The almoner then took the young girl's hand,and placing it in that of Charles,pronounced the prayers of the Church.Charles,turning half round to the people,said in a loud voice--"Before God and man,this woman is my wife."
"And this man is my husband,"said Marie,trembling.
"Long live the Duke and Duchess of Durazzo!"cried the crowd,clapping their hands.And the young pair,at once mounting two beautiful horses and followed by their cavaliers and pages,solemnly paraded through the town,and re-entered their palace to the sound of trumpets and cheering.
When this incredible news was brought to the queen,her first feeling was joy at the recovery of her sister;and when Bertrand of Artois was eager to head a band of barons and cavaliers and bent on falling upon the cortege to punish the traitor,Joan put up her hand to stop him with a very mournful look.
"Alas!"she said sadly,"it is too late.They are legally married,for the head of the Church--who is moreover by my grandfather's will the head of our family--has granted his permission.I only pity my poor sister;I pity her for becoming so young the prey of a wretched man who sacrifices her to his own ambition,hoping by this marriage to establish a claim to the throne.O God!what a strange fate oppresses the royal house of Anjou!My father's early death in the midst of his triumphs;my mother's so quickly after;my sister and I,the sole offspring of Charles I,both before we are women grown fallen into the hands of cowardly men,who use us but as the stepping-stones of their ambition!"Joan fell back exhausted on her chair,a burning tear trembling on her eyelid.
"This is the second time,"said Bertrand reproachfully,"that I have drawn my sword to avenge an insult offered to you,the second time Ireturn it by your orders to the scabbard.But remember,Joan,the third time will not find me so docile,and then it will not be Robert of Cabane or Charles of Durazzo that I shall strike,but him who is the cause of all your misfortunes.""Have mercy,Bertrand!do not you also speak these words;whenever this horrible thought takes hold of me,let me come to you:this threat of bloodshed that is drummed into my ears,this sinister vision that haunts my sight;let me come to you,beloved,and weep upon your bosom,beneath your breath cool my burning fancies,from your eyes draw some little courage to revive my perishing soul.
Come,I am quite unhappy enough without needing to poison the future by an endless remorse.Tell me rather to forgive and to forget,speak not of hatred and revenge;show me one ray of hope amid the darkness that surrounds me;hold up my wavering feet,and push me not into the abyss."Such altercations as this were repeated as often as any fresh wrong arose from the side of Andre or his party;and in proportion as the attacks made by Bertrand and his friends gained in vehemence--and we must add,in justice--so did Joan's objections weaken.The Hungarian rule,as it became,more and more arbitrary and unbearable,irritated men's minds to such a point,that the people murmured in secret and the nobles proclaimed aloud their discontent.Andre's soldiers indulged in a libertinage which would have been intolerable in a conquered city:they were found everywhere brawling in the taverns or rolling about disgustingly drunk in the gutters;and the prince,far from rebuking such orgies,was accused of sharing them himself.His former tutor,who ought to have felt bound to drag him away from so ignoble a mode of life,rather strove to immerse him in degrading pleasures,so as to keep him out of business matters;without suspecting it,he was hurrying on the denouement of the terrible drama that was being acted behind the scenes at Castel Nuovo.
Robert's widow,Dona Sancha of Aragon,the good and sainted lady whom our readers may possibly have forgotten,as her family had done,seeing that God's anger was hanging over her house,and that no counsels,no tears or prayers of hers could avail to arrest it,after wearing mourning for her husband one whole year,according to her promise,had taken the veil at the convent of Santa Maria delta Croce,and deserted the court and its follies and passions,just as the prophets of old,turning their back on some accursed city,would shake the dust from off their sandals and depart.Sandra's retreat was a sad omen,and soon the family dissensions,long with difficulty suppressed,sprang forth to open view;the storm that had been threatening from afar broke suddenly over the town,and the thunderbolt was shortly to follow.
On the last day of August 1344,Joan rendered homage to Americ,Cardinal of Saint Martin and legate of Clement VI,who looked upon the kingdom of Naples as being a fief of the Church ever since the time when his predecessors had presented it to Charles of Anjou,and overthrown and excommunicated the house of Suabia.For this solemn ceremony the church of Saint Clara was chosen,the burial-place of Neapolitan kings,and but lately the tomb of the grandfather and father of the young queen,who reposed to right and left of the high altar.Joan,clad in the royal robe,with the crown upon her head,uttered her oath of fidelity between the hands of the apostolic legate in the presence of her husband,who stood behind her simply as a witness,just like the other princes of the blood.Among the prelates with their pontifical insignia who formed the brilliant following of the envoy,there stood the Archbishops of Pisa,Bari,Capua,and Brindisi,and the reverend fathers Ugolino,Bishop of Castella,and Philip,Bishop of Cavaillon,chancellor to the queen.