"I arrived at Naples the 11th of October. Heavens, what a change has the
death of one man produced in that place! No one would know it now.
Religion, Justice, and Truth are banished. I think I am at Memphis,
Babylon, or Mecca. In the stead of a king so just and so pious, a little
monk, fat, rosy, barefooted, with a shorn head, and half covered with a
dirty mantle, bent by hypocrisy more than by age, lost in debauchery
whilst proud of his affected poverty, and still more of the real wealth
he has amassed--this man holds the reins of this staggering empire. In
vice and cruelty he rivals a Dionysius, an Agathocles, or a Phalaris.
This monk, named Roberto, was an Hungarian cordelier, and preceptor of
Prince Andrew, whom he entirely sways. He oppresses the weak, despises
the great, tramples justice under foot, and treats both the dowager and
the reigning Queen with the greatest insolence. The court and city
tremble before him; a mournful silence reigns in the public assemblies,
and in private they converse by whispers. The least gesture is punished,
and _to think_ is denounced as a crime. To this man I have presented the
orders of the Sovereign Pontiff, and your just demands. He behaved with
incredible insolence. Susa, or Damascus, the capital of the Saracens,
would have received with more respect an envoy from the Holy See. The
great lords imitate his pride and tyranny. The Bishop of Cavaillon is
the only one who opposes this torrent; but what can one lamb do in the
midst of so many wolves? It is the request of a dying king alone that
makes him endure so wretched a situation. How small are the hopes of my
negotiation! but I shall wait with patience; though I know beforehand
the answer they will give me."

It is plain from Petrarch's letter that the kingdom of Naples was now
under a miserable subjection to the Hungarian faction, aid that the
young Queen's situation was anything but enviable. Few characters in