land-no, not if the Duke of Burgundy should cut my head off." "And wherefore not?" said Agathe, laughing; "the English King is reported to be already more handsome than any other prince in Europe, and so puissant a monarch that his wife shall be the greatest queen on the earth."

I care not for what Agathe says. I hate the English, who burnt to death the brave Pucelle. I would kill every one of them if I could. I would crush them with my foot, as 1 did the wasp which stung Louis to-day. I would tie the Duke of Bedford to a post, and burn him to death, as he burnt Jeanne. She was not a witch, and he is, I am sure, a wicked devil.

I looked at the map this morning, to see if England is as large as France or Spain. It is smaller than France, but bigger than Lorraine or Provence, or even Naples, I think. Agathe told Théophanie, and Théophanie told the Queen, that I said I would not marry the King of England; upon which she commanded her to chastise me, because it is not seemly for a princess to speak of marriage, and to say she will or will not marry any prince. Her parents do choose her a husband, and she hath only to obey. I loathe to be chastised, not for the pain, but the shame of it. Alizon, who was maid to Queen Katharine in England, says that when King Henry was a child he was made to sign a warrant for his nurse, and afterwards for his governor, to whip him, or it should have been high treason to lay hands on his majesty. If I had been in his place, they should never have had that warrant from me.

I do not often write in this book now, for I learn Italian and Latin, and read all the books I can. I heard yesterday Jean Manget, one of my brother's tutors, say to the Count of Nicastro, who was commending my face, "Ah, signore! Madame Marguerite hath all her father's wit and ingenuity, and her mother's strength of will. This young princess's praise goeth beyond the reach of my describing. In her eighth year she hath more learning and reflection, and a greater aptness in conversing, than most women at fifteen. Her beauty, which you praise, is the worse half of her merit." Well, sith God hath given me beauty and wit, I will acquire knowledge, which will teach me to use them. I will be the most excellent princess in the world, and famed for it at an age when others are content with playthings. I have thrown all mine into the sea. One fair doll I would fain have kept, but I kissed her once, and then cast her away, for I have resolved that books and the gittern and limning shall be my only pleasures now,

Six months have passed away since that last page was written. The child Marguerite is no more. Like the little worm which turneth into a butterfly, she is now changed into a young princess, not yet very tall, but wise for her years. She cares not now for toys, nor much for sweetmeats. She studies with her brother's tutors, and is much commended by them for diligence and quickness in learning.

This day I went with the ladies of the court, Enrico d'Auna the seneschal, and Messire Antoine, to see the paintings on the walls of the church of Santa Chiara, which were designed by one Giotto, whose real name was Angiolotto, which did become him well; for those who by their thinking and their hands do work the fairest things on earth must, I think, most resemble the angels in heaven. Messire Antoine told us the designs in that church were wrought by the hand of this great painter, who was once a little shepherd boy, and with chalk drew so cunningly on a stone the likeness of one of his sheep, that Master Cimabue, when he saw it in a lone place in the Apennines, carried him to Florence, to teach him to paint. But it was Dante Alighieri, Giotto's friend, and the greatest poet the world hath seen, who imagined what the other wrought. Messire Antoine will not suffer me yet to read the Divine Comedy. "When madame is older," he says; which displeases me, for it takes a long time to grow old. To pacify me, as we walked in the convent garden, he told me this little tale:

"Madame must know," he said, "that in Florence they have a pretty custom of keeping a festival in honour of the Spring. On the first of May the citizens assemble their friends, and entertain them in their houses. One Folco Portinari, about one hundred years ago, invited all his acquaintances to his villa, and among the rest, Signor Alighieri, who carried thither his little son, Durante, for briefness called Dante, who was then only nine years old. There were many girls and boys at play under the trees, and after he had feasted at one of the tables on such dainties as befitted his age, he joined in their sports. Amongst that crowd of children was Folco's little daughter, Beatrice, a maiden of eight years. Her fairness and her heavenly modesty were so great that none could look on her without wonder. In her speech and her behaviour there was a wisdom,

gravity, and suavity beyond her age. Each of her features was perfect in itself, and an incomparable harmony reigned in her face, so that she was thought by some to be an angel. The little boy, who was one day to be the great poet, saw her in the midst of her companions, and though he was so young, and she also, he loved her from that time, and loved her for ever after. In a few days he met her walking between two other maidens in a lane, dressed all in white. He was afraid to speak to her; but she smiled in so holy and courteous a wise, and her looks and her words were so sweet, that he went and shut himself in a room to think of her, and, falling asleep, he had a beautiful vision."

"What vision ?" I asked.

M. Antoine smiled, and did not answer.

Then I said:

"Was Beatrice a real maiden, or is this little tale an allegory ?" "Ah! madame," he replied, "some do maintain that the Beatrice which the poet writes of in his great poem is Folco's daughter, who died young; but others, that she is only a name for Heavenly Wisdom guiding the soul to Paradise."

Last night I was lying awake, looking at the stars, and thinking they should be the houses where the saints live, and I began to consider if I would be a great queen or a saint. Anna, who comes from Viterbo, has told me that St. Rose, when she was only nine years old, which is now mine age, went into the streets to preach to the people that they should do penance, and fight for the Pope against the wicked Emperor Frederic. I would like to be such a saint as this St. Rose. I said so to Brother James della Marca when I went to shrift to-day, and he told me this story:

"Once upon a time there stood a crowd of poor people at the gate of Heaven, waiting for it to open. Then cometh St. Peter, with his keys in his hand, and crieth, 'Make room, make room, all you poor people. Here is a princess about to enter into Heaven.' Then the poor people said, 'Marry, good St. Peter, we thought on this side of the grave princesses should not be of more account than beggars.' 'Ay,' quoth St. Peter, 'but you see we have so many beggars and poor persons coming this way every day, that we think nothing of them; but when a princess entereth Heaven, it is so rare a sight we must needs make much of her.'" I like Brother James, and I will be one of those rare princesses which go into Paradise.

Yesterday many young lords and ladies came to spend the day with us, because it was Monseigneur Louis's birthday. There was a banquet, and pastimes and plays in the garden. At night cunning

carvers came to entertain us, which caused things to appear which were not, as flying dragons in the air; and they threw balls of fire at each other's heads, which burst with a sound like thunder. We danced the Capello, and Ciarletto Carracciolo was my partner. He danceth not so well as the Conte di Malatesta, but he hath more wit. He told me a story of two young lovers at Verona, Romeo Montecchi and Giulietta Capuletti, which fell in love with each other at a ball in the house of Giulietta's father. He said, when he heard it, he could not believe love should be so sudden; but that since he had come into the palace that day, he had become so enamoured of a lady, that nothing could exceed it, though he dared not whisper her name. He asked me if I had loved any one yet. I said that when I was at Nancy, Pierre de Luxembourg had said he would be my knight, and fight against all such as should deny me to be the fairest princess in the whole world. This made me love him very much; for I liked to have a chevalier which would kill all those who said I was not fair. Then Ciarletto said he would fight for me, and die for me, if I would love him, But I said I would not, for that he was not a king; which made him so angry, he would not dance with me any more.

This day the Queen gave me a long rosary of costly beads set in gold, which belonged to her mother, and my dear brother a fair copy of a sweet book, "The Little Flowers of St. Francis." I would fain go to Assisi, and to Our Lady of the Angels, and to the mountain of Alvernia, which, after Jerusalem and Rome, should be, I think, the most sacred spot in the world. I read to Théophanie the story of the peace the saint made betwixt the city of Gobbio and the wolf; and she liked it well, for she would have every one be at peace with one another.

I am ten years old; and this morn I received, for the first time, the good God into my heart, with a restful, delectable, overpassing joy. After I had left the chapel I craved to be awhile alone, which is not often granted me, but was not then denied; and, with mine head resting on my hands, I sat at a window which looketh on the bay; my breast as tranquil as the smooth deep sea, and thoughts passing through my mind without troubling it, like the white birds on the surface of that blue water. When I had been there well-nigh an hour, I felt a hand on my shoulder, and, looking up, saw my mother, the Queen, standing by my side. She gazed on my face meekly and urgently, with a look of endless love.

"Marguerite," she said at last, "this life is full of troubles, mostly for such as are born nigh unto thrones, and, which is

worse, with many temptations. We may not stand so long a space as the twinkling of an eye without the keeping of God's grace; and when royal persons offend, it is like the failing of the house of which the Gospel saith, 'great was the fall thereof.""

Then she, who was not wont to speak of herself, but seemed moved to it in a sudden manner that day, took me on her knees, and conversed with me a long time, disclosing the nobility and greatness of her soul, and showing forth the mightful help she had had from God in her great straits. O, brave heart of my mother, first known this day (a meet one for this lesson)-heart which fears God, and hath no other fear, I would fain resemble thee in thy great griefs, if in virtue I may also liken thee!

CHAPTER VI.

KING RENE.

Naples, 19th of May 1438.

My hand is trembling for joy, and the gladness I feel exceedeth what my pen can describe. The king, my fair and noble father, is come. I have seen him ride through the city on his white charger, with a gold crown on his head and a sceptre in his hand, my two comely brothers by his side. When he passed, the people knelt, as if he had been a god come to reign over them. And is not the likest thing to God on earth a monarch which to his exalted rank and royal greatness doth add beauty of outward form and a natural majesty tempered by sweetness? When a great shout rises from thousands of hearts at once, it stops my breathing, and from my head to my feet there thrills a quivering passion, which ends in tears. If any should wish to paint a demigod, let them look at King René; or if a hero, study his actions. If they would describe a perfect man wearing virtue in his face, grace in his aspect, towardness in his behaviour, let them scan his visage, copy his gestures, list to his speech. If some great limner should desire to represent on wood or canvas Hector or Achilles, let them use King René's semblance, and all the world shall applaud. If St. Sebastian or St. Maurice, draw his likeness when he prayeth. If a sage, the king when he is reading. If a poet, when he museth. If Apollo, when he playeth the viol. If a father, still the king when he encircles his children in his arms, and says so pleasantly, "The fairest fortune a prince can bequeath his heirs is the love of faithful subjects."

If there is happiness on earth, it should now reign in this land. and in our hearts. For the spring with pleasure leads forward every passing hour, and the air which breathes delight, and the sun