Our author cites likewise some of her accusers, and considers most of the current sayings against her as apocryphal.  Some of these will not bear quotation in English.  Mistral evidently wishes to believe her innocent, and he makes out a pretty good case.  He approves the remark of Scipione Ammirato, that she contracted four successive marriages through a desire to have direct heirs.  Another notices that had she been dissolute, she would have preferred the liberty of remaining a widow.  The poet cites Pope Innocent VI, who gave her the golden rose, and sets great store upon the expression of Saint Catherine of Siena, who calls her “Venerabile madre in Gesu Cristo,” and he concludes by saying, “We prefer to concur in the judgment of the good Giannone (1676-1748), which so well agrees with our traditions.”

The first act opens with a picture that might tempt a painter of Italian scenes.  The Queen and her gay court are seated on the lawn of the palace garden at Naples, overlooking the bay and islands.  At the very outset we hear of the Gai Savoir, and the Queen utters the essentially Provencal sentiment that “the chief glory the world should strive for is light, for joy and love are the children of the sun, and art and literature the great torches.”  She calls upon Anfan of Sisteron to speak to her of her Provence, “the land of God, of song and youth, the finest jewel in her crown,” and Anfan, in long and eloquent tirades, tells of Toulouse and Nice and the Isles of Gold, reviews the settling of the Greeks, the domination of the Romans, and the sojourn of the Saracens; Aix and Arles, les Baux, Toulon, are glorified again; we hear of the old liberties of these towns where men sleep, sing, and shout, and of the magnificence of the papal court at Avignon.

    “Enfin, en Avignoun, i’a lou papo! grandour
    Poude, magnificenci, e poumpo e resplendour,
    Que mestrejon la terro e fan, senso messorgo,
    Boufa l’alen de Dieu i ribo de la Sorgo.”

Lastly, in Avignon, there’s the Pope! greatness, power, magnificence, pomp, and splendor, dominating the earth, and without exaggeration, causing the breath of God to blow upon the banks of the Sorgue.

We learn that the brilliancy and animation of the court at Avignon outshine the glories of Rome, and in language that fairly glitters with its high-sounding, highly colored words.  We hear of Petrarch and Laura, and the associations of Vaucluse.

At this juncture the Prince arrives, and is struck by the resemblance of the scene to a court of love; he wonders if they are not discussing the question whether love is not drowned in the nuptial holy water font, or whether the lady inspires the lover as much with her presence as when absent.  And the Queen defends her mode of life and temperament; she cannot brook the cold and gloomy ways of the north.  Were we to apply the methods of Voltaire’s strictures of Corneille to this play, it might be interesting to see how many vers de comedie could be found in these scenes of dispute between the prince consort and his light-hearted wife.