2013_2_Lucherini

Vinni Lucherini

The Journey of Charles I, King of Hungary, from Visegrád to Naples (1333): Its Political Implications and Artistic Consequences

The aim of this article is to reconstruct the journey of Charles I, King of Hungary (1310–1342), from Visegrád to Naples in the year 1333. Through an analysis of documents written in the Angevin Chancellery in Naples from 1331 to 1333 (all physically lost, but accessible through transcripts published during the 1800s both in Naples and in Budapest), papal letters of the same period, and some major medieval and modern narrative sources, I try to understand the reasons that brought Charles I to Naples and to clarify the strong political implications, even long-term ones, that the journey had for the history not only of the Kingdom of Jerusalem and Sicily but of the Kingdom of Hungary as well. Looking closely at an Angevin document from 1333, never contextualized in the historical moment it was issued, I will formulate new hypotheses concerning the artistic consequences the journey had on the funerary politics of Robert of Anjou, King of Sicily (1309–1343), and on the commissioning of monumental tombs intended to solemnly guard the remains of prominent members of the Angevin dynasty in the cathedral of Naples.1

Keywords: Angevin succession, royal journey, funeral monuments

The Premise of the Journey: An Unexpected Claim of “Forgotten” Rights of Succession to the Throne of Naples

Before getting to the heart of the debate, we need to recreate a quick historical premise. Charles I had been crowned king of Hungary on August 27, 1310 in the Church of the Virgin at Székesfehérvár (Albareale/Stuhlweissenburg), in a ceremony during which he was invested with the so called “Holy Crown,” a diadem believed to have belonged to Saint Stephen and held as the highest guarantee of legitimacy of the Hungarian monarchy.

Son of Charles Martel, firstborn of Charles II of Anjou, king of the Realm of Jerusalem and Sicily, Charles I had obtained the Hungarian throne through a complex dynastic affair. In 1290, upon the death of King Ladislaus, the last male descendant of the Árpád dynasty, Charles II and his wife Mary, sister of Ladislaus, had claimed the Hungarian crown. In 1291 Charles II had asked the Hungarian barons to consider Mary as the only heir to the throne of Hungary. In 1292 Mary had given the Kingdom of Hungary to her son Charles Martel, already designated heir to the Kingdom of Sicily. But in 1295 Charles Martel had died suddenly in Naples, and his death had introduced serious problems of succession. According to the Salic law then in force, the firstborn son of Charles Martel, the future Charles I of Hungary, then a child of seven, should have one day become king of both Sicily and Hungary; however, by the will of King Charles II and with the support of Pope Boniface VIII, the young Charles was sent to Hungary to reconquer the kingdom that was considered to belong to him as paternal inheritance. Charles Martel’s younger brother, Robert, was given the throne of Sicily and consecrated king in Avignon in 1309.2

In the following decades, the two kingdoms, united by the presence of an Angevin king in both, had virtually no relationship: Charles I was too busy trying to reinforce his power in Hungary,3 and Robert too preoccupied with Italian and imperial issues. In the following decades, there was no claim made by Charles I to obtain what his uncle Robert had taken from him, and the two kingdoms seemed destined to remain divided. But after 1328 an unexpected event, the death of the young Charles, duke of Calabria and only surviving son of Robert, produced an inconvenient change in the status quo.

In February 1331 Pope John XXII wrote to King Robert, transmitting to him a request that had arrived from the Kingdom of Hungary through letters and an ambassador. Charles I had in fact asked John XXII to intercede with his uncle, Robert of Anjou, so that they would restore to him and to his sons the full rights connected to the hereditary title of “prince of Salerno and lord of the honor of Monte Sant’Angelo” (Salernitanus princeps and honoris Montis Sancti Angeli dominus).4 This was a title belonging to the father of King Charles I, always held by the designated successor to the throne of Naples. In 1764 the Hungarian historian György Pray identified precisely the death of Charles of Calabria as the point of origin of the request presented to the pope by Charles I of Hungary,5 because it was surely the absence of a male heir, who could succeed Robert, that emboldened Charles I to ask the pope to have what had been taken from him many years before returned to him. Moreover, the king of Hungary tried to solicit an agreement with Robert regarding the succession to the throne of Sicily, proposing a marriage between one of his sons and Joanna (1326–82), first of the two surviving daughters of Charles of Calabria who had already been publicly designated heir to the Kingdom of Sicily, together with her younger sister Mary, on November 4, 1330.6

Two letters from John XXII just before the death of Charles of Calabria seem to confirm this indirectly. In 1327 the pope conceded the dispensation of marriage for Ladislaus, second-born of Charles I of Hungary (but first in the order of descendants after the death of his firstborn brother Charles in 1321), and Anna, daughter of John of Bohemia. The marriage would have reinforced the peace between the two kingdoms,7 a clear political sign that in this period Charles I was more worried about strengthening his friendships with the Central European kingdoms bordering Hungary than about claiming his right to the throne of Naples.

A series of papal epistles from July 1332 demonstrate that the king of Hungary, after the start of diplomatic negotiations with Robert, must have foreseen a solution that would have closely linked the Neapolitan legacy with the fate of Hungary: following the intentions of King Charles I, two of his children, Louis, having become heir to the throne after the death of his brothers Charles and Ladislaus,8 and Andrew, the fourth-born, should have married Joanna and her younger sister respectively. In order for the two marriages to be celebrated, a special dispensation was needed, given that the future spouses were relatives.

John XXII, who from the beginning had declared himself in favor of any solution that would satisfy the rights of succession legitimately claimed by Charles I and had offered to mediate between the two parties in question, did not at all oppose this solution and authorized the double wedding, hoping that everything would be concluded within a short time, in consideration of the present and future advantages that would have stemmed from this union. Louis therefore would have married Joanna, while his brother Andrew would have taken Mary for consort; in case, however, Louis had died before reaching adulthood and before consummating the marriage, Andrew would have married Joanna, whereas in the case of Joanna’s premature death, Louis or another of the sons of the king of Hungary would have taken Mary for spouse. But if everything went as planned, nothing should have prevented Louis from marrying Joanna, with the consent of the kings of Sicily and Hungary as well as that of the pope.9

Charles I’s Journey to Naples as Narrated by Angevin Documents:
a Complex Arrangement

John XXII’s letters demonstrate that Charles I’s demand to resolve the hereditary question opened by Robert’s accession to the throne must have been approved once and for all even in Naples, where the proposal of the marriage had been accepted. Something, however, must have led to a change in this decision (at precisely what point in the negotiations this occurred is unknown), and Charles I must have ordered Louis to remain in Hungary, while Andrew was to go with him to Naples, seat of the Angevin court, to marry Joanna. From the documentation of the Neapolitan archives, preserved in synthetic form in the studies of Camillo Minieri Riccio10 and in more detail in the precise transcripts edited by Gusztáv Wenzel,11 documents I will use to reconstruct the events which in those years involved the kings of Sicily and Hungary, it seems that the decisions urged by John XXII led to the organization of a delicate mission which brought both Charles I with his son and a full entourage of Hungarian barons and prelates to the capital of the Sicilian Kingdom.

A few months after the start of diplomatic negotiations, on May 22, 1331, Robert wrote to Vice-Admiral Ademario de Scalea ordering him to immediately equip a galley, which was urgently needed for the journey that Charles I would take to the Kingdom of Sicily shortly thereafter.12 The arrival of the Hungarian king was therefore considered imminent, a sign that both sides wanted to conclude the agreement mediated by the pope as soon as possible. However, a year later the embassies were still running from one side of the Adriatic to the other, bringing letters from one king to the other, and the preparations were still ongoing, evidence that the operation was not proceeding as fast as the pope had hoped.

On November 6 and 7, 1332, Robert ordered the equipping of three more galleys, two with 116 oars and one with 120; they were to join those already prepared by Marino Cossa of Ischia, iustitiarius terræ Bari, so that these ships, all under the orders of Ademario, go to the coast of Slavonia to take aboard the king of Hungary and his entourage (including hundreds of horses) and transport them to the Apulian coast.13 A document dated November 8, 1332 attests to a payment of fifteen ounces to the same vice-admiral, who was on his way to get the king of Hungary. On November 9, Robert ordered payment to Gualterio Siripando, magister hostiarus, so that he could acquire the rations necessary for the people who had to navigate the armed galleys that would escort Charles I to Naples. On December 10, Robert wrote to the port masters of Apulia, giving them long and detailed instructions about the ships to be sent to the Croatian coast to collect the king of Hungary and his son Andrew.14

The reason for this delay must have been an attack of gout that had struck Charles I during the voyage: having reached Székesfehérvár, the king of Hungary had in fact turned back to Visegrád at the advice of his barons, both because of the illness and of the oncoming winter.15 Despite these difficulties, in January 1333 the preparations were taken up again: on January 2 Robert paid artisans (some of whom were defined as drapperii, others armaturari) for woolen cloth of different colors in order to make a tent, which was to display the arms of the Kingdom of Sicily and the Kingdom of Hungary and would be covered with a cendato (a lightweight silk) in vibrant colors. The king also ordered cendati of different colors made for banners and flags, to be decorated with fringes, as well as the gold and silver for one of the banners and a waxed linen canvas to cover the tent.16

On April 27, 1333, Robert wrote again to the port masters in Apulia, summarizing in the narratio the events of the past year. Believing that the king of Hungary would have reached Naples with one of his sons (evidently it was still not known at that time that Charles had decided to bring along Andrew and not Louis), he had given orders to equip the galleys with all the men necessary for navigation; such a crew would have been made up of sailors and rowers coming from Brindisi, Taranto or Bari and would have been paid for an entire month, as was customary. The year before, Charles I’s failure to arrive had suspended these arrangements, but now, with the king of Hungary and his son due to arrive at last, it was necessary to re-equip the ships that would convey them to the Apulian coasts. The document lists in detail the expenses of this operation, which also involved the transfer of hundreds of horses between the two Adriatic coasts.17

On May 25, 1333, Robert ordered his ambassadors to go to Segnia (Senj, Croatia), as arranged, and to make sure that everything took place in a manner befitting his honor (secundum quod exigetur pro nostro honore). On June 14, Robert wrote to the port masters and the prosecutors regarding the lodging where Charles I, his son and his retinue of barons and other people close to him would be hosted. A sufficient quantity of wine was to be bought in the land of Bari and the surrounding area (wherever this could be accomplished in the shortest time possible). Various other things, such as wax for candles, firewood and salted meats, were also needed to host so many people. All these goods were to be bought immediately and stored in secure and clean places, so that they could then be used by the king of Hungary, his son and retinue. A document of similar content from June 17 also refers to wheat, bread and beds to be procured for the guests on arrival.18 The Angevin documents have little to say about what happened during the summer of 1333, once the Hungarian delegation had finally reached Naples.

The Political Implications of Charles I’s Stay in Naples as Related
by Medieval and Modern Chronicles

In years not too far removed from the events we are dealing with, the Florentine Giovanni Villani described the arrival of Charles I in the Kingdom of Sicily, saying that Robert had intended to assign his throne to his nephew Andrew. Villani was not aware of the documentation related to the complex organization of the voyage from Visegrád to Naples, but he knew what had been verified at the moment Charles I disembarked on the Apulian shore. From there he went by horse to Naples, where Robert had received him solemnly at the gates of the city and his arrival was celebrated with great pomp.19

More than a century after those facts, János Thuróczy, in his Chronica Hungarorum, published in Brno and in Augsburg in 1488, narrated the journey of Charles I briefly. According to this text, the king had left Visegrád with his six-year-old son Andrew in July 1333, in accordance with the wishes of the pope and the request of the king of Naples, so that his son would be crowned king of Sicily.20 In turn, the court historian Antonio Bonfini, in his Rerum Hungaricarum decades (the manuscript is believed to have been completed in 1498), also citing older sources, wrote about the voyage, adding some more details about the route of the Hungarian delegation and expressing the opinion that Andrew would soon be crowned king.21

Having reached Campania, the king of Hungary and his retinue must have met Robert in the fields of Naples (according to Bonfini), in the fields of Nola (according to Villani), or in Benevento (according to Pray), and must have been escorted to Castelnuovo, the most important castle of the Neapolitan court, to await for the final preparations for the culminating event of his Neapolitan stay: the marriage contract between Joanna and Andrew. As we know from the documents, this key moment for the Hungarian diplomatic mission was finally celebrated, on September 26, 1333, before the notary Marsilio Rufolo and in the presence of the most respected members of the Angevin court of Naples, the principal members of the aristocracy of the Kingdom of Sicily and ambassadors of other centers of power, such as the Florentines.22

Having finalized the agreement with Robert, Charles I could finally head back to Hungary, where the illness that had stricken him in Naples must have raised quite a few fears.23 Leaving Andrew in Naples with a small Hungarian court intended to take care of the little prince, Charles I then departed for Hungary, unaware that not a kingdom but a noose had been prepared for Andrew (ignarus Andreæ his curis non regnum sed laqueum parari, as Pray wrote). From documents collected by Minieri Riccio we learn that the king of Hungary embarked from Apulia towards Slavonia with 456 horses and 522 Hungarians,24 a number that gives an idea of the impressiveness of the Hungarian diplomatic mission.

The journey to Naples, and indeed the entire undertaking, including the celebrations for the promise of marriage, had cost the coffers of the Angevin rulers significant amounts of money. As a document found by Wenzel in the archives of Naples attests, on October 18 Robert wrote to the seneschal of Provence and Forcalquier, communicating what had happened, explaining the number of exceptional expenses that he had had to incur and asking him to intervene financially with a grant.25 Negotiations between the two kingdoms, initiated by the will of Charles I as early as 1330, seemed at this point to have achieved the intended purpose. This is shown by a letter of John XXII from November 1333, in which the pope rejoiced with the king of Hungary over the results of the voyage to Naples, pointed out yet again the advantages of that promise of marriage, and summarized the conditions of the stipulated marriage contract: if Andrew outlived Joanna, he would marry Mary; if Joanna outlived Andrew, one of Charles I’s other sons (Louis or Stephen) would marry her; and if both died before consummating the marriage, another of Charles I’s sons would marry Mary.26 A few days later, John XXII wrote also to Sancha of Majorca, Robert’s wife, in answer to one of her letters, about the king of Hungary’s voyage to Naples, and of the promise of marriage for which the necessary dispensation would be granted.27

On February 26, 1334, Robert ordered that the galleys that had been assembled for Charles I’s transport to the Croatian coast be disarmed. Meanwhile, to raise the young Andrew properly, Robert assigned to him a comitiva, made up of several experts on lodging, cooking, saddles, reins, and other daily necessities, and of other trusted men, including, among others, Archbishop Guglielmo of Brindisi, as confessor to the child, Lorenzo di Landolfo of Aversa, a doctor, and Giovanni Barrile, Pietro di Cadineto and Bartolomeo Caracciolo (also known as Carafa) as chamberlains, plus a certain number of Hungarian maids and squires.28

But the diplomatic mission, which required so much money from Robert, whom the documents show to have been particularly interested in demonstrating his own honor through the rich preparations staged to welcome Charles I and his retinue, did not achieve the result that Charles I himself had planned. In the following years, Andrew was raised in the court of Naples and, having come of age, was finally made a knight on Easter Sunday, 1343. Four days after that Easter, he was joined in marriage to Joanna;29 none of this, however, meant that the Kingdom of Sicily would be awarded to him, as his father and the pope had hoped. And despite the arrival in Naples of Queen Mother Elisabeth in July 1343,30 who worried that the agreements made in that distant summer of 1333 had not been respected, Andrew, never having become king, was barbarically killed in Aversa on September 18, 1345, in a conspiracy of which his wife Joanna was perhaps not unaware.31

We cannot say whether Robert changed his mind in the course of the ten years between the Hungarian mission to Naples and his death, which happened during the night of January 19 and 20, 1343, or whether his idea from the start had been to exclude that child, so incautiously entrusted to him by Charles I, from the succession. There is no doubt, however, that both the historians writing immediately after those events as well as those working during the age of Humanism really did believe that Robert would have conceded his kingdom to the child of Charles I. This is demonstrated by the author of the Chronici Hungarici compositio sæculi XIV, faithfully taken from the end of the fifteenth century by Thuróczy. According to this author, Charles I had departed from Naples in March together with his retinue, leaving behind a son who was not yet crowned, as he had hoped, but under the protection of King Robert; because of his age Robert himself wanted to give up his kingdom and have Andrew succeed him, but, after changing his mind, decided not to relinquish power while he was still living.

Antonio Bonfini confirms this with even greater clarity, writing that Robert, following the suggestions of some friends, decided to continue to rule, putting off the succession until after his death and adopting both Andrew and Joanna so that both could rule together. But even before that, both Giovanni Villani (“King Robert wanted his nephew, son of the King of Hungary, to succeed him after his death”) and Heinrich von Mügeln (in the chapter of his Chronicon entitled Wie der kunig Karl furte herczogen Andres sun und wolt yn kronen) affirmed exactly the same idea.32 According to this interpretation of the events in Naples in the summer of 1333, the king of Hungary had left Naples without seeing his son crowned king, but certain of having left him in trusted hands. Robert, in fact, at that point decrepit with age, wanted to give up the government and make sure that the young Hungarian prince would take his place. And although he did not want to cede his power while still alive, he had established that the child was to succeed him after his death, as a sort of belated compensation for what had happened at the beginning of the century.

This historiographical tradition, I think, has a figurative counterpart in a miniature from just after that time. I refer to the image that adorns and illustrates Ms. BnF fr. 1049 (containing a Provençal planh, a lament for a death; in this case, Robert’s),33 in which Andrew is being crowned by King Robert, who is lying on his deathbed (Fig. 1).34 The text of the poem says that Robert was tormented by remorse for having usurped the throne of Sicily from the son of Charles Martel, Charles I of Hungary, and that he wanted to crown Andrew king upon his death. But in the concrete reality of political events, things did not turn out this way at all.

In the will that Robert dictated three days before his death, on January 16, 1343 (and about which apparently neither Thuróczy, nor Bonfini, nor the medieval historians had knowledge), Andrew was excluded from the succession to the throne of Sicily, and it was confirmed that the kingdom should go to Joanna alone, and that upon her death it would pass to her sister Mary. If Joanna died childless, only the revenues related to the title of the Principate of Salerno were to be given to Andrew, meaning that Robert no longer placed as much value on succession to that title as his ancestors had done. The gesture made by Robert at his death represented an insult to the Hungarian monarchy and King Charles I, recently deceased, who had waited decades for the papacy to take his legitimate requests of succession to the throne of the Kingdom of Sicily into consideration.35

In fact, after Charles I’s departure from Naples, Robert did not comply with the agreements made during the summer of 1333 in any way. I think traces of this situation remain also in a mural painting that is still preserved in the ancient chapter house of the Friars Minor of the royal monastery of Saint Claire in Naples, completed circa 1336. This is an image showing King Robert (Fig. 2) and Queen Sancha (Fig. 3) kneeling before Christ and four Franciscan saints (including Louis of Toulouse), accompanied by two youths, whose garments also bear the Angevin lilies: a female figure with a crown and a male figure with no crown. Based on the iconographic elements that characterize these figures, I believe that here we can recognize Joanna and her betrothed, Andrew: she, already designated as heir to the throne of Sicily, was allowed to be depicted with her crown, while he was still waiting for that long-desired crown to be placed on his head.36

The Commission of New Royal Monumental Tombs in Honor of King Robert

By analyzing surviving archival documents, I have reached the conclusion that the journey of Charles I inspired a very important funerary artistic commission, the results of which radically transformed the interior of the apse of the Gothic Cathedral of Naples.

From an Angevin document issued on May 13, 1333, as the feverish preparations for Charles I’s arrival had been going on for months, we learn that Robert, hoping to complete the construction of the monastery of Saint Martin on the mountain Saint Erasmus started by his son, Charles of Calabria, had communicated to his wife Sancha his decision to dedicate the income of Lucera and Termoli, and also of the land of Somma, to the building of the said monastery. In the same document Robert also stated that the land of Somma would provide the necessary finances for a second royal commission recently undertaken: the preparation of new tombs in the episcopal complex of Naples for the relatives who were already resting there: his grandfather, King Charles I of Anjou (deceased in 1285), founder of the Neapolitan branch of the French royal dynasty, the father of King Charles II, whose third-born son was Robert; his brother, Charles Martel, who, as we have seen, was the father of Charles I of Hungary; and the wife of Charles Martel, Clemence, daughter of Rudolf of Habsburg, both deceased in 1295.37

The document does not attest to Robert’s request to his wife to carry out new burials for these kings, deceased for many decades, but illustrates the reasons of the granting of a pension for their creation and completion, for which Sancha had already bought the stone materials. This means that Robert intervened in decisions already made by Sancha, justifying that intervention on the basis of explanations that Sancha herself must have put forward, perhaps in writing. The vocabulary of this text includes explicit references to Sancha’s thought on the need for new burials (duceris…, videris…, promittens…, and especially iuxta tuæ dispositionis arbitrium, a formula that in medieval documents generally uses the first person singular or plural, indicating the full authority of the subject to find a solution), but also includes a wide range of expressions, adverbs and adjectives whose semantic roots consistently refer to the intertwined concepts of regal dignity and the propriety of that dignity.38

The reasons for Sancha to believe that King Robert should carry out this operation were twofold: Robert’s love for his grandfather and older brother, of course, but especially the honor of Robert, a surprising and unprecedented point in the context of royal sepulchral commissions, where the purpose should be to honor the deceased and not the patron, but also a point surprisingly coincidental with the concepts that recur in Angevin documents related to the preparations for Charles I’s journey to Naples, which dictate that everything had to be done in a way to best honor the king of Sicily. The emphasis on this specific point makes it clear not only that the existing royal tombs did not give honor to the person of Robert, but also that the manifestation of such honor in monumental form was in that moment an unavoidable objective to aim for. Reversing the terms used by Robert in his letter to indicate what characteristics the tombs ordered by Sancha should have, we can deduce that the old burials must have appeared not decent, not appropriate and not dignified in relation to the royalty of the bodies that were buried there: in other words, those graves did not bring honor to Robert as they were unseemly or no longer in fashion, and especially because, located in that site at the time, they must have seemed inappropriate.

But why so much concern for the honor of the king of Naples at that time, in May 1333? And why did such honor have to come through the execution of new burials, and specifically those of King Charles I of Anjou, Charles Martel and Clemence of Habsburg? And where were the old tombs located when the decision to make new ones was justified? A comparison of the archival documents and the wording of historical sources of the modern age shows that the old tombs were still located in the old Neapolitan cathedral, i.e., the Basilica Salvatoris (also called Stefania), then called Santa Restituta, next to which, around 1294, the construction of a new cathedral had been started, in Gothic form, on the orders of the archbishop of Naples, Filippo Minutolo, and with partial financial support from King Charles II of Anjou.

The commission of new tombs for the father and the mother of the king of Hungary, only a few months before his arrival in Naples, cannot be considered a mere coincidence. To set up the new burials, it must have seemed a necessary and rather urgent undertaking to the sovereigns of Naples, to Sancha and consequently to Robert. This enterprise was aimed at the public celebration in monumental form of the branch of the Angevin dynasty from which the king of Hungary was descended and from whom Robert, thanks to a very well-orchestrated agreement between King Charles II of Anjou and the papacy, had taken the throne of Sicily thirty years earlier.

It is probably for this reason that, in the document of May 13, 1333, Robert refers to the fact that Sancha believed this committee to be indispensable pro honore nostro (where nostro, our, alludes to the individual Robert), as if Sancha had first understood how essential the new burials of King Charles I of Anjou and Charles Martel were to the preparations for Charles I of Hungary’s reception.39 Robert could not show a lack of pietas and respect toward the remains of his firstborn brother whose heir had been sent to far-off lands and who had thus become a stranger in the kingdom that was originally his rightful inheritance.

The Angevin tombs were completely destroyed at the end of the sixteenth century, but their memory remains in modern narrative sources. Medieval documents do not tell us exactly where the new tombs ordered by King Robert in 1333 were placed in the Gothic Cathedral of Naples, but the visual testimony of sixteenth-century Neapolitan scholars is clear about the fact that they were in the central apse. After the study of all the evidence that I have mentioned, we can reasonably suppose that it was precisely there, in the apse, that the royal tombs were installed at the moment of their realization in 1333.

Conclusion

The reasons for and consequences of Charles I’s journey to Naples in 1333 were closely embedded in the games of dynastic politics that linked Naples and Hungary in the fourteenth century and beyond. Moreover, the journey triggered the building of an extraordinary funerary exhibition in the apse of the Cathedral of Naples. A reference to this was probably made, many decades later, in the second half of the fourteenth century and by the will of Queen Joanna, in the scenic composition that can still be seen in the Neapolitan monastic church of Saint Claire.40 This is a superb depiction of death in the form of skillfully worked marble (Fig. 4), with Robert in the center, still seen flanked by his son, Charles of Calabria, and his granddaughter, Mary of Durazzo (the same Mary who was urged to marry a Hungarian prince in 1332 and whose life took another turn). That composition evidently played an extraordinary celebratory function of royal power that Joanna herself owed to her father and grandfather, undermining the legitimate heirs to the throne of Sicily: Charles I of Hungary and his children.

 

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Image Captions:

 

Figure 1. Bibliothèque nationale de France, ms. fr. 1049, Planh for the death of King Robert: Robert crowning Andrew of Hungary.

Figure 2. Naples, Church of Christ and Saint Louis in the royal monastery of Saint Claire (ancient chapter house of the friars), King Robert and Andrew of Hungary kneeling before Christ and four Franciscan saints.

Figure 3. Naples, Church of Christ and Saint Louis in the royal monastery of Saint Claire (ancient chapter house of the friars), Queen Sancha of Majorca and Joanna of Anjou kneeling before Christ and four Franciscan saints.

Figure 4. Naples, Church of Saint Claire, tombs of King Robert (center), Mary of Durazzo (left) and Charles of Calabria (right).