THE POISONED HOST / WAFER (OSCAR WILDE)

None of the royal family of Spain (the Habsburgs or "Austrias") had entered the great cathedral of Saragossa since a mad priest, supposed by many to have been in the pay of Elizabeth of England, had tried to administer a poisoned wafer to the Prince of Asturias.

OSCAR WILDE

En realidad ningún miembro de la real familia de España (los Austrias o Habsburgo) había entrado a la catedral de Zaragoza desde que un cura loco, que muchos suponían pagado por Isabel de Inglaterra, había tratado de hacer tragar una hostia envenenada al príncipe de Asturias.

TRADUCCIÓN OFICIAL

This Oscar Wilde sentence sets my creative juices flowing. The Prince of Asturias (Crown Prince) at the time was Don Carlos, immortalised by Romanticism and by the opera by Giuseppe Verdi, known to be a sensitive boy with daddy issues, who died young, a violent death, and an odd duck among the Spanish Habsburgs: the perfect topic for Romantic literature and for Verdian opera. Surely Oscar Wilde knew of Don Carlos (and of Good Queen Bess), but did this happen in real life or is this only a legend?

This sounds like a great idea for a fanfic, or for a thriller (literary or cinematic, or both). Wilde implied that Don Carlos did not consume the poisoned host, but what if he did? Would it have affected the Crown Prince's mental health? And was the poisoner really a Catholic priest, or one of Queen Bess' many secret agents? Did they catch him, was he tortured and executed?... Or did he return home in the end? So many questions...

I have Googled "don Carlos hostia envenenada Zaragoza" - no replies. This is either something Oscar Wilde has fabricated or a real legend from the days of the Spanish Habsburgs. Most likely the latter. Still it would be lovely to write a novel or a fanfic, or to draw a manga, about this. There are already a few novels, an arc in The Serpent Queen, and fanfics (most of those I know, by Yours Truly), about Dauphin Francis and Sebastian di Montecuccoli... The poisoning of a young crown prince leaves no one indifferent!

EL LADO OSCURO DE LAS CANCIONES INFANTILES

 Ah, las canciones infantiles. Las que nos cantaban nuestras madres, tías, abuelas y/o maestras de parvulario. Qué recuerdos nos despiertan... Bien, bien, bien... ¿y si os dijera que algunas de estas cancioncillas tienen un origen más bien siniestro? He aquí cuatro populares canciones infantiles que llegaron a este país de Sagitario traducidas del francés, y cuya versión original es mucho más oscura y violenta que las que se transmiten de boca a oreja en las nurseries españolas:

1. Le petit navire / El barquito chiquitito

"Il était un petit navire,

Il était un petit navire..."

"Había una vez

un barquito chiquitito..."

Para quien no se acuerde: trata de este barquito que hace un viaje de varias semanas y, ¿cómo no?, se acaban los víveres a bordo. Tras dar cuenta del gato de a bordo y de las ratas de las que éste se alimentaba (ésto no sale en la letra, pero lo intuyo), la tripulación se ve obligada a comerse sus botines con salsa roja, roja, roja y a la nuez, lo cual les mantiene vivos y en pie hasta que llegan a puerto. Esto en la versión española. En la original francesa, toman medidas más drásticas que alimentarse de su calzado: echan a suertes a ver quién saca la pajita de trigo más corta para matar y comerse al desgraciado que la saque. Como lo oyes, recurren al canibalismo. Y, ¿quién será ese pobre pecador que saca la pajita más corta? Pues el grumete, el tripulante más joven de todos, que sólo es un niño pequeño. Para más inri, tienen varias salsas a bordo (les quedarán después de haberse zampado al gato y a las ratas), y el capitán y los oficiales discuten sobre con qué salsa servir la carne del muchacho, del que no dejarán ni el pompón rojo del gorro. Tienen a un grumete por degollar y uno quiere hacerlo con salsa termidor, otro con salsa Robert y un tercero en fricassé. Se están muriendo de inanición pero son franceses, al fin y al cabo. ¿Y el chico? Viéndose en tal situación y desesperado, recuerda que es ferviente católico y reza: "Santa María, Estrella de los Mares, ten piedad..." Y le pide al capitán, por último deseo, que hagan una última pesca antes de matarle y devorarle. Todos echan las cañas por la borda y sacan unos bacalaos así de grandes, lo cual les mantiene vivos y en pie hasta que llegan a puerto, y le salva la vida al renacuajo del grumete, que no merecía morir tan joven. Si no fuera por la Virgen... El final feliz religioso es un poco forzado como lección de fe, con su virgo ex machina que recuerda en cierto modo a Atenea en Las Euménides, pero lo que sucede antes es fortísimo e inspirado en hechos reales, como el canibalismo entre los supervivientes tras el naufragio de un barco llamado Méduse, hecho que inspiró el famoso cuadro La balsa de la Medusa que se ha parodiado hasta la saciedad en el cómic francobelga.

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2. Il était une bergère / Estaba una pastora

"Il était une bergère

et ron, et ron, petit Patapon..."

"Estaba una pastora,

laray, laray, larito..."

La pastora tiene un gatito que juega con los quesitos que ella ha hecho con la leche de su rebaño, tanto en la versión española como en la francesa. Ella, cómo no, se enfada, saca su cuchillo, y corre la sangre de su mascota. En la versión castellana, la pastora le corta el rabito. En la francesa, el gato, que se llama "le petit Patapon" como narra el estribillo, paga sus travesuras con la vida. La canción acaba así, con la pastora que mata a su gatito, que, en mi humilde opinión, no merecía morir. Los mininos pueden ser muy traviesos: mis propias mascotas bigotudas me han hecho bastantes barrabasadas, me han roto objetos frágiles (lo más parecido a arruinarme un quesito), pero nunca he derramado ni gota de su sangre: lo único que les he hecho ha sido sonarles el ano. Nuestra pastora debería de haber estado muy furiosa y haberse tomado muy a pecho lo de los quesitos... y debería de haber estado muy arrepentida tras haber acabado con su querido Patapon en la versión francesa. Algunas ilustraciones francesas la muestran acunándolo y llorando como una magdalena, en plan Piedad vaticana. Al menos el minino en la versión española simplemente se queda o colicorto o castrado, dependiendo de cómo interpretes la palabra "rabito". No sé cuál de las tres canciones es más fuerte, si la pastora, el barquito chiquitito o ésta que viene a continuación:

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3. Malbrough s'en va-t'en guerre / Mambrú se fue a la guerra

"Malbrough s'en va-t'en guerre,

mironton, mironton, mirontaine..."

"Mambrú se fue a la guerra,

mire usted, mire usted qué pena..."

Versión española: Mambrú, un líder militar por lo que parece, se va a la guerra y su esposa le espera en su castillo. No sabe si volverá por Pascuas o para Navidad, pero, como no se presenta ni para las fiestas invernales, ella sigue esperándole como buena damisela. Aquí se trunca la versión española, pero la versión francesa continúa. Ella sube a la torre más alta para otear el horizonte y ve que viene del frente un paje mensajero. Éste le cuenta lo peor que puede sucederle: que su marido ha muerto en combate y que ha visto cuatro oficiales llevando sus armas. Y que ha visto incluso a su fantasma aparecer entre los laureles. También describe cómo se celebró la misa de réquiem y cómo cada uno volvió a su hogar tras ella. La canción concluye con una nota ligeramente esperanzadora, pero aún así es bastante siniestra... estar esperando a tu esposo durante prácticamente un año y luego que venga un mensajero del frente y te diga que ha muerto en combate tu esposo el líder militar... Lo interesante es que María Antonieta ayudó a popularizar esta canción, junto con sus niñeras la cantaban mucho a los hijos de María Antonieta, Teresita y Luisito: la canción se propagó por todo Versalles, de allí a París, de allí a las provincias de Francia, de allá por toda Europa... Mambrú se volvió un fenómeno viral, y hubo una década en que llegó a eclipsar a Mozart en cuanto a popularidad. Así fue como llegó a España. Pero lo interesante es que la canción es una fantasía de poder de los franceses, que María Antonieta había aprendido de las niñeras de Versalles. Ella era hija de la emperatriz de Austria, que la había casado con la realeza francesa por poderes, para fomentar una alianza contra los prusianos. Austria y Francia habían estado enemistadas tiempo atrás... y el duque de "Mambrú", el duque de Marlborough originalmente, no había muerto en combate, sino que había muerto de viejo, y había tenido una vida larga y madura. Había sido un general británico al servicio de los Habsburgo de Austria, la familia materna de María Antonieta. Qué curioso... En resumen, la canción era una fantasía de poder y una ucronía que describía cómo les hubiera gustado a los franceses del XVIII que hubieran sido las cosas unas décadas antes...

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4. Jean Petit qui danse / El Joan Petit quan balla

(esta está en valenciano / catalán pero aún así la ponemos porque tiene un origen francés e igual de oscuro)

"Jean Petit qui danse,

Jean Petit qui danse,

Jean Petit qui danse,

danse de son doigt,

de son doigt, doigt, doigt...

(de sa main, main, main,

de son coude, coude, coude, etc.)"

"El Joan Petit quan balla,

balla, balla, balla,

el Joan Petit quan balla,

balla amb el dit,

amb el dit, dit, dit,

(amb la mà, mà, mà,

amb el colze, colze, colze, etc.)"

Y ustedes dirán, es una hermosa coreografía para enseñar las partes del cuerpo a los más pequeños. Eso es lo que parece, pero el origen también es bastante oscuro. Remontémonos a Occitania, región francesa cercana a los Países Catalanes y donde aún hay gente que habla un dialecto del catalán, en el siglo XVII, en plena Guerra de los Treinta Años. Por aquella época, como protesta contra los abusos de los poderosos de turno, hubo una revuelta popular liderada por un artesano llamado Jean Petit, Joan Petit en catalán occitano. La revuelta fue reprimida con violencia, y su desgraciado líder, ejecutado mediante el suplicio de la rueda. Ataron a Jean Petit a una gran rueda de madera y le rompieron todas las articulaciones a martillazos mientras la rueda daba vueltas y vueltas. Así que cuando Joan Petit "balla amb el dit, dit, dit, amb la mà, mà, mà, amb el colze, colze, colze..." es que le han roto esas articulaciones y se mueven al compás de las vueltas de la rueda.

MÁRIA TERÉZIA ÉS A MAGYAROK

 Mária Terézia és Ferenc István

Az Eszterházy-testvérek

Mária Teréziának 16 gyermeke született

 

If we had to rank the Habsburgs, Reserl would probably be in my top picks. Here's a strong female who did a lot during her reign. A loving consort, sixteen children, and marriages of state left and right to secure alliances against Prussia.
Also, aside from all that female agency and matchmaking... for backing off from Austrocentrism.
In particular, the Magyars think of Mária Terézia as a role model (her consort, Ferenc István, is lesser known but nevertheless relevant to them). As I have read in a series of Victorian historical tales:

After a march of some days, they reached Pressburg, our days' Bratislava, then the capital of Hungary, and were welcomed in person by the Queen, who, alarmed by the danger impending over her kingdom, hastened to solicit the aid of her Hungarian subjects.

Mrs. Jameson, a distinguished English writer, has given so fine and graphic a description of Maria Theresa's appearance before the Hungarian chiefs, that I am tempted to transcribe the whole passage. She writes thus :—

"Who has not read of the scene which ensued, which has so often been related, so often described? and yet we all feel that we cannot hear of it too often. When we first meet with it on the page of history, we are taken by surprise, as though it had no business there : it has the glory and the freshness of old romance. Poetry never invented any thing half so striking, or that so completely fills the imagination.

"The Hungarians had been oppressed, enslaved, insulted by Maria Theresa's predecessors. In the beginning of her reign, she had abandoned the usurpations of her ancestors, and had voluntarily taken the oath to preserve all their privileges entire. This was partly from policy, but it was also partly from her own just and kind nature. The hearts of the Hungarians were already half won, when she arrived at Pressburg, in June 1741. She was crowned Queen of Hungary on the 13th, with the peculiar national ceremonies: the iron crown of St. Stephen was placed on her head, the tattered but sacred robe thrown over her own rich habit, which was incrusted with gems; his scimitar girded to her side. Thus attired, and mounted upon a superb charger, she rode up the Royal Mount, a rising ground near Pressburg, so called from being consecrated to this ceremony, and, according to the antique custom, drew her sabre, and defied the four quarters of the world, in a manner, that showed she had no occasion for that weapon t& conquer all who saw her. The crown of St. Stephen, which had never before been placed on so small or so lovely a head, had been lined with cushions to make it fit; it was also very heavy, and its weight, added to the heat of the weather, incommoded her; when she sat down to dinner in the great hall of the castle, she expressed a wish to lay it aside. On lifting the diadem from her brow, her hair, loosened from confinement, fell down in luxuriant ringlets over her neck and shoulders; the glow which the heat and emotion had diffused over her complexion added to her natural beauty, and the assembled nobles, struck with admiration, could scarce forbear from shouting their applause.

"The effect which her youthful grace and loveliness produced on this occasion had not yet subsided, when she called together the Diet, or Senate of Hungary, in order to lay before them the situation of her affairs. She entered the hall of the castle, habited in the Hungarian costume, but still in deep mourning for her father, the late Kaiser Charles; she traversed the apartment with a slow and majestic step, and ascended the throne, where she stood for a few minutes silent. The Chancellor of the State first explained the situation to which she was reduced, and then the Queen, coming forward, addressed the assembly in Latin, a language which she spoke fluently, and which is still in common use among the Hungarians.

 

"' The disastrous state of our affairs,' said she, 'has moved us to lay before our dear and faithful states of Hungary, the recent invasion of Austria, the danger now impending over this kingdom, and propose to them the consideration of a remedy. The very existence of the kingdom of Hungary, of our own person, of our crown, is now at stake, and, forsaken by all, we place our sole hope in the fidelity, arms, and long-tried valor of the Hungarians.'

"She pronounced these simple words in a firm, but melancholy tone. Her beauty, her magnanimity, and her distress, roused the Hungarian chiefs to the wildest pitch of enthusiasm : they drew their sabres half out of the scabbard, then flung them back to the hilt, with a martial sound, which re-echoed through the lofty hall, and exclaimed, with one accord, ' Our swords and our blood for your Majesty—we will die for our King, Maria Theresa!' Overcome by sudden emotion, she burst into a flood of tears. At this sight, the nobles became almost frantic with enthusiasm. They retired from her presence, to vote supplies of men and money, which far exceeded her expectations."

Ulrich was a witness to this glorious scene, and his valor was so much aroused by the youth and loveliness of his beloved Queen, that he felt impatient to advance and seal his devotion on the field of battle.

And I imagine those fierce, moustachioed Magyars saw the Virgin and her Child in the blond, blue-eyed, lilywhite Queen with little Crown Prince Joseph in her arms. At the time, Ferenc István was left in Vienna, heartfully sitting the two elder girls (the couple had so far had but three kids, and she left for Pressburg, and was crowned and they swore allegiance to her, when she was not only mourning her father... but also recovering from having given birth to a male heir!).

THE PATRIOT'S TRIAL

Today the Myths and Legends podcast did the William Tell legend. Their version was neither too good nor too bad.
I've seen better ones, in particular this Victorian version, with its Kirsch-sipping Gessler yearning back to the Court at Vienna while ensuring that the rebel scum bend the knee before the Puffy, Floppy, Velvety Hat of his rule as Lord Governor. Long story short, something like in between Tywin Lannister and Stavro Blofeld, or Scaramanga, or (insert James Bond villain leader here).
I have secularised the tale as much as I could, and also modernised the Victorian-era spelling and lexicon a little, as well as updating the place names to Germanic spelling:


THE PATRIOT'S TRIAL.

A SWISS TALE.

The morning sun shone brightly on the little hamlet of Bürglen, where a scene of unusual bustle told that its humble inhabitants were preparing for their regular market-day, at the beautiful village of Altdorf, a few leagues distant.

All was seeming happiness before one cottage door, somewhat remote from the rest, and whose picturesque situation might have furnished a fit subject for the Romantic painter. Its heavy roof hung over a sloping valley, covered with the greenest turf, which was kept continually fresh by a tiny cascade, that, breaking from a neighboring mountain, leaped merrily down its side, and made a perfect chorus of music ere it reached the base. Patches of snow still lingered beneath the dense foliage of the walnut-trees, which formed an amphitheatre around the hamlet; but these remnants of winter only served to afford pastime to two rosy-cheeked girls, who, clad in the gay Swiss costume, a bright crimson bodice, white sleeves, and party-colored petticoats, bounded like young chamois from one slippery ledge to another, and laughed gayly, when the fragile balls powdered their clothes, as if with diamonds. A boy of about eight years of age was milking the cows in a small meadow, green as an emerald with clover; while, from the interior of the cottage, his younger brother bore jars of honey, fragrant with the perfume of a thousand Alpine flowers ; huge cheeses, formed from a mixture of ewe's and cow's milk, possessing a peculiar yet not unpleasant flavor, and flasks of walnut-oil; all which were transferred by his father to large baskets, hanging on either side of a patient mule, that cropped the wild thyme within reach, but, with a most self-denying docility, remained perfectly motionless, although large patches of the fragrant herb grew but a few paces further. The wife of William Tell, for the industrious peasant was, in fact, the future deliverer of Switzerland, sat on a rude stone bench at the casement, singing, in shrill tones, the national song of the Ranz des Vaches, to the tottering child who climbed her knee; while at the same time she contrived to ply, with busy fingers, the plaited straw which she was forming into a broad-brimmed hat, such as is universally worn by the Swiss peasants.

At length all the baskets were laden, and, tossing the infant high in air, he returned it with a kiss and farewell to his wife, and was soon lost in a dark recess of the woods, through which the well-trained mule was accustomed to travel so regularly, that he scarcely waited his master's bidding.

Tell rapidly pursued his way through the dense pine forest, along a path bordered with the glowing festoons of wildflowers, nor stopped for breath, until a sudden gap in the woods revealed the small lake of Lucerne, still and shadowy in the morning twilight, and forming a transparent mirror to the mountain barrier, that seemed to prison it, as it were, from the world without.

The Swiss are devotedly attached to their country, with its bold and stupendous scenery; and,as the peasant breathed the cool air of the lake, some sudden emotion of patriotism was stirred within him, and he half said, half muttered, "'Tis too fair a land for the abode of a tyrant!" Then, with a deep sigh, he urged on his mule, and in a few moments stood within the marketplace of Altdorf.

Before Switzerland obtained that liberty, by force of arms, which it has ever since so nobly sustained, the command of Altdorf with the surrounding hamlets, of all four cantons around the lake, was intrusted to an Austrian Governor, by the name of Gessler, who, abusing his power, gave way to the greatest tyranny. He was influenced alone by self-interest or caprice; judgements were granted the highest bidder; the innocent were wronged; the ministers of the tyrant were allowed every excess, and secret murmurings might be heard in many an abode of the simple, yet brave-hearted peasants. 

Since Tell last visited Altdorf, an event had occurred, which served to show the mean spirit of the Governor. At his command, a tall pole, surmounted by a floppy, plumed crimson velvet hat, the Governor's own favourite headcover, was placed in the middle of the marketplace, and whoever neglected bowing to this, as he passed, was sentenced to death, as having offered personal insult to Gessler.

The industrious Tell arrived before any of his neighbours, and carelessly passing the pole, which he stopped to examine through curiosity, he soon reached his usual stand; and before many sellers appeared, his stock was arranged to the best advantage, and he stood, waiting patiently for customers, while he picked wool, from a small quantity stowed away in a basket, to prevent the necessity of idleness.

But the good peasant's unintentional breach of laws did not pass unobserved. A servant, in the Governor's interests, gave notice of the offence, and while Tell was settling the price of a flask of cold-drawn walnut-oil with a buyer, his arms were pinioned from behind, a guard of soldiers surrounded him, and he was rudely dragged through the principal street, to a heavy stone building, which was the Governor's residence. The culprit entered fearlessly, and slightly raising his hat, stood, as if too proud to ask the reason of his arrest.

"Rebel!" cried Gessler, regarding him fiercely, "and is it thus that you obey the laws? Do you dare to slight my power? Ah! now you are mine, and bitterly shall you repent of your audacity." Astonished at these threats, but in no way alarmed, since conscious of no crime, William Tell frankly inquired of what he was accused A smile flitted over his face when he learned the cause, but with dignity he assured the tyrant, that he now for the first time heard of the edict, adding, with rustic simplicity, "Who ever dreamed that it was necessary to bid good-morning to a hat, or suspected that such neglect would be counted an offence against royalty?"

The fury of the savage Gessler was increased by the seeming fearlessness of the prisoner; and turning with flashing eyes to the guard, he bade them seize the peasant, load him with chains, and confine him in the dungeon's darkest cell. Then turning to a stone table, on which stood a goblet, filled with the far-famed Kirschwasser, a drink much esteemed by all ranks in Switzerland, he took a long draught of the intoxicating liquor, and then sat down to meditate on some new and refined mode of punishment for his victim.

In the mean while, Tell's friends collected in groups about the village, eager to devise some means for his escape; but the vigilance of the soldiers completely baffled every plan. At length, an old peasant, who had accidentally conferred some favors on the tyrant, pressed boldly into his presence, and after regretting Tell's unintentional neglect, added, that although he had transgressed the laws, it would seem almost a pity to take away the life of one, who was esteemed the best crossbow-man in the canton.

"Well spoken !" said the Governor, as if struck with a sudden thought; "we will have proof of his skill. His life is safe, if he should succeed; but if he fails, let no one further attempt to plead his cause." Then, with a dark and ominous smile, he turned to an attendant, bidding him hasten to Bürglen, and speedily bring Rudolph, Tell's eldest son, a brave and lovely boy, who promised to be the comfort of his father's life.

The unwilling messenger departed, and meeting the child, as he gathered wild strawberries from the mountain-side, he tempted him to mount before him, and, unknown to his mother, bore him rapidly to the village.

About midday, the prison-door was thrown open, and the unhappy Tell was led between two soldiers to the marketplace, where low murmurings and excited glances showed that something extraordinary had happened. Judge of the fond father's horror, when, on raising his eyes from the ground, they rested on the pale face of his Rudolph, who, bound hand and foot to the pole, had wearied himself with weeping; and now, that he caught sight of his parent, exclaimed, with sobs, "Father! dear father! save me! take me away from here!"

The cruel Gessler now advanced, and bidding Tell make ready his bow and arrow, placed an apple on the child's head, saying, " Your life is safe if you strike this off; but in the event of your missing the apple, or killing the child, your existence must pay the forfeit."

Tell shuddered at the dreadful proposal, and passionately besought him to revoke the sentence or substitute some other form of punishment. A thousand dark thoughts passed through his mind as he knelt at Gessler's feet, and pleaded for mercy. On the one hand, he saw his beautiful boy, swimming in his own blood, and looking reproachfully on him, as he struggled in the agonies of death; or else his delicate wife and young children rose before him, drooping with want and sorrow, and persecuted in every way by the wicked Governor. While lost in this most agonizing uncertainty, a soothing voice breathed this blessed thought into his mind : "You will succeed!" It was a whisper from his own heart, and it calmed the tumult of his soul, even as when the heavenly voice said, "Peace! be still!" to the dark waters of the stormy lake and the roaring winds above.

William Tell fell on his knees, and throwing his arms to heaven, exclaimed, "Lord of Mercy! Lord of Justice! guide the arrow, and save the boy!" Then kissing Rudolph fervently, he whispered something in his ear, and rising with a firm and composed step, cried, "Now, tyrant, I am ready; here is my bow and arrow." Gessler laughed with joy, as he gave the bloody signal, while groans of horror and loud imprecations broke from all assembled in the marketplace. Tell seized the bow; notched the arrow; and taking steady aim at the apple, which lay on the head of the now resolute boy, who, with his blue eyes fixed on his father's face, stood erect, yet cold and pale as a marble statue, he drew the cord; the dart whizzed through the air, just parted the child's clustering curls, and, splitting the apple, bore it to the ground.

It was but the work of a moment, but the agony of a long life was endured during that brief space of uncertainty, by the wretched parent. A joyful cry rose on the air, and men who had before stood motionless, and with eyelids closely pressed, now clasped their hands tumultuously, while some of the more excited females burst into tears.

Tell staggered as if struck with sudden blindness, or as if existence had passed away with the shot; but the exulting shout recalled his senses, and, rushing forward, he clasped the almost fainting Rudolph to his breast, and in broken accents returned thanks to Heaven for his preservation.

But new trials yet awaited the much-injured bowman. Gessler's quick eye detected another arrow, which lay half concealed in Tell's girdle; and while hidden rage distorted every feature, he assumed a courteous manner; congratulated the peasant on this fresh proof of his skill, which he had just exhibited; declared that his honor was perfectly appeased, and then coolly added, "Pray tell me, for what purpose have you concealed the shaft, which now peers from your girdle?"

Tell colored high, as he answered, that it was a custom, among the cross-bowmen of his canton, always to have an arrow in reserve.

"No, friend," replied the Governor, with a deceitful smile, "you wish to hide your motive from me. Speak frankly, and your life is spared; but dissemble and you shall die."

"Since you command, I will tell you plainly," returned William Tell. "Had I destroyed my son with yonder dart, this, which you now see, would have avenged his death by—"

"Mine ?" shouted the infuriated Gessler.

"Yes!" the prisoner calmly replied, "I intended to avenge his death by thine. Thy name is carved upon this shaft, meant for thy heart."

"Villain !" howled the tyrant, " I promised you your life, and my word shall not fail; but henceforth, I will take care to closet you so closely, that youriow, like yourself, shall ever prove harmless, and where your eyes shall never more be blessed with the light of day.'' And turning to the soldiers, he cried, "Load him anew with chains, and bear him to my boat, which lies idle on the lake, for ere yonder sun sets, the recreant shall be safely lodged in the dampest vault of my castle of Küssnacht." Then, amid the muttered curses of his subjects, who feared to oppose his men-at-arms, the savage Gessler left the marketplace, and, followed by his captive, walked rapidly to the little port of Hülen, which lies on the Lake of Lucerne.

The small vessel was soon made ready, and in the course of a half-hour, Gessler stepped on board, carrying with him the prisoner's crossbow and quiver, probably with the intention of hanging them up, according to religious custom, in some chapel, as a gage of his personal safety.

Tell took his seat in moody silence at a distance, and the oars, brought into full play, bore them rapidly towards the middle of the lake. The day was very beautiful, and the waters glowed like topaz in the sunlight. Not a cloud was visible save one dark mass, that hung its black mantle over some far-off mountain pinnacles, which rose in fantastic shapes, or like spectral forms, high in mid-air, while a transparent veil of vapor hung lightly over the surrounding pine forest.

Suddenly the wind increased; the folded clouds opened their wings, and spread rapidly over the entire blue sky; loud thunder reverberated through the hollow caverns; frequent flashes of lightning succeeded each other, with quick and dazzling brilliancy; the waves dashed wildly against the fragile bark, and the sailors were compelled to strain every nerve, in combat against the force of the united elements. At length, one huge surge came sweeping on so wildly, that the terrified steersman sprang from the helm, and throwing himself at Gessler's feet, declared that they were all lost, unless the prisoner Tell was set at liberty, and allowed to render his powerful assistance.

The passion for life burns strongest in the hearts of the cruel and wicked. A dread of the unknown future haunts them like a dark and angry presence; they have no confidence in safety, and in moments of danger, every unjust deed and every unrepented sin rises up as if in judgement against them.

It was even so with the mean-spirited Governor. He felt that his life was in jeopardy; and, in this time of danger, he was glad to order that the peasant's chains should be thrown aside, and even besought him, in the most servile language, to lend his aid in rescuing him from his present peril.

As his limbs recovered their freedom, Tell leaped boldly to the helm, and guiding the boat, with almost unearthly strength, through the boiling surges, soon reached a narrow pass, where mountains, rising perpendicularly on either side, scarcely offered a platform on which a human foot might stand. But the brave peasant felt that this was his only chance of escape; and, while every eye was directed to the precipice ahead, he seized on the crossbow and quiver, which lay unnoticed at the Governor's feet, and springing on a projecting cliff, he laid hold of the wild shrubs which grew from every crevice, and, with their precarious aid, soon stood at liberty, on the summit of the mountain.

In the mean while, there was sorrow and anxiety in William Tell's cottage. The dinner hour arrived, and Gertrude, his wife, summoned the little group to the frugal board; but when all had assembled, the young Rudolph was not to be found. The meal was finished, and still he did not appear; till, giving the youngest infant in charge to the eldest girl, the anxious mother left the cottage, and hastened in search of the truant boy.

In vain she wandered through the pine forests, alling aloud his name. There was no answer, save the moaning of the distant lake, and the breeze sighing through the thick foliage of the lindens. With fearless footsteps, she crossed the rude high bridge, a huge pine-tree, over the falling torrent; but no Rudolph was to be seen. There was one wild spot among the mountains, where the beautiful Alpine rose flourished abundantly, and whence he often culled a bouquet for his mother. Gertrude hastened thither, looking carefully into every crevice of the surrounding rocks, if, haply, he might have fallen asleep from fatigue ; but no footstep was visible .on the untrodden snow.

"I will seek Father Anselm, and ask his advice," sighed the now wretched mother, as she brushed a big tear from her cheek, and retraced her steps to that part of the hamlet, where the good pastor resided.

Father Anselm's heart was as open as day to melting charity. His ear was ever ready to hear each tale of distress and sorrow, and his voice never failed to speak consolation, and offer assistance.

"Let us walk to Altdorf," the vicar said, when he had heard her story; "who knows but that fearless child may have followed his father's footsteps?"

"Heaven bless you for the thought!" exclaimed Gertrude. "Yet see! the sun is fast declining, and you are too infirm to accompany me. I can well enough go alone." So saying, the grateful mother, with her heart beating high with hope, bade him farewell, and was soon treading the wellknown path which led to the village.

She did not beguile the way with songs and national chants, as she was accustomed to do; but once, when she caught the distant hymn which is sung every evening by the shepherds, among the hills, till it rings from Alp to Alp, as if Nature delighted to echo back, she too joined in the chorus contained in the following spirited and touching lines, which, sung among those grand and stupendous mountains, must indeed awaken a gush of pious joy and gratitude, in the soul of every listener:

"Brothers! the day declines ; above the glacier brightens, 

And red through Hundwyl pines the vesper halo lightens;

 From hamlet, rock, and châlet, your grateful song be pour'd, 

Till mountains, lake, and valley re-echo—Praise the Lord!

"The sun sleeps in the west, the stars gleam bright and cold, 

And bring the hour of rest to the shepherd and his fold; 

Now swell the mountain chorus to the One our sires adored, 

Whose glorious works before us still whisper—Praise the Lord!

"And hark! below, aloft, from cliffs that pierce the cloud, 

From blue lake, calm and soft, lull'd in its twilight shroud, 

Fresh strength our anthem gathers; from Alp to Alp, 'tis pour'd— 

The song that soothed our fathers—Ye shepherds, praise the Lord!

"Now, from forest, flood, and fell, let the voice of old and young, 

All the strength of Appenzell, true of heart and sweet of tongue,

The grateful hymn prolong, and tune the spirit's chord, 

Till yon stars take up our song—Hallelujah to the Lord!"

The village of Altdorf was soon reached, and the first person, whom Gertrude met on entering the street leading to the marketplace, was an old neighbour; and at her side walked the sweet child, who had been the cause of her anxiety. The mother, clasped the boy to her bosom, and tried to mingle severity with her tones of love, as she asked the reason for his thoughtless behavior; but her blood curdled with horror, and her limbs shook even to falling, as the peasant unfolded Rudolph's narrow escape, till, when the old crone stopped for a moment and leaned on her staff, Frau Tell raised her head, looked up into her lad's face, and perceived immediately that the worst was yet to be told.

"Speak! Rudolph, speak!" she shrieked aloud, as she grasped the weeping boy by the arm. "Tell me, where is your father? Why have you left him?"

The child sobbed convulsively, as he told how they had seized his father, and loaded him with heavy chains; but when he saw the deadly paleness of his mother's face, and felt her hand grow cold as marble in his clasp, he clung lovingly around her, exclaiming, " Mother! dear mother! only look up, and I will go myself, and beg the Governor for my poor father's life."

His words fell on a senseless ear, for the shock had been too much for Gertrude's feeble frame, and if it had not been for the support of young Rudolph, she would have fallen to the ground.

At length, she slowly recovered, and rising from his arm, murmured, " Come! my boy; let us go together. He cannot refuse our supplications."

The peasant, knowing that Gessler had accompanied his captive over the lake, sought to dissuade her from her purpose, and soothingly said, "No! friend, lean on me, and let us return to the hamlet. Tomorrow, we will come together; and, I trust, our united efforts may move the hard-hearted Governor."

With these words, the afflicted Gertrude was drawn from the marketplace, and, followed by Rudolph, they retraced their homeward steps.

But now let us go back to Lake Lucerne.

After being blown about for some time, at the mercy of the winds, the boat was at last driven to shore, and the infuriated Governor landed safely, but with every hot feeling of revenge burning fiercer than ever in his bosom. In his anxiety for their fate, Tell hid himself behind a projecting cliff, and watched in silence the progress of the mariners. He was relieved on seeing them land, at a spot about one hundred yards below his hiding-place, and at first purposed to return quietly to the hamlet. But, observing Gessler's furious gestures as he moved onward with his servants, he felt curious to know how he bore the disappointment resulting from the failure of his plan of vengeance, and therefore remained concealed behind a thick mass of the clustering rhododendron.

As they advanced, he was startled to hear his own name, coupled with expressions of the most bitter hatred; and caught the following conversation.

 "Yet surely, my lord, you will not condemn them unheard," said the steersman. "His innocent wife—"

"Ay ! and his young nest of eaglets too," growled the angry Gessler.

"Let me beseech you to spare the poor children," urged the boatman, in reply.

"Not one of them," shouted the Governor. "Tomorrow's sun shall set on a scaffold, heavy with the worthless carcasses of Tell, his pale-faced wife, and every one of his precious children. And thus I will break the neck of every Swiss lout who dares contradict my commands." And as he spoke, a deadly whiteness spread round his mouth, and his keen gray eyes lighted up with a fierce and eager joy, like those of some savage beast, before it pounces on its prey.

"Forgive me, if I err," murmured the excited Tell, as, seizing his bow, he placed an arrow, drew the string, and, in the next moment, struck the savage speaker immediately through the heart. Gessler, clutching the shaft embedded in the left side of his chest, uttered one loud cry of despair, gasping for his last breath, and fell heavily by the road-side, as the Governor's soldiers tried in vain to save him; while the peasant, alarmed by his own act, stopped not to know its results, but sprang from his covert, and, flying rapidly down the road, took the direction leading to the hamlet. He knew, from having partaken in enough hunts, when an animal was mortally wounded. And the Austrian beast, the scourge of the Four Cantons, would never rise again.

Groans and lamentations fell on his ear, as he reached his cottage door; for Gertrude was now giving free vent to her sorrow. As their father entered, the children broke out in exclamations of delighted surprise; and before another moment had elapsed, Tell clasped his weeping but happy wife to his bosom.

The news of the tyrant's death spread like lightning through the hamlet; and as the peasant stood with his family around their frugal board, on which was placed their usual supper of chestnut-cakes and milk, a warm prayer of thanksgiving burst from his lips, and he blessed being made the humble instrument of giving freedom to his unhappy country, and safely restored to his wife and precious children.

"And were they quite happy afterwards ?"

"Yes! beacon-fires were soon lit on the mountains, and one canton after another shook off the yoke of the Austrian oppressors, until, at last, the brave men of Switzerland were as free and independent as the wild chamois, that leap and sport among their snow-crowned hills."

And they all produced the following ballad:

"Unloose me, father! set me free,"

The weeping Rudolph cried,
As, witli vain strength, he sought to break

The cords so closely tied;
"What means all this? dear father, sayl"

He almost shriek'd aloud,
When first he caught his parent's face,
Amid that stranger-crowd.

The tall frame of the strong man shook

Like sapling in the storm,
As, with a fond, despairing gaze,

He clasp'd the boy's young form;
And bending o'er him, in low tones

Breathed words into his ear,
That brought hope's crimson to his cheek,

And calm'd his spirit's fear.

Then proudly did young Rudolph stand,

With his soft pleading eyes
Fix'd steadfastly upon his sire,

While on his bright head lies
The fatal mark, whose circle small

Must bear the dart secure,
Else Gessler's heart will ne'er relent,

And his rash words abjure.

It was a touching sight to see

That parent and his child,
The one with his white lips compreis'd

In heavy anguish wild;

The other, fair and beautiful,
With slight and graceful form,

Waiting the arrow, that perchance
Might drink his life-blood warm.

"God aid me now !" Tell cried aloud,

As, seizing his strong bow,
He drew the cord, while with the barb

His senses seem'd to go;
Till a wild shout of triumph rose

From crowds, that round him press'd; 

One moment more, and Rudolph fell

Half fainting on his breast.

Yes! he was safe ! the trial past!

But Oh ! what tongue can tell
The fearful weight of agony,

That on his spirit fell,
In that small, atom space of time,

When, whizzing through the air,
That slender dart, for life or death,

Parted his boy's soft hair.

Whene'er he drank, in after time,

That drop from memory's stream, 

Methinks to him it must have come

But as a frightful dream:  

Or if the stern reality

Could e'er an entrance find, 

Did it not stir up mystic springs

Within his grateful mind?

Ah! even until life's last hour,

There surely was one shrine, 

Where fond remembrance ne'er forgot

To offer gifts divine;

 And when, o'er mountain, vale, or field,

His Rudolph by him trod, 

Could he repress this gushing prayer?"

The incident is still proudly narrated in many an humble cottage among the Alps; and they were yet more gratified on learning that, thirty-one years after the patriot's death, (which happened by the falling of an avalanche,) and while eleven persons who had been intimately acquainted with him still lived, a chapel was erected on the very spot, where he leaped from the Governor's boat; and at each succeeding anniversary, the inhabitants of the different cantons still meet together, and commemorate the day, by a solemn feast.

KÉTKEDÉSVÁR: THE MAGYAR OTHELLO

The alternate universe centers around the relationship between three characters (later, four) who are enmeshed in a sinister intrigue... The title is Hungarian for Doubting Castle, by the way, and refers to the main setting, that fortress/outpost community that gradually turns to more and more of a point of no return...
Viscountess Clarissa von Liebenstein and Freiherr Rainer von Waldheim, both only children and betrothed since childhood since the late Freiherr von Waldheim saved the Count von Liebenstein's life on the battlefiend in exchange for his own, reunite after a decade separated (since he was taken to Vienna for officer's education and she stayed at home in the provinces) at a society ball, now a marriageable maiden and a dashing lieutenant, both of them blond and fair-skinned. However, things clearly take a turn for the more exciting when Rainer's tall, dark, and brooding commanding officer, Colonel Karl Harschanji, né Harsányi Károly, takes Clarissa out to dance and --in the shocking first scene-- unties her corset on the ballroom balcony when she falls unconscious. The reserved raven-haired officer soon discovers in the girl he saves the first Austrian society lady who sees who he is instead of what he is, as the trio and some friends in white uniforms head for the distant fortress of Kétkedésvár, their assignment.
As Clarissa discovers for whom her feelings are awakening, Rainer expresses her wish to be happy, and a shotgun wedding is even celebrated in a village church en route (complete with white lies that the heiress married her intended beloved). Károly is, in the meantime, increasingly vulnerable; forced to serve the empire that left him a homeless orphan (when a childless high-ranking Austrian officer adopted the estate-born boy whose mum was shot right before his eyes) by wearing its uniform and finally finding love in the form of one of its socialites. A frequent victim of ugrophobia who ironically wears the Habsburg uniform, he initially speaks German with a Magyar accent, then he drops the act and speaks Hungarian when his sanity completely slips. (Kétkedésvár is a bilingual project, in which at least both languages and some French are spoken).
Then there's István, the discarded right-hand man who wants to get rid of both Rainer and Clarissa and keep Károly all to himself but also finish with the colonel who (ironically) saved his life during the revolution... and Ilona, the tomboyish orphan daughter of the regiment who serves as the dark-haired foil to the Habsburg blonde. Ilona falls for Rainer, giving us a love square of dark boy*blonde girl and blond boy*dark girl that is completely predictable, even more after the handkerchief trick... the idea of rolling Emilia, Bianca, and Roderigo into one character plus the twist reveal that her mum was a French noblewoman as revealed from the locket she had worn all along;
The story has pretty flashbacks of for instance Rainer's and Károly's discrimination and friendlessness as cadets at the Theresian military academy (the former due to social awkwardness, the latter due to ethnic identity), two backstories one decade apart that mirror one another pretty closely. Or the Count's unfortunate riding accident and ensuing coma, (that leads to him being wheelchair-bound due to spinal injury later on) while his wife and only daughter wake constantly and concernedly by his side.
But it's the very starting point with toddler lordling Károly getting orphaned and seeing his estate claimed by whitecoats, whose commanding officer mentions a childless wife and is stirred by the adorable dark-featured little boy's expression of shock. Maids, mum, nanny dying left and right and Károly standing there frozen as the enemy splutters tapestry walls and marble floors with the blood of loved ones... then the commanding officer suddenly addressing Karcsi in German and the ensuing headshake, in spite of the CO's friendliness. The latter switches to Hungarian and Karcsi replies in wonder with an AWWWW. Violence, the language barrier, an orphan adopted by the enemy leader who ordered the death of his loving mother. Then a montage of Karcsi vs. Peers at military school, all the other cadets shunning Karcsi as he goes through adolescence, followed by the Gott erhalte at the graduation, with all cadets-turned-lieutenants in their late teens --then age cut to another graduation set to Gott erhalte, with Rainer in Karcsi's place and 20/30-sth Károly, now a colonel and commandant of Kétkedésvár, among the commanding officers overseeing the new batch of freshly-baked lieutenants. The male blond corner of our love square now hears Clarissa's voice in his mind's ears: "I look forwards to seeing your face again." Followed by his own whisper "So do I."
There are lots of heartwarming moments until the Othello intrigue process kicks in and all the backstory is more or less set in stone. From that moment it's a thriller about slipping sanity and a romantic love-square drama, as the threat of a war on Prussia looms from outside but not even the walls of a star fortress are safe enough for our leading cast.
István's motivation? Right, he's a gay yandere who hateloves his CO whom he belittles for being a traitor to the Magyar cause AND idealizes for all of that coolness and the fact that he's made it this far. A yandere who suddenly realizes his kismesis has found himself a female love interest and a kindred spirit in a freshly-baked lieutenant for an aide-de-camp.
The ending? Right, it felt especially exciting, with Rainer and Ilona now the commandant and commandant's wife, watching István's execution by firing squad, and the dying traitor cursing both the new commandant and the Habsburg empire. Then there's this really heartwarming moment of Ilona kissing Rainer farewell before the war on Prussia calls him... he dies on the war front, his chest riddled, surely shot through the heart and having punctured both lungs... Ilona returns to Austria to give the whole story to the young Austrians' parents, while she is with Rainer's children... it ends with her having twins, a blond and a dark one, of unknown gender. All that set to a rending, heartwarming rendition of the opening theme.

Kétkedésvár is firmly steeped in nineteenth-century fictional traditions as well as Othello; first we find an idealized Arcadian hinterland (the von Liebenstein and von Waldheim shires, Károly's native estate) in stark contrast to decadent high society in the capital. A trope which was already as old as time, but that endured and even thrived with the Victorian shift to bourgeois ruling classes and industralism.
We find anti-war/pacifist statements and wartime orphans given as exhibit A of the consequences of armed conflict. However, unlike innocent Victorian waifs, those in this case have suffered serious trauma, deconstructing the trope.
We find the waif, speaking of orphans, who turns out to have been a noble child born in exile and raised by commoners, a trope as old as time but re-popularized by Dickens among other feuilleton authors.
We find a young heroine torn between her heart and her head, between her childhood friend and the tall, dark stranger; and her choice shaping the whole plotline of the novel and the character arcs of all three.
We find the fatal first glass that sets the ball rolling in temperance narratives, when a promising young man, being thirsty with exertion, is tempted by elusive so-called friends into tasting an intoxicating drink that fills him with elation and has him ask for more. The warmth and the elation once he has downed the above-mentioned strong drink are highlighted, and then, once the ball has been set rolling, the narrative chronicles his downfall and redemption.
We find the looming threat of war, returning to war, and the departure for the frontline looming like storm clouds in the horizon. Furthermore find the idealistic young officer lying upon the battlefield with a bullet through the heart.
Intrigue looms large within the walls of Kétkedésvár and leading characters are poisoned, drugged, their perceptions of reality warped, in one way or another. No matter if the cause is pálinka or paranoia, the ensuing loss of identity remains the same. Self-confidence and identity issues are put to the test. At the heart of the story is the problem of free will being a two-edged weapon.
"Steep on the right the path ascends,
wide on the left the path descends..." 
...and everyone is free to choose whither they will go, in spite of the constraints placed by the establishment. Yet the left-hand path is the more enticing one. The glory of Kétkedésvár lies in acknowledging the fact that anyone can waver and that there cannot be a good story without the initial descent or downfall; as demonstrated when realizing that "Untergang/untergehen" in German and "leszállni" in Hungarian serve as arc words, as a lexical leitmotif. Like the path to the left, a lot of other things are mentioned to descend: whether a high officer's glory and self-confidence, a drink of liquor down a lieutenant's throat, the evening twilight with its encroaching darkness, or the sun and the moon behind the horizon. Everyone in the leading cast within the walls is affected by despair; even --in the climax the surgeon who tries to dissuade Ilona from giving blood to a hypovolemic, comatose Rainer on what appears to be a combination of healthcare and jingoist issues. Her reply to the explanation that Magyar blood will kill the dying young Austrian? "Who dares wins!", she says, stripping her sleeves. And her defense of self-confidence (contrasted with Clarissa's simultaneous bedtime wavering) culminates with the placement of the IV, one of the needles of its extremes plunged into Rainer's left arm and the other into Ilona's right. A spoonful of cordial poured through parted lips every now and then, and the transfusion winds up being unexpectedly successful; her blood having become her lover's and coursed into his heart. Furthermore, the cordial (to quench a greater thirst than the one it all began with!) and the near-death have awakened Rainer's hazy, suppressed memories of the fateful evening when the brawl took place, thus tying up the loose ends even more. In that case, we may say that the love square with two parallel couples is carried on further with (at least pre-epilogue): dark boy*blonde girl, both deceased; and blond boy*dark girl, both alive. Károly kills Clarissa while Ilona saves Rainer's life. This parallel is definitely the jewel in the crown of the plot, showing that human passion is capable of both the greatest acts of cruelty and those of kindness.

LA CORONA PARTIDA - ESCENA CLAVE

La película alcanza su cénit justo en el momento en el que Felipe I el Hermoso celebra su coronación como Rey de Castilla, en Burgos, mientras Cisneros escribe a Fernando el Católico anunciándole el hecho, carta que es arrojada al fuego por el monarca; mientras, comienzan los juegos deportivos, especialmente el juego de pelota donde un exultante Felipe gana una y otra vez, sin descanso, a todos los rivales que se le ponen por delante, acumulando una considerable fatiga y sudando la gota gorda. En ese momento, aparece un sirviente con una jarra de agua, líquido que consume en primer plano, y que el flamante monarca castellano beberá en varias ocasiones, cayendo enfermo de forma fulminante. 

El guión deja en suspenso la cuestión sobre si realmente Felipe el Hermoso fue envenenado por su rival aragonés, o si falleció a causa del gravísimo enfriamiento que le produjo el exceso de sudoración en medio del calor veraniego castellano, agravado con el agua fría que bebió en gran cantidad y con mucha rapidez, sufriendo los síntomas de una faringitis tal que no podía ni hablar; concretamente, según afirma mi paisano Luis Suárez, «Los testimonios de su médico, La Parra y de Pedro Mártir que se hallaba presente, no nos permiten dudar del hecho: el rey falleció el 25 de septiembre de 1506 a consecuencia de una neumonía infecciosa» (Los Reyes Católicos. Ariel, Madrid 2005, pág. 802)

La película se acoge a la tesis de sugerir el envenenamiento como causa de la muerte de Felipe el Hermoso (Raúl Mérida).

Ahora el cine se atreve a sugerir el envenenamiento posible de Felipe "el hermoso" a manos de su suegro Fernando, cuando nuestros libros de texto nos hablaban de ese vaso de agua fría tomado a destiempo, y la historia actual sugiere la utilización desmedida de burdeles o la inmediatez del veneno de la mano de los asesores de Fernando para evitar la llegada de la casa de Habsburgo a la corona de Castilla.

...con envenenamiento incluido de uno de los protagonistas, para centrarse en un velatorio del que ya hemos visto muchas versiones no solo en películas anteriores como Locura de amor de Juan de Orduña o la comedia Juana la loca … de vez en cuando sino también representado en pinturas como Doña Juana la Loca de Francisco Pradilla de 1877.

ENTREVISTA A JORDI FRADES, DIRECTOR DE LA PELÍCULA

Hablando de Felipe el Hermoso, hay algunos historiadores que defienden que murió al beber un vaso de agua fría tras un gran esfuerzo físico, mientras que otros defienden que pudo ser envenenado. En La Corona Partida combináis ambas ideas  ¿para no caer en la controversia de apoyar sólo a una?

No. Básicamente porque aunque hagas una ficción basada en una historia real, puedes dar a entender cosas pero, taxativamente, no puedes acusar a alguien de envenenar a otro si no hay una prueba fehaciente de que fue así. Puedes decir lo que se piensa históricamente: que hay grandes indicios de que pudo ser envenenado, entre otras cosas, porque el copero murió igual que él. A ver, puedes tener una indigestión,  pero morirte, tan convenientemente además, difícil. Forma parte de no querer darle un trazo grueso a la historia. Hubiera sido fácil generar la polémica al decir que lo mataron, pero quisimos dejarlo ahí. Evidentemente está bastante claro, como lo está históricamente, pero en ningún momento se afirma verbalmente.

El guión deja en suspenso la cuestión sobre si realmente Felipe el Hermoso fue envenenado por su suegro, o si falleció debido al considerable enfriamiento que le produjo el exceso de sudoración en medio del calor veraniego castellano, agravado con el agua fría que bebió, sufriendo los síntomas de una faringitis tal que no podía ni hablar. Parece que la historiografía de la época, especialmente del cronista oficial Pedro Mártir de Anglería, certifican que el fallecimiento del flamante monarca flamenco, producido el 25 de septiembre de 1506, lo fue a causa de una neumonía infecciosa, epidemia muy común en esa época en Castilla. De todos modos, siguiendo la propia teoría del realismo político, no es totalmente desdeñable que Felipe fuera asesinado “por razón de estado”: si realmente la Nación Española hubiera sido una entelequia o un mero delirio inventado retrospectivamente, Fernando el Católico se hubiera conformado con mantener Aragón a salvo de su afrancesado yerno, además con la garantía de disponer de una joven esposa que seguramente le proporcionaría descendencia para heredar el reino.

De esta manera las Cortes de Valladolid de 1506 juran a Juana y Felipe como reyes de Castilla. Sin embargo, la muerte prematura de éste en 1507, a causa de un enfriamiento, aunque en la película se lanza la sospecha que fuese un envenenamiento, devuelve el poder a Fernando...

Algunos detalles históricos son discutibles, como el fallecimiento de Felipe el Hermoso, que en este caso se atribuye a un posible envenenamiento del que el propio Cisneros no parecía estar ajeno. Al menos, da esa impresión.

Tampoco han dudado en jugar con la historia y crear dudas, por ejemplo, sobre la muerte de Felipe el Hermoso. ¿Realmente murió tras caer enfermo por beber abundante agua fría tras jugar a la pelota? ¿O fue envenenado? ¿Estaba tan loca Juana como nos ha contado la historia o intentaron hacerla pasar por loca para arrebatarle el poder?