Faith and Bad Faith in the Time of Joanna

Walking through Piazza Plebiscito in the direction leading from the center of Naples to the seafront, you pass the Royal Palace. Its façade features eight statues of monarchs who shaped Neapolitan history—and beyond—each symbolizing and recalling a specific dynasty. Yet, none of them is a woman. When thinking of female rulers in Naples, people often recall Queen Margherita of Savoy, if only because her name is forever tied to the world’s most famous food: the Margherita pizza.

However, there is one woman who left a profound mark on the political and religious life of the Kingdom of Naples: Joanna I of Anjou (1325–1382), the first reigning queen of Naples. A sovereign not by virtue of being a king’s consort but as the legitimate heir of the dynasty that had risen to power in southern Italy in the latter half of the 13th century, following the fall of the Hohenstaufens and the establishment of the Angevin rulers, allies of the Church.

As a child, around seven or eight years old, Joanna was betrothed to a distant cousin, Andrew of Hungary. Her grandfather, Robert, was determined to handle matters properly and, in 1333, arranged the drafting of a formal marriage contract. Joanna and Andrew were married in 1343, the same year that 17-year-old Joanna ascended to the throne of one of the most significant kingdoms in Europe and the Mediterranean.  However, the reign of King Consort Andrew was short-lived—he was soon assassinated. Joanna, suspected of involvement in the conspiracy, faced the wrath of her brother-in-law, Louis, King of Hungary. She later married another relative, Louis of Taranto, the second of her four husbands. Louis took the reins of power and revealed a darker, more tyrannical side to his personality. According to a chronicler of the time, he treated Joanna more as a slave than as a wife.  Louis’s death in 1362 was likely a relief for Joanna, marking the beginning of the brightest years of her reign. After enduring the darkest times—the years of the Black Death (1347–1352), known as the greatest pandemic in history, the need to flee from advancing enemies, and her third, equally ill-fated marriage to James of Majorca—Joanna eventually married her fourth husband, Otto of Brunswick-Grubenhagen.   Finally freed from turmoil, Joanna was able to focus on effective governance, charitable works, and the construction of churches and hospitals, ushering in a golden era of her rule.

Joanna I of Anjou financed the construction of the Certosa di San Martino, built on the Vomero hill and completed in 1367–68. Shortly after, she conceived the idea of building a place to symbolize the sacredness of her mission: the Church of the Incoronata. The church’s frescoes, attributed to Roberto d’Oderisio, particularly those in the central nave depicting the Sacraments, celebrated an initiative of great political and social, as well as artistic, significance—continuing the tradition of Giotto’s work in Naples a few decades earlier.  The devotional and charitable aspect was also significant. The church was, in fact, a combined church and hospital, which had the honor of housing an important relic donated by Saint Louis of France: a thorn from Christ’s crown, brought from the repository of the Sainte-Chapelle in Paris. This relic gave the church the traditional Neapolitan name Spinacorona. Joanna, whose mother had died in Bari during a pilgrimage, was deeply pious and carried the title Queen of Jerusalem with pride, embodying her role as a queen of her time.

On the political front, Joanna was the principal ally of the Holy See, which at the time was based in Avignon (in southern France), in defending the Papal States against threats from Italian enemies, particularly Milan and Florence. Moreover, Joanna actively supported the return of the papacy to Italy, though she herself sought to establish the papal curia in Naples rather than Rome.  In recognition of her efforts, Pope Urban V awarded her the Golden Rose in 1368, a special distinction granted by the popes to sovereigns. To align with the wishes of the pontiffs, Joanna also conducted negotiations for a truce with the Aragonese in Sicily, which culminated in the Treaty of Avignon in 1372.

Joanna reigned for thirty-eight long years, marked by renewed complexities beginning in 1378 due to the political and ecclesiastical turmoil caused by the Western Schism. This division, which lasted until 1417, split the Church between Rome and Avignon. After the death of Pope Gregory XI, two popes were elected under different circumstances.  After some hesitation, Joanna sided with the French pope, Clement VII, who went down in history as an "antipope." Pope Urban VI, who ultimately emerged as the victor in the conflict, accused Joanna of heresy, stripping her of the throne of Naples in favor of her nephew, Charles of Durazzo.  Charles exiled the deposed queen, later had her assassinated in the Castle of Muro Lucano, and even denied her a Christian burial.

On these foundations, the posthumous chapter of Joanna’s biography unfolded, marked by a “malafama” (bad reputation) that ultimately overshadowed her legacy. Through a misogynistic lens, Joanna was depicted as a woman of limited education, especially when compared to her grandfather, Robert, known as “the Wise.” Even worse in that perspective, she was portrayed as dissolute, lustful, and promiscuous. Landmarks such as the Bagni della Regina Giovanna [the Queen Joanna Baths], a famous beach near Sorrento, and the Palazzo Donn’Anna in Posillipo, one of the most picturesque spots in Naples, were identified as backdrops for her alleged amorous escapades. Her tarnished reputation even extended to her namesake, Joanna II of Anjou-Durazzo (1371–1435), who also faced dynastic turmoil, fraught relations with the papacy, and ill-fated marriages. Wild tales emerged, including the infamous legend of a crocodile dwelling in the moat of the Maschio Angioino [the Angevin Castle], said to feed on the lovers Joanna supposedly discarded. In this climate of damnatio memoriae, it mattered little whether the stories referred to the first or the second Joanna. In popular tradition, the phrase “sei peggio della regina Giovanna” (“you’re worse than Queen Joanna!”) became—and remains—a dismissive expression of scorn.

Yet, during the reigns of the two Joannas, Naples, having overcome a prolonged crisis, emerged as a key commercial hub for the Mediterranean economy. The city distinguished itself from other southern Italian cities, consolidating its position as the undisputed capital, aided by significant demographic growth.

Naples also became a major cultural center. Giovanni Boccaccio, whom Joanna I welcomed as a friend to her court, dedicated his work on illustrious women (De mulieribus claris) to the first reigning queen of Naples, including a biographical profile of the Angevin queen in its pages.

As for the second Joanna, we owe her the completion, in monumental style, of the Church of San Giovanni a Carbonara—featuring the tomb of Ladislaus and the Caracciolo del Sole Chapel. This church, one of the most underrated yet undoubtedly among the most beautiful in all of Italy, stands as a testament to her legacy.

by Giuseppe Perta
Professor of Medieval History, University of Naples Suor Orsola Benincasa