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BADUER k CO., 81 BAHCLAT STREET. BOSTON: 118 FBDBRAL 8TBBBT. waaraauh : oor. or Nona dawi and n. waAsaa zatier aiai I Aatkan iMCfva f thcuuclTM the ritht •# MthoritinE TrnwdatiiM utUktt Woik •.* t»^. r-' S,B, Th€ proprietorship ofthU Series is sc-nred in all countriu wken tkt Copjfright it proUcltd, I J The authorities on whloh th« Hittory of St. Frano«a of Rom* rests are ns follows : Her life by Mnttiotti, her Confessor for ten years. Mattiottt enjoined her, as a matter of obedience, to relate to him from time to time hor visions in the minutest detail. Ho was a timid and suspicious man, and for twc or three years kept a doily reoord of all she told him ; afterwards, as his confidence in her sanctity and sanity grew comploto, he contented himself with a more general account of her ecstasies, and also put together a private history of her life. A^r her death, he wrote a regular biography, which ia now to be found in the Bollandist ooUection (Venice, 1735, toI. i}.). Early in the seventeenth century, Ursinus, a Jesuit, wroto a life, which was highly esteemed, but which was never printed, and, except in certain fragments, is now lost. In 1641, Fuligato, a Jesuit, wrote the second life, in the Bollan* dist collection, which contains particulars of events that hajqpened after Mattiotti's time. Other well-written lives have rinoe appeared : especially * recent one by the Vicomte de Bussi^re, in which will be found various details too long to be included in the sketch here preeented to thf* English rsader. INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. THE MIRACULOUS LIFE OF THE SAINTa In presenting- to the general reader a newly-written Life of so extraordinary a person as St. Frances of Rome, together with the biographical sketches contained in the present volume, it may be useful to introduce them with a few brief remarks on that peculiar feature in tae histories of many Saints, which is least in accordance with the popular ideas of modern times. A mere trans- lation, or repubhcation of a foreign or ancient book, does not necessarily imply any degree of assent to the principles involved in the original writer's statements. The new version or edition may be nothing more than a work of antiquarian or literaiy interest, by no means professing any thing more than a belief that persons will be found who will, from some motive or other, be glad to read it. Not so, however, in the case of a biography which, though not pretending to present the results of fresh researches, does profess to give an account new in shape, and adapted to the wants of the day in which it asks its share of public attention. In this case no person can honourably write, and no editor can honourably sanction, any statements but such as are not only pes* Vlll INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. sible and probable, but, allowing" for the degree of au- thenticity in each case claimed, on the whole historically tnie. No honest man, who absolutely disbelieves in all documents in whuh the original chronicler has mingled accounts of supernatiu-al events with the record of his own personal knowledge, could possibly either write or edit such Lives as those included in the following pages ; still less could they be made public by one who disbe- lieves in the reality of modem miracles altogether. In presenting, then, the present and other similar volumes to the ordinary reader, I anticipate some such questions as these : " Do you really put these stories into tar hands as history? Are these marvellous tales to be regarded as poetry, romance, superstitious dream- ing, or as historical realities ? If you profess to believe in their truth, how do you reconcile their character with the universal aspect of human life, as it appears to vs and to our friends ? And finally, if you claim for them the assent to which proved facts have a right from eveiy candid mind, to what extent of detail do you profess to believe in their authenticity?" To these and similar questions I reply by the following observations : The last of these questions maybe answered briefly. The lives of Saints and cJher remarkable personages, which are here and elsewhere laid in a popular fonn before the English public, are not all equally to ts relied on as undoubtedly true in their various minute particulars. They stand precisely on the same footing as the ordinary events of purely secular history ; and precisely the same degree of assent is claimed for them that the common reason of humanity accords to the geneitd chronicles of our race. No man, who writes or MIRACULOUS LIFE OF THE SAINTS. ii edits a history of distant events, professes to have pre- cisely the same amount of certainty as to all the many details which he records. Of some his certainty is all hut ahsolute ; of others he can say that he considers them highly pi'ouable ; of a third class he only alleges that they are vouched for by respectable though not numerous authorities. Still, he groups them together in one complete and continuous story, and gives them to the world as history ; nor does the world impute to him either dishonesty, ignorance, credulity, or shallow- ness, because in every single event he does not specify the exact amount of evidence on which his statement rests. Jnst such is the measure of belief to be conceded to the Life of St. Frances, and other biographies or skct^/hes of a similar kind. Some portions, and those the most really important and prominent, are well ascertained, incontrovertible, and substantially tnie. Others again, in all likelihood, took place very much, though not literally, in the way in which they are re- corded. Of others, they were possibly, or even proba- bly, the mere colouring of the writer, or were originally adopted on uninvestigated rumour. They are all, how- ever, consistent with known facts, and the laws on which humanity is governed by Divine Providence; and therefore, as they may be true, they take their p'.ace in that vast multitude of b'stories which all can- did and well-informed persons agree in accepting as worthy of credit, though in various degrees. Supposing, then, that miraculous events may and do occur in the present state of the world's histoiy, it is obvious that these various de^Tees of assent are com- X , INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. manded alike by the supernatural and the natural events which are here so fi-eely mingled together. Some are undoubtedly true, others are probably either fictitious or incorrectly recorded. The substance rests on the g-enuine documents, originally written by eye-witnesses and perfectly competent judges; and as such, the whole stands simply as a result of the gathering together of historical testimony. Here, however, the ordinary English reader meets us with the assertion, that the supernatural portions of such lives are simply impossible. He assumes — for I am not exaggerating when I say that he never tries to prove — that these marvellous interniptions of the laws of nature never take place. Consequently, in his judg- ment, it is purely ridiculous to put ^orth such stories as history ; and writers who issue them are guilty either of folly, ignorance, superstition, or an unprin- cipled tampering with the credulity of unenlightened minds. Of those who thus meet the question of his- torical evidence by an assumption of a universal ab- stract impossibility, I earnestly beg an unprejudiced attention to the following considerations : If it be once admitted that there is a God, and that the soul is not a mere portion of the body, the ex- istence of miracles becomes at once probable. Apart from the records of experience, we should in fact have expected that events which are now termed miraculous would have been perhaps as common as those which are regulated by what we call the laws of nature. Let it be only granted that the visible universe is not the wJiole univei-se, and that in reality we are ever in a state of most intimate real communion with Him who MIRACULOUS LIFE OF THE SAINTS, XI is its Creator; then, I say, we should have expected to have heen as hahituelly conscious of our intercourse with that great Being*, as of our intercourse with one another. The true marvel is, that we are not thus habitually conscious of the Divine Presence, and that God is really out of our sight. If there is a God, who is ever around us and within us, way does He not com- municate with us through the medium of our senses, as He enables us to communicate with one another ? Our souls hold mutual communion through the intervention of this corporal frame, with such a distinct and unde- niable reality, that we are as conscious of our inter- course as of the contact of a material substance with our material bodies. Wliy, then, — since it is so infi- nitely more important to us to hold ceaseless communi- cation with our Maker, — why is it that our intercoiu^e with Him is of a totally different nature ? Why is it that the material creation is not the ordinary instru- ment by which our souls converse with Him ? Let any man seriously ponder upon this awful question, and he must hasten to the conclusion, that though experience has shown us that the world of matter is not the or- dinary channel of converse between God and man, there yet remains an overwhelming probability that some such intercourse takes place occasionally between the soul and that God through whose power alone she continues to exist. In other words, the existence of mimcles is proba- ble rather than otherwise. A miracle is an event in which the laws of nature are interrupted by the inter- vention of Divine agency, usually for the purpose of brin{i^ng the soul of man into a conscious contact with n INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. the inhabitants of the invisible world. With more or less exactness of similitude, a miracle establishes be- tween God and man, or between other spiritual beingn and man, that same kind of intercourse which exists he- tween diiferent living individuals of the human race. Such a conscious intercouree is indeed asserted by infidels as well as by atheists, to be, if not impossible, at least so utterly improbable, that it is scarcely within the power of proof to make it credible to the unbiassed reason. Yet surely the balance of probability inclines to the very opposite side. If there is a God, and our souls are in communication (of some kind) with Him, surely, pnor to experience, we should have expected to be habitually conscious of this communion. And now that we see that we are not at any rate habitually so, still the burden of proof rests with those who allege that such conscious intercourse never takes place. A part from all proof of the reaUty of any one processed miracle, the infidel is bound to show whi/ all miracles are improbable or impossible j in other words, why man should nevei' be conscious of the presence and will of " his ever-present God. Protestants, however, and even weak Catholics, re- gard the record of one of those mysterious hves, in which the soul of a man or woman has been repeatedly brought into this species of communion with invisible beings, as a tale which, though it is just possible that it may be true, is yet, on the face of it, so flagrant a violation of the laws of nature, as to be undeserving of positive hearty belief. They confound the laws of phy- EJcal nature with the laws of universal nature. They S])eak of the nature of this material eai-th, as if it waa MIRACULOUS LIFE OF THE SAINTS. zm identical with the nature of things. And this con- hision of thought it is to which I would especially call attention. Miracles are contraiy to the ordinary laws of physical nature, and therefore are so far improbable, but they are in the strictest conformity with the nature 3f things, and therefore in themselves are probable. If the laws of natm*e rule God as they control man, a miracle is almost an impossibility ; but if God rules the laws of nature, then it is wonderful that something mii-aculous does not befal us every day of our lives. Again, it is in a high degree probable that miracu- lous events will generally, so to say, take their colour from the special character of that relation which may exist between God and man at the time when they come to pass. If, in the inscrutable counsels of viie Almighty, man is placed, during different eras in his history, in different circumstances towards his Creator and Presei-ver, it would seem only natural that the variations in those circumstances should be impressed upon the extraordinary intercourse between God and His people. Or, to use the common Christian term, each dispensation will have its peculiar supernatural asp( ct, as well as its peculiar spiritual and invisible re- lationship. If man was originally in a higher and more perfect state of being than he is now, it is probable that his communion with God was singularly, if not totally, unlike what it has been since he fell fi-om primeval blessedness. If after his fall, two temporary states have been appointed to him by his God, then the mira- cles of each epoch will bear their own special correspond- ing characteristics. And lastly, if by a new exercise of regenerating and restoiing power it has pleased the xW INTRODUCTORY ESSilT. Invisible One to rescue His creatures from the conse- quences of their ancient ruin, then agnin we may ex- j)ect to recognise the liistory of that redemption in the wliole course of the miraculous intercourse between the Hedeemer and the redeemed until the end of time. The supeniatural elements in the Paradisiacal, the Pa- triarchal, the Mosaic, and the Christian states, may be expected to be in many respects distinct, each embody- ing* with awful and glorious power the invisible rela- tions which the God of nature and of g^ace has thought fit to assume towards His creatures. And such, in fact, has been the case. Not only is the ceaseless existence of a miraculous intercourse be- tween God and man one of the most completely proved of all historical events, but the miracles of each dis- pensation are found in a wonderfiil degree to correspond with the relationship of God to man in each of tlie se- parate epochs. The same superhuman consistency is found to pervade all the works of God, both where nature and grace ai*e separate from one another, and where the common laws of natm*e ai'e burst through, and the material universe is made as it were the bond- slave of the imseen. The impiously meant assertions of unbelief arc fulfilled in a sense which unbelievers little look for j and they who cry out in their hatred of miracles, that all things are governed by unchanging larVj may learn that in tmth unchanging laws do rule over all, although those laws have a range and a uiuty in the essence and will of God, of which moi-tal intel- ligence never dreamed. The natural and the super- natural, the visible and the invisible, the ordinary and tiie miraculous, the rules of the physical creation and MIIUCULOUS LIFE OP THE SAINTS. Xf the interruptions of those rules, — all are controlled by one law, shaped according- to pne plan, directed by onfl aim, and bound to one another by indissoluble ties, even where to human eyes all seem lost in confusion and thwarted by mutual sti'ug'g'le. Of what we should now call the miraculous, or supernatural, communion between God and man in Pa- radise, we know historically but little. The records of revelation being* for the most part confined to the state of man as he is, and his actual and future prospects, present but a glimpse of the conscious communion which was permitted to the first of our race in their original bliss. It is, however, believed by theologians, that in Paradise what we should riow term miracles did not exist ; for this reason, that what is now extraordi- nary was then ordinary. God conversed with man, and man held communion with angels, directly and habitu- ally ; so that in a certain sense man sa ' God and the world now unseen.* For it is not the mere possession of a body ^ I'idi binds the soul rvith the chains of sense; it is the corruption and sinfulness of our present fi-ames which has converted them into a barrier betAveen the spirit within and the invisible universe. As Adam came fofth. all pure and perfect from the hands of his Creator, a soul dwelling in a body, his whole being" ministered fitly to the purposes of his creation, and with body and soul together he conversed with his God. It was not till the physical sense became his instrument of rebellion, that it was aishonoiu'ed and made his prison- house, and laid under a curee which should never ba * See St Thomas, Summa, pars prima, qn8est94.aTt \,9, »V1 INTRODUCTORY ESSAT. fully removed until the last g^eat day of the resurrec- tion. Upon the fall of Adam, a nev^ state was intro- duced, which lasted about two thousand five hundred years. During' its continuance, the supernatui-al inter- course between Almighty God and His degraded crea- tures took an entirely different character. What had originally been continual, and as it were natural, be- came comparatively rare and miraculous. Henceforth there seemed to be no God among men, save when at times the usual laws of the earth and the heavens were suspended and God spoke in accents which none might refuse to hear. Of these supei-natural manifestations the general aspect was esspntially typical of the futm-e redemption of the lost race by a Saviour. That promise ' of delivei-ance from the consequences of sin, which Al- mighty God had vouchsafed to the first sinners, was repeated in a vast variety of miraculous interventions. Though there may have been many exceptions to the ordinary character of the Patriarchal miracles, still, on the whole, they wear a typical aspect of the most strik- ing prominence. The first miracle recorded after the fall is the token gianted to Abel that his sacrifice was accented. A deluge destroys all but one family, who are saved in an ark, the type of the Church of God, and a rainbow is set in the sky as a type of the covenant between God and man. A child is miraculously bora to Abraham in his old age, who is aftei-wards offered to God as a type of the Redeemer, and saved from death by a fi-esh super- natmiil manifestation of the Divine will. The chosen race become captive in Egypt, as a figiu'e of man's MIRACULOUS LIFE OF THE SAINTS. XVU e resurrec- nners, was bondag-e to ^in ; a senes of awful miracles, wroiiglit by the instnirrentoHty of Closes himself, a type of Jesus Christ, delivei-s them from their slavery, terminating with the institution of the Passover, when the paschal lamb is eaten, and they are saved by its blood, as man- kind is saved by the blood of the Lamb of God. The ransomed people miraculously pass through the Red Sea, foreshadowing" the Christian's reg-eneration by bap- tism ; as they wander afteiwards in the desert, manna descends from heaven to leed them, and water gushes from the rock to quench their thirst, and to prefi^re that sacred food and those streams of grace which ai'e to be the salvation of all men. Almost every interrup- tion of the laws of nature bespeaks the advent of the Redeemer, and does homage to Him as the Lord of earth and heaven. At length a code of laws is given to the chosen race, to separate them completely from the rest of men, and a promise of perpetual temporal prosperity is granted to them by God as the reward of their obe- dience, and as a ii^re of the etenial blessedness of the just. From that time, with, as before, occasional ex- ceptions, the supernatural events which befal them wear a new aspect. Their peculiarly typical import is exchanged for one more precisely in conformity with the leading principle of the new dispensation The rit,es and ceremonies of the new Law prefigure the Sacrifice and Redemption of the Messias; but the miracles of the next fifteen hundred years are for the most pai-t directed to uphold that rule of present reward and pu- nishment, which was the characteristic feature of the Jewish theocracy. The eai'th opens to punish the dis* xviii iNxnoDUCTonv' essay. obedience of Core and his companions. Fiery eerpentM smite the murmurinj^ crowd with instant death ; wliile the promised Saviour is pr^^* red, not by a miracle, but by the erection of a I . serpent by the hands of Mos(?s. The walls of Jericho fall prostrate before the trumpets of the victorious Ismelites ; one man, Achan, unlawfully conceals some of the spoil, and an immediate supernatural panic, struck into his countrymen, betrays the committal of the sin. Miraculous water fills the fleece of Gedeon, to encourage him to fight for his countiy's deliverance. An ang-el foretells the birth of Samson to set his people free, when they are again in bondage. Samson himself is endov/ed with supernatural strength; exhausted with the slaughter of his foes, he prays for water to quench his thirst, and a stream bui'sts forth from the ass's jawbone with which he had just slain the Philistines. Bound in chains, blinded, and made a jest by the idolater, his prayer for a return of his strength is heard by God, and he destroys a mul- titude in his last moments. And thus, through all the history of the Kings and the Prophets, the power of Govl is repeatedly put forth to alter the laws of nature for the pui'pose> of enforcing the great rule of the Mosaic law. The disobedience of the Jews might, if God had so pleased, have been in- variably punished by the instramentality of the ordinary course of events, shaped by the secret hand of Divine Providence so as to execute His will, just as now we find that certain sins inevitably bring on their own tempo- ral punishment by the operation of the laws of nature. And so, in the vast majority of instances in which the Jews were rewarded and punished, we find that the MIRACULOUS LIFE OF THE SAINTS. zix Divine promises and threats wei-e fultillod by the occur- rence of events in the natural order of thinj^. But yet frequently miracles confirmed and aided the work of chastisement and blessing"; and of the numerous won- (lei-s which were wrought from the giving of the law to tiie coming- of Christ, we find that nearly all bore this j)eculiar character. For many centuries also a constant miraculous guidance was granted to the people in the " Urim and Thummim," by wliich they were enabled, when they chose to remain faithfiil, to escape all natio..»i calamities and enjoy the fullest blessings of the pro- mised land. Under the Christian dispensation, again, a new cha- racter is imprinted upon the supernatural history of the Church, which is, in fact, the impression of the Cross of Christ. While the characteristics of the Patriarchal and Jewish miracles are not wholly obliterated, an ele- ment, which if not entirely new, is new in the i 'oensity of its operation, is introduced into the miraculous life of the children of Chiist, which life is reallyHhe prolonga- tion of the supernatural life of Jesus Christ Himself. It is accompanied also with a partial restoration of that peculiar jiower which was possessed by man before he fell, when his body became a veil to hide the world of spirits from his soul. While prophecies of ftiture events have not wholly ceased in the Christian Church, and miracles are frequently wi*ought for the confening of some temporal blessings, yet these other wonderftd fea- tures distinguish the supernatural records of Chris- tijinity from those of both Patriarchal and Jewish times. The undying power of the Cross is manifested in the peculiai* sufferings of the Saints, in their mystic com- XX INTRODUCTORY E8SAT. tiinnion with the invisible world, and in that es])ecial snnctity to which alone miraculous gifts are for the most part accorded under the Gospel. Not that al) these three peculiarities are to he observed in the life oi every Saint under the Gospel. Far from it, indeed. The su{)ematural life of the Saints vanes with different individuals, according to tlie pleasure of that Almighty Spint, who communicates Himself to His elect in ten tiiousand mystenous ways, and manifests Himself ac- cording to His own will alone. Still, at times, they ore found united, in conjunction with those miraculous powei-s which were possessed under the old dispensa- tions in one individual. In such cases we behold the Life and Passion of the King of Saints visibly renewed before our eyes; the law of suff'erinff, — that mysterious power, as life-giving as it is unfathomable, — is set be- fore us in an intensity of operation, which at once calls forth the scoffs of the linbeliever, and quickens the faith of .he humble Christian ; the privileges of eternity are anticipated, and the blessings of a lost Paradise are in part restored. Jesus Christ lives, and is in agony before us ; the dread scene of Calvaiy is renewed, united with those ineffable communications between the suffering soul and its God, which accompanied the life and last houre of the Redeemer of mankind. Our adorable Lord is, as it were, still incarnate amongst us, displaying to OUT reverent faith the glories of His Passion in the per- sons of those who are, in the highest sense that is pos- sible, His members, a portion of His humanity, in whom He dwells, who dwell in Him, and whose life, in a degree incomprehensible even to themselves, is hid with Christ in God. Such a Saint was St. Fi-ances of Romc^ MIRACULOUS LIFE OF TIIF. SAINTS. XXI one of those j^lonous creations of Divino grnce by means of which, at the time wlien the Holv Cifv was filh-d with bloodslied and niva^'rd with jM'stiirncc, and wh(!a the heaviest disastei-s afilicted the Church, Ahnighty (iod set forth before men the undying- life of the Cross, and the reality of that reli«»-ion >^I ich seemed to he powerless to check the outrag;es of its professed fol- lowerSr In Paradise, then, as lias been said, the whole na- ture of man ministered to the fulfilment of the end for which he was created, namely, the knowledg-e and love of God. He came forth from his Maker's hands en- dowed not only with a natural soul and body imtainted with sin, but with such supernatural gifts, aiising* from the Divine Presence witiiin him, that nothinjj^ was wanting but persevemnce to his final perfection. The vai'ious elements in his nature were not, as now, at war with one another. His body did not blind the eye of his soul, and agitate it with the storms of concupis- cence; nor did the soul employ the body as its instru- ment of rebellion against God. Though not yet ad- mitted to that glorious vision of the Eternal which was to be the reward of his obedience, yet he lived in direct commerce with the world of spirits. He knew and conversed with God and His angels in a way which is now wholly incomprehensible to the vast majority of his descendants. When Adam fell, he became, in one word, what we all are now by nature. Not only was he placed under a curse, but his God was hidden from his eyes ; and that corporeal habitation, which he had abused to his soul's destruction, became the prison of his soul's cap- uii INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. tivity. Though created in the image of God, and re- taining, even when fallen, certain traces of his celestial origin, he became a mere helpless denizen of earth, and a veil descended and hid his God and all spiritual beings from his mind. From that time forwards suffering be- came not merely the law of his daily life, but the only means by which he coidd be first restored to the Divine favour, and finally be taken to a happy eternity. And inasmuch as he was to be redeemed by the sufferings of One who was at once man and not man. He was in a certain sense to share those sufferings, in order to partake in the blessings they purchased for him. A mystic union was to take place between the Saviour and the fallen race, of which a community in suffeiing, as the instrument of restoration, was to be for ever and in every case established. This anguish, iurther, was to be twofold, including all the faculties both of the body and the soul. Man had sinned in his whole being; in his whole being, therefore, he was to suffer, both in the person of his Redeemer, who was to suffer for him, and in himself, who was to suffer with his Sa- A " holocaust" was to be offered to the offended viour. Majesty of God; an offering, not only of his entire natui'e, but a burnt offering; a sacrifice which should torture him in the flames of Divine vengeance, and kill him with its annihilating fiei-ceness. As, however, it pleased the Divine Wisdom to post- pone for forty centuries the advent and atonement of the Redeemer, so, for the same period, the race re- deemed participated, in a comparatively slight degree, in those restorative sufferings which derived all their virtue from the sacrifice upon the Gross. Pangs of MIRACULOUS LIFE OP THE SAINTS. XX m d, and re- s celestial jarth, and aal beings J the only he Divine ty. And sufferings le was in order to him. A ■ Saviour luffei-ing^ ever and her, was h of the is whole suffer, to suffer his Sa- offended 8 entire i should and kill to post- nent of ace re- degree, II their ags of hody and bitterness of soul were, in ti-uth, the lot of man from the mcment that Adam sinned; but they wei-e the pangs and bitterness of a criminal under pun- ishment, far more than the sacrificial pains of tho membei-s of Christ crucified. Asceticism foniied but a small portion of the religious woi-ship of the people of God, until the great atonement was completed upon rialvary. Not that any degree, even the lowest, of ac- ceptable obedience could ever be attained without some measure of the crucifixion of the natural man. Pa- triarchs and Israelites alike felt the power of the Cross as the instrument of their sanctification. But still earthly prosperity, including bodily pleasures, was, as a nile, the reward with which God recompensed His faithful servants. That which became the rule under the Gospel, was the exception from Adam till Moses, and from Moses until Christ. Here and there some great example of Christian asceticism enforced upon a sensual people the nature of perfect sanctity. Elias fasted on Mount Carmel, and beheld the skirts of the glory of the Most High. The Baptist fasted and tamed his natm-al ilesh in the wilderness, and beheld not only the Incai-nate Son of God, but the descent of the Eter- nal Spii-it upon Him. Yet, for the most part, the fa- voured servants of God lived the lives of ordinary men; they possessed houses, riches, and honoura ; and married wives, even more than one. At length the Cross was set up in all its awfiil •power ; suffering received its perfect consecration, and took its ruling j)lace in the economy of man's redemjj- tion. Jesus, in descending from the Cross, bestowed that Ci*oss upon His cliiidren, to be their treasure unti' XXIV INTRODUCTORY ESSAT. the end of the world. Crucifixion with Him, and through Him, as their Head, became their portion and their glory. Every soul that was so buried in His wounds as to receive the fiiU blessings of His sacrifice, was thei-eby nailed, in. Christ, to the Cross, not to de- scend from its hallowed wood until, like Christ, it was dead thereon. Henceforth the sanctity of God's chosen sei-vants assumes its new character. It is no longer written, " I will bring you into a land flowing with the milk and honey of thid earth ;" but, " Blessed are the poor, and they that suffer persecution." The lot of Abraham and of David is exchanged for that of St. Peter and St. Paul. In place of triumph in war with the idolaters, the Christian is promised persecution; in place of many herds and flocks, and ti'easures of gold, God gives him poverty and sickness ; the fast, the vigil, the scourge, take place of the palaces of cedar and the luxuriant couch; marriage gives way to celibacy; and long life is a privilege in order that in many years we may suffer much, and not that we may enjoy much. Such is the ordinary course of the Divine dealings with the soul since the Cross received its full mysterious saving power. And to the full as mysterious is the new character imprinted upon the miraculous life of Christian sanctity. The phenomera of that new existence, in which certain souls are brought into mystic communion with the un- seen world, bear the print of the wounds of the Eternal Son in a manner which fills the ordinary' Chrirtian mind with amazement and trembling. It is by a pain- ful crucifixion of the natural man, both soul and body, canied to a far more than ordinary perfection, that the MIRACULOUS LIFE OF THE SAINTS. ZXT fonl is inti'oduced into this miraculous condition. Im- prisoned in her fleshly tabernacle, which, though re- generated, is through sin foul, earthly, and blinding as ever, the mind can only be admitted to share in the communion which Jesus Christ unceasingly held with His Father and with the world invisible, by attaining some portion of that self-masteiy which Adam lost by his fall. The physical nature must be subdued by the vigorous repetition of those many painful processes by which the animal portion of our being is rendered the slave of the spiritual, and the will and the affections are rent away from all creatures, to be fixed on God alone. Fasting and abstinence are the first elements in this ascetic course. The natural taste is neglected, thwarted, and tormented, till, wearied of soliciting its own gratification, it ceases to interfere with the inde- pendent action of the soul. The appetite is further de- nied its wonted satisfaction as to quantity of focd. By fasts gradually increasing in severity, new modes of physical existence are introduced ; that which was ori- ginally an impossibility becomes a second law of nature; and the emaciated fi*ame, forgetting its former lusts, obeys almost spontaneously the dictates of the victorious spirit within. The hours of sleep are curtailed under judicious control, until that mysterious sentence which compels us to pass a third of our existence in uncon- scious helplessness is in part repealed. The soul, habi- tuated to incessant and self-collected action, wakes and lives, while ordinary Christians slumber, and as it were are dead. The infliction of other severe bodily pains co-operates in the purifying process, and enables the mind to disregard the dictates of nature to an extent XXVI Introductory essay. wbich to many Catholics seems almost incredible, and to the unbeliever an utter impossibility. Physical life is supported under conditions wliich would cnisli a con- stitution not supported by the mii-aculous aid of al- mig^hty power ; and feeble men and women accomplish works of charity and heroic self-sacrifice fi'om which the most robust and energetic of the human race, in their highest state of natural perfection, woiUd shrink back in dismay as hopeless impossibilities. The senses are literally tyrannised over, scorned, derided, insult- ingly trampled on. The sight, the smell, the hearing, the touch, and the taste, are taught to exercise them- selves upon objects revolting to then' original inclina- tions. They leani to minister to the will without dis- playing one rebellious symptom. Matter yields to spuit; the soul is the master of the body; while the perceptions of the intellig-ence attain an exquisite sensi- bility, and the mind is gifted with faculties absolutely new, the flesh submits, almost insensible to its condition of servitude, and scarcely murmurs at the daily death it is compelled to endm-e. The process is the same in all that regaiids the af- fections and passions of the mind itself. The heart is denied every thing that it desires, which is not God. However innocent, however praiseworthy, may be the indulgence in certain feelings, and the gratification of certain pursuits in ordinary Christians, in the case of these favoured souls nature is crushed in all her paits. Her faculties remain, but they are directed to spiritual things alone. Possessions of all kindp, lands, houses, books, pictures, gardens, husband, wiie, children, friends, — €ill share the same tremendous sentence. God esta- MIRACULOUS LIFE OF THE SAINTS. XXVll Wishes Himself in the soul, not only supreme, but as the only inliabitant. Whatsoever remains to be done in this woild is done as a dutv, often as a most obnoxious diitv. Love for the souls that Christ has redeemed is the only human feeling" that is left unsubjugated ; and wheresoever the emotions of natiu^ aflfection and fidend- ship ming'le with this Christian love, they are watched, and restrained with unsparmg severity, that the heart may come at last to love nothing*, except in Christ Himself. All this, indeed, repeatedly takes place in the case of pereons in whom the purely miraculous life of the Christian Saint is never even commenced. It is that which all monks and nuns are boimd to strugg-le for, according' to the different rules to which they have re- spectively received their vocation. And, by the mercy of God, this perfect detachment from earth, and this marvellous crucifixion of the flesh, is accomplished in many a devout religious, to whom the extraordinary gifts of the Holy Ghost are as unknown as His extraor- dinary gi*aces ai-e familiar. Still, in those exceptional instances where miraculous powers of any species are bestowed, this bitter death, this personal renewal (as far as man can renew it) of the agonies of Calvary, is ordinarily the necessary prepaitition for admission to the revelations of the Divine glory, and to the other mysteries of the miraculous life. The physical nature, then, being thus subdued, and taught to be the obedient servant of the sanctified will, the histoiy of the Catholic Church records a long series of instances in which tlie soul has been brought into direct oomimmior. with God, with angels, and with XXVIU INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. devils, more or less through the sensible instruuientality of the bodily senses, thus spiritualised and exalted to a new office. The ineffable glories of the life of Christ are renewed in those who have thus endured the crosf of Christ. The death of the body is the life of the soul ; and the Son of God is, as it were, again visibly incar- nate in the world which He has redeemed. The phenomena of this miraculous state are as various as they are wonderful. There is scarcely a natuitd law of our being which is not found to be fre- quently suspended. Such is the odour of sanctity, a celestial perfrmie that exhales from the person of the Saint, in conditions where any such delicious fragrance could not possibly spring from natm'al causes, and where even, as in the case of a dead body, natui'e would send foi-th scents of the most repulsive kind. In such in- stances, sometimes in life, sometimes in death, some- times in health, sometimes in loathsome diseases, there issues from the physical frame an odour of uneai'thly sweetness, perhaps commimicating itself to objects which touch the saintly form. Or a strange supernatural warmth pervades the entire body, wholly independent of the condition of the atmosphere, and in circumstances when by the laws of nature the limbs would be cold ; sometimes, while sick- ness has reduced the system to such a degree of ex- haustion, and brought on so morbid an action of the functions, that the stomach rejects, with a sort of ab- hon'ence, every species of food, the most holy Eucharist is received without difficulty, and seems not only to bft thus received, but to furnish sufficient sustenance for the attenuated frame. Not unfrequently cormption MIRACULOUS LIFE OF THE SAINTS. x\a lias no power ovei a sacred corpse ; and witLoiit the employment of any of the common processes for em- balming', centui'ies pass away, and the body of the Saint remains untouched by decay, bearing the impress of life in death, and not crumbling to dust, as in cases of natm'al preservation, when exposed to the action of th^ atmosphere. Add to these, the supernatural flexibility and hghtness with which at times the living body is endowed by Divine power ; the physical accompaniment of ecstasy ; the elevation of the entire body ii'om the gi-ound, and its suspension in the air for a considerable space of time ; and we have sufficient examples of the mysterious ways in which the bodies of Saints bespeak the pui'ity which dwells within them, and m a degree anticipate the corpoi'eal perfections of those glorified habitations in which the souls of the just will dwell after the resuiTection. By another class of miraculous powera possessed by- Christian Saints, they are enablea to recognise the true nature or pi'esence of purely spu'itual objects by ihe in- strumentality of their natural organs of sense. Thus, a mere touch at times reveals to them the moi'al con- dition of the person on whom they lay their hands. A singular distaste for natm'al food is accompanied by a perception of a celestial sweetness in the holy Eucharist. Gross sinners appear to the sight in the foim of hideous monsters, demoniacal in theu' aspect, or as wearing the look of the most repulsive of the brute creation. The sense of smell in like manner, detects the state of the soul, while the ear is opened to heavenly sounds and voices, and Almighty God speaks to the inner conscious- ness in a maimer which, inexplicable as it is when de« M n xxz INTRODUCTORY ESSAY fined in the language of human science, is shown by incontestable proofs to be a real communication from heaven to the enlightened intelligence. In certain cases the animal creation ai*e taught to do homage to the presence of a Saint. As God opened the eyes of Balaam's ass, and it beheld the messenger of Divine wrath standing with a sword in his hand, so birds, fishes, insects, sheep, and the wildest beasts of the forests, have at times saluted the Saints with joy and sweetness, laying aside their natural timidity or their natural ferocity, and recalling the hour when Adam dwelt in sinless peace in Eden, surrounded by the creatures which the hand of God had made. All nature is bid thus to arise to welcome the elect of the Lo*d of nature. Flowers spring* up beneath their feet ; fruits suddenly ripen, and invite them to gather and eat; storms cease, and gentle winds refi'esh the sky. Every where the presence of Him who lulled the tem- pest with a word is recognised in the souls in whom He dwells, and in whom He thus, in a mystic sense, fulfils His own promise, that the meek shall possess the land. Thus, again, time and space are in their degree comparatively annihilated for the sake of some of these favoured servants of the Eternal and Omnipresent. St. Pius v., while bodily in Home, was a witness of the naval victory of the Christians over the Turks; St. Joseph of Cupertino i-ead lettere addressed to him while their authors were writing them far away ; St. Domi- nic foresaw the war of the Albigenses, and the death of Peter of Arragon ; and St. Ignatius beheld his suc- cessor in the Duke of Gandia. A similar mysterious faculty enables its possessor to discera the presence of MIRACULOUS LIFE OF THE SAINTS. XXXI relics and other sacred objects, more especially of the adorable Eucharistic species ; or even to behold Jesus Christ Himself in His g-lorified human form, in place of the usual appearance of bread and wine ; while in some instances the Host has darted, unbome by mortal hand, into the mouth of a Saint about to communicate at the foot of the altar. On those species of miracles which are in no way peculiar to the Christian dispensation I need not linger. Such is the gift of healing, whether by the Saint's will and touch while alive, or by his relics and intercession when dead. Such is the gift of prophecy, which abounded, as we might have expected, far more in the Saints before the advent of the Redeemer than since His coming, and which, indeed, was not rigidly confined to men of reli- gious character. Such are those supernatural powers by which our present temporal blessings, in addition to the cure of diseases, are conferred upon individuals or com- munities by the instrumentality of holy men and women. T confine myself to those more peculiarly Christian pri- vileges, which, though they were not' wholly unknown to the Patriarchal and Mosaic Saints, are yet eminently characteristic of those times in which the glorification of the humanity of Jesus appears to have shed a mea- sure of glories upon the bodies of those who most in- tensely share the suflTerings of His cross. Some of these tokens of the perpetual death of the Son of God in His Saints were, indeed, for several cen- turies either unknown, or extraordinarily rare in the Christian Church herself. Such is that most t.wftil of the displays of the undying power of the Cross, in which the actual wounds and tortui-es of the crucified Jesus y m XXXii INTRODUCTORY E9SAT. tue visibly rcneweo, by a miruculous. agency, in the persons of His chosen ones. This most terrible of the gifts of the great God is generally preceded by some supernatural occurrence foreshadowing the visible re- presentatiou of the scene on Calvary about to be set up before the eyes of men. At one time it is a species of bloody sweat, like that of Jesus Christ in the garden of Gethsemani ; at another, a visible print of the cross is impressed upon the shoulders; or angels present a mystic cup of suffering to the Lands of the self-sacri- ficing Saint. Then follows what is termed stigmatiaa' tiofif or the renewal of the actual wounds of the Cruci- fied, accompanied with the bloody marks of the crown of thorns upon the sufferer's head; for the most part one by one, until the whole awful commemoration is complete, the skin and fle h are rent on the forehead and round the head, in the hands, in the feet, and in the side ; a stream of gore pours forth, at times trickling down in slow drops, at times (as on Fridays) in a fuller tide, accompanied with agonising pangs of body, and except in the fiercest moments of spiiitual conflict, with interior consolations of ravishing sweetness. The wounds pierce deep down into the flesh, running even through the hands and the feet. The state of ecstasy is another of the most wonder- ful of the elements of the miraculous life of the Saints. Under the Divine influence the physical frame under- goes a change in many respects similar to that which is supposed (whether truly or falsely) to result from tho operation of magnetism or somnambulism. Many fea- tures, at the same time, distinguish the Christian ec- static condition from that which is produced by purely MIRACULOUS LIFE OP THE SAINTS. XXXUI plijsical or (it may be) diabolical causes, on which we cannot at present enter in detail. It is sufficient to say, that the results of the tnie ecstasy are in the strictest conformity with the doctrines of the Christian revela- tion, and in perfect harmony with the perfections and rules of the moral world. The soul in this state becomes, as it were, independent of the power of the body, or she uses her physical senses in an absolute subordination to her own illumined will. Visions, such as are recorded in the Old Testament in the case of the prophets, are presented to her faculties. She is introduced into the courts of heaven, and beholds and converses with Saints in glory, with the Mother of God, with Jesus Christ Himself. Or the whole mystery of the Pasfiion is re-enacted before her spiritualised sight, the evangelical history being filled up with all those actual but minuter details which are omitted in the written records of the Gospels. In certain cases, the body itself is lifted up from the ground, and so remains for a while in the presence of a crowd of bystanders. In othera, the soul, while in ecstasy, is the medium of com- munication between Almighty God and other persons then present, and the Saint's voice repeats the revela- tions to those for whom they are designed. Or, again, an unearthly flame shining around the head or whole pereon of the ecstatic, like the cloven tongues upon the Apostles at Pentecost, attests the presence of the Invi- sible, and symbolises the message sent forth from His throne to men. A more purely intellectual vision or revelation is another of the works of the Holy Ghost in His Saints. By such revelations, for the most part, the truths of 9 -'I xxxiir INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. Iioly Scripture were communicated to its writers. God, who created the human soul witli all its faculties, and who is able to make known His will in any way that lie pleases to the intellig'ence, has His own mysterious but not less accurate tests, by which He enables the favoured spirit to discern a i-evelation irom a mere product of the human imagination, and to distinguish between the voice of God nnd the sug-gestions of Satan. Nor was this mode of intercourse between the soul and her God confined exclusively to the elder dispensations or to apostolic ag^es. Many a Christian Saint has been privileg-ed to contemplate God Himself, in a certain sense, in His essence ; beholding- the depths of such mysteries as those of the Holy Trinity, the Incaination, the Eu- charistio Presence, or the true nature of sin, with a du'ectness of vision, and comprehending them to an ex- tent, which passes the powers of human language to define. Lastly, all that we read in the Bible respecting the visible and tangible intercoui'se between man and the angelic and diabolic host is continued in the times of Christianity. The reality of the ministration of angels and of the assaults of demons, in the case of all Chris- tians, is believed by every Catholic ; but in very many cases the Saints have become conscious of the pre- sence and actions of their undeen friends and foes as of the presence and actions of mortal men. To some Saints, our blessed Lord Himself has appeared in human form, perhaps in that of the most despised and miserable of the poor and sick; to others, their guardian-angels or other pure spirits have presented themselves, some- times in the guise of ordinary men, and sometimes ia a MIHACULOljS LIFB OF THB SAINTS. miw manifestly siipernatuml s\ia\)e. Often, too, the enlight- ened soul has beheld Satiui nnd his accursed spirits, either working* it source bodily injury, or assaulting il with some subtle temptation, or seeking to scare it by assuming' some hideous loathsome shai)e, or assuming the giu'b of an angel of light for the purpose of ac- complishing his hellish ends. Of all these supernatural phenomena, however, illustrations will readily occur to those who are familiar with tlio lives of Saints, or, in- deed, to those who have studied the Bible only, and who read the inspired wiitings as really trtuff remera- 'jering that the miraculous events there recorded did lot cease the moment that tlie canon of Scripture was closed, but that such as was the relation between God ind man and angels and devils for more than four thou- wnd years, such it has been until this very hour. Such, then, are the doctnnes and opinions which are fmplied in what may be termed the miraculous life of \ atholic Saints, and of which the history of Francos 1 1 Home presents one of the most I'emarkable examples. 'J hey are hei-e but briefly sketched : but I tnist that enough has been said to indicate the general character of the principles involved in these wonderful histories ; and I now pass on to offer a few I'emarks on the self- coatrrem as have been formally sanctioned by the Church, to derive from them unceasing spiritual comfort and instruction. Doubtless, if we are so igno- rant as to fancy that all Saints' histories are to b' alike in details, and that therefore we ought to wish that the circumstances of our Uves were the same as theu's, we shall be doing ourselves great mischief. But let us study them with a true knowledge of the mere elements of the Christian faith, and they will be to us what St. Paul desires his disciples to seek for in his life, namely, a continuation, as it were, of the life of Jesus Christ, carried on through all the successive ages of His Church on earth. They will impress upon our minds with an intensity peculiarly their own, the reality of the in- visible world and the ensnaring tendencies of every thing that we possess. Weak and ignoiimt as is the imaginative and sensitive portion of our nature, it needs every possible help that it can find to coimtei'act the paralysing effects of the worldliness of the world, of the lukewarmness of Christians, and of the enthralling MIRACULOUS LIFE OF THE SAINTS. y nature of the universe of sight and sense. Our courage IS wonderfiilly strengthened, and our love for things invisible is inflamed, by every thing that forces us, as it were, to see that this visible creation is not the only tiling that is real, mighty, and present. The general precepts and the dogmatic statements of religion acquire a singulai* and living force when we perceive them carried out and realised in the actual aifairs of life in a degree to which our personal experience is a stranger. Influenced as human natm'e is by example, these un- pretending narratives, whose whole strangth lies in the facts which they record, and not in the art of the bio- grapher, undeniably strike the mind with an almost supernatural force. They enchain the attention ; they compel us to say, Are these things true? Are these things possible ? Is religion, after all, so tenibly near to us? Are this life and this world so literally vain and worthless, so absolutely nothing worth ? Are suf- fering and awful bodily anguish blessings to be really coveted ? Are the maxims which I daily hear around me so hopelessly bad and accui-sed ? Are angels and devils so near, so vei-y near, to us all ? Is purg-atory so terrible and so inevitable to all but the perfect, that these fearful visions of its pains are in substance what I myself shall endure ? And if I full from grace and die in sin before one of the innumerable temptations that hourly beset me, is it tnie that nothing less than an eternity of such toniients, the very reading of which even thus represented makes me shudder with horror, will be my inevitable lot ? And is the bliss of tlie Saints and the joy of loving God so inexpressibly sweet to any souls here on eai-th ? Is it possible that anjp lii INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. one should escape from a state of coldness, deadness, worldliness, and unwilling performance of his religious duties, and positively come to lose all taste for bodily and mei*e intellectual pleasures through the absorbing of his whole being into the love of Jesus and of Mary, and through a burning thirst for the beatific vision of the Eternal Trinity ? And who will venture to say that it is not good^/Jw vs all to have such thoughts frequently pressed upon our attention ? If there is any meaning in the command that we are to aim at being perfect, whatever be the state of life in which we are called to seek perfection, siu'ely it is no ordinary advantage thus to have the essentially supernatural chp meter of our religfious life forced again and again upon our attenvion. For, be it never forgotten, this very svpematuralness is one of its essential features. There are innumerable varieties in our vocations. The eai-tlily circumstances in which we ai'e to serve God are almost innumerable in their variety ; but the supernatural element appertains to them all alike. Our actual relationship to the awful and glorious realities of the unseen world is precisely the same in kind as that of the most miraculously endowed Saints. The only difference is this, that in their case that re- lationship was perceived and visibly manifested in a peculiar mode, to which we are strangers. Heaven, purgatory, and hell are as neai' to us as if we beheld the vision3 of St. Frances. The cross is as literally our portion, in its essential nature, as if the five sacred wounds were renewed physically in our agonising frame. Our angel-guardian is as incessontly by our side, as if our eyes were opened to behold his efiiilgent radif Jioe. MIRACULOUS LIFE OP THE SAINTS. liii Satan strikes the same blows at our souls, whetk -' he shows himself to our sight or not. The relics of & nts, which we carefully look at or criticise, may he at any moment the vehicles of the same miraculous poweis as the handkerchiefs from the body of St. Paul. Who would say to a blind man, '' Forget the tangible reali- ties of this life, because you cannot see them" ? Who would not rather say, " Bear constantly in mind ▼'hat is the experience of those who can see, that you May practically remember their ceaseless nearness to yoa" ? And just such is the experience of the Saints, in whose histories faith has partly merged into sight, and the veil which blinds our eyes has been parti&lly and at certain seasons withdrawn. It tells us, as few things else can tell, of the reality of the objects of our faith. I add a word or two on the question, how far the actual conduct of the extraordinary persons whose lives are iiere related is to serve as a model for practical imitation by ordinary Christians. To the well-instructed Catholic, it would be an impertinence in me to suggest that they are not in every detail thus to be followed. It is the duty of a Christian to follow the mles for daily life which it has pleased Almighty God to lay down in the Gospel, and not to imagine that those excep> tional cases of conduct to which He has supernatural! prompted ceriiun individuals are to be imitated by tho&< who have only the ordinary graces of the Holy Spirit. The general reader, however, may be reminded th* « Catholics believe, that as the Creator of the univerjO occasionally intemipts the order of the laws of nature, so He at times inteniipts the relative order of the laws of duty; not, of course, the essential laws of morality, but Br INTRODUCTORY ESSAY. those positive laws which are obligatory simplj because they are enacted by competent authority. No person, indeed, can be justified in acting on such an idea in his own case, unless guided by supernatural light, beyond the usual spiritual illumination given to all Christians. This supernatural light is rarely vouchsafed, and it is accordingly in the highest degree presumptuous in any person to overstep the ordinary routine of distinctly ordered duty, under the idea that he is called by Grod to break the rules given for the guidance of mankind in general. In all such supposed cases, the Catholic Church has the proper tests to apply, by which the soul can learn whether she is led by a Divine afflatus, or betrayed by her own disordered imagination, or the dcobits of an invisible tempter. J. M. a CONTENTS. -oc>vS)ttlA»- ST. FB ANCES OF BOMB. OhaI*ter I. ' ■ ' Ckmeral character of the Saint's lifo— Her childhood and early piety . VAoa 1 CHAPTER II. Franoesoa's early inclination for the cloister — ^By her father's desire she marries Lorenzo Pon/iano — Her married life —Her illness and miracolous cnre CHAPTER III. iVancesoa proceeds in her mortifioationa and vrorks of ohaci^ —Her supematoral temptations and consolations . . 18 CHAPTER IV. The Ulih of Francesca^s first child— Her care In his ednoa- tion— She midertakes the management of her father-in- law's household — A famine and pestilonce in Rome — E^n- oesca's labours for the sick and poor — The miracles wrought in her behalf « • 28 vU CONTENTS. CHAPTER V. The birth of Franoesoa'a seoond ion — His suiiernatiiral gifts — The birth of her daughter— Satanic attacks upon Fran* oesca— Troubles of Tiome— Francesca's fausbaad is severely wounded — Her eldest son, when given up as a hostage to the Neapolitans, is miraculously restored to her . . VAOB 87 . CHAPTER VI. Sufferings of Rome from the troops of Tadislas — Death of Francesca's son Evangelista — ^The famine and plagiie in Rome — Francesca's labours for the starving and sick— Her miracles 47 CHAPTER Vn. Evangelista appears to bis mother — An archangel is assigned to her as a visible guardian throughout her life . • 59 CHAPTER Vin. Fr'^ncesca's illness and recovery — Her vision <>f hell — Resto- ration of tranquillity in Rome— Return of Francesca's hus- band — Her power in converting sinners . • . • 64 CHAPTER IX. Fresh supemu'^ural events in Francesca's history— Her obe> dience to her husband and to her confessor rewarded by two miracles — Marriage of her son, and ill conduct of his wife — Her conversion through Fra tcesca's prayers — Fresh Miracles worked by Francesca .••••• 74 OONTBNTi. CHAPTER X. ffA«B yhmoMoa lays the foundation of her fiitare oongregatkm— Her pilgrimage to Asdal 85 CHAPTER XL Death of Franoesoa*8 friend and director, Don Antonio^ Troubles in Rome and Italy foretold by Franoeecar— Death of Vaiinona, Franceiica's sister-in-law — Foundation of the Congregation of OUates of Tor diSpecchi . • . M CHAPTER Xn. Progress and trials of the young oommtmity — It is confirmed by the Pope — Troubles in Rome and the Church termi- nated through Franoesoa's intercession and the council of FlovMoo 106 CHAPTER Xm. Death of F^raneesca's husband— She goes to redde with the eommunity <^ Tor di Speoohi— Her life as superioress • 114 CHAPTER XIV. Franecsca's last ShiesB and death . . iZtf CHAPTER XV. FhaMeasa's fimenl, and her sabsequenfc eanonisatioa • • 181 OONTENTSk n. Blbkbd Ltjot or NAsm 188 m. DoinmoA or Pabadibo . • . • 161 IV. AmHB ]» MOVTMOBENOT, THX SOUTABT or TBB PTBSKIM • 197 I. • > 188 61 VI ST. FRANCES OF ROME: I! ■4 •' ill m ST. FRANCES OF ROME. CHAPTER I. miKRAL CBAEACTKR OF THE SAlNT^S LIFE — HBR CHILDHOOD AMB EARLT PIKTT. HERE have been saints whose hisvories strike us as particularly beautiful, not only as possessing the boauty which always belongs to sanctity, whether exhibited in an aged servant of God, who for three- scoro years and more has borne the heat and burden of the day, or in the youth who has offei*ed up the morning of his life to His Maker, and yielded it into His hands before twenty summera have passed over his head ; whether in a warrior king like St. Louis, or a beggar like Bene- dict Labre, or a royal lady like S;> B ST. FRANCES OF HOME. Elizahfith of ITungTiry ; hut also ns uniting in tliu cir- cumstftnces of their Hves, in the places they inha- hited, and the epochs when they appeared in the work!, mncli that is in itself poetical and interest in"*, and cal- culated to attract the attention of the historian and the man of letters, as well as of the theoloj^iiin and the devout. In this class of saints may well he included Francesca Romana, the foundress ot the religfious order of the Oblates of Tor di Sj)ecchi. She was the mode) of young girls, the example of a devout matron, and finally a widow, according* to the very pattei-n drawn by St. Paul; she was beautiful, courageous, and full of wisdom, nobly bom, and delicately brought up : Home was the place of her birth, and the scene of her labours; her home was in tlie centre of the great city, in the heart of the 'J'rastevere ; her life was full of trials and hair-breadth scapes, and strange reverses; Iier hidden life was marvellous in the extreme : visions of terror ond of beauty followed her all her days; favours such as were never granted to any other saint were vouchsafed to her ; the world of spirits was con- tinually thrown oi)en to her sight ; and yet, in her daily conduct, her character and her ways, minute details of which have reached us, there is a simplicity as well as a deep humility, awful in one so highly gifted, touch- ing in one so highly favoured. Troubled and wild were the times she lived in ; per- haps if one had to point out a period in which a Catho- lic Christian would rather not have had his lot cast, — one in which there was most to try his faith and wound his feelings, he would name the end of the fourteenth century, and the beginning of the fifteenth. War was raging all over Europe ; Italy was torn by inward dis- sensions, by the rival factions of the Guelphs and the Ghibellines. So savage was the spirit with which their conflicts were can-ied on, that barbarism seemed once more about to .overspread that fair land, and the Church itself was afflicted not only by the outward pei-secutions which strengthen its vitality, though for a while they - / I en. !.] ST. FRANCES OP ROME. t may appear to cripple its action, but by trials of a fur deeper and more painfid natura. Heresy bud torn frum Iier arms a great number of her children, and i-epeuted schisms wera dividing' those who, in np()earance and even in intention, remained faithful to the Holy See. 'Hie siiccfssore of St. Peter had removed the seat of their residence to Avignon, and tiie Eternal City i)ro- scnted the aspect of one vast battle-tield, on which daily and hourly conflicts ware occumng. The Colon- nas, the Orsinis, the Savellis, were every instant en- gaged in stniggles which deluged the streets witii blooent of Confirmation, which she received at that time in tlie church of Santa Agnese, the same in wliich she had been baptised, filled # :n. I ] ST. FRANCES OF ROME. i her with ardour to show her love for her Lord by every imaginable means, even those the most painful to the flesh. Her mother was a veiy devout person, and in the habit of visiting" every day some of the churches, especi- ally those where indulgences were to be gained, and she also frequented the stations with affectionate assiduity. For in that troubled epoch, as in the earliest times of the (Jhurch, as now, as always, on certain days, in cer- tain places, the relics of apostles, of martyrs, and of confessore were exhibited to the faithfiil, often on the veiy spot where they had finished their coui'se with *ov. having" kept their faith and won their crown. he devotion of "the stations," as it is performed in Home, is one of the most touching' links with the past that it is possible to conceive. To pass along- the street, so often trod by holy feet in former and in latter days, and seek the church appointed for that day's sta- tion ; to approach some time-worn basilica, or ancient sanctuary, without the city walls may be, and pausing* on the threshold, give one look at the g-lorious works of Almighty God in the natural world, — at the wide Cani- pagTia, that land-sea, so beautiful in its broad expanse and its desolate grandeiu*, at the purple hills with their g-olden lights and their deep-blue shadows, and the arched sky telling" so vividly the glory of its Maker ; and then slowly lifting' the heavy curtain that stands between that vision of earthly beauty, and the shrine where countless generations have come to worship,— to ti-ead under feet the green boughs, the sweet-smelling' leaves, the scattered flowers, that morning* strewn upon the uneven, time-trod, time-honoured pavement ; bow- ing* in adoration before the Lord in His tubemacle, to thank Him for the wonders that He has worked in His saints, — for the beauty of the world of grace, of which that of the visible world is but the ty[)e and the sha- dow; and then move from one shnne to the other, wherever the lights upon the altars |>oint the way, and invoke the assistance, the prayers of the saints whose I! I 1 ST. FRANCES OF ROME. relics are there displayed; — all this is one of those raie enjoyments which at once feed the soul and awake the imag-ination, and which the devout Chi-istian can find in no place hut Rome. It was these "stations" that Francesca's mother fi-eqnented, and took her little daug'hter with her. Sometimes she went to some church in the heart of the city ; sometimes to some lonely shrine without the walls. Then, as now, the heggars (so we find it men- tioned later in the life of the ^tint) congregated at the doors, and clamoured for alms. Then, as now, the lights burned upon the altars, and the sweet smell of fragrant and crushed leaves perfumed the air. Dmins^ sermons the Uttle girl's attention never wandered ; and on her return home she was wont to repeat what she had heard with imction and delight. Her mother's favourite church was that of Santa Maria Nuova ; in our day more frequently called that of San Francesca Romana. It stands in the Toro Romano, close to the ruins of the ancient Temple of Peace. It was served at that time by the Beneaictine monks of Mount Olivet; and to one of them, Don An- tonio di Monte Savello, Jacobella de' Roffi-edeschi intrusted the spiritual direction of her daughter. Ho was a man of great learning and piety, ana continued her director for five and thirty ycai*s. Every Wednes- day the little maiden came to him for confession. She consulted him about her occupations, her religious ex- ercises, and her studies, and exactly obeyed lus most minute directions, even in indifferent things. Oflen she tried for his permission to practise gfreater austerities ; and such was her fervour, and the plain indications of God's designs upon her. that he occasionally allowed her to i^eriorm penances which might have been con- sidei'ed in ordinary cases too severe for her tender Ago. At other times he forbade them altogether; and siie submitted cheerfully to his commands, without a word of remonstrance or complaint, and resumed them again at his desire, with the e<][uanimity of one who well knew I ) I A CH. I.] ~ ST. FRANCES OF ROME. tP that the spirit of perfect obedience is more acceptable to God than any works of devotion. * " A celestial brightness, a more eternal beauty, Shone un hor facu, and encircled her form, when after confos- 8ion Homeward serenely she walked, with God's benediction upon I her. When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of exquisite music"* Francesca's daily life was as perfect as a child's could be. No untrue words sidliea her pure lips ; no gross thoug-ht dwelt in her mind. She seldom laughed, though a sweet smile was often on her lips. Up to the ao;e of eleven, her life was one long continual prayer Every little action was perfoniied with a view to tha glory of God. Her triflmg failings she deplored with anguish ; eveiy stain on the pure mirror of her con- science was instantly washed away by tears. It ivas not long beforo it pleased God to vouchsafe to her extiti- ordinary graces. Hei early and almost intuitive ac- qut intance with the mystenes of religion was wonder- ful. Every day she meditated on the Incarnation and the Passion of Jesus Christ; and her devotion to the Blessed Virgin increased in proportion to her love for our Lord. Her face flushed with delight, and a sera- phic eXpi-ession beamed in her eyes, when she spoke of the sufferings of Jesus, and the glories of Maiy. From the little oratory whnre she held secret communion with heaven, she went out into the world with the most ar- dent desire to serve the poor, to console the afflicted, to do good to all. The affection of her younff heart found vent in numerous works of charity; and Fruncescu's name, and Francesca's sweet voice, and Francesca's fair face, were even then to many of the sufferers of that dark epoch a sign of hoj)e,— a pledge that God was still amongst them as of yore, and llis S]>irit at work in the heails of men. * Longfellow : Ev a n gel imM, ST. FRANCES OP BOMB. i M I II : CHAPTER II. VRANCBSCa's XAALT INCLIlfATIOlf FOB THB CLOISTKB — BT BBB PA- THBB^ DBBIRB SUB MABBIB8 LOBENZO PONZIAMO— HBB MABBIBO LIFB — HBB ILLNESS AND MIBACULOVS CORB. From the time that Francescahad understood the mean- ing of the words, her greatest desire had been to enter a convent ; but with that spirit of humility and reserve which so particalarlj beIons>ed to her, she had kept her desiro concealed in her heart, and had manifested it to none but God and her director. Don Antonio encouraged her to persevere in this silence, and to prove her own resolution by secretly adhering to the rules, and practising the austerities of one of the strictest re- ligious orders. She gladly assented to this, and per- severed in it for a considerable time. Stronger and deeper every day crew her inclination to forsake the wond, and to hola communion with God alone in the solitude of the cloister ; with that God whose love had already driven from her heart all care for comfort, for pleasure, and for self. But not so smooth was to be ner path through life ; not much longer was she to sit in silence at the feet of her Lord, with no other thought than to live on the words which fell from His lip. Though she concealed as much as possiole the peculiarities of her mode of life, they could not alto- gether escape the notice of her parents; and they soon S[i'*stioned her on the subject. When she inrormed . im of her wish to embrace the religious life, her father chose to consider her vocation as a childish fancy, and informed her in return that he had already pro- mised her in maniage to Lorenzo Ponziano, a young nobleman of illustrious birth, and not less eminent fur his virtues and for his talents than fi'om his fortune and position. He reckoned amongst his ancestors St. ■i- OH. II.] 9T. FRANCES OP ROME. # Paulianiii^, pope and martyr ; his mother was a Mel- lini; and his eldest ])i*otlier Pahixzo had man-it^d Van- nuzza, a daug'hter of the noble house of Santa Cmce. Fmncesca's heart sank within her at tills announcement, and fallin"^ on lier knees she implored lier father to alter his determination, and allow her to follow what she believed to be the will of God in her reg-ard. She, went even so fai' as to protest that nothing' slioidd in- duce lier to consent to tiiis man-iag-o ; torrents of t^^ars fell fi*om her eyes as she poured forth her supplications and ui'gfed her request. But it was all in vain that she wept and prayed. Paul Bussa turned a deuf ear tr her pleadings; declared that his woitl was pledg-ed, that nothin*^ should ever , L.i-suade him to retract it; and he insisted that, as adutiftd daugphter, she shoul.l submit hei-self to his will. Seeing; him thus immovable, Francesca rose fi*om lier knees, withdrew in silence from his pi-esence, and retiring' into her little oratory, pros- trated hei*self before the cnicifix, and asked counsel of Him at whose feet she wished to live and to die ; and implored Him, if such was His good pleasure, to exeit His Almig'hty Power, and raise obstacles to the pro- jected marnappe. Then, strengthened by prayer, she « was inspii-ed to seek direction from him wlio was the organ of the divine wdl to her, and hurrying^ to Santa Maria Nuova, she refpiested to see Don Antonio Savello. Kindly and g'ently the good priest spoke to his afflicted penitent. He promised to consult the Lord for her in prayer, and sug-gested some devotions to be used by hei-self for that pur j)ose. Then, seeing; her countenance assume a calmer exi>i*ession, he emleavoured to prejMire her mind for hat lie doubtless already knew was the will of God, and the true, though in one so minded, the singfidar vocation of Francesca. " If your parents j)er- sist in their resoiiition (he said), take it, my child, as a sign that God exj)ects of you this sacritice. Offer up to Him in that case your eamest desire for the relig-ious life. He will accept the will for the deed; and you will obtain rt once the reward of that wish, and the peculiar 10 ST. FRANCES OF ROME. M graces attached to the sacrament of mnrriag'e. God's ways are not as our ways, Francesca. Wlien St. Mary Magdalene had sent for the Lor«i Jesus Clirist to come and heal her hrother, it was no doubt a severe trial to her tliat He came not ; that the long- hours of the day and of the nig-ht succeeded each other, and that He tanied on the way, and sent no message or token of His love. But when her brother rose from the dead, when the shroud fell from his limbs, and he itood before her frdl of lite and strength, she understood the mvsteiy, and adored the divine wisdom of that delay, (irod indeed asks of you your heart, Francesca ; but He a)so claims your whole self as an oblation, and therefore jour will that He may mould it into entire conformity with His own. For works may be many and gootl, my daughter, and piety may be fervent, ana virtues eminent, and yet the smallest leaven of self-love or self-will may ruin the whole. Why do you weep, Francesca? That God's will is not accomplished, or that vour own is thwarted? Nothing but sin can mar the ni'st, and in this your trial there is not the least sliade of sin. As to your own will, bend, bi'eak, annihilate it, my child, and take courage. Have but one thought — the good pleasure, the sweet will of God ; sid)mit yourself to His Provi- dence. Lay down your wislies as an oblation on His altar ; give up that highest place which you had justly coveted; take the lower one which He now appoints you ; and if you cannot be His spouse, be His loving and faithful servant." Francesca went home, and awaited in silence her fathei*'s further commands. She was very pale, for the stniggle was a painful one. She prayed night and day, watched and fasted. When Paul itiussa renewed his injunctions, she gently gave her assent, begged him to forgive her past resistance, ami henceforward gave no outward signs of the suffering within, all the gi-eater that it came in the form of rejoicing, and that others deemed that to be happiness wiiich cost her so many secret teai-s. The family of Poi ziano were overjoyed I CH. II.] 8T. FRANCES OP ROME. at the mannage, — tlie brido was so ri''h, so beantifiil, and po virtuous ; thei*e was not a young- man in Rome who did not look with envy on Lorenzo, nnd wisli liim- selt' in his stead. Thei-e was no end to tlie banquets, the festivities, the merrymakinofs, wliich took place on the occasion ; and in the midst of these rejoicinaps Fran- cesco left her father's palace for that of the Ponziani. It stood in the heart of the Trastevere, close to the Yel- low River, though not quite uj)on it, in the vicinity of the Ponte Rotto, in a street that rans parallel with the Tiber. It is a well-known spot; and on the 0th of March, the Festival of St. Francesca, the people of Rome nnd of the neighbourhood flock to it in crowds. The modem building that has been raised on the foun- dation of the old palace is the Casa dei Esercizii Pii, fur the yoimg men of the city. There the repentant sinner who longs to break the chain of sin, the youth beset by some sti*ong temptation, one who has heard the inward voice summoning him to higher paths of virtue, another who is in doubt as to the particular line of life to which he is called, may come, and leave behind them for three, or five, or ten days, as it may be, the busy world, with all its distractions and its agitations, and^ fi*ee for the time being fi*om temporal cares, the wants of the body provided for, and the mind at rest, may commune witii Gcd and their own souls. Here they listen daily, nay hourly, to the instructions of devout priests, who, in the manner prescribed by St. Ignatius, Dhice before them in tui-n tlie most awral truths and the most consoling mysteries of the Kingdom of God. Resolutions are thus taken, conversions often effected, firocd purjioses strengthened in a way which often seems little short of miracidous. The means are marvellously adapted to the end ; and though mnny a wave may sweep over the soul, when it again rctui-ns to the world, a mark has been stomped upon it not easily effaced. Over the Casa dei Esercisfii Pii the sweet spirit of Francesca seems still to preside. On the day of her ivstivfd its rooms ai^e thi'own open, every memorial of 12 ST. FRANCES OF ROME. I ( the gentle snint is exhibited^ liglits burn on numerous altara, flowers deck the passages, leaves are strewn in the chapel, on the stairs, in the enti-ance-coui-t ; guy carpets, fij^u'ed tapestry and crimson silks hanff over the door, and ci-owds of i)eople go in and out, and kneel befora the relics or the pictures of the dear saint of Rome, and gi'eet on each altar, and linger in these chambei's, like kinsfolk met on a birthday to rejoice to- gether. The well-di'esseil and the I'agjV'ed, the rich and the I 'or, w'* out distinction, pay then* homnge to her swee^ '» «));i .. y whose living pi-esence once adonied the spot ^ -i ,'li tht ■ visit. It is a joyous and touching fes- tival, OIL j.ci. r wakens tender thoup-lits, and brings the world of meii ^i v into close connee in with that of ho{)e. The mind is forcibly canied back to the day when the young biide of Lorenzo Ponziano entered these walls for the flrat time, in all the saci'ed beauty of holiness and youth— ** Pure as the virgin snow that dwells Upon the mountain's crest, Cold as the sheet of ice that lies Upon the lake's deep breast" Pure from the least taint of worldly vanity, cold to all that belongs to human passion; but with a heart buming with love to God, and ovei-flowing with chaiity to every craature of His. She was received tenderly and joyfully by Lorenzo himself, by his father Andrew, his mother Cecilia, and Vannozza, the wife of his elder bmther. Francesca smiled sweetly us she returned their cai>esses; but the noise, and the gaiety, and the visituig, that iufb; but her zeal was temperea with so much wi "lom and })ru- dence, that she offended no one, and cv. r ^ed to win the affection of all her relations. Her good sense, her sweetness of temper, her earnest piety, charmed them all; and they were astonished that so young a girl could at once assume the pait and fiilfil the duties of a de- voted wife and a noble matron. Anxious in every way to conform hei-self to Lorenzo's wishes, she received the visits of the high-born ladies her eouals and companio'is, and retuiTied them with punctuality. She suhmitted to appear in public with all the state which belonged to her position, and accepted and wore the costly dresses and the splendid jewels which her husband lavished upon her ; but un^r those gorgeous silks and rich brocades a hair-shirt was concealed. Always ready to comply with any ob. ervance which duty or propriety required, slie at the same time steadily aostainecl even from the innocent amusements in which othei's in- dulged; and nevei* danced or played at cai-ds, or sat up late at night. 14 ST. PRANCES OP ROMF. Iler manner was so g-entle and kind, tlmt it inspired affection in nil who anpi-oaclied lier ; but there was also ft profound and awful puritv in her aspect and in her demeanour, which effectually checked the uttemnce of a fi'9.e or licentious word in her jM-esence. Faitiiful to her early habits of piety, she continued evei-y Wednes- day her visits to Santa Maria Nuova ; and after con- fessing to Don Antonio, she went to communion with such tei-vent devotion, that those who saw her at the altar absorbed in adoration, foresaw that God would ei*e long" bestow extraordinary craces on her soul. Rising betimes in the moraing", Francesca devoutly said her prayei-s, made her meditation, and read attentively out of a spiritual book. In the course of the day, when- ever she had a moment's leisure unclaimed by any of the duties of her state, she withdrew into a church or into her own room, and gave hei-self up to prayer. Every Saturday she had a conference with Pra \lichele, a Dominican monk, the prior of San Clemente, %nd an intimate fiiend of her father-in-law. He was a learned theologian, as well as a man of great piety and virtue, and instinicted her with care in all the doctnnes of religion. At the same time, so austere and devout a life in a young' person of twelve years old could not fail to at- tract tne attention and draw down the censures of the worldly. Many such beg-an to laugh at Francesca, and to tuiTi her piety into ndicule. They inti-uded ♦heir advice on Lorenzo Ponziano, and urged him to put a stop to what they teraied his wife's eccentricities. But happily for Fi*ancesca, he was not one of those men who Bra easily influenced by the opinion of othera. He formed his own judgment, and puraued his own line of conduct undistiirued by the comments and animadversions of his would-be advisei*s. His young wife was much too pre- cious to him, much too j)erfect in his sight, her whole life bora too visibly the stami) of (jlod's dealings with her, for him to dream of interfering with the coui-se she Qftd taken. On the conti'ai'y, he looked upon her with i 1 en. II.] ST. PRANCF.8 OP ROME. 15 that nfFectionote veneration which the presence of tnio sunctity always awakens in a noble and relig-ious mind. His father and mother were of the same way of thinking, and all hut idolised the holy child who had come amongst tliem as an anffel of peace. Thev re- garded her as the blessing' of their house, and the comfort of their old ajre. l*aliizzo, Lorenzo's brother, delighted in encouraging* the intimacy that had arisen between his young sister-in-law and his own wife Van- nozza. There was not a single member, friend, or ser- vant, of that noble family, that did not look with deUght upon Francesca. She was the joy of every heart, the !iweet consoler of every sorrow, the link ''Jiat bound them all by the sacred cord of love. Day by day her influence — her tender, noiseless, g'entle influence — was felt, subduing, winning, drawinc- them all to God. The happiness which the family of Ponziano had enjoyed since Lorenzo's marriage was inteiTupted by the sudden and dangerous illness of his wife, which baffled all medical skill, and soon brought her to the verge of the grave. The affliction of her husband and of his whole family was extreme. ITieir pearl of great price seemed about to be taken from them. No reme- dies afforded the slightest relief to her suffei mgs ; she was unable to rest, or to retain any nourisliment ; and every day her strength declined. The consteniation of her fi'iends knew no bounds; her father was inconso- lable. He secretly reproached himself with the con- straint he had placed on her inclinations, and considered her illness as a Divine chastisement. Francesca alone remained unmoved amidst the general affliction. She placed her life in the hands of God, and waited the event with perfect submission. Unable to speak, or even to move, the sweet exinession of her earnest eyes alone spoke her grotitude to those who nui^scd her and wept over her suffen'n«rs. At otlior times they were fixed on the Cmcifix witli an unutterable look of trust and love. Once only she was disturbed, and indigna- tion gave her strength to protest against the guilty 16 ST. FRANCES OF HOME. f ug"gt!Stion8 of some friends of the family, who, nccord- iiij^ to tho notions of thftt time, pei-sisted in btilievingf tlmt (i spell hud been cast upon her, nnd nr()|)Ofnce ; she endured the most excruciating' pains ; and was n;^iin considered to be at the |>oint of death. Durinj^ a whole year she remained as it were on the brink of eternity : her soul prepared to take its wing ; continually sustained by the Sacmnients of the Church, her only I'einaining' thought was to soothe the anguish of her husband and parents. Once again, those persons who had previously proposed to resort to magic arts for her cure, managed to thrust into her room, on some pre- * t4?nce or other, a woman celebrated in that line. Fran- cesco, enlightened by a divine inspiration, instantly detected the fraud ; and raising herself in her bed, witn a voice, the strength of which astonished the by- standers, exclaimed, " Begone, thou servant of Satan, nor ever venture to enter these walls again!" Ex- hausted by the effort, she fell back faint and colourless; and for a moment they feared that her spirit had passed away. But that very day God was preparing a miracle in her behalf; and as she had refiised to hold any com- munication with the Evil One, He was about to send His young servant a heavenly messenger, with health and healing on his wings. It was the eve of the Fes- tival of St. Alexis, — that noble Roman penitent, who passed so many years at the threshold of ins own palace, unpitied, unrecognised by his own relations, who went in and out at the gate, and stopjMKl not to question the silent, lonely, patient beggar, who lay there with his Cll. fl.J ST. FRANCES OF ROMK. 1? face hid in a poor cloak, finding peace in the midst of bitterness. The Ponziani had all witlidrnwn to rest for a fow hours; the women who attended on the dying* Fnm- cesca had fallen asleep. She was lying motionless on her couch of {min. Her sufforings had been siiurp; they were sharper than ever that night. Slie endured them in the strangth of the Cross, trom wliich neither her eyes nor her thoughts wandered. The whole house, and apparently the city also, was wrapt in slumlter ; for not a sound matTcd the stillness of the hour, — that still- ness so trying to those who watch and suffer. Sud- denly on the darkness of the silent chamber a light broke, bright as the day. In the midst stood a radiant figiu-e, iniijestic in form and gracious in countenance. He wore u pilgrim's robe ; but it shone like burnished gold. Dmwiiig near to Francesca's bed, he said : " I am Alexis, and am sent from God to inquire of thee if thou choosest to be healed ?" Twice he repeated tne words, and then the dying one faintly murmiu-ed, " I have no choice but the good pleasure of God. Ue it done unto me according to His will. For my own part, I would pi-efer to die, and for my soul to fly to Him at once ; but I accept all at His hands, be it life or be it death." " Life, then, it is to be," replied St. Alexis ; " for He chooses that thou shouldest remain in tho world to glorify His name." With tJiese words he spread his mantle over Francesca and disappeared, leaving her perfectly recovered. Confounaed at this extraordinary favour, more alive to the sense of God's wonderful mercy than to he.* own sudden freedom from pain, Francesca rose in haste, and prostrate on the floor, made a silent and fervent thanks- giving ; then slipping out of her room without awaking fier nui'ses, she hunied to the bedside of her friend iinii ■B^r. Putting her arm round her neck and lier cheek next to ber's, she exclaimed, " Vannozza cura ! Vannozzu mia !" (My dear Vannozza, my own Vannozza.) And the bewildered Vannozza suddenly awoke out oi her \i ■W§ ST. FRANCES OF KOMR. sleep, und distrusting the evidence of Iier senses, kept reiieating", " Who calls me? Who nre you? Am I dreaming-? It sounds like the voice of my Cecolella."* ** Yes, it is your Cecolella ; it is your little sister who is speaking- to you." " My Fi-ancesca, whom 1 left an hour agx) at the point of death ?" '' Yes, the very same Francesca who now holds you to her braast ; you, you, my beloved companion, who day and night have com- forted and consoled me during' my long illness, and who must now help me to thank God for His wonderful mercy." Then sitting upon her bed, with her hands clasped in her's, she related to her her vision, and the 'nstantaneous recovery that, had followed it ; and then, i& the light was beginning to break into the chamber, she added with eageniess, *' Now, now the day is come. Let us not delay a moment longer, but hasten with me to Santa Maria Nuova, and then to the chui*ch of St. Alexis. I must venerate his relics, and return him my thanks, before others leaiTi what God has done for me.^' This pious purpose fuliilled, they retiuTied home, where Francesca was looked upon as one risen from the dead. The affection she inspired was mingletl with awe; every one considei-ed her as the special object of the Divine mercy, and venerated her accordingly. Not so joyfully had Lorenzo received her on their bridal-day, as when she canu; to him now, restoi-ed to his arms by \he miraculous interposition of a merciful God. CHAPTER IIJ. r&ANCOCA PROCBKDS IN HRR MORTIFICATIONS AND WORKS OP CHA- BITT — UKR SUPBRNATURAL TEMPTATIONS AND CONSOLATIONS. Not in vain had Fi-ancesca l)een brought so near to death, and so wonderiully restored to perfect health. A favour such as she had received coultl not fail of pro> * The Italian diminutive for Francesca. "• CIT. III.] ST. PRANCES OP HOME. 10 ducing' signal results in one who so well coiresponded with every degree of grace vouchsafed to her. Tliis last manifestation of Goearance of a pi-ecipice which he has skirted in the nit'oj)lo looked upon Francesca and Vannozza as two saints; mid tlieir example beg^n to tell beneficially upon the woiiH-n of their own class. Several noble ladies were inspired with the desire to walk in their steps, and to imitate their virtues. But it was not likely that Siitan should behold unmoved the work of grace thus advancing" in the hearts of these two 3'oung' servunt^" of God, and throug-h them on many otliere. He cliateu at the sight; and now bejnin that long* series of attacks, of strug-ghv**, and of artifices, by which ho endeavoured to mar the gflorious progress of these heroic souls. Almig-hty Cuh{ seems to have granted to the prince of darkness, m San Francesca's case, a permission in some respocts similar to that which He giive him with reg-ard to His servanr Job. He was allowed to throw temptations in her way, to cause her strang-e sufferingfs, to pei-socute her l>y fearful manifestations of his visible presence, to haunt her under various shapes, some seductive in their aj)- Cearance, othera rejnilsive and terrific in their iiufure; ut he was not pei-mitted (as, thanks be to (lod, he never is permitted,) to deceive or to injure liis faithhd OQ ST. FRANCES OF ROUE. servant, who for every trial of the sort ohUined Ect s divine favour in compensation ; who for every vision of diabohcal hoiTor, was allowed a ^lim|)S6 into the woihi of glory ; and to whom at a later period was up(X)inted a heavenly guardian to defend her against the violence of her infernal foe. The first time that Satan presented himself in ^t visihle form to Francesca's sight, ii'yd gave her tii earnest of His )>rotection in the strife ahout to be waged between her and the old serpent, by miraculously re- vealing to her the character of her visitor. It was under the asj)ect of a venerable hermit, emaciated witli fasts and watchings, that he entered the Pon?.iano ])alace : his intention was, by some artful words, to in- spire Fnincesca with aversion and disgust for the soli- tary life, aud at the same time for that hidden life which she so zealously practised in the midst of the world. He was shown into a large room, whert* the assembled family were sitting and convei'sin^^' toj.^ether. No sooner had I'Vuncesca set her eyes upjn him, thjin she was sujiernatui-ally enlightened as to .hi."^ true cha- racter ; she knew at once the di'eadful eneio} , thus for the first time made manifest to her sight; aad. sud- denly clianging Ci>l()ur; she rose and I'.'ft the rocm. Vun- nozza followed (alai*med at her hasty departure ), and found her in the or?}tory kneeling hefom the Crucifix, and as pale as death. Su"" inquired info the cause of her emotion ; but FrnJ^cf c simply desired her to return to the sitting room, L'.wI r ^aest Lorenzo to disiuiss the hermit. As soon as iie was departed, she re-appeai-ed amongst them as serene and calm as usual ; anu to no one but to her confessor did 8he mention the circum- stance. Yet it was a most awfiil moment, that first initiation into the supernatural world, that first contact with the powers of darkness, that o|)ening of the visible war between her and the great enemy. No wonder that she wfis habitually silent ; her soul must have lived in very close communion with the mvisibh' world, and the presence of God must have been realised in au extitiur" I Cll. HI.] 91 . FRANCES OF ROME. 13,1 dinary dearee by one whose spiritual discerament \sm 80 miraculously keen. A more oi-dinary snare was the tempter's next re- source, and he chose as his instniment a person of piety and virtue, but whose human fears and affections were too strong" for her faith. He suggested to Cecilia, the mother-in-law of the two saints, who was most fondly aH ached to them, and maternally solicitous about their healths, that the ascetic life wliich they led must neces- sarily impair it; that amusements were essential to young persons; and that the singuhu-ity of their con- duct reflected discredit on the family. Under this im- pi*ession, she strove by every means in her jwwer to counteract their designs, to thwart them in their devo- tional and charitable practices, and to indL< e them to give up more of their time and of tiieir attention to the world. She thus gave them occasion to practise a very ]>eculiar kind of patience, nnd to g:\in the more merit in the eyes of Gotl, in that they hud ;?i, ded into pptung a restraint on their actions. Si?f e s fev lunl come into tlit; fiiuiilv, and united their pious ' f!bjts for their own and othei-s' spiritual improve- ment, disputc'ii and quoi-rels hud given way to the most CH. IIl.J ST. FRANCES OF ROME. 25 edifying" concord. The servnnts, moved by their ex- ani])le, performed their duties witli exeniplury zesil, fie- fjuented the churches and tiie saeranienti*, antl abstained h-om profane or idle words. They accord ingfly entrejited their mother to give up her fruitless attempts, and allow the two young women liberty to follow the rule of lifQ they bad adopted ; and thus put an end to the kindly meant but trying i)ersecution they had gone through. Aoout this time the devil, thwarted in his design", but always on the watch, was jHirmitted to vent LiS auger against Francesca and her sister-in-lnw in a way to which he often had recouree, and which, while it seemed to display a momentary power over their bodies, only proved in the end that a stronger one than ho was always at hand to defeat his malice, and snatch from him his prize. Fmncesca and Vanuozza hnd gone to St. Peter's on an intensely hot day in Jtdy, in the vcur 1399. Absorbed in nmver, thev had hardly noticed the lapse of time, and twelve o'clock had struck when they set out on their way home. In order to avoid observation, and the marks of veneration which the |)eople lavisheil ujwn them as soon as they set eyes on the two saints (as they always called them), thev chose the most unfrequented streets they could find. The heat grew intolenible. The sultry air seemed on fire, and not a broath stirred it. Exhausted with fatigue, their mouths parched with thii-st, they reached the church of St. Leonardo; and holding ench other's hands, approached the brink of the river, in order to cool their biuiiing lips and throb1)ing heads with a little water. As they bent over the stream for that purpose, a violent blow fj-om an invisible arm was ainiril at Fi-ancesca, and hurled her into the Tiber. Vannozza fell \\ ith her ; and, cIusimhI in each other's arnis, they were itipidly cairietl away by the current, antl saw no means of escape. " They were lovely in their lives, and in their deaths they were not divided," might well have been said of them, had the watery grave, which seemed J! i ! ;l SO 8T. FRANCES OF ROME. inovit4ible, swuHowed up on that day tlie two briiles of the I'onziuni. liut it was not the will of Clod that tliey should fK>rish. Human aid was not at liand ; the Ktieam was rapid, the current deep, and the eddies curled around them ; but they cu11iblo presence only, as in the case of all (Jhristians, but, by a mre privileg^e of g-i-ace, in a visible form, ever manifest to her s))iritual sight, now begtm to reveal himself to her by the most watchful observance of her conduct. At all times and in all places, by day and by nig-lit, her slig'htcst faults were noticed an^ punished by this still invisible, but now evidently pm- sent monitor. At tlie least imperfection in her conduct, before she had time to accuse and to condemn herself, she felt the blow of a mysterious hand, the warning" of an ever-attentive g-uardian ; and the sound of that mys- tical chastisement was audible to others also. Great was the astonishment of those who could thus discern something" of God's dealings with this chosen soul. Once, when slie liad abstained throug-h human respect from inteiTuptinp the coui-se of a very frivolous and useless conversation, the warning* was inflicted with such seventy that she bore the muk of the blow for Beveinl succeeding" day^. Such a i-apid advance in holiness, sucli new and ever- increasing* virtues, were the results of this supernatnial tuition, tijat Satan now attemi>ted to seduce her by the wiliest of his avvifices, the nuu«;t«r-piece of his art, his favounte sin, — " the pride tliat apes humility." So many miiiicles wroug-ht in her favour, such strange re- vehitions of (lod's peculiar love for her soul, awak^'iied in Fi'ancesca's mind, or rather the devil suggested td CH. III.] ST. FRANCES OP ROME. 27 hor the tlioug-lit, that it might be bfttt«r to conrcml them Innn her director, or at h'ast to acriuaint him with only a j)ortion of the W()n(h!rs tliut were wroiiy^lit in her be- Imlt"; and accordiiig-Iy, tiie next time she went to con- fession she refraineil fi'om mentioning the signal gmce which had been vouchsafed to aer. At the very msiant she was thrown prostrate on the ground, and recognised tiie hand of her heavenly monitor in the blow which thus warned her of the grievous error into which she was falling. In that short moment she had time to ])erceive and acknowledge it ; and with intense contri- tion she confessed to her director the false humility which had beguiled her into a dangerous reserve, with jMM'fect o[)enness revealed to him tlio whole of Goil'a ))ast and [)resent dealings with her soul, and ex|)lain(>(l the nohility of the Ettirual City uiiil deliig'eil her streets with blooil. Lorenzo Ponziuno, from his rank and his crent |k>s- sessions, os well as from his fidelity to the Church und the St)vereijrn Pontiff, wcs 08|)eciufly markeear; ond offei-ed uj) her every little act of devotion in its b<>half, with the hojH} of drawing down the Divine blesning on its future existence. In the same year she was happily delivered of a son, who was immediately btiptisetl in the church of Santa Cecilia in Trastevere, onose tiiat no impressions can be given or received. Are we not [)erhaps in cri-or on that jioint? As nmch that we read and apparently forget leaves notwithstanding a certain deposit in ouf miuds^ which coim» into phiy wliou cuUud forth by «»• \>, -> IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1 1.0 1.1 m m ut fSi 12.2 IS 1^ |2.0 iy& |I.25|U,,.6 ""• ': .4 6" ► /2 7 ^ ^^> ^j^ ^.^* ■^ '/ # Photographic Sciences Corporation '^ <^ 4^ 23 WEST MA STREfT WEBSTM.N.Y. 14SM (716) •72-4503 4P> SO ST. FRANCES OF ROME. sociation, so, may not certain sights, sounds, and words, not understood at the time, impart a certain colour, stamp certain imag-es on the mind of an infant, which, however dim and confused, deepen and grow with it as it expands? There have been curious psycholoo;ical in- stances of names, of languages, of dormant recollections, reawakening as it were under a peculiar condition of the nervous system, and which could only be traced to im- pressions received in the earliest stages of existence. Francesca, in obedience to her director, as well as cnided by her own sense of duty, modified for the time being her usual mode of hfe, and occupied herself with the care of her child in preference to all other observ- ances of charity or of devotion. She did not complain or regret that she had to give up her habitual religious exercises, in order to tend and to nurse the little crea- ture whom she looked upon as the gift of God, and whose careful training the best offering she could make in return. The joy which she had felt in her infant's birth was marred by the death of her father, who, when his grandson was placed in his arms, exclaimed in the words of St. Simeon, " Lo^d, now lettest Thou thy servant depart in peace ;" and the words seem to have been prophetic, for he died almost immediately after- wards, and was buried in the vaults of Santa Agnese, in the Piazza Nuova. At a later period, when that church was reconstructed, his remains were transported to the cloistera of Tor Di Specchi, Wiiere the simple in- scription, " Here lies Paul Bussa," remains to this day. Francesca, in pursuance of her desire, not only to ex- clude evil, but to infuse good dispositions at the earliest possible period into her baby*s soul, lost no opportunity of imparting to him the first notions of religion. Before he could speak, she used to repeat to him every day the Lord's Prayer and the Hail Mary, clasp his little hands together, and direct his eyes to heaven, and to the images of Jesus f . jd Maiy, whose names were of course the first words he learned to utter. She checked in him by grave looks, and slight punishments fitted to hu CH. fV.J ST. FRANCES OF ROME 31 Rg-e, every ebullition of self-will, obstinacy, and anger; and later, of deceit, envy, and immodesty. Thouffli she had the most tender mother's heart, she seldom indulg-ed in passionate caresses, and never lei't unehastised any of his faults, or gave way in any instance to his tears and impatience. When others objected that it was absurd to expect self-command iirom a ci-eature whose reason was not developed, she maintained that habits of self- control are to be acquired at the earliest age, and that the benefit thus obtained extends to the whole of life. The child thus trained lived to prove the wisdom of her views, and became in difficult times the support of his family and an honour to their name. About a year after the birth of Giovanni Baptista, Cecilia, Lorenzo's mother, died. Andi*eazzo JPonzi- ano, and both his sons, folly conscious of the prudence and virtue of Francesca, resolved to place her at tlie head of the house, and to commit to her alone the superintendence of their domestic alBTuirs and the whole management of the household. Dibh*e?>sed at the pro- posal, she pleaded her youth and inexperience, and urged that Vannozza, as the wife of the eldest brother, was as a matter of course entitled to that position. Van- nozza, however, pleaded with such eagerness that it was her most anxious desire not to occupy it, and that all she wished was to be Francesca's disciple and compa- nion, that, overcome by the general importunity, she found hereelf obliged to comply. Now it was that her merit shone conspicuously. Placed at the head of the most opulent house in Rome, no symptom of pride, of haughtiness, or of self-complacency, ever revealed itself m her looks or in her actions. She was never heard to speak a harsh or impatient word. Fii*m in requiring flora every pei'son in her house the proper fulfilment ot their duties, she did it in the gentlest manner. Always courteous to her servants, she urged them to serve God with diligence, and watched over their souls redeemed by His pi-ecious blood. Her address was so winning and persuasive, that it seldom failed of its effect. She 1 i I 32 ST. FRANCES OF ROME. contrived to arrange the hours of their labour with so much order and skill, that each had sufficient leisure to hear Mass, to attend the parochial instructions on Sun- days and holidays, to frequent the Sacraments, and join every day in familv pi-ayer, — ftilfilling the whole of a Chiistian's duty. If oy any chance (and it was a rare one in a house thus governed) a quarrel arose between any of the servants, she was always ready to come foj*- ward, appease angry passions, and reconcile differences. If, in so doing, slio had occasion to speak with what she considered undue severity to one oi the parties, she would immediately apologise with teai-s, and in the humblest manner entreat forgiveness. This extreme sweetness of disposition, however, did not degenemte into weakness; and she could testify the utmost displea- and reproved wi^h energy when offences sure. were committed agamst God. It was intolerable to her that His Divine Majesty should be insulted in her abode ; and she, the gentlest and most unassuming of women, could display on such occasions the greatest fiimness. One diay, it is recorded, several gentlemen had been dining with Lorenzo; and one of them after dinner drew fi'om his pocket a book wliich contained a treatise on magic. Loi-enzo took it up, and was examining it with some curiosity, when his wife stole noiselessly behind him, took it out of his hands, and threw it into the fire. Nettled by this proceeding, her husband reproachec! her in rather bitter terms for her incivility to their guest ; but she, who was habitually submissive to his least word, only replied thpt she could not regret the destmc- tion of what might have proved to many an occasion of sin. She inexorably consi^ed to the ilames in the same manner every bad book that came in her way. Her tender charity was evinced when any of the in- mates of the palr.co were ill. She was then the affection- ate niu^e of the sufferei-s, and spent whole nights by their bedside. Nothing ever discouraged or weaned her; the lowest servant in the house was attended to, as if she haj m- Dion- tlieir the hud CH. IV.] 8T. FBANCES OF BOME. t$ been her own mother or sister. More anxious still for their soul's health than their body's, she was known to go out hei-self alone at night in search of a priest when a sudden case of danger had occurred beneath her roof. Her charity was in one instance miraculously rewarded by a direct interposition of Providence, in a matter ap- parently trifling, but on which, humanly speaking, her dear sister Vannozza's existence seemed to tm-n. She was dangerously ill, and had been for days unable to swallow any food ; the very sight of it caused lier in- tolerable nausea ; and from sheer exhaustion her life was reduced to so low an ebb, that the worst was apprehended. On Francesca's inquiiing if she could think of any thing which she could imagine it ])Ossible to eat, she named a ceitain fish, which was not in season at that time, 'i'he mai-kets were scoured by the servants, but naturally in vain, and thev returned empty-handed to the dejected Francesca, who, kneelinof by the bedside of lier h-iend, betook hei-self, with arduous faith and childlike sim- plicity, to prayer. When she raised her liead, the much-wished-for article of food was lying before her ; and the fii'st morael of it thatVannozza eat restoi-ed her to health. She had been about a year at the head of her father-in-law's house, when Home fell under the double sconrge of famine and pestilence. The Ponziani w'fere immensely rich, and their palace fuiiiished with every kind of previsions. Fraijcesca forbade her servants to send away a single poor pei*son without relieving their wants; and not content with this, she sought them out hei-self, invited them to come to her, and made them continual presents of com, wine, oil, and clothing. She exhoi-ted them to bear their sufferings with patience, to retui-n to God and to their religious duties, and to stiive by fervent prayer to a[)pease the Divine wrath, provoked by the crimes of mankind. Vannozza and her- self were indefatig-able in theu* visits to the hospitals and the out-of-the-way cornel's of the city. Andreazzo Ponziano, a good man, but not a saint^ 34 8T. FRANCES OF ROME. ^^ alarmed at the excessive liberality of his daughter- in-law, and feai'ed that it would end in jjiuducipg* a famine in his own house. He began by prudently withdmwing from their hands the key of the granary ; and then, for greater security, afraid perhaps of yielding to their entreaties, which he was not accustomed to resist, he took to selling whatever com he possessed beyond what was required for the daily consumption of the family. Nothing, therefore, remained in the corn-loft but a huge heap of straw. The provident old man fol- lowed the same plan with his cellar, and sold all the wine it contained, with the exception of one cask, which was reserved for his own and his children's use. Meanwhile the scarcity x^ent on increasing every day, and the number of starving Wretches in proi^i-tion. Francesca, unable to meet their demands, ana still more incapable of leaving them to perish, braved at last all false shame and repugnance, and resolved with Yannozza to go into the streets and beg for the poor. Then were seen those two noble and iovely women standing at the doora of the churches, knocking at the gat«s of the palace, following the rich in the public places, pleading with tears the ca'ise of the sufferers, gladly I'eceiving the abundant alms that were sometimes be- stowed upon them, and not less gladly the sneers, the repulses, the insulting words that often fell to thf.ir share in these pilgrimages of mercy. At last ohe famine reached its height. At every side, — on the pavement, in the comere of the streets, — ^were lying crowds of persons, barely clothed with a few tattered rags, haggard with hunger, wasted with fever, and culling upon death to end their suffeiings. It was a grievous, a homble sight, — one that well-nia:h broke the heai't of onr saint. The meanings of the dying were in her eara; the expression of their ghastly faces haunted her day and night. She would have gladly shed her blood for them, and fed them with her life. A sudden inspiration came over her one day: "Come to, the com-lofty" she exclaimed, turning to Yannozza, !■• en. IV.] ST. FRANCES OF ROME. 35 and to Clara, a favourite and pious servant of theirs ; " Come with me to the eom-lott ; let us see if amonp^t the straw we may not succeed in finding* a few grains of com for the poor." And on their knees for several hours those patient, loving" women sifted the straw, and by dint of labour collected about a measui* of com, which they were bearings away in trium[)h, when the God who caused the widow's oil not to fail, and made her baiTel of meal last throug-h a scarcely more g-rievous famine, was preparing* their reward. Lorenzo had entered the granary just as they were cjuTying" off their hard-eamed treasure, and, looking about him, beheld in place of the straw which was lying" there a moment before, 40 measures of bi-ig-ht yellow com, so shining and so full, says Francesca's earliest bio- grapher, that it seemed as though it had been raise«l in Paradise, and i*eaped there by angels. In silent astonishment he pointed out to them the miraculous supply, and must have felt in that hour what such vii-tue as his wife's and his sister's could even in this world win of mercy at God's hands. But com was not enougfb ; the sick wanted wine. They came, poor Eallid ghosts, just risen from their beds of sufferinop, to eg" it of Francesca; aged men and delicate children, mothei-s with infants at their breasts, poor worn-out priests sinking with exhaustion, and yet willing to assist others, they had recourse to her lor a little wine to strengthen them in their works of mercy, and she had no wine to give, save out of the single cask iu tho cellar. She gave it, nevertheless ; and day after day drew from it, till not a drop was left. Andreazzo, pro- voked, waxed very wroth; he had never before been angry with Francesca, but now he stonned and raved at her; he had been to the cellar to see the wine drawn for that dav's uf»e, and not a di"op was in the cask. " Charity indeed !" he exclaimed, " charity begins at home; a pretty sort of virtue this, which, under the pre- text of assL^tinp^ strangers, introduces penuiy and priva- tion into the midst of a pwson's own tamily.'' M ST. FRANCES OF ROME. Hd vented his anger in bitter reproaches j Lorenzo and Paluzzo were also inclined to take his part, and joined in severely blaming" Francesca. She the while, with a gentle voice and quiet manner, breathing most probably a secret prayer to her who at the marriage- least of Cana turned to her Son and said, " They have no wine," doubtless with an inward assurance that God would befiiend her in an extraordinary, but not to her an unprecedented manner, thus addressed them : "Do not be angry; let us go to the cellar; may be, through God's mercy, that the cask may be liul by this time." They followed her with an involun- tary submission; and on reaching the spot, saw her turn the cock of the barrel, out of which there instantly flowed the most exquisite wine, which Andreazzo ac- knowledged to be superior to any he had ever tasted. The venerable old man turned to his daughter-in-law, and, with tears in his eyes, exclaimed, " Oh, my dear child^ dispose henceforward of every thing I possess, and r "'ply without end those alms that have gained you Ka"our in God's sight." The report of this i . ade spread far and wide; and, in spite of her humility, Fmncesca did not object to its being divulged, as it testified to the Divine virtue of almsgiving, and encouraged the rich to increase their liberality, and minister more abimdantly to the suffering members of Christ. A kind of religious awe seems to have taken pos- session of Lorenzo's mind, at the sight of so many won- ders wrought in his house. The great esteem in which he had always held his wife, now took the form of a profound veneration. He recommended her to follow in every respect the divine inspirations she received, and left her entirely fi-ee to order her life and dispose of her time in any way she thought fit. Francesca, aftei' consulting with her dii'ector, took advantage of this permission to execute what had been her long-cherished desire. Selling all her rich dresses, her jewels, and her ornaments, she distributed the mone^ CH. v.] ST. FRANCES OF ROME. 37 Amongst a number of poor families, and from that time forward never wore herself any other g-own than one of coarse dark-o^-een cloth. Her mortifications became so continual and severe, her fjists so rig-id, that it is difficult to conceive how her healtii could have sustained them without miraculous sujiport, or how she can have found time for all her duties, and the incredible number of good works which she daily performed. When we consider that she was unremitting* in her attention to lier children, that she was never known to neg-lect the dilig-ent superintendence of household aifaii-s, that she repeatedly visited the hospitals and the poor sick in their houses, that moraing* and evening- she went to the churches where indulgences were to be gained, recited numerous vocal pmyers, often "spent hours in contem- plation, and in the garden oratory, where with Van- nozza, Clara, and Rita Celli, a devout young persou who was admitted into their intimacy, she i-eiid spiritual books or conversed on religious subjects, — c»ur admii-a- tion is quickened; for that zeal and strong will could work wonders all but incomprehensible to those who have not put their shoulder to the wheel in good earnest, or learat to appreciate the priceless value of eveiy minute of this short life. CHAPTER V. TBB BIRTH OF FRANCESCa's SECOND SON— HIS SUPERNATURAL GIFTS — THE BIRTH OF HER DAUGHTER — SATANIC ATTACKS UPON TRANCESCA — TROUBLES OF ROME — FRANCRSCA'S HUSBAND IS SEVERRLT WOUNDED — HER ELDEST SON, WHEN GIVEN UP AS A HOSTAGE TO TUB NEAPOLITANS, IS MIRACULOUSLY RESTORED TO HER. Fhancesca had just attained the age of twenty when her second son was boi-n. He was baptised on the day of his birth, ^4 received the name of Giovanni Evan- ST. FRANCES OF ROMV. t i gelista. The contemporary biographer, some of wlioso saying's liave been already quoteu, mentions of tliis ciiild that he was endowed with wonderful gifts of grace, and that the love of God was manifested in liim even before he could speak. In his quaint language he thus describes him : '^ Evann^elista was old in sense, small in body, great in souT, resplendent in beauty, angel-Iike in all his ways." He might well have been termed, in familiar language, his mother's own child ; for in his veriest infancy his only pleasure was to be carried into churches, or to g^ive alms to the needy, especially to the poor religious, for whom he had a special predilection. Francesca's delight in this lovely little infant was indescribable. He was to her as one of God's own angels, and tears of joy filled her eyes as she mused on the extraordinary siffns of grace which he daily evinced. Supernatural had been the mother's virtues, supernatural were the qualities of the child ; at the age of three years old he was encjpwed with the gift of prophecy, and the faculty of reading* the un- uttered thoughts of men's hearts. Singular instances of this power are on record. JTe was in his mother's arms one day, when two mendi- cant friains approached the Ponziaiiu Palace. Instantly stretching out his little hands, Evangelista took fi'om Francesca the alms she was wont to bestow on such visitors, and held it out to them ; but at the same time looking steadfastly at one of the monks, he said to him, "Why will you put off this holy habit? you will wear a finer one; but woe to you who forget your vow of poverty." The fi'iar coloured and turned away; but it was soon evident that the words were ppjphetic, for within a short time, and after obtaining l bishopric through a simoniacal act, the unhappy man died a violent death. That same year, Evangelista was in his parent's room one day ; and his father taking him up on his knees, was playing with him, and devouring him with kisses. In the midst of his spoii;, the child tmned suddenly Il CH. v.] ST. FRANCES OF ROM'?. no pale, and laying' hold of a dagger which had heen loft on the table, he placed the point of it against Lnrenzo*s Fide, and said to him, as he looked up into Iiis face \\ ith a strang-e melancholy smile, " Thus will they do to you, my father." And it so happened that at the time of the invasion of Home by the troops of Ladislas Durazzo, the lord of Ponziano was dangerously wounded in the exact place and manner which liis little son had pointed out. Evangelista was not quite three years old when his little sister Agnese was bora, who in beauty, heavenly s^veetness of temj)er, and precocious piety, proved the exact counterpart of her brother. Soon after her con- finement, Francesca had a vision which impressed her with the belief ^hat God would one day claim this child as His own. 8he saw a dove of dazzling whiteness, bearing in its beak a tiny lighted taper, enter the room ; and after making tw; or three circles in the air, it stooped over Agnese's cradle, touched her brow and limbs with the taper, gently fluttered its wings, and flew away. Looking upon tms as a sign that the little maiden would oe called to the monastic life, she brought her up as a precious deposit only lent her for a time, and to be delivered up at no distant period. With even stricter care than she had used with her brother, if that were possible, she watched over the little girl ; never leaving her for a single moment, and performing towards her the oflices of a sei-vant as well as of a mother. She kept her in complete retirement, never taking her out of doors except to church ; teach- ing her to love Jesus supremely — Ijetter even than her parents — and entertaining her with descriptions of that dear Saviour's adorable perfections. She encom*aged her to observe silence, to work w^ith her hands at stated times, and taught her to read in the lives of the saints of holy virgins and maityre. Agnese's character and turn of mind answered precisely to her mother's wishes; and tlie perfection of her conduct was such^ that sho 40 ST. FRANCES OP ROMB. was generally designated by all who knew her as the little saint or the little ung^el. The years of Evanfjelistu's and Agnese's infancy had been most disastrous ones to the uniiappy iniml)itants of Home. The factions which had oi-isen in consenuence of the schism, and of the intrijjues of Ladislas of Naples, had banished all security, anil conveited the town into a field of battle, where bloody conflicts were daily tak- ing* place. The principles of union seemed banished from the world. The nations and sovereigns of Euro[»e, given up to the most selfish policy, ceased to acknow- ledg^e tne chief pastor of the Church ; and the Etemnl City, beyond any other place, had become an arena for ferocious strug-gles and sanguinary conspiracies. The year 1400 brought with it a momentary semblance of j)eace, and Francesca and Vannozza availed themselves of that breathing-time to revisit some of the distant churches, and attend the Italians as before. They used to walk to them on foot at the earliest break of day, accompanied by Rita Celli, the yovmg person alreany mentioned, anu Lucia degli Aspalli, a devout married woman nearly related to the Ponziano family. They repeated psalms and litanies on their way, or spent the time in pious meditation, and remained some hours in pi-aj-^er before the altara which they visited in turn, — taking care to be at home again by the time that their presence was reauired. In that troubled epoch the voice of the preacher was seldom heard ; sermons, how- ever, were occasionally delivered by the Franciscans and the Dominicans in the churches of Ara Cceli and Santa Maria sopra Minerva; and at these our saints never failed to assist.* Their spiritual guide had given them leave to go to communion several times a week. This was a privilege seldom granted and seldom sought for in those distracted times. The blessed practice of daily communion, which universally prevailed amongst the early Christians, — that practice which turns earth ifitQ heaven, and converts t}ie land of exile into a paiu- ^ II Cll. v.] ST. FRANCES OF ROME. 41 dise of pence and joy, — was nil l)ut entirely neg-lected, or only kept up in some few cloistei s. The two sistei-s linhitually communicated in the chun-h of Santa Cecilia, the nearest to their house. One of the priests of that parish was scandalised at the frequency of their com- munions, and persuaded himself that it was incredihle that young" women of their ng;e, and in such a j/osition of life, could |)ossibly be in jiossession of the requisite dispositions. This .unhappy man ventui-ed one day to give Fmncesca an unconseci-ated wafer ; God instantly revealed to tue saint the sin of the priest, and she in- foraied her director of the fact. Don Antonio disclosed to the astonished offender the secret which had been confined to his own breast. He confessed his fault with the deepest contrition, implored God's pardon, asked forgiveness of the saint, and received the numiliation as a warning agiiinst rush judg-ments. The warfare which Satan was permitted to carry on against Francesca became more and more violent at this period of her life. In actual outi-ag-es, in terrific visions, in mystical but real sufferings, which afflicted every sense and toitmed every nerve, the animosity of the evil spirit evinced itself; and Almig-hty God jwr- mitted it, for she was of those chosen throug-h much tribulation to ascend the steep path which is paved with thorns and com[)assed with darkness, but on which the ray of an iineai-thly sunshine bi-eaks at times. She was to pai'take of the miraculous g^fts of the saints; to win men's souls through prayer, to read the secrets of their heaits, to see ang-els walking by her side, to heal diseases by the touch of her hands, and hold the devils at bay, when they thought to injure the bodies of othera or wage war with her own spirit. But such heights of glory are not gained without proportionate sufreiing ; the cup of which Jesus drank to the dregs in His a^-ony she was to drink of, the baptism of honor with wluch He was baptised was ta be her's also in a measure; and that mysterious weakness, that divine lielplessness of His, which allowed Satan to cany Him, «► «3 ST. FRANCES OF ROME. the Loixi of all, to the pinnacle of the temple or the hi-ow of the mountain, was not imsharecl by His servant. Strang-e and hewilderinff wel*e tlie assaults she endured, but still more wondeHul the defeats of the evil one. Of her tnumph, as of those of her Lord, it may be said, " that when the devil left her, then ang-els came ar.d ministered unto her." Sti-ange, thai those who believe the history of Jesus should turn incredulously away from that c^ His saints ; for did He not expressly say, that what He suffered, they should' suffer ; that where He had overcome, they would triumph ; and that the works that He peifoiTaed, aye and gi-eater works still, they should accomplish ? On one occasion, when on the point of setting- out for the Basilica of St. Peter's, Vannozza was violently precipitated down the staii*s of the palace bj the power of the evil spirit, and fell at her sister's feet, who at that instant heard a voice whispeiing in her ear, " I would kill thy sister, and drive thee to despair;" but at the same moment an inward revelation bade Fran- cesca raise up the prostrate form of her friend, and apply to her bruised limbs an ointment which instantly relieved the pains of her fall. Another time our saint was lifted up by the hair of her head, and susj)ended over a precipice for the space of some minutes j with perfect calmness she called upon Jesus, and in a mo- ment found hei'self in safety within her i-oom. Her fii-st act was to cut off her beautiful hair, and offer it up as a thank-offering" to Him who had saved hor from the hands of the inferaal enemy. These are only speci- mens of the trials of this natura to which Francesca was more or less subjected all lier life, but to which it will not be necessai'y again to make moi-e than casual allusion. In the year 1409, when she was about twenty-seven {real's old, ner temporal calamities began. Ai'ter Ladis- as of Naples, befriended by the enemies of the Po[)e, oad in 1408 gained possession of Rome ))y fi-audulent ueans, >te left behind him as governor of the city the CH. T.] 9T. PRANCES OF ROME. Count Pietro Traja, a rough and brutal soldier, well fitted to sei-ve the fierce passions of his master. He was continually looking* out for occasions to pereecuto those Roman nobles who remained faithful to the cause of the Church. He was abetted in this by the fac- tion of the Colonnas, and some other poweiiul families, who supported the pretensions of the anti-Popes Gre- gory XII. and Benedict XIII. agninst the legitimate gmtiff Alexander V., recently elected by the Council of isa. The troops of Lewis of Anjou, the rival of Ladis- lafl in the kingdom of Naples, had in tliP mean time entered that portion of Rome which went by the name of the Leonine City, and gained possession of the Vati- can and the castle of St. Angelo. Several skii-mishes took place between the fences of the usurper and the troops of the Pope and of Lewis of Anjou. Lorenzo Pon- ziano, who from his birth and his talents was the most eminent man of his party, and an ardent supporter of the legitimate cause, commanded the pontifical ai-my on one of these occasions, and was pei'sonally engaged in a conflict with the Count of Traia's soldiei-s. In the midst of the fi*ay he was recognised by the opposite v>arty, and became the special mark of their attacks. Fighting with heroic courage, he had nearly succeeded in dispersing his assailants, when, as Evangelista had foretold the year before, a dagger w^as treacherously thrust into his side, and inflicted so deep a wound tliat he fell to the ground, rnd was taken up for dead. The ten-ible news was earned to the Ponziano palace, and announced to Francesca. The anguish that her coun- tenance revealed filled the bystandei-s with compassion ; but it was only for an instant that she stood as if trans- fixed and oveiwhelmed with grief. Repressing by a strong effort her bureting sobs ana the cnes that wero brepking from her heart, she soon raised her eyes to heaven witli a steadfast gaze, forgave the assassin, oflered up Lorenzo's life and her own, ana murmured the woi-ds of Jjb, " The Lord had given him, the Lord has taken liim away; blessed be th« M ST. FRANCES OF ROME. name of the Loixl." Then, calm, composed, bracea fot endurance, she courag-eously advanced to meet the slow approach of those who wei-e bring^ing- back to his home the body of her mui-dei-ed husband. As they laid him in the hall of the palace, she knelt by his side, and put- ting- her face close to his, she discerned in the apparently lifeless form the faint symptoms of lingering* vitidity. The sudden revulsion of hope did not overcome her presence of mind. She instantly dcsu*ed those about her to send for a priest and for a doctor ; and then, bending over Lorenzo, she suggested to him, in words which found their way to the imderetanding of the dying" man, whateyer the most affectionate tenderness and the most jardent piety could devise at such a moment, — to pre- pare the soul for its last flight, pardon for his foec, and especially for his assassin, a firm trust in God, and the union of his sufferings with those of his Lord. The palace presented a scene of wild confusion. Armed men were moving to and fro ; the clash of urais was mingled with the gi*oans of the servants : the weep- ing and wailings of the women and of the children, vows of vengeance, curses deep and loud, frantic re- grets, were heaid on every side. Francesca alone was as an angel of peace, in the midst of the uproar of pas- sion and the outpoming of giief. Her's was tho keen- est son'ow of all ; but it was kept under by the sti-ength of a long-practised faith, and thus it intei-fered with no duty and staggered at no trial. Day and night she watched by Loi'enzo's couch. H^ expei-ience in nui>s- ing the sick, and in dressing wounds, enabled her to render him the most minute and efficacious assistance. Her watchful love, her tender assiduity, received its reward ; God gave her that life, far dearer to her than her own. Contraiy to all expectation, Lorenzo slowly recovered ; but for a long time remained in a precarious con'■ I 48 ST. FRANCES OF ROME. after the victory, Ladislas deceived the Holy Father by a pretended peace, ffained possession ofRome, and g^ave it up to pillagre. The horrors of this invasion, and of the sack that followed it, surpassed in ati-ocity almost nil those which had previously afflicted the capital of the Christian world. A number of palaces and houses were destroyed, the basilicas were despoiled of their treasures anH desecrated by the most abominable oi-gies, the churches turned into stables, and many of the faith- ful adherents of the Church subjected to the toi-tm-e or barbarously put to death. The Ponziani were amongst the principal of the Pope's supporters; and Lorenzo, scarcely recovered from his lonff illness, was pereuaded by his friends to with- draw himself by flight from the fury of the conqueror, and conceal himself in a distant province. It haa been impossible to remove his wife and children ; and Fran- cesca remained exposed to a succession of the most trying- disasters. The wealth of the family cliiefly con- sisted in their country possessions, and the immense number of cattle which were bred on those broad lands; and day after day intelligence was broug-ht to her that one farm-house or another was burnt or pillas-ed, the flocks dispersed or destroyed, and the shepherds mur- dered by a ruthless soldiery. Temfied peasants made their escape into the city, and scared the inhabitants of the palace with dreadful accounts of the death of their companions, and of the destmction of property which was continually going- on. A cry of despair i-ang from Mount Soracte to the Alban Hill, extended to the shores of the Mediterranean, and resounded in the palaces of Rome, carrying" dismay to the hearts of its ruined and broken-spirited nobles. Francesca received the tidings with an aching heart indeed ; for her compassion for the sufferings of others did not pennit her to remain unmoved amidst such dii-e misfortunes. Still she never lost her habitual composure ; lier only occupation was to console the mourners : her first im(>tilse on thes6 oiccftsiohs to bless God, and accept /.' ca. VI.] ST. FRANCES OF ROME. 49 at His hands all that His providence ordained. It was well that she was resigned, and had learned the lesson of courage at the foot of the Cross ; for, like a iiood at spring-tide, her afflictions wei-e increasing every day, threatening to overwhelm all landmarks hut those of an indomitahle faith. One fatal morning, a troop of savage ruffians, dinink with mge, and vociferating hiasphemies, broke into the palace, clamouring after Lorenzo, and threatening to torture the sen'ants if they did not in- stantly reveal his place of concealment; and ended ])y canying away Baptista, who clung in vain to Lis mother's neck, and was only parted fi-om her by force. When they had succeeded in tearing him away fi-om her arms, they proceeded to pillage, and all but to destrov, the time-honoured residence of the Ponziani. In tfie space of a few houi-s that goi^eous abode was turaed into a heap of i>uins. Bereft of her husband, of her son, and of all the conveniences of life, Francesca, with her two younger children, remained alone and unpro- tected; ioT her brother-in-law, Paluzzo, who might have been a support to her in that dreadful moment, was still a prisoner in the tyrant'** hands, and her inno- cent boy shai'ed the same fate. 1\> is not exactly known how long his captivity liLted; but it may be supposed that rreans were found of effecting his release, and sending him to Lorenzo; for iti^ mentioned that, at the period when the troubles were at an end, and peace re- stored to the city of Rome, the father and the son re- turned together. In the mean time, Francesca took shelter in a comer of her ruined habitation ; and there, with Evangelista and Agnese, she managed to live in the most complete seclusion. Thesf i two children were now their motner's only comfort, as their education was her principal occu- Eation. Evang jlista, iis he advanced in age, in no way elied the promise of his infancy. He lived in spirit with the angels and saints, and seemed more fittea for their society than for any earthly companionship. ** To be with God" was his only dream of bliss. Though ■ 50 ST. FRANCES OF ROME. 5 * 11 scarcely nine years old, he already helped his inothor in all the pains swe took with Agnese's education The hour for another sacrifice was, however, at hand. It was not long delayed. The second invasion of Rome had heen succeeded hy a dreadful famine, which was followed in its turn by a severe pestilence. Already one or two cases of the prevailing* epidemic had ap- peared in the Ponziano Palace, and then Evang-elista sickened with it j and one moi-ning" Francesca was told that the son of her love was dying". No sooner had he felt the first symptoms of the plngiie, than he asked for a confessor. He never doubted that his last hour was come ; and she believed it too. Don Antonio huri'ied to the bed-side of the boy, who, after he had made his confession, sent for his mother, and taking* her hand in his, addressed her in some such words as follow : "Mother mine, I have often told you that God would not leave me with yoa long" ; that He will have me dwell with His angels. Jesus is my treasure, my hope, and my joy. I have ever lived with Him in thought, in desire, in unutterable longings. Every day I have said ' Thy kingdom come ;' and now He calls me to it. There is a crown prepared for me, my beloved mother. The Lord is about to give it me, and we must part for awhile. But bless His name, oh my mother. Praise Him with me ; for He delivei-s me from all that your love dreaded for me upon earth. There is no sin, no sorrow, no sickness where I am going. No- thing but peace and Joy and the sight of God in that better land where the blessed are expecting me. I must not see you weep. I will not have you grieve. Rejoice with your child ; for I see them even now, my loly advocates, St. Anthony and St. Vauplerins. They are coming to fetch me away. Dearest mother, I will pray for you. Evangelista will love you in heaven as he has loved you on earth, and you will come to him there." The dying boy then remained silent for a few moments. Then a sudden light illumined his face ; his features seemed transformed. Raising his eyes with a jn. vi.\ ST. FPANCCS OF ROME* 61 look of rnpture, he exclaimed, " Here ore the angels come to take me away. Give me your blessing", my mother. Do not be afraid, I shall never forg-et vou. God bless you and my dear father, and all who belong- to this house. Blessed be the name of the Lord." Then crossing his little arms on his cbest, he bowed down his head, a last smile passed over his faoo — " she had her meed, that smile in death," and his young- spirit passed to tlie regions of endhss bliss. A touching" prodig"y, well adap*^(>d to cheer the heart of our saint, took place that very day in a house ad- joining her own. i. little girl, wlio had been dang-er- ously ill for a long" time, and had completely lost the power of speech, at the very moment that Francesca's son had expired suddenly raised herself in her bed, and exclaimed several times in a loud voice, and in a state of evident rapture, " See, see ! how beautiful ! Evan- gelista Ponziano is g'oing" up into heaven, and two ang"els with him !" The mortal remains of the young" boy were deposited in the family vault in the church of Santa Cecilia, in Trastevere. A monument was erected there with the simple inscription, " Here lies Evang'e- Ksta Ponziano ;" and a figure in stone, clothed in a long robe, was carved upon it. Francesca wept over the loss of her dearly-beloved child, but did not grieve for him. How could she have done so? He was in bliss; and had only preceded her to that heaven for which she was day by day preparing. Nor was it a time for the idle indulgence of sorrow. Want and sickness were tiuning Rome into a chanie!- house. Wild voices were screaming ff* bread on every side. The streets were encumbered by the victims of contagious disease ; their fi-antic cries and piteous mean- ings re-echoed in each piazza and undfir every portico. Old men were dying suiTounded by the corpses of their children; mothe's pressed to their milkiess bosoms- their starv.ng infants. Othere crept about bereft of all their family, and haunting like pale ghosts the scenes of their past happiness. No carnages shook the i': ( li' ST. PRANCES OP ROME. ptiblic ways. The g^ross grew in the deserted streets ; one mournful equipuufe alone slowly pursued its coui-se throug-h the doomed city, g'atherinw' as it passed the dead at every door ; and when the (Ireadful cargo was completed, bearing* it away * ^j crowded cemetery. The ruin of private propert . ie general penury occa- sioned by the cruelties of Ladislas, and the sacking* of Kome by his soldiers, had cut oif almost all the re- sources of private charity. Anxiety for self, and the fear of contagion, had worked so deeply on the mind of the multitude, that many persons abandoned even their near relatives and friends when they were attacked by the plague. Nothing but the charity which is of divine not of natural origin could meet sucn an emergency, or cope in any degree with the awfiil misery of those da vs. Francesca, bereaved of every thirg but her one little girl, and lodged with Vannozza and Rita in a comer of their dismantled house, had no longer at her command the resources she had formerly possessed for the relief of the poor. A little food from tlieir ruined estates was now and then supplied to these lonely women; and they scarcely partook of it themselves, in oi*der to bestow the greatest part on the sick and poor. There was a large liall in the lower part of the palace which had been less injured than any other portion c; the building. It was at least a place of shelter against the inclemencies of the weather. The sisters conve^-ted it into a temporary hospital ; but of the shattered fiirniture that lay scat- tered about the house, they contrived to make up beds and covering, and to pi-epare some clothing for the wretched creatures they were about to receive. When all was ready, they went in search of the sufferers. If they found any too weak to walk, they carried them into the new asylum ; there they washed and dressed their putrefying sores, and by means which saints have often employed, and which we could hardly bear even to think of, they conquered in themselves all repugnance to sights and employments against which the senses and the flesh rise in rebellion. They pi-epored both medicine and h Clf. VI.] ST. FRANCES OP ROME. US food ; watched the sick bv day and by night ; laboured incessantly for their bodies, and still more for their Boiils. Many were those who recovered health throug^h Fmncesca's care, and ?nany more who were healed of the worst disease of the soul, — a hardened impenitence under the just judgment of God. She had trie art of awakening their fears, without driving them to despair ; to make tnem look upon their sufferings as a means of expiation (that great secret of Catholic consolation), and bring them by degrees to repentance, to confession, to the practice of long-forgotten duties, and of those Christian virtues which her own example recommended to their hearts. The example which the ruined and bereaved wives of thePonziani had given kindled a similar spirit among the hitherto apathetic inhabitants of Rome. The magis- trates of the city, struck at the sight of such unparalleled exertions where the means were so slender, were roused from their inaction, and in several parts of the city, especially in the pai'ishes of St. Cecilia and of Santa Maria in Ti'astevere, hospitals and asylums were opened for the perishing multituaes. Often and 'jften Fi-ancesra and Vannozza saw the morning dawn, . nd not a bit of food of any description did they possess for themselves or for their inmates. They then went out to beg, as they had done before ; but not merely as an act of humility, nor dressed as heretofore as became their i-ank, or in those places only where their names secured re- spect, and generally a favourable answer; but in the garb of poverty, in the spots where beggars were wont to congregate and the nch to bestow alms, they took their stand, and gratefully received the broken bits that fell from the tables of the wealthy. Each remnant of food, each ra^ of clothing, they brought home with joy ; and the mouldiest piece of bread out of their bag was set aside for their own nourishment, while the best was bestowed on their guests. In our own time, in our own rich and luxurious lity, there is a couiiteri)art to these deeds of heroio 54 ST. FRANCES OF ROME. cliarity. There are yoiinff and well-educated women, wlio in their homes never Tacked tlie necessaries or tiie cointbrts, nay ]Ka-haps tlio luxuries of lite, who do the same; who receive into their abode the aged, tlie maimed, tiie crippled, and the deformed ; lodg'ing' them in tiieir best rooms, and th')mselves in cellars or {^aiTets ; tending' them as their servants, and feeding them as tlieir raotliei's ; begging for them from door to door the crumbs from the tables of the rich, and carrying along their basket, i-ejoicing when it is heavy, even though their arms ache and their cheeks gi'ow pale with the labour; like Francesca, feeding upon the remnants of tlie poor feast where the poor have sat before them. t rancesca was insulted in her career of mercy through the streets of Rome, when civil war and anarchy were raging there in the wildest epoch of lawless stnfe and fiercest passion ; and the gentle sisters of the poor, the servants of the helpless, who have abandoned home and friends and comforts, and, above all, respectdlnlityy that idol of the English mind, that wretched counteneit of vii-tue, for the love which they bear to Christ in His suffering membei's, have been insulted and beaten in the "-treets of London in the face of day, and only be- cause of the habit they wore, — the badge of no common vocation, — the nun's black dress, the liveiy of the poor. The parallel is consoling to them, perhaps also to us ; for is not Francesca now the chenshed saint of Rome, the pride and the love of every Roman heart? And mav not the day come when our patient, heroic nuns will be looked upon as one of God's best blessings, in a city where luxwy runs riot on the one hand, and star- vation and miseiy reign on the other ? Will not the eye follow them with love, and many rise up to call them blessed ? Their coiuf^e is like bet's ; may their end be the same ! The historians of our saint relate that on one of the occasions above alluded to, when her only resource w^as to bew- for her sick charges, she went to the Basilica of San Lorenzo without the walls, where was the station CII. VI.J ST. FRANCES OF HOME. tm of the (lay, and sotttftd liei-self nmonp;st the crowd of hog-g-ai-s who, nccordinj;^ to custom, w»'ro there assem- bled. From the risin*^ of the sun to the rinj^nng' of the ves|)er-bell, she sat there side by side with tlie hime, tlie deformed, and the bhnd. Slie }ield out h(>r hand a^ they did, g'ladly enduring*, not tiie sembhince, but the reality of that deep humiliation. When she had re- ceived enoug'h wherewith to feed the j)oor at home, she rose, ana making* a sign to her companions, entei-ed the old basilica, adored tlie Blessed Sacmment, and thtui walked back the long* and weary way, blessing God all the while, and rejoicing- that she was counted worthy to suffer for His (lear sake. Those who are well acquainted with Home, who Iiave frequented the stations and love the basilicas, and especially that venerable old pile of San Lorenzo, with its upper and lower chapel, its magnificent columns, its beautiful pulpit, its wide portico with half-effaced fres- coes, and its rare mosaics — those paintings in stone which time itself cannot destroy; those whose eyes have g*azed with delig'ht on the glorious \iew as they approached it, and whose ears are familiar with the sound of the mendicant's voice, to whom tl?e remem- bi-ance of Francesca's stoiy may have won, p3rchance, an additional dole, — can foi-m to themselves with ease a picture of the scene ; and when they visit it agnin in reality, may be tempted to look out for some saintly face, for some sweet, angel-like countenance, amongst the sordid and suffering groups before them, and won- der if ever again such charity as Fi-ancesca's will ani- mate a woman's heart. Not long* ago, for a few short years, in Francesca's city, there was one who bade fair to emulate the virtues of the dear saint of Rome ; but as she was rapidly treading" in her footsteps, and her name was becoming* every aav more dear to the people anibngst whom she dwelt, cteath snatched her away. Her memory remains, and the poor bless it even now. May God ^rant us such in our own land ! Saints are sorely needed in these busy, restless, money-loving 8T. FRANCES OF ROME. time^l of out's ; as much as, or more than, in the wild middle ag-es, or the troubled centuries that followed. Francesca possessed a small vineyard near the church of St. Paul without the walls ; and in that time of scarcity, when every little resource had to be turned to account for the purposes of charity, she used to go there and gather up into parcels and fag'gx)ts the long" ffrass and the dry branches of the vines. When she had collected a certain numt?^ of these packets, she laid them on an ass, and went through the town, stopping* at various poor dwellings to distribute the fruits of her labours. On one of these occasions her donkey stumbled and fell, and the wood which he was carrying rolled to a con- siderable distance. Francesca was looking about her in considerable embarrassment, not able to lift it up again, when a Roman nobleman, Paolo Lelli Petrucci, a friend of her husband's, chanced to pass by. Astonished at seeing her in such a predicament, he hastened to her assistance; and she received it with as much serenity and composure as if her occupation had been the most natural tiling in the world. By this time her virtues were destined to receive a wonderftil rewai-d, and God bestowed upon her the gift of healing to a miraculous degree. Many a sick person given over by the physicians was restored to health by the single touch of her hands, or the prayers which she offered up in their behalf. More than sixty of these cases wei-e well attested at the time of her canonisation. Francesca was profoundly sensible of the blessedness of this gift, and grateful for the power it afibrded her of relieving the suffering of others ; but at the same time her humility prompted her to conceal it as much as pos- sible. She endeavoured to do so by making* up an oint- ment composed of oil and wax, which she applied to the sick, v/hatever their disease might be, in the hope that their recovery would always be ascribed to its efficacy. But this holy subterfuge did not always succeed. The physicians analysed the ointment, ana declared that it possessed in itself no healing* qualities whatsoever. I TH. VI.] ST. FRANCES OP RUMB. m Oue day, upon entering" tlie Hospital of the Tras- tevere, Francesca found a poor mule-driver, who had just been carried in, his foot having- been crusiied by the fall of a scythe ; it was in such a lion'ible and hope- less condition, that the surgeons were about to am])u- tate the limb. Francesca, hearing the cries of the poor wretch, bent over him, exhorting him to patience; and promising" him a speedy relief, applied some of her oint- ment to his mangled foot. The wounds instantly closed, the pain vanished, and a short time after the mule- driver returned to his customary occupation. Some days afteiwards, the two sistere were returning home from the basilica of St. John Lateran ; and passing* by the bridge of Santa Maria, now the Ponte Rotto, (the very ancient little church opposite to the Temple of Vesta), they saw extended on the pavement a man whose arm had been severed by a sword-cut ; and unable to procure medical assistance, the poor wretch had lain there ever since in excruciating- toi-tures, which hud re- duced him to the last extremity. Fi*ancesca, full of compassion for his miserable condition, carried him with Vannozza's aid into her house, put him in a warm bath, cleansed his wound with the greatest care, and dressed it with her ointment. In a short time, and without any medical assistance, the severed limb was restored to its usual position, and a complete recovery ensued. The bowl in which San Francesca compounded this miraculous remedy is preserved in the convent of Tor di Specchi. During the novena of the saint, when tbe doors are thrown open to crowds of devout pei-sons, it stands on a table in the entrance-chamber, and is daily filled by the nuns with fresh sweet-smelling flowei-s— violets, primroses, anemones, and the like. The visitor may bear away with him some of these fragrant remem- brances, and cherish them for her sake, the odour of v/hose virtues will last as long as the seasons retuni, and llie spring brings back to our gladdened sight those •* Sweet nurslings of the vernal skies, Bcthed with soft airs and fed with dew." 58 8T. FRANCES OF ROME. ) ! A still more wonderful miracle than these occurred about this time. Francesca and her faithful companion Vannozza had been visiting Sevoml churches in that part of Rome which g'oes by the name of the Rioue de Montz. Passing" before a mean-looking* dwelling", they heai"d the most heart-rending" sobs and cries. Stopping" to inquire into the cause of this despair, they found a mother frantically weeping; over the body of a child, who had died a few houre after its birth without having received baptism. Fi-ancesca gently reproved the woman for the delay which had endang-ered her son's salvation; then, taking the little corpse into her arms, she uttered a fei-vent prayer, and in a moment gave back the baby to its mother, ftilly restored to life and health. She de- sired her to have it instantly baptised, and then made her escape, tnisting that she should remain undiscovered; and indeed the woman whose child she had been the means of saving had never seen her, and wondered awhile if an angel had visited her in disguise ; but the description of her dress, and tlie miracle she hud worked, convinced all wlio heai*d of it that the visitor was no other than the wife of Lorenzo Ponziano. Compassionate to otliers, Francesca was mercilessly severe to hereelf ; her austerities kept pace with her in- creasing sanctity. She was enabled to caiTy on a mode of life which must have mined her health had it not been miraculously sustained. Slie slept only for two hours, and that on a nan-ow plank covered with nothing but a bit of rough carpet. The continual wai-fiu-e whicn she waged against her body brouglit it more and more into subjection to the spirit; and her senses were under such perfect contivl, that natural repugnances vanished, and the superior part of the soul reigned supremely over the meaner instincts and inclinations of the flesh. Such was her si)iritual proficiency at the early a^re of tv;enty- Bine. H VII.] 8T. FBANCRA OF ROME. 59 / i (JHAPrER vir. iCr«5GRr/STA APPE4RS TO HIS MOTHER — AN ARCHiNOEL IS ASSIGNED TO HER AS A VISIBLE UUARDIAN TUROUQHCOT HER LIFE. EvANOELisTA had bpen dead about a year. His image was ever present to his mother's heai*t ; she saw him in spirit at the feet of his Lord. Never, even in her inmost soul, was she conscious of a wish to recall him from the heaven he had r*^ached to the earthly home which he had left desolnte; but not for one moment could she forg-et the child of her love, or cease to invoke him as a celestial guardian akin to those who had so long" hovered about her path. Her faith and resignation were richly rewarded. God g-ave her a siglit of her child in heaven, and he was sent to announce to her one of the most extraordinary favours that was ever vouchsafed to a daug-hter of Adam. Francesca was praying one mom- ing" in her oratory, when she became conscious that the little room was. suddenly illuminated in a supernatural manner; a mysterious light shone on every side, and its radiance seemed to pervade not only her outward senses, but the inmost deptl ,s of her being, and to awaken in her soul a strange sensation of joy. She raised her eyes, and Evanorelista stood before her; his familiar aspect unci anged, but his featiu«s transfigured and beaming witli ineffable splendour. By his side was anotluT of the same size and height as himself, but more beautiftil still. Fi-ancesca's lips move, but in vain she seeks to articulate ; the joy and the teiTor of that moment are too intense. Her son draws near to her, and with an angelic expression of love and respect he bows down his head and salutes her. Tlien the mother's feelings predominate ; she for- gets every thing but his presence, and opens her arms to him ; Imt it is no earthly form that she encloses within them, and the glorif.ed body escapes her gi'asp. And 60 ST. FRANCES OP HOME. now slie gains courag-e and addresses him, — ^in broken accents indeed, but with treroblincf eagerness. " Is it you, indeed ? (she cries) son of my heart ! Whence do you come ? who are your companions ? what your abode ? Angel of God, hast thou thou^nc of thy mother, of thy poor father ? Amidst the joys of Paradise hast thou remembered earth and its sufifer* fit mgs Evangelista looked up to haaven with an imutter- able expression of peace and of joy ; and then, fixing his eyes on his mother, he said, " My abode is with God ; my companions ai*e the angels ; our sole occupa- tion the contemplation of the Divine pei*fections, — the endless source oi all happiness. Eternally united with God, we have no will but His ; and our peace is as complete as His Being is infinite. He is Himself our joy, and that joy knows no limits. There are nine choirs of angels in heaven, and the higher orders of an- gehc spirits instinct Ji the Divine mysteries the less exalted intelligences. If you wish to know my place amongst them, my mother, learn chat God, of His great goodness, has appointed it in the second chou* of an- gels, and the first hierai'chy of archangels. This my companion is higher than I am in rank, as he is more brignt and fair in aspect. T^^e Divine Majesty has assigned him to you as a guardian during the remainder of your earthly pilgrimage. Night and day by your side, he will assist you in every way. Never amidst the joys of Paradise have I for an Jistant forgotten you, or any of my loved ones on earth. I knew you were resigned ; but I also knew that your heart would rejoice at beholding me once more, and God has per- mitted that I should thus gladden your eyes. But I have a message for you, my mother. God asks for Agnese : she may not taiTy long with you ; her place is ready in the INew Jenisalem. Be of good comfort, nay, rather rejoice that your chiUren are safely housed in heaven." Evangelista communed a shoit while longer with his mother, and then, bidding her tenderly fare- CH. VII.j ST. FRANCES OF ROME. 61 well, disappeared ; but the archangel remained, and to the day of her death was ever present to her sight. She now understood the sense of the vision thnt had been sent her at the time of Agnese's birth. It was not for the cloister, but for heaven itself, that God claimed her young* dau^i-hter; and during the few remaining days of her earthly life she waited upon her with a tenderness mingled with veneration; looking upon her as one who scarcely belonged to the rougli world she was so soon to leave. And the chosen child of God, the little maiden on whom the mystic dove had i-ested in its flight, soon drooped like a flower in an un- genial air, — soon gave her fond mother a last kiss and a last smile; and then her gentle spirit went to seek her brother's kindred soul. Tuey were buried together ; and the day was now come for Francesca, when earthly happiness alto^-ether ^ anishes, when life has its duties but has lost all its joys, — and then, what a lesson is in the story ! God's angel henceforward stands visibly by her side, and never leaves her ! When Evangelista had pai-ted from his mother, she had fallen prostrate on the ground, and blessed God for His great mercy to her, the most worthless of sinners, for such she deemed herself; and then, turning to the angel, who stood near her, she implored him to be her guide and director ; to point out the way she was to tread ; to combat with her against Satan and his minis- tere ; and to teach her every day to become more like in spirit to his and her Loi-d. When she left the ora- tory, the ai'changel followed her, and, enveloped in a halo of light, remained always visible to her, though imperceptible to othere. The radiance that sun-ounded him was so dazzling, that she could seldom look upon him with a fixed gaze. At night, and in the most pro- found darkness, she could always write and read by the light of that supernatural brightness. Sometimes, how- ever, when in prayer, or in conference with her director, or engaged in straggles witli the Evil One, she was enabled to sec his form with perfect distinctness, and 62 ST. FRANCES OF ROME. by Don Antonio's orders thus described him : — '^ His stature," she said, " is that of a child of about nine years okl ; his aspect full of sweetness and majesty ; his eyes generally turned towards heaven : words cannot de- scribe the divine purity of that gaze. His brow is always serene ; his glances kindle in the soul tlie flame of ardent devotion. When I look upon him, 1 under- stand the glory of the ang-elic nature, and the degraded condition of our own. He wears a long shining robe, and over it a tunic, either as white as the lihes of the field, or of the colour of a red rose, or of the hue of the sky when it is most deeply blue. When he walks by my side, his feet are never soiled by the mud of the streets or the dust of the road." Francesca's conduct was now directed in the most infallible manner. By a special privilege, a companion had been assigned to ner from the heavenly hierarchy; and if she committed any faults, error could not now be pleaded in excuse. Her actions, her words, and her thoughts, were to be ever on a par with those of the sinless Being who was to be her guide throughout her earthly pilgi'image. It was an awful responsibility, a startling favour ; but trusting in God's grace, though fully aware of her own weakness, she did not shrink from the task. Her greatest wish had always been to attain a perfect conformity with the Divine Will, and now this mysterious guidance ftimished her with the means of knowing that Will in its minutest details. In her struggles with the Evil One, the archangel became her shield of defence ; the rays of light which darted fi^m his brow sent the demons howling on their way. Thus protected, she feared neither the wiles nor the vio- lence of Satan. The presence of her heavenly guide was also to Francesca a mirror, in which she could see reflected every imperfection of her fallen, though to a great ex- tent renewed, nature. Much as she had discerned, even fi-om her earliest childhood, of the innate con-uption of her heart, yet she often told her director, that it was CH. "II.J ST. FRANCES OP ROME. 08 only sinco she had been continually in the presence of an ang^elic companion that she had realised its amount. So that this divine favour, far from exaltin^f her in her ffwn eyes, served to maintain her in the deepest humi- lity. When slie committed the slightest fault, the ang-el seemed to disappear; and it was only after she had carefully examined her conscience, discovered her fail- ing-, lamented and humbly confessed it, that he returned. On the other hand, when she was only disturbed by a doubt or a scruple, he was wont to bestow on her a kind look, which dissipated at once her uneasiness. When he spoke, she used to see his lips move; and a voice of indescribable sweetness, but which seemed to come fi'om a distance, reached her ears. His guidance enlightened her chiefly with regard to the difficulty she felt in sub- mitting to certain cares and obligations which belonged to her position as mistress and head of a family. She was apt to imagine that the houi-s thus employed were lost in Goa's sight ; but her celestial guai-dian corrected her judgment on this point, and taught her to discern the Divine will in eveiy little irksome worldly duty, in every trifling contradiction, as well as in great trials and on important occasions. The light of the angelic presence gave her also a mai-vellous insight into the tlioughts of othei-s. Their sins, their errors, their evil inclinations, were supematurally i-evealed to her, and often caused her the Keenest sorrow. She was enabled through this gift to bring back to God many a wan- dering soul, to frustrate bad designs, and reconcile the most inveterate enemies. Francesca used sometimes to say to Don Antonio, when she requested his permis- sion for some additional austerities which he hesitated in granting, " Be not afraid, father ; the archangel will not allow me to proceed too far in that course. He al- ways checks me when I am tempted to transCTess the bounds of pnidence." And Don Antonio believed it, for his penitent always spoke the exact tmth; and ia the miraculous manner in which she over and ovei* again read his most seci-et thoughts, and manifested 64 ST. FRANCES OP ROME. them to Limy he had a pled^ of her veracity, as we'll as of her extraordinary sanctity. CHAPTER VIII. FRANCBSCA'S illness and recovery — HER TISION OF HELL — RK- BTORATION OP TRANQUILLITY IN ROME — RETURN OF FRANCBSCA^S HUSBAND — HBR POWER IN CONVERTING SINNERS. Four long years had elapsed^ during which Rome had heen given up to dissensions ana civil discoi'd, while epidemics of various kinds were continually suc- ceeding each other, and caiTying off many of its in- habitants. At the opening of the year 1414, Sigis- mund, king of the Romans, and John XXIII., had agreed to convene a council at Constance; and tlie faithful were beginning to cherish a hope that the schism which had so long desolated the Church might be drawing to a close. But this distant prospect of relief was not sufficient to counterbalance the actual sufferings of the moment ; and Francesca beheld with ever-increasing pain the amount of sin and of misery wliich filled the city of her birth. Her exertions, her laboui-s, her bodily and mental trials, told at last upon her enfeebled frnme, and about this time she fell dan- {•'urously ill. Almost all her acquaintances, and even ler own family, fled fi*om her, temfied, it would seem, by the idea of contagion. Yannozza alone remained, and never left her bed-side. Some there were who came to visit, but not for the pm-pose of consoling her; on the contrary, it was to reproach the dying saint with what they called her absura infatuation, which had in- troduced the plague into her abode, and endangered her own life, for the sake of a set of worthless wretches. She listened with her accustomed gentleness, without attempting to defend hereelf from the charge. Her soul was ])erfectly at peace ; she could joyfully accept tha \ CH. VIII.J ST. FRANCES OF RUMB. 6R \- death that now appeared inevitable; she could thank God earaestly that the stnigcle was past, and £van--. f^'ehsta and Agfnese safely lodged in His aims. She ooked forward to a speedy reunion with these beloved ones ; and marked the progress of her disease as the prisoner watches the process by which his chains are riven. A few words of love and faith she now and then whispered to Vannozza ; at other times she remained absorbed in divine contemplation. OversLadowed by an angel's wing, calm in the midst of severe suffering, she performed her habitual devotions in as far as her strength permitted, and only gave up painful penances by the express order of her director. Sne who had heaieu so many sick persons cared not to be healed herself. It was not, however, God's will that she should die so soon. After passing several months in prolonged sufferings, her health was suddenly restored. It was at this period of her life that she had the awfiil and detailed visions of hell which have remained on recoi'd, and in which many salutary and fearfid lessons are con- veyed. She was rapt in spirit, and carried through the realms of endless woe. What was once chosen by the genius of man as a theme for its highest poetic effort — a journey through " the moumfiil city, amongst the lost people * — ^was given to the saint in mystic trance to accomplish. An angel led her through these terrific scenes ; and an intuitive perception was given to her of the various sufferings of the condemned souls. So deep was the impression which this tremendous vision left on Francesca's soul, that never afterwards, as long as she lived, could she speak of it without tears and ti-em- bling; and she would often emphatically warn those persons who, trusting too implicitly to God's mercy, forgot in their reckless security the terrors of His justice. Some of the fresco paintings in the convent of Tor di Specchi represent tnis vision, and are visible to this day. ^> * Per me si va nella oitU dolentc. Per me si va tra la perduta gente.'* — Daxtb. 66 6T. FRANCES OF ROME. The PoiH) John XXIII., nnd Sigfisinund, king of the Romans, had at last succeeded in fbrmingf a league, with the object of delivering' Italy fi-om the intolerable yoke of Ladislas, king* of Naples. This tymnt had as- sembled a numerous aimy, and was marching* upon Bologna; but the measm'e of his iniquities was now full, and the hand of death aiTcsted him on his wa}'. An illness, occasioned by his incredible excesses, seized him between Nurni and Peinigia, and he died on tijo 5th of August, 1414. The sovereign Pontiff, free from the teiTOi-s which this fierce usurper had inspii-ed, and yielding lo the importunities of the cai-dinal, set out for Constance, where lie was to meet the Emperor Sigis- niund. Tlus same Council of Constance was eventually to be the means of making void his election, and of ending the gi'eat schism of the West, by placing in the chair of St. Peter the illustrious Pontiff MaitinV. The death of Ladislas restored p ice to the states of the Church, and in particular to tlie city of Rome. With the ces- sation of civil broils the famine disappeared ; and with it the gi-ievous pestilence that had so long accompanied it. The fields were cultivated once more ; the peasants gTadually returned to their fai'ms; the fiocks grazed unmolested in the green pastures of the Campngna; and the whilom desei-ted provinces smiled ag-ain under the influence of returning prosperity. The sufferings of the Ponziani were also at an end. They were recalled from banishment, and their pi-ojierty was restored. Lorenzo and his son — now his only son — Baptista, returned to their home, and to the wife and mother they had so longed to behold again. But mixed with sorrow was the cup of joy which that hour seemed to offer. Lorenzo, who a few yeare back was in the prime of life — strong, healthy, and energetic, — he who had met every foe and every trial without shrinking, was now broken by long sufferings ; aged more through exile and grief than through yeai-s. We are told that when he entered his palace and looked upon his wife, deep sobs shook his breast, and be bui-st into an agony CH. VIII.J ST. PRANCES OP ROMK. e; of teal's. Tho two beautiful chiliiien wliich he ha6 left by ber side, whei-e were they/ Gone! never to gloilden liis eyes agtiin, or make music in his home b^ the sound of their sweet voices. And Francesca herself, pale with recent illness, spent with ceaseless labours, she stood before him the perfect picture of a woman and a saint, with the divine expression of her beloved face unchanged ; but how chang-ed in form, in bloom, in brig-htness, in every thing but that Ijeauty which holiness g^ves and time cannot efface ! Long and bitterly he wept, and Francesca gentlj consoled him. She told him how Evangelista had aih peared to her ; how their ciiildren were only gone befort them, companions now of tiiose angels they had so resembled uj)on earth. She whispered to him that one of these was ever at her side ; and when he looked upon her, and remembered all slie had been to him, doubtless he found it easy to believe. Taught by advei-sity, more than ever influenced by his admirable wife, Lorenzo henceforward adopted a more thoroughly Christian mode of life than he had hitherto followed. Not con- tent with praising her virtues, he sought to imitate them, and practised all the duties of migion with the utmost strictness. On one point alone his conduct was inconsistent with the principles he professed, and this was, while it lasted, a source of keen anxiety to Fi-an- cesca. There was a Roman nobleman wno, several ^ears before, had gnevously offended the lord of Pon- ziano, anu with whom he absolutely refused to be re- conciled. This had formerly been, and was again after his return, an occasion of scandal to many. The more eminent were his vhrtues, the higher his religious pro- fession, the more glaring appeared such an evident in- consistency. Francesca hei-self was blamed for it J and people used to wonder that she who was so often suc- cessful in reconciling strangers and promoting peace in famihes, had not the power of allaying an enmity dis- creditable to her husband and at variance with the dictates of religion. At last, however, by diut of 08 ftT. FRANCES OP ROME. pationco and C'cntlnnesS) site accomplislied what had seemed for a lon^" time a hopeless endeavour. The hearts of both parties were touched with remorse, Lorenzo, who was the np-gTieved party, granted his enemy a full and fi*ee pardon, and a perfect reconcilia- tion ensued. This triumph over himself on the one point where the stubborn natural will had so lon^ held out, resulted, as is almost always the case, in a rapid advance towards perfection. Lorenzo, fi*om this time forth, withdrew more and more fi*om public life, refused those posts of honour and of responsibility which a friendly f^oveniment pressed upon iiim, and suiTcndered himself almost entu-ely to the duties and exercises of a strictly religious life. In his conversations with his wife, he daily gained a deeper insight into the secrets of the spiritual life. Far fram complaining of the amount of money which she spent in enarity, of the existence of an hospital within the walls of his palace, o*'her various and laborious works of mercy, or of the lengvh of time which she spent in prayer, lie renewed his request that she would, in every respect, follow what seemed to her the will of God, and the most perfect manner of life. Francesca gratefully complied with this his desire. She watched more strictly than ever over the conduct of those committed to her charge, and recommended to them by her ex- ample even more than by her precepts an exact observ- ance of the commandments of God and of the Church. What money was exclusi\ '^" her own, she regularly divided into two parts : with one-half she bought food for the poor, with the other clothing and medicine for the sick. Her own dress cost her next to nothing ; she continued to wear her old green gown patched-up with any odd bits of cloth that fell in her way. Almost every day she went to her vineyai'd and gathered wood for the fagp,'ots which she gave away on her retuni. Her relations, her fiiends, and even her servants, were armoyed at her employing herself in such labour, and bitterly complainea of the humiliation it occasicued CI*, nil.] ST. raxscEH op ro^ae* §lfs tliem to meet her so raennly dressed and so meanly occupufd. Lontnzo did not shnre those feeUnga; on tlie contrary, he used to look upon her on these occa- sions with an increase of affection and veneration ; and »n|)[M)rted by his appi-oval, by the appi-obation of her director, and the dictates ot her own conscience, she cjir*»<^ 'ittle for the comments of others. The kind of apostolate which by this time she ex- ercised in Rome was very remarkable ; and her power over men's minds and iiearts sciurely short of mu-acu- lous. There was a subduing' charm, an irresistible in- fluence in her words and in lier maimer, which told on every variety of pei*sons. The expi*ession of her coun- tenance, the tones of her voice, her mere presence, worked wondera in effecting- convei-sions, and in ani- mating to virtue those wiiom she approached. Her giflt ot readini^ the thoughts of otiiei-s, which had in- CT*eased ever smce the archangel had become her com- panion, enr.bled her in seveitu instances to bring about conversions, scveitd of which are related at length by her biographers. Amongst them was that of a young woman who was lying dangerously ill in one of the hospitals of tlie city. Fmncesca had been distributing food to the sick, and was then attending the death-bed of a young man, who was about to receive the last Sacraments, when a })iercing crv fi-om one of the adjoining wai-ds reached ler eai-s. She hastened to the spot, and found a young woman stretched on one of the nan*ow beds, and dyinjj in all the agonies of despair. No sooner had she looked upon the poor creature than her dreadful history wti jn, till, on approaching the hospital adjoining tlie chuich of St. John of La- teran, a sudden rush of |H'ople overtook them, and sounds of ten-or were henid on every side. A bull had escaped from its leadrrs, and driven fi-antic by the cries of the multitude, it was clashing savagely along. Fran- ces*^ and Vannozza stood directly in his path. Loud shouts warned them to get out of the way ; but, faith- ful to the obedience they had received, and probably inwardly assured that they would be protected against the danger, whatever it was, they advanced calm and immovea with their eyes fixed on the ground. The bystanders, who were cowering at a distance, shud- dered; for it seemed that the next moment must s€€ them under the feet of the bellowing animal. But no; the same influence that tamed the lions in Daniel's den was at work with the savage beast. At sight of the t\v^o women, it suddenly stopped in its course, became per- fectly tranquil, stood still while they passed, and then resumed its flight; while they proceeded to the church without having experienced the slightest emotion of fear. Thero is an ancient saying, that a wild beast is appeased by the sight of a maiden in her purity; and there can be no doubt that those saints ^vho have re- gained in some measure, by mortification, penance, and heroic virtue, the purity of man's original nature, have %t the same time recoverod, in a ceitain degree, the 1 I 76 BT. FRANCES OF HOME. power which Adam possessed ever the animal creation. It is a fact of frequent occmrence in their lives, that mysterious homage paid to them by the wild inhabit- ants of the desei-t, or the gentle denizens of the grave. St. Francis of Assisi, and St. Rose of I-iran, amongst otliei*s, were singularly endowed with this gift. Thaie are few more touching thoughts, or any better calcu- lated to make us underetand the tnie character of sanc- tity, and i^ie gi-adnol restoration of a fallen natm*e to one akin to that of tiie angels. The other miracle was one attested by Vannozza, who witnessed its occurrence. Francesca devoted all her lei- sure moments to prayer, but never allowed her delight in spiritual exercises to interfere with her duty as a wife. Her attention to Lorenzo's slightest wants and wishes was unceasing. She never complained of any amount of interruption or of trouble which his clauns upon her time might occasion. One day that she was reciting in her room the office of the Blessed Virgin, he sent lor her. Instantly rising from her knees, she obeyed his summons. When she had performed the trifling ser- vice he required, she retiined to her prayers. Four successive times, for the most insignificant of purposes, she was sent for : each time, with unwearied good hu- mour, she complied, and resumed her devotions without a shadow of discontent or annoyance. On resuming her book the last time that this occuiTed, great was her as- tonishment in finding the antiphon, which she had four times begun and four times left unfinished, written in lettere of gold. Vannozza, who was present, witnessed the miracle ; and the archangel whispered to Francesca^ " Thus the Lord rewards the virtue of obedience." The gilded letters remained in the book to the day of her deatl\ Htr prayers were frequent ; her fervour in pro- portion. Beginning with the "Our Father" and the " Hail Mary," it was her practice to recite them slowly, and ♦o ponder on each word as she pronounced it. The Oflice of the Blessed Virgin she repeated daily at the CH. IX.] ST. FRANCES OF ROME. 77 pro- the owly, The t the appointed hours, and almost always on her knees ; the Itosary also, and a g^-eat number of psalms besides, as well as various devotions for the holy souls in pur- gator3\ As to mental prayer, her whole life was one continued orison; ever in communion with God, she never lost the sense of His presence. From this time foi-ward (she was now thirty-two years old), her li*e crew more and more supernatural. The mystical won- ders that have r; ^nifested themselves in so many saints were displayed her to an eminent degree. When she approached the tribunal of penance, but, above all, in gpoing" to communion, her body sometimes emitted a fragrant odour, and a halo of ligfht sun-ounded her head. Often and often, after receiving the Bread of Life, she fell into a long- ecstasy, and for hours re- mained motionless, and wrapt up in silent contempla- tion, unable to move fi'om the spot but at the command of her director; the virtue of obedience overcoming even the mystical insensibility to all outward objects. Her intimate intercouree with heaven dming those moments ; the prophecies which she uttered ; the manner in which distant and future occun-ences were made manifest to her spiritual perceptions, testified to the supernatural nature of these ecstasies. An intimate union established itself between her and the objects of her incessant con- templation. When she meditated on the g-lorious mys- teries, on the triumphs of Mary, or the bliss of the ang-elic spirits, an intense joy beamed in her face, and pervaded her whole pereon. When, on the other hand, she mused on the Passion of our Lord, or on the sor- rows of His Mother, the whole expression of her face was changed, and bore the impress of an unutterable woe ; and even by physical pains she partook in a mea- sure of the sufferings of her God. The anxious tor- ments of the Passion were rehearsed as it were in her body ; ana ere long a wound in her side manifested one of the most astonishing but indubitably established in- stances of the real though mystical share which some of the saints have had in the life-giving agonies of the •. m I 78 ST. FRANCES OF ROME. i Lord. None but Vannozza, who used to dress that touching and awful wound, and Don Antonio, to whom she revealed it in confession, wei'e acquainted with this extraordinary token of union between the crucified Eedeemer and His favoured servant. She suffered in- tense pain while it lasted, but it was a joyfid suffering*. Love made it precious to her. She had desired to drink of His cup, and be baptised with His baptism ; and He destined tier one day to sit at His side and share His glory. She had dnmk to the dregs the cup of earthly sorrow ; the anguish of bereavement, the desolation of loneliness, the torments of fear, the pangs of sickness and poverty. And now the most mystenous sufferings fell to her lot, of a nature too sacred for common men- tion, for man's investigation, but not the less real and true than the others. The relief was as miraculous as the infliction. In a vision she saw herself transported into the cave of Bethlehem, and into the presence of tJie Infant Jesus and of Hi?* Mother. With a sweet smile, the Blessed Virgin bade Francesca discover the wound which love had made, and then with water that flowed from the rock, she washed her side, and dis- missed her. When her ecstasy was over, she foimd that the miraculous wound was perfectly healed. It was at this time that she predicted in the most positive manner, and when appearances were all against such a result, that the papal schism was about to end. The Council of Constance was sitting, and new difficul- ties and conflicts continually arose. War was on the point of bursting out again, and every body trembling at the thought of firesh disasters. Contrary, however, to all expectations, the last weeks of the year 1415 saw the conclusion of the schism. The assembled fathers, with a courage that none had foreseen, and indiffei'ent to th J threats of Frederick of Austria on the one side, and of the King of France on the other, who were each advocating the cause of an anti-pope, — the former sup- ]X)rting John XXIII., the latter Benedict XIII., — they deposed these two usurpers^ obliged Gregory XII. ta CH. IX.] ST. FRANCES OF ROME. 79 renounce hi? pretensions also, ftnd on the 11th of No- vember unanimously elected Otto Colonna, Cardinal Deacon of St. George in Velabro, who took tlie name of Martin V.; and by his virtues and his talents suc- ceeded in restoring^ peace to Rome itself, and to the whole Catholic world. It was g-enemlly supposed, even during her lifetime, and much more after her deat:i, that Francesca's pmyers, her teai-s and her sufferings, bad accelerated that blessed event, and dmwn down tne mercy of God on His afflicted Cliurcli. The son of Lorenzo and Francesca, B.iptistaPonziano, had now arrived at the age of eighteen, and was consi- dered the most promising of the young Roman noblemen. The excellent education he had received was bearing its fruits. In appeai-ance and in mannere, in talents and in character, he was emiallv distinguished. Lorenzo, anxious to pei'petuate his family, and secure heirs to his large possessions, pressed his son to many. It was with tlie greatest satisfaction that Fi-ancesca seconded liis wishes. She longed to give up to a daughter-ir - law the management of domestic affaii-s, and to be mc/e free to devote her time to religious and chaiitable f rn~ ployments. The young person on whom the choiCft of Baptista and of his pai'ents fell was Mobilia, a mciden of whom it is recoi*ded that she was of noble bii*th and of singular beauty, but her family name is not men- tioned. Immediately upon her maiTiage, according to the continental custom of the time, the bride came to reside under the same i-oof as her father and mother-in- law. She was received as a beloved daughter by Fran- cesca and Vannozza ; but slie neither returaed their af- fection nor appeared sensible of tl leir kindness. Brought up by an excellent mother in a very strict manner and entire seclusion, her head wiis completely turned at suddenly finding hei*self her own mistress : adored by her husband, funiished with the most ample means of gmtifying all her fancies, she was bent on making up for the somewhat aiisterc life she had led as a young prl, and gave no thought to any thing but her beauty^ 80 ST. FRANCES OF ROME. i 1 her dress, and all the amusements within her reach. Wholly inexperienced, slie declined to ask or to i-eceive advice, and chose in every respect to he g^iided hy her inclinations alone. Imperious with her equals, hau"flity with her superiors, she gave hci-sclf all the airs ima- ginable, and treated her mother-in-law with the most supreme contempt, hardly paying* her moi-e attention than if she had been the lowest menial in the house. In the gay societies which she frequented, it was her favourite amusement to turn Francesca into ridicule, to mimic her manners and her style of convereation ; and she often declared hereelf perfectly ashamed of being related to a person so totally ignoi-ant of the ways of the world. " How can one feel any respect," she used to ask, " for a person who thinks of nothing but the poor, dresses as one of them, and goes about the streets canying bread, wood, and old clothes ?" It was not that Mobilia's disposition was absolutely bad ; on the contrary, she was naturally sweet-tempered ; but never having been left before to her own management, and tasting for the first time the exciting pleasures of the world, the contrast which her mother-in-law's appear- ance, manners, and whole mode of life presented to that which seemed to her so attractive, imitated her beyond measure, till at last her dislike amounted to aversion; she could hardly endure Francesca in her sight. Vain were the remonstrances of her husband and of her father-in-law, vain their entreaties and their reproofs; unavailing also proved the interference of some mutual friends, who sought to comince her of the culpability of her conduct, and to persunde her that she was bound to show Baptista's mother p.t least the attentions of ordi- nary civility. The headstrong yoimg woman persisted in exhibiting the utmost contempt for her. The Saint endured all her frowardness with unvarying ""entleness and patience, never uttering a sharp or unkind word in return, and spending long hours in prayer that the heart so closed against her, and so given up to the world, might through God's mercy ue sort«ned and changed. en. IX.] »T. FRANCES OP ROME. 81 li8:ht One dfty, wlien she was renewin*:^ these petitions with more than common fervoiu', she heard the following" words distinctly pronounced in her hearing* : " Wljy do ycvL jp'ieve, Fi-ancesca { and why is your soul dis- quieted i* Nothing" takes place without My permission, and all things work tog-ether for the g-ood ot those who love Me." And her trial was even tlien about to end. It happened a few days aftei-wards, when all the inha- bitants of the palace were assembled round the fire in the hall (for it was in the winter season), that Mobilia beg^n as usual to attack her mother-in-law, and to turn her mode of life into ridicule, with even greater bitter- ness than usual ; and tui-ning" to her husband and to his" father, she exclaimed impatientiy that she could not indci-stand how they allowed her to follow her mean and degrading" pui*suits, to mix with the refuse of the rabble, and di-aw down upon the wliole family not only, merited disg-race, but intolerable inconveniences. She was g"oing" on in this way, and speaking" with great violence, w^hen all of a sudden she turned as pale as death, a fit of trembling' came over her, and in a moment she fell back senseless. Fmncesca and Van- nozza canied her to her bed, where, recovering her consciousness, she was seized with most acute pains. The intensity of her suifering-s drew from her the most piteous cries. Then her conscience was roused ; then, as if suddenly awakened to a sense of the enoi-mity of her conduct, with a faltering" voice slie munnured : " My pride ! my dreadfid pride ! " Francesca bent over her g-ently, entreated her to bear her suffering's patiently, assm-ed her they would soon subside. Then Mobilia burst into aa ag;ony of teal's, and exclaimed before all the bystandei-s, " They will subside, my dear mother, if you ask it of God ; but I have desei-ved more, much more, by my honible behaviour to you. Forgive me, dear moth< r; pray for me. I acknowledg-e my fault. Hencefoi-ward, if God spares my life, yonr daughter will be to you the most loving", the most obe- dient of liandmaids. Take me a in your arms, mother, i I- f n 92 ST. FRANCES OP ROME. Rnd bless yoni* child." Fmncesca jiressed to her hosom the benntitul yo«n{^ creature in wiioni such n clmnjj^e had bej?!! suddenly wron«»ht, and wliile she fervently blessed her, Mobilia felt timt all her pains had left her. From tliat day forward the whole tone of lier mind was altered ; her convei-sion was complete. Francesca became to her an object of the most affectionate vene- ration; she consultwl her al)out all her actions, and communicated to her her most secret thouf^hts. Utterly despisini*; the vanities of the world which had led hei* astray, she adopted her views and opinions, and set entii-ely at nauppht tiie seductions of worldly grandeur. The sanctity of Fi-ancesca was now so evident to her thf»*i, she be«»;an to watch her actions, her words, every detail of her life, with a mixture of awe and of interest, and kept a record in writing* of all that she observed, and of the miraculous occinrences which wei*e so often taking" place through her instnimentality, as well as in her own pei*son. The forementioned particulai-s she attested upon oath after the Saint's death, when the depositions were taken which served at a later period for the process of her canonisation. Tiie most intimate li'iendship esta))lishwl itself between Baptista's wife and liis mother; nothing couhl exceed the devoted and af- fectionate reverence of the one, or the tendemess with which it was it'paid by the other. Francesca, witii the most watchful love, attended to Mobilia's slig^htest wants or wishes ; nui-sed her assiduously in her confine- ments, and Ijestowed upon her grandchildren the same cares that she had lavished on her own children. It was a gi-ent ralief to her that Mobilia, who was now only occuj)ied with h(»r duti(»s, assumed at her request the managem<»nt of the house, and the regulation of all domesitic afluirs. She was thus enabled to devote her- self more u n reiser v«'( 11 y to the S(?rvice of the ]>oor and of tiie hosj)itals. Tiaj hos|)ital which she visited most constantly was that which her father-in-law had founded ni-ar the Chiesa del Salvatora, called at a later jieriod Santa Mt\ria in Capjieihi. The miracles wroug;ht oy the CH. IX.] ST. PRANCES OF ROME. 83 nil er- nd est led iod the laying on of her hands became more numerons than ever, and her fame increased in proijortion. The dej^-ee in which her assistance was soug-ht, her praytM-s im- plored, and the reputation of her sanctity extended, was painful to her humility; but lier superpituml ufifts were too evident to be concealed fi*om otliei-s or from herself, and thei*e only remained to her to humble her- nelf more deeply at the feet of the God who thus showed foi-th His power in one whom she deemed the most worthless of His creatures. A ^-eat work was preparinj^ for her hand to do ; the fii-st stone of a spiritual building' was to be laid ; she was growing ripe for the work ; and God was drawing men's eyes upon her with wonder and with awe, that when that day came they might listen to her voice. The waraings which she gave to pei-sons threat- ened by seci-et dangei-s were innumenible ; her insight into the condition of their souls marvellous. One day she sends word to her confessor that he will be " sent for on the fol, owing night to attend a sick pereon, but that he must on no account leave his house ;'* and it tui-ns out that assassins were lying in wait for him in the sti-eet, and that tlij pretended sick man was a lure to draw him out. Another time a youth of sixteen, Jacopo Vincenzo, is lying dangerously ill in the Piazza Campitelli. His mother hastens to the Saint, who smiles when she enters the i-oom, and bids her go in peace, for her son has recovered ; and on her return she finds him in perfect health. She sees a priest at the altar, and he appears to her sij^ht as if covered with a frightful leprosy. By her confessor's order she relates her visior to the object of it; and, confounded and amazed, the unhappy man acknowledsres that he was celebi-atino" in a state of mortal sin. • He repent*?, con- fesses, and amends his life. Two men pay a visit to- gether to the Ponziano Palace ; one is the nephew of Vannozza, a pious and exemplary priest ; the other a young man of twenty, whom he has adopted. Anger IS working in the bosom of the youth ; he has suffered i . \ 84 ST. FRANCES OF ROME. fi-om his benefactor some imaginary wrong*, and he ia planning^ his revenge, and is about to utter a calumny which will affect liis chai-acter. Francesca takes him aside : what can slie know of what is passing* in liis soul ; how I'ead what has not been revealed to any human ci-eature ? She tells him what he designs, and awakens lim to a sense of his ing^ratitude. He no sooner lias lefb the house than, fallmg- at the feet of his companion, he confesses to him his crime, and implores his iorgive- ness. Cecca Clai'elli, a relation of t^ie Ponziani, is de- livered of a little gu'l in such apparent good health that no one thinks of baptising* her ; a grand cei'emony for the purpose is prepai-ing m a neighboming chm-ch, to take p^ioe the following day; but in the middle of the night l.rancesca arrives, and entreats that the child may be instantly baptised. The parents and the priest ol> ject, but the Saint is urgent ; she will take no denia^ t with reluctance her request is complied with, and no sooner has the sacrament been confeiTed than the infant expires. A child of the same parents, a lovely little girl, is dumb ; she is four yeai's old, and not a single word has she ever pronounced. Andreozzo, her father, entreats his wife to carry her to the Saint, and implore lier assistance. Francesca's humility cannot endure this direct appeal, and she tries to put them off j but, deeply affected oy their teara, she at last touches with uer finger the tongue ofthe little Camilla, and says, " Hope every thing from the mercy of God ; it is as boundless as His power." The parents depart full of faith and comfort; and ere they reach their house, the child has uttered with pei-fect distinctness the blessed names of Jesus and Mary; and from that day forward acquires and retains the power of speech. No wonder that the name of Francesca grows every day more famous, and that she is every day more dear to the people amongst Avhom she dwells; that hearts are subdued, sinnei-s reclaimed, mourners consoled by the sight of her blessed face, by the sweet soimd of her voice. Many rise about her and call her blessed ; but CH. X.] ST. FRANCES OF ROME. 85 childi'en, and more especially her own spiritual chil- dren^ are soon to cull her mother. A new epoch is now at hand in her career. God had placed in her heart many yeare ag;o a hope which she had nureed in se- cret, and watered with her teai-s, and fostered by her prayere. Never imj)atient, never beforehand witli Ciod's Erovidence, she waited : II is time was she knew to bo er time ; His will was the passion of her heart, her end, her i-ule, and God had made her will His, and brought about by slow degrees its accomplishment. Permission to laboui* first,— the result far distant, but clear, the vision of that result, when once He had said to her, " Beo-in and work." To tarry patiently for that signal, to obey it unhesitatingly wher. once given, is the i-ule of the saints. How mai-vellous is tiieir in- stinct ! how accordtmt their pmctice ! Fii-st, tlie hid- den life, the common life ; the silence of the house of Nazai'eth j the carpenter's shop ;• tlie maniage-feast, it may be, for some ; and at last, " the hour is come," and. the tioie work for which they are sent into the world has to be done, in tlie desert or in the cloister, in the temple or in the market-place, on Mount Tha- bor or on Mount Calvary ; and the martyr or the con- fessor, the founder or the reformer of a religious order, comes forth, and in an instant, or in a few yeai-s, per- forms a work at which eaith wondei-s and angels re- joice. CHAPTER X. rRANCESCA LAYS THE FOUNDATION OP HER FUTURE CONOREOATIOlf — HER PILGIIIHAQE TO ASSISI. Lorenzo Poxziano's admiration and affection for his wife had gone on increasinj*" with advancing years ; the perfection of her life, and the miracles he Imd so often seen her j»erform, inspired him with an unbounded re ST. FRANCES OF ROME. verence. His continual prayer, the ardent desire of lu's Jieart, was to ha ire hor by his side as his guide and his guardian angel during the remainder of his life and at the hour of his death. Perhaps it was to win, as it were, fi"om Pi-ovidence the favour he so earnestly im- plored, that he resolved in no way to be a clog on her actions, or an obstacle in the way of God's designs upon her. Taking her aside one daj", he spoke to her with the greatest affection, and offei'ed to release her fi-om all the obligations imposed by the state of marriage, to allow her tlie fullest liberty of action and the most ab- solute control over her own pereon, her own time, and her own conduct, on one only condition, — that she would promise never to cease to inhabit his liouse, and to guide him in tlie way in which her example had hitherto led him. Francesca, profoundly touched by his kindness, did not hesitate to givd this promise. She accepted his proposal joyfully and gl-ateftiUy, in so much as it con- duced to the accomplishment of God's will and of His ulterior designs upon her ; but she continued to devote herself to her excellent husband, and with the most attentive solicitude to render him every service in her power. He was now in very declining health, and she rendered him by day and by night all the cai-es of the tcnderest nurse. The religious life, the natural com- plement of such a course as hers had been, often foi. uA the subject of her meditations; and God, who destine.! her to DC the foundress of a new congregation of pious women, suggested to her at this time the first steps to- wards its accomplishment. It will be remembered that fi-om her childhood up- ward she had been used to fi*equent the church of Santa Iilaria Nuova, on the Foro Romano ; her mother had done so before her, and had inti-usted her to the spi- ritual direction of one of the most eminent memboi-s of the order by whom that cliurch was sei"ved. Santa Maria Nuova is one of the oldest ehui-ches in Rome. It had been destroyed and i-ebuilt in the ein;^lith centurv; fund in 1352 had been given uj) to the Olivetan moulm en. X.] ST. FRANCES OF ROMW. 87 of St. Benedict. As the con^gration which Francesca instituted was orig'inally foniied on the model, and ag*- gregated to that of the relitrious of Mount Olivet, it will not be irrelevant to g-ive some account of their ^igin and the life of their illustrious founder. Bernard Ptolomei or Tolomei, who was supposed to De descended from the Ptolemies of Eg-ypt, was born in 1272. Disting^iished by his precocious abilities, he became, at the eai-ly ag^e of twenty-two, cliief-magfis- trate (ffonfalonicre) of his native town, Sienna ; and at twenty-five attained to the dignity of dog^e. Soon after he was suddenly struck with blindness, and the material darkness in which he found himself involved opened his mental sight to the light of religious truth. He turned with his whole heai-t to God, and irrevocably devoted himself to His service and to a life of austerity and meditation. The Blessed Virgin miraciUously restoi'ed his sight, and his purpose stood firm. Dividing his fortune into two equal pai-ts, he bestowed one half on the poor, and the other to the foundation of pious insti- tutions. With a few companions he i-etired into the mountainous deserts of Accona, about fifteen miles from Sienna, where they gave themselves u]> to a life of as- ceticism and prayer, which attracted to their solitude many devout souls from various pai'ts of the world. Satan, as usual, set his batteries in array against the new anchorites, and trials of various soi-ts assailed them in turn. They were even denounced to Pope John XXII. as persons tainted with heresy; but Tolomei, with Piccolomini, one of his companions, made their way to Avignon, and there, in the presence of the sovereign Pontiff, completely cleared themselves from the calumnious imputation. Their order was approved, and they returaed to Accona, where they took the name •of " Congi'egation of Mary of Mount Olivet of the Bene- dictine Order." This was by the express desire of the Blessed Virgin, who had appeared to the saint, and en- joined him to adopt the rule of St. Benedict, promising at the same time uer protection to the new order. On m ST. FRANCES OF ROME. tlie 26th of March, 1319, the new religious received their hahits; and Mount Accona took the name of Mount OUvet, in houour of the agony of our Lord. TeiTilile were the conflicts of the holy founder with the Evil One; but out of them all he came victorious. His expositions of Scripture were wondei-iul, and derived, it was said, from his mystical colloquies with the arch- angel St. Michael. The austerity of his life was ex- treme; his penances severe and continual. In 1348 St. Benedict appeared to him and announced the a])- proach of the pestilence which was soon to visit Italy, and warned him of his own death, which speedily fol- lowed. Many of his disciples had visions of the glori- ous translation of his soul to heaven ; and numerous miracles wrought at his tomb bore witness to his sanc- tity. His monks inhabited the church and the cloistera of Santa Maria in Dominica, or, as it is more commonly called^ in Navicella, fi'om the nidely-sculptui*ed marble monimient that stands on the grass befoi-e its portal, a remnant of bygone days, to which neither histoi-y nor tradition has given a name, but which has itself given one to the picturesque old church that stands on the brow of the Coehan Hill. As their numbei*s afterwards increased, they were put to great inconvenience by the naiTow limits of theu* abode ; and Cai-diual Belforte, titular of Santa Maria Nuova, obtained for them from Pope Clement VI. possession of the church of that name. They accepted the gift with joy; for not only did it owe its origin to the first ages of Christianicy, but it contained many vnluable relics; and amongst other treasures one of those pictures of the Blessed Virgin which tradition has ascrioed to St. Luke the Evahgelist; to this day it is venerated in that spot; and those who kiAeel at the tomb of St. Francesca liomana, on raising their eyes to the altar above it behold the sacred image which has been venerated for so many genemtions. Through prosperity and adversity Francesca had never ceased to frequent that church. At its confes- sional and at its altars she had been a constant n^Umd CH. X.] BT. FRANCES OF ROME. 89 ant. Other women, Iier fi'iends and imitators, had fol- lowed her example ; bound by a tender ft-iendship, bent on the same objects,, united by the same love of Jesus and of Mary, often and often tliey had been there topretlier, those noble women who had resolved to g'lorv iu nothiniif but the Cross, to have no rank but that of handmaiils in the house of the Lord. Francesca was their model, their teacher, their cherished ^ide : thoy clung* to hei with the tenderest affcotion; they were, according" to an Eastern poet's expre '^ion,* a row of goodly pearls, and she the silken cord which bound them together. They were coming* out of the church one evening, when Francesca gava tlicni the firet intimation of her hopes of their ftiture destiny. They were not shown the distant scene, only the first step they were to take.f It was one of those small beginnings so trifling in men's sight, so important in their results, — the grain of muswii d-seed hei-eafter to grow into a tree. Fran- cesca spoke to them, as they walked along, of tlie order or St. Benedict, of the sanctity of its founder, of the virtues, the piety, the good works of its membere, and submitted to them that by taking the name of " Oblates of Mount Olivet," and observin"* conjointly certain rules, such as might befit persons living in the world, they might participate in their merits, and enjoy their privileges. Her companions hailed tliis proposal with joy, and begged her to use all her efforts to cairy it into effect. Don Antonio, to whom Francesca com- municated their pious wishes, lent a favourable eai* to the request, ard in his turn brought it under the notice of the Vice-Prior Don Ippolito, who, in the absence of the superior, was charged with the government of the monastery. He was the same who at one time formed the project of leaving the oi'der, and was deterred from • " They a row of pearls, and I The silken cord on which they lie.*' f " Lead thou mc on; I do not ask to see The distant scene : one step enough for me.'* Newman's Ver$ea rovision8, or comforts of any sort. Lorenzo and Pa- uzza, who had readily consented to the proposed pil- grimage, demurred for a while at this mode of carrying it out J but Francesca prayed in her oratory that^Gfod would incline their heaois to consent to it; and soon, with a reluctant smile, they consented to all she pro- ])osed, and both only ejaculated, " Go on your way in peace ; do as you list, and only pray for us." Out of the gates of Rome they went, through that counti-y so well known to those who have often visited the Eternal City; up the hill from whence the first sight of its don>es and its towers, of its tombs and of its piues, is haiied with rapture, from whence a long last lin<;ering look of love is cast upon what the heart whispers is it^ o^/n Catholic ^ome. It was the first, and as it would steem the only occasion (at least none other is mentioned in her life) in which Francesca left its walls, and trod other gi'ound than that which the steps of so many martyrs have hallowed, the blood of so many saints has conse- ci-ated. The valleys of Veii on the one hand, tne heiglits of Baecano on the other, the beautiful and stately moun- tain of Soracte, met their eyes as they do ours : would that we looked upon them with the same ear»h-abstractod ST. FRANCES OP ROMS. Cas tlieira ! The Gothic towers of Civiti\ Castellana 3(1 down upon the humble pilgrims as they passed by in pious meditation. The sound of their sweet voices, reciting prayers or chanting hymns, mingled with the murmura ot tlie stream that bathes the old -walls of Nurni; and then tlu-ough the wild defile of Monte Somma into the lovely Umbrian Vale they went, through that enchantir' • land where eveiy tree and rock weai-s the form that Claude Loiraine or Salvator Rosa have made familiar to the eye and dear to the poetic mind ; where the vines hang in graceful gju-lands, and the fire- flies at night dance from bough to bough ; where the brooks and the rivers are of the colour of the sapphire or the emerald, and the purple mountains smile rather than frown on the sunny landscape; where the towns and the convents, the churches and the cottages, are set like white gems in tlie deep verdure that suiTounds them. There is no land more lah*, no sky more tenderly blue, no breeze more balmy, than the land where Spoleto and Toligno and Assisi rise in their picturesque beauty, than the sky which spreads its azure roof over the Um- brian traveller's heaa, than the airs wh'''h are wafted fi'om the heights of Monte Falco, or the hill of Peru- gia. Beautiful is that country! fair these works of God ! — but more beautiful still is the invisible world which Francesca and her companions contemplated, the while, with weary patient feet, in the sultry August weather, they trod the lengthening road fi-om one humble resting-place to another. Fairer the inward perfection of a soul which God has renewed, than all the gorgeous but evanescent loveliness of earth's most lovely scenes. At length their pilgrimage is drawing to a close ; the towel's of the Madonna degli Angeli are conspicuous in the distance ; half unconsciously they hasten in ap- proaching it; but the heat is intense, and their lips parclied witli thii-st ; they can hardly speak, for their t(mgues cleave to the roof of tlieir mouths, when a stranger meets them, one of striking and venerable ap pearance, and clothed m the religious habit of St. Francis. CH. X.] ST. FRANCEd OF ROME 03 He hails the travellers, and straightway speaks of Mai-y and of Jesus, of the mystery of the Passion, of the won- ders of Divine love. Never have such woi-ds of fire met the eara of the astonished pilgrims. Tlieir hearts bum within them, and they are ready to exclaim, " Never did man speak like to this man." Francesca sees her an- ffel assume his brig;htest aspect. Rays of lig^ht seem to dart from his form, and to envelope in a dazzling* halo the monk who is addressing" them. She knows him now ; and makes a sig^i to her .companions. It is St. Francis himself. It is tlie sei-aphic saint of Assisi. He blesses the little troop, and touching* a wild pear-tree by the road-side, he brings down to the ground a fruit ot such prodigious size, that it serves to allay tiie tliii-st and re- store the strength of the exhausted tmvellers. That day tliey reached tlie sln-ine where they had 80 longed to kneel ; tliat little hut, once tiie abode of the saint, which stands in its rough simplicity within the c'orgeous church ; where the rich and great of the world come dally to do homage to the apostle of poverty, the close imitator of Him who had not often wliere to lay His head. There they received communion t'le next morning"; there they prayed for their absent friends ; there Francesca had a vision, in which she was encourag"ed to pereevere in her labours, to accom- flish her pious design, and the protection of Jesus and lis Mother was promised to her. Let us follow them in thouffht up the steep hill to Assisi — to the church where tne relics of the saint, where his mortal remains are laid. Let us descend into the subten-anean chapel, pause at every altar, and muse on the recoi-ds of that astonishing life, the most marvellous perhaps of any wliich it has evel* been pennitted to mortal man to live. Let us go with them to the home of his youth, where his confessorship began in childish sufferings for the sake of Christ. Let us venerate with them the relics of St. Clare, the gentle sister spirit whose memory and wliose order ai-e linker with his; and for a moment think what pi ayere, what vows, what acts of faith, of H ST. FRANCES OF ROMS. hope, of charity, must have risen Hke incense from thost devoted heaits in such scenes, amidst such recollections. Doubtless they bore away with them a host of sweet and pious tlioug^hts. Their faces must have shone with heaven's own lig-ht as they retraced their steps to the home where loving' heai-ts wei-e awaiting' them. Few such pilgrimag'es can have ever been perloimed. Fran- cesca at the tomb of St. Francis of Assisi must have been a blessed sight even for an augeFs eyes. CHAPTER XI. DEATH OF FRANCE8CA'8 FRIEND AND DIRECTOR, DON ANTONIO- TROUBLES IN ROME AND ITALY FORETOLD BY FRANCESCA — DEATH OF VANNOZZA, FRANCESCA'S 8I8TEK-1N-LAW — FOUNUA- TION OF THE CONOREOATION OF OBLATE8 OF TOR DI SPBCCHI. The '3xtraordinary graces which had attended om* Saint durirg her pilgrimage were the prelude of a trisil whicii was awaiting her in Home. Her eariiest friend, lier Jong-tiiisted guide, Don Antonio Savello, had died dui'fng her absence. Though she accepted this dispen- sation of God's providence with her habitual i-esignation, it cut her to the heart. She had deeply loved and reverenced her spiritual father ; he had instiiicted her in childhood ; dii'ected her ever since with wisdom and faithfulness; and his loss was in one sense greater to lier than that of any other friend. It occmi'ed, too, at the very moment when she was about to carry out the Divine intimation with regaiti to the foundation of a new CongTegation, when diificulties were every where staring her in the face, and the want of a powerlul and willing auxiliaiy more than ever needful. She did not, however, lose courage, but prayed fervently that God ould inspire her choice of a director ; and much time e spent on her knees imploring this favouj*. No >ubt the sek>ction she made was the result of ihesf CII. XI.] ST. FRANCES OF ROME. 0.1 pmyers; and one of the proofs tlint God's Wftvs are not ns our ways, nor His tliouf^lits as our thouj^fits. Her choice fell on Don Giovanni Muttiotti, the curate of Santa Mana in Trastevere, to wlioin she Imd ah-eady sometimes been to confession. He was a man of in-e- proacbable character and distinguished piety, but of an irresolute and vaccillating' dis|>osition, easily disheart- ened ; nor would be at nret sigfht have ap})eared qua- lified for the direction of a pereon as far advancea in perfection as Francesca, on whom God had such f>;i"eat designs, and with whom He chose to deal in such won- derful ways. But the trials wiiich Francesca had to endiu« from the irresokition of Don Giovanni ; the pa- tience with which she submitted to his varyin"; com- mands; and the supematui-al means thi-ougli wltich he was taught to recognise her sanctity, and to assist in caiTying out her designs, tended in tlie end to tlie glory of God, and the praise of the Saint, whose very humility was a trial to her, in those days of small beginnings, and often of painiid doubts. Ci-osses of vnrious kinds arose in connection with the imdei-taking*. Some of the monks of Santa Maria Nuova, lor instance, took occasion, on the visits of a fatiier ins|)ector, to complain of Don Ipiwlito, and to accuse him of ti-ansgressing the sta- tutes, and going- beyond his powei-s, in admittin"" a con- gregation of women to the name and the privileges of their oi*der ; es|)ecia^ly considering that several of these women wei*e married, and livin"" in the world. Btlt the visitor was a man of piety and pnidence. He closely examined into the question, ana satisfied himself that the institution tended to edification, and was pleasing to God; and he sanctioned it accoixlingly, as far as was in his power, and promised to advocate its cause with the father-general. In the mouth of July of 1430 Francesca had a remarkable vision, which indicated to her the events that wei-e speedily to follow, and which she prophesied with an accuracy, that, in the end, occasioned general astonishment. One ni<>-ht, after spending sevend hom-g 00 ST. FIIANCES OF UOMR. > I in pmycr, slio saw a lurid liirht, tlirnug-li wliicli a inim* bor of Satan's minister were hurrying- to and fro, shaking' their torches, and rejoicing- with dreadful glee over the impending calamities of Home. The Saint fell on her knees, and besought the Lord to spare her un- happ3' country. Then falling into ecstasy, she b'^held the Infant Jesus in His Mother's arms surrounded with angels, and St. Peter, St. Paul, and St. John tiie Bap- tist in the attitude of pmyer, pleading for mercy to the Eternal City, which they seemed to protj^ct by tlnir fervent supplications. At the same time she heard a voice that said, " The prayei-s of the saints have stayed the ann of the Lord ; but woe to the guilty city if she I'epent not, for great afflictions are at hand." Some days aftenvards the lig'htning fell simultaneously on the churches of St. i*eter, St. Paul, and on the shrine of St. John Baptist in tiie Lateran Basilica. P'l-ancesca shud- dered when she heard of it ; she felt at once that the day of gi-ace had gone by ; and in thrilling words de- sci-ibed to her confessor, and to sevei-al other persons that wei-e present, the misfortunes that were about to fall upon Rome. Tlie fulfilment of her predictions was not long de- layed, though nothincr at tlie time seemed to give them weight. The unwearied exertions of Martin V. had suc- ceeded in healing the wounds of Christendom. In Home he had repressed anarchy, recalled the exiled citizens to their homes, rebuilt the churches, given a new impulse to tlie government, to the administration of justice, to poli- tics, to literature, to science, and to art. lie had worked hard to promote a reformation in the manners of the clergy, and elFected in many places the re-establishment of the disciplme of the Church. The legates whom he sent to all the courts of Europe had restored some degree of union between the Christian princes, and preached a crusade against the Turks and the followers of John iluss. He had called togetlier a council, which was lii-st convened at Pavia, and aftenvards removed, fii-st to Sienna; and then to Ba^^le. But before he could him CH. ZI.] ST. PRAMCBft OF ROME. 07 self join the assembly, death overtook him. Worn out with his indefatigable labours for the welfare of Chris- tendom, he went to rrcnive his reward at an unadvanced age, in the month of February of the year 1431. Gabriel Candalucero succeeded him under the name of Eugenhis IV. The first Consistory which he held was marked by a fearful accident, which people chose to consider as an evil omen. The iloor of tlie nail gave way, and in the midst of the confusion that ensued a bishop was killed, and many persons grievouslv wounded. A discontented monk put about the re|K)rt that Martin V. had died in possession of a considerable treasui-e; and the Colonnas, catching eagerly at this pretext, took up arms to make good theii* claims to this supposed heritage. Once more the adverse fact'ons rose against each other, and blood llowed in the streets of Rome. The Colonnas were constrained t« fiy ; and the monk, convicted of liaving conspired to deliver up the Castle of St. Angelo to the rel)els, and to get the Pope assassi- nated, was condemned to death and executed. A teni;- porary reconciliation was effected between Eugenius 1 V. and the too powerful family of the C olonnas ; but their haughty and vi' jlent temper soon brought about a rupture. They advanced upon Rome at tne head of their troops; a bloody engagement took place under the walls of the city, in which the pontifical troops had the upper hand, but many of fhe nobles perisned in the anray. Conflicts of a still more harrowing nature now arose between the Pope and the Council of Basle. Duke Philip of Milan availed himself of this opportunity to retrieve the sacrifices he had made in a treaty which the Pope had led him to sign with the Vcnetions. He forg«d a decree which purported to proceed from the fathers of the council, appointing him lieutenant- general of the Church in Italy ; and armed with this assrmed title, he despatched to the Roman States Francesca Sfoi-za and Nicholas Fortebraccio, two fa- mous adventurei-s in his |my. The latter advanced II 98 ST. FRANCES OF ROME. 1' 4 II upon Rome, and began to devastate its neighbourhood. Tlie Pope, wholly unprepared for defence, warded off the danger by sowing dissension between the two gene- nds, which he effected by giving up to Sforza, for his lifetime, the possession of Ancona, and of the provinces which he had conquered in the states of the Church. Sforza, in consequence, took part with Eugenius, and defeated Fortebraccio at Tivoli ; but in the meantime a ^eneml insurrection broke out in Rome itself. The (thibelline pai-ty attacked the Pope, laid siege to the cliurch of the Holy Apostles, where he had taken shelter, and fi-om whence he escriped with di:fficulty disguised as a monk, embai'ked on the Tiber, and found a rei'uge first at Pisa and then at Bolog^na. Rome was given up for five months to all the horrors of anarchy, the pontifical palace pill^ed, and new rjtigistrates chosen in lieu of those appointed by the Pope; the pinison of the castle of 8t. Angelo alone remaining nrm in its allegiance to the sovei'eign Pontiff. Weary at last of so much disorder, the city of its own accord submitted itself to lawful authority. Eugenius sent a legate, who in some measure succeeded in re-estab- lishing peace ; but he himself remained in the north of Italy, engaged in convoking a council, wherewith to oppose the irreg^ar decrees of that assembled at Dasle. These events, which spread over several years, are related in confirmation of the prophetical gifts of Fnm- cesca, who accurately foresaw and foretold them when nothing presaged their occmrence. At the time when this storm was about to burst over Italy, and the be- ginning of sorrow was at hand, she was doomed to experience anotlicr of the heavy afflictions that life had yet in store for her. Yannozza, her cherislied com- panion, her sister, her counsellor, her bosom friend, was summoned to receive her heavenly crown ; and she herself to add to all her virtues a moi-e prfect detach- ment from all earthly ties. Thoy had been united by every link that affection, sympathy, and similm-ity of l(t«eliug, tttstits, and opinions can crosite botweeii two CII. XI.] ST. PltANCeS OF ROM IS. 01? are nm- when when be- to had coni- was she tacli- (i by t,y o{ two hearts devoted to Ood, and through Him to eanh other. Their union had not been obscured by the smallest cloud. Together they had prayed, suffered, and la- boui'ed; and in trials and foys alike they had been 'nseparable. Francesca had oeen warned in a vision of the approaching end of her sister-in-law ; and at length, strons' in faith, she stands by her dying-bed; and when the Evil One, baffled in life, makes a final effort to disturb the departing soul, she prays for the beloved of her heart, sprinkles holy water on that much-loved forr.i, reads aloud the history of the Pp.ssion of our Lord; and Vannozza, supported by those sacramental g-aces which Satan cannot withstand, followed almost lyond the verge of life by that watchful tenderness which had been her joy on earth, sees the evil spirit retire before the might of Francesca's angel, and breathes her last in perfect peace. The soul which had served and loved God so fervently upon earth was carried up to heaven in a form visible to the eyes of her friend; a pure flame, enveloped in a light trans- parent cloud, was the symbol of that gentle spirit's flight into its kindn- i skies. The mortal remains of Vannozza were laid in the church of the Ara Coeli, in the chapel of Santa Croco. The Roman people resorted there in crowds to behold once more their loved benefactress, — the mother of the poor, the consoler of the afflicted. All strove to cany away some little memorial of one who had gone about among them doing good ; and during the three days which preceded the interment, the concourse did not abate. On the day of the funeral, Francesca knelt on one side of the coffin, and, in sight of all the crowd, she was rapt in ecstasy. They saw her body lift«l from the ground, and a seraphic expression in her uplifted face. Thev heard her murmur several times with an indescribable emphasis the woitl, " When ? when V* {Qmndo? qvanao?) When all was over, she still remained immovable: it seemed as if her soul hau risen on the wii^o^ prayer, ani followed Voniiozzu's £tllvi#fiii^ 100 8T. PRANCE9 OP ROMS. spirit into the realms of bliss. At Inst her confessoi or^ dei-ed her to lise, and to go and attend on the sick. Site instantly complied, and walked away to the hospital which she had foinided, apparently unconscious of every thino' about her, and only roused from her t.ance by the habit of obedience which, in or out of ecstasy, never forsook her. From that day her visions grew more frequent and more astonishing*. She seemed to live in heaven; and dunng* those hours of mystical intercourse with paints and angels, and with the Lord of angels and of saints, to obtair supernatural ligiits which guided her in the foundation of her new congregation. Tiie Blessed Virgin revealed to her that St. Paul, St Benedict, and St. Mary Magdalene were to be its protectors; and that Don Giovanni Mattiotti, her di- rector, Fm Bartolommeo Biondii, of the order of St. Francis, and Don Ippolito, of the Olivetan Oljedience, were to co-operate with her in its establishment. Ti Don Giovanni a pailiicular message was s«nit to confirm him in the intention of forwarding the work, and to warn him against discouragement from the many diffi- culties it would meet with. Wonderfiil were the sigiits which it was given her to see in those long ecstasies, diuing which her soul seemed to absent itself from her ail-but spiritualised body. Sometimes a speechless contemplation held all her faculties in abeyance; at others, in burning words, she described what passed 1)efore her menttd sight. At times her motionless atti- tude almost wont the semblance of death ; while often she moved about and perfoi-med various actions in con- nection with the subjects of her visions. In the churches which she frequented, — in Santa Croce in Gerusa- iiemme, in Santa Maria in Trastevere, in the Chapel of the Ange?s in Santa Cecilia, in her own oratory, — she is favou:*ed with the presence of celestial visitants. ITie various ecclesiastical feasts of the year bring with them analogous revelations ; she spends her time in the cave of Bethlehem and the house of Nazareth, on the rn. XI.J ST. FRANCES OF ROME. 101 mountains, where Jesus wns wont to pmy, where He was transfigured, where He agonised, and where He died. She adores with the sliepherds and the wise men; she Hstens to His voice with the discijilcs and the devout multitude ; she suffers with the Motlier of sorrows, and weeps with the Magdalene at the foot of the Cross. The beauties of the New Jerusalem, the lovely pastmvs, the fi-esh watei-s, the bright flowci-s, the precious stones, which typify the glories of the world to come, ai*e spread betoi-e her in those mystic trances. Deeper and more mysterious i-evelations are vouchsafed, wonderfid secrets disclosed to her under expressive symbols, and St. Paul is her guide throu<^h those regions whci*e he was mvished in spiiit wliile stil], like her, an inhabitant of earth. One day that she was in ecstasy a voice of more than common sweetness addressea to her these woi-ds— " Thy path is strewn with thorns, Francesca, and many an obstacle will stand in thy way, ere thy little Hock can be gathered together in our abode. But remember that hail does iiot always follow upon thunder, and that the brightest sunshine often breaks through the darkest clouds. Encouraged by this intimation, the Saint began in earnest to consider of the means of establishing her con- gi'egation. During a short absence which her husband made from Rome, she invited all the Oblates to her house, and having made them share her slight repast, she assembled them around her, and spoke to them to the following effect : " My dear companions, I have called you together in order to impart to you the lights which I have received fi'om the Lord and His blessed Mother with regard to our congregation. For seven years we have oeen especially consecrated to her ser- vice, and have bound ourselves to live in chastity and obedience, and to observe the rules prescribed to us ; and I have long thought that as we have been united in spirit and in intention, so ought we to Ix. in our outward mode of life. For a while I fancied that this my desire Blight only be the result of my matei-nal affection for 102 ST. FRANCES OF ROMB. you, and of my solicitude for your advancement. But the Lord has at last revealed to me tlint it is His will that I should found a new spiiitual edifice in this city, the ancient stronghold of religion and of faith. It will form an asylum tor those persons of your sex and ot your rank who have conceived the generous resolution ctf forsaking the world and its allurements; I have liegged of the Lord to select for His purpose one less imworthy than myself, but I dare no longer witlistana liie manifestation of His will. I am prepai'ed to ac- complish His bidding; but without you, my sisters, what can J do ? You are the foundations of the build- ing, the first stones of the nevr spiritual house of Hin mother. You are the seed from which a plentiful bar- vest is to spring. Earthly cares, the temporal afifui« of life, must no longer take up your time. He sum- mons you to a retreat, where you will live in His pre- sence, imitate His example, and copy the virtues of Maiy^ where you will pray for Rome, and turn away His wrath from the degenerate and guilty city. Have you not heard how two years ago the thunderbolts fell on her sacred towers ? Do you not see how every day ii-esh miseriM are gathering on the devoted heads of her people ? But God is full of mercy ; when mos^^ in- censed at our sins. He casts about for souls that will appease His anger. He has turned His eyes upon us. He bids us unite, and stand in the breach betweep Him and the daring s'mners who each day defy Him. Why taiTy we longer? whyfiirther delay? The arms of the Blessed Vir^ are wide open to receive us. Shall we draw back m)m her embrace ? No, rather let us fly to her feet." As she pronounced these last words Francesca fell into an ecstasy, which lasted for some time, and during which she pleaaed with God for those who were to l)elong to the new institute. Her companions gazed upon hr r with silent veneration ; and when she came to herself, r 11 with one accoitl, and with tears of joy, professed the* iselye^ ready to make eveiy sacrifice wuicn God migh^ require CH. XI. I ST. FBANCES OF ROME. 1(5 of them, and to adopt the mode of hfe and the nile which Fi-ancesca mi[jfht sug'g^st. But their assent wa3 only a preHminary step in the undertaking*. It was necess&ry to find a house suitahh) to their purpose, to obtain the consent of the still existing* parents of some of the Ohlates, to fix in a definitive manner their .ule and constitutions, and finally to procure the sanction of the Holy Father, and his appraval of the new order. Francesca attended in turn to each of tliese objects. lu tlie first place she consulted her three coadjutors on the choice of a house; and difficulties without number arose on this point. The priests were alarmed nt the sensa- tion which this undertaking* would produce, and wera quite at a loss to find money for the purchase. Fran- cesca had Ions* since given away almost all that she po^sessed. What little remained was devoted to works of charity which could not be abandoned, and all agreed that she was on no account to have recom-se on this occasion to her husband or to her son. While they were deUberating, Francesca was favoured with a vision, in which the divine assistance was promised to the Oblates, and their protectors (Don Giovanni in parti- cular) exhorted to perseverance. Encoui-aged by these assurances, they looked out for a house adapted to the requirements of a religious community; and after many researches Don Ippouto proposed to Don Giovanni a building in the Camnitelli district, on the spot where the old tower, known oy the name of " Tor di Specchi," used to stand, directly opposite to the Capitol, and not far fiom the Santa Mai-ia Nuova. Various obstacles arose to the purchase of this house, wluch was neither as lai^ nor as convenient as might have been wished ; but they \\ ui-e finally overcome, and the acquisition com- pleted towards the end of the yeai* 1432. This house, which was ct fii-st considered only as a tem|)orary resi- dence, was subsequently added to, and has remained to this day the central house of the order ; and in the ])on- tifical bull the congregation is designed by the name of " Oblates of Tor di Specchi." V\ 104 ST. FRANCES OF ROME. |i This matter once arranged, Francesca succeeded in dissipating the objections raised by the parents of some of the younger Oblates, and to reconcile them to tlie proposed alteration in their daughters* mode of Ufe. It was dcubtless a trial to her that while she was remov- ing all the difficulties in the way of the more perfect liie which her companions were about to lead, she her- self could only, like Moses, look on the pronused land of spiritual seclusion which they, her disciples and her children, were entering oiu and ailer which she had yearned from the days of her childhood. But she never hesitated as to her line of duty ; it was clear before her. Lorenzo had released her from all obliga- tions but one — that of residing in his house and watch- ing over his old age. His infirmities were increasing, and her attentions indispensable to his comfort. No one could supply to him Prancef^ca's care. She offered ap to God the daily self-denial of her exijtence; and by fresh tokens of His favour He rewarded her obedience. Her next anxiety was the formation of the consti- tution and of the rules which were to govern the infant congregation; and in frequent conferences with her pious coadjutors the subject was discussed. Afler many deli- berations, during which they could arrive at no con- clusion, it was agreed that the matter should be laid before God in prater; and their hope was not deceived. In a series of^ visions, — in which St. Paul in the first instance, and on other occasions the blessed Virgin and St John the Evangelist, appeared to France8ca,--direc- tions were given her so ample and so detailed as to the rule which her spiritual daughters were to follow, that there remained no room for hesitation. The several fasts which they were to observe ; the length of time which they were to devote to prayer, to work, and to sleep; the manner in which their actions were to be peirrormed ; the vocal prayers they were to recite ; the solituile, the silence they were to keep ; the poverty, the community of goods which they were to practise ; their dress, their occupations, their separation from the CH XII.] ST. PRANCES OP HOMS. !o6 World) their detachment from all er thiy ties of interest and kindred which they were at all times to ])e inspired with ; the precautions to ]>e titken in jw'ocunng' the con- sent of })arents, and securing^ the free action of the Oblates who might hei*eufter join tlie order, were all indicated with the greatest precision ; and instructions were transmitted to Don Giovanni and his co-o[)ei-ator8 to enlighten them as to the gfuidnnce and government of the congregation. Tiie miracidous mnnnpr in whicii the Saint had often read their most secret tiioughts, the miracles they saw her perform, and the admirable ten. oui' of her life, in which the most active viHues were combined with the deepest hnmiUty, and supematui-al favours received with the most profound self-aoasement, were to them a warrant of tlie genuineness of her reve- lations, the substance of which, con(h>nsed and reduced into a seiies of rules, ai-e to this day observed by the Oblates of Tor di Speech!. CHAPTER XII. FROGRiaS AND TRIALS OP THE TOUNO COMMUNITT — IT IS CONFIRMED BT THE POPE— TROUBLES IN ROME AND TIIE CHURCH TERMI- NATED THROUGH FRANCESCA*8 INTERCESSION AND THE COUNCIL OF FLORENCE. It was on the S5th of March, the Feast of the Annun elation, in the year 1433, that the Oblates, ten in num- ber, met in the church of Santa Maria in Ti-astevere, T^ere their holy foundress had so long been in the habit of resorting. They all heard Mass, and went to com- mtmion with the utmost fervour, and then in procession Proceeded to the house they were hencefoi-ward to in- abit. That house, which now-a-days is thrown o]>en during the Octave of the Feast of San Francesca, where young women come with their little children, and {loint oat to them the room which they inhabited in their owk 109 ST. VRANOEB OF IIOMB. drildlioud, when under the g'entle care of the Oblates of Mary. It is no g-loomy abode, tlie Convent of Tor di Specchi even in the eyes of those who cannot under- stand the hnppiness of a nun. It is such a place as one loves to see chiklren in ; where roHg'ion is combined with every thing* tlint pleases tho eye and reci«nt«s the mind. l*he beautiful ehii|>el ; tlie g'nrden with its mag*- nificent omng^-trees ; the open gfalleries, with their fancif'V decorations and scenic recesses, where a holy ^^d and smiled upon, wliile from every window may be caufi^ht a g'limpse of the Eternal City, a snii-e, a mined wall, — somethmg' that speaks of Home ana its tliousand charms. On Holy Thursday no sepulchre is more beautifid than that of Tor di Specchi. Flowers with* out end, and bright han|rings, all sweet and costly things, do homage to the Lord in the houi-s of His lov- ing imprisonment. But .'.1 the day when Francesca's companions firet entered those walls, there was nothing very fair or beautiful to gi*eet them, though they canned th^^y however, in their hearts, from the altar they had just lefl, the source of all light and love ; and to the eyes of faith the scene must have been a bright one. With delight t'ney exchanged their oixlinary dress for that which the rule prescribed ; Francesca alone stood among them no nun m her outwaitl garb, but the truest nun of all, through the inwai'd consecration of her whole being to God. Agnese de Sellis, a relation of hers, and a woman highly distingfuislied for vu'tue and pru- dence WJis elected superior of the house. There was a truly admirable spectacle presented to the people of Rome; these women were all of noble birth, and ac- customed to all the comforts and conveniences of life. Most of them had been wealthy ; some of them were still young; and for the love of God they had given up' cn. xii.J ST. FRANCBfl OP ROME. 107 every thing*, and made over tLeir possessions to their relations ; for it was not to lead a life of ease, of reli- ffious quietude, of holy contemplation alone, that tluy liad separated tliemselves from the world. It wns to imitate the povei-t}" of Christ, to place in the common stock, as the first uhristianii did, tiie little they had re- served, and to endm-e all the privations incident on poverty. Their exact and spontaneous ohedience to the cpentle Agnese was as remarkahle as the sweetness and humility with which she ruled. Seldom seen ahroad, their hours were divided between prayer, meditation, spiritual readini^, and works of mercy.* Francescn, obliged to be absent from them in l)ody, ^"^as ever pro- sent with them in spirit. She was the tt aer t mother to the little flock that had gnthei-ed un'^er I shelter- ing wing: ministei'ing to their nee ^<^. '^ies ^ visiting them as often as she could leave h . !iu. band's side; exciting them on to perfection by her wt^ is pccfhi are not, strictly speaking;, nuns: they take no vows, and are bound by no obligations under pnin of sin; they are not cloistered, and their dress is that which « as worn at the period of their establishment by the widows ol tlie lUxMUi nobles. 108 8T. FRANCES OP ROMB. effect on the naturally irresolute mind of Don Giovanni Mattiotti and Fra Bai'tolommeo Biandii. The former, in particular, erew discontented and desponding*. The direcfion of the oitler was a heavy burden to nim ; and his faith in Francesca's revelations was shaken by the many worldly diificuities which he foresaw. The mi<* raculous manner in which the Saint read his thoughts, and transmitted to him and his companion the reproofs and encouragements which were supematurally ad- di-essed to them through the medium of one of her visions, opened their eyes to a sense of their pusilla* nimity, and made them ashamed of their misgivings. Another threatened trial was, by the mercy of God, turned into a consolation. One of the youngest of the Oblates, Augustina Goluzzi, was the only child of her mother, who was a widow. This mother had made a cpenerous sacrifice to God in gladly suri'endering this beloved daughter to the exclusive serviv^e of Him who had called her to that high vocation ; but she had mis- calculated her sacrifice, or, ])erhaps, trusted too much to her own strength. When the sacrifice was made, the human feelings rose in her heart with terrible vio- lence, and life ap{)eared to her as one dreaiy blank, now that her home was shorb of its lig>ht, now that the be- loved child of her heart had ceased to gladden her eyes. Self-reproach for their vain repinings heightened her misery, and misery at last grew into despair. In an instant of wild recklessness she seized a k. jfe, and was about to destroy herself, when, like an angel at the hour of her utmost need, her daughter was at her side, and arrested her arm. It was so agauist all rules and all probabihties that she should have come to her at that moment, that she gazed on her in silent astonish- ment. Francesca was m prayer at the moment when Satan had been tempting the unfortimate woman ; and the dreadful danger she was in was miraculously re- vealed to her. She instantly ordered Augustina to leave what she was about, and hurry to her mother. The yumig girl oniied in time; and so great was the CH. XII.] 8T. FRANCES OF ROME. 109 impression which this merciful interposition proclucea on the mother, so deep her sense of tiie |>eril to wliiuh her soul hud been exiHJSod, that she hastened to tlirow herself at Francescii's feet, and with blessings on her and on her daughter, she expressed her gratitude for Augustina's vocation, and her earnest wish that she should remain faithfid to it. Another trial arose in those early days at Tor osition towards tlie cong'reg-ation, recommending himself at the same time to her prayei'S and to those of her sisters. He commended the exami- nation of the case to Gaspard, Archbisliop of Conzn, and enjoined him to verify the fact recited m the ))etition, and to comnumicate on the subject with the prior and the monks of Santa Mana Nuovu; and if satisfied with the result, to grant the [)rivile^s therein requeste*!. The archbishop applied himself with diligence to the execution of these orders; and the original document in wliich this authorisation is recorded still exists amongst the archives of the monastery. It stipulates that the Oblates shall be subject t^ the jurisdiction of the su[)erior and of the monks of Santa Maria Nuova, and that they may continue to inhabit the house of Tor di S|>ecchi until such time as they shall have made purchase of another. A short time af>«rwai-ds the Oblates, full of gratitude and joy at the favours which had been granted them, and every day more satisfied with their abode, solicited and obtained permission to remain in it in perpetuity. This last transaction took place at the very time when Rome was given up to anarchy, and frightful disorders reigned within its walls; when the pontifical magistrates had been thnist aside, and furious demagogues installed in their places. The Pope had taken refiige in Bologna, and it is fi-om that town that is dated the last-mentioned decree. The congrega- tion was successively confirmed by three of the genei-nU of the Olivetan order; and in 1444 Eugenius IV. ex* Cll. XII.J ST. PRANCES OF ROME. Ill I» tAnded still further the privileges and franchiMs of the Ohlates. Francesca was deeply impressed with the responsi- bility she hod iiiciirrevo- man ; and even the most earnest amongst them abso- lutely declined to attach to it the slightest imfmrtance. Not so the Vicar of Christ, when Francesca's confessor cuiTied to him at Bologna the message of the saint; he listened to it with revei'enco and gi-atitude, and sent back by his means all the necessary mandates for the execution of the orders which the lUossed Virgin had given. When he anived at Tor di S})ecchi, Francesca met him ; and before he could o])en his mouth, she gave him an exact px;count of all that had taken p'ace on his journey, and of the very words which the Holy Fathe* nad used during their interview. The Po|)e's directions were attended to, the appointed Masses said, the pro- cessions oi^nised ; and in a short time it was seen that a favourable result ensuetl. The Pope was happily in- spired to convene the council that met at Ferrara, and subsequently continued its lal)ours at Florence. This at last put an end to the pretensions of the illegal as- sembly at Basle, and the wounds of the Church were gradually healed. There was but one opinion at the time as to the cause of this favourable change in the aspect of affairs. It was unanimously ascril)cd to the prayers of Francesca and to the Pope's compliance with the orders she had received; and m the pix)cess of her canonisiition this {)oint is treated of at length, and sa- tisfactorily established ; and those who are actpiainted with the exti'eme caution observed on these occasions in admitting evidence on such a subject, will be im- pressed with the conviction that she was used as an in- •tmment of God*s mercy towards His suffering Church* • <» 114 fT. FRANCES OF ROMS. CHAPTER XIII. OBATa OV PBARCBSCa'S husband — 8HB OOBS TO EBSIDB WITH TBI OOBMCNITT OP TOB Dl SPBCCHI— HBB LIPB AS SUPKBIOl Francesca had been forty years married to J^renzo Poiiziano; and through hor married life, tiie heart tliut had been consecrated to Qod fitim the first dawn of ex- istence had been faithful in its love to him whom God Himself had apiwinted to be her ciiief earthly care: and blessed had been the course of that union ; blcsseeen compara- tively tranquil. Lorenzo was the first to bo called away. God spared him the trial he had ])robubly dreaded. We seldom are called upon to sutler the |)articular grief that fancy has dwelt u[N)n. His health iml been breaking for some years past, and now it utttn'ly failed, and his disease assumed an alarming character. Francesca, though ap|)arently worn out with toil, with abstinence, and mentid and bodily U buurs, found strength for every duty, and enetgy for every emergency. During Lorenzo s i)rolonge(I and painfiil illness, slie was always at his side, uui-i^ing him with indefatigable tenderness, and eoinjiluting the work which her example iiad wrought. His passuge fi-om life to eternity api>eared but a ioumey. TIkj e^brts i>f Sattm to disturb him on his death-bed, though oflcu re|)eated, were (nich time frustrated. Lorenzo had been a just man, and his death was the death of the right- tons. Few men would have shown themselves at en. XIII.] ST. PRANCES OF ROMR. lift Worthy as he did of such n w.'fe as Frnncosca. From the moment of his marriag-e he had appreciated her virtues, rejoiced in her piety, encourag-ed her g-ood works, and to a great extent shared in them. No mean feeUngps of jealousy, no human re8|)ect, no worldly sentiment of ezpeaiency had influenced him. Wlu'n he saw her renouncing all the pleasures and vanities of the world, dressing* lixe a poor person, wearing^ herself out in the zeal of her charity, turning the half of his palace into a hospital, ho did not complain, but rather rejoiced that she was one of those " whom fools have for a time in derision, and for a parable of reproacli ; whose hfe is esteemed madness, and tiieir end witiiout honour; but who are numbered amongst the children of God, and whose lot is amongst the saints." He had his reward; he had it when his sight failed him and his breath ffrew short, when he felt that his hour was come. He liad it when in his dying ears she whis- pered words of peace; and Satan, with a cry of despair, for ever fled away from his couch ; and when the ever- lasting portals opened, and tlie sentence was pronounced at the immediate judgment that follows deatii. Masses, 1)rayer8, fervent communions, and pious suflVages fol- owed him beyond the grave ; and when the saint, who had been the model of wives, stood by that grave a widow, her eorthly task was, in one sense, done: but work remained ; but it was of another sort. From her earliest youth she had been a nun in spirit; and the lieart which had sighed for the cloister in childhof>d yearned for its slielter in these her latter days. She must go and live in the shade of the tAl)emao]e ; she must be alone with her Lord during the few remaining years of life. This must have been foreseen by her children; and yet, like all trials of the kind, however long looked forwaitl to, it came ufion them at last as a surprise. When she said, " I must go," there was a loiid cry of sorrow in the Ponziano palace. Baptistn, the only son of her love, wept aloud. Mobilia threw herself into her aims, and, with impetuous gr'ef, pro- lie ST. FRANCES OF ROME. 1 * . tested affainst her leaving them. " Are yA\ i.nt a'-ald for me? she exclaimed, " if you abandon me, you who have tuus'ht me to love God and to serve Hi.n '{ Wlipt am I without you ? Too much, too tenderly you have loved me. It cannot be that you shouhl i'orsake me. I cannot endure existence without you." Her grand- children also, whom she was tenderly attached to, cl^mg to her, weeping. Moved by their tf^rirs, but unshaken in her resolution, she gently consoled them ; bade them recollect that she was still to inhabit Rome; that her affection for them would be unchanged, and that she would always be at hand to advise and to aid them ; but that her vocation must now be fulfilled, wad the sacrifice completed. Then turning to Mobilia, as to a dearly-beloved child, she fondly said, " iJo not weep, my daughter; you will survive me, and bear witness to my memory." This prediction was fulfilled ; for Mo- bilia was alive at the time that the pi'ocess for Fran- cesca's canonisation was commenced, and the u:r:^t;imonj she gave to her virtues and to her mbmcht- was on that occasion most im))ortaRt, and the mv^X detailed. After this, Franeesca took leave of har family, and went straight to the Tor di Sj>ecchi. It was on the 21st of March, the festival ot St. Benedict^ that she entered its walls, not as the foundress !>ut m a humble suppliant for admission. At the foot of tlip f^itairs, hav- ing taken oif her bla^L gown, her veil, and her shoes, and placed a cor" J .1 id her neck, she knelt dovrn, icissed tht ground^ .^n^ aedding an abundauce of tears, made her general confession aloud in tiie presence of all the Oblates ; described herself as a miserable sinner, a grievous offender against God, and asked permission to dwell amongst them as the meanest of their ser- vants ; and to learn from them to amend her life, and enter u|M)n a holier course. The spiritual daughters of Francesca hastened to raise and to embrace her ; and clothing her with their habit, they led the way to the cha{)el, where they all returned thanks to God. WhiU •he remained there engaged in prayer, Agnese de Sellii^ *tJ CH. XIII.j ST. «'RANCES 0» ROilB. 117 the superioress, assembled the sisters in the chapter- room, and declared to them, that now that their true mother and foundress had oome amongst them, it would be absurd for her to remain in her present office ; that Francesca was their guide, their head, an^i that into her hands she would inst«nt!y resign her authority. They all applauded her decision, and gathering' araund the Saint, announced to her tiieir wislies. As was to be ex- pected, Francesca strenuously refused to accede to this proi)osal, and pleaded jier inability to the duties of a superioress. The Oblates had i-ecoui-se to Don Gio- tanni, who begun by entreating", and finally com- manded her acceptance of the churg'e. His oitlei-s she never resisted ; and according-ly, on the ?Oth of March, she was duly elected to that omcc. She was favoured with a virion wliich strengthened and encouraged her in tiie new task she had before her. The ang-el who for twenty-four yeai-s had l)e pravity." Prcachinj^ far more by her actions than hy Jier words, she gtive an example of the most heroic vir- tues. It would be difficult to imag'ine any thing- nion\ jierfect than her life in the world ; but the new duties, the new privileg-es of her present vocation added each day new splendour to her virtues. She an])ointed Agnese de Sellis iier coadjutress, and Wgg'od tier to share her room, and watch over her conduct, entreating* her at the same time to warn her of every fan t she miprht commit. Her sti-ictness with her spiritual children, thoug-h tempered by love, was extreme. She never left a single imjicrfection uni-eproved, and allowed of no infractions, however slight, of tne rule. Sometimes, when through sliyness or false shame, they conc>ealed some tririing offence which tliey were bound to confess, she rend their hearts, and reminded them not to give Satan a hold ui)on them by such reserve. She was most care- ful of their health, and sought to procure them as often as she could some innocent recreation. They usetl occa- sionally to go with her to one or other of her vine- g^irdens withotit tho walls, to take exercise in the pure o|)en air. Francesc 's gentle gaiety on these occasions iucwftsed their enjoyment ; and the labour of gathering wood and grass, of making up faggots, and cnrryini^ away their i^poil on their liends at night, was a {mrt of their anniseraent. Tho conversation that was earned on between them the while was as merry as it was in- riocent. These young persons, l)om in palaces and bred in luxury, worked like peasants, with more than a pea- sant's lightness of heart. One fine sunny January day — and those who iiave in- habited Home well know how hue a January day can be — Francesca and seven or eight of her companions had beeu s'Hce earl}' dawn in the vine-gardens of Porta Portese. Taey had workel hard for several hours, and then sud- df-iiy remembered that they had brought no provisions ■wr.n them. They soon became faint and hungry, and &h<; , e ail very thirsty. Perna, the younjresr of all tlm Obiatets, was inirticulurly heated and tiretl, and ap^Mruttch* en. XIII.J 8T. PUANCE9 OF ROME. 119 iuf^ the Mother Superior, with a wearied exnression of countenance, she asked permission to et> and arink some water at a fountain some way olf on tlie public road. " Be |)atient, my child," Francesca answered ; " the fountain is too distort." She was afraid of these youn^ persons drinking cold water, heated as they wei-e by toil and exposure to the sun. They went on with their work; and withdrawing aside, Francesca knelt down, cla<;ped her hands, and with her eyes raised to heaven, said, *^ Lord «Jesu8, I have been tnoughtless in bring- ing' my sisters here, and forgetting to provide food for tliem. Help us in our need.^' Pema, who had kejjt near to the Mother Superior, 1)i*obnhIv with the intention of urging her renuest, over- leard rhiA prayer, and, a Httle irritated by the feverish thirst she was enduring, said to herself with some im- {)atience, 'Mt would be more to the purpose to take un lome at once." Francesca read the inward thought, and tuming to t)ie discontented girl she said, " My child, you do not tnist enough in Goes, of that purple and burnishi'd hue which the fervid 8unlx»am8 of August and September imimit to tiiat glorious fruit. " A miracle ! a miracle !" (;xcl:iimed the enraptured Pema; and the other Oblates assembled round the tree in speechless astonishment, for they had seen ull day tlio bare and withered branches. Twenty times at least they had passcKl and repassed before it ; and at all events the season for grapes had long gone by. After kneeling to give thanks to God for this gracious pi-o«ligy, they spread a cloth on the grass, and gnthojod th(f precious fiuit. There were exactly os ninny buncles as jiersons pr(»sent ; and with smiling foces an«l joyfiil hesiits Fnincescu's children fepiness of feeding the poor. Finnccscn, ha|)py in tiio virtues of her chihiren, out tenderly anxious for their welfare, was indefatigable in her eiforts to procure them the necessaries of lite. She used on these occasions to beg of her relations, or even of strangei-s ; and Almighty God alloweil her sometimes to provide for them in a miracu*' as manner. One day that the sister whose turn it was to attend to the victualling department found herself imable to jnit u|X)n the table any thing but two or three small fragments of bread, she went to consult the Saint, who immediately pro|M)sed to go out with her and beg. Ac- cording to her invnriable custom, she asked Agnese de Sellis, her coadjutoress, for permission so to do. Contrary to her habit on such occasions, Agnese refused, and said, that if it was necessary for any one to beg, she, with another of the sistei-s, would undertake it. J'hen Fran- cesca, after a moment's thiught, replied, '' J think that (>od will provide for us without any one goiifg out of the house ;" and calling the Oblates to the refectory, she asked a blessing on the bread, and distrdjuted it m minute portions amoigst them. Each on ))eginning to eat her share, saw it multiply apace; and not only were their wants thus supplied at the moment, but enough remained when they had done to furnish them with food for the next day. The gift of propliocy she also exercised more fre- quently tlian ever at tins ])criod. Once, whon she waa praying in her cell, the nuus heard her er'^laim, '*0 t!' 129 8T. PRAMCEft OP ROMS. Kin^ of Heaven, support and comfort that poor nnlmp, y motner;'* and some hours aftcrwunls, they heard ttiat at that very moment a young noblt* niun, Jacobo Mad- ilaleni, had been thrown from his hon>e and killed on tlie spot, to the inexpressible grief of his mother. Lo- renzo Altieri was dying, and his wife Palozza over- whelmed with sorrow ; she had several young children, and was almost in despair at tlie idea oflosing her hus- band. Tlie physician had declared his case hopeless; and when she sent for Francosca her heart was breaking. The Suint euine up to her, and said coinjiossionateiy, " Dear sister, give up the love and the vanities of the world, and Gouwill take pity u|)on you. Loi-enzo will yet recover; he will be present ut my burial." The ]irediction was fulfilled, and Lorenzo, restoieil to health, assisted, as she hud said, at the funeral of the Saint ; and Palozza, whose honrt hnd been entirely converted at thrt moment, and who had vowe8es that some new prodigy does not ctUl forth the grateful enthusiasm of the warin-heurti'd and devout Trasteverini. If a cliild is trodden midur f(M)t by a runaway horse, Francesca is sent for, and at the sig>ht of the l^int he revives. If a young Iniutman, in the prime of youth, is thrown into the Til)er, and curried away by the stream under the arches of the Ponte Rotto, from whence his afflicted mother receives him into hev arms without a symptom of life, she calls out to her friends, " Run, run to the servant of (Jod : gt) to Francesca dei Ponaano, and bid her pray for the boy." And when they i«tum, the mother is weeping still over her apparently lifeless child ; but they shout from a dis- tance, ''The seiTant of God says he will not die;" and in a few instants, Paul Guidolini opens his eyes, and smiles on his mother, who some years lat«r becomes one of the Oblates of Tor di Specchi. If Francesca sits down for a moment to rest on the steps of a church, as she did one Good Friday, after the service at St. Peter's, a paralytic woman kneels at her feet, and obtains that she should lay her hand on her withered limbs, which are instantly restored. There is no illness on record which her prayers, or the touch of her hand, does not dispel and sulKlue. Sho i-estorrs sight to the blind, the numb 8|)eak, the deaf hear, tiie lame walk at hfBt bidding^; {wstileuce and madness and fits auii IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I I^|2j8 |2^ 110 USi 11.25 lU. ||.6 -^ ^ 6" ► <% ^ '/ /A Hiotographic Sciences Corporation 33 ^T MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. MSM (716) •73-4503 124 ST. FRANCES OF AOMB. wounds and possession itself disappear before the powpt with which Almighty God has endued her; and she walks this earth of oui-s dispensing- blessings, as the faithful handmaid of Him who went about doicg^ good. At the same time, more and more ecstatic grew her prayers, more visible to all eyes the indwelling of the Holy Spirit in her soul, more removed ii'om the natui-al con- ditions of existence the tenour of her life. At the houi-s of meals, which she observed in obedience to the rule, her companions notice that she hardly ever eats, but that her face is turned to the window, and her eyes £xed on the sky, while rays of light seem to play around her, and her countenance grows dazzling from the celestial brightness which overspreads it. Longer and longer became her orisons ; often in visiting a church she falls into an ecstasy, which lasts till night. The sublimity of her vision, the glimpses of heaven which she en- joys, the sight of angels, and of the Lord of angels, is occasionally exchanged for the terrific apparitions, the rsnewed assaults of Satan, who attack her at times with redoubled violence, now that her ultimate triumph is at hand, and the crown ?,bout to descend on a brow which already shines with the mystic radiance of sanctity. The old frescoes of the original chapel of Tor di Specchi represent some of these mysterious struggles between Fitmcesca and the Evil One; and her cell bears the im- press of that strange violence which Satan is permitted to exercise at certain moments, and which is the type of the warfare which is ever waged between him and God's Church. He can shake it at times by the storms he raises; bat vain are his attempts to overthrow it. The mark of Satan^s fury is stamped on the roof of Francesca's lowly cell; but the reUcs of the canonised Saint now fill the chamber which, in his impotent rage, the tempter once sought to destroy. But this life of wonders, of trials, and of miracles, was drawing to a close. She who had been the holiest of maidens, of wives, and of widows, had all but finished Ltr course^ CH. XIII.] ST. FRANCES OF ROlfB. 125 a of and many were the intimatioiis she received of her approaching end. On one of these occasions she selected one of the chapels in Santa Maria Nuova as a place of sepulture for the Ohlates, and obtained from the Olivetan Monks that it should be reserved for that purpose. She often spoke of her death to the sisters, and told Rita, one of the companions of her youth, that she would succeed her in the government of the congregation. Don Ippolito, (me of her coadjutors in the foun spend the whole day with, them, the Oblate Aug^stina, who had aeeomponied her, also remaining; to return with her at nifi'ht. Toward? evening' she f^reiw so weak that she coulu hardly stand; and Baptista and Mobilia implored hor to stay at the }>alaee, or else to let herself be carried in a litter to tlie convent ; but site persisted in setting out on foot. Stopping on her way at the church of Santa Maria in Trastevere, site went in to ask, for the last time, her spiritual father's blessing, and found Don Giovanni in the Chapel of the Angels — that spot where she had so oflen been favoured with divine revelations. As he was inquiring after Baptista, be was struck with the more than habitual paleness of her face, and the evident exhaustion she was labouring under, and com- manded her, as a matter of obedience, instantly to return to the Ponziaao Palace, and to spend the night there. This order was a severe trial to Franeesea, for she felt at once that if she was not now to return to Tor di Speoohi. she would never again enter those hallowed walls; but, faithful to the spirit of perfect obedience, she meekly bowed her head in token of submission, and ^ent baek to lier son's house. In the course of the night a virulent fever came on, and in the morning she was as ill as possible. Fran- cesca's first care was to send for her director, and to request him to apprise her spiritual daughters of her illness. Four of tiiem (Agnese, Rita, Catherina, and Anastasio,) hurried to her side ; and when they heard her entreat Don Giovanni not to omit any of the neces- sary precautions for her soul's welfare, they all burst into tears, uid seemed at once to understana that their neloved mother was about to leave them. Francesca gently consoled them, and dismissed them towards the evening, only keeping with her Augustina, who watched ner during the night, rnd witnessed the ecstasy durins which the following vision was vouchsafed to the suf- ferer :— Our Lord appeared, surrounded with angels amA 128 ST. FRANCES OF ROME. with saints, and announced to her that in seven days she would die, and receive the ck'own which was pi-e- pared for her in heaven. Sister Augustina saw her face shining with supernatural brightness ; a radiant smile playing on her lips, and hi^ara her say with ineffable unction : " Be Thou eternally praised and blessed, O my dear Lord Jesus Christ ! Thanks be to Thee for the unmerited favom^ I have received at Thy hands. To Thee, to Thee alone, do I owe all the blessings I have, and have yet fco i*eceive." When Don Giovanni saw her afterwards, he imagined she was rullyinof ; but she related to liim her vision, and bade him tell her daugh- ters that her end was approaching. Their tears and their sobs choked their utterance ; and the Saint gently reproved that excess of sorrow, and bade them rejoice with her, and bless the Divine goodness for the great mercy that was shown to her. During the next two days she suffered much ; but no woi-d or sound of com- plaint escaped her. Her face was as serene as if her Dody had been perfectly free from pain ; and to those who expressed a hope that she would yet recover, she only answered with a sweet smile, '' God be praised, my pilg^mage viiLl end from Wednesday to Thursday next." She asked for the Sacraments, confessed, went to commimion, and received Extreme Unction. Ardent ejaculatory prayers, devout aspirations, burning expres- sions of love, were ever rising from her hefut to her lips. Each day she repeated, as if she had been in per- fect health, the Office of the Blessed Virgin, the Rosary, and all her usual prayers. The Oblates watched by her in turns, and Mobilia hardlv ever left her side ; so that the smallest particulars of that wonderful death-bed were carefully recorded. Francesca allowed all those who wished to see her to come in. She had words of advice, of warning, and of consolation for all. When the news of her Ulness was spread in Rome, the heart of the g^at city was stirred to its very depths, and a moumfiil, anxious, loving multitude beset the palace and the very bed of the dying Saint. Nowise CH. XIV.J ST. FRANCES OF ROME. 129 disturbed or annoyed at this oppressive testimony of their affection, she had a smile, or a look, or a kind woimI for each. No cloud obscured her undei-standing^ ; no irritability affected her temper. Peace was within and around her, and heaven's own calm on her brow and in her heart. The evil spirits, the arch-enemy him- self — who, for her sanctiiication and the glory of God, had been permitted so often to haimt her path and assault her during* life — are banished now, and stand at bay, gBzing, no doubt, irom afar, with envious rage, on that peace which they may no longer mar. Don Gio- vanm, who had known so well her former ti-ials, often inquired, during her last illness, if Satan*s ministers were molesting her. " No," she would answer, with a smile ; ** I see them no more. God has conquered ; His foes have fled.*' But the bright archangel, whose task is nearly at an end, is still at his post ; he weaves the last threads of the mystic woof, and seems to make haste to iinish his work. The halo of Hght which sur- rounds him grows brighter and bn^hter, and Fran cesca's dying form reflects that splendour. On the Monday morning she is still in the same state. Glorious visions pass before her ; divine forms bend over her, and whisper words of welcome. During Mass, which her confessor says in her room, the Lord Himself appeai-s to her again; and from the consecrated Host He speaks to her entranced soul. The Blessed Virgin and the angels surround her, and the voices of the blest make sweet music in her ears. Late on that day, when her ecstasy was over, the weeping Oblates surround her bed, and with suppliant accents imploi'e her to ask of God yet to leave her upon eai*th, for the sake of the souls intrusted to her care. It was a hard request: to have had a glimpse of heaven, and to tura back; to have tasted the cup of celestial bliss, and to draw back from its sweetness ! Full of love, of pity, of resignation, of holy indifference, she exclaims : '^ God's will is my will ; His good pleasure mine. If He chooses 130 ST. FRANCES OP ROMK. i me to tarry ^et on earth, so be it then. I am readr to remain in this miserable world, if He commands it. But it was not oi-dained. The next day she grew rapidly worse, and from that time slept not again. '* I shall soon rest in God," she replied to those who were ui^ing her to repose. The Oblates once more kneel around her to receive her last instructions: one of them alone, Francesca dei Veruli, is kept away by a severe illness, which confines her to her bed. Touching were the last words of the dying mother to her spiritual children ; sweet; the word^ of blessing she pronounced on their heads. Lovey IovBj was the burden of her teaching, as it had been that of the beloved disciple. ** Love one another (she said), and be faithful unto death. Satan will assault you, as he has assaulted me; but be not afraid. You wul overcome him through pa- tience and obedience; and no trial will be too grievous, if you are united to Jesus ; if you walk in His ways, He will be T ^ you." Then with earnest accents she thanked Dc • •)vr:,nni, in her own name and in that of the order, .^r all he had done to them; and com- mended the Oblates to his fatherly care. At that moment her son Baptista entered the T'^ym, His mother sat up in the bed, and gazing upon him with an expression of anxious scrutiny, she said : " Ana can it be tnat you quarrel wiiih poor shepherds? And do you rob God. of His glory by unlawful dealings with hell ?" The persons who were standing around the bed looked at each other in surprise, and imagined that Francesca was delirious; but Baptista's countenance and actions soon undeceived them. Tears rushed into his ey^, and with great emotion he publicly acknow- ledged that he had been guilty of strikmg, in his anger, some peasants who had injured his fields, and had gone to consult in secret one of the persons who dealt in occult sciences, as to the possibility of his mother's re- covery. No one but himself knew of his twofold sin ; and the rebuke of the dyhig Saint came upon him as « CH. XV.] 8T. FRANCES OF RC MB 131 direct reproof from God, and an awfiil warning for the rest of his life. As the day advanced, Francesca grew weaker and weaker ; but the flame of love was buraing more brightly, as that of life was waning. ** What are you saying ? asked Don Giovanni at one moment, on seeing ner lips move. " The Vespei-s of the Blessed Virgin," she answered in a scarcely audible voice. As an mfant almost she had begun that piuctice ; and on the eve of her death she had not yet omitted it On the seventh day of her ilLiess, as she had herself an- nounced, her lire came to a close. A sublime expres- sion aniinated her face ; a more ethereal beauty clothed her earthly form. Her confessor for the last time in- quires what it is her enraptured eyes behold, and she whispers, "The heavens open! llie angels descend! The archangel has finished his task. He stands before me. He beckons to me to follov/ him." These are the last words that Francesca utteirs ; a smile of indescri- bable brightness beams irom her face. The eyes that have so long been closed to the vanities of life are now closed in death, and her spirit has taken its final leave of earth. CHAPTER XV. F&AMCESCA*S FDNKRAL, AND HKH SUBSEQUENT CANONISAriON. The body of the Saint remained during a night and a day at the Ponziano palace, the Oblates watching by turns over the beloved remains. Their grief was tem- pered with joy, for they felt she was in heaven; though the pang of separation was keen, and their home on earth desolate. Don Giovanni, Don Ippolito, and Don Francesco dello Schiano recited the prayei-s of the Church over the corpse; and though deeply affected themselves, strove to console the bereavea sisterhood, chiefly by extolling the rare merits and the heroic virtues of theur departed mother. Almighty God vouchsafed, even 192 ST. FRANCES OF ROME. during the fii'st nig^lit of their loving watch, to give them a proof of thut sanctity which was so soon to he triumphantly demonstrated. Sister Margaret, of the third order of St. Frances, had heen present at Fran- cesca's death, and remained by her side during the night that followed. Her arm Lad been paralys^ for six months, and to all appearance withered. Inspired with a lively faith, she touched the body of the Saint, and was instantaneously cured. The Oblates all fell on their knees at the sight of this miracle, and blessed God for the earnest He thus gave of the wonders which Francesca's intercession was to accomplish. Each moment they wei-e confiimed in the blessed assurance of her inmiediate admission into heaven ; each moment brought with it a new occasion for joyful exultation. The sweet perfume, the " odour of sanctity," which ex- pression is so often supposed to be simply metaphorical, whereas it often indicates an actual physical and mira- culous fact, soon pervaded the room and filled it with fragrance. Francesca's face, which had recently borne the traces of age and of suffering, became as beautiftU again as in the days of youth and prosperity; and the astonished bystanders gazed with wonder and awe at that unearthly loveliness. Many of them earned away particles from her clothes, and employed them for the cure of several persons who had been considered beyond the possibility of recovery. In the com-se of the day, the crowd augmented to a degree which alarmed the inhabitants of the palace, and Baptista took measures to have the body removed at once to the church ^ and a procession of the regular and secular clergy escorted the venerated remains to Santa Maiia Nuova, where they were to be interred The popular feelmg t)urst forth on the occasion ; it was no longer to be restrained : a sort of pious insm*- rection, wliich the Chm-ch smiles upon, even though it refuses to sanction it ; as a mother can scarcely rebuke a somewhat irregular action in one of her children when it springs ii'om a generous feeling, even though CH. XV.J ST. FRANCES OP ROMS. 13J she feels herself bound to check it. " Francesca was a saint — Francesca was in heaven." Francesca v^as in- voked by the crowd, and her beloved name was heard in every street, in every piazza, in every comer of the Btemal City. It flew from mouth to mouth ; it seemed to float in the air, to be borne aloft by the g-rateful enthusiasm of a whole people, who had seen her walk to that church by her mother's side in her holy child- hood; who had seen her kneel at that altar in the grave beauty of womanhood, in the hour of bereavement, and now in death ; carried thither in state, she the gentle, the humble Saint of Rome, the poor woman of the Trastevere, as she was sometimes called at her own desire. Francesca dei Veruli, the Obhtte whom illness had detained from the death-bed of her beloved mother, bears from her sick-room the confused hum of voices, the sound orhurryin^feet, which indicate the approach of the procession. Full of faith, she starts up, and with clasped hands exclaims, ''Oh, my mother! oh, Francesca ! I have not seen you die ; I have not re- ceived juur last blessing; obtain for me now that I may visit your remains. With a violent eflbi't, and leaning on one of her sisters, she contrives to i ise and to make her way to the bier. The very instant she has touched it, her health and strength return. Meanwhile the crowd aunnents, and hurries into the church. They press round the precious body ; they refuse to let it lie buried. As a favour, as a boon of the greatest price, they obtain that the obsequies be put off to the Satur- day; and in the meantime, day and night, there is no limit to the concourse of people that assemble in the chapel. Stm the saintly body exhales its perfiime; still the sweet features retain their beauty ; and to that spot, in an apparently never-ending succession, come tne bUnd, and the lame, and the halt, and the sick, and the suflering; and each of those who touch the bier, or to whom is carried something that has belonged to IVancesca, id instantaneously cured. Truly God waa 134 8T. FRANCES OF ROME. wonderful in this His Saint, and wonderful are tha details of the miracles wrought during^ those days; and not only were the ills of tne body relieved by con- tact with the holy corpse, but grace reaches the souls of many who have been hitherto steeled against its entrance. Amongst others, two young men of dissolute lives and irreligious spirits, on hearing of the miracles at Santa Maria Nuova, heap m to jeer and laugh on the sub- ject, and, moved only by cunosity, go to the church, approach the bier with mock demonstrations of respect. But no sooner have they knelt before it, than their hearts are simultaneously touched; a sudden change comes over them. Having come to scoif, they remain to pray, — ^they rise from their knees only to seek a confessor; and return home that ni^ht converted to God, and ever after lead the hves of pious Christians. The mhracles wrought before and after Francesoa's burial are so mul- tifiuious, that it might be tedious (a strange word to use on such an occasion, but nevertheless correct) to attempt to relate them all. Great was the moral effect of this singular outpouring of God's powers through His servant. Faith grew mora timid, and hope mora strong; charity burned in the hearts of many with an ever-mcreasing fervour; and the examples which the Saint had given, and which were now dwelt upon with affectionate veneration, induced many to walk in the same path, and look to the same end. It was in Lent that sne hod died ; and from every pulpit in Rome her praises were heard. The most eminent ecclesiastics of the time all foretold her canonisation ; and the public voice and the public devotion ratified the burst of po- pular enthusiasm that had hailed her as a Saint on the very day of her death, and long preceded the formtj recognition of her sanctity by the authority of the Church. A few months after her death, her tomb was opened in order to remove the corpse into a monument which Baptista, Mobilia, and several Roman noblemen had It. PRANCRS OP HOME. 135 CH. XV.] erected in her honour. It was found in a state of per- fect prcservotion, and still exhaling' the same Ira^nce as before. The most exact and detailed examinations were taken in the year of her death, both as to all the particulars of her life, and as to th'j supernatural and miraculous events which had markf d its course, as well as those which had succeeded her death. From time to time earnest endeavours were made ti hasten her formal canonisation. The materials were ample, and the evidence complete; but a variety of circumstances interfered with the conclusion of the pro- cess; and though several Popes, namely, Eng«nius IV., Nicholas v., Pms IF., Innocent VIII., and Julius II., promoted the question, it was not much advanced till the accession of Clement VIII., who had a ^at devo- tion to the Saint, and brought the matter nearly to a close ; but his death occurring^ in the meantime, and his successor, Leo XI., only outliving him twenty-seven days, it was Paul V. (Boi^hese) who decreed the canonisation of Francesca, to the Joy of the Oblates of Tor di Specchi, of the monks of Santa Maria Nuova, and of the whole people of Rome. Her festival was appointed to be kept on the 9th of March; and those who have been in Rome on that day can tell how vivid is the devotion that still exists, — ^the worship that is yet paid to the holy Francesca, the beloved Samt of the Trastevere, the model of Christian matrons ; and in the church of Santa Francesca Romana, as the old Santa Maria Nuova is now called, and in the Casa dei Esercizii Pii (the old Ponziano Palace), and in the time-honoured walls of Tor di Specchi, a tribute of love and of devotion is yielded, which touches the heart, and carries the mind Dock to the days when, amidst the strife of war and the miseries of anarchy, faith, fresh, strong, and pure, assorted its power, and wiwight Wonders through such feeble instruments as a woman's heart and a woman*s woiics. On the 29th of May, 1608, in the church of St. Peter, then lately erected, and adorned for the occasion with 136 ST. FRANCES OF ROME. the utmost magniiicence, affcer a pontifical High Mass^ in the presence of the Sacred College, and of an immense affluence of strangera as well as of Romans, the decree was proclaimed which placed Francesca amongst the canonised taints, and sanctioned the worship which a devout people had paid her, with hut few interruptions, since the day of her death. Rome was illuminated that night; the fieiT cupola of St. Peter, and the sound of inri.mierahle heUs, told the neighbouring plains and hills that " God had regarded tho lowliness of His hand- maiden," and that, in her measure, all generations were to call her Blessed. In 163d, the tomb of Francesca, which, in conse- quence of some alterations in the church, had remained out of sight for a great number of years, was, through the pious exertions of the Oblates, assisted by the abbot of Santa Maria Nuova, and the Cardinals Bovghese, Barberini, and Altiere, discovered in the spot where it had been placed two centuries before. Her bones were exposed to the veneration of the faithful, and a number of religious processions and semces took place on the occasion. Various miracles ag^ain gave testimony to the virtues of those holy relics, and a magnificent mo- nument was erected beneath that altar whera the Saint had so often prayed. d ■h )t e, it re 3r le BLESSED LUCY OF NARNL 199 BLESSED LUCY OF NARNL It was towards the latter end of the 15th century that Lucia Broccoletti was horn in the ancient city of Nami, in Umhria, where her father's house had long held a nohle and distinguished rank. Even as a baby in the cradle, there were not wanting signs which marked her as no ordinary child; and if we may credit the accoimt given us by her old biog^phers, both her nurses and mother wera accustomed to see her daily visited by an unknown rehgious dressed in the Dominican habit, whose majestic appearance seemed something more than human, and who, taking her from her cradle, embraced her tenderly, and gave her her blessing. They watched closely, to see whence this mysterious visitor came and whither she went, but were never able to follow her ; and the mother becoming at length alarmed at the daily recurrence of this circumstance, it was revealed to her that her child's unknown visitor was no other than St. Catherine of Sienna, to whom she was given sb an adopted daughter. The accounts that have been pi-eserved of Lncia's childhood have a peculiar interest of their own. Whilst the early biographies of many saints present us with instances of extittordinary graces and mvours granted to them in infancy, quite as numerous and remarkable as those bestowed on Blessed Lucy, yet in her case we find them mixed with the details of a characteristic vivacity of temperament, which give them a lifelike reality, and show her to us, in the midst of her super- natural visitations, with all the impetuosity of an ima- ginative child. When she was only four years old, her mother's brother, Don Simon, came on a visit to his sister's house, and brought with him irom Rome vari- ous toys and presents for the children. Lucy wai 140 BLESSED LUCY OF NARNI. given her choice; and whilst the others were loudly clamouiing for the dolls and puppets, she selected a little rosary with an image of the Child Jesus; and this being given to her, she took it in her arms, be- stowing every name of childish endearment on it, kiss- ing its hands and feet, and calling it her dear Christa- reUo, a name which continued to be given to it ever afterwai'ds. The rest of the day she spent in her own little room, where she aiTanged a comer for the recep- tion of the Ghiistarello, and was never tired of seemg and caressing her new treasure. Henceforth it was here that she spent the happiest moments of the day. If ever she got into any trouble in the house, it was here she came to pour out all her sorrow; and the inno- cent simplicity of her devotion was so pleasing to God, that more than once He permitted that the C&istarello should wipe away the tears which she shed on these occasions with His little hand, as was several times witnessed by her mother, who watched her through the half-open door. As she grew a little older, she began to accompany her mother to chiu-ch ; and they frequently went to visit the gi'eat chinch of St. Augus- tine, which was close to the house where they lived. Now it happened that in this church, among other de- vout images, there was a small bas-relief of the Blessed Virgin holding her Divine Son in her arms, which took the child's fancy the fii-st time they entered, so that she slopped to look at it. Her mother observed i:.3r as she lingered behind : " Lucy," she said, " do you know who that beautiful lady is whom you see there ? She is *he Mother of your ChriF/tjarello; and the little Child whom she carries in her arms is the Christarello also. If you like, we will come here sometimes ; and you shall bring the rosanr you are so fond of, and say it before her image." Lucy was delighted at the idea; and whenever she could escape from her nurse's hand-, she foimd her way to the church, to admire this new object of her devotion. One day, being thus occupied, the thought came into her head, how much she would like BLESSED LUCY OF NARNI. Ui to hold the Christarello for once in her own arms, as she had learnt to hold her little bahy brother. She therefore prayed to the Blessed Vir^ with great earnestness that her request mi^ht be eranted, and immediately the marble figure ot the little Jesus was extended, to her by His Mother, and placed in her arms. Nor was this all : no sooner had she received her precious burden, than she felt the cold marble be- come a living Child ; and, fiill of delight, she ran home still carrying Him; and though she met many people on the way, who stopped her as she hurried along, and tried to take Him n'om her, she succeeded in getting safe to her own room at home, where she shut nerself up with her treasure, and remained with Him for three days and nights without food or sleep, insensible to all the entreaties and remonstrances of her astonished mother. Conquered at length by T^tigue, on the third day she fell asleep ; and when she woke she became sen- sible of the truth that God abides only with those who watch with Him ; for, on opening her eyes, the first thing she perceivcKl was that the Christarello was gone. Her cries of distress were heard by her mother, who, to console her, carried her once more to the church ; and thei'e they found the marble child restored to the image as before, although for the three previous days its place in the arms ot the Virgin's figure had heen^ empty. She was accustomed from time to time to pay a visit to the uncle before mentioned, and when about seven years old she went as usual to spend some time with him at his country house. She rememoered, on the occasion of a former visit, to have seen a room in some part of the house where there were some little angels painted on the walls, as it seemed to her, hold- ing their hands and dancing; and the first morning aiter her arrival, she determined to set out on a dili- gent search after the dancing angels. The room in which they were painted was in a wing of the houra which had fallen out of repair, and was nu l(Higer uMd* 142 BLESSED LUCY OF NARNI. by the family ; a staircase had led to the upper story, but this was now fallen and in ruins ; and though Lucy, as she stood at the bottom, could see the little ang'els OQ the wall above her head, all her efforts were un- availing to climb the broken staircase and reach the object of her search. She had recourse to her usual expedient, prayer to the Christarello, and instantly found hei'self in the empty room, without well know- ing how she came there. But her thoughts were soon busy with the angels. There they were ; little winged children, their heads garlanded with flowers, their mantles floating as it seemed in the air; and they danced with such an air of enjoyment and superhuman grace, that Lucy sat on the g^und before them, ab- sorbed in admiration. As she sat thas, she heard her own name called from the window. She turned round, expecting to see her uncle or some of the servants of the house ; but a very different spectacle met her eye. A glorious ccHupany of saints and angels stood round the Person of Jesus Himself. On His ri^ht was His Virgin Mother; on His left, St. Catherine and the great Patriarch St. Dominic, with many others. Then those mystic espousals were celebrated which we read of in so many other tales of the Saints of God : tlie Divine Spouse receiving the hand of the delighted child from His Blessed Mother, placed a ring on her finger, which she preserved to the hour of her death ; mer which He assigned her to the special gfuaitlianship of St. Dominic and St. Catherine, whom from that day she always was used to call her ** &ther and mother." ''And have you nothing to give Me?" He then asked of His little Spouse; '' will you not g^ve Me that silk mantle and pretty necklace?" Lucy was dressed in the rich fieishion of the day, with a crimson damask mantle over her other garments, and a necklace of gold and coral beads about ner neck; but at these words of her Spouse, she hastily stripped them off, and lay them at His feet. He did not tail, however, to give her a richer dress in their place; for she had no sooner takes BLESSED LUCY Ol KARK: U3 l&t off tSbe silk mantle, than St. Dominic clothed her with the scapular of his order, which she continued to wear during the rest of her life under her other clothes. When the vision had disappeared, Lucy found herself full of a new and inexpi-essible joy. She turned to the little angels on the wall, the only companions lefb her after the last of the heavenly train had faded from her eyes, and with the simplicity of her childish glee, she spoke to them as though they were alive. *^ lou dear little angels," she said, " are you not glad at what our Lord has done?" Then the angels seemed to move from the wall, and to become, indeed, iidl of life ; and they s{K)ke to her in reply, and said they were very glaa to have her for their queen and lady, as the Spouse of their dear Lord. And they invitisd her to jom in their dance of joy, and sang so sweet and har- monious a music, and held out their hands so kindly and graciously, that Lucy would have been well con- tent never to have lefb her happv place of retreat ; nor would she have done so, if she nad not been found by her oacle, and carrier' ag^ainst her will back to the house. The death of her father, left her whilst still young, to the guai'dianship of her uncle. All her own wishes were fixed on a life of religion, but her uncle had dif- ferent views for her ; and after long resistance on her Eart, he succeeded in inducing her to accept as her usband Count Pietro of Milan, a young nooleman of considerable worth and abihties. The marriage was accordingly celebrated ; but not until, in answer to ear- nest prayers, Lucy had received a divine revelation that a life £0 contrary to all her own wishes and intentions was inieed God s will regarding her. Djubtless it is one oi; those cases in which it is not easy for us to follow the ways of Divine Providence. The marriage was followed by much suffering' to both pailies ; yet., if we be willing to take the Samts' lives as they ai'e given us, without seeking to reduce the supernatural elements we find in them to the level of 144 BLESdED LUCY OF NARNt. our own understanding, we shall not be disposed to doubt the truth of the revelation which commanded it, or to fancy things would have been much better if Blessed Lucy had never been placed in a position so little in harmony with her own wishes. On the con- trary, we must admire the grace of God, which would perhaps never have been so amply manifested in His servant, had she been called to a more congenial way of life. We are accustomed to admire the wonderM variety of examples which are presented to us in the lives of the Saints : that of Bhssed Lucy offers us one of a soul with all her sympathies and desires fixed on the higher life of religion, yet fulfilling with perfect exactitude the minutest duties of a di^rent vocation. She sanctified herself in the will of God, though that will was manifested to her in a position which the world is used to call the hardest of all to bear — an ill-assoilied marriage. She found means to practise the humiliation of the cloister, without laying aside the duties, or even the becoming dignity, of ner station. Her first care, on finding herself the young mistress of a house full of servants, was with them, whom she ever looked on less as menials than as a cherished portion of her family. And in the beautiful account given us of her intercoui-se with them, we must re- member that at the period in which she lived, it was considered nothing uncommon or unbecoming for ladies of the highest rank to join in the household occupations, and take their part in the day's employment, working with their servants, and presiding amonf^t them with an affectionate fiEuniliarity, which, without rendering them less a mistress, gave them at the same time almost the position of a mother. Blessed Lucy de- lighted in the opportunities, which the simple mannei's of the day thus afforded her, of laying aside her rich dress and ornaments, and assisting m her own kitchen, where she always chose the meanest and most tiresome offices. What was with others only done in compliance with the ordinary habit of the day, was with her made BLESSED LUCY OP NARNI. 146 the occasion of secret Immiliations. One of lier servants, a woman of very holy life and disposition, she took into her confidence, suhmittin^ herself to her direction, am^. oheying" her as a religfious superior. On Holy Thui-sday, she washed the feet of all her domestics ; and that with so touchinff a devotion as to dmw teai*s from the eyes of the rudest and most indifferent among* them. So pel feet was the discipline she succeeded in introdncinj^ amon^ them, that, far fi'om presenting" the spectacle or disorder so common in households filled with a crowd of feudal rtiainers of all kinds, her palace had the quietude and serenity of a monastery. JVever was an oath or licentious word heard amonff them j the name of God was honoured; and habits of devotion became cherished and familiar, where before they had been too often an occasion of mockery. All the family dined at the same table J and during the repast the Lives of the Saints, or the Holy Scriptures, were read aloud. If any fault were committed by any of the household. Blessed Lucy knew how to punish it so rigorously as to prevent a re- petition of the offen e ; and in this she was often assisted oy the gift of prophecy, which she enjoyed in a remark- able degree. We read an amusing account of two of her maidens, who took the opportunity of their mistress's absence at church to kill two fine capons, which they i-esolved to dress privately for their own eating. The birds were already on the spit, when their mistress was heard entering the house. Fearfid of discovery, they took the half-roasted capons from the fire, and hid them under a bed. Blessed Lurj, however, knew all that had happened. "Where are the capons," she said, " that were in the court this morning ? " " They have flown away," said the two women, in great conmsion : " we have been looking for them every where." *^ Do not try to deceive God, my children," replied Blessed Lucy : " they are both under your bed ; if you will follow me, I will show them to you." The servants followed her in silent dismay ; but their astonishment was still more increased, when not only did she leiui 140 BLGSSKD LUCY OF NAUNI. them to the very place where tliey liad hidden theif spoils, hut calling" trie hirds to come out, they ilew out alive, and hegan to lustily. In another st« her life, vv^e find her represented v/ith her women cashing" the linen of the house hy the side of a river that flowed by the castle. Whilst so engaged, one of them fell into the river and sank to the bottom ; hut Blessed Lucy made the sign of the cross over the water, and immediately the drowning woman appeared on the surface safe and sound, close to the river's bank. And in the midst of these simple and homely occu- pations, the supernatural life of prayer, and ecstacy, and communion with God, was never for a moment inter- rupted. Strange and beautiful sights were seen by many of those who were present in the church when she communicated : sometimes a column of fire rested on her head; sometimes her face itself shone and spai-kled like the sun. Once two little children, whom slie had adopted as her own, saw, as they knelt behind her, two angels come and crown their mother with a g*ai'land of exquisite roses. But the children beg'an to weepj for they said one to rnotlier, " Certainly our mother cannot have long to li ^e, foj* the angels are even now crowninff her with flowers." The Deauty of her face, and its extraordinary bril- liancy at these times, had a singular power in control- ling those who beheld it. Even Count Pietro himself was tamed and conquered by a glance from her eye, when it shone with this more than human splendour. This mention of Count Pietro's name reminds us that it is time we should say something of him, and of his share in a story which has in some parts, as we read it, the character of a romance. He was not a bad man ; ho seems indeed to have had many good qualities, and to have been possessed in some respects of a degree of refine- ment beyond what was common at the time. He was sincerely attached to liis saintly wife ; but he could not understand her. They were beings of diflerent vorldu; Bf.GSSED LUCY OF NARNI. 147 and tho very qualities which extoited his respect and admiration often sadly perplexed and worried him. Iler very affection for himself was above his comprehension ; liis own feelings were too much made up of tJie ordinary selfishness of the world, for him to know how to mea- sure the love of one whose love was in God. He felt her pownr over himself ; and whilst he yielded to it, it in-itatfHl him, and not the less because there was nothing of which he could complain. This irritation showed itself in a morose jealousy, sometimes varied by iits of passionate violence; in which he nt so far as to con- iine his wife to her room, and once even to threaten her life. All this, and the yet more wearing* trial of their daily intercourse, was borne by Blessed ^ucy with un- varying* sweetness and gentleness. But thoug-h she ac- commodated herself in every thinff to his sullen temper, and even showed him a true and loyal obedience, the desire after those heavenly espousals to which she had been promised whilst still a child never left her heart ; and as time went on, she beg a to look about for some opportunity of carrying* her wiohes into effect. In those days it was no uncommon spectacle to see a wife or a hus- band, in obedience to the interior call of heaven, aban- don every tie of flesh and blood for the retirement of the cloister ; nor was the propriety of such a step ever questioned. Society, as a body, in the ages of faith, acknowledged the principle, that one whom Christ calls should leave all and follow Him. When, therefore, we hear that Blessed Lucy at length resolved to leave her husband's house, and take the habit of religion in the Order of St. Dominic, we must remember that she was no more acting contrary to the custom of the age, than when she worked with her servants in the kitchen. It is not an easy matter at any time for us to judge of the vocation or conscience of another ; but when we liave to carry back our investigation four hundred years, we can hardly hope that the whole history of a resolution of this nat\u"e, — wh} it was cam«^d out now, 148 DLESSKD LUCY OP NAnvt. and wliv it was not carried out before lier marrinc-C;— should be laid oj>en before us like the pag-es of a l»cok. Of one thinf^ only we Cunnot doubt, — God's wiL had been very clearly and sufficiently declared ; both at first, when she consented to give up her own wishes, a/ul now, when the time was come for them to be ffni« ♦*>^ She contented hei-self at fii*st vitli receiving* tm habit of the third order, and remaining" in iier mother'^ In use for a year; during- which time she had to endure much ^•ora the indignation of her husband, who exj)res8ed his own disapproval of her stop in a very summary way, by burning down the raonasteiy of the prior wiio had g-iven her the habit. But her uncles at length took the Kase into their own hands ; and after considering the very extraordiaciry signs of a divine call which had heen made manifest in her life, thp.y decided that she should be suffered to follow it without further molesta- tion, and placed her in the mona*it*?ry of St. Catherine of Sienna at Rome. Witliin a year from her entrance there, the fame of her sanctity had become so universal, that Father Joachim Turriano, the General of the Order, being about to found a new convent of nuns at Viterbo, selected her as the prioress of the new foundation; on which office she ac- cordingly entered in the year 1496, being then exactly twenty yeai-s of age. So great was the reputation ohe enjoyed, that though the number of religious sent with her to Viterbo by the general was only five, the crowds that applied for admission as soon as her presence was known was so great that the convent had to be en- larged ; and she soon saw hei'self at the head of a numerous and flourishing community. Meanwhile, her unhappy husband had not abandoned all hopes of inducing her even yet to return to the world. He had followed her to Kome, and made vain efforts to see and speak with her : he now followed her also to Viterbo; and though unsuccessful in his attempts to obtain the shghtest answer to his continual applica- tions and ap})e.'ils, he continued to linger about the con- BLESSED LUCY OF NArtNI. 149 \eni, in the restless mood of ono who woiihl not pive up his desioTi as hopeless. Every ton«j;nio nmiind him was busy with the fume of Lucy's saintliness ; from one ho neard of hor almost continual pmyor, from another, of the g"lory which was seen to hover over her face in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament : hut soon, in the Fehnjary following her removal to Viterlx), the intiM'ost of all was absorbed in a new reiMM-t, — fluit she had received the sacred stig'mata; and that in so remarkable a manner as to put all doubt on the subject out of the question. For it was in the choir, with tliB other religious, that, being* engaged in profound medi- tation on the Passion, she was observed by one of the sisters to look pale and as if suffering acute pain. The sister went up to her to support her, and was struck with the appearance of her hands, the bones of which seemed dislocated, and the nerves torn. " Mother of God !" she exclaimed, " what is the rcatter with your hands ?" " Nothing," was the fainc reply ; " they are only gone to sleep." But within a few moments the agony she was enduring and endeuvourin*^ to conceal overpowered her, and she became perfectly senseless. They carried her from the choir and restored her to consciousness, so that she was able to return within an hour and receive Holy Communion ; but the same sister who had first observed her, being convinced some- thing very extraordinary had happened, continued to watch her, and followed her to her cell. She then re- marked that her hands were livid, and the skin raised and much inflamed ; and by the end of the week the wounds became large and open, and shed so great an abundance of blood that it could no longer oe con- cealed. The excitement which followed, when these circumstances became genemlly known, can hardly be described. A minute investigation was fii'st made by the Bishop of Viterbo; after which three successive commissions of inquiry were appointed by the com- mand of the Pope to examine the afi^iir, and each of these inquiries terminated in the declaration that the 150 BLESSED LUCY OF NARNT. truth of the miracle was beyond all dispute. Multi- tudes flocked to the convent to see and touch thn sacred wounds, and came back ftiU of the wonders which their own eyes had witnessed. Duke Hercules of Este, the Pope's nephew, made earnest applications to his uncle to suffer her to be removed to his own city of FeiTara j and whilst all these things were going on. Count Pietro still remained in Viterbo. The world about him was echoing with his wife's renown, but none knew his own connection with her. Each marvel that he heard did but seem to widen the gulf between them; yet still he stayed and lingered within sight of the walls that shut ner firom him for ever: now bitterly accusing himself for the bhndness of his own conduct towards her; now striving to keep alive a kind of despairing hope that, could he but once gain admittance to her presence, he might even yet regain possession of a treasure which, when it was his, he knew not how to value. At length his desires were gpranted. A sudden inspiration induced Lucy to con- sent to an interview : it was the first that had taken I)lace smce she had fled from his house, and it was the ast they ever had in this life. It must have been a singular meeting: the two years of their separation had altered both. As to the Count, his restless despair had wora him to an old man. He had never seen Nami since the day of her departure for Rome, whither he had followed her ; and had spent the long dayt; of those two years hanging about the convent-gates like some miserable beggar. And the same two years had placed Lucy far beyond his reach, as it were in a supernatural world above him. When she stood before him at the grate, and he beheld her marked with those sacred and mysterious wounds, and bearing in her whole appearance the air of one whose sympathies were for ever removed from the affections of humanity, his heart failed him. He had thought to speak to her of her home, and the chums which should recal her to the world ; he saw BLESSED LUCY OF NARNI. 151 before him sometliing" a little lower than the ang-els ; &^d falling on his knees, he bent his eyes to the ground, and remained silent. Then she spoke ; and hea- ven seemed to speak to him by her voice. The mists of eai'thly passion rolled away from his heai-t as he listened ; the world and its hopes died in him at that moment ; an extraordinary struggle tore his very soul, then passed away, and left it in a profound calm. For the nrst time he caught a glimpse of that reahty which tiU now he had treated as a dream ; the world and its imquiet joys were now themselves the dream, and heaven opened on him as the reaUty. All Ufe fell away from him in that hour ; and when his wife ceased speaking, she had won his soul to God. He dragged mmself to her feet, and bathed them in his tears ; he conjured her pardon for all the persecutions and vio- lence of the past, and renounced every right or claim over her obedience for ever. Then, leaving her with- out another word, he obeyed the voice wmch had so powerfiilly spoken to his heart ; for within a few week.* ne took the habit of the Friars Minor of the strict ob- servance J and perseveiing in it for many yeai-s, died a little before his wife, with the reputation of sanctity. "Were this a roi^aanoe, the stor^ of Blessed Lucy might well end here. But her life was yet scarcely begun. Shortly after the interview with her husband just spoken of^ Duke Hercules obtained the Pope's orders for her removal to Ferrara. This was only done by stealth ; for the people of Viterbo having got inteUigence of the design, guarded the city night and day J so that, in oi*der to gain possession of the Saint, the duke was reduced to the expedient of loading several mules with large baskets, as if full of goods ; and in one of these Blessed Lucy was concealed and carried off, under tlie guardianship of a strong body of armed men. Being arrived at Feirara, the duke re- ceived her with extraordinary honours, and built a magnificent convent for her reception, to which Pope 152 BLESSED LUCY OP NARNI. Alexander VI. granted singular privileges, by a brief wherein he declared her to have " followed the foot- steps of St. Catherine o*" Sienna in all things." In this convent she gave the habit to her own mother, as well as to many noble ladies of Ferrara. It were too long to tell of all the signs of Divine favour which were granted to her during the first years of her new government ; of the miracles wrought by her hands, the visions of maiTellous beauty that were given to her gaze ; and the familiarity witn which she seemed to live among the saints and angels. Thus one day, passing into tlie dormitory, she was met by the figure of a religions, whom she knew to be St. Cathe- rine of Sienna. Prostrating herself at her feet, she prayed her to bless the new monastery, which was de- dicated in her name. Tlie saint willingly complied, and they went throuj^h the house together; Blessed Lucy carrying the holy water, whilst St. Catherine sprinkled the cells, as the manner is in blessing a house. Whilst tliey went along, they sang together the hymn Ace Maris Stella; and naving finished, St. Catherine loft her staff with Blessed Lucy, and took her leave. And another time they saw in the same dormitory a great company of angels, and the form of one of surpassing beauty, and clad in an azure robe in the midst of them, standing among them as their queen. Then she sent them hither and thither, like soldiers to tlieir posts, and bid them gaiard the various offices of the monastery; "for," she said, "we must take possession of this house." One hngers over this period of her story, unwilling to pass on to the sori-owful conclusion. God, who had elevated her so highly in the sight of the world, was about to set upon her life the seal of a profound humi- liation. Hithei-to she had been placed ?)efore the eyes of man as an object of enthusiastic 7eneration : her con- vent gates were crowded by persons of all ranks, who thronged only to see her for a moment. Duke Her* BLESSED LUCY OF NARNI. 153 cules of Este applied to her for counsel in all diff ?ul- ties of state. 1 he Pope had issued exti-aordinary briefs to enable the religious of other convents and orilers lo pass under lier government, and even to leave the second order to join her community, which belong'ed to the third, — a pi-ivilege we shall scai-cely find granted in Hny other case. But now these triuniphs and distinctions were about to have an end. Blessed Lucy was about twenty-nine years of ag'e. The honour in which she was held, and the public celebrity she enjoyed, were a con- tinual source of soitow and humiliation to her; and with the desire to escape from somethings of the po- pular applause which followed her, she ceased not ear- nestly to implore her Divine Spouse to remove from her the visible marks of the sacred stigmata, which were the chief cause of the veneration wliich was paid her by the world. Her request was in part granted, the wounds in her hands and feet closed ; but that of the side, which was concealed from the eyes of others, remained open to the hour of her death. Whether the withdrawal of these visible tokens of the Divine favour was the cause of the change in the sentiments of her subjects, we are not told ; but we find shortly after, that some among them, disgusted at her reftisal to allow the community to become incorpo- rated with the second order, rose in rebeUion, and even attempted her life. The scandal of this crime was con- cealea through the exertions of Lucy herself; but on the death of her great protector, Duke Heroules, in 1605, the discontented members of the community recommenced their plots against her authority anH reputation. Their designs were laid with consimimate art; and at length they publicly accused her of having been seen in her cell endeavouring to re-open tlie wounds of her hands and feet with a knife, in order to impose on the public. Their evidence was so ably con- cocted, that they succeeded in gaining over the heads of the order to their side. Hasty and violent measui-ea 154 BLESSED I CCY OF NARNI were at once adopted ; every apostolic privJege granted hy Pope Alexander was revoked; she was degraded from her office of prioress, deprived of every right and voice in the community, and placed below the young-est novice in the house, fehe was, moreover, forbidden to speak to any one except the confessor, kept in a strict imprisonment, and treated in every way as if proved guilty of an infamous imposture. Nor was tms dis- grace confined within the enclosure of her own monas- tery ; it spread as far as her reputation had extended. All Italy was moved with a transport of indignation against her j the storm of invective which was raised reached her even in her prison ; her name became a pro- verb of reproach through Europe; and the nuns who nad been professed at her hands made their professions over again to the new prioress, as if their vows formerly made to her had been invalid. One can hardly picture a state of desolation equal to that in which Blessed Lucy now found herself. It was as if this token of deep abjection and humiliation were required as a confirmation of her saintliness. If any such proof were indeed needed, it was furnished by the conduct which she exhibited under this exti-a- ordinaiy trial. During the whole remaining period of her life, a space of eignt-and-thirty years, she bore her heavy cross without a murmur. Perhaps its hardest suffering was, to Uve thus among those whom she had gathered together with iier own hands, and had sought to lead to the highest paths of religion, comp lUed now to be a silent witness of their wickedness. Her life was a long prayer for her persecutors, and we are assured that no sorrow or regret ever seemed to shadow the deep tranquillity of her soul. So far as it touched herself, she took it as a more precious token of her Spouse's love tlvan all the graces and favours He had ever heaped on her before. But it is no part of saintliness to oe indifferent to the sins of others; and we can scarcely fathom the anguish which must hourly have BLESSED hVVY OP NARNI, 155 pierced her heart, at the ingratitude and malignity of ner unworthy children. And so closed the life which had opened in such a joyous and beautiful childhood. God indeed knew how to comfort one whom the world had utterly cast out ; and though cut off from the least commimication with any human beinff, she could scarcely be pitied whilst her neglected and solitary cell was the resort of celes- tial visitants and friends. The I'eader is possibly a little tired of such tales ; yet we ask his indulgence whilst referring to one of these last incidents in the life of Blessed Lucy, which we can scarcely omit. There lived at the same time, at Caramagna in Savoy, another beatified saint of the same illustrious order. Blessed Catherine of Raconigi. She had never 3een Blessed Lucy; but had heard of her saintly fame, and the lustre of her life an'! miracles, and then also of her suffer- ings and disgrace. But the saints of God judge not as the world judges ; and Catherine knew by the light of divine illumination the falsehood of tne charges brought against her sister. She had ever longed to see and speak with her ; and now more than ever, when the ghtter of the world's applause was exchanged for its contumely and persecution. The thought of her sister, never seen with mortal eye, yet so dearly loved in God, never left her mind; and. she prayed earnestly to their common Lord and Spouse, that He would comfort and support her, and, if such were His blessed will, satisfy in some way her own intense desire to hold some kinH of intercom*se with her even in this life. One night, as she was thus praying in her cell at Caramagna, her desires were heard and granted. The same evening Lucy was also alone and in prayer ; and to her in like manner God had revealed the sanctity of Catherine, kindling in her heart a loving sympathy with one who, though a stranger in the world's language, had been brought very near to her heart in the mysteries of the Heart of Jesus. We cannot say how and in what way 150 BLESSED LUCT OF NARNI. it was, but they spent that night together; but when morning came, and found her again alone as before, Lucy had received such strength and consolation fi-om her siscer's visit, that, as her biographer says, " she de- sired new affronts and persecutions lor the glory of that Lord who knew so well how to comfort and suppoi t her in them." Her last illness came on her in her sixty-eighth year : for eight-and-thirty years she had lived stripped of all human consolation ; and the malice of her enemies continued unabated to the last. None came near her, as she lay weak and dying on her miserable bed. Like her Lord and Master, they hid their faces from her, counting her as a leper. The ordinary offices of charity, which they would have done to the poorest beggar m the streets, they denied to her ; she was left to die as she had lived, alone. But if the world abandoned her, God did not. Her pillow was smoothed and tended by more than a mother's care. Saint Catherine did not neglect her charge. It is said she was more than once seen by the sick-bed, having in her company one cf the sisters of the community, who had departed a short time before, with the reputation of sanctity ; and to- gether they did the office of infirmarians to the dying Saint. When the last hour drew nigh, she called the sisters around her bed, and humbly asked their pardon for any scandal she had given them in life. We do not find one word of justification, or remonstrance, or even of regret ; only some broken words of exhorta- tion, not to be ofiended at her imperfection, but to love God and be detached from creatures, and abide stead- fastly by their rule. At midnight, on the 16th of November, 1544, she felt the moment of release was at hand ; and without any death-stniggle or sign of sufiering, she raised her hands and cried, "Up to heaven, up to heaven !" tnd so expired, with a smile that remained on the dead f&ce with so extraordinary a beauty, that none could look on it without a sentimen^ BLIilSSED LUCY OF NARNI. 157 to le of awe , for they knew it was the beauty of one of God's Saints. The truth could not long^er be concealed ; one super- natural token after another was given to declare the blessedness of the departed soul. Ang-elic voices were heard singling- above the cell by all ihe sisters; an extra- ordinary perfume filled the cell and the whole house ; and the community, who had probably for the most part been deceived oy onp or two in authority, without any malice on their owi part, now loudly insisted on justice being done to the deceased. It was done, so far as funeral honours can make amends for a life of cruelty and calumniation. The body was exposed in the church ; and the fickle crowds who had called her an impostor while living, crowded now to see and touch the sacred remains. The wound in her side was ex- amined, and found dripping with fresh wet blood ; the sick were cured, and evil spirits cast out, by cloths which had been placed on the relics. Four years after the body was taken fi'om its grave, and found fi-esh and beautiful as in life. Then it was again exposed in the church to the veneration of the faithful, who crowded once more to pay it honour, and were wonder-struck at the pei*fume, as of sweet violets, which issued from it, and attached to every tiling which it touched. And it was again disinterred, little more than a century ago, in 1710, when it presented tho same appearance as before, and the sacred stigmata were observed distinct and visible to all. On this occasion a part of the body was tr«-i6lated to Narni, where it now reposes in a mag-nifitent shrine, and re- ceives extraordinary honours, amid the scene of hei childish devotion to the Christarello. Perhaps, as we read of these honours to the dead, we may feel they were but poor reparation for tho calumnies and injuries heaped on her while living : or, if we seek to measure these things in the balance of the sanctuary, we can believe that to her blessed spirit now, those long years 158 BLESSED LUCY OF NARNI. of abandomnent and desolation, whicli cut her off from all communion with this earth for more than half her mortal life, were a far more precious gift than all the shrines, and fimeral honom*s, and popular veneration, which the world in its tardy repentance was moved to give her. She was finally beatified by Benedict XIII. towai-di die middle of the last century. in le bo DOMINICA OF PARADISO 1 { I I c i r t a a t \\ S( d o; w 181 DOMINICA OF PARADISO. About four hundred years ago there lived at a small country village near r'lorence, called Paradiso, a poor Gfardener ana his wife, whose names were Francis and Costanza. They had several children, of whom the youngest was named Dominica, who was brought up to the life of labour and hardship ordinary among the poorer peasantry of Italy, and whose daily task it was to lielp in the cultivation of the garden on which the whole family depended for support. Beyond the first i-udiments of tlie Christian faith, Dominica received no education; for lier parents were in no way superior in intelligence to othere of their class in life. Nevertheless, from her very infancy she showed signs that the few instructions which they were able to give her had made a wonderfiil impression on her heart; and as her soul received each new religious idea, it was cherished and meditated on; so that she gathered materials enough out of these simple elements to build up a life of the liigliest contemplative prayer. Among all the biogi-a- phies of the saints which have been preserved to us, there are few which so vividly illustrate the growth of a profound and supernatural devotion in the heart of an uneducated child as that before us. Nor will it be thought that the extreme simplicitv which mingles with some of the passages of her liie which urc here selected, lessens the beauty of a narrative whose inci- dents charm us like a poem. Dominica was marked in a special way as the child of Mary, even from her cradle. The first occasion when we read of the Blessed Virgin appearing to her was one day when she was lying on her poor little bed, 102 DOMINICA OF PARADISO. b(«iiig tlien only four years old. Tho presence of the Divine Mother witii a train of shining^ ang-els then first awoke in her little heart a long-inuf after God and lieaven j and she heg-an to pray — thouu^h scarcely know- ini^ the meaning of the words she ut^^ered — that she might be taught the way to reach that glory, the vision of which had caj)tivated her imagination. Then she came to understand that fidelity to God's precepts, and contrition for sin, was the patii of saintliness ; and so were traced out on her soul the first lineaments of perfection. Now she had learnt that cohtrition was a sorrow for sin ; and the simple sort of catechism which lier mother was accustomed to teach her spoke also of the heart being full of sin, and how tears of penitence were necessary to wash it from its corrupt stains. A metaphor of any kind was far beyond the reach of Dominica's comprehension; she therefore took these expressions in a very straightforward way, and wept lieartily to think her heart should be so defiled and dangerous a thing. And the handkereliief which was wet with her chudish tears she laid over her breast, thinking that this must be the way to wash away the stains they talked of. All day long she revolved in her mind the one idea which had been revealed to her soul, — perfection, as the road to God's presence; and thinking incessantly of these things amid the various occupations in which she was engaged, she came to make every part of her day's work asso^.ated with the subjects of ner medita- tion. To her eye, all imtaught by man, but enlight- ened by the Divine light, the invisible things of God were clearly seen by the things that were visible. Once she was helping an elder sister to make some cakes mixed with poppy-seeds, to give to her brother who was ill and suffering from want of sleep. As she baked the cakes, her thoughts were, as usual, busy find- ing divine meanings in the things before her. The interior voice, whose whispers she as yet scarcely un- derstood, seemed to speak to her of another kind of DOMINICA OF PARADISO. 163 )me ther I she tnd- :he lun- of toun f^mtrt fihoiild satisfy t)ie soul, so tlmt it should Blumher and rejwse in the sKm'I) of Divine love. Then she pniyed very enniestly to ue f^iven this wonderful food; and tlie voice K{)oko in auHwer, and said, " Dauf»'hter, the food of which I snake is none other than My love, with which when the saints in heaven nve tilled and satisfied, they sleep so sweetly, that they forg-et all created thinaps, and watch only unto Me. And Dominica wondered how the saints took this mar- vellous slumher, and whether it were on heds made like her o\\ n straw mattress, or in the hosora of God, even as her mother was wont to rock the little baby to sleep. When she was at work in the garden, she would raise her eyes to heaven, and think how she could make her heart a garden of dowel's for the de- light of God. And once, as she so mused. He who had undertaken the office of teacher and director to her soul appeared to her, and tauj^ht her that pi-ayer would keep that soul ever ft-esh ana green before Him ; and that He would open in that garden five limpid and crystal fountains to refresh it, even the five wounds of His Sacred Passion ; and that she, on her part, mu?'t keep it free from weeds, daily plucking up evil pas- sions, and the idle thoughts of vanity and the world ; that so it might be beautiful to the eye, and abundant in all pleasant fruits. If she ran upstaii-s, her tliouo;'hts ascended to heaven; if she came down, she abased her- self in the depths of lowliness and humility. The oxen ploughing in the field reminded her to bear meekly the yoke of obedience; and as she stood in her father's wine-press she taught herself to tread under her own will and nature, if she would taste of the sweetness of divine consolations. Once the sight of a hen with her brood of chickens so vividly ))rought before her the mystery ( f the Incarnation, and that wonderful love which gave its life to cover our sins and shield us fix)ra the wrath of God, that she was rapt in a state of ecstasy, and so remained in the garden all that day ftnd the following night. And again, as she gathered 164 DOMINICA OP PARADISO. the ripe apples which her mother was hoarding* for the winter, she hecame absorhed in contemplating' the heauty of that soul wherein the fiaiits ot virtue are broug'lit fortli, making it pleasant in the eye of God. And she sighed deeply, and said, " Oh, that I knew how to store my soul with these precious fiuits ! how happy should I then be!" And the Spouse of her heart came swiftly to her, and showed her how for every apple she gathered for the love of Him, there was broug'lit Torth a gl6rious fmit within her soul, more gracious and beautiful in His sight than the fair- est apples of her garden. All this was going on in her mind whilst yet not six years old ; and so her hfe divided itself between the homely exterior labour and rough discipline of a peasant lire, and an interior of spiritual contemplation, wherein were revealed to her many of the profoundest secrets of mystic theology. The world became to her a ])Ook written within and without with the name of God ; all creatm-es talked to her of Him. And this was sometimes permitted to be manifested in extraordinary ways ; as once, when walk- ing by the side of a lake near their cottage, the thought suggested itself that the fish, being creatm-es of God, must be obedient to Him, and ready to do Him sei-vice. Therefore she stood by the water-side, and called them to come and help her whilst she sang His praises ; and the fish, swimming to the shore, did so after their kind, leaping and jumping about out of the water; while she sat on the grass, and sang a little song which she had learnt, and was fond of repeating to herself over her work in the garden. One day she was ill, and her mother desired her to eat some meat, which she did, although it was Friday ; and afterwards felt great scruples, fearing she had com- mitted a gTeat sin. She had never yet been to confes- sion, being under the age when it is usual for children to confess. But she now felt very anxious to relieve her conscience of this weight; only, being confined to her bed. she could not get to the church; nor did she dare DOMINICA OP PARADISO. 165 she had lO ask her mother to send for the piiest. She therefore considered within herself what she should do ; and she remembered to have seen the people in the church not only kneeling in the confessionals, but also before the crucifixes and devout images on the altare ; and in her simplicity, she thought that they were likewise confess- ing- their sins to them. Now there was a httle picture of the Madonna holding the Holy Child in her arms, which hung in her room, and Dominica thought she could confess to this ; therefore, getting out of bed, she knelt down devoutly before it, and confessed her fault in eating the meat with many tears, praying the little Jesus to give her absolution for her fault, which she thought He would do by placin"* His hand on her head, as she had seen the old priest do to the little children of the village. But when she had knelt a long time, and saw that the image did not move, she became very unhappy, and prayed all the harder that He would not deny her absolution, but would give her the sign she asked for. Then it pleased our Lord to gi-ant her the answer which her simple confidence extorted from Him; and the fig-ures of the Mother and the Son raised th(!ir hands, and placed them on the child's head, who re- mained filled with dehght at the thought that her ^ins were now forgiven her, and her conscience at rest. After this her mother took her once a year to con- fession in the church. It grieved her much not to be able to go oftener; but her angel-guardian taught her to submit in this matter to her mother's pleasure, and to supply the place of more frequent confession by every evening examining her conscience, and confessing her daily faults before the same picture as before. Nor was this the only teachino^ which she received from him; he taught lier that tlie path to Paradise was a way of suffering* ; and that they who aspired to the mystic nuptials of Christ were careful to clothe them- Fi'lves with the livery of the cross. And Dominica, in o])edience to these instructions, began to afflict her body with fasts and other austerities, and gave the food 166 DOMINICA OF PARADISO. which she saved from her own dinner to the poor. She ever showed great devotion to the Blessed Vii-gin, es- pecially after the circumstances narrated above ; and made it her particular duty to light the lamp before her pictm-e every Saturday, and to garland it with flowers on that Jay, as being specially dedicated to her. On one of these occasions, Mary appeared to her with her Divine Child in her arms, and promised her that in reward for her devotion she should one day become His spouse, but not until she had grown further in per- fection and in His love. This promise became thence- forth the absorbing subject of her thoughts; and at seven yeai-s of age she consecrated herself to Him, whom from that hour she considered her Spouse, by a solemn vow, cutting off her beautifid golden hair, as she underetood the custom was, and offering it to her Lord. When her mother saw her hair cut off, she was gTeatly displeased, and commanded her to suffer it to Sow again, and not to attempt to cut it a second time, ominica obeyed; but she secretly pmyed that God would send her some infirmity of the head, which might prevent the growth of the hair. And this indeed happened ; so that the head remained closely cut until her fifteenth year, when it was cured, and miraculously crowned, as we shall see, by God. Our Blessed Ladv verv often favom-ed her with her visible presence ; but on these occasions she appeared alone, and without her Son. Dominica was greatly grieved at the absence of her Lord, and at length one day resolved to ask the Blessed Virgin the reason why He never came. " Divine Lady," she said, " you come very oft^n to see me and talk to me ; but you never bring Him who is to be my Spouse ; why IS this, for it grieves me that I never see Him? Then our Lady, smiling on her, showed her the Holy Infant sleeping in her bo.'om. Dominica was delighted nt the sijrht. " But how very small He is !" she ex- claimed " He will grow," replied Mary, " when you will; and as she spoke, Do* will, and as mueh as you will : DOMINICA OF PARADISO. 107 minica perceived that He was already much larj^r. " Ah ! He is already growing," she exclaimed ; " now He is twice the size He was! — how is that?" "He grows with your growth," ag-ain repUed Mary; "and your gi'owth must be not in the flesh, but in the spu-it: when you have attained to yoiur ftill growth in holmess, He will come and celebrate those espousals which you desire so much." Then the Child extended His hand to Dominica as a token of His renewed promise ; and the vision disappeared. She remained very sad and disconsolate ; and her ^'ief, when she thought of the loveliness of Jesus, and the long" time that was yet to elapse before His promise could be fiilfilled, became so poignant, that she fell ill, and spent eig-ht days in con- tinual tears and sorrow of heart. This abandonment of her soul to grief was by no means pleasing to the Blessed Virgin, who appeared again at the end of the eight days, and gave her a sharp reproof for her want of resignation. " Daughter," she said, " you grieve for the l^ss of sensible consolations; but know this, that to those who attach themselves to such things, visions, and revelations, and the sensible presence of the Beloved, are not blessings but evils : wherefore put away your sorrow, and serve God with a joyful and contented heart." " But how can I be joyral," said the weeping child, "whilst I am so far from my Spouse and His palace, and still 1-ept a prisoner in this vale of tears?" Then the merciful heart of Mary was moved with pity, and she said, " Follow me with your eyes, and you shall see a glimpse of the country where He dwells ;" and so saying> she rose towards heaven before her eyes. Dominica watched her as she had said, and she ■'aw how tlie heavens opened to receive their queen; and caught througli the parted doors of those celestial regions something of the glory of the New Jerusalem. She saw her pass on through the countlesr, choirs of the angels, till she camf close to t!ie throne of God ; and in tlie midst of the nniij)jnoaeliable liglit she saw tlie Child Jesus, more bouutiliil and glorious than she hud ever 168 DOMINICA OF PARADISO. seen Him before; and then, even as slie g-azed on Him, forg'etting" all beside, the golden g*ates closed on the scene, and shut it from her eyes. Now when Dominica looked round, and saw that it had all passed away, she remained full of an unspeakable longing" to reach that glorious country, or at least to see it once ag-ain. She kept her eyes constantly fixed on the sky, for she t/iought perhaps it mig'ht once more open; and in hnr simplicity she thoug-ht she should be nearer to her Lord, and to the beauty amid which He dwelt, on high places : therefore, at nig'ht, when all the family were asleep,' she rose softly, and taking* a ladder, mounted to tlie roof, yrhere she spent the nig'ht in prayer, looking* wistfully at the stars, which she thought were at least little sparks of that great giorv which had been revealed to her. And having repeated this several times, it pleased God more than once to open the vision of heaven to her again ; so that she came to have a familiarity with that blessed place, and to know the choirs of angels one from another, and to tell the different degrees of tho blessed by the crowns they wore, and many ether mys- teries which, whilst she beheld, she as yet did not fidly comprehend. » When Easter came, her mother took her to church, and she saw all th« people going to Communion, and grieved much to think she was too young to be suffered to approach with them. It seemed also very strange to her that they should come to so wonderful a ban- quet, and go away again, just as if nothing Iiad hap- ])3ned to them ; and she thought it would not be so with her : for, indeed, whenever she was present at Mass, and the priest elevated the Sacred Host before her eyes, she saw the visible person of her divine Spouse, adorned with so wonderful a beauty that it seemed marvellous to her that no one else seemed moved by tlie sight ; and slit. jJ-liought that all saw what she saw, and never dreamt that it was a revelation gTantci to her eyes alone. And once, as she thus reasoned within he:«elf, and looked sorrowfully on th: crowds who wei-e DOMINICA OF PARADISO 169 red ig-e ler use, aw, to bin reve going" to receive a happiness which was denied to her, the Lord of her soul Himself drew nea? to eomfoit her with a foretaste of His presence, and Dominica felt on her tongue a drop of His precious Blood. Autunm brought the harvest, and with it hard work in the fields for Dominica, whose prayers and visions never inten-upted hei life of daily labour. She was one day in the fields watching thera burn the stubble, and helping to heap the loads of straw and rubbish on to the fire. Wiuii childlike glee, sl:u danced and clapped her hands to see the flames leap- ing "ligh into the air ; ^nd she thought to herself that the fire was like Divine love, and longed that her own heart could be consumed in its fla'iies like the worthless straw. Then the voice of her Spouse spoke within her ind said, " What would you do, Dominica, if you saw yom' Spouse in the midst of those flames ?" And she answered, " I would run to Him and embrace Him.'* " But," replied the voice, " would you not fear the fire^ do you not remember how terrible was the pain when your sister burnt her hand ?" And even at that mo- ment Dominica saw through the flames, how a beauti- ful lady entered the field on the other side of the fire, leading a child of surpassing loveliness by the hand. As she looked at them the lady spoke to her : " Do- minica," she said, " why are you here, and what do you seek ?" And Dominica replied, " I am looking at the flames, and I am seeking for God in them !" " God." answered the lady, " is very near you, and yet you do not know Him." Then her eyes opened, and she knew that she had been speaking to no other than Jesus and Mary; and forgetting the fire and her own danger, and all but the presence of her Beloved, she ran through the flames to the other side, and cast herself at Hisi feet. In doing this she was severely burnt, for her legs and arms were bare like other peasant cliildren ; but Dominica did not feel tiie pain, for she was gazing on her Lord. And the glorious Child took her lovingly by the hand, and said, " Dominica, thou hast con* 170 DOMXNICA OF PARADISO. queied flames for the love of IMe ; therefore shalt thou ever uhide in jMv gT-ace, and shalt dwell with Me for ever." Then He blessed her; and •isappearing" from sig'ht, Dominica was ag*aiii alone. On looking round her, slie found that it was quite dark, and the stors were shining" hrig-htly ; for the moments tliat had seemed to her to fly so qu?>kly had indeed been houre, and it was now nig'ht. She begxin to be very frightened, knowing- that her absence would cause great alarm ; hut we are assured that, on returning' in the morning, she found she had not been missed, her angel-g-uar- dian having* taken her form, and dischargea ah the household offices which it was her duty to perform. On another occasion, she was as usual at work in the garden, whilst her brothers were bringing in a load of maniu-e which smelt very ofi«nsive. The habit of drawing spiritual meanings from all external objects had become so completely second nature to Dominica, that her thoughts seem to have shaped themselves into these analogies on all occasions. The bad smell there- fore suggested t^ her mind an ima»e of mortal sin, and she prayed that she might be tauirht in some way how it appeared in the eyes* of God. At ibat moment a soldier entered the curden for the purpose of pur- chasing some vegetables, and Dominica perceived that his soul was very oflensive in the sight of God. She looked in his face, and it seemed to her so disfigured by foi 1 and monstrous deformity, that she was moved with a deep compassion for him ; she prayed therefore very earnestly, that God would give him t)u'. gmce of conversion, and save him from his miserable state. She longed to say something to him; but not daring to address him, she remained before him, still looking uj) in his face, and weeping bitterly. Her manner at length drew his attention, and he asked her what was the matter, and wliy she kept thus looking at him and weeping. " I weep," she answered, " because your soul is so ugly; you must certainly be very unhappy. How is it you do not remember the Precious BJo«jd up at DOMINICA OP PARADISO. 171 wliicli redeemed you from the power of the devil ? Do you not see the bow bent, and the arrow ready to tiy ? " What bow, and wliafc aiTOW, are you talking of'i"' said the astonished man. "The bow," replied the cliild, "is divine justice, and the ai-rovv is death and the judgment, which will certainly overtake yo i if you do not chang-e your wicked life and become a g-ood man." she spoke, the simplicity of her words fairly co.. ^uered the obdurate heart to which they were addressed. With tears rolling* down his cheeks, he knelt before her, and confessed he was indeed an enor- mous sinner, who deserved nothing but hell ; but that if she would help him with her prayers, he would go that very day to confession, and begin a new life; and with this promise he left her. J'or eight days Dominica continued in very earnest prayer for him, in spite of unheard-of troubles and persecutions of the devils ; but on the eig'hth she knew that her prayers had been heard, for she saw his soul white and clean like that of a newly-baptised child j and he himself came to thank lier for the grace she had obtained for him, and by means of which he had been enabled to make a g-ood and contrite confession. He told her, moreover, that he was resolved to leave the world and retire to a lier- mitag'e, to spend the remainder of his life in penance j but prayed her, before he went, at least to g^ve liim lier blessing'. This request puzzled Dominica ; and she replied she would reaaily ol)lig"e lym, but she did not knoav how. Then her angel raised her little hand, and g-uided it to sign the sign of the Cross above his head ; and a voice which was not hers said for her, " May God bless thee in this world and in the world to come." Fourteen years after, this man died in his her- mitnge, with the reputation of sanctity. J'his first convei*sion awoke in her soul an ardent thirst for the salvation of sinners. It was a new feel- ing, and to her quick and sensitive soul one which soon became wholly absorbing. Hapjiening about this time to see a little picture represent! ig the suft'erings of tha irs DOMINICA OF PARADtSO. poiils in hell, she was ^-eatly touched with cotnpns- sion, and innocently piavcjd God to relieve them and set them free. Then iier faithful guardian instructed her on this matter, and taught her that the only way to save souls from hell was, to prevent sin and convert sinners by her prayers. And to increase her zeal he showed her, not a picture, hut the real sufferings of the lojt souls J and the sentiments of pity which these ex- cited were so lively, that a desire awoke within her to suffei* something in her own body, in order to save other souls from these terrible flames. And with the idea of experiencing something of a like kind of suffer- ing, she took a lighted torch, and courageously held it to her shoulder till the flesh was burnt, whicn caused her agonies of pain for many days. These, however, she had self-command enouffh to conceal, in spite of some emotions of very natural alarm, which determined her to find out if possible some other less dangerous method of afflicting her body. She even prayed God to teach her in what way she should do this ; and one day seeing a picture in the church of St. John Baptist clothed in his g*arment of camel's hair, the thought was suggested to her mind of forming some such garment for herself out of horsehair; which she accordingly did, and wore it for nine? years. And here one can hardly fail to admire the means by which, step by step, she was led on in the path of a saintly life. Human teaching she had none; she had probably never seen a book: but yet we see how the commonest incidents and ace' dents, being accompanied by God's grace, were enough to reveal the secrets of His counsels to her soul. A picture, or a chance woi-d, or the thought which rose spontaneously out of some image of the visible things around her, wpre food enough for a soul which lit«ralTy "waited continually upon God;" it drew sustenance and life out of what seemed ihe very barrenest desert. From this time commenced a new life of austerity, so rigorous and continual, that extraoi'dinary strength must have been supplied to have enabled mr to fiv6 DOMINICA OF PARADISO. 173 under tlie j)erpetual tortures slie inflicted on her inno- cent flesh. And thonjifh m the details of these austeri- ties we find many tliing-s precisely similar to tiiose "elated of other saints, vet it is certain that their lives and examples were wholly unknown to her, and there- fore that in this matter she must have followed the instinct of her own devotion, g^iided by the Spirit of God. But, agtiin, we observe how she was directed by that quick and watchful eye of the soul which lef. nothing' escape its vigilance; — a coaree and common print of the Scourging of our Divine Lord, once seen, was enough to teach Dominica those sharp disciplines to blood in which she persevered during the remainder of her life. We pass over the account of many temptations and apparitions of evil sjnrits, to give the story of one vision with which she was favoured, whose beauty can perhaps scarcely be equalled by any similar incident to be met with in the Lives of the Saints. It has been said that she was accustomed to observe Saturday as f*. day of special devotion in honour of the Madonna, wh'^se imago on that day had its garland of fi-esh flower?^ hung up, and its little lamp brightly burning in the nidst. Now it happened that one Saturday. Dominica hud taken un- usual care in the decoration of her little image ; she had picked hf^ choicest flowei-s, and hun"* them in wreaths and bunches which took her some little time to arrano;e. But her trouble was well rewarded; for the Blessed Vir- gin reached out her hand and took some of the tiowei-s, and smelt them, and then gp.ve them to her Son, that lie might smell them likewise. Dominica, fnll of delight, besought them ever thus io gmell her flowers, and to for- get the unwoi-thiness of her who offered them. And then she remembered that she could not stand there looking at her beloved Madonna any longer ; for it was the hour when she was accustomed to go to the cottage-door with the scraps she had saved fi'om her dinner, that she might give alms to any poor beggar who should be passing by. Accoi'dingly, she ran to the door with her basket 174 DOMINICA OP PARADI80. of broken bread, and waited patiently till some object of charity should puss that way. At leng^th she per- ceived a woman ai)proaching', leading- a child by the hand. By their dress she saw that they were very poor; yet there was an air of dignity, almost of majesty, m the manner and appearance of both. They came up to the spot where she stood ; and t^e child, addressin<>f himself to her with a certain gTacious sweetness, held out his hands, as if begging, and said, " You will cer- tainly give me something-, my good little peasant girl?*' And as he did so, she perceived that in either hand there was a larg-e open wound ; and that his dress was likewise covered with blood, as from a iiesli wound in his side. Touched with compassion, she IniAe them wait whilst she entered the house for something to give them , ^ut she had scarcely done so, when she perceived that they were by her side. " Ah ! " said Dominica, " what have you done ! if my mother knows I have let any one in, she will never forgive me." " Fear nothing," said the woman ; " we shall do no harm, and no one will see us." Then Dominica saw that the child's feet were likewise bleeding- ; and pitying him very much, she said, " How can your son walk on tl>e rough roads with those wounded feet of his ?" And his mother replied, " The child's love is so great, he never complains of himself." Now as they were thus talking;, the child was looking at the imagfe g:arlanded with the lovely fresh roses; and with a winning- and innocent grace ne held up his little hands and asked for some of the flowers : and Dominica could not refuse to give them to him; for spite of their poor rags, there was something- about her strange visitors which captivated her heart. And the mother took the roses, and smelt them, and gave them to her son ; and turning to Dominica, she said, " Why do you garland that image with Jowers ? it would seem as if you cared for it very much." "It is the Madonna and the Holy Child Jesus," answered Domi- nica; **and I give them my flowere because I love them dearly." " And how much do you love them f* DOMINICA OF PARADISO. 175 eontinucd tlie woman. " As much ns I can," said Do- minica. "And how nmcli is that/" snid the woman ag'ain. "Ah!" repHed Dominica, "it is as much as they help me too." liut still as she spoke she could not take her eyes off the child; for his extraordinar^)' grace and heauty filled her with an emotion she coulri not comprehend. " Why do you stind thus gazing' at my son?" said the woman; "wh.»t do you see in him?" "He is such a beautiful child," said Domi- nica ; and she leant over him to caress him. But she started back with sui-prise, for those wounds gave forth a wonderfid odour, as of Paradise ; and turning, to the woman, she exclaimed, " Mother of God ! what is this ? with what do you anoint your son's wounds, for the odour of them is sweeter than my sweetest flowers? ' " It is the ointment of charity," said the mother ; but Dominica scarcely heard the reply : she was still gazing at the child, and trying to attract his notice, as tlio manner is with chilaren. "Come to me, my child," she said, "and I will give you this piece of bread." " It is of no use," said the mother ; " tell him of Jesus, and how you love Him, and the cliild will come readily enough. ' And at the words he did indeed come ; and looking up sweetly into Dominica's face, he asked, "And do you really love Jesus?" And that sweet odour became so marvellously powerful, that she was yet more filled with surprise ; and she said, " beau- tiiiil child, what wonder is this ? if your wounds give foi-th this delicious perfume, what will the perftime of Paradise be like ?" " Do not wonder," said the mother, " that the pei-fiime of Paradise should be where God is ;" and then the blindness fell from her eyes, and she knew that she was talking to none other than to Jesus and Mary. And even at that moment the poor rags fell off tliem, and she saw them dressed in royal robes of surpassing splendour ; and the Child Jesus gi-ew to the stature of a man, and His face shone with the oright- ness of the sun, whilst over the wound of His side there gleamed the radiance of a brilliant star. 176 DOMINICA OF PARADISO. Dominica fell prostrate at their feet as they rose into the air; and taking" the roses from His mother's bosom, the Divine Si)ouse scattered them over the head nnd gtirments of ilis heloved, and said, " Mv spouse ! thou hast adorned My imag'e with giirlantis and roses, and therefore do I sprinkle thee with these flowers, as an eaniest of the everlasting* garland with which I will crown thee in Paratlise ;" and so saying*, they both disappeared. Dominica strove in vain to fol- low them with ner eyes ; but for eight days after there remained the periiime of the wounds, and her head and dress were seen covered with flowers. At lenffth she arrived at the ag*e when it is custom- ary for children to make their first Communion; and her mother, therefore, took her during Lent to the priest, that he mig;ht examine and prepare her for that pur- pose. A very few words satisfied him that she was full of Divine grace, and he accordingly desired her to go to communion at the approaching Easter, which was considerably sooner than her mother had intended. "How can I do so?" said Dominica; "I am only eleven years old, and my mother is used to say, * Chil- dren should not go to Communion till they are twelve.' Moreover, there are but three weeks to Easter, and in that short time I can never prepare fitly to receive our Lord ; " and so saying, she began to weep. Never- theless, the priest laid her under obedience to do as he had said, and sent her away ; and Dominica returned home with her thoughts full of this weighty matter of the three weeks of preparation. Now the dignity of the Holy Sacrament appeared to her so very gi-eat, that she thought a year would be too little to make ready the chamber of her heart ; and tliinking how she could make the most of the short time allowed her, she determined not to go to bed for that time, but to remain in prever and meditation dl night, that she might make the w eeks longer ; for, indeed, she was so simply impressea with the conviction of her own vile- ness, that she dreaded lest the Sacred Host should dis* DOMINICA OP PARADISO. 177 Appear, or some otlier tokon of Divine displensiire thouglit ; — w«i hjve Dominica all the hetter for the chihlishness that forgot that its excellent resolve was an impossihle one for tlesh and blood to keej); — for very often the poor little g-irl was conmiered by weariness, and fell asleep in the midst of ner long prayers, and in spite of her manful efforts to keep awake ; and then she would try to rouse herself with the tiiought of her prepamtion for Commu- nion, ond begin all over ag-ain, with a kind of neiTous terror that the time would be too short after all. At length Ilolv Week came, and her mother took her to Florence to liear the proachin^ of the Passion at the gr( at church of St. Repamta. It was a new life to Dominica : seated by her mother's side, she drank in every word of the imj)assione(l eloquence of the preacher; and with her usuid innocence, believet^that Christ would really visiblj-^ appar, and suffer before the eyes of the people as He did on CaUary. And when the pi*eacher said, " yesterday He was beti-ayfd," and " to-day He is led to death," she believed he spoke litemlly ; for she had not learnt to underetand metaphors better than when, a child of four yeai-s old, she had desired to know the kind of bed that the angels sle[»t on. And, indeed, the S|)ec- tacle was given to her eyes, and she saw the scene of the Crucifixion, and how Mary stood beneath the Cross, and how Nicodemus took down the Sacred Body and laid it in her arms. She saw it, as it were, in the midst of the crowd of people who stood round her, and won- dered how they looked so imconcerned ; and she hei-self long-ed to push her way through them to get nearer to her dying Lord; but the crowd kept her back. Thcn^ when she got back to her own room at home, she knelt 178 DOMINICA OF PARADISO. down lyj think of what she had witnessed ; and the Blessed Virj»in appeared to her, and tang'ht her tlmt it had been 1)ut a vision, and one revealed to lier alone, and not to the people, Dominica then told her all her fears that her preparation had heen too short ; that our Lord would certainly never allow her to come to Him ; and that she was so unworthy and imfit to communi- cate, she should drive Him out of the church. But Mary comforted her, and assured her that the tears of contrition she had shed "'^ere all the preparation Ho re- fjuired. When Dominica heard this she was a little consoled; jet her fear lest the Sacred Host should indeed fly n-om her as unworthy was so great, that she spent Holy Saturday in incessant prayer, promising* pilgrimag-es, fasts on bread and water, and every devotion she could remember, if only our Lord would deigTi t remain with her on the following day. Thus tie whole nig-ht passed, and in the morning* she wenl. pii'i and trembling to the church to receive Holy Communion with her mother. Her agitation increased every moment : but at length it was her turn to go up to the altar steps. She did so, and the priest came to her and pronounced the customary words ; but she did not seem to hear him : he bent down over her to rouse her from her stupor; nnd it was not till he had shaken her by her dress that she was sufficiently recovered to receive. Yet this was not an emotiim of terror, but an ecstasy of joy ; for at that moment her fears and scruples liad been removed by the sight of the Sacred Host, not flying from her as she had feared, but shining like a glorious sun, whose biii- liant rays overpowered her by their excessive lustre It woidd be tedious to give in detail any thing like a faithful narration of tlie ect^tasies with which from this time she was favoured every time she communicated. They were so wonderful and «o numerous, that we are assured she made a vow by wliich slie obliged herself never to move from the spot where she knelt ; and that she did this in order to control the impulse which DOMINICA OF PARADISO. 170 tu^d her to cast hcreelf at the feet of her Lord, whom she saw in so g-lonoiis a shape whenever the Sacred Host was elevated before her eyes. Time went on, and Dominica was no long;er a child. With womanhood came tlie cares and cliarge of tlie en- tire family ; for lier mother, seeing* her grave, dilig-ent, and prudent, left every thing- in her hands, and ti-oiil)le{l herself with none of tlie household duties. With "nmur- muring* obedience Dominica acc('j)ted even' thing" that was laid on her ; she swept and washed the house, cooked the food, washed the clotlies, looked after the gurden and the horses, and saw to every thing" which was sent to the mai-ket. Long before bretik of day she had to be up to load tlie mules, and give them in clia' go to her brother Leonard. When they came home late in the evening, it was she, tired with her innumerable la- hours, who had to take them to the stable and make up their stalls. Not a moment of her time hut was filled up with hard bodily work and fatigue ; yet, thanks to the habits of her childhood, she knew how to infiise into all these the spirit of prayer ; and her incessant occupations never put a stop to the devotions and aus- terities which she uad accustomed herself to practise ; nay, she found means to make them assist her in her mortification. She contrived two crosses of wood gar- nished with sharp nails, which she constantly woi-e in Buch a way, that at every movement of the body, in washing, sweeping, and working in the garden, the nails pressed into the flesh ; and so constantly reminded her 01 the sufferings of her Lord, even when externally engaged in the commonest employments of her peasant life. But in spite of the way in which she strove to dr all in and for God, she secretly sighed after the retire- ment of the desert or the cloihter, and for space and time to |)our out her soul in tliat fulness of conti^mplu- tion an«l love which swelled like a deei) ocean within it. When she was fifteen, she accidentidly heard the his- tory of St. Mary Magdalen for the first time; and the 180 DOMIXICA OF PARADISO. account of her retirement and long penance in the de- sert of Marseilles made an impression on her mind whicli was never effaced. Slie longed to imitate her, and to find some secret place where she might com- mence a similar life. Believing this desire to be the vocation of God, she accoi-dingly detei-mined on the ex- periment ; and secretly leaving her mother's house one night, she went on foot to a neighbouring mountain, and entered a thick wood, where she hoped to iind some cavern where she might take up her aoode. Her fii-st adventure was the meeting with a wolf ; but Domi- nica knelt down on the earth, not without some secret emotions of ten-or, and recommended herselt to God ; atiter which she rose, and commanded the animal in God's name to depart without hurting her, which he did, and she pursued her way without fui-ther alaum. At length, rc*iur the Valle del Monte, she found such a spot as she was in search of. There was a gi'otto sunk in the I'ocky side of the mountain, and aear its mouth ran a stream of crystal water. It was the very pipture of a hermitage ; and Dominica's happiness was com- I)lete. She immediately prepared to take up her night's odging in her grotto. But alas ! picturesque ana in viting as it seemed, it was very small ; so small, th:it when the fervent little devotee had crawled into it, and knelt down to give vent to her joy and thankfulness, she found it impossible to get her whole body into its shelter; but her feet remained outside, and what was worse, dipping into the cold water of the stream. Tliese inconveniences, however, were neither cai*ed for nor even noticed by Dominica. She was alone with God, and that was enough for her. Three days and nights she spent in her little cavern, absorbed in ecstatic contemplation, and without food of any kind ; but on the third day a voice spoke to her, and roused her from her long trance of silent happiness. " Dominica," it said, " rise and come forth ; I have already forgiven thee tliy sins." At these words she rose and left her cavern, and behold a beautifid sight The Valle del Monte was DOMIMCA OF PARADISO. 181 before her, afc she had seen it the evening" of herai-nval; there was not a human habitation to be seen, nothing* but the green woods which clothed the mountain side, and tlie clear watei-s of the little stream, and the rocky summits of the hills which rose al>ove the ti-ees. But all these objects were now lit up by a wonderful lig-ht, brig^hter than that of the sun which fell on them from heaven. It gi-ew every moment more and more daz- zling", and then she saw in the -riiidst the foi-m of her Divine Lord, attended by his Blessed Mother and a vast company of angels. He spoke agpain, " Dominica, what seekest thou here, amid these rocks and woods /" " I have been seeking" Thee, Loi-d," she replied, " and it seems to me that I have found Thee." " But," re- turned her Spouse, " when I chose thee for my divine espousal, it was not to do thine own will, nor to enjoy aught else than My good pleasure, in doing* which thou shalt alone find peace. I have not called thee to the quietude of the desert, but that thou shouldst help me to beai* My cross in the gi-eat city yonder, — the heavy cross which sinners make for Me by their sins. Here- after shalt thou see My face in heaven, and contemplate Me there for ever ; but for the present moment, retimi to thy mother's house, and wait for the manifestation of My will."' " I go," said Dominica ; " yet I know not what I can do for Thee in the world ; I am notliing- but a poor peasant girl, who have been brought up among" beasts and oxen. Moreover, if I ^ back, my mother will cei-tainly beat me, for I have been away thr^^e days." " Feai" nothing," was the answer ; " for an angel has taken thy foi'm, and they do not know of tuine absence." Then Dominica found herself ta-anspoi-ted, she knew not how, back to her own little room in her mother's house ; and whilst she still wondered, she heai-d her brother's voice calling hastily to her from below to come and help unload tlie mules. Dominica obeyed ; but she was not a little confused, when on coming down he began to ask her about some money which oe had 182 DOMINICA OF PARADISO. before. She of: given her the evening Delore. Stie knew ol no money, — for, indeed, it had been given not to her, but to tho ang'el in her likeness ; and she would have been sorely [mzzled how to satisfy his demands, if the ang'el had not discovered to her the place where the money was placed. And so her absence remained a secret to the family ; nor were the circumstances ever revealed, until many years after, when, a short time before her death, her confessor obliged her under obedience to re- veal all the graces with which God had favoured her. At length, in her twentieth year, Dominica resolved to leave the world alto^'ether and enter reli^-ion. Her wish was not opposed by her mother, and she entered as lay-sister in the Augustinian convent at Florence. The sisters received her very warmly, for her chai-acter for holiness and her discretion and industry were well known to them ; and they immediately employed her, much to their own satisfaction, in the gurden and kitchen; and kept her so constantly and laboriously occujned, that {)oor Dominica found that she had even less time for ler exercises of prayer than when at home. She en- deavoured to make up for the loss by socretly rising" at nig'ht; but when this was discovered, the Superior, with a mistaken charity, would send her to bed ag-ain, saying that after all her hard day's work she needed i-est j not perceiving" that the real rest she required was time for ner soul to commune with God. Dominica, therefore, became very unhappy ; and one day as she was digging in the garden she heard a mournful voice speak plainly and articulately by her side, saying, " Ah, My spouse ! why hast thou left Me thus 'if" And it seemed to her that it was the voice of her Lord, who tenderly expostu- lated with her for suffering the intercourse which had so closely bound them together to be broken and inter- rupted by so many occupations. She threw the spade on the ground, and sitting down, covered her face with her Lands and wept bitterly. Was it never to end, this life of many cares ? It seemed as though her soul, which was struggling to riso into the serene and quiet atmosplA:*^ zi DOMINICA OF PARADISO. 183 contempladon, was ever destined to be kept do^:vn amid cares and laboui's from which she could not escape, and wliicli vet seemed, as it wei-e, to separate her liom hei Lord. So long' as it had been His will, she had never resisted nor complained; but novv it was not Ilis will. He had said so; and the sweet sorrowftU tone pierced her very heart, as she dwelt on the words, and the accent in which they were uttered, — " Ah ! why liast thou left Me thus V And as she wept and prayed and soiToweci yet saw no way of escape, the same voice spoke agtiin ; but now they were words of comfort and encovano^ement : " Be at peace, Dominica ; God will fbllj»v ilis own will, and you shall be comforted." Ard, indeed, a short time after she was attacked by a sickness, which compelled the sisters to send her back to her mother's liouse ; and though on recovering she retuiTied to them, yet she was again taken ill, and ag-ain forced to leave. A third time her mother took her back to the convent; but Dominica knew that it was not God's wish that she should receive the Au- gustinian habit : and the nuns themselves =eemed to feel that this was the case; thouofh, as they well knew her worth and sanctity, it cost them many regrets be- fore they could consent to her finally leaving their com- munity. She returned home, therefore; and now, with the advice of her confessor, entered on a life of strict religious retirement in her mother's house, until the designs of God regaitling her should be more plainly manifested. The manner of tliis new life was not a little remark- able. Next to the room where her mother slept was a little rubbish-closet, scarcely large enough to «tand in ; this she cleared fi-om its nibbish, and chose for her cell. The constant sickness and infii-mities which she suffered after her illnesses at the convent prevented her from {••oinir out at night and conteniplnting the heavens, as lad been her custom when a child. But she retained her old love for them, and contrived to make a little heaveu of blue paper on the i-oof of her closet^ and to 184 DOMINICA OF PARADISO. cover it with gold stars ; which, thougli but a poor sub- stitute for an Italian sky — that sea of deep liquid sap- phire, wherein float the t»rig-ht stars, looking' down like the eyes of the seraphim, — yet doubtless had its chami to the simple taste of its desig^ier ; and at any rate it reminded her, during the houre of her prayer, of the beaut'Tul days of her childhood, when the heavens opened to her wondering" eyes, and she became familiar with its inhabitants, and thought to get nearer to them and to her Lord by climbing on the roof of the house. I'hen at one end of the closet was a small altar, and on it a crib, and a representation of Mary, and the Divine Child lying on the straw, — ^much after the fashion of those still in common use among the ueasants of Italy ; for she always bore a special devotion to the mystery of the Infancy. A stool before the altar, a wooden bench, and two boxes, completed the funiiture of her cell. There was no bed : she allowed herself but two hours' sleep; and this refi*eshment, such as it was, was taken on tne l?oor, with her head leaning on the stool, — when she lay down in this way, the straight- ness of the closet preventing her from taking any posi- tion that was not painful or constrained. Y^ tl»s sti'ange prison, which she never left save to go le the neighbouring Church of tl:e Lridgetines to hear Mass, was a paradise in Dominica's eyes; fo here, at least, she was left at peace and with God. She kept a continual silence, and divided her time between prayer and work with her needle; and so peifect a mistress was she in all kinds of embroidery, that she obtained lai'ge sums of money by her labour. Tli?5 she left in her mother's bands, who was thus well satisfied to leave her undisturbed in the possession of her little closet, whilst the profits of her aaily labours kept the house. The austerity she practised extended to every kind of bodily denial. Her food was bread and water, taken so sparingly, that we are assured she sometimes spent a week without drinking at all : when she ate any thing, it was on her knees, as she bound hei'self ever to ac- DOMINICA OF PARADISO. 185 company the necessaiy refreshment of the body with interior medication on the Passion. After some little time, she was moved tQ give the proceeds of her labour no longer to her mother, but to distribute them in alms to the poor; and feeling* this inspiration to be the will of Goa, she immediately executed it, gi-eatly to her mother's dissatisfaction and her own discomfort; for all the indul^^ence and tolemtion she had received at her hands so lonff as the profits of her work were at the disposal of the family, were now turned into sharp re- proaches. Dominica, however, cai-ed very little for the sufferings which her resolution broug-ht on her; for God did not fail to evince His pleasure in many ways. She was accustomed to wear the Bridgetine habit, with the consent of the nuns; not as belono^ing* to their community, but because it was deemed advisable that she should have the protection and sanction of some outward religious habit in her present mode of life. As she returned one moi'ninff fi'om church, a miserable beg-gar met her and asked an alms. She had nothing to give him ; yet, rather than send him away without any relief, she took the veil li'om her head, and giving it to him, continued her way. But presently she felt a great scruple at what she nad done ; the veil was pai-t of her religious habit; and she accused hfei-self of a great fault in appearing in the public roads without it, so as possibly to scandalise the passers by, and be taken for one wno mocked the holy garb of^ religion. But as these thoughts passed in her mind, there met her a man, the sm-passing beauty and nobleness ci' whose CO :nt€iiance revealed him to be her Lord. He carried in his hand the veil she had just given away; and throwing it over her head, — " Henceforth," He said, " My spouse, shalt thou have the poverty thou desirest, and shalt live for ever on alms, and as a pilgiim in the world, as I did." From this time sLe redoubled hei labours in order to obtain lai'ge means for the purpose of charity, end besides this, spent much of her time in nursing and tending the sick, as well as relieving th*mx 186 DOMINICA OF PARADISn. by her alms ; and whenever she did this, her own sick- nesses and puins were for a time suspended, and slie found herself endowed with streng^th sufficient for the most extraordinary fatigues and exertions. It was during" her residence at home, in her twenty- fourth year, that she received tlie saci-ed stigmata. These were not bloody, as hi so many cases ; but the exact form of the nails appeared in the ilesh of the hands and feet ; the head pi-otrudinff on the upper part, and the point coming out in the palms and soles. The crown of thonis was not visible in like manner, though the pain of her head in the j)art which con-esponded to its position was excessive ; but very often, in after yeai-s, lier spiritual children in tlie monastery of her foundation saw, as she prayed, how the crown api)eared round her liead in light, and bright rays came out from it and formed its points. Dominica strove to conceal the fa- vour she had received, by weaiing long sleeves to hide her hands; but the nails were so large and distinct, that it was impossible to prevent the fact from being known and observed by many. After a while, in answer to her euiTiest prayer, this ext*- ordinary foi-mation of the nails in the flesh disappeared, and the scars of the woimds alone remained, causing her excessive ag'ony, which redoubled every Friday and during Passion-tide. At length, in her forty-fourth year, the wounds became invisible ; but the pain of them continued dm-ing her whole life. She remained at home for three years after the it- ception of the saci-ed stigmata. They were years of continual suifering and persecution. The violence and coarse selfishness of her mother's nature was vented on her in every way and on all occaisions. She was made the object of the most bitter reviling, and had to listen to a toirent of abuse, and what was worse, of blasphemous cui'sing, whenever she appeared in her presence. Once her mother threw her so violently against the wall as to cause her to i*upture a blood- vessel; yet she bore all meekly and uneomplainmg, DOMINICA OP PARADISO. 18" rev of ler it- ted •so, ler until at length some fi-iends who lived at Florenc(!, hav- ing" asked her to take up her abode with tliem, it was revealed to her that she should remove tliither, which she aceording-ly did. The chang-e of residence, however, brouglit her little or no relief fi'om pei*secution ; for after a few months, the women w'th whom she was stay- ing, moved by some jealousy, or disg'usted at the retired manner in which she lived, and refused to gfo about with them or join in their way of life, accused her of every crime they could ima^ne, and even attempted to poison her. Her mother, hearing- of tlie snffcring-s to which she was exposed, was moved with a very natural contrition for her own cmelty to her, and set out for Florence to see her, and if possible remove her from th • house. Unable to obtain admission, she had recourse to ouo of the canons of the city, and implored liim to take hnr daughter under his protection, and defend her aguiust the cmel restraint and persecution to which she was ex- posed in her present residence. By his inteifercnce slie was allowed to leave ; and a charitable g-ontleman of Florence, named Giovanni, to whom the circumstances of the case were known, received her into his own home, where she lived very peaceably for some time. In all these most painiul and disturbing* changes in her life, Dominica's tranquillity and resignation remained un- moved. She knew that the will of God had its own designs i-egarding her, and that these were not yet ma- nifested ; but until they were, she was content with whatever was assigned her, and received ill treatment, abandonment, and the desolate destiny of passing from one strange home to another, with an astonishing calm- ness and indifference. Her position in Giovanni's house was a very singiUar one. His wife was a weak and in- dolent woman, and with little religious character about her; she was the first of the family, however, over whom Dominica's influence was felt. In a short time her habits of vanity and self-indulgence were laid aside; and she begtui to pray night and morning, and to atteud 188 DOMINICA OF PARADISO. Mass, which till then slie had neg-lected. Then one of" the sons, wlio was to all outward seeming'' given up to the thouj^litless dissipation of his ag'e, and had always nt'gflected his religious duties, was won over by her, and beg'an a new life. (jJiovanui himself soon saw what sort of a pei-son he had brou;^-ht into his house, and that he was in fact entei-taininj^ an ang'el unawares. lie tberefoi-e insisted on htr taking; the entire government of the family ; and Dominica consented, with the characteristic simplicity which would have made Jier undeiiake the government of a kingdom, if her giiardian-angel had assured her it was the wish of God. Whilst she ruled snd directed them, however, in things spiritual, she her- self did the servile work of the house, and waited on them in the hum])lest and most submissive manner. She never affected any other position than that of a simple peasant girl ; but every one who came within her influence felt its power over them, and owned her as their mistress and mother. It was whilst living' in this way that God revealed to her that she was no longer to remain concealed and retired from the world ; but that He was about to make lier the spiritual mother of many daughters, and to do great things for His own glory through her means. j\ow Dominiv'ia was natumlly of a very timid and bashftd disposition ; and when she heard of being brought before the eyes of the world, and called on to teach and guide othei-s, she knew not what to think. Her diffidence, and wliat we should call shvness, was naturally so great, that she would tui-n pale if she had to speak to any one she did not kaow familiarly, and always at such times suffered fi-om violent beating-s of the heart. Therefore, when she considered the great things laid before her, she felt sad and a little frightened, and spoke to God with her usual simi)le fi-ankness, saying, " my Lord, liow can this be ? I am nothing but a vile peasant ; the heart in my breast is a poor contemptible tiling, that lias no courage in it ; my blood is peasant's blood ; I ani not fit for these great things unless you cliongc DOMINICA OP PAnADISO. 189 it." Then God answered, snyini^, " And T will change it, and will g-ive you n noblo anil mngmanimous heart ; wherefore prepare for keen and teiTible suft'erin*^ ; for it is by them tliatyour heart and blood is to be purg^ed and i-enovated, and ntted for My service in the eyes of men." Scarcely had the vision ended, when Dominica felt tlie approach of the sufferings whicli had been promised; j)ain in every part of her body, a continual hemorrhaffe of blood, whicti seemed to drain every vein, and deadly fainting-s and weakness, reduced her almost to extremity. Then, after she had lan^iushed in this state for many weeks, a vision appearea to lier of the same mysterious and significant kind as that related in the life of St. Catherine of Sienna. Our Lord took her heart from her breast, and supplied its place with one of burning" fire. She rose from her sick-bed, and felt her whole nature renewed ; every sense was quickened, and the powers of her mind enlarg-ed and ennobled; — nay, lier very body seemed already to share in the gflory of the resur- rection. It ffave out a wonderful odour, which commu- nicated itself to every thing* which it touched. Her sight was so miraculously keen that she could see to em- broider in the darkest night, and many nem senses seemed given her; whilst those of smell and touch and bearing wore also renewed in an equally extraordinary dfii^iree. But, at the same time, slie lost the bodily vig^our which had before enabled her to go through so many hai-d davs' labour : and with her new heart she seemed also to have acquired a new and delicate bodily tempera- mimt which utterly incapacitated her for work, whilst she seemed to be wholly immei-sed in divine and interior contemplation. A strange eloquence was now heard to flow from her lips, the infiiseii wisdom and science of the saints was m her words ; nay, she would often niiote and explain sentences of the holy Fathers, or of the Scriptures, which it is cei-tain she had never read or lieard read. In short, God had bestowed on her the gift which He deemed necessary to fit her for the de- sign lie had i-egarding her; and still, with till the 100 DOMINICA OF PAKADISO. marvellous H[)iritual riches which she had '.xjquired, she ivfainwl in her ways and thoughts and habits the old simplicity of the r>easant child. first of the spiritual dauf»'hters ffiven her by God was Giovanni's eldest child, who at lier j/crsuasion einbmced the life of r<.»ligion, and placed herself under lier obedience. The second soon followed her exaiiiple; and soon after a third. Another daug-hter, Catherine^ still remained ; like her mother, she was of a thoug'ht- less and indolent chamcter, much given to the vanities of her age, and the foolish pleasures of the world about Iier. She was accustomed to ridicule and mock at the conversion of her three sisters, and to hinder and disturb them in their religious pmctices; in short, she was al>out as hopeless a subject for Dominica to exorcise her influence uiion as might well be imagined. But one Christmas-aay Dominica called her into her little ora- tory, and fii"st turning- to the crucifix, and spending' a moment in silent prayer, she laid her hand on her bi-east, and said, " hai-d and evil heart, be softened and yield to thy God ; and bend to my will, which is, that thou be the heart of a saint !" I'hree days after tliis Catherine presented herself with her sisters, and implored Dominica to take her also under her teaching* and direc- tion. It cost her a little more trouble to convert the brothers ; but by degrees she succeeded in pei'suadinpp all to devote themselves to a holy and religious life ; and the eldest, taking' the habit of St. Dominic, lived and died in the order with the reputation of sanctity. Her confessor about this time counselled her herself to take the habit of the third order ; and the matter having been agreed upon, he provided a tunic and mantle of the usual kind for her clothmg, and appointed a certain day for her to come to the Convent of St. Mark and receive it with the customary ceromonies. The cii'cumstances which followed have a veiy marvel- lous character, yet there seems no reason to doubt the accuracy and reality of what is narrated. We aro t^ld that, on the morning of the dav appointed, she being in DOMINICA OP PAIIADISO. 191 ni-nyer, was rnpt in ecstasy; nnd in this state she saw Ht. Catherine and St. Dominic enter her room with the white tunic in their linnds. 6t. Dominic himself gpave it to her, pronouncing tlie words nnd prayer ac- cording to the rite of his order, — the i-esjwnses Leinj^ Ijfiven hy St. Catherine and the ang-els; and her giiainiian- nnpfol fj^vo the as|)ersion of lioly water, first to the hahit, and tiien to her ; and St. Catherine received lier as her diuig-hter, and g-ave lier the kiss of welcome. When she recovered from her ecstasy, she found herself really clothed in the sncrc .1 hahit which had heen thus wonder- fully g-iven her; nnd, full of joy, she ap|H>ared with it in public in the nfteinoon of the same day. This was a cause of gfi-eat dis, lensure to the authorities of the oi-der, who complained that she had assumed their habit without lieing- rejpdarly admitted into their society. The affair was broug-ht before the M.ister- General, at that time V'io di Ca jetan ; and the com j)laint ap]>earinfi;' just, he called on her either to lay it aside, or to explam the authority by which she wore it. The account she grave of the whole matter so satisfied the Ai-chbishop of Florence of her sincerity ind holiness, that he undertook to mediate in her behalf; and it was at length agneed that she should keep the habit, provided that she nnd her com- panions wore a red ci*oss on the left shoulder, to denote that she had been clothed without the sanction of iJ '^ ordinary authorities of the order, and was not subject to its jurisdiction ; and, in fact, they did so wear it for six years, when, the Convent of the Holy Ci-oss being- established, they were aflerwai-ds fiilly aamitted to the rights and pHvileges of the order. After this point was settled, Dominica's next step was to retire with her little band of followers (whicli now included several others besides the daugliters of Giovanni) to a small house, where they lived a regu- lar life, supporting themselves by the labour of their liands. In time their gains increased to so wonderful a degree, that they found themselves enabled to purchase a mure convenient residence^ and then to enlarge it. i 102 DOMINICA OP PAHADISO. k and finnlly to rebuild it in the form of a cross. la short, in the couree of u few years slie saw herself ftt the head of a hrffe community, possessed of a regn- hir and extensive house; with a church attached to it, without any other means having" been employed in its erection than the money which she and her sisters had earned by their own needlework. The Archbishop of Flo- rence (tiie celebrated Julius de Medici, aftei-wards Popo) w.is so stmck with the manifest expression of CnuVs will in the whole matter, that he obtained permissicui from Leo X. for the rejiiilar foimdation ot the con- vent under the rule of St. Dominic. They were all solemnly clothed on the 18th of November, 1515, and proceeded to the election of tlieir prioress. Their choice oFcoui*se fell on Dominica, but she absolutely refused to accept the office; and used a T)owca* g^ven her by the papal brief to noininate another sister in her place, whilst she determined to retain for herself the ranlc and duties of a lay-sister. The ceremony of the clothings and election bein^ therefore over, she made a solemn renunciation of the house and all it contained into the hands of the Arch- bishop-Vicar. Then she left the sisters, and went to the kitchen ; and comings there, she sent all the other lay-sisters away, saying-, it belonged to iier to do what had to be done for the community for the first week of their settlement. She cooked the dinner, and sent it to the refectory ; and whilst the sisters were sitting at table, she entered the room with a number of broken fjieces of earthenware tied round her neckj and knelt lumbh' in the middle of them all, as one domg penance. Tiie feeling's of her children at this sight may be ima- gined ; there was a universal stir ; three or four rose from table, and would have placed themselves by her side. Hie prioress endeavoured to restore order ; but the meal was broken by the sobs and sighs of the whole community. When dinner was over, she tried to return to her work in the kitchen ; but the feel ngs of the sisters could no loiigwr )>e restrained; they tun DOMINICA OV PARADISO. 193 lun Bfter her, and tlirew themselves at her fcot. " Mother, xnothei'," thev cried, " it is a mother we want, not a saint ; a Cfuicle, and not a servant, — this cannot he suf- fered." liut Dommica tried to quell them, and to jwr- suade them to let it be even as she desired ; her entreaties, however, were in vain. They left her, and with the Pri- oress met together to consider what should l)e done ; and it was determined that the Vicar should be called on to use his authority with Dominica, and brin«»f her under obedience to take the office of Superior,— which, in shoit, she was compelled to do, with the title of Vicare/sff ; for she persevered in refusing" to l)e instituted Prioress. When the time came for the profession of the new community, Dominica obtained permission from the Pope to defer her own profession; only to bind herself by a simple vow to wear the habit of the third order, and keep the rule of St. Dominic. Does the reader wish to Know the motive she had for soliciting* this sin- gular privilege ? lie must go back some twenty years, and recal the time when the story of St. Mary Mag- dalen's retirement to the deserts of Marseilles had sent the little peasant child into the woods, to spend three happy days and nights in a hermit's cave too small to contain her, but which she considered as a Paradise ; and where she would liave been well content to ha\0 remained all her life, if such had been the wish of God. At thirty yeai*s of jige, Dominica was still the same. Her simplicity had a touch of what one might call romance about it, and she had never forgotten her great project of a hermitn^^. She would not be bound to the Convent of tho, Iloly Ci-oss therefore, because she still hoped the time might come when she might find out the desert of Marseilles, and realise the life of l)enance and retirement, the account of which had made 80 deep an impression on her imagination. When she saw lierself threntcned with a perpetual appointment as Vicaress, she accoidiniily resolved to fly at once, and did actually es('U|ie by one of the windows, and set out towards Msuseilles in tlie habit of a pilgrim. The com- 101 DOMINICA 01 PARADI80. munity agnin had recourse to the Vicar, who sent a ]X!remptory order for her return under pain of exconi- municntion ; and the messenger who carried it found her laid up in a Httle vilkge with a swelling^ of hoth feet, which Iiad put a speedy stop t.' her pi^rimage, and which she herself acknowledged to I j the declara- tion that it was not God's will she should proceed iu her design. She was therefore compelled to return and retissume the government of her convent, in which office she coiitlnueu until she died in 1553. With the circiunstances which attended her death wc must conclude. For months she had lain on a misemble p illet, unable to move or rise, and with the n|>[)earanee of a living skeleton. But when Easter Day came, she felt it wais tlie last she should spend with her Sisters, and determined to keep the festival with them all in community. She therefore caused herself to be cnrrred to the chair, where she communicated with them. She took her dinner in the refectory, and afteiwards held a chapter, where, after briefly and toucliingly exhorting them to fidelity to theur Spouse, Rhe gave them her last blessing. Then, in order to assure them in the peaceable possession of their convent, she determined to nuike her solemn profession, which had never yet been done, — in conformity, we are assured, to the express revealed permission of G(m1. She lingered on until the following August, and on the dth of that month fell into her agony. When the last moment came, she raised herself on the pallet, and extended her arms in the form of the cross. Her ioce shone with a bright and ruddy colour, and her eyes were dazzling with a supernatural light ; and so, without any other oeath-struggle than a gentle sigh, she expired, at the age of ei^ty years. Her hfe nas been written at length by F. Ignatius Nente; but the principal facts were drawn up by the Abbess of Flerence very shordy after her decease, at the instance of the Grand Duchess of Lorraine, nnd foiwarded to Rome, to form the process for her beatification. at ft toni- »und both aiu- d iu turn hich eatk ai a the Day ^itn vith rself ited and and use, [* to enty iiick red, )red that lent ded tone rere any redf, bteii ipol 'ery and Drm ANNE DE MONlMORENCr. A • II ft h a si tc oi re w to H H hf he en ini Al th( tia till in^ ♦Jo ANNE DE MONTMORENCY^ THE SOLITARY OF THE PYRENEES. About the year "^^GQ, a young lady of the family of MoDtmorency, one of tlie most ancient and illustrious in France, disappeared at the age of fifteen from her father's house, because projects were being- formed for her establishment, and she believed herself called to a different stat^ of life. Afler having in vain endea- voured to alter the views of her family respecting her, she entreated permission one day to make a pilgrimage to Mount Valerian, near Paris, where were the stations of our Lord's Passion. When she reached that which represents our Lord on the cross, she imploi'ed Him whom she had chosen for her spouse, with many tears, to save her from the danger of oeing ever unfaithfiil to Him, and to teach her how to live from thencefoi'th as His own bnde, unknown, and crucified with Him, with lier body and soul given up entirely to His charge, and her whole being abandoned to the care of Providence. With her mind full of these holy thoughts, she camp down from the mountain, and without well know- ing what she was goino- to do, she turned her steps to- wards the Bois de Boulogne ; and when she reached the Abbey '^f Longcbamp, feeling a streng impulse to enter the church, she dismissed for some hours the confiden- tial attendants by wliom she was accompanied, saying that she had still many prayers to recite ; and accora- ingly they left her without su.'tpicion to finish her devo- tions. Ko sooner were they out of sight than she left ins ANNE DE MONTMOREXCr. tliG chui cli ; nnd committing" liei-self to our Bless-d Lord nnd His holy jMotlier, piung-ed into tlie i*ecessies of the wood. She was following: bv mere chance an unfrequented putli, when she met a poor woman, wno asked ahns of lier. This encounter ap]>eared to her nu indication of the will of Heaven : slie foi-med her |)lnn in an instant, and beg-an to put it into execution, by taking- the clothes of the poor beg^gar, and giving her own in exchano-e; find to complete the disg-uise, she stained her hands ami f:ice with clay, and ti-ied to dis- figure herself as nmch as possible. She then turned in the direction contrary to that in which she thought pur- Buit would fii-st be made ; walked all the rest of tae day, and found hei-self in the evening in a village situate on the Seine, some leagues from Paris. .There she was met by some charitable ecclesiastics, who, touched by her youth, and the dangere to which it exposed her, took an interest in her situation, and found her fii-st a temjwmry asylum, and aftenvards a situation with a lady in the neighbourhootl, who was very rich, and whose service was safe and respectable, as she was de- vout and regular in her conduct ; but she was a diffi- cult person to live with, beinjj of a sharp and worryinj^ temper, so that she had never been able to keep long either a man or maid-servant. Into this house, how- ever, Jane Margaret, by which name only she was known, entered as lady's-maid ; but as no servant but hei-self could i-emain, she found hei-self at the j^ge of sixteen obliged to be cook nnd housemaid and jwrteress all at once. What consoled and even i*ejoiced her in this situation was the opportunity it af^oi*ded her of sntislying her thii*st for crosses and humiliations, and also her freedom from all intiaision of itlle curiosity, so that she felt her secret safe. She endured all the fatigues of so laborious a situation, and all the caprices nf a hai-shness in temper, with unaltci-able patience and sweetness until her misti-ess's death ; that is to say, for the space of ten yeai-s. And so faultless was her con« duct during* all thia time, that her misti-ess, on her death ANNE DE MONTMORENCY. 109 bed, publicly beg-g-ed her pardon for all slie had made her suffer, and insisted on leaving her the sum of four tho)isand fmncs in addition to her wages, of which slie liad as yet scarcely received any thing. Jane Margaret was with difficulty pei-suaded to accept this present, and when it was forced upon her, she distributed it among the poor, with tlie exception of a very small sum which she kept for her immediate wants. Feeling, however, that such extraordinary liberality on the part of a mere maid-servant would excite susiHcion and en- danger her secret, she resolved to escape tlie peril as soon as possible. Accordingly, on her return from the funeral of her mistress, seeing the boat for Auxerre, she threw hei'self into it, without a moment's delay ; and soon after her arrival in that town succeeded in finding another situa- tion which she considered suitable. It was in the house of a master joiner, who was greatly esteemed both for skill in his profession and for general probity, and who was also clever in carving. The early education of Jane Margaret made her very useful to her new master, who, in return, taught her how to handle the chisel, and she very soon became sufficiently expert to make wooden clocks. In this town, too, she was happy enough to find a director experienced in the ways of God, who confirmed her in the resolution she had taken. In about a year's time, however, she lost him ; and despairing of nnding another to whom she could give her entire confidence, she determined to i-etum to Paris, in the hope of finding there a guide such as she required, believing herself sufficiently for- gotten at tliis distance of time to run no risk of being recognised. She set foi-th, therefore, on the road to the capital on foot, and asking alms ; for she had taken care before leaving Auxerre to give to the poor all that she had eaiiied. On her aiTival in Paris she placed her?elf among the poor wlio ask the charity of the faitliful at the chui'ch-doors ; and begged every moining enough to 200 ANNE DB MONTMORHNCT. maintain her for the day, for which purpose veiy little sufficed. All the rest of her time she passed in praver in the churahes, which she never left except at the approach of nigpht. One day as she was asking* alms, accordino^ to her custom^ at the door of a church, it pleased Providence that she should address heraelf to a very pious and charitable lady, who kept a school at "^hAveau-Fort, and who was under the direction of a i!i)ly i-eli^ous named the Father de Bray. At the fii-st •Trht of the young and modest beggur, the virtuous .S!:i''Oolmistress felt moved, and disceniing in her some- thu\^< 'vhich did not acco: ^ with her appai'ent state of life, veiitui'ed to ask her w hether it was from sickness that she was reduced to that condition. Jane Mai'snret only replied that she believed herself to be fulfilling the will of God; which answer increased the interest she had already excited in the mind of the pious lady, who told her that in her state of weakness the air or the country would do her good, and offered to take her to Chateau- Fort. At the same time she spoke to her of Tether de Bray, whose name and merit were well kiiown in Paris. This last consideration was sufficient to deteimine Jane Margaret to follow a pei'sou whose sentiments were so congenial with her own. As soon as Father ae Bray became acquainted with her, he discovered in her one of those wonders which are wrought fix)m time to time by gi-ace for the con- fusion oftne world, and set himself to second the designs of Heaven concerning this privileged soul. She too, on her side, convinced tnat she had at last found a g^ide such as she had been long seeking, bestowed on him her confidence without reserve, and continued to 0011*6- spond with him as long as he lived. In process of time, drawn more than ever by the Spirit of God, she left ChAteau-Fort to go and seek a solitude hidden from all men ; but it was almost two yeai-s before she could find what she desired. She traversed several provinces seeking for tm asylum out of the reach of every human eye, imtil at last she ar- ANNE DK MONTMORKNCV. 20' le a o e rived ftt the Pyrenees, where she estubHshed herself in a wild :-eoess, which she names in her lettere " the soli- tude of the rocks." It was a little space of a pentaj^onal Hhape, shut in by five rocks, which formed a kind of cross, and rendered the little spot of ground which thev enclosed not quite inaccessible, but altojiether invisible fi-om without. From the foot of the hig-hest of these rocks there gushed a spring* of excellent water, and its summit was a kind of observatory, from whence she could espy any intrudei-s who mig-lit venture to ai)- proach her abode. There were three gi'ottoes at the uase of the rocks, one of which was a deep and winding cavern ; this she made her cell, anH *,ho two others her oratories. This solitude was at leu • h " a league from any road, and suiTOunded by a t'uck "est, or rather by a brake, so tang-led that, to { ..;. through it, the tra- veller must force nis way an? . .,: histles and briere, by a path which seemed impraoticj .le to any but wild beasts. Our solitary, however itiet with none of these, except a bear, who was more . ..i\i than she, and ran away. She found in her retreat shrubs which bore a fruit much like damsons ; and the rocks were covered with medlai'-trees, the fi-uit of which was excellent. The cold was not intense even in the heait of winter, while the heat of summer was tempered by the shade of the rocks, and of the woods which surrounded it. All these details are given in the lettei-s of the solitary herself to her director, Father de Bray. In this retirement she hegan to lead a life angelio rather than human ; looking upon this earth as the blessed do from the heio hts of heaven, and consecrating every pulsation of her heart to God. For some time she used to go twice a week to the village to ask alms ; but by degTees she weaned herself fi*om the use of bread, and at last lived entirely on the vegetables and wild fruits which g'ew in the neighbourhood of her abode. Her spiritual necessities were moi'e difficult to sup- ply. Not wishing to risk being recognised, she was 202 ANNE DE MONTMORENCr. oblig^ to use many precautions whenever she allowed herself the consolation of participating in the divine mysteries ; but Providence had prepared for her a re- source. At a little distance from the forest were t>vo religious houses, ona of men, the other of women. There she went to hear Mass and receive holy com- munion; and, in order to escape remark, she went some- times to the church of the convent, sometimes to that of the monastery ; and for her confessor she selected a good curate of the neiglibourhood, who simply heard what she had to say, and asked her no questions. She had fixed for herself a rule of life, whicn she followed exactly : at five in the morning she rose, winter and summer; continued in prayer till six, when she re- cited prime, and either went to Mass or heard it in ?>irit; and then read some chapters of Holy Scripture, heso exercises lasted till eight; after which she de- voted two houi-8 to manual labour, either mending her clothes, or practising sculpture, o* cultivating a little garden which she had made round her habitation. At ten she recited tierce, sext, and none ; and then, pros* trate at the foot of her crucifix, she examined her cou • science, and imposed on herself penances in propoi-tion to the number and grievousness of her faults. AH this lasted till about noon, when she took the only meal of the day, and afler it her recreation, which consisted, in fine weather, of a walk to the summit of the rocks, where she contemplated the cTeat..ess of God in His works, and praised and blessed His infinite perfections in pious songs which she knew by heait, or with which Divine love inspii*ed her at the moment. On her return home she made her spiritual reading, usually from the Imitation, followed by an affectionate prayer, in which she poured out before God all the ne- cessities of her soul; but asked of Him nothing but the accomplishment of His own good pleasure. Tlien she resumed her manual laboiu* until four in the afternoon, after which she I'ecited Vespei-s and the enti-e Rosary, accompanied or followed by pious considerati )ns. This ANNS Dfi MONTMORENCY. 203 exercise broug'ht her on to eif^ht o'clock, when she went through the devotion of the Stations in a Calvary which she hnd built heraelf, and performed the ]H>nance8 and mortifications which she had imiK)scd u^ion herself. At nine she retired to her cell, and, after a short exami- nation of conscience, and some vocal prayers, slept till eleven, when she rose to recite matins, wliich she knew by heart, and to pray till two, when she retired agtiin to rest till five. In order to regulate this distribution of her time, she had made herself a wooden clock. She made also several other pieces of workmansliip, which were admired by connoisstuirs, more especially a Cru- cifix, made out of a sing-le piece of corneil wood, which slie presented to Father de Bray, and which afterwaitls fell into the hands of Madame de Maintenon, who valued it as a precious i-elic. She wroug-ht ako thw»« other crucifixes, one very small, which she wore round her neck; another, three feet big*!!, wliich she placed in her cell; and a third, six feet high, which she carved out of the wood of a fir-tree, wliich had been struck down by lightning in the forest, and which she placed in the Calvaiy she hnd arranged on the summit of one of the highest of the rocks which enclosed hoi habi- tation. For her communications with Father de Bray she made use of a wagoner, who, from time to time, jour- neyed to and from Paris, and who faithfiilly canied her letters, and brought back to her the answers to them, together with tne small sums of monev which her director sent her from time to time, and wfiich she used to piocure such things as were indispensably necessary to ner, such as tools for her carving, needles, threaa, woi-sted, and some pieces of calico and stuff to repair her garments, which were veiy simj)le, but always neat, especinlly wl;en slie appeared at church. It may not bo uninteresting to see an inventory of lier few jM)ssessions, which she sent to her spiritual di- rector. A Hitman Breviary, which she recited daily, and which she undei-stood, having learnt Latin in her 204 ANNE DE MONTMOnKNCY. cliildliood ; nn Iinitntion; nn uluidjimcnt of the Snintu' I:c, and excited the cmioisity of sot. Hut wh^n this banner of rocks was once passed, which requir^l g"ood climbing", there was a little smiling; valley enunicllcd witli flowei-s, and intersected with rivulets from sevend springs of living- water g-ushing" out fi-om the mountains ; tliere, too, were several sorts of fruit of very g;ood taste, and a quantity of wild honey, which the solitary pro- nounceil to be excellent ; so that idtog'ether this abot luul no fenr, do- liendinpi' on the help of tlie Lonl, who has |)i-onii.s«Hl to give His servants the power of ti-emlin^p on sor|ients tind scorpionH, and of chaining' the months of lions ; and in trutli these animals never disturbed her, though she passed their dens agnin and again ; it seemed as though they res|)ecteourhood of her first soli- tude, she found a convent of monks ; but this was at a more considerable distance, for she had three leagues and a half to walk before she coidd reach it, and that through tangltKl thickets ; but in this convent she sought a confessor; the Su|)enor received her witii gi*eat kind- ness, believing her to be a poor country girl, and askint^ her no questions but such as wei-e suitable to the nu-al life ho supposed her to be leading. For the holy sacri- fice she went to the hermitage of St. Antony, a league and a half on the other side of the foi-est. Wlw'ii once fixed in this new abode, our solitary jieaceably resumed the coui-so of her accustomed ex- ercises. She airanged for hereelf two cells in the hollow of two rocks very near to each other, and in the space between the two she fonned a little chapel, which she delighted in ndoraing with veixiure and wild flowers. She divided her time, as befoiv, between labour and pi-ayer, and her trances and ecstasies liecame more fi*equent and more sublime th:in ever; but her greiit humility made her distnist these extraonlinary favoui-s of Heaven, and she require