The Duenna by Richard Brinsley Sheridan - HTML preview

ACT III

 

 SCENE I.--A Library in DON JEROME'S House.

 Enter DON JEROME and SERVANT.

Don Jer . Why, I never was so amazed in my life! Louisa gone off with Isaac Mendoza! What! steal away with the very man whom I wanted her to marry--elope with her own husband, as it were--it is impossible!

Ser . Her maid says, sir, they had your leave to walk in the garden, while you were abroad. The door by the shrubbery was found open, and they have not been heard of since. [Exit.]

Don Jer. Well, it is the most unaccountable affair! 'sdeath! there is certainly some infernal mystery in it I can't comprehend!

 Enter SECOND SERVANT, with a letter.

Ser. Here is a letter, sir, from Signor Isaac. [Exit.]

Don Jer. So, so, this will explain--ay, Isaac Mendoza--let me see-- [Reads.]

 Dearest Sir,

You must, doubtless, be much surprised at my flight with your daughter!--yes, 'faith, and well I may--I had the happiness to gain her heart at our first interview--The devil you had!--But, she having unfortunately made a vow not to receive a husband from your hands, I was obliged to comply with her whim!--So, so!--We shall shortly throw ourselves at your feet, and I hope you will have a blessing ready for one, who will then be your son-in-law. ISAAC MENDOZA.

A whim, hey? Why, the devil's in the girl, I think! This morning, she would die sooner than have him, and before evening she runs away with him! Well, well, my will's accomplished--let the motive be what it will--and the Portuguese, sure, will never deny to fulfil the rest of the article.

 Re-enter SERVANT, with another letter.

Ser . Sir, here's a man below, who says he brought this from my young lady, Donna Louisa. [Exit.]

Don Jer. How! yes, it's my daughter's hand, indeed! Lord, there was no occasion for them both to write; well, let's see what she says-- [Reads.]

 My dearest father,

How shall I entreat your pardon for the rash step I have taken--how confess the motive?-Pish! hasn't Isaac just told me the motive?--one would think they weren't together when they wrote.--If I have a spirit too resentful of ill usage, I have also a heart as easily affected by kindness.--So, so, here the whole matter comes out; her resentment for Antonio's ill usage has made her sensible of Isaac's kindness--yes, yes, it is all plain enough. Well. I am not married yet, though with a man who, I am convinced, adores me.

 -Yes, yes, I dare say Isaac is very fond of her. But I shall anxiously expect your answer, in which, should I be so fortunate as to receive your consent, you will make completely happy your ever affectionate daughter, LOUISA.

 My consent! to be sure she shall have it! Egad, I was never better pleased--I have fulfilled my resolution--I knew I should. Oh, there's nothing like obstinacy! Lewis! [Calls.]

 Re-enter SERVANT.

Let the man who brought the last letter, wait; and get me a pen and ink below.--[Exit SERVANT.] I am impatient to set poor Louisa's heart at rest. [Calls.]Holloa! Lewis! Sancho!

 Enter SERVANTS.

 See that there be a noble supper provided in the saloon to-night; serve up my best wines, and let me have music, d'ye hear?

Ser. Yes, sir.

Don Jer . And order all my doors to be thrown open; admit all guests, with masks or without masks.--[Exeunt SERVANTS.] I'faith, we'll have a night of it! and I'll let them see how merry an old man can be.

SONG.

  Oh, the days when I was young.

  When I laugh'd in fortune's spite;

  Talk'd of love the whole day long,

  And with nectar crown'd the night!

  Then it was, old Father Care,

  Little reck'd I of thy frown;

  Half thy malice youth could bear,

  And the rest a bumper drown.

  Truth, they say, lies in a well,

  Why, I vow I ne'er could see;

  Let the water-drinkers tell,

  There it always lay for me.

  For when sparkling wine went round,

  Never saw I falsehood's mask;

  But still honest truth I found

  In the bottom of each flask.

  True, at length my vigour's flown,

  I have years to bring decay;

  Few the locks that now I own,

  And the few I have are grey.

  Yet, old Jerome, thou mayst boast,

  While thy spirits do not tire;

  Still beneath thy age's frost

  Glows a spark of youthful fire. [Exit.]

 SCENE II.--The New Piazza.

 Enter DON FERDINAND and LOPEZ.

Don Ferd. What, could you gather no tidings of her? nor guess where she was gone? O Clara! Clara!

Lop. In truth, sir, I could not. That she was run away from her father, was in everybody's mouth; and that Don Guzman was in pursuit of her, was also a very common report. Where she was gone, or what was become of her, no one could take upon them to say.

Don Ferd. 'Sdeath and fury, you blockhead! she can't be out of Seville.

Lop . So I said to myself, sir. 'Sdeath and fury, you blockhead, says I, she can't be out of Seville. Then some said, she had hanged herself for love; and others have it, Don Antonio had carried her off.

Don Ferd. 'Tis false, scoundrel! no one said that.

Lop. Then I misunderstood them, sir.

Don Ferd . Go, fool, get home! and never let me see you again till you bring me news of her.--[Exit LOPEZ.] Oh, how my fondness for this ungrateful girl has hurt my disposition.

 Enter ISAAC.

Isaac. So, I have her safe, and have only to find a priest to marry us. Antonio now may marry Clara, or not, if he pleases.

Don Ferd. What! what was that you said of Clara?

Isaac. Oh, Ferdinand! my brother-in-law that shall be, who thought of meeting you?

Don Ferd. But what of Clara?

Isaac. I'faith, you shall hear. This morning, as I was coming down, I met a pretty damsel, who told me her name was Clara d'Almanza, and begged my protection.

Don Ferd. How!

Isaac. She said she had eloped from her father, Don Guzman, but that love for a young gentleman in Seville was the cause.

Don Ferd. Oh, Heavens! did she confess it?

Isaac. Oh, yes, she confessed at once. But then, says she, my lover is not informed of my flight, nor suspects my intention.

Don Ferd. [Aside.] Dear creature! no more I did indeed! Oh, I am the happiest fellow!-[Aloud.] Well, Isaac?

Isaac. Why then she entreated me to find him out for her, and bring him to her.

Don Ferd. Good Heavens, how lucky! Well, come along, let's lose no time. [Pulling him.]

Isaac. Zooks! where are we to go?

Don Ferd. Why, did anything more pass?

Isaac. Anything more! yes; the end on't was, that I was moved with her speeches, and complied with her desires.

Don Ferd. Well and where is she?

Isaac. Where is she? why, don't I tell you? I complied with her request, and left her safe in the arms of her lover.

Don Ferd. 'Sdeath, you trifle with me!--I have never seen her.

Isaac. You! O Lud no! how the devil should you? 'Twas Antonio she wanted; and with Antonio I left her.

Don Ferd. [Aside.] Hell and madness!--[Aloud.] What, Antonio d'Ercilla?

Isaac . Ay, ay, the very man; and the best part of it was, he was shy of taking her at first. He talked a good deal about honour, and conscience, and deceiving some dear friend; but, Lord, we soon overruled that!

Don Ferd. You did!

Isaac . Oh, yes, presently.--Such deceit! says he.--Pish! says the lady, tricking is all fair in love. But then, my friend, says he.-- Psha! damn your friend, says I. So, poor wretch, he has no chance.-- No, no; he may hang himself as soon as he pleases.

Don Ferd. [Aside.] I must go, or I shall betray myself.

Isaac. But stay, Ferdinand, you han't heard the best of the joke.

Don Ferd. Curse on your joke!

Isaac. Good lack! what's the matter now? I thought to have diverted you.

Don Ferd. Be racked! tortured! damned!

Isaac. Why, sure you are not the poor devil of a lover, are you?-- I'faith, as sure as can be, he is! This is a better joke than t'other. Ha! ha! ha!

Don Ferd. What! do you laugh? you vile, mischievous varlet!-- [Collars him.] But that you're beneath my anger, I'd tear your heart out! [Throws him from him.]

Isaac. O mercy! here's usage for a brother-in-law!

Don Ferd. But, hark ye, rascal! tell me directly where these false friends are gone, or, by my soul----[Draws.]

Isaac. For Heaven's sake, now, my dear brother-in-law, don't be in a rage! I'll recollect as well as I can.

Don Ferd. Be quick, then!

Isaac . I will, I will!--but people's memories differ; some have a treacherous memory: now mine is a cowardly memory--it takes to its heels at sight of a drawn sword--it does i'faith; and I could as soon fight as recollect.

Don Ferd. Zounds! tell me the truth, and I won't hurt you.

Isaac. No, no, I know you won't, my dear brother-in-law; but that ill-looking thing there---

Don Ferd. What, then, you won't tell me?

Isaac. Yes, yes, I will; I'll tell you all, upon my soul!--but why need you listen, sword in hand?

Don Ferd. Why, there.--[Puts up.] Now.

Isaac. Why, then, I believe they are gone to--that is, my friend Carlos told me he had left Donna Clara--dear Ferdinand, keep your hands off--at the convent of St. Catherine.

Don Ferd. St. Catherine!

Isaac. Yes; and that Antonio was to come to her there.

Don Ferd. Is this the truth?

Isaac. It is indeed; and all I know, as I hope for life!

Don Ferd. Well, coward, take your life; 'tis that false, dishonourable Antonio, who shall feel my vengeance.

Isaac. Ay, ay, kill him; cut his throat, and welcome.

Don Ferd. But, for Clara! infamy on her! she is not worth my resentment.

Isaac. No more she is, my dear brother-in-law. I'faith I would not be angry about her; she is not worth it, indeed.

Don Ferd. 'Tis false! she is worth the enmity of princes!

Isaac. True, true, so she is; and I pity you exceedingly for having lost her.

Don Ferd. 'Sdeath, you rascal! how durst you talk of pitying me?

Isaac . Oh, dear brother-in-law, I beg pardon! I don't pity you in the least, upon my soul!

Don Ferd. Get hence, fool, and provoke me no further; nothing but your insignificance saves you!

Isaac . [Aside.] I'faith, then, my insignificance is the best friend I have.--[Aloud.] I'm going, dear Ferdinand.--[Aside.] What a curst hot hot-headed bully it is! [Exeunt severally.]

 SCENE III.--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.]

 SCENE IV.--A Court before the Priory.

 Enter ISAAC, crossing the stage, DON ANTONIO following.

Don Ant. What, my friend Isaac!

Isaac. What, Antonio! wish me joy! I have Louisa safe.

Don Ant. Have you? I wish you joy with all my soul.

Isaac. Yes, I come here to procure a priest to marry us.

Don Ant. So, then, we are both on the same errand; I am come to look for Father Paul.

Isaac. Ha! I'm glad on't--but, i'faith, he must tack me first; my love is waiting.

Don Ant. So is mine--I left her in the porch.

Isaac. Ay, but I'm in haste to go back to Don Jerome.

Don Ant. And so am I too.

Isaac. Well, perhaps he'll save time, and marry us both together--or I'll be your father, and you shall be mine. Come along--but you are obliged to me for all this.

Don Ant. Yes, yes. [Exeunt.]

 SCENE V.--A Room in the Priory.

 FATHER PAUL, FATHER FRANCIS, FATHER AUGUSTINE, and other FRIARS, discovered at a table drinking.

GLEE AND CHORUS.

  This bottle's the sun of our table,

  His beams are rosy wine

  We, planets, that are not able

  Without his help to shine.

  Let mirth and glee abound!

  You'll soon grow bright

  With borrow'd light,

  And shine as he goes round.

Paul. Brother Francis, toss the bottle about, and give me your toast.

Fran. Have we drunk the Abbess of St. Ursuline?

Paul. Yes, yes; she was the last.

Fran. Then I'll give you the blue-eyed nun of St. Catherine's.

Paul. With all my heart.--[Drinks.] Pray, brother Augustine, were there any benefactions left in my absence?

Aug. Don Juan Corduba has left a hundred ducats, to remember him in our masses.

Paul. Has he? let them be paid to our wine-merchant, and we'll remember him in our cups, which will do just as well. Anything more?

Aug . Yes; Baptista, the rich miser, who died last week, has bequeathed us a thousand pistoles, and the silver lamp he used in his own chamber, to burn before the image of St. Anthony.

Paul . 'Twas well meant, but we'll employ his money better-- Baptista's bounty shall light the living, not the dead. St. Anthony is not afraid to be left in the dark, though he was.-[Knocking.] See who's there.

 [FATHER FRANCIS goes to the door and opens it.]

 Enter PORTER.

Port. Here's one without, in pressing haste to speak with Father Paul.

Fran . Brother Paul! [FATHER PAUL comes from behind a curtain with a glass of wine, and in his hand a piece of cake.]

Paul. Here! how durst you, fellow, thus abruptly break in upon our devotions?

Port. I thought they were finished.

Paul. No, they were not--were they, brother Francis?

Fran. Not by a bottle each.

Paul . But neither you nor your fellows mark how the hours go; no, you mind nothing but the gratifying of your appetites; ye eat, and swill, and sleep, and gourmandise, and thrive, while we are wasting in mortification.

Port. We ask no more than nature craves.

Paul . 'Tis false, ye have more appetites than hairs! and your flushed, sleek, and pampered appearance is the disgrace of our order-- out on't! If you are hungry, can't you be content with the wholesome roots of the earth? and if you are dry, isn't there the crystal spring?-[Drinks.] Put this away,--[Gives the glass] and show me where I am wanted.--[PORTER drains the glass.--PAUL, going, turns.] So you would have drunk it if there had been any left! Ah, glutton! glutton! [Exeunt.]

 SCENE VI.--The Court before the Priory.

 Enter ISAAC and DON ANTONIO.

Isaac. A plaguey while coming, this same father Paul.--He's detained at vespers, I suppose, poor fellow.

Don Ant. No, here he comes.

 Enter FATHER PAUL.

 Good father Paul, I crave your blessing.

Isaac. Yes, good father Paul, we are come to beg a favour.

Paul. What is it, pray?

Isaac. To marry us, good father Paul; and in truth thou dost look like the priest of Hymen.

Paul . In short, I may be called so; for I deal in repentance and mortification.

Isaac. No, no, thou seemest an officer of Hymen, because thy presence speaks content and good humour.

Paul. Alas, my appearance is deceitful. Bloated I am, indeed! for fasting is a windy recreation, and it hath swollen me like a bladder.

Don Ant. But thou hast a good fresh colour in thy face, father; rosy, i'faith!

Paul. Yes, I have blushed for mankind, till the hue of my shame is as fixed as their vices.

Isaac. Good man!

Paul. And I have laboured, too, but to what purpose? they continue to sin under my very nose.

Isaac. Efecks, father, I should have guessed as much, for your nose seems to be put to the blush more than any other part of your face.

Paul. Go, you're a wag.

Don Ant. But to the purpose, father--will you officiate for us?

Paul. To join young people thus clandestinely is not safe: and, indeed, I have in my heart many weighty reasons against it.

Don Ant. And I have in my hand many weighty reasons for it. Isaac, haven't you an argument or two in our favour about you?

Isaac. Yes, yes; here is a most unanswerable purse.

Paul . For shame! you make me angry: you forget who I am, and when importunate people have forced their trash--ay, into this pocket here-- or into this--why, then the sin was theirs.--[They put money into his pockets.] Fie, now how you distress me! I would return it, but that I must touch it that way, and so wrong my oath.

Don Ant. Now then, come with us.

Isaac. Ay, now give us our title to joy and rapture.

Paul. Well, when your hour of repentance comes, don't blame me.

Don Ant. [Aside.] No bad caution to my friend Isaac.--[Aloud.] Well, well, father, do you do your part, and I'll abide the consequences.

Isaac. Ay, and so will I. Enter DONNA LOUISA, running.

Don. Louisa. O Antonio, Ferdinand is at the porch, and inquiring for us.

Isaac. Who? Don Ferdinand! he's not inquiring for me, I hope.

Don Ant. Fear not, my love; I'll soon pacify him.

Isaac . Egad, you won't. Antonio, take my advice, and run away; this Ferdinand is the most unmerciful dog, and has the cursedest long sword! and, upon my, soul, he comes on purpose to cut your throat.

Don Ant. Never fear, never fear.

Isaac . Well, you may stay if you will; but I'll get some one to marry me: for by St. Iago, he shall never meet me again, while I am master of a pair of heels. [Runs out.--DONNA LOUISA lets down her veil.]

 Enter DON FERDINAND.

Don Ferd. So, sir, I have met with you at last.

Don Ant. Well, sir.

Don Ferd. Base, treacherous man! whence can a false, deceitful soul, like yours, borrow confidence, to look so steadily on the man you've injured!

Don Ant . Ferdinand, you are too warm: 'tis true you find me on the point of wedding one I loved beyond my life; but no argument of mine prevailed on her to elope.--I scorn deceit, as much as you. By heaven I knew not that she had left her father's till I saw her!

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