The Garden of the Convent.
Enter DONNA LOUISA and DONNA CLARA.
Don. Louisa. And you really wish my brother may not find you out?
Don. Clara. Why else have I concealed myself under this disguise?
Don. Louisa. Why, perhaps because the dress becomes you: for you certainly don’t intend to be a nun for life.
Don. Clara. If, indeed, Ferdinand had not offended me so last night —
Don. Louisa. Come, come, it was his fear of losing you made him so rash.
Don. Clara. Well, you may think me cruel, but I swear, if he were here this instant, I believe I should forgive him.
SONG.
By him we love offended,
How soon our anger flies!
One day apart, ’tis ended;
Behold him, and it dies.
Last night, your roving brother,
Enraged, I bade depart;
And sure his rude presumption
Deserved to lose my heart.
Yet, were he now before met
In spite of injured pride,
I fear my eyes would pardon
Before my tongue could chide.
Don. Louisa. I protest, Clara, I shall begin to think you are seriously resolved to enter on your probation.
Don. Clara. And, seriously, I very much doubt whether the character of a nun would not become me best.
Don. Louisa. Why, to be sure, the character of a nun is a very becoming one at a masquerade: but no pretty woman, in her senses, ever thought of taking the veil for above a night.
Don. Clara. Yonder I see your Antonio is returned — I shall only interrupt you; ah, Louisa, with what happy eagerness you turn to look for him! [Exit.]
Enter DON ANTONIO.
Don Ant. Well, my Louisa, any news since I left you?
Don. Louisa. None. The messenger is not yet returned from my father.
Don Ant. Well, I confess, I do not perceive what we are to expect from him.
Don. Louisa. I shall be easier, however, in having made the trial: I do not doubt your sincerity, Antonio; but there is a chilling air around poverty, that often kills affection, that was not nursed in it. If we would make love our household god, we had best secure him a comfortable roof.
SONG. — Don Antonio.
How oft, Louisa, hast thou told,
(Nor wilt thou the fond boast disown,)
Thou wouldst not lose Antonio’s love
To reign the partner of a throne!
And by those lips that spoke so kind,
And by that hand I’ve press’d to mine,
To be the lord of wealth and power,
By heavens, I would not part with thine!
Then how, my soul, can we be poor,
Who own what kingdoms could not buy?
Of this true heart thou shalt be queen,
In serving thee, a monarch I.
Thus uncontroll’d, in mutual bliss,
I rich in love’s exhaustless mine,
Do thou snatch treasures from my lips,
And I’ll take kingdoms back from thine!
Enter MAID with a letter.
Don. Louisa. My father’s answer, I suppose.
Don Ant. My dearest Louisa, you may be assured that it contains nothing but threats and reproaches.
Don. Louisa. Let us see, however. — [Reads.] Dearest daughter, make your lover happy: you have my full consent to marry as your whim has chosen, but be sure come home and sup with your affectionate father.
Don Ant. You jest, Louisa!
Don. Louisa. [Gives him the letter..] Read! read!
Don Ant. ’Tis so, by heavens! Sure there must be some mistake; but that’s none of our business. — Now, Louisa, you have no excuse for delay.
Don. Louisa. Shall we not then return and thank my father?
Don Ant. But first let the priest put it out of his power to recall his word. — I’ll fly to procure one.
Don. Louisa. Nay, if you part with me again, perhaps you may lose me.
Don Ant. Come, then — there is a friar of a neighbouring convent is my friend; you have already been diverted by the manners of a nunnery; let us see whether there is less hypocrisy among the holy fathers.
Don. Louisa. I’m afraid not, Antonio — for in religion, as in friendship, they who profess most are the least sincere. [Exeunt.]
Re-enter DONNA CLARA.
Don. Clara, So, yonder they go, as happy as a mutual and confessed affection can make them, while I am left in solitude. Heigho! love may perhaps excuse the rashness of an elopement from one’s friend, but I am sure nothing but the presence of the man we love can support it. Ha! what do I see! Ferdinand, as I live! How could he gain admission? By potent gold, I suppose, as Antonio did. How eager and disturbed he seems! He shall not know me as yet. [Lets down her veil.]
Enter DON FERDINAND.
Don Ferd. Yes, those were certainly they — my information was right. [Going.]
Don. Clara. [Stops him.] Pray, signor, what is your business here?
Don Ferd. No matter — no matter! Oh! they stop. — [Looks out.] Yes, that is the perfidious Clara indeed!
Don. Clara. So, a jealous error — I’m glad to see him so moved. [Aside.]
Don Ferd. Her disguise can’t conceal her — no, no, I know her too well.
Don. Clara. [Aside.] Wonderful discernment! — [Aloud.] But, signor ——
Don Ferd. Be quiet, good nun; don’t tease me! — By heavens, she leans upon his arm, hangs fondly on it! O woman, woman!
Don. Clar. But, signor, who is it you want?
Don Ferd. Not you, not you, so prythee don’t tease me. Yet pray stay — gentle nun, was it not Donna Clara d’Almanza just parted from you?
Don. Clara. Clara d’Almanza, signor, is not yet out of the garden.
Don Ferd. Ay, ay, I knew I was right! And pray is not that gentleman, now at the porch with her, Antonio d’Ercilla?
Don. Clara. It is indeed, signor.
Don Ferd. So, so; but now one question more — can you inform me for what purpose they have gone away?
Don. Clara. They are gone to be married, I believe.
Don Ferd. Very well — enough. Now if I don’t mar their wedding! [Exit.]
Don. Clara. [Unveils.] I thought jealousy had made lovers quick- sighted, but it has made mine blind. Louisa’s story accounts to me for this error, and I am glad to find I have power enough over him to make him so unhappy. But why should not I be present at his surprise when undeceived? When he’s through the porch, I’ll follow him; and, perhaps, Louisa shall not singly be a bride.
SONG.
Adieu, thou dreary pile, where never dies
The sullen echo of repentant sighs!
Ye sister mourners of each lonely cell
Inured to hymns and sorrow, fare ye well!
For happier scenes I fly this darksome grove,
To saints a prison, but a tomb to love! [Exit.]