They Would Fain Have
Roasted The Whole Heretical Island, But The Memory Of The Armada Was
Fresh In Men's Minds, And The Great Philip Was Dead.
There were not
enough heretics in Spain to make it worth while to waste time in hunting
them.
Philip could say as Narvaez, on his death-bed, said to his
confessor who urged him to forgive his enemies, "Bless your heart, I
have none. I have killed them all." To ease their pious hearts, they
formed confraternities all over Spain, for the worship of the Host. They
called themselves "Unworthy Slaves of the Most Holy Sacrament." These
grew at once very popular in all classes. Artisans rushed in, and wasted
half their working days in processions and meetings. The severe Suarez
de Figueroa speaks savagely of the crowd of Narcissuses and petits
maitres (a word which is delicious in its Spanish dress of petimetres)
who entered the congregations simply to flutter about the processions in
brave raiment, to be admired of the multitude. But there were other more
serious members, - the politicians who joined to stand well with the
bigot court, and the devout believers who found comfort and edification
in worship. Of this latter class was Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, who
joined the brotherhood in the street of the Olivar in 1609. He was now
sixty-two years old, and somewhat infirm, - a time, as he said, when a
man's salvation is no joke. From this period to the day of his death he
seemed to be laboring, after the fashion of the age, to fortify his
standing in the other world.
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