Francesca had just attained the age of twenty when her second son was born. He was baptized on the day of his birth, and received the name of John Evangelist. He might well have been termed his mother's own child; for in his veriest infancy, he showed that he had inherited her sweetness and spirit of devotion. He was to her as one of God's own angels, and tears of joy filled her eyes as she mused on the extraordinary signs of grace which he daily evinced. Evangelista was not quite three years old when his little sister Agnes was born, who in beauty, heavenly sweetness of temper, and precocious piety, proved the counterpart of her brother.
In the year 1409, when she was about twenty-seven years old, Francesca's temporal calamities began. After Ladislas of Naples, befriended by the enemies of the pope, had in 1498 gained possession of Rome, he left behind him as governor of the city the count of Troja, a rough and brutal soldier. In an engagement with the count's soldiers Lorenzo Ponziano was stabbed, and taken up and carried home as if dead. Francesca however found that he still breathed, and by her unremitting attention, he was restored to health.
Meanwhile the count of Troja, pressed on every side, began to foresee the necessity of leaving Rome; but, in his exasperation, resolved previously to wreak his vengeance on the families most devoted to the pope, and especially on that of the Ponziani. He accordingly arrested Paluzzo, Vannozza's husband, and understanding that Lorenzo had a son of eight or nine years old, he commanded that he should be given up into his hands as a hostage.
This was to Francesca a trial almost beyond endurance, as she trembled for the soul of her little one about to be committed to unprincipled soldiers. The report of the order had spread through Rome, and as she passed through the streets clasping the hand of her dear child whom she was about to surrender, crowds of commiserating women pressed round her. She mounted the Capitol, walked straight to where the tyrant was standing, and gave up her son to him, and then, without once looking back, she hastened to the church of Ara Cœli, and falling prostrate before the feet of the Mother of Mercy, poured out her soul in tears and supplication. In the mean time the count of Troja had ordered one of his officers to take little Baptista on his horse, and carry him away to a place he appointed; but from the instant the child was placed on the saddle, no efforts could induce the animal to stir. Four of the knights of Naples renewed the attempt with other horses, and the same result. There is a strength greater than man's will; there is a power that defeats human malice. Struck with a secret terror by this evident prodigy, the count of Troja gave up the unequal contest, and ordered the child to be restored to his mother. Before the altar of Ara Cœli, where in her anguish she had fallen, Francesca received back into her arms the son of her love, and blessed the God who had given her strength to go through this the severest of her trials.
The States of the Church and Rome were again overrun by the troops of Ladislas, in 1410. The horrors of this invasion, and of the sack that followed it, surpassed in atrocity almost all those that had previously afflicted the capital of Western Christendom. Lorenzo, scarcely recovered from his long illness, fled into a distant province. It had been impossible to remove his wife and children; and Francesca remained exposed to a succession of the most trying disasters. The wealth of the family chiefly consisted in their country possessions; and day after day intelligence was brought to her that one farmhouse or another was burnt or pillaged, the cattle dispersed or destroyed, and the peasants murdered by a ruthless soldiery. One fatal morning a troop of savage ruffians, drunk with rage, broke into the palace, and after pillaging, and all but destroying the time-honoured residence of the Ponziani, carried off her son Baptista. In the space of a few hours that gorgeous abode was turned into a heap of ruins. Bereft of her husband, of her son, and of all the conveniences of life, Francesca, with her two younger children, remained alone, and unprotected, for her brother-in-law, Paluzzo, was still a prisoner in the tyrant's hands. How Baptista escaped is not recorded, but by some means or other he was enabled to get away from Rome and rejoin his father.
Francesca took shelter in a corner of her ruined habitation; and there, with Evangelista and Agnese, she managed to live in the most complete seclusion. These two children were now their mother's only comfort, as their education was her principal occupation. Evangelista, as he advanced in age, in no way belied the promise of his infancy. He lived in spirit with the angels and saints, and seemed more fitted for their society than for any earthly companionship. "To be with God," was his only dream of bliss. The hour for another sacrifice was at hand. The second invasion of Rome was succeeded by a dreadful famine, which was followed in its turn by a severe pestilence. Evangelista sickened and died of it. Francesca wept over the loss of her dearly-beloved child, but did not grieve for him. It was not a time for indulgence of sorrow. Want and sickness were turning Rome into a charnel house. Wild voices were screaming for bread on every side. The streets were encumbered by the victims of the plague. The ruin of private property, the general penury occasioned by the extortion of Ladislas, and the sacking of Rome by his soldiers, had cut off almost all the resources of private charity. Francesca, bereaved of everything but her one little girl, and lodged with Vannozza in a corner of their dismantled house, had no longer at her command the resources she had formerly possessed for the relief of the poor. A little food from their ruined estates was now and then supplied to these lonely women; and they stinted themselves, that they might bestow the greatest part on the sick and poor. There was a large hall in the lower part of the palace; the sisters converted it into a temporary hospital; out of the shattered furniture that lay scattered about the house, they contrived to make up beds and covering, and to prepare some clothing for the wretched creatures they were about to receive. When all was ready they brought in sufferers, carrying the weakest in their arms. They washed and dressed their wounds and sores, prepared both medicine and food, watched the sick by day and by night; laboured incessantly for their bodies, and still more for their souls. The example which the ruined and bereaved wives of the Ponziani had given kindled a similar spirit among the hitherto apathetic inhabitants of Rome, and in several places hospitals were opened to the perishing multitudes. Often Francesca and Vannozza were without a morsel of food for themselves and their poor, then they went forth to beg, and gratefully accepted the broken bits that fell from the table of the wealthy. Each remnant of food, each rag of clothing, they brought home with joy; and the best was invariably bestowed on their guests.
Evangelista had been dead about a year, when one morning as Francesca was praying in her oratory, she became conscious that the little room was suddenly and supernaturally illumined. She raised her eyes, and Evangelista stood before her; his familiar aspect unchanged, but his features transfigured and beaming with ineffable splendour. By his side stood an angel of exquisite beauty. Evangelista smiling on his mother, told her of his present happiness, and then bade her prepare to surrender her little Agnese, for God called the child. But a consolation was promised her. Thenceforth the angel who stood beside Evangelista was to be ever with her, as a visible companion. Having said this, Evangelista disappeared, but the angel remained, and to the day of her death was ever present to her sight.
The following is the description of the angel as given by Francesca to her confessor, and written down by her, at his order:—
"His stature is that of a child, of about nine years; his countenance full of sweetness and majesty; his eyes generally turned towards heaven. Words cannot describe the divine purity of that gaze. His brow is always serene; his glances kindle in the soul the flame of ardent devotion. When I look upon him, I understand the glory of the angelic nature, and the degraded condition of our own. He wears a long, shining robe, and over it a tunic, either as white as the lilies of the field, or of the colour of a red rose, or of the hue of the sky, when it is most deeply blue. When he walks at my side his feet are never soiled by the mud of the streets, or the dust of the roads."
The presence of her heavenly guide was to her as a mirror, in which she could see reflected every imperfection of her character. Much as she had discerned, even from her earliest childhood, of the corruption of her heart, yet she often told her director that it was only since she had been continually in the presence of an angelic companion that she had realised its amount. So that this divine favour, far from exalting her in her own eyes, served to maintain her in the deepest humility. When she committed any fault, the angel faded away, and it was only when she had felt compunction and confessed her fault, that he shone out upon her once more in all his brilliancy.