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Four venturies unroll to provide a political pantomine of the moment. Spain has asked the Government of Mexico for the bones of Hernando Cortex. The conqueror of Peru and Mexico, arch-slave driver, arch-adventurer, first buried near Seville, was removed later, according to a wish he had expressed, across the Atlantic. He was laid near the scenes of his crassest cruelty; and has lain there until history and romance have bleached his fame, torn off the invincible armor, and have feigned, at least, to see "stout Cortez", "silent, upon a peak in Darien."
So Spain, bereft of the empire he conquered, requests the remains of the hero. But this takes the story into the realms of absurdity and intrigue, in the first place, it is not at all certain where Cortex was buried. In the second place, Mexico, for sentimental reason as well as others, does not wish to give him up; lastly it is claimed that the gentleman was not a Spaniard but an Italian. The last claim brings the Italian nobility on the stage.
Despite this clatter, one cannot help but marvel at the post-mortem influence of the explorer. Family, nation, and the land of his adventure, not to mention the ghosts of terror and the voices of romance, awake to settle the disposition of his dust. The whole matter is trivial, but for those who are inclined to be dreamy and sentimental--which includes the whole world for moments at a time this fame and fortune of a braggard, which transcends our centuries, has a glory and scope fraught with opportunity for golden musing. Idle it is, but pleasant.
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