And now her little Agnes was taken from her, and was laid beside her brother Evangelista.
Four long years had elapsed, during which Rome had been given up to war, famine, and pestilence. The exertions of Francesca told at last on her enfeebled frame, and she fell dangerously ill. Vannozza never left her bedside, and nursed her with such love and care that she restored her to health. It was during this illness that Francesca had a vision of Hell. And now, in 1414, Ladislas died, and peace was restored to the States of the Church. The Ponziani were recalled from banishment, and their property was restored. Lorenzo and his son Baptista returned to their home, and to the wife and mother they had so longed to behold again. But the cup of joy was mixed with sorrow. Lorenzo, who a few years back was strong and active, was now broken by long sufferings, aged more through exile and grief than through years. We are told that when he entered his palace and looked upon his wife, deep sobs shook his breast, and he burst into tears. The two beautiful children whom he had left by her side were gone, and Francesca herself, pale with recent sickness, spent with ceaseless labour, was changed in form, and bloom, and brightness, by what she also had endured.
The household life was now to some extent restored. Francesca devoted all her leisure moments to prayer, but never allowed her spiritual exercises to interfere with her duty as a wife and mistress of a household. Her attention to Lorenzo's slightest wants and wishes was unceasing. She never complained of any amount of interruption or of trouble which his claims, or those of the house, or of her position in society, occasioned. One day that she was reciting in her room the office of the Blessed Virgin, her husband sent for her. Instantly rising from her knees, she obeyed his summons. When she had performed the trifling service he required, she returned to her prayers. Four successive times, for the most insignificant of purposes, was she sent for; each time with unwearied good humour she complied, and resumed her devotions without a shadow of discontent or annoyance. On resuming her book the last time that this occurred, great was her astonishment in finding the antiphon which she had begun four times, and had four times left unfinished, written in letters of gold. Vannozza, who was present, witnessed the miracle, and the gilded letters remained in the book to the day of her death.
Her son, Baptista, had now arrived at the age of eighteen, and at his father's advice he married a maiden, named Mobilia, of noble birth and singular beauty. Immediately upon her marriage, the bride came to reside under the same roof as her father and mother-in-law. She was received as a beloved daughter by Francesca and Vannozza, but she neither returned their affection nor appeared sensible to their kindness. Her head was completely turned at finding herself her own mistress, adored by her husband, and furnished with the most ample means of gratifying all her fancies. She gave no thought to anything but her beauty, her dress, and all the amusements within her reach. Wholly inexperienced, she declined to ask or to receive advice, and chose in every respect to be guided by her inclinations alone. Imperious with her equals, haughty with her superiors, she treated her mother-in-law with the most supreme contempt. In the gay societies which she frequented, it was her favourite amusement to turn Francesca into ridicule, and mimic her manners and style of conversation. "How can one feel respect," said she, "for an old woman who thinks of nothing but the poor, dresses plainly, and goes about the streets carrying bread and old clothes?"
It was in vain that Baptista, seriously annoyed at the insults offered to his dearly-loved mother, remonstrated with his wife. Mobilia persisted for long, till struck with sudden illness in the midst of a sharp and bitter speech addressed to her mother-in-law, she became alarmed lest God should punish her with greater severity, and she resolved to behave towards her with respect and love. And this grew till the young wife became passionately fond of Francesca, and venerated her for her virtues, which she strove hard to imitate. Francesca, with the most watchful love, nursed Mobilia in her confinements, and bestowed on her grandchildren the same cares that she had lavished on her own children. It was a great relief to her that Mobilia was able to assume the management of the house, and thus enable her to devote herself more unreservedly to the service of the poor and of the hospitals. A new epoch was now at hand in her career. God had placed in her heart many years ago a hope, which she had nursed in secret, and watered with tears, and fostered by prayer. Never impatient, never beforehand with God's providence, she waited. Lorenzo's admiration and affection for his wife had gone on increasing with advancing years; the perfection of her life, and the miracles he had so often seen her perform, inspired him with unbounded reverence. Taking her aside one day, he offered to release her from all the obligations imposed by the state of marriage, to allow her the fullest liberty of action, and the most absolute control over her person, her time, and her conduct, on one condition, that she would promise never to cease to inhabit his house. She accepted his proposal joyfully and gratefully, 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 cares of the tenderest nurse.
Seeing the necessity of a religious society for women living in the world, Francesca now formed a congregation of pious women, which was affiliated to the Olivetian monastery of S. Maria Nuova, and which comprised about ten noble Roman ladies, devoted like herself and Vannozza, to the service of God and the poor. She now lost her beloved sister Vannozza, and her director, Antonio Savelli, who had instructed her childhood, and guided her ever since with wisdom and faithfulness. She chose as her director and that of her congregation, Giovanni Mattiotti, curate of S. Maria in Trastevere, to whom she had already sometimes been to confession. He was a man of distinguished piety, but of an irresolute and vacillating disposition, easily disheartened. Her society, which was called the Congregation of Oblates of Mary, had lasted seven years, when Francesca decided that it would be advisable that it should have a convent in which to dwell. She took a house adapted to the requirements of a religious community, on the spot where an old tower, named "Tor di Specchi," used to stand. Various obstacles arose to the purchase of this house, which disheartened Mattiotti; but they were finally overcome, and the acquisition was completed towards the end of the year 1432. This house, which was at first considered only as a temporary residence, was subsequently added to, and has remained to this day the central house of the order. It was, doubtless, a trial to Francesca that whilst she was providing a home for her disciples, she was unable to avail herself of it, but she never hesitated as to her line of duty. Lorenzo had released her from all obligations but one, that of residing in his house, and watching over his old age. His infirmities were increasing, and her attentions were indispensable to his comfort. The rule adopted by the Oblates of Tor di Specchi remains the same to this day. They are not, strictly speaking, nuns: they take no vows, and are bound by no obligations under pain of sin; they are not cloistered, and their dress is that which was worn at the period of their establishment by the widows of the Roman nobles.
It was on the Feast of the Annunciation, 1433, that the Oblates, ten in number, met in the church of S. Maria in Trastevere, heard Mass, and communicated, then went in procession to the house they were thenceforth to inhabit. That house, which now-a-days is thrown open during the Octave of the Feast of S. Frances, is no gloomy abode. The beautiful chapel; the garden, with its magnificent orange trees; the open galleries, with their little oratories, where a holy picture or figure takes you by surprise, and meets you at every turn; the light, airy rooms, where religious prints and ornaments, with flowers, birds, and ingenious toys, testify that innocent enjoyments are encouraged among the children educated therein by the Oblates of S. Mary.
But on the day when Francesca's companions first entered these walls, there was nothing very fair or beautiful to greet them, though they carried thither, in their hearts, from the altar they had just left, the source of all light and love. With delight they exchanged their ordinary dress for that which the rule prescribed. Francesca alone stood among them no nun in her outward garb, but the truest nun of all, through the inward consecration of her whole being to God.
Francesca had been forty years married to Lorenzo Ponziano, and blessed had that union been by the tender affection which had reigned between the husband and the wife, and sanctified by the exercise of no common virtues, by the pursuit of no transitory object. Francesca had led the way, in meekness, in humility, in subjection, but with a single aim and an unwavering purpose. Lorenzo's health had been breaking up for some years past, and now it utterly failed, and his disease assumed an alarming character. Few men would have shown themselves as worthy as he did of such a wife as Francesca. From the moment of his marriage he had appreciated her virtues, rejoiced in her piety, encouraged her good works, and to a great extent shared in them. He had his reward. Francesca tended him to the last with indefatigable love. He had been a just man, and his death was the death of the righteous. Francesca was now free to follow the bent of her desire. She took leave of Mobilia and her son, and went straight to Tor di Specchi. It was on the 21st of March, the feast of S. Benedict, that she entered its walls, not as the foundress, but as a humble suppliant for admission. At the foot of the stairs, having taken off her black gown, her veil, and her shoes, she knelt down, and made her general confession in the presence of the community, and then asked permission to dwell amongst the Oblates. The spiritual daughters of S. Frances hastened to raise and to embrace her, and clothing her with their habit, they led the way to the chapel, where they all returned thanks to God.
At the same moment, her angel guardian was changed; another, brighter and more beautiful, stood beside her, weaving a golden woof out of threads, which he drew from a palm branch. And this angel, ever busy on this mystic work, remained beside her till her death, in place of the other.