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Updated: April 30, 2025
I gradually became comprehensible, and finally he gave himself up to the theory that, though eccentric, I was harmless and amusing, so we got on famously, so famously that Willie Beresford grew ridiculously gloomy, and I decided that it could not be Francesca's headache. The names of these English streets are a never-failing source of delight to me.
Then come the extras, which are different for each person: more ale for one, more hot baths for another; more carriages for one, more lemon squashes for another. Francesca's column is principally filled with carriages and lemon squashes. You would fancy her whole time was spent in driving and drinking, if you judged her merely by this weekly statement at the hotel.
It is a third-rate picture now; but even the masterpieces, Perugino's big fresco, Titian's "Bacchus and Ariadne," Pier della Francesca's "Baptism"; have they ever given me the complete and steady delight which that mediocre Sienese gave me at the end of the wintry drive, in the faintly illumined chapel? More often than not, as Coleridge puts it, I have "seen, not felt, how beautiful they are."
'Studying art in Paris when I met her "the vision and the faculty divine, but lacking the accomplishment," etc.... A little ethereal profile, like one of Piero della Francesca's angels ... not rich, thank heaven, but not afraid of money, and already enamored of my project for fertilizing my sterile millions..."
Francesca's propositions are especially nonsensical, being provocative of fruitless discussion, and adding absolutely nothing to the sum of human intelligence. "Why not start without any special route in view, and visit the towns with which we already have familiar associations?" she asked.
He was afterwards successively named sub-prior, and then prior of the monastery of Santa Maria Nuova; and was later the associate and support of Francesca in the foundation of her congregation of the Noble Oblates of Tor di Specchi. Francesca's obedience to her director in spiritual matters, and to her husband in other respects, continued to be exemplary.
Francesca's almost motherly love for her possessions made her peculiarly sensible to a feeling of annoyance and depression at the accident, but she turned politely to listen to Mrs. Greech's account of a misfortune in which four soup-plates were involved. Mrs.
A deep sigh quivered and paused and was drawn again almost with a gasp that stirred the air. Suddenly Francesca's face was hidden in her hands, and her head was bowed almost to her knees. A moment more, and she sobbed aloud, wordless, as though her soul were breaking from her heart. In the great gloom there was something unearthly in the sound of her weeping.
To show that others than poets have been inspired by Francesca's unhappy history, it may be of interest to record the fact that noted pictures illustrating the story have been painted by many of the greatest artists.
Twelve years after Francesca's marriage, by which time she had become mother of a son who died, and of a daughter who survived her, she and her brother-in-law Paulo were slain together by the husband, and buried in one grave. Two hundred years afterwards, the grave was opened, and the bodies found lying together in silken garments, the silk itself being entire.
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