Joan of Naples | Page 6

the Church."
"I have long quieted my scruples thus," replied the dying man, "and the
pope's authority has kept me silent; but whatever security one may
pretend to feel in one's lifetime, there yet comes a dreadful solemn hour
when all illusions needs must vanish: this hour for me has come, and
now I must appear before God, the one unfailing judge."
"If His justice cannot fail, is not His mercy infinite?" pursued the queen,
with the glow of sacred inspiration. "Even if there were good reason for
the fear that has shaken your soul, what fault could not be effaced by a
repentance so noble? Have you not repaired the wrong you may have
done your nephew Carobert, by bringing his younger son Andre to your
kingdom and marrying him to Joan, your poor Charles's elder daughter?
Will not they inherit your crown?"
"Alas!" cried Robert, with a deep sigh, "God is punishing me perhaps
for thinking too late of this just reparation. O my good and noble
Sandra, you touch a chord which vibrates sadly in my heart, and you
anticipate the unhappy confidence I was about to make. I feel a gloomy
presentiment--and in the hour of death presentiment is prophecy--that
the two sons of my nephew, Louis, who has been King of Hungary
since his father died, and Andre, whom I desired to make King of
Naples, will prove the scourge of my family. Ever since Andre set foot
in our castle, a strange fatality has pursued and overturned my projects.
I had hoped that if Andre and Joan were brought up together a tender
intimacy would arise between the two children; and that the beauty of
our skies, our civilisation, and the attractions of our court would end by
softening whatever rudeness there might be in the young Hungarian's
character; but in spite of my efforts all has tended to cause coldness,
and even aversion, between the bridal pair. Joan, scarcely fifteen, is far

ahead of her age. Gifted with a brilliant and mobile mind, a noble and
lofty character, a lively and glowing fancy, now free and frolicsome as
a child, now grave and proud as a queen, trustful and simple as a young
girl, passionate and sensitive as a woman, she presents the most
striking contrast to Andre, who, after a stay of ten years at our court, is
wilder, more gloomy, more intractable than ever. His cold, regular
features, impassive countenance, and indifference to every pleasure that
his wife appears to love, all this has raised between him and Joan a
barrier of indifference, even of antipathy. To the tenderest effusion his
reply is no more than a scornful smile or a frown, and he never seems
happier than when on a pretext of the chase he can escape from the
court. These, then, are the two, man and wife, on whose heads my
crown shall rest, who in a short space will find themselves exposed to
every passion whose dull growl is now heard below a deceptive calm,
but which only awaits the moment when I breathe my last, to burst
forth upon them."
"O my God, my God!" the queen kept repeating in her grief: her arms
fell by her side, like the arms of a statue weeping by a tomb.
"Listen, Dona Sandra. I know that your heart has never clung to earthly
vanities, and that you only wait till God has called me to Himself to
withdraw to the convent of Santa Maria delta Croce, founded by
yourself in the hope that you might there end your days. Far be it from
me to dissuade you from your sacred vocation, when I am myself
descending into the tomb and am conscious of the nothingness of all
human greatness. Only grant me one year of widowhood before you
pass on to your bridal with the Lord, one year in which you will watch
over Joan and her husband, to keep from them all the dangers that
threaten. Already the woman who was the seneschal's wife and her son
have too much influence over our grand- daughter; be specially careful,
and amid the many interests, intrigues, and temptations that will
surround the young queen, distrust particularly the affection of
Bertrand d'Artois, the beauty of Louis of Tarentum; and the ambition of
Charles of Durazzo."
The king paused, exhausted by the effort of speaking; then turning on

his wife a supplicating glance and extending his thin wasted hand, he
added in a scarcely audible voice:
"Once again I entreat you, leave not the court before a year has passed.
Do you promise me?"
"I promise, my lord."
"And now," said Robert, whose face at these words took on a new
animation, "call my confessor and the physician and summon the
family, for the