[Note 6], Page 22.
And, forcing way into the Vatican. The event here alluded to is the fearful sack of Rome, in 1527, perpetrated by a portion of the army of Charles V. under the command of the Constable de Bourbon, when the Pope took refuge, and was besieged, in the castle of St. Angelo. The "Pilot of the Sacred Bark" was Clement VII.
[Note 7], Page 23.
The great Albano he. This is a poetical name for Fernando Alvarez de Toledo, the Duke of Alva, who was famous for many things and infamous for more. The exploit referred to is the siege of Rome by Alva, after the battle of St. Quentin, 1557, when the French, who were allies of Pope Paul IV. against the Spaniards, had to leave Italy to save their own capital and country. In the time of Cervantes, no doubt, this siege was looked upon with pride as a "brandishing of the Spanish knife above the Roman neck," but in the light of history we see nothing more than a mock siege, a mock defence, and a mock withdrawal. Alva's hands were thoroughly fettered by his devout master, Philip II., who feared to humiliate the Pope too much, lest he should lose his title of "Most Catholic Majesty." This event is narrated with sarcastic brevity by Motley in the third book of his "History of the Netherlands."
[Note 8], Page 23.
The second Philip, second yet to none. No doubt Philip II., at this period, had more power in his hand than had ever been held by a purely Spanish king. Motley, in his characteristic way, thus sums up his many titles: "He was king of all the Spanish kingdoms, and of both the Sicilies. He was titular king of England, France, and Jerusalem. He was 'Absolute Dominator' in Asia, Africa, and America. He was Duke of Milan, and both the Burgundies, and Hereditary Sovereign of the Seventeen Netherlands." To all this mighty inheritance he himself added the crown of Portugal. Cervantes took a part, maimed as he was, in this conquest, and it is, therefore, with legitimate pride that he speaks of the "Lusitanian banner that had been knit anew to the stately robes of Castile." Sixty years, however, sufficed to tear it asunder again. What Cervantes thought of Philip as a man and a ruler we can only conjecture. Twelve years after, in 1598, when the life of this monster of cruel bigotry had come to an end, and pompous funeral rites were everywhere being celebrated, we find Cervantes standing in the cathedral of Seville gazing on the astounding catafalque raised in honour of the deceased, and reciting with a roguish air that famous sonnet of his, beginning, "I vow to God this grandeur stuns my brain!" This sonnet, which Cervantes prized as the prime honour of his writings (honra principal de mis escritos), and which his countrymen regard as a model of exquisite raillery, was certainly not intended to do honour to the dead. Philip was no friend of poets, players, or outspoken thinkers, and literature breathed again when he expired. For a translation of the sonnet, see Gibson's translation of the "Journey to Parnassus," p. 375.
[Note 9], Page 51.
The Body. Ticknor, who is certainly not over-lavish at any time in his praise of Cervantes, declares that the incantations of Marquino surpass in dignity those of the Faustus of Marlowe, who was a contemporary of Cervantes. He also affirms, that not even Shakespeare, when he presents on the stage the armed head raised up, under constraint, to reply to the criminal enquiries of Macbeth, excites so much our sympathy and horror as does Cervantes with that tormented spirit, which returns to life only to suffer a second time the pangs of dissolution and death. We give here the original of the speech of the resuscitated corpse, which Bouterwek describes as terrific:—
EL CUERPO.
Cese la furia del rigor violento