the same sensuousness, bold courage, and
great generosity were found in this early orphaned, thrice widowed
heiress of Provence. To this day, the memory of the Reino Joanno lives
in her native land, associated with numbers of towers and fortresses,
the style of whose architecture attests their origin under her reign. It
says much for her personal fascinations that far from being either
cursed or blamed she is still remembered and praised. The ruins of
Gremaud, Tour Drainmont, of Guillaumes, and a castle near Roccaspervera,
all bear her name: at Draguignan and Flagose, they tell you her canal
has supplied the town with water for generations: in the Esterels, the
peasants who got free grants of land, still invoke their benefactress.
At Saint-Vallier, she is blessed because she protected the hamlet near
the Siagne from the oppression of the Chapters of Grasse and Lerins. At
Aix and Avignon her fame is undying because she dispelled some
robber-bands; at Marseilles she is popular because she modified and
settled the jurisdiction of Viscounts and Bishops. Go up to Grasse and
in the big square where the trees throw a flickering shadow over the
street-traders, you will see built in a vaulted passage a flight of
stone steps, steps which every barefoot child will tell you belong to
the palace of 'La Reino Joanno.' Walls have been altered, gates have
disappeared, but down those time-worn steps once paced the liege lady of
Provence, the incomparable 'fair mischief' whose guilt ... must ever
remain one of the enigmas of history." This "enigma" has strange
analogies to one which has puzzled and impassioned the writers of many
generations, the mystery of that other "fair mischief" of a later
century, Mary Queen of Scots. Like Mary, Jeanne was accused of the
murder of her young husband, and being pressed by the vengeance of his
brother--no less a person than the King of Hungary,--she decided to
retreat to her native Provence and appeal to the Pope, her gallant and
not over-scrupulous suzerain. "Jeanne landed at Ponchettes," continues
the writer who has so happily described her, "and the consuls came to
assure her of their devotion. 'I come,' replied the heiress, whose wit
always suggested a happy phrase, 'to ask for your hearts and nothing but
your hearts.' As she did not allude to her debts, the populace threw up
their caps; the Prince de Monaco, just cured of his wound at Crecy,
placed his sword at her service; and the Baron de Benil,