It had been Don John’s dying request to Philip that his remains might be buried in the Escorial by the side of his imperial father, and the prayer being granted, the royal order in due time arrived for the transportation of the corpse to Spain.  Permission had been asked and given for the passage of a small number of Spanish troops through France.  The thrifty king had, however, made no allusion to the fact that those soldiers were to bear with them the mortal remains of Lepanto’s hero, for he was disposed to save the expense which a public transportation of the body and the exchange of pompous courtesies with the authorities of every town upon the long journey would occasion.  The corpse was accordingly divided into three parts, and packed in three separate bags; and thus the different portions, to save weight, being suspended at the saddle-bows of different troopers, the body of the conqueror was conveyed to its distant resting-place.

“Expende Hannibalem:  quot libras in duce summo
Invenies?”. . . . . . . . . .

Thus irreverently, almost blasphemously, the disjointed relics of the great warrior were hurried through France; France, which the romantic Saracen slave had traversed but two short years before, filled with high hopes, and pursuing extravagant visions.  It has been recorded by classic historians, that the different fragments, after their arrival in Spain, were re-united, and fastened together with wire; that the body was then stuffed, attired in magnificent habiliments, placed upon its feet, and supported by a martial staff, and that thus prepared for a royal interview, the mortal remains of Don John were presented to his Most Catholic Majesty.  Philip is said to have manifested emotion at sight of the hideous spectre—­for hideous and spectral, despite of jewels, balsams, and brocades, must have been that unburied corpse, aping life in attitude and vestment, but standing there only to assert its privilege of descending into the tomb.  The claim was granted, and Don John of Austria at last found repose by the side of his imperial father.

A sufficient estimate of his character has been apparent in the course of the narrative.  Dying before he had quite completed his thirty-third year, he excites pity and admiration almost as much as censure.  His military career was a blaze of glory.  Commanding in the Moorish wars at twenty-three, and in the Turkish campaigns at twenty-six, he had achieved a matchless renown before he had emerged from early youth; but his sun was destined to go down at noon.  He found neither splendor nor power in the Netherlands, where he was deserted by his king and crushed by the superior genius of the Prince of Orange.  Although he vindicated his martial skill at Gemblours, the victory was fruitless.  It was but the solitary sprig of the tiger from his jungle, and after that striking conflict his life was ended in darkness and obscurity.  Possessing military genius of a high order, with extraordinary