href="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@18642@[email protected]#table" class="pginternal" tag="{http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml}a">Chapter II

The Neapolitan Court in the Time of Queen Joanna

If you drive along the beautiful shore of the Mergellina to-day, beneath the high promontory of Pausilipo, to the southwest of Naples, you will see there in ruins the tumbling rocks and stones of an unfinished palace, with the blue sea breaking over its foundations; and that is still called the palace of Queen Joanna. In the church of Saint Chiara at Naples, this Queen Joanna was buried, and there her tomb may be seen to-day. Still is she held in memory dear, and still is her name familiar to the lips of the people. On every hand are to be seen the monuments of her munificence, and if you ask a Neapolitan in the street who built this palace or that church, the answer is almost always the same—"Our Queen Joanna."

Who was this well-beloved queen, when did she live, and why is she still held in this affectionate regard by the present residents of sunny Naples? To answer all these questions it will be necessary to go back to a much earlier day in the history of this southern part of the Italian peninsula—a day when Naples was the centre of a royal government of no little importance in the eyes of the mediæval world.

Some three hundred years before Joanna's birth, in the early part of the eleventh century, a band of knightly pilgrims was on its way to the Holy Land to battle for the Cross. They had ridden through the fair provinces of France, in brave array upon their mighty chargers, all the way from Normandy to Marseilles, and there they had taken ship for the East. The ships were small, the accommodations and supplies were not of the best, and it was not possible to make the journey with any great speed. Stopping, as it happened, for fresh stores in the south of Italy, they were at once invited by the Prince of Salerno to aid him in his fight against the Mohammedans, who were every day encroaching more upon the Greek possessions there. Being men of warlike nature, already somewhat wearied by the sea voyage to which they were not accustomed, and considering this fighting with the Saracens of Italy as a good preparation for later conflicts with the heathens and the infidels who were swarming about the gates of Jerusalem, they were not slow to accept the invitation. While victory perched upon the banners of the Normans, it was evident at once that for the future safety of the country a strong and stable guard would be necessary, and so the Normans were now asked to stay permanently. This the majority did with immense satisfaction, for the soft and gentle climate of the country had filled their souls with a sweet contentment, and the charms and graces of the southern women had more than conquered the proud conquerors. Just as Charles VIII. and his army, some hundreds of years later, were ensnared by the soft glances of soft eyes when they went to Italy to conquer, so the Normans were held in silken chains in this earlier time. But there was this difference—the Normans did not forget their own interests. Willing victims to the wondrous beauty of the belles of Naples, they were strong enough to think of their own position at the same time; and as the French colony grew to fair size and much importance, they took advantage of certain controversies which arose, and boldly seized Apulia, which they divided among twelve of their counts. This all happened in the year 1042.

It may well be imagined that Naples at this time presented a most picturesque appearance, for there was a Babel of tongues and a mixture of nationalities which was quite unusual. After the native Neapolitans, dark-eyed and swarthy, there were countless Greeks and Saracens of somewhat fairer hue, and over them all were the fierce Normans, strangers from a northern clime, who were lording it in most masterful fashion. The effect of this overlordship, which they held from the pope as their feudal head, was to give to this portion of Italy certain characteristics which are almost entirely lacking in the other parts of Italy. Here there was no free city, here there was no republic, but, instead, a feudal court which followed the best models of the continent and in its time became famed for its brilliancy and elegance. Without dallying by the way to explain when battles were fought and kings were crowned, suffice it to say that, early in the fourteenth century, Robert of Taranto, an Angevine prince, ascended the throne of Naples, and by his wisdom and goodness and by his great interest in art and literature made his capital the centre of a culture and refinement which were rare at that time. This was a day of almost constant warfare, when the din of battle and the clash of armor were silencing the sound of the harp and the music of the poet, but Robert—Il buon Rè Roberto, as he was called—loved peace and hated war and ever strove to make his court a place of brightness and joy, wherein the arts and sciences might flourish without let or hindrance.

These centuries of feudal rule had, perhaps, given the people of Naples a somewhat different temper from that possessed by the people in other parts of Italy. There had been a firm centre of authority, and, in spite of the troubles which had rent the kingdom, the people in the main had been little concerned with them. They had been taught to obey, and generally their rights had been respected. Now, under King Robert, the populace was enjoying one long holiday, the like of which could have been seen in no other part of Italy at that time. The natural languor of the climate and their intuitive appreciation of the lazy man's proverb, Dolce far niente, made it easy for them to give themselves up to the pleasures of the moment. All was splendor and feasting at the court, and the castle Nuovo, where the king resided, was ever filled with a goodly company. So the people took life easily; there was much dancing and playing of guitars upon the Mole, by the side of the waters of that glorious bay all shimmering in the moonlight, and the night was filled with music and laughter. The beauty of the women was exceptional, and the blood of the men was hot; passion was ill restrained, and the green-eyed monster of jealousy hovered over all. Quick to love and quick to anger, resentful in the extreme, suspicious and often treacherous, Dan Cupid wrought havoc among them at times most innocently, and many a colpo di coltello [dagger thrust] was given under the influence of love's frenzy. But the dance continued, the dresses were still of the gayest colors, the bursts of laughter were unsubdued.

The fair fame of the court of Naples had gone far afield, and not to know of it and of its magnificence, even in those days of difficult communication, was so damaging a confession among gentlefolk, that all were loath to make it. Here, it was known, the arts of peace were encouraged, while war raged on all sides, and here it was that many noble lords and ladies had congregated from all Europe to form part of that gallant company and shine with its reflected splendor. King Robert likewise held as feudal appanage the fair state of Provence in southern France, rich in brilliant cities and enjoying much prosperity, until the time of the ill-advised Albigensian Crusade, and communication between the two parts of Robert's realm was constant. Naples was the centre, however, and such was the elegance and courtesy of its court that it was famed far and wide as a school of manners; and here it was that pages, both highborn and of low estate, were sent by their patrons that they might perfect themselves in courtly behavior. The open encouragement which was accorded to the few men of letters of the time made Naples a favorite resort for the wandering troubadours, and there they sang, to rapturous applause, their songs of love and chivalry. Here in this corner of Italy, where the dominant influences were those which came from France, and where, in reality, French knights were the