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Click here to read the previous three parts:

Part One: https://everydaylifespirituality.com/2024/12/15/st-francesca-cabrini-part-one/

Part Two: https://everydaylifespirituality.com/2024/12/22/st-francesca-cabrini-part-two/

Part Three: https://everydaylifespirituality.com/2025/01/26/part-3-of-4-st-cabrinis-excellent-adventures/

Although she had become a public figure celebrated for her accomplishments, Mother Cabrini hated the spotlight and refused to allow her picture to be published in newspapers. By this stage in her life, she yearned for a retirement of peaceful contemplation, hoping to pass on the mission work to her younger and stronger nuns, This dream, however, would never materialize.

At the end of 1907, Francesca Cabrini once again set sail for Buenos Aires to visit her school—this time by boat from Barcelona instead of by mule across the Andes! After her visit, she continued on to Brazil, where her Sisters had established a school in São Paulo. Her journey then took her to Rio de Janeiro, but during the train ride through mosquito-infested marshlands, she contracted malaria and fell ill for several weeks. Despite her weakened state, she managed to open a school in Rio; however, shortly after its opening, a smallpox epidemic swept through the city, affecting several of the nuns. The first Sister to contract the disease tragically died because the authorities insisted she be taken to the public plague house, where she received inadequate care. Distraught over this, Francesca quickly arranged for a cottage outside the city for the remaining sick nuns, nursing them tirelessly just as her sister Rosa had cared for her during her own battle with smallpox decades ago in Italy.

After returning to the United States, Francesca dedicated the next two years to visiting all her houses across the country. In 1910, she was approached by the Archbishop of Chicago with a request to open a second hospital. She discovered a prime property in an affluent neighborhood, which was generously donated to the Sisters. However, local wealthy residents opposed having a free hospital in their community and attempted to dissuade Mother Cabrini through bribery and political pressure. When these tactics failed, they resorted to vandalism by cutting the water pipes on a frigid night. The resulting flood froze into thick layers of ice, which Francesca and her Sisters, along with some immigrant supporters, laboriously hacked away with pickaxes. After repairing the damage and making a few rooms livable, Francesca moved in, to ensure that the building remained guarded at night.

Their adversaries were undeterred, and one night arsonists broke into the basement and set it on fire. Fortunately, the Sisters and the fire department managed to extinguish the blaze. The following evening, however, the arsonists returned. This time, Francesca was prepared; she dashed into the street shouting for the police. The frightened criminals fled, and although they were never apprehended, they never returned. Ultimately, the hospital opened and was so well-received that many individuals and organizations within the community rallied together to support its ongoing operation.

Once the hospital was established and thriving, Francesca returned to Italy with plans to announce at the Rome motherhouse her intention to retire, and to request that a replacement be elected as Superior General. However, the Sisters were shocked and dismayed at the thought of losing their beloved Mother-Foundress. They conspired to fulfill her request by electing a Superior who would serve for life—but that Superior turned out to be Mother Cabrini herself! Surrounded by her joyful Sisters at her birthday celebration, where she was informed by the Cardinal of this decision, she graciously accepted their choice and relinquished her dream of a peaceful retirement at West Park.

While in Italy, Francesca sought out Antonia Tondini—her old nemesis who had caused her so much distress while she was a young woman caring for orphans at the House of Providence. Antonia was brought into the convent’s reception room, where Francesca warmly embraced her and said, “Please forgive me for any trouble I involuntarily may have caused you.” Confused, and overwhelmed with emotion, Antonia began to tremble and weep. Afterward, a nun asked Francesca, “Didn’t she make you suffer terribly?” To which Francesca replied with remarkable grace: “Antonia Tondini was given by God not to know any better. She truly thought that when she treated me as she did, it was for my own good.” This exemplified the profound forgiveness that dwelt in Francesca Cabrini’s magnificent heart. She recognized that all she endured at the House of Providence had been a crucible, preparing her for her great mission.

That summer, she embarked on a journey to Paris and London, seeking new houses to replace the original ones that required expansion. Her stay in London lasted 10 months, but before returning to the United States, she was compelled to return to Italy for some much-needed rest. In December, she visited Rome, where she fell gravely ill. By mid-March, her health had improved somewhat, and she abruptly announced her need to return to New York, because the hospital there required her presence. On March 27, 1911, she set sail from Naples on what would become her final sea voyage. She had a strong sense that she would never return to her homeland. As usual, the sea air invigorated her, restoring some of her strength.

Back in New York, she faced challenges in raising the necessary funds for a new Columbus Hospital to replace the old one, whose needs had outgrown its capacity. Undeterred by these obstacles, she enlisted a young architect to design a 10-story building that would eventually rise at 227 E. 19th St. Unfortunately, due to delays caused by World War I, she would not live to see its completion.

In July, while visiting West Park, she burst out of her room one morning, exclaiming that she was dying. Though she did not pass away at that time, the nuns insisted on sending her to the Mount of the Holy Cross in Colorado—a health refuge for sick nuns donated by a benefactor. Once well enough to travel, she made her way there. A fellow nun tended to her needs in a log cabin nestled among glistening snow atop the mountain. She cherished the tranquility of the place and especially loved watching the eagles soar high above her. She spent much time in peaceful meditation, gradually regaining her strength.

As soon as she was able, she ventured to Los Angeles, where another school was desperately needed. She purchased four lots, but struggled to gather enough funds to construct the school. Lacking money for a contractor, she sent for Sister Salesia, a bricklayer’s daughter with considerable building skills. At that time, the Luna Amusement Park was slated for demolition. Mother Cabrini negotiated for the rights to salvage the wooden structures set for destruction. She hired skilled Italian carpenters and laborers on a daily basis and arranged for horses and wagons to transport the materials. The parish community rallied together as well, helping dismantle the frame structures of Luna Park. Francesca was often on-site supervising the work, sporting a wide-brimmed Mexican sombrero and carrying a bamboo cane. At noon each day, she drove a horse and cart between Luna Park and the new building site, delivering wine, coffee, sandwiches and sweets to everyone laboring there. Despite the strenuous work, laughter, singing and prayer lightened their spirits. After a month of hard work collecting building materials, Francesca found herself with more than enough for the Los Angeles school, so she arranged for the surplus materials to be shipped by freight car to expand the Denver orphanage.

Leaving Sister Salesia in charge, Francesca traveled to Seattle, where an orphanage was threatened by a planned highway expansion. The orphans needed relocation, prompting her search for a new site. Exhausted from countless trips through the city, Francesca spread a map of Seattle on the table, pointed to a spot, and instructed the Sisters to explore that location and report back. That evening, the excited nuns returned with news—they had discovered what they called “a little paradise on earth.” With a knowing smile, Francesca replied, “Yes, I knew it would be beautiful. I saw it all in a dream last night.” The following day, they visited the villa, perched on a hill with breathtaking views. The owner revealed that it belonged to his wife who loved the place and would never part with it. As they descended the hill back into town, Francesca firmly declared to her Sisters, “That paradise will be for our orphans…somehow or other.”

As dusk fell, streetcars became scarce. Although hiring a taxi felt extravagant, the exhaustion of her companions made it seem to Francesca the only alternative. But just then, a limousine carrying an elegantly-dressed woman approached them. On impulse, Francesca raised her cane, signaling for assistance. The car stopped, and the lady offered them a ride back to the convent. During their drive together, the woman learned that she was speaking with Mother Cabrini—a woman she greatly admired. When Francesca mentioned the beautiful estate they had seen earlier that day, the woman’s eyes widened in astonishment; it turned out that she owned that very property! After conferring with her husband, they offered Mother Cabrini the estate at an exceptionally reasonable price. A week later, two wealthy American men donated $160,000—sufficient funds for establishing not only an orphanage on the property, but also an adjoining chapel.

Once back in New York, she resolved to establish another orphanage closer to the city. During her search for suitable properties, she stumbled upon a stunning estate right by the river in Dobbs Ferry. One of the Sisters informed her that it was a neighborhood of millionaires, and the prices would be exorbitant; moreover, the building she admired was a private school for affluent Protestant boys. Undaunted, Francesca rang the bell, which was answered by a young man whose father was the president and owner of the school. Initially cool in his demeanor, he informed Francesca that the estate was not for sale. However, as their conversation progressed, Francesca’s charm began to work its magic on him. He graciously offered to give her and the other nuns a tour of the impressive building, which included classrooms, dormitories, a kitchen, dining room, chapel, gymnasium, and swimming pool—all in excellent condition. As they departed, Francesca handed the young man her card, in case his father would consider selling. Just before leaving, she bent down to tie her shoelace, and discreetly pushed a medal of St. Joseph into the soft earth of a flower bed. A few days later, she received a letter from the owner, asking her to make an offer on the property. Armed with her plan, Francesca approached several wealthy businessmen and successfully secured the necessary funds.

With financial backing in place, she and her nuns set to work on the improvements necessary before the March 31st grand opening of what would be known as the Sacred Heart Villa at Dobbs Ferry. Francesca felt inspired by Jesus to undertake the whitewashing of the building herself. Wearing a painter’s cap and pinning up her skirts, she joyfully began painting. However, the can slipped from her hand, splattering paint all over her from head-to-toe. Laughing, she wiped at her clothes and continued with determination. The nuns held the ladder steady as she climbed up; but when they offered to take over for her, she insisted that the whitewashing was her special task. For the next 15 days, she diligently applied her brush until the job was done.

During the opening ceremony, Francesca stood alongside the Cardinal. It was at this time that the last photograph of Francesca Cabrini was taken, capturing her shining eyes and serene smile as she stood observing the happy orphans around her.

On June 28, 1914, the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand of Yugoslavia marked the beginning of the First World War. From that day on, a shadow was cast over Francesca’s heart and she was burdened with sorrow and concern for her Missionary Sisters in Europe. She prayed ceaselessly for their safety, entrusting them to the Sacred Heart of Jesus, their Divine Protector. Her usual smile was now tinged with sadness, and restful sleep eluded her; only her work provided a semblance of relief.

In August 1915, Francesca traveled to Seattle with plans to open an orphanage. The train journey proved arduous as she battled intermittent chills and fever, coupled with excruciating discomfort from sitting upright in coach for days on end. “If my Lord wants this mission accomplished,” she confided to one of the Sisters with her, “He will return to me the strength which has almost totally abandoned me.”  In Seattle, she found a fine building in the heart of the city—the former Perry Hotel, which had gone bankrupt. Her discreet inquiries revealed that the principal trustee was a Mr. Clarke based in New York. Although lacking his first name, Francesca refrained from further inquiries to avoid alerting competing interests to her intentions. She telegraphed her nuns back in New York with a clear directive: “Find a certain Mr. Clarke, who is in possession of the Seattle Hotel Perry, and ask it as a donation to charity.”

This task proved daunting with no first name, as the New York City directory listed at least 200 Clarkes! Undaunted, the Sisters patiently called each number until they finally located the right party—a shrewd Protestant man, who was taken aback by their request for such a large donation to a Catholic charity, and adamantly refused. When they reported back to Mother Cabrini, she instructed them to return and propose the lowest price he would accept. This time, he was struck by their sincere humility and agreed to negotiate. After numerous visits from the Sisters, and exchanging 90 telegrams with Mother Cabrini, he ultimately bypassed the other trustees and offered her the property for $150,000—a bargain at the time. Even the Archbishop encouraged Francesca to accept this deal. Despite her persistent fatigue, she reached out to rich and poor alike, and was able to raise $10,000 as a retainer, which Mr. Clarke accepted. However, opposition soon arose. The other trustees were furious, and influential local figures vehemently opposed an Italian orphanage in that location, out of fear it would diminish property values. They ensured that all banks in Seattle would refuse to issue a loan to Mother Cabrini. From November through April, Francesca faced relentless struggles in securing financing for the property. During Lent, she gathered all her nuns and orphans to pray before the Blessed Sacrament, placing their hopes in Jesus, while she prepared herself to accept His will—whatever it might be.

In the Seattle convent stood a statue of St. Anne holding a book and teaching young Mary to read. In desperation, Francesca wrote “$120,000” in the book held by St. Anne and spent the evening in fervent prayer. While she was praying, the doorbell rang. A young nun entered to inform her that a gentleman wished to see her. When Francesca greeted him, she discovered that he was Mr. Chilberg, the Jewish president of the Scandinavian Bank. He bowed respectfully before Mother Cabrini and apologized for being out of town when she had previously visited his bank. Upon his return, he had learned about her loan denial. He expressed complete faith in her mission and offered to arrange any amount she needed. Leading him to St. Anne’s statue, Francesca told him that the amount she needed was written in the book. He read it and nodded. She then invited him to join her in the reception room for a glass of wine, which he gratefully accepted. The following day, the contract was signed, and on April 30, Mother Cabrini officially took possession of the Perry Hotel. Together with her Sisters, she prayed for abundant blessings upon their great friend Mr. Chilberg for his generous support of their mission.

It became clear that the turmoil of wartime was not an ideal backdrop for fundraising efforts aimed at establishing an orphanage. One night, Francesca had a profound dream. As she recounted to her Sisters, “…St. Anne instructed me to relinquish my desire for a foundling home, and indicated instead a hospital that will do acts of mercy and yet sustain itself.” However, this goal proved to be as challenging as her initial one. The presence of an existing Catholic hospital in Seattle led some within the Church to deem another one unnecessary and unwelcome. Additionally, those who had previously opposed her acquisition of the Perry Hotel were now rallying against her new plans. These factions exerted pressure on local doctors, causing them to withdraw their support from Mother Cabrini’s Seattle Columbus Hospital. The situation escalated to the point where even the Archbishop forbade the opening of the facility. Although initially disheartened, Francesca soon decided to pivot her approach. Instead of a general hospital, she resolved to establish a center focused on physiotherapy and electrotherapy treatments—services that were in high demand and would not directly compete with the other Catholic hospital in Seattle.

One day, a young pregnant woman from a respectable family approached the convent with a request: she wanted her baby to be born at Mother Cabrini’s hospital. Several weeks before the delivery date, Mother Cabrini felt inspired to send a Sister to visit the young woman’s home with an urgent message to summon her doctor and come immediately to Columbus Hospital, where a bed awaited her. The young lady complied, and just hours later, she gave birth to a baby girl. Due to her premature birth, the infant’s survival was uncertain; thus, Mother Cabrini herself baptized the child, naming her Columbina, which means “little dove.”  The joyous event of the baby’s birth, and the happiness of the young parents, their family, friends and doctor, significantly eased the initial hostility towards Columbus Hospital. Over time, as word spread about the Sisters’ compassionate care, the hospital began to flourish.

In the fall of 1916, Francesca sensed that her life was nearing its end and felt compelled to visit some of her other houses. She informed the Sisters in Seattle of her intention to travel to Los Angeles. Her pale and fragile appearance alarmed the nuns in California, who had eagerly awaited her visit. Standing in the garden, she gazed lovingly at the Sisters gathered around her. The orphans burst into the garden, running toward her and joyfully shouting, “Mama Cabrini is here!” Francesca spent the winter in the warm California sun, enjoying long hours of deep meditation amidst the beauty of the garden. The orphans frequently visited her, and she delighted in sharing candy and telling them funny stories. Birds flocked to her feet, drawn by her quiet gentleness as spoke softly to them, scattering crumbs and seeds on the ground.

One of her nuns in Los Angeles, Sister Euphemia, suffered greatly from varicose veins, despite years of treatment from numerous doctors. Francesca suggested that she try wearing silk stockings to ease her discomfort. Taking this advice a step further, Sister Euphemia borrowed a pair of Mother Cabrini’s own cotton stockings and put them on. To her amazement, she found immediate relief. She shared this with Mother Cabrini, who laughed off the notion, but then gently admonished her: “I hope you’re not going to be so foolish as to say that my stockings cured you! It was your faith that did it.”

As Spring approached, Francesca realized she needed to travel to Chicago, due to issues arising at the new hospital. By the time she reached the Chicago Columbus Hospital on April 18, 1917, she appeared thin, bent, and frail, relying on a cane for support as she struggled to walk. The doctors quickly recognized that her malaria had worsened significantly and insisted on immediate treatment. Although the chills and fever eventually subsided over the following weeks, the treatment left her exceedingly weak. She also was suffering from chronic endocarditis, an infection involving the heart’s valves and lining.

Despite her frailty, Francesca rallied enough to participate in spiritual exercises at the convent that summer, being the first to arrive at the chapel each morning at 5:00 AM. Following medical advice, the Sisters arranged for her to be driven into the countryside daily, where she gathered wildflowers to adorn the chapel. Nostalgic for the farm life of her youth, she was inspired to purchase a farm for the Institute that would provide fresh produce for the hospital. After exploring rural areas further afield, she discovered a lovely farm in Park Ridge, Illinois, which she purchased in October. She found immense joy in stocking the farm with horses, cows, goats, pigs, and chickens.

By November, Francesca’s health had once again deteriorated. One morning during Mass, just after receiving Communion, she nearly collapsed. The Sisters quickly carried her to her bed. Though her strength waned daily, she yearned to be with her daughters during their recreation periods. She loved these times with the Sisters, and in the past had delighted them with her stories, and liked to play cards, although she was terrible at it and never won unless her opponents secretly let her. Mother Antonietta Della Casa, the Superior of the Hospital, now implored her to reconsider and conserve her energy. But Francesca firmly replied, “Oh, no! It is only now at their recreation that I can be together with them. If I am not, they will think I do not love them.”

During these cherished recreation times, she would bring them small gifts of fruit, candy, cake, or cookies—tailored to each Sister’s preference—as they gathered around her affectionately. On December 8, the feast of the Immaculate Conception, she asked the Sisters to write verses about the Virgin Mary. This would be the last time she could join them for recreation. Subsequently, she quietly withdrew to spiritually prepare herself for Christmas—a feast that held a special place in her heart. She ordered new habits for all of the Sisters, including one for herself, secretly knowing she would be buried in it. For the Order’s Christmas cards, Francesca requested a verse from the Psalms to be printed: “Oh, send out Thy light and Thy truth; let them lead me; let them bring me unto Thy holy hill, and to Thy tabernacles.” When a Sister objected that the verse seemed more fitting for a funeral than for Christmas, Francesca smiled and insisted, “Yes, I know, but this Christmas that verse goes well. Leave it the way it is.” Upon learning that the 500 children of the parish school would have to go without candy due to the difficult times, she exclaimed, “Oh, no! They must have their candy! Christmas would not be Christmas for them without it!”She instructed the Sisters to purchase the candy at her expense.

On December 21, despite suffering from the final stages of malaria, Francesca attended Mass and joined the Sisters in preparing the Christmas packages of candy for the children. The following morning, December 22, 1917, Mother Della Casa visited Francesca’s room to greet her and consult about the day’s tasks. A young nun came in to ask if Francesca wanted a bowl of broth. She agreed, and requested that her room be tidied so she could sit in her rocking chair. Mother Della Casa returned at 11:40 AM with a question for Francesca. After she left, Francesca locked the door and returned to her chair to pray and meditate in solitude. While sitting there, she felt a sudden pain in her chest and got up to unlock the door and ring for help. When a Sister entered, she found Francesca slumped in her wicker chair, her nightgown and handkerchief stained with blood. The young nun rushed to summon Mother Della Casa, who immediately sent for both the priest and the doctor. All the nuns hurried to Francesca’s room, finding her unconscious. The priest administered Last Rites just as Francesca opened her eyes one final time. She leaned her head against Mother Della Casa’s arm and cast a loving glance at all her Sisters before drawing her last breath.

A solemn Requiem Mass was celebrated by the Archbishop of Chicago, after which Francesca’s body was transported to New York for a second Requiem Mass conducted by Bishop Hayes at St. Patrick’s Cathedral. In accordance with her wishes, her body was interred at her beloved West Park on January 2, 1918. Hundreds of orphans dressed in white, carrying lilies and candles, followed her casket from the convent chapel to her tomb. In 1930, her remains were moved to their current location in the chapel of Mother Cabrini High School (formerly the Sacred Heart Villa) at 701 Ft. Washington Avenue.

In 1928, the process for her canonization began. Two miracles are required for sainthood, and in Francesca’s case, the first miracle involved an infant named Peter Smith, who was born at the New York Columbus Hospital on March 14, 1921. As was customary at the time, a nurse applied a solution of silver nitrate to the infant’s eyes. As she put the bottle down, she realized with horror that in her haste she had used a 50% solution instead of the intended 1%, resulting in severe chemical burns to the baby’s eyes. An eye specialist, along with other doctors, concluded that there was nothing they could do—the corneas of the eyes were destroyed, and the child would be permanently blind. The Mother Superior rushed in with a relic of Mother Cabrini, placed it on the baby’s eyes, and then pinned it to his nightgown. She and the Sisters, along with the nurse involved, spent the entire night praying in the chapel for a miracle.

The following morning, when the doctors returned to examine baby Peter, they were astonished to find his eyes intact and perfectly normal. However, that same day, the infant developed double pneumonia, with a temperature reaching 108°F—just one degree short of fatal. The doctor advised the Mother Superior to start praying again, as the baby’s condition was critical. “Doctor,” she replied confidently, “Mother Cabrini has not cured his eyes just to let him die of pneumonia!” They prayed once more, pleading for a second miracle. By morning, all symptoms of pneumonia had vanished. Peter Smith grew up healthy with normal vision, and as a young man, served as a soldier in the Army. The only remnants of his hospital ordeal were two small scars from the silver nitrate that had leaked from his eyes.

The second miracle involved Sister Delfina Grazioli, who had suffered since 1915 from adhesions of the gallbladder and intestines. Despite undergoing four surgeries, her condition showed no improvement, and she was painfully wasting away. By December 1925, doctors had given up all hope and predicted she had only a day or two left to live. Funeral arrangements were already underway; however, on the night of December 16, after praying to Mother Cabrini, Sister Delfina saw her in a dream. The next morning, although still very weak, she announced that she was cured. The instantaneous healing was confirmed by the doctors, and she never experienced a recurrence of her illness. Mother Francesca Xavier Cabrini was beatified on November 13, 1938, and canonized on July 7, 1946.

Throughout her life, Francesca believed that faith, simplicity, humility, and obedience were the foundations of all spiritual power. She often reminded her Sisters that the only necessary mortification was to perfectly observe the Rule of the Order and wholeheartedly carry out their daily tasks. She prayed fervently that she would never ask her nuns to do anything she herself was unwilling to do. Francesca valued openness and candor in others and detested any pretentious displays of piety. She did not want to see her Sisters carrying rosaries unless they were actively reciting them. Always gentle and kind in her approach, she never hesitated to speak her mind, but did so with compassion. Rather than giving orders, she made requests that were promptly obeyed. She discouraged self-pity and long faces among her Sisters. A sense of humor and fun bubbled out of her spontaneously, gladdening the hearts of everyone who came under the spell of her infectious smile.

In my research for this video series, I came across a quote from one of her biographers that described her life as “a quiet whirlwind.” I can think of no better description. Francesca Cabrini perfectly fulfilled the hope she once wrote in her notebook: “I wish to die of love after a life of total surrender to God….Oh Jesus, I love you so much, so much!….Give me a heart as large as the universe, so that I may love you, if not as much as you deserve, at least as much as I am capable of.”