Scene changes to the outside of the Abbey. A summer's evening—moonlight. Companies of Austrian and Prussian Grenadiers march across the stage, confusedly, as if returning from the Seven Years' War. Shouts, and martial music. The Abbey gates are opened. The monks are seen passing in procession, with the Prior at their head. The choir is heard chanting vespers. After which a pause. Then a bell is heard, as if ringing for supper. Soon after, a noise of singing and jollity.
Enter from the Abbey, pushed out of the gates by the Porter, a Troubadour, with a bundle under his cloak, and a Lady under his arm. Troubadour seems much in liquor, but caresses the female minstrel.
Fem. Min. Trust me, Gieronymo, thou seemest melancholy. What hast thou got under thy cloak?
Trou. 'Pshaw, women will be inquiring. Melancholy! not I. I will sing thee a song, and the subject of it shall be thy question—"What have I got under my cloak?" It is a riddle, Margaret—I learnt it of an almanac-maker at Gotha—if thou guessest it after the first stanza, thou shalt have never a drop for thy pains. Hear me—and, d'ye mark! twirl thy thingumbob while I sing.
Fem. Min. 'Tis a pretty tune, and hums dolefully.
[Plays on the balalaika.[210] Troubadour sings.
I bear a secret comfort here,
[putting his hand on the bundle, but without showing it.
A joy I'll ne'er impart;