"At the end of the year Galeas sought the queen, and bending one knee to the ground, presented the captive knights, accomplishing his vow with great solemnity. "The queen in return, with becoming grace and great majesty (in which she was never found wanting) received the vow and the deed as gallantly accomplished, and offering all possible courtesies to prince Galeas, pronounced him a most worthy knight, and accepted the two captives, to whom she said these words— "Sirs, you are, as you see, my prisoners. By the laws of chivalry I may cause such as are in your captive condition to serve me in any ignoble office I may best please; but I think you will judge by my countenance that cruelty does not dwell in my heart to dispose of the unfortunate in such like manner. Of my clemency, then, and humanity, I give you from this hour entire liberty and franchise to act as you please, whether to return free to your own country, or before you depart, to solace yourselves in my kingdom and view the curiosities of it, which are sufficiently admirable; after having visited them, return to me, and when you choose to depart, I shall be well pleased to commend you to God. "Who so happy as these two knights! They did not fail to execute their gentle sentence, and to solace themselves for a good space amidst the delights of this pleasant kingdom, which then abounded in pleasures, and was governed by so noble a queen. "When they had seen the whole at their ease, they came to take leave of their sovereign lady and mistress (since they were captives and slaves). She furnished them liberally with gifts, as she had done before, and having given them money for their journey, and thick and heavy gold chains, they departed seeking adventures here and there, and publishing on their passage the virtues, humanity, and courtesy of the queen, as they had just reason to do, none of her time possessing these qualities in the same degree." What follows this recital is perhaps still more curious to the inquirer after ancient manners. Brantome thus proceeds-" This doctor that I have quoted, the venerable doctor Paris of Puteo, a very worthy man, and who has well written the account of this duel, greatly extols this queen, and says, that in this instance, she merits much more praise than the canons of St. Peter's church at Rome, at whose holy altar a victor knight having given one he had vanquished and thus gained in single combat, with arms, horse, and trappings, in the lands of the patrimony of St. Peter's, for them to dispose of as they pleased, according to the laws of single combat; these canons were so inhuman, that in lieu of acting with mercy like this compassionate and good queen, they kept this poor devil of a knight in a sort of bondage in the church, without any other exercise than pa cing to and fro, and sometimes looking out at the passengers through the open doors; and during his life he never passed beyond the threshold: as I saw formerly in Spain done by those who had taken refuge in the church for some crime they had committed. Thus this doctor Paris blames these holy brothers and commends this queen Jane, who certainly cannot have as much praise as she merits for her innumerable virtues. Vol. II. pp. 49-53. James of Majorca, whose father had been treacherously murdered by Peter of Arragon, died in Spain during an enterprise he had undertaken in that country to avenge his death. Joanna was beset with rebellion and treason, foreign and intestine; but the wisdom of her measures and the vigour of her administration restored and preserved the public tranquillity. She promoted the interests of commerce, and liberally patronized the arts and literature. Boccaccio was honoured by her most distinguishing patronage during his residence at Naples ; and her Biographer enters into various details of his life, as entitled to a place in the history of Joanna and the age in which she flourished. As these, however, are not new topics, we shall abstain from them. Of the male descendants of Charles of Anjou, none now remained except Louis of Hungary and Charles of Durazzo, of whose education Joanna had taken charge during his minority, and who accepted, against her wishes, the invitation of the Hungarian king to follow him in his wars against Venice. No guilty projects had as yet sullied the mind of Durazzo, his gratitude for past benefits was still warm, and that lively anticipation of future favours which has too justly been said to be the sum and substance of a courtier's gratitude, had some of the generosity of youth and the joyous confidence of hope; and whatever might have been his secret feelings, he was peculiarly formed to win affection and quiet suspicion; his mellow voice, mild speech, deliberate enunciation, measured step, and composed demeanor, appeared to denote gentleness and tranquillity of soul, and effectually concealed the latent cruelty and ambition of his nature. Low in stature, but symmetrically formed, his air was noble, and his countenance singularly pleasing, his features regular, and complexion florid. His manners were gracious to all ranks, and his generosity such as became a princeespecially to men of letters, whose society he courted in emulation of his patroness. History and poetry were his peculiar studies and favourite relaxation amidst the fatigues of a camp, and he understood better than most of his time those favourite points of discussion which were usually debated by the erudite at the conclusion of the social repast. As a soldier, he united both courage and conduct, and so great was his personal prowess, that when he first went to Hungary, he slew in single combat a knight of gigantic stature whom none other was bold enough to attack; and in memory of this signal achievement, ever after bore, as his crest, the head of an elephant, which had been that of the modern Goliath. The irreproachable conduct of Durazzo unhappily deceived Joanna as to his real character, and finding nothing to counterbalance his various merits, but those vague forebodings of the future, which seemed rather to arise from the ambitious spirit of the age, than to be justified by any scrutiny of his actions however minute, in an evil hour for him, for herself, and her people, she bestowed on him the hand of her adopted daughter, and proclaimed her intention of bequeathing her crown to them and their issue. Soon after the celebration of the nuptials Charles, returned to the service of the king of Hungary; cold and ambitious, he, perhaps, already calculated on his support in case of any change in the queen's intentions.' Vol. II. pp. 143-145. At the period of the Sicilian treaty, Joanna was at the summit of prosperity. She was now recognised queen of both Sicilies; but, from this time, her kingdom was distracted by internal dissentions. Charles of Durazzo refused to return for the defence of the kingdoms he was one day to inherit; and the power of the Church, which, during the pontificates of Clement VI., Innocent VI., and Urban V., had afforded her prompt and efficient aid, in the hands of Gregory XI. was fallen into contempt. Her own natural issue was extinct, and the last of the faithful friends of Robert and of her own able counsellors, had paid the debt of nature. In this state of cheerless, desolate splendour, she gave her hand (as the last expedient of saving her house) to Otho of Brunswick, on the feast of Pentecost 1374. He was a prince of virtuous character and amiable manners. Happy had it been for this ill-fated queen, had she made such a choice, instead of James of Arragon;-a marriage which drove her into the injudicious measure of adopting Charles of Durazzo for her successor. Those readers who are interested in the details of papal history, we refer to the eighth chapter of the second volume of this entertaining miscellany, for the singular and almost romantic circumstances of the elevation of Urban VI.;-an event which entailed upon Naples an age of misery, and destroyed a dynasty which, for more than a century, had rendered these dominions the most flourishing and the most happy in Europe. This execrable pontiff was a Neapolitan; he had long been honoured and esteemed by Joanna, and, at the period of his election, was archbishop of Bari. At the very period when he was loaded with the gifts of Joanna, and supported by her troops, he was concerting with the rebel duke of Andria, her deposition and the investiture of Charles of Durazzo in her dominions. In the celebrated schism of the Church which followed the election of a rival pope, by the name of Clement VI., the atrocious conduct of Urban drove Joanna to oppose him, and to support the pretensions of Clement. The infuriated pope published a sentence of deposition against the queen, as a schismatic and a rebel, transferring her forfeited crown to Charles of Durazzo. In these difficulties, she found all her measures of defence against the rebellion of Charles, thwarted by the partisans of Urban, and was obliged to have recourse to Provence and the court of France, appointing Louis of Anjou, brother of Charles V., her universal heir. But the unexpected death of that monarch transferred the government to Louis as regent, whose rapacity made him so odious to his country, that the apprehension of internal tumult kept the nobility, who had armed for the defence of Naples, at home, for the protection of their own kingdom. The invasion of Naples was now inevitable, and, after various fortunes, Durazzo besieged Joanna in Castel Novo, defeated and took Otho prisoner, imprisoned the hapless queen, and was solemnly crowned in the cathedral. During eight months, all the miseries of a harsh captivity were inflicted on Joanna, in hopes that the privations she suffered might subdue her proud spirit to purchase some melioration of her condi tion, by the cession of Provence; but, constant to her resolution, the only fruits of these measures was a new testament, made in prison, confirming her former grant to Louis of Anjou. She was probably at this period utterly careless of life. As the captive of Durazzo, it could possess nothing to make it valuable; and had she been restored to the throne, unceasing cares, struggles, and suspicion awaited her, and measures of severity repugnant to her nature would have been daily necessary. • The appearance of a large naval armament in the Bay of Naples from Provence, was the signal for the consummation of a crime which Charles had not, perhaps, at first contemplated. The duke of Anjou had left Provence with an army of thirty-five thousand knights. The scarcely-concealed enmity of Urban VI. threatened a danger of the most imminent kind, and the universal desire for the restoration of Joanna was so evident, that her presence alone seemed necessary to rally all ranks round her standard. To rid himself of a part of his fears, and to secure to himself at least one ally, Charles granted a base compliance to the embassy of the king of Hungary, who sent at this period to congratulate him on his success, and to demand the death of Joanna, as the reward of his past aid, and the price of his future friendship. 'Not daring to trust any Neapolitan to perpetrate the bloody deed, he despatched four Hungarian soldiers to Muro, charged with its execution. 'Whether Joanna was, from any peculiar circumstance, led to suspect that the crisis of her fate was at hand, is unknown; but immediately before the time secretly appointed for her death, she made so powerful an appeal to Charles to spare the life of Otho, that he yielded to her intercession, and probably as some sort of reparation of his offences to her, treated him well, and finally restored him to liberty. In the days of her most brilliant prosperity, Joanna had been re markable for her constant attention to religious observances, and probably in the hour of her bitter reverse of fortune they constituted her only consolation. At stated hours she performed her devotions alone in the chapel of the castle. On the morning of the twentysecond of May she repaired as usual to the sacred spot, and while she knelt before the altar, imploring forgiveness at the throne of grace for her past offences, whatever they might have been, the Hungarian soldiers secretly entered, and whilst two of them guarded the door, the other two passed a silk cord round her neck, and instantly strangled her. Her body, by order of Durazzo, was brought to Naples, and for eight days exposed to the gaze of the populace in the church of St. Clair, that her partisans, by the contemplation of the last sad remains of departed royalty, might be convinced that all further efforts against him were vain. But this had not the effect he intended, for those who had been attached to the murdered queen were exasperated beyond recall, and many who had been before indifferent in her cause, were moved to compassion by her unmerited sufferings, and, generously indignant at the cruelty and perfidy of Durazzo, refused to submit to the rule of one whom no benefits could attach nor any duty restrain.' pp. 245-248. Our anxiety to render justice to this elaborate and elegant historical miscellany,-for we know no other class of compositions in which it can be ranked,—has led us into a long, but, we trust, not uninteresting abstract. The Author is perfectly master of his subject; he has brought to his task considerable industry and erudition. Joanna, indeed, as we have already hinted, is not the most conspicuous character in her own biography, the materials to illustrate which are necessarily doubtful and scanty. But this defect has been supplied by the ample researches which the Author has directed into the various collateral events of one of the most interesting periods of modern history. With a few slight objections, therefore, to the occasional occurrence of "taffeta and silken phrases,' and to some affectations and redundancies of diction, we can conscientiously recommend his volumes to the perusal of those who are desirous of acquiring much useful and elegant information, comprised within a reasonable compass, which has heretofore lain scattered over many scarce, bulky, and inaccessible works. Art. II. L'Etrangére. Par le Vicompte D'Arlincourt. Avec un Portrait de l'Auteur. 2 tomes. Paris, 1825. WHEN we observe a more than ordinary quantity of literary puffing, a solicitude unusually restless and unquiet to defend the reputation, and to panegyrize the writings of a |