MAESE PÉREZ, THE ORGANIST.
From the Spanish of Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer.
I.
Do you see the one with the scarlet cloak and the white plume in his hat,—the one whose jerkin seems to glitter with all the gold of the Indian galleys? He is stepping from his litter; he gives his hand to that lady, see her! She is coming this way now, preceded by four pages bearing torches. Well, that is the Marquis of Moscoso, the lover of the widowed Countess of Villapiñeda. They say that before he thought of paying his addresses to her he had sought the hand of an opulent gentleman's daughter. But the lady's father, whom people say is something of a miser—but hush! speaking of the Devil. Do you see that man coming through the arch of San Felipe, on foot, muffled in a dark cloak, and accompanied by a single servant carrying a lantern? Now he is in front of the street shrine.
"As he unmuffled to bow before the image, did you notice the decoration that shone on his breast? But for that noble insignia any one would mistake him for a shopkeeper of the street of the Culebras. Well, that is the father in question. See how the people make way for him and greet him as he goes by!
"Everybody knows him in Seville on account of his great fortune. Why, he has more ducats in his coffers than there are soldiers in King Philip's armies; and his galleys would form a fleet mighty enough to oppose the Sultan himself. Look, look at that stately group of men! They are the Twenty-four, the gentlemen of the Aldermanry. Aha! and we have the great Fleming among us too! They say that the gentlemen of the green cross have not challenged him, thanks to his influence among the magnates of Madrid. He only comes to church to hear the music; and if Maese Pérez does not bring tears as big as one's fist to his eyes, it will no doubt be because his soul, instead of being where it belongs, is frying somewhere in the Devil's caldron.
"Ah, neighbor, but this looks bad. I greatly fear there is going to be trouble. I shall take refuge in the church, for I judge there will be more broadswords than Pater-nosters in the air. Look, look! the Duke of Alcalá's people have turned the corner of the Plaza San Pedro, and I fancy I see the Duke of Medina-Sidonia's men emerging from the Alley of the Dueñas. What did I tell you? They have caught sight of one another; they stop; the groups are breaking up; and the minstrels, who on these occasions are generally beaten by friends and foes alike, are running; the officer of justice himself, with the emblem of authority and all, has taken refuge under the portico,—and then people speak of justice! Justice! yes,—for the poor.
"Come! the shields are beginning to glitter. Lord of the great power, assist us! The blows are falling thick and fast. Neighbor, neighbor, this way before they close the doors! But wait, what do I see? They have left off before they had really begun. What is that light? A litter, torches! It is the bishop, on my soul!