not know how. Then her angel raised her little hand, and guided it\nto sign the sign of the Cross above his head; and a voice which was not\nhers said for her, \"May God bless thee in this world and in the world to\ncome.\" Fourteen years after, this man died in his hermitage, with the\nreputation of sanctity.\n\nThis first conversion awoke in her soul an ardent thirst for the\nsalvation of sinners. It was a new feeling, and to her quick and\nsensitive soul one which soon became wholly absorbing. Happening about\nthis time to see a little picture representing the sufferings of the\nsouls in hell, she was greatly touched with compassion, and innocently\nprayed God to relieve them and set them free. Then her faithful guardian\ninstructed her on this matter, and taught her that the only way to save\nsouls from hell was, to prevent sin and convert sinners by her prayers.\nAnd to increase her zeal he showed her, not a picture, but the real\nsufferings of the lost souls; and the sentiments of pity which these\nexcited were so lively, that a desire awoke within her to suffer\nsomething in her own body, in order to save other souls from these\nterrible flames. And with the idea of experiencing something of a like\nkind of suffering, she took a lighted torch, and courageously held it to\nher shoulder till the flesh was burnt, which caused her agonies of pain\nfor many days. These, however, she had self-command enough to conceal,\nin spite of some emotions of very natural alarm, which determined her to\nfind out if possible some other less dangerous method of afflicting her\nbody. She even prayed God to teach her in what way she should do this;\nand one day seeing a picture in the church of St. John Baptist clothed\nin his garment of camel's hair, the thought was suggested to her mind\nof forming some such garment for herself out of horsehair; which she\naccordingly did, and wore it for nine years. And here one can hardly\nfail to admire the means by which, step by step, she was led on in the\npath of a saintly life. Human teaching she had none; she had probably\nnever seen a book: but yet we see how the commonest incidents and\naccidents, being accompanied by God's grace, were enough to reveal the\nsecrets of His counsels to her soul. A picture, or a chance word, or the\nthought which rose spontaneously out of some image of the visible\nthings around her, were food enough for a soul which literally \"waited\ncontinually upon God;\" it drew sustenance and life out of what seemed\nthe very barrenest desert.\n\nFrom this time commenced a new life of austerity, so rigorous and\ncontinual, that extraordinary strength must have been supplied to have\nenabled her to live under the perpetual tortures she inflicted on her\ninnocent flesh. And though in the details of these austerities we find\nmany things precisely similar to those related of other saints, yet it\nis certain that their lives and examples were wholly unknown to her, and\ntherefore that in this matter she must have followed the instinct of her\nown devotion, guided by the Spirit of God. But, again, we observe how\nshe was directed by that quick and watchful eye of the soul which\nlet nothing escape its vigilance;--a coarse and common print of the\nScourging of our Divine Lord, once seen, was enough to teach Dominica\nthose sharp disciplines to blood in which she persevered during the\nremainder of her life.\n\nWe pass over the account of many temptations and apparitions of evil\nspirits, to give the story of one vision with which she was favoured,\nwhose beauty can perhaps scarcely be equalled by any similar incident to\nbe met with in the Lives of the Saints. It has been said that she was\naccustomed to observe Saturday as a day of special devotion in honour of\nthe Madonna, whose image on that day had its garland of fresh flowers\nhung up, and its little lamp brightly burning in the midst. Now it\nhappened that one Saturday Dominica had taken unusual care in the\ndecoration of her little image; she had picked her choicest flowers,\nand hung them in wreaths and bunches which took her some little time\nto arrange. But her trouble was well rewarded; for the Blessed Virgin\nreached out her hand and took some of the flowers, and smelt them, and\nthen gave them to her Son, that He might smell them likewise. Dominica,\nfull of delight, besought them ever thus to smell her flowers, and to\nforget the unworthiness of her who offered them. And then she remembered\nthat she could not stand there looking at her beloved Madonna any\nlonger; for it was the hour when she was accustomed to go to the\ncottage-door with the scraps she had saved from her dinner, that\nshe might give alms to any poor beggar who should be passing by.\nAccordingly, she ran to the door with her basket of broken bread, and\nwaited patiently till some object of charity should pass that way. At\nlength she perceived a woman approaching, leading a child by the hand.\nBy their dress she saw that they were very poor; yet there was an air of\ndignity, almost of majesty, in the manner and appearance of both. They\ncame up to the spot where she stood; and the child, addressing himself\nto her with a certain gracious sweetness, held out his hands, as if\nbegging, and said, \"You will certainly give me something, my good little\npeasant girl?\" And as he did so, she perceived that in either hand there\nwas a large open wound; and that his dress was likewise covered with\nblood, as from a fresh wound in his side. Touched with compassion, she\nbade them wait whilst she entered the house for something to give them;\nbut she had scarcely done so, when she perceived that they were by her\nside. \"Ah!\" said Dominica, \"what have you done! if my mother knows I\nhave let any one in, she will never forgive me.\" \"Fear nothing,\" said\nthe woman; \"we shall do no harm, and no one will see us.\" Then Dominica\nsaw that the child's feet were likewise bleeding; and pitying him very\nmuch, she said, \"How can your son walk on the rough roads with those\nwounded feet of his?\" And his mother replied, \"The child's love is so\ngreat, he never complains of himself.\" Now as they were thus talking,\nthe child was looking at the image garlanded with the lovely fresh\nroses; and with a winning and innocent grace he held up his little hands\nand asked for some of the flowers: and Dominica could not refuse to give\nthem to him; for spite of their poor rags, there was something about her\nstrange visitors which captivated her heart. And the mother took\nthe roses, and smelt them, and gave them to her son; and turning to\nDominica, she said, \"Why do you garland that image with flowers? it\nwould seem as if you cared for it very much.\" \"It is the Madonna and\nthe Holy Child Jesus,\" answered Dominica; \"and I give them my flowers\nbecause I love them dearly.\" \"And how much do you love them?\" continued\nthe woman. \"As much as I can,\" said Dominica. \"And how much is that?\"\nsaid the woman again. \"Ah!\" replied Dominica, \"it is as much as they\nhelp me too.\" But still as she spoke she could not take her eyes off the\nchild; for his extraordinary grace and beauty filled her with an emotion\nshe could not comprehend. \"Why do you stand thus gazing at my son?\" said\nthe woman; \"what do you see in him?\" \"He is such a beautiful child,\"\nsaid Dominica; and she leant over him to caress him. But she started\nback with surprise, for those wounds gave forth a wonderful odour, as of\nParadise; and turning, to the woman, she exclaimed, \"Mother of God! what\nis this? with what do you anoint your son's wounds, for the odour of\nthem is sweeter than my sweetest flowers?\" \"It is the ointment of\ncharity,\" said the mother; but Dominica scarcely heard the reply: she\nwas still gazing at the child, and trying to attract his notice, as the\nmanner is with children. \"Come to me, my child,\" she said, \"and I will\ngive you this piece of bread.\" \"It is of no use,\" said the mother; \"tell\nhim of Jesus, and how you love Him, and the child will come readily\nenough.\" And at the words he did indeed come; and looking up sweetly\ninto Dominica's face, he asked, \"And do you really love Jesus?\" And\nthat sweet odour became so marvellously powerful, that she was yet more\nfilled with surprise; and she said, \"O beautiful child, what wonder is\nthis? if your wounds give forth this delicious perfume, what will the\nperfume of Paradise be like?\" \"Do not wonder,\" said the mother, \"that\nthe perfume of Paradise should be where God is;\" and then the blindness\nfell from her eyes, and she knew that she was talking to none other than\nto Jesus and Mary. And even at that moment the poor rags fell off them,\nand she saw them dressed in royal robes of surpassing splendour; and the\nChild Jesus grew to the stature of a man, whilst over the wound of His\nside there gleamed the radiance of a brilliant star. Dominica fell\nprostrate at their feet as they rose into the air; and taking the roses\nfrom His mother's bosom, the Divine Spouse scattered them over the head\nand garments of His beloved, and said, \"O My spouse! thou hast adorned\nMy image with garlands and roses, and therefore do I sprinkle thee with\nthese flowers, as an earnest of the everlasting garland with which I\nwill crown these in Paradise;\" and so saying, they both disappeared.\nDominica strove in vain to follow them with her eyes; but for eight days\nafter there remained the perfume of the wounds, and her head and dress\nwere seen covered with flowers.\n\nAt length she arrived at the age when it is customary for children to\nmake their first Communion; and her mother, therefore, took her during\nLent to the priest, that he might examine and prepare her for that\npurpose. A very few words satisfied him that she was full of Divine\ngrace, and he accordingly desired her to go to communion at the\napproaching Easter, which was considerably sooner than her mother had\nintended. \"How can I do so?\" said Dominica; \"I am only eleven years old,\nand my mother is used to say, 'Children should not go to Communion till\nthey are twelve.' Moreover, there are but three weeks to Easter, and in\nthat short time I can never prepare fitly to receive our Lord;\" and\nso saying, she began to weep. Nevertheless, the priest laid her under\nobedience to do as he had said, and sent her away; and Dominica returned\nhome with her thoughts full of this weighty matter of the three weeks of\npreparation. Now the dignity of the Holy Sacrament appeared to her so\nvery great, that she thought a year would be too little to make ready\nthe chamber of her heart; and thinking how she could make the most of\nthe short time allowed her, she determined not to go to bed for that\ntime but to remain in prayer and meditation all night, that she might\nmake the weeks longer; for indeed, she was so simply impressed with the\nconviction of her own vileness, that she dreaded lest the Sacred Host\nshould disappear, or some other token of Divine displeasure should be\nevinced, if she approached without much preparation and examination of\nheart. So, as we have said, she never went to bed; but remained kneeling\nand praying all night, examining her innocent conscience, and going over\na world of resolutions and forms of preparation, which she believed\nwere necessary to be got through in the time. It was a child's simple\nthought;--we love Dominica all the better for the childishness that\nforgot that its excellent resolve was an impossible one for flesh and\nblood to keep;--for very often the poor little girl was conquered by\nweariness, and fell asleep in the midst of her long prayers, and in\nspite of her manful efforts to keep awake; and then she would try to\nrouse herself with the thought of her preparation for Communion, and\nbegin all over again, with a kind of nervous terror that the time would\nbe too short after all.\n\nAt length Holy Week came, and her mother took her to Florence to hear\nthe preaching of the Passion at the great church of St. Reparata. It was\na new life to Dominica: seated by her mother's side, she drank in every\nword of the impassioned eloquence of the preacher; and with her usual\ninnocence, believed that Christ would really visibly appear, and suffer\nbefore the eyes of the people as He did on Calvary. And when the\npreacher said, \"yesterday He was betrayed,\" and \"to-day He is led to\ndeath,\" she believed he spoke literally; for she had not learnt to\nunderstand metaphors better than when, a child of four years old, she\nhad desired to know the kind of bed that the angels slept on. And,\nindeed, the spectacle was given to her eyes, and she saw the scene of\nthe Crucifixion, and how Mary stood beneath the Cross, and how Nicodemus\ntook down the Sacred Body and laid it in her arms. She saw it, as it\nwere, in the midst of the crowd of people who stood round her, and\nwondered how they looked so unconcerned; and she herself longed to push\nher way through them to get nearer to her dying Lord; but the crowd kept\nher back. Then, when she got back to her own room at home, she knelt\ndown to think of what she had witnessed; and the Blessed Virgin appeared\nto her, and taught her that it had been but a vision, and one revealed\nto her alone, and not to the people. Dominica then told her all her\nfears that her preparation had been too short; that our Lord would\ncertainly never allow her to come to Him; and that she was so unworthy\nand unfit to communicate, she should drive Him out of the church. But\nMary comforted her, and assured her that the tears of contrition she had\nshed were all the preparation He required.\n\nWhen Dominica heard this she was a little consoled; yet her fear lest\nthe Sacred Host should indeed fly from her as unworthy was so great,\nthat she spent Holy Saturday in incessant prayer, promising pilgrimages,\nfasts on bread and water, and every devotion she could remember, if only\nour Lord would deign to remain with her on the following day. Thus the\nwhole night passed, and in the morning she went, pale and trembling to\nthe church to receive Holy Communion with her mother.\n\nHer agitation increased every moment; but at length it was her turn to\ngo up to the alter steps. She did so, and the priest came to her and\npronounced the customary words; but she did not seem to hear him: he\nbent down over her to rouse her from her stupor; and it was not till\nhe had shaken her by her dress that she was sufficiently recovered to\nreceive. Yet this was not an emotion of terror, but an ecstasy of joy;\nfor at that moment her fears and scruples had been removed by the sight\nof the Sacred Host, not flying from her as she had feared, but shining\nlike a glorious sun, whose brilliant rays overpowered her by their\nexcessive lustre.\n\nIt would be tedious to give in detail any thing like a faithful\nnarration of the ecstasies with which from this time she was favoured\nevery time she communicated. They were so wonderful and so numerous,\nthat we are assured she made a vow by which she obliged herself never to\nmove from the spot where she knelt; and that she did this in order to\ncontrol the impulse which urged her to cast herself at the feet of her\nLord, whom she saw in so glorious a shape whenever the Sacred Host was\nelevated before her eyes.\n\nTime went on, and Dominica was no longer a child. With womanhood came\nthe cares and charge of the entire family; for her mother, seeing\nher grave, diligent, and prudent, left every thing in her hands, and\ntroubled herself with none of the household duties. With unmurmuring\nobedience Dominica accepted every thing that was laid on her; she swept\nand washed the house, cooked the food, washed the clothes, looked after\nthe garden and the horses, and saw to every thing which was sent to the\nmarket. Long before break of day she had to be up to load the mules, and\ngive them in charge to her brother Leonard. When they came home late in\nthe evening, it was she, tired with her innumerable labours, who had to\ntake them to the stable and make up their stalls. Not a moment of her\ntime but was filled up with hard bodily work and fatigue; yet, thanks to\nthe habits of her childhood, she knew how to infuse into all these the\nspirit of prayer; and her incessant occupations never put a stop to the\ndevotions and austerities which she had accustomed herself to practise;\nnay, she found means to make them assist her in her mortification. She\ncontrived two crosses of wood garnished with sharp nails, which she\nconstantly wore in such a way, that at every movement of the body, in\nwashing, sweeping, and working in the garden, the nails pressed into the\nflesh; and so constantly reminded her of the sufferings of her Lord,\neven when externally engaged in the commonest employments of her peasant\nlife.\n\nBut in spite of the way in which she strove to do all in and for God,\nshe secretly sighed after the retirement of the desert or the cloister,\nand for space and time to pour out her soul in that fulness of\ncontemplation and love which swelled like a deep ocean within it. When\nshe was fifteen, she accidentally heard the history of St. Mary Magdalen\nfor the first time; and the account of her retirement and long penance\nin the desert of Marseilles made an impression on her mind which was\nnever effaced. She longed to imitate her, and to find some secret place\nwhere she might commence a similar life. Believing this desire to be\nthe vocation of God, she accordingly determined on the experiment; and\nsecretly leaving her mother's house one night, she went on foot to a\nneighbouring mountain, and entered a thick wood, where she hoped to find\nsome cavern where she might take up her abode. Her first adventure was\nthe meeting with a wolf; but Dominica knelt down on the earth, not\nwithout some secret emotions of terror, and recommended herself to God;\nafter which she rose, and commanded the animal in God's name to depart\nwithout hurting her, which he did, and she pursued her wav without\nfurther alarm. At length, near the Valle del Monte, she found such a\nspot as she was in search of. There was a grotto sunk in the rocky side\nof the mountain, and near its mouth ran a stream of crystal water.\nIt was the very picture of a hermitage; and Dominica's happiness was\ncomplete. She immediately prepared to take up her night's lodging in her\ngrotto. But alas! picturesque and inviting as it seemed, it was very\nsmall; so small, that when the fervent little devotee had crawled into\nit, and knelt down to give vent to her joy and thankfulness, she found\nit impossible to get her whole body into its shelter; but her feet\nremained outside, and what was worse, dipping into the cold water of the\nstream. These inconveniences, however, were neither cared for nor even\nnoticed by Dominica. She was alone with God, and that was enough for\nher. Three days and nights she spent in her little cavern, absorbed in\necstatic contemplation, and without food of any kind; but on the third\nday a voice spoke to her, and roused her from her long trance of silent\nhappiness. \"Dominica,\" it said, \"rise and come forth; I have already\nforgiven thee thy sins.\" At these words she rose and left her cavern,\nand beheld a beautiful sight. The Valle del Monte was before her, at she\nhad seen it the evening of her arrival; there was not a human habitation\nto be seen, nothing but the green woods which clothed the mountain side,\nand the clear waters of the little stream, and the rocky summits of the\nhills which rose above the trees. But all these objects were now lit up\nby a wonderful light, brighter than that of the sun which fell on them\nfrom heaven. It grew every moment more and more dazzling, and then she\nsaw in the midst the form of her Divine Lord, attended by his Blessed\nMother and a vast company of angels. He spoke again, \"Dominica, what\nseekest thou here, amid these rocks and woods?\" \"I have been seeking\nThee, O Lord,\" she replied, \"and it seems to me that I have found Thee.\"\n\"But,\" returned her Spouse, \"when I chose thee for my divine espousal,\nit was not to do thine own will, nor to enjoy aught else than My good\npleasure, in doing which thou shalt alone find peace. I have not called\nthee to the quietude of the desert, but that thou shouldst help me to\nbear My cross in the great city yonder,--the heavy cross which sinners\nmake for Me by their sins. Hereafter shalt thou see My face in heaven\nand contemplate Me there for ever; but for the present moment, return to\nthy mother's house, and wait for the manifestation of My will.\" \"I go,\"\nsaid Dominica; \"yet I know not what I can do for Thee in the world; I am\nnothing but a poor peasant girl, who have been brought up among beasts\nand oxen. Moreover, if I go back, my mother will certainly beat me, for\nI have been away three days.\" \"Fear nothing,\" was the answer; \"for an\nangel has taken thy form, and they do not know of thine absence.\"\n\nThen Dominica found herself transported, she knew not how, back to her\nown little room in her mother's house; and whilst she still wondered,\nshe heard her brother's voice calling hastily to her from below to come\nand help unload the mules. Dominica obeyed; but she was not a little\nconfused, when on coming down he began to ask her about some money\nwhich he had given her the evening before. She knew of no money,--for,\nindeed, it had been given not to her, but to the angel in her likeness;\nand she would have been sorely puzzled how to satisfy his demands,\nif the angel had not discovered to her the place where the money was\nplaced. And so her absence remained a secret to the family; nor were the\ncircumstances ever revealed, until many years after, when, a short time\nbefore her death, her confessor obliged her under obedience to reveal\nall the graces with which God had favoured her.\n\nAt length, in her twentieth year, Dominica resolved to leave the world\naltogether and enter religion. Her wish was not opposed by her mother,\nand she entered as lay-sister in the Augustinian convent at Florence.\nThe sisters received her very warmly, for her character for holiness\nand her discretion and industry were well known to them; and they\nimmediately employed her, much to their own satisfaction, in the garden\nand kitchen; and kept her so constantly and laboriously occupied, that\npoor Dominica found that she had even less time for her exercises of\nprayer than when at home. She endeavoured to make up for the loss by\nsecretly rising at night; but when this was discovered, the Superior,\nwith a mistaken charity, would send her to bed again, saying that after\nall her hard day's work she needed rest; not perceiving that the real\nrest she required was time for her soul to commune with God. Dominica,\ntherefore, became very unhappy; and one day as she was digging in the\ngarden she heard a mournful voice speak plainly and articulately by her\nside, saying, \"Ah, My spouse! why hast thou left Me thus?\" And it seemed\nto her that it was the voice of her Lord, who tenderly expostulated\nwith her for suffering the intercourse which had so closely bound them\ntogether to be broken and interrupted by so many occupations. She threw\nthe spade on the ground, and sitting down, covered her face with her\nhands and wept bitterly. Was it never to end, this life of many cares?\nIt seemed as though her soul, which was struggling to rise into the\nserene and quiet atmosphere of contemplation, was ever destined to be\nkept down amid cares and labours from which she could not escape, and\nwhich yet seemed, as it were, to separate her from her Lord. So long as\nit had been His will, she had never resisted nor complained; but now it\nwas not His will. He had said so; and the sweet sorrowful tone pierced\nher very heart, as she dwelt on the words, and the accent in which they\nwere uttered,--\"Ah! why hast thou left Me thus?\" And as she wept and\nprayed and sorrowed, yet saw no way of escape, the same voice spoke\nagain; but now they were words of comfort and encouragement: \"Be\nat peace, Dominica; God will follow His own will, and you shall be\ncomforted.\" And, indeed, a short time after she was attacked by a\nsickness, which compelled the sisters to send her back to her mother's\nhouse; and though on recovering she returned to them, yet she was again\ntaken ill, and again forced to leave. A third time her mother took her\nback to the convent; but Dominica knew that it was not God's wish that\nshe should receive the Augustinian habit: and the nuns themselves seemed\nto feel that this was the case; though, as they well knew her worth and\nsanctity, it cost them many regrets before they could consent to her\nfinally leaving their community. She returned home, therefore; and now,\nwith the advice of her confessor, entered on a life of strict religious\nretirement in her mother's house, until the designs of God regarding her\nshould be more plainly manifested.\n\nThe manner of this new life was not a little remarkable. Next to the\nroom where her mother slept was a little rubbish-closet, scarcely large\nenough to stand in; this she cleared from its rubbish, and chose for her\ncell. The constant sickness and infirmities which she suffered after\nher illnesses at the convent prevented her from going out at night and\ncontemplating the heavens, as had been her custom when a child. But she\nretained her old love for them, and contrived to make a little heaven of\nblue paper on the roof of her closet, and to cover it with gold stars;\nwhich, though but a poor substitute for an Italian sky--that sea of deep\nliquid sapphire, wherein float the bright stars, looking down like the\neyes of the seraphim,--yet doubtless had its charm to the simple taste\nof its designer; and at any rate it reminded her, during the hours of\nher prayer, of the beautiful days of her childhood, when the heavens\nopened to her wondering eyes, and she became familiar with its\ninhabitants, and thought to get nearer to them and to her Lord by\nclimbing on the roof of the house. Then at one end of the closet was a\nsmall altar, and on it a crib, and a representation of Mary, and the\nDivine Child lying on the straw,--much after the fashion of those still\nin common use among the peasants of Italy; for she always bore a special\ndevotion to the mystery of the Infancy. A stool before the altar, a\nwooden bench, and two boxes, completed the furniture of her cell.\nThere was no bed: she allowed herself but two hours' sleep; and this\nrefreshment, such as it was, was taken on the floor, with her head\nleaning on the stool,--when she lay down in this way, the straightness\nof the closet preventing her from taking any position that was not\npainful or constrained.\n\nYet this strange prison, which she never left save to go to the\nneighbouring Church of the Bridgetines to hear Mass, was a paradise in\nDominica's eyes; for here, at least, she was left at peace and with God.\nShe kept a continual silence, and divided her time between prayer and\nwork with her needle; and so perfect a mistress was she in all kinds of\nembroidery, that she obtained large sums of money by her labour. This\nshe left in her mother's hands, who was thus well satisfied to leave her\nundisturbed in the possession of her little closet, whilst the profits\nof her daily labours kept the house. The austerity she practised\nextended to every kind of bodily denial. Her food was bread and water,\ntaken so sparingly, that we are assured she sometimes spent a week\nwithout drinking at all: when she ate any thing, it was on her knees, as\nshe bound herself ever to accompany the necessary refreshment of the\nbody with interior meditation on the Passion. After some little time,\nshe was moved to give the proceeds of her labour no longer to her\nmother, but to distribute them in alms to the poor; and feeling this\ninspiration to be the will of God, she immediately executed it, greatly\nto her mother's dissatisfaction and her own discomfort; for all the\nindulgence and toleration she had received at her hands so long as the\nprofits of her work were at the disposal of the family, were now turned\ninto sharp reproaches. Dominica, however, cared very little for the\nsufferings which her resolution brought on her; for God did not fail to\nevince His pleasure in many ways.\n\nShe was accustomed to wear the Bridgetine habit, with the consent of the\nnuns; not as belonging to their community, but because it was deemed\nadvisable that she should have the protection and sanction of some\noutward religious habit in her present mode of life. As she returned one\nmorning from church, a miserable beggar met her and asked an alms She\nhad nothing to give him; yet, rather than send him away without any\nrelief, she took the veil from her head, and giving it to him, continued\nher way. But presently she felt a great scruple at what she had done;\nthe veil was part of her religious habit; and she accused herself of a\ngreat fault in appearing in the public roads without it, so as possibly\nto scandalise the passers by, and be taken for one who mocked the holy\ngarb of religion. But as these thoughts passed in her mind, there met\nher a man, the surpassing beauty and nobleness of whose countenance\nrevealed him to be her Lord. He carried in his hand the veil she had\njust given away; and throwing it over her head,--\" Henceforth,\" He said,\n\"My spouse, shalt thou have the poverty thou desirest, and shalt live\nfor ever on alms, and as a pilgrim in the world, as I did.\" From this\ntime she redoubled her labours in order to obtain large means for the\npurpose of charity, and besides this, spent much of her time in nursing\nand tending the sick, as well as relieving them by her alms; and\nwhenever she did this, her own sicknesses and pains were for a time\nsuspended, and she found herself endowed with strength sufficient for\nthe most extraordinary fatigues and exertions.\n\nIt was during her residence at home, in her twenty-fourth year, that\nshe received the sacred stigmata. These were not bloody, as in so many\ncases; but the exact form of the nails appeared in the flesh of the\nhands and feet; the head protruding on the upper part, and the point\ncoming out in the palms and soles. The crown of thorns was not\nvisible in like manner, though the pain of her head in the part which\ncorresponded to its position was excessive; but very often, in after\nyears, her spiritual children in the monastery of her foundation saw, as\nshe prayed, how the crown appeared round her head in light, and bright\nrays came out from it and formed its points. Dominica strove to conceal\nthe favour she had received, by wearing long sleeves to hide her hands;\nbut the nails were so large and distinct, that it was impossible to\nprevent the fact from being known and observed by many. After a while,\nin answer to her earnest prayer, this extraordinary formation of the\nnails in the flesh disappeared, and the scars of the wounds alone\nremained, causing her excessive agony, which redoubled every Friday and\nduring Passion-tide. At length, in her forty-fourth year, the wounds\nbecame invisible; but the pain of them continued during her whole life.\n\nShe remained at home for three years after the reception of the sacred\nstigmata. They were years of continual suffering and persecution. The\nviolence and coarse selfishness of her mother's nature was vented on her\nin every way and on all occasions. She was made the object of the most\nbitter reviling, and had to listen to a torrent of abuse, and what was\nworse, of blasphemous cursing, whenever she appeared in her presence.\nOnce her mother threw her so violently against the wall as to cause her\nto rupture a blood vessel; yet she bore all meekly and uncomplaining,\nuntil at length some friends who lived at Florence, having asked her\nto take up her abode with them, it was revealed to her that she should\nremove thither, which she accordingly did. The change of residence,\nhowever, brought her little or no relief from persecution; for after a\nfew months, the women with whom she was staying, moved by some jealousy,\nor disgusted at the retired manner in which she lived, and refused to go\nabout with them or join in their way of life, accused her of every\ncrime they could imagine, and even attempted to poison her. Her mother,\nhearing of the sufferings to which she was exposed, was moved with a\nvery natural contrition for her own cruelty to her, and set out for\nFlorence to see her, and if possible remove her from the house.\n\nUnable to obtain admission, she had recourse to one of the canons of the\ncity, and implored him to take her daughter under his protection, and\ndefend her against the cruel restraint and persecution to which she was\nexposed in her present residence. By his interference she was allowed to\nleave; and a charitable gentleman of Florence, named Giovanni, to whom\nthe circumstances of the case were known, received her into his own\nhome, where she--lived very peaceably for some time. In all these most\npainful and disturbing changes in her life, Dominica's tranquillity and\nresignation remained unmoved. She knew that the will of God had its own\ndesigns regarding her, and that these were not yet manifested; but until\nthey were, she was content with whatever was assigned her, and received\nill treatment, abandonment, and the desolate destiny of passing from one\nstrange home to another, with an astonishing calmness and indifference.\nHer position in Giovanni's house was a very singular one. His wife was a\nweak and indolent woman, and with little religious character about her;\nshe was the first of the family, however, over whom Dominica's influence\nwas felt. In a short time her habits of vanity and self-indulgence were\nlaid aside; and she began to pray night and morning, and to attend Mass,\nwhich till then she had neglected. Then one of the sons, who was to all\noutward seeming given up to the thoughtless dissipation of his age, and\nhad always neglected his religious duties, was won over by her, and\nbegan a new life. Giovanni himself soon saw what sort of a person he had\nbrought into his house, and that he was in fact entertaining an angel\nunawares. He therefore insisted on her taking the entire government of\nthe family; and Dominica consented, with the characteristic simplicity\nwhich would have made her undertake the government of a kingdom, if her\nguardian-angel had assured her it was the wish of God. Whilst she ruled\nand directed them, however, in things spiritual, she herself did the\nservile work of the house, and waited on them in the humblest and most\nsubmissive manner. She never affected any other position than that o\u00a3 a\nsimple peasant girl; but every one who came within her influence felt\nits power over them, and owned her as their mistress and mother.\n\nIt was whilst living in this way that God revealed to her that she was\nno longer to remain concealed and retired from the world; but that He\nwas about to make her the spiritual mother of many daughters, and to\ndo great things for His own glory through her means. Now Dominica was\nnaturally of a very timid and bashful disposition; and when she heard of\nbeing brought before the eyes of the world, and called on to teach and\nguide others, she knew not what to think. Her diffidence, and what we\nshould call shyness, was naturally so great, that she would turn pale if\nshe had to speak to any one she did not know familiarly, and always at\nsuch times suffered from violent beatings of the heart. Therefore, when\nshe considered the great things laid before her, she felt sad and a\nlittle frightened, and spoke to God with her usual simple frankness,\nsaying, \"O my Lord, how can this be? I am nothing but a vile peasant;\nthe heart in my breast is a poor contemptible thing, that has no courage\nin it; my blood is peasant's blood; I am not fit for these great things\nunless you change it.\" Then God answered, saying, \"And I will change it,\nand will give you a noble and magnanimous heart; wherefore prepare for\nkeen and terrible sufferings; for it is by them that your heart and\nblood is to be purged and renovated, and fitted for My service in the\neyes of men.\"\n\nScarcely had the vision ended, when Dominica felt the approach of the\nsufferings which had been promised; pain in every part of her body, a\ncontinual hemorrhage of blood, which seemed to drain every vein, and\ndeadly faintings and weakness, reduced her almost to extremity. Then,\nafter she had languished in this state for many weeks, a vision appeared\nto her of the same mysterious and significant kind as that related in\nthe life of St. Catherine of Sienna. Our Lord took her heart from her\nbreast, and supplied its place with one of burning fire. She rose\nfrom her sick-bed, and felt her whole nature renewed; every sense was\nquickened, and the powers of her mind enlarged and ennobled;--nay, her\nvery body seemed already to share in the glory of the resurrection. It\ngave out a wonderful odour, which communicated itself to every thing\nwhich it touched. Her sight was so miraculously keen that she could see\nto embroider in the darkest night, and many _new_ senses seemed given\nher; whilst those of smell and touch and hearing were also renewed in an\nequally extraordinary degree. But, at the same time, she lost the bodily\nvigour which had before enabled her to go through so many hard days'\nlabour; and with her new heart she seemed also to have acquired a new\nand delicate bodily temperament which utterly incapacitated her for\nwork, whilst she seemed to be wholly immersed in divine and interior\ncontemplation. A strange eloquence was now heard to flow from her lips,\nthe infused wisdom and science of the saints was in her words; nay, she\nwould often quote and explain sentences of the holy Fathers, or of the\nScriptures, which it is certain she had never read or heard read. In\nshort, God had bestowed on her the gift which He deemed necessary to\nfit her for the design He had regarding her; and still, with all the\nmarvellous spiritual riches which she had acquired, she retained in her\nways and thoughts and habits the old simplicity of the peasant child.\n\nThe first of the spiritual daughters given her by God was Giovanni's\neldest child, who at her persuasion embraced the life of religion,\nand placed herself under her obedience. The second soon followed her\nexample; and soon after a third. Another daughter, Catherine, still\nremained; like her mother, she was of a thoughtless and indolent\ncharacter, much given to the vanities of her age, and the foolish\npleasures of the world about her. She was accustomed to ridicule and\nmock at the conversion of her three sisters, and to hinder and disturb\nthem in their religious practices; in short, she was about as hopeless\na subject for Dominica to exercise her influence upon as might well be\nimagined. But one Christmas-day Dominica called her into her little\noratory, and first turning to the crucifix, and spending a moment in\nsilent prayer, she laid her hand on her breast, and said, \"O hard and\nevil heart, be softened and yield to thy God; and bend to my will, which\nis, that thou be the heart of a saint!\" Three days after this Catherine\npresented herself with her sisters, and implored Dominica to take her\nalso under her teaching to convert the brothers; but by degrees she\nsucceeded in persuading all to devote themselves to a holy and religious\nlife; and the eldest, taking the habit of St. Dominic, lived and died in\nthe order with the reputation of sanctity.\n\nHer confessor about this time counselled her herself to take the habit\nof the third order; and the matter having been agreed upon, he provided\na tunic and mantle of the usual kind for her clothing, and appointed a\ncertain day for her to come to the Convent of St. Mark and receive it\nwith the customary ceremonies. The circumstances which followed have\na very marvellous character, yet there seems no reason to doubt the\naccuracy and reality of what is narrated. We are told that, on the\nmorning of the day appointed, she being in prayer, was rapt in ecstasy;\nand in this state she saw St. Catherine and St. Dominic enter her room\nwith the white tunic in their hands. St. Dominic himself gave it to\nher, pronouncing the words and prayer according to the rite of his\norder,--the responses being given by St. Catherine and the angels; and\nher guardian- angel gave the aspersion of holy water, first to the\nhabit, and then to her; and St. Catherine received her as her daughter,\nand gave her the kiss of welcome. When she recovered from her ecstasy,\nshe found herself really clothed in the sacred habit which had been thus\nwonderfully given her; and, full of joy, she appeared with it in public\nin the afternoon of the same day. This was a cause of great displeasure\nto the authorities of the order, who complained that she had assumed\ntheir habit without being regularly admitted into their society. The\naffair was brought before the Master-General, at that time Vio di\nCajetan; and the complaint appearing just, he called on her either to\nlay it aside, or to explain the authority by which she wore it. The\naccount she gave of the whole matter so satisfied the Archbishop of\nFlorence of her sincerity and holiness, that he undertook to mediate in\nher behalf; and it was at length agreed that she should keep the habit,\nprovided that she and her companions wore a red cross on the left\nshoulder, to denote that she had been clothed without the sanction\nof the ordinary authorities of the order, and was not subject to its\njurisdiction; and, in fact, they did so wear it for six years, when, the\nConvent of the Holy Cross being established, they were afterwards fully\nadmitted to the rights and privileges of the order.\n\nAfter this point was settled, Dominica's next step was to retire with\nher little band of followers (which now included several others besides\nthe daughters of Giovanni) to a small house, where they lived a regular\nlife, supporting themselves by the labour of their hands. In time their\ngains increased to so wonderful a degree, that they found themselves\nenabled to purchase a more convenient residence, and then to enlarge\nit, and finally to rebuild it in the form of a cross. In short, in the\ncourse of a few years she saw herself at the head of a large community,\npossessed of a regular and extensive house, with a church attached to\nit, without any other means having been employed in its erection than\nthe money which she and her sisters had earned by their own needlework.\nThe Archbishop of Florence (the celebrated Julius de Medici, afterwards\nPope) was so struck with the manifest expression of God's will in the\nwhole matter, that he obtained permission from Leo X. for the regular\nfoundation of the convent under the rule of St. Dominic. They were all\nsolemnly clothed on the 18th of November, 1515, and proceeded to the\nelection of their prioress. Their choice of course fell on Dominica, but\nshe absolutely refused to accept the office; and used a power given her\nby the papal brief to nominate another sister in her place, whilst she\ndetermined to retain for herself the rank and duties of a lay-sister.\n\nThe ceremony of the clothing and election being therefore over, she made\na solemn renunciation of the house and all it contained into the hands\nof the Archbishop-Vicar. Then she left the sisters, and went to the\nkitchen; and coming there, she sent all the other lay-sisters away,\nsaying, it belonged to her to do what had to be done for the community\nfor the first week of their settlement. She cooked the dinner, and sent\nit to the refectory; and whilst the sisters were sitting at table, she\nentered the room with a number of broken pieces of earthenware tied\nround her neck, and knelt humbly in the middle of them all, as one doing\npenance. The feelings of her children at this sight may be imagined;\nthere was a universal stir; three or four rose from table, and would\nhave placed themselves by her side. The prioress endeavoured to restore\norder; but the meal was broken by the sobs and sighs of the whole\ncommunity. When dinner was over, she tried to return to her work in the\nkitchen; but the feelings of the sisters could no longer be restrained;\nthey ran after her, and threw themselves at her feet. \"Mother, mother,\"\nthey cried, \"it is a mother we want, not a saint; a guide, and not a\nservant,--this cannot be suffered.\" But Dominica tried to quell them,\nand to persuade them to let it be even as she desired; her entreaties,\nhowever, were in vain. They left her, and with the Prioress met together\nto consider what should be done; and it was determined that the Vicar\nshould be called on to use his authority with Dominica, and bring her\nunder obedience to take the office of Superior,--which, in short, she\nwas compelled to do, with the title of _Vicaress_; for she persevered in\nrefusing to be instituted Prioress.\n\nWhen the time came for the profession of the new community, Dominica\nobtained permission from the Pope to defer her own profession; only to\nbind herself by a simple vow to wear the habit of the third order, and\nkeep the rule of St. Dominic. Does the reader wish to know the motive\nshe had for soliciting this singular privilege? He must go back some\ntwenty years, and recall the time when the story of St. Mary Magdalen's\nretirement to the deserts of Marseilles had sent the little peasant\nchild into the woods, to spend three happy days and nights in a hermit's\ncave too small to contain her, but which she considered as a Paradise;\nand where she would have been well content to have remained all her\nlife, if such had been the wish of God. At thirty years of age, Dominica\nwas still the same. Her simplicity had a touch of what one might call\nromance about it, and she had never forgotten her great project of a\nhermitage. She would not be bound to the Convent of the Holy Cross\ntherefore, because she still hoped the time might come when she might\nfind out the desert of Marseilles, and realise the life of penance and\nretirement, the account of which had made so deep an impression on\nher imagination. When she saw herself threatened with a perpetual\nappointment as Vicaress, she accordingly resolved to fly at once,\nand did actually escape by one of the windows, and set out towards\nMarseilles in the habit of a pilgrim. The community again had\nrecourse to the Vicar, who sent a peremptory order for her return under\npain of excommunication; and the messenger who carried it found her laid\nup in a little village with a swelling of both feet, which had put a\nspeedy stop to her pilgrimage, and which she herself acknowledged to be\nthe declaration that it was not God's will she should proceed in\nher design. She was therefore compelled to return and reassume the\ngovernment of her convent, in which office she continued until she died\nin 1553.\n\nWith the circumstances which attended her death we must conclude. For\nmonths she had lain on a miserable pallet, unable to move or rise, and\nwith the appearance of a living skeleton. But when Easter Day came, she\nfelt it was the last she should spend with her Sisters, and determined\nto keep the festival with them all in community. She therefore caused\nherself to be carried to the chair, where she communicated with them.\nShe took her dinner in the refectory, and afterwards held a chapter,\nwhere, after briefly and touchingly exhorting them to fidelity to their\nSpouse, she gave them her last blessing. Then, in order to assure them\nin the peaceable possession of their convent, she determined to make her\nsolemn profession, which had never yet been done,--in conformity, we\nare assured, to the express revealed permission of God. She lingered on\nuntil the following August, and on the 5th of that month fell into her\nagony. When the last moment came, she raised herself on the pallet, and\nextended her arms in the form of the cross. Her face shone with a bright\nand ruddy colour, and her eyes were dazzling with a supernatural light;\nand so, without any other death-struggle than a gentle sigh, she\nexpired, at the age of eighty years. Her life has been written at length\nby F. Ignatius Nente; but the principal facts were drawn up by the\nAbbess of Florence very shortly after her decease, at the instance\nof the Grand Duchess of Lorraine, and forwarded to Rome, to form the\nprocess for her beatification.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nANNE DE MONTMORENCY.\n\n\nANNE DE MONTMORENCY, THE SOLITARY OF THE PYRENEES.\n\nABOUT the year 1666, a young lady of the family of Montmorency, one of\nthe most ancient and illustrious in France, disappeared at the age of\nfifteen from her father's house, because projects were being formed for\nher establishment, and she believed herself called to a different state\nof life. After having in vain endeavoured to alter the views of her\nfamily respecting her, she entreated permission one day to make a\npilgrimage to Mount Valerian, near Paris, where were the stations of our\nLord's Passion. When she reached that which represents our Lord on the\ncross, she implored Him whom she had chosen for her spouse, with many\ntears, to save her from the danger of being ever unfaithful to Him, and\nto teach her how to live from thenceforth as His own bride, unknown,\nand crucified with Him, with her body and soul given up entirely to His\ncharge, and her whole being abandoned to the care of Providence.\n\nWith her mind full of these holy thoughts, she came down from the\nmountain, and without well knowing what she was going to do, she turned\nher steps towards the Bois de Boulogne; and when she reached the\nAbbey of Longchamp, feeling a strong impulse to enter the church, she\ndismissed for some hours the confidential attendants by whom she was\naccompanied, saying that she had still many prayers to recite; and\naccordingly they left her without suspicion to finish her devotions. No\nsooner were they out of sight than she left the church; and committing\nherself to our Blessed Lord and His Holy Mother, plunged into the\nrecesses of the wood. She was following by mere chance an unfrequented\npath, when she met a poor woman, who asked alms of her. This encounter\nappeared to her an indication of the will of Heaven: she formed her plan\nin an instant, and began to put it into execution, by taking the clothes\nof the poor beggar, and giving her own in exchange; and to complete\nthe disguise, she stained her hands and face with clay, and tried to\ndisfigure herself as much as possible. She then turned in the direction\ncontrary to that in which she thought pursuit would first be made;\nwalked all the rest of the day, and found herself in the evening in a\nvillage situate on the Seine, some leagues from Paris. There she was met\nby some charitable ecclesiastics, who, touched by her youth, and the\ndangers to which it exposed her, took an interest in her situation, and\nfound her first a temporary asylum, and afterwards a situation with a\nlady in the neighbourhood, who was very rich, and whose service was safe\nand respectable, as she was devout and regular in her conduct; but she\nwas a difficult person to live with, being of a sharp and worrying\ntemper, so that she had never been able to keep long either a man or\nmaid-servant. Into this house, however, Jane Margaret, by which name\nonly she was known, entered as lady's-maid; but as no servant but\nherself could remain, she found herself at the age of sixteen obliged to\nbe cook and housemaid and porteress all at once. What consoled and even\nrejoiced her in this situation was the opportunity it afforded her of\nsatisfying her thirst for crosses and humiliations, and also her freedom\nfrom all intrusion of idle curiosity, so that she felt her secret safe.\nShe endured all the fatigues of so laborious a situation, and all\nthe caprices of a harshness in temper, with unalterable patience and\nsweetness until her mistress's death; that is to say, for the space of\nten years. And so faultless was her, conduct during all this time, that\nher mistress, on her death bed, publicly begged her pardon for all\nshe had made her suffer, and insisted on leaving her the sum of four\nthousand francs in addition to her wages, of which she had as yet\nscarcely received any thing. Jane Margaret was with difficulty persuaded\nto accept this present, and when it was forced upon her, she distributed\nit among the poor, with the exception of a very small sum which she\nkept for her immediate wants. Feeling, however, that such extraordinary\nliberality on the part of a mere maid-servant would excite suspicion\nand endanger her secret, she resolved to escape the peril as soon as\npossible.\n\nAccordingly, on her return from the funeral of her mistress, seeing the\nboat for Auxerre, she threw herself into it, without a moment's delay;\nand soon after her arrival in that town succeeded in finding another\nsituation which she considered suitable. It was in the house of a master\njoiner, who was greatly esteemed both for skill in his profession and\nfor general probity, and who was also clever in carving.\n\nThe early education of Jane Margaret made her very useful to her new\nmaster, who, in return, taught her how to handle the chisel, and she\nvery soon became sufficiently expert to make wooden clocks. In this\ntown, too, she was happy enough to find a director experienced in the\nways of God, who confirmed her in the resolution she had taken. In about\na year's time, however, she lost him; and despairing of finding another\nto whom she could give her entire confidence, she determined to return\nto Paris, in the hope of finding there a guide such as she required,\nbelieving herself sufficiently forgotten at this distance of time to run\nno risk of being recognised. She set forth, therefore, on the road to\nthe capital on foot, and asking alms; for she had taken care before\nleaving Auxerre to give to the poor all that she had earned.\n\nOn her arrival in Paris she placed herself among the poor who ask the\ncharity of the faithful at the church-doors; and begged every morning\nenough to maintain her for the day, for which purpose very little\nsufficed. All the rest of her time she passed in prayer in the churches,\nwhich she never left except at the approach of night. One day as she\nwas asking alms, according to her custom, at the door of a church, it\npleased Providence that she should address herself to a very pious and\ncharitable lady, who kept a school at Ch\u00e2teau-Fort, and who was under\nthe direction of a holy religious named the Father de Bray. At the first\nsight of the young and modest beggar, the virtuous schoolmistress felt\nmoved, and discerning in her something which did not accord with her\napparent state of life, ventured to ask her whether it was from sickness\nthat she was reduced to that condition. Jane Margaret only replied that\nshe believed herself to be fulfilling the will of God; which answer\nincreased the interest she had already excited in the mind of the pious\nlady, who told her that in her state of weakness the air of the country\nwould do her good, and offered to take her to Ch\u00e2teau-Fort. At the same\ntime she spoke to her of Father de Bray, whose name and merit were well\nknown in Paris. This last consideration was sufficient to determine Jane\nMargaret to follow a person whose sentiments were so congenial with her\nown.\n\nAs soon as Father de Bray became acquainted with her, he discovered in\nher one of those wonders which are wrought from time to time by grace\nfor the confusion of the world, and set himself to second the designs of\nHeaven concerning this privileged soul. She too, on her side, convinced\nthat she had at last found a guide such as she had been long seeking,\nbestowed on him her confidence without reserve, and continued to\ncorrespond with him as long as he lived.\n\nIn process of time, drawn more than ever by the Spirit of God, she left\nCh\u00e2teau-Fort to go and seek a solitude hidden from all men; but it was\nalmost two years before she could find what she desired. She traversed\nseveral provinces seeking for an asylum out of the reach of every\nhuman eye, until at last she arrived at the Pyrenees, where she\nestablished herself in a wild recess, which she names in her letters\n\"the solitude of the rocks.\" It was a little space of a pentagonal\nshape, shut in by five rocks, which formed a kind of cross, and rendered\nthe little spot of ground which they enclosed not quite inaccessible,\nbut altogether invisible from without. From the foot of the highest of\nthese rocks there gushed a spring of excellent water, and its summit\nwas a kind of observatory, from whence she could espy any intruders who\nmight venture to approach her abode. There were three grottoes at the\nbase of the rocks, one of which was a deep and winding cavern; this she\nmade her cell, and the two others her oratories. This solitude was at\nleast half a league from any road, and surrounded by a thick forest, or\nrather by a brake, so tangled that, to get through it, the traveller\nmust force his way among thistles and briers, by a path which seemed\nimpracticable to any but wild beasts. Our solitary, however, met with\nnone of these, except a bear, who was more afraid than she, and ran\naway. She found in her retreat shrubs which bore a fruit much like\ndamsons; and the rocks were covered with medlar-trees, the fruit of\nwhich was excellent. The cold was not intense even in the heart of\nwinter, while the heat of summer was tempered by the shade of the rocks,\nand of the woods which surrounded it. All these details are given in the\nletters of the solitary herself to her director, Father de Bray.\n\nIn this retirement she began to lead a life angelic rather than human;\nlooking upon this earth as the blessed do from the heights of heaven,\nand consecrating every pulsation of her heart to God. For some time she\nused to go twice a week to the village to ask alms; but by degrees she\nweaned herself from the use of bread, and at last lived entirely on the\nvegetables and wild fruits which grew in the neighbourhood of her abode.\n\nHer spiritual necessities were more difficult to supply. Not wishing to\nrisk being recognised, she was obliged to use many precautions whenever\nshe allowed herself the consolation of participating in the divine\nmysteries; but Providence had prepared for her a resource. At a little\ndistance from the forest were two religious houses, one of men, the\nother of women. There she went to hear Mass and receive holy communion;\nand, in order to escape remark, she went sometimes to the church of the\nconvent, sometimes to that of the monastery; and for her confessor she\nselected a good curate of the neighbourhood, who simply heard what she\nhad to say, and asked her no questions. She had fixed for herself a rule\nof life, which she followed exactly: at five in the morning she rose,\nwinter and summer; continued in prayer till six, when she recited prime,\nand either went to Mass or heard it in spirit; and then read some\nchapters of Holy Scripture. These exercises lasted till eight; after\nwhich she devoted two hours to manual labour, either mending her\nclothes, or practising sculpture, or cultivating a little garden which\nshe had made round her habitation. At ten she recited tierce, sext, and\nnone; and then, prostrate at the foot of her crucifix, she examined her\nconscience, and imposed on herself penances in proportion to the number\nand grievousness of her faults. All this lasted till about noon, when\nshe took the only meal of the day, and after it her recreation, which\nconsisted, in fine weather, of a walk to the summit of the rocks, where\nshe contemplated the greatness of God in His works, and praised and\nblessed His infinite perfections in pious songs which she knew by heart,\nor with which Divine love inspired her at the moment.\n\nOn her return home she made her spiritual reading, usually from the\nImitation, followed by an affectionate prayer, in which she poured out\nbefore God all the necessities of her soul; but asked of Him nothing but\nthe accomplishment of His own good pleasure. Then she resumed her manual\nlabour until four in the afternoon, after which she recited Vespers and\nthe entire Rosary, accompanied or followed by pious considerations. This\nexercise brought her on to eight o'clock, when she went through the\ndevotion of the Stations in a Calvary which she had built herself, and\nperformed the penances and mortifications which she had imposed upon\nherself. At nine she retired to her cell, and, after a short examination\nof conscience, and some vocal prayers, slept till eleven, when she rose\nto recite matins, which she knew by heart, and to pray till two,\nwhen she retired again to rest till five. In order to regulate this\ndistribution of her time, she had made herself a wooden clock. She\nmade also several other pieces of workmanship, which were admired by\nconnoisseurs, more especially a Crucifix made out of a single piece\nof corneil wood, which she presented to Father de Bray, and which\nafterwards fell into the hands of Madaine de Maintenon, who valued it\nas a precious relic. She wrought also three other crucifixes, one very\nsmall, which she wore round her neck; another, three feet high, which,\nshe placed in her cell; and a third, six feet high, which she carved out\nof the wood of a fir-tree, which had been struck down by lightning in\nthe forest, and which she placed in the Calvary she had arranged on the\nsummit of one of the highest of the rocks which enclosed her habitation.\n\nFor her communications with Father de Bray she made use of a wagoner,\nwho, from time to time, journeyed to and from Paris, and who faithfully\ncarried her letters, and brought back to her the answers to them,\ntogether with the small sums of money which her director sent her\nfrom time to time, and which she used to procure such things as were\nindispensably necessary to her, such as tools for her carving, needles,\nthread, worsted, and some pieces of calico and stuff to repair her\ngarments, which were very simple, but always neat, especially when she\nappeared at church.\n\nIt may not be uninteresting to see an inventory of her few possessions\nwhich she sent to her spiritual director. A Roman Breviary, which she\nrecited daily, and which she understood, having learnt Latin in her\nchildhood; an Imitation; an abridgment of the Saints' Lives; a little\nbook culled Horloge du Coeur, and another of Devotions to the Blessed\nSacrament. Such was her library. Her workshop contained a supply of\nordinary carpenters' tools, and a few more delicate implements for\ncarving; while for her personal use she had a few hundreds of pins, some\nneedles, some grey and white thread, a pair of scissors, and a copper\nthimble; two bowls and a cup, all in wood; a hair shirt, and a\ndiscipline. Her wardrobe, as may be supposed, was of the most simple\ndescription, but sufficient for decency and neatness.\n\nOur solitary had but one fear in this peaceful retirement, that of\nbeing discovered; and it was long before her evident sanctity drew the\nattention of the people of the village, and excited the curiosity of so\nmany people, that, in spite of all her precautions, they succeeded, by\ndint of constant watching, in finding out, if not absolutely her abode,\nat least the rocks which surrounded it. This was quite enough to force\nher to seek a more distant solitude.\n\nImpelled, as she said in one of her letters, by an irresistible force,\nshe transported herself to a distance of twenty leagues, still further\namong the Pyrenees, in the direction of Spain. She had dwelt for four\nyears in the solitude of the rocks, and for three years more she abode\nin that which she called the Grot of the Rivulets. It was a place full\nof rocks and caverns, the retreat of wild beasts, enormous serpents, and\nmonstrous lizards, which were the terror of the neighbourhood, so that\nnone dared approach the spot. But when this barrier of rocks was once\npassed, which required good climbing, there was a little smiling valley\nenamelled with flowers, and intersected with rivulets from several\nsprings of living water gushing out from the mountains; there, too, were\nseveral sorts of fruit of very good taste, and a quantity of wild honey,\nwhich the solitary pronounced to be excellent; so that altogether this\nabode would have been preferable to her former one of the rocks, if it\nhad not been for the presence of the wild beasts. But of these Jane\nMargaret had no fear, depending on the help of the Lord, who has\npromised to give His servants the power of treading on serpents and\nscorpions, and of chaining the mouths of lions; and in truth these\nanimals never disturbed her, though she passed their dens again and\nagain; it seemed as though they respected her and all that belonged to\nher, for they never approached her dwelling, and even spared a little\nsquirrel which she had found in this wilderness, and taken home with her\nfor company.\n\nHere, too, as in the neighbourhood of her first solitude, she found a\nconvent of monks; but this was at a more considerable distance, for she\nhad three leagues and a half to walk before she could reach it, and that\nthrough tangled thickets; but in this convent she sought a confessor;\nthe Superior received her with great kindness, believing her to be a\npoor country girl, and asking her no questions but such as were suitable\nto the rural life he supposed her to be leading. For the holy sacrifice\nshe went to the hermitage of St. Antony, a league and a half on the\nother side of the forest.\n\nWhen once fixed in this new abode, our solitary peaceably resumed the\ncourse of her accustomed exercises. She arranged for herself two cells\nin the hollow of two rocks very near to each other, and in the space\nbetween the two she formed a little chapel, which she delighted in\nadorning with verdure and wild flowers. She divided her time, as before,\nbetween labour and prayer, and her trances and ecstasies became more\nfrequent and more sublime than ever; but her great humility made her\ndistrust these extraordinary favours of Heaven, and she required to be\nset at rest concerning them by her director, with whom she continued to\ncorrespond, and to whom she continued, even to the end, to pour forth\nall the secrets of her soul with the simplicity of a child. Her last\nletter is dated the 17th of Sept. 1699, and in it she expresses a great\ndesire to go to Rome in the course of the following year, in order to\ngain the indulgence of the jubilee, but at the same time submits her own\njudgment entirely to that of him whom she regarded as the interpreter\nof the will of Heaven in her regard. Receiving no answer, she suspected\nthat Father de Bray was no more; and in fact he had died that very year.\nShe thought herself free to move, and set off for the Holy City, since\nwhich period it has been impossible to gather any trace of her. Whether\nshe accomplished her pilgrimage, whether she died in Rome or in some\nsolitude, has never been discovered; as though it pleased Providence to\nsecond, even after her death, the earnest desire of His servant to be\nhidden from the sight and knowledge of men; for the tomb, which often\nbecomes the glory of the friends of God, only set the seal to her\nobscurity. At the last day, when the secrets of all hearts shall be made\nknown, this treasure will stand revealed in the face of the universe.","title":"The Life of St. Frances of Rome, and Others","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":84874}