The Project Gutenberg eBook of Mary Tudor; Marion de Lorme; Esmeralda, by Victor Hugo

Scene.—Border of the Thames. A deserted strand. An old parapet in ruins, conceals the borders of the water. To the right, a house of mean appearance. At the corner of this house, a statuette of the Virgin, at whose feet burns a wick in an iron lattice. In the background, beyond the Thames, London. Two high buildings are seen—the Tower of London and Westminster. The sun is setting

SCENE I

Several men are grouped here and there on the Strand, among whom are Simon Renard, John Bridges, Baron Chandos, Robert Clinton, Anthony Brown, Viscount of Montague

You are right, my lord, this damned Italian must have bewitched the Queen. She can't exist without him; she lives only for him, finds pleasure only in him, listens only to him. If a day passes without seeing him, her eyes droop as they did when she loved Cardinal Polus, you remember?

For a fact, they say that people of his nationality have philters for that purpose.

The Spanish are clever at poisons which kill people, the Italians are clever at poisons which make people fall in love.

Then Fabiani is Spanish and Italian, at the same time. The Queen is in love and is ill. He has made her drink both.

It appears certain that he was born in Italy, in the Capitanate, and that he was brought up in Spain. He claims to be connected with a great Spanish family. Lord Clinton has the story at his finger-tips.

An adventurer—neither Spanish nor Italian, and still less English, thank God! These men without a country have no pity on a country, when they become powerful.

Didn't you say the Queen was ill, Chandos? That does not hinder her from leading a very gay life with her favorite!

A gay life! A gay life! The people weep while the Queen laughs and the favorite is gorged. This man eats silver and drinks gold! The Queen has given him the estates of Lord Talbot, the great Lord Talbot! The Queen has made him Earl of Clanbrassil and Baron of Dinasmonddy, this Fabiano Fabiani who says he belongs to the Spanish family of Peñalver, and who lies when he says it. He is an English peer like you, Montague, like you, Chandos, like Stanley, like Norfolk, like myself, like the King! He has the garter, the same as the Infante of Portugal, as the King of Denmark, as Thomas Percy, seventh Earl of Northumberland. And what a tyrant is this tyrant who rules us from his bed! Never did such a curse rest upon England! And yet I have seen much—I, who am old! There are seventy new gallows at Tyburn; the stakes are always embers and never ashes; the executioner's ax is sharp every morning and blunted every night. Every day some great nobleman is slaughtered; the day before yesterday it was Blantyre, yesterday Northcurry, to-day South-Reppo, to-morrow Tyrconnel. Next week it will be you, Chandos, and next month it will be I. My lords, my lords, it is shameful and outrageous that all these honest English heads should fall to please a miserable adventurer who does not even belong to our country! It is a frightful and unbearable thing, to think that a Neapolitan favorite can drag as many blocks as he likes from under this Queen's bed. These two lead a gay life, you say? By Heaven, it is infamous! Ah, they lead a gay life, these lovers, while the headsman, at their door, makes widows and orphans! Oh, their Italian guitar is too well accompanied by the clank of chains! Madame Queen! you send to the chapel of Avignon for your singers; every day in your palace, you have comedies, plays, and a stage crowded with musicians! Upon my life, madame, less joy at your house and less mourning at ours, if you please; fewer dancers there, and fewer executioners here; fewer farces at Westminster, and fewer scaffolds at Tyburn!

Have a care, my Lord Clinton! We are loyal subjects! Not a word against the Queen, everything against Fabiani.

Patience! That is easy enough for you to say, Mr. Simon Renard! You are bailiff of Amont in Franche-Comte, subject of the Emperor, and his embassador at London. You represent the Prince of Spain, the Queen's future husband. Your person is sacred to the favorite. But it is different with us. You see, for you, Fabiani is the lover; for us he is the butcher! [It is night.

This man troubles me as much as you! You tremble only for your life. I tremble for my power. That means much more. I do not talk; I act. I feel less anger than you, perhaps, but I feel more hate. I will destroy the favorite.

It is not in the daytime that the favorites of queens are made and unmade; it is at night.

You shall see. My Lord Chandos, when a woman reigns, caprice reigns. Politics are no longer a matter of calculation then, but of chance. You can count upon nothing. To-day does not logically bring to-morrow. Public affairs are no longer like a game of chess, but a game of cards.

That is all very well; but let us come to the point. When will you deliver us from the favorite? Time is pressing. To-morrow Tyrconnel will be beheaded.

If I find the man I am looking for, to-night, Tyrconnel will sup with you to-morrow.

Look well! From here you can see the height and the depth of every favorite's fortune—Westminster and the Tower of London.

If God is with me, there is a man who at this moment is yet there [pointing to Westminster], and who to-morrow, at the same time, will be here [pointing to the Tower].

The people hate him no less than we do. What a festival will his fall make in London!

We have placed ourselves in your hands, Sir Bailiff. Dispose of us. What must we do?

You all see that house. It is the house of Gilbert the engraver. Do not lose sight of it. Now go away with your people, but don't go too far. Above all, do nothing without me.

[He exits. Jane and Gilbert enter, arm in arm; they go toward the house. Joshua Farnaby, enveloped in a long cloak, accompanies them.

SCENE II

I must leave you here, my good friends. It is midnight, and I must go back to my post of turnkey of the Tower of London. I am not as free as you are, you see! A turnkey is only another kind of prisoner! Good-by, Jane! Good-by, Gilbert. Ah, my friends, how glad I am to see you happy! When is the wedding, Gilbert?

Faith! day after to-morrow is Christmas. This is the day of good wishes and presents. But I have nothing to wish you. It would be impossible to wish more beauty to the bride or more love to the bridegroom. You are fortunate.

Neither happy nor unhappy. As for me, I have given up everything. Look you, Gilbert [opening his cloak and disclosing a bunch of keys hanging to his belt], prison keys always jingling at your side, talk to you, suggest all sorts of philosophical ideas to you. When I was young, I was like the rest—in love for a day, ambitious for a month, mad a whole year. It was during the reign of Henry VIII. that I was young. Strange man that Henry VIII.! A man who changed his wives as a woman changes her dresses. He repudiated the first, had the second beheaded, had the third's womb cut open; as for the fourth, he had mercy on her—he sent her off; but for revenge he had the fifth's head cut off! This isn't the story of Bluebeard I am telling you, my beautiful Jane; it is the history of Henry VIII. In those days I interested myself in the religious wars; I fought first for one side and then for the other. That was the wisest thing to do. The whole business was very ticklish. It was whether to be for or against the Pope. The King's officers hanged those who were for, but they burned those who were against. The neutral people—those who neither were for nor against—they hanged them or they burned them indiscriminately. We managed as we could. Yes, the rope; no, the fagot. I, who am speaking to you, I smelled of burning very often, and I am not sure that I was not un-hanged two or three times. Those were great times; very much like the times now. The devil take me if I know now whom I fought for or what I fought about. If people speak to me now about Master Luther and Pope Paul III., I shrug my shoulders. You see, Gilbert, when a man has gray hairs he shouldn't go back to the opinions he fought for nor the women he loved when he was twenty. The women and the opinions will seem very ugly, very old, very paltry, very silly, very much wrinkled and out of date. Such is my history. Now I am through with public affairs. I am no longer the King's soldier nor the Pope's soldier; I am jailer of the Tower of London. I don't fight any more for anybody, and I put everybody under lock and key. I am turnkey and I am old. I have one foot in a prison and the other in the grave. I am the one who picks up the remnants of all the ministers and favorites who go to pieces in the Queen's palace. It is very amusing. I have also a little child whom I love, and you both whom I love too; and if you are happy, I am happy also.

I can't do anything to add to your happiness, but Jane can do everything. You love her. I may never be able to do anything for you. Fortunately for you, you are not high and mighty enough to ever need the help of the turnkey of the Tower of London. Jane will pay my debt at the same time that she pays her own, because she and I owe everything to you. Jane was but a poor child, a forsaken orphan; you took her home and brought her up. I was drowning in the Thames, one fine day, and you dragged me out of the water.

In order to tell you that our duty, Jane's and mine, is to love you. I, as a brother; and she, not as a sister.

Look at her, Joshua! Is she not beautiful and attractive, and is she not worthy of a king? If you only knew! You cannot imagine how I love her!

Be careful! It is dangerous. A woman should not be loved so much as that. With a child, it is different.

Nothing. I will be at your wedding next week. I hope State affairs will leave me a little liberty then, and that everything will be finished.

Ah, these things do not interest you, Gilbert. You are in love; you belong to the people. What do the intrigues of the high-born matter to you, who are happy among the low-born? But since you ask me, I will tell you that within one week, perhaps within twenty-four hours, it is hoped that Fabiano Fabiani's place near the Queen will be filled by another.

The Queen's lover: a very celebrated and a very fascinating favorite—a favorite who has had his enemies' heads chopped off with greater dispatch than a procuress can repeat an "Ave"; the best favorite that the executioner of the Tower of London has had for ten years. For you must know that every great lord's head that falls, brings in ten silver crowns to the executioner—sometimes twice as much, when the head is very distinguished. The fall of this Fabiani is greatly desired; though, I must say, during my duties at the Tower, it is only the bad-tempered people whom I hear find fault with him—the discontented people; those whose heads are to fall next month.

Let the wolves rend each other! What do we care about the Queen and the Queen's favorite? Isn't it so, Jane?

There is a big conspiracy against Fabiani; if he escapes, he will be lucky. I should not be surprised if they were to strike some blow to-night. I just saw Master Simon Renard prowling about here, very much absorbed.

Is it possible that you don't know? He is the Emperor's right hand at London. The Queen is to marry the Prince of Spain, and Simon Renard is his embassador to her. The Queen hates him, this Simon Renard; but she is afraid of him, and she can't do anything to him. He has already destroyed two or three favorites. It seems to be his instinct to destroy favorites. He clears up the palace from time to time. He is a shrewd and spiteful man; he knows all that goes on, and he digs two or three subterranean rows of intrigues under every event. As for Lord Paget—didn't you ask me who was Lord Paget?—he is a crafty nobleman who helped to manage affairs under Henry VIII. He is a member of the secret council. He has such an ascendency that the other ministers do not dare to breathe in his presence—except, however, the chancellor, my Lord Gardiner, who detests him. A violent man, this Gardiner, and well born. As for Paget, he was nobody—a cobbler's son. He is to be made Baron Paget of Beaudesert in Stafford.

You see, Gilbert, the man who knows most about the history of these times is the turnkey of the Tower of London.

What the devil is he doing here? I must hurry back; I think he is getting work ready for me. Good-by, Gilbert! Good-by, my beautiful Jane, I knew you when you were no bigger than that, all the same!

O lover who forgets everything else! I have just reminded you that the day after to-morrow is the time for Christmas presents. The nobles are plotting a surprise for Fabiani. Well, I am plotting a surprise too. The Queen may give herself the present of a brand-new favorite. I am going to give my child a doll. [He takes a doll from his cloak.] Brand-new, too! We will see which will be the first to break her toy. God keep you, my friends.

How wise is Providence! She gives to each one his plaything. The doll to the child, the child to the man, the man to the woman, and the woman to the devil. [Exits.

SCENE III

I can't. You know, I told you before, Jane, I have some work to do in my shop to-night. I must engrave the handle of a dagger for some Lord Clanbrassil, whom I have never seen, and who wants it to-morrow morning.

No, Jane, wait a moment. Heaven! how it hurts me to leave you, even for a few hours. How true it is that you are my life and my joy. Yet I have to work—we are so poor. I won't go in, because I should stay; and yet I can't leave you, weak man that I am. Let us sit down by the door a few moments, on this bench. I think it will be easier to go from here than if I went into the house, and, above all, into your room. Give me your hand.

Oh, I owe you everything, Gilbert. I know it, although you have concealed it from me a long time! When I was little, almost in my cradle, my parents abandoned me, and you took me. For sixteen years your hand has worked for me as if you were a father; your eyes have watched over me like a mother. What would I be without you, just Heaven! All I have, you have given me; all I am, you have made me.

What devotion yours has been, Gilbert! You work for me, night and day; you wear your eyes out, you kill yourself for me. You are going to sit up all night again to-night. And never a reproach to me, never an unkindness, never an angry word! You are very poor, yet you remember all my small womanly vanities; you gratify them. Gilbert, whenever I think about you, my eyes fill with tears. You have often gone without bread; I have never gone without my ribbons.

Do you love me, do you love me? All that does not prove that you love me. I want that word, Jane! Gratitude, always gratitude! Oh, I stamp it underfoot, your gratitude. I want love or nothing! Die! Jane, you have been my daughter for sixteen years; now you are to be my wife. I adopted you; now I am to marry you—in one week. You know, you promised me; you have consented; you are my betrothed. You loved me when you promised that. Oh, Jane, there was a time—do you remember it?—when you told me, "I love you," and you lifted your sweet eyes to heaven. That is the way I want you to be. For some months now, you have seemed different, especially during these last three weeks that my work has kept me away from here nights. Jane, I must have you love me! I am used to it. You were always so light-hearted; now you are sad and absent-minded—not cold, my poor child (you try your best not to be), but I feel your loving words do not come as tenderly and as naturally as they used. What is the matter? Don't you love me any more? I know I am an honest man, I know I am a good workman; but I would rather be a robber and an assassin, and be loved by you. Jane, if you knew how much I love you!

For joy, isn't it? Say it is for joy! Oh, I need to believe it. There is only that in the world—to be loved. I have only a poor workingman's heart, but my Jane must love me. Why do you always talk to me about what I have done for you? One single word of love from you puts all the gratitude on my side. I will damn myself and commit a crime, whenever you wish it. You will be my wife, won't you, and you love me? Oh, Jane, for one look of your eyes I would give my work and my labor; for one smile, my life; for one kiss, my soul.

Listen to me, Jane—laugh at me if you will; I am mad, I am jealous! I will tell you why. Do not get angry! It seems to me, for some time I have seen several young lords prowling around here. Do you know, Jane, I am thirty-two years old. For a poor, clumsy, badly-dressed workman like myself, who am no longer young, who am not handsome, what a misery it is to love a charming, beautiful girl of seventeen, who attracts all the handsome, gold-bedizened young nobles around her, as a light attracts the butterflies. Oh, I suffer; indeed, I do! But I never blame you, even in my thoughts! You, so honest, so pure; you, whose brow has never been touched, except by my lips. I only feel, sometimes, that you look on the Queen's cavalcades and retinues with too much pleasure, that you enjoy too much the fine suits of velvet and satin, under which there are no hearts, no souls. Forgive me. My God! why do so many young noblemen come around here? Why am I not handsome, young, noble, rich? Gilbert the engraver—that is all I am! They are Lord Chandos, Lord Gerard Fitz-Gerard, Earl of Arundel, the Duke of Norfolk! Oh, how I hate them! I spend my life engraving the handles of their swords, which I would like to plunge into their bowels.

Oh, how much I love you! It increases every day. I would like to die for you! Love me or not, you can do as you please. I am mad. Forgive all that I have said. It is late: I must leave you! Good-by! Oh, how I hate to leave you! Go in! Haven't you your key?

Take mine. Until to-morrow morning! Jane, don't forget this! To-day I am still your father: in one week I shall be your husband.

My husband! Oh, no! I will never commit that crime. Poor Gilbert! he loves me truly; and the other—ah, provided I have not preferred vanity to love! Unhappy woman that I am, into whose power have I fallen! Oh, I am most thankless and most guilty! I hear footsteps! Let me get in quickly. [Goes into house.

SCENE IV

Gilbert, A Man enveloped in cloak and wearing a yellow cap. The Man holds Gilbert by the hand

Yes, I recognize you; you are the Jewish beggar who has been prowling around this house for several days. What do you want with me? Why have you taken hold of my hand, and why have you brought me back here?

Listen, young man. One night, sixteen years ago, Lord Talbot, Earl of Waterford, was beheaded by torchlight, for the crimes of popery and rebellion, while his followers were cut to pieces in the city of London by Henry VIII.'s soldiers. They shot in the streets all night. That night a very young workman, who was much more interested in his labor than in the battle, was working in his stall. It was the first stall from the entrance of London Bridge; a low door on the right, the remains of some old red paint on the wall. It might have been two o'clock in the morning. They were fighting all around there. The balls hissed across the Thames. Suddenly some one knocked at the door of the stall, through which the workman's lamp threw a glimmer. The workman opened it. A man he did not know, entered. This man carried in his arms a baby in long clothes, who was much frightened and was crying. The man put the child down on the table and said, "Here is a creature who has neither father nor mother." Then he went out slowly and closed the door after him. Gilbert, the workman, had neither father nor mother himself. The workman accepted the child: the orphan adopted the orphan. He took it, watched over it, clothed it, fed it, tended it, brought it up, loved it. He gave himself entirely to this poor little creature whom civil war had thrown into his stall. He forgot everything for her—his youth, his love-affairs, his pleasures; he made this child the sole object of his work, his affections, his life: and it has lasted sixteen years. Gilbert, the workman was you; the child—

I forgot to say that on the child's swaddling-clothes a paper was pinned, on which was written: "Have pity upon Jane."

It was written in blood. I have kept that paper. I always carry it about me. But you torture me. What is your purpose, tell me.

This. You see that I am acquainted with your affairs. Gilbert, watch over your house to-night.

Not another word. Don't go to your work; stay around the house: watch! I am neither your friend nor your enemy; this is only a piece of advice that I give you. Now, for your own sake, leave me! Go down that side, and come back if you hear me call for help.

SCENE V

The matter is well arranged now. I needed some one young and strong to help me if it was necessary. This Gilbert is just the man I want. I think I hear the sound of oars and a guitar on the water. Yes.

When you laugh, on your lips, dear,
Love's sweetest shadows play;
And doubt and cruel unbelief
Are sudden chased away.
For laughter proves we're loyal
And faithful to the core;
Then laugh, my beauty, laugh, my love,
Laugh on for evermore!

When you sleep, calm and pure, love,
In shadow, 'neath my eyes,
And your soft breathing gives my heart
Its tenderest replies,
On your sweet form my eyes can feast,
Oh, beauty's priceless store!
Then sleep, my beauty, sleep, my love,
Sleep on for evermore!

And when you say, "I love you,"
In truth it seems to be
As if God's heaven were opening
Especially for me.
I see dreams hidden in your eyes
That we've not dreamed before;
Then love me, oh, my beauty,
Love me for evermore!

You see, the whole of life, dear,
Lies in those words, just four—
All things that people envy,
All things that men adore,
All things that are seductive,
On which our heart sets store.
To sing, to laugh, my beauty,
To sleep, to love, no more!

[Fabiano Fabiani enters, enveloped in a cloak; he goes toward the door of the house.

SCENE VI

This lantern is not very bright, but you wear a yellow cap, it seems to me—a Jew's cap. Are you a Jew?

I know your name, and you don't know mine. I have the advantage. Permit me to keep it.

I know your name. At Naples you were called Signor Fabiani; at Madrid, Don Fabiano; at London you are called Lord Fabiano Fabiani, Earl of Clanbrassil.

I will have you cudgeled. I do not wish my name to be known when I go abroad by night.

Oh, yes, my lord! You are going to see the fair Jane, the betrothed of Gilbert the engraver.

Shall I tell you more? You have seduced this girl, and during the last month she has received you twice in her house at night. This is the third time. The beauty is waiting for you.

We will see about that by-and-by. Now, my lord, shall I tell you why you have seduced this girl?

I will speak to you as if I were your conscience. This is your plan. You are the Queen's favorite. The Queen has given you the garter, an earldom, and a lordship—empty things, all of them. The garter is a rag; the earldom is a word; the lordship is the right to have your head cut off. You wanted something more. You wanted fine lands, fine bailiwicks, fine castles, fine revenues in fine English pounds. Well, King Henry VIII. confiscated the estates of Lord Talbot, who was beheaded sixteen years ago. You got Queen Mary to give you Lord Talbot's estates. But, to make the gift valid, it is necessary that Lord Talbot should have died without heirs. And since Lord Talbot died for Queen Mary and for her mother, Catherine of Aragon, since Lord Talbot was a Papist, and since the Queen is a Papist, it is not at all doubtful, if there existed such an heir or an heiress, that Queen Mary would take back the estates from you, great favorite though you are, and out of duty, gratitude and religion, return them to the heir or heiress. You were quite easy on that score, for Lord Talbot had never had but one little daughter; she disappeared from her cradle at the time of her father's execution, and all England believed her to be dead. But your spies have lately discovered that during the night in which Lord Talbot and his partisans were exterminated by Henry VIII., a child was mysteriously brought to an engraver on London Bridge, and that it was probable that this child, reared under the name of Jane, was Jane Talbot, the little girl who had disappeared. It is true that the written proofs of her birth were lacking, but they might be found any day. The discovery was unpleasant. It would be hard to see one's self forced some day to give back Shrewsbury, Wexford, which is a fine city, and the magnificent earldom of Waterford, to a little girl! What was to be done? You searched for a way to set aside this young girl, and to destroy her. An honest man would have had her killed or poisoned. You, my lord, have done better—you have dishonored her.

It is your conscience which is speaking, my lord. Another man would have taken this young girl's life; you have taken her honor, and, consequently, her future. Queen Mary is a prude, although she has lovers herself.

The Queen's health is bad; the Queen may die, and then you, the favorite, will fall shattered on her tomb. The actual proofs of this young girl's rank may be found; and then, if the Queen is dead, Jane Talbot, dishonored though she be, will be recognized as Lord Talbot's heiress. You have foreseen that too. You are a handsome young cavalier; you have won her love; she has given herself to you; at the worst, you can marry her. Don't deprecate your scheme, my lord; I consider it sublime. If I were not myself, I would like to be you.

You have managed the matter very skillfully. You have concealed your name. You are safe as far as the Queen is concerned. The poor girl thinks she has been seduced by a nobleman from Somerset county, named Amyas Pawlet.

My lord, suppose some one had in his possession the papers which prove the birth, existence, and rights of Talbot's heiress! It would make you as poor as my ancestor Job, Don Fabiano, and would leave you no better castles than your castles in Spain, which would be very hard for you.

Excellent! Jew, miserable beggar who crawls through the streets, give me the city of Shrewsbury, give me the city of Wexford, give me the earldom of Waterford! Charity, if you please!

There is a parchment which never leaves you. It is a signature in blank which the Queen gave you, and in which she swears, upon her Catholic crown, to grant any favor he may ask, to the one who presents it. Give me that signature in blank, and you shall have Jane Talbot's titles. Paper for paper.

I will explain. Cards on the table, my lord. I have told you your affairs; now I will tell you mine. I am one of the principal money-dealers in Kantersten Street, Brussels. I lend money; it is my business. I lend ten and get back fifteen. I lend to every one: I would lend to the devil; I would lend to the Pope. Two months ago one of my creditors died, without paying me. It was an old exiled servant of the Talbot family. The poor man left nothing but a few rags: I seized them. Among these rags I found a box, and in the box some papers—Jane Talbot's papers, my lord, giving her entire history in detail and furnishing proofs for better times. The Queen of England had just given you Jane Talbot's estates. I was in great need of the Queen of England at that time, for I wanted to make a loan of ten thousand gold marks. I realized that I might do business with you. I came to England in this disguise; I made myself a spy upon you, upon Jane Talbot. I did it all myself. In this way I learned everything, and here I am. You shall have Jane Talbot's papers if you give me the Queen's signature in blank. I will write upon it that the Queen shall give me ten thousand gold marks. They owe me something at the excise-office, but I won't haggle. Ten thousand gold marks—nothing more. I don't ask you for the sum, because only a crowned head could pay it. I am speaking frankly, you see. Two men as clever as we are, my lord, have nothing to gain by deceiving each other. If frankness were banished from the earth, it would be re-discovered in a tête-à-tête between two rogues.

Impossible! I can't give you this signature in blank. Ten thousand gold marks! What would the Queen say? And then, to-morrow I may be disgraced: this signature in blank is my safeguard. This signature in blank is my head.

[They go close to the lantern. Fabiani stands behind the Jew, and with his left hand holds the paper under the Jew's eyes; he examines it. The Man reads.

"We, Mary, Queen—" It is well. You see, my lord, I am like you. I have calculated upon everything. I have foreseen everything.

FABIANI (draws a dagger with his right hand and plunges it into the Jew's throat).

[He falls. In falling he throws a sealed packet into the darkness behind him; Fabiani does not perceive it.

Faith! I believe he is dead. Quick, the papers. [He searches the Jew.] What! he hasn't got them. He has nothing—nothing at all about him! Not a paper! He was lying, the old wretch! He deceived me: he wanted to rob me. Is it possible, you accursed Jew! No, he has nothing. That is clear. I have killed him for nothing. They are all alike, these Jews. To lie and steal, that is all they can do. Come, let us get rid of this corpse; I can't leave it here at the door. [Goes up stage.] I will see if the boatman is still there; he can help me throw it into the Thames.

Take them. They are the papers which prove that Jane, your betrothed, is daughter and heiress of the last Lord Talbot. My assassin is Lord Clanbrassil, the Queen's favorite. Oh, I suffocate! Gilbert, avenge me! Avenge yourself! [He dies.

Dead! Avenge myself? What does he mean? Jane, daughter to Lord Talbot? Lord Clanbrassil! The Queen's favorite? Oh, I am lost in wonder! [Shaking the body.] Speak! One word more! He is indeed dead!

SCENE VII

No witnesses. A corpse on the ground. Two men beside it. Which is the assassin? There is nothing to prove it is one rather than the other—I rather than you.

Do as I say! Let us destroy all traces of this. Believe me, you are more interested in the matter than I am.

One of us two did the deed. I am a great lord, a nobleman. You are a passer-by, a peasant, a man of the people. A noble who kills a Jew pays a fine of four sous; a man of the people who kills one of his fellow-creatures is hanged.

If you denounce me, I will denounce you. I will be believed sooner than you. At any rate, the chances are unequal. Four sous fine for me, and the gallows for you.

No witnesses! No proofs! Oh, my brain is bewildered! This miserable man is right, he has me in his power.

[Gilbert takes the body up by the head, Fabiani by the feet; they carry it to the parapet.

Yes. Faith, my friend, I can no longer exactly tell which of us killed this man!

Well, what do you want? Money for your trouble? In truth, I don't owe you anything, but here, take this.

[He gives his purse to Gilbert, whose first impulse is to refuse it, but who accepts it afterward with the air of a man who has reflected.

Then stay, if it pleases you. You can have the fine starlight while I have the pretty girl. God be with you!

Which of us two is dreaming? A short time ago you told me that I was the Jew's assassin! Now you tell me that that house is yours.

My friend, I say, since you wish to know, that this house belongs to a beautiful girl named Jane, who is my mistress.

And I tell you, my lord, that you lie! I tell you that you are a liar and an assassin! I tell you that you are an insolent knave! I tell you, you have pronounced some fatal words which will kill us both—you, for having said them: me, for having heard them.

You lie, I tell you! You are Lord Clanbrassil, the Queen's favorite. Don't you think I know that, fool!

Everybody seems to know me to-night. Another dangerous man, whom we must get rid of.

Tell me instantly that you have lied like a coward, and that Jane is not your mistress!

If he would go in and quarrel with Jane, it would give my people time to get here.

"I will be alone to-night. You can come." Malediction! My lord, you have dishonored my betrothed, you are an infamous wretch! I demand my revenge.

Oh, fury! To be one of the people! To have nothing—neither sword nor dagger. Well, you can go; but I will wait for you at night, in a corner of the street, and I will stick my nails into your throat, and I will assassinate you, you villain!

To-morrow's sun must not rise for this man. [Aloud.] Friend, listen to me. Go into your house. I am sorry you found it out, but I leave the beauty to you. Go in.

There is a key, if you haven't got one. Or, if you like it better, you can knock against the shutter three times and Jane will think it is I, and let you in. Good-night. [He goes off.

SCENE VIII

He is gone. He is no longer here. I did not grind and crush him beneath my feet. I had to let him go. Not a weapon about me.

[He sees on the ground the dagger with which Lord Clanbrassil killed the Jew; he picks it up with fearful haste.

Ah, you come too late; you can probably kill no one but myself. All the same, whether you fall from heaven or are vomited up from hell, I bless you. My Jane has betrayed me! Jane has given herself to this infamous man. Jane is the heiress of Lord Talbot. Jane is lost to me! O God! more terrible things have come to me in this hour than my brain can stand.

Oh, to be revenged on that man! To be revenged on this Lord Clanbrassil! If I go to the Queen's palace, the lackeys will kick me out as if I were a dog. I am mad! My head will burst! I am willing to die, but I want to be revenged. I would give my blood for revenge! Will nobody in the world make this bargain with me? Who will give me vengeance on Lord Clanbrassil and take my life in payment?

SCENE IX

There is no longer but one thought in my mind, do you know that? To be revenged on Lord Clanbrassil and to die!

Yes, you shall have the vengeance you desire. But do not forget upon what condition. I must have your life.

SECOND DAY

Scene.—A room in the royal apartment. The gospel open on a prie-Dieu. The royal crown upon a stool. Side doors. A large door in the center. A portion of the background concealed by a large tapestry, representing a grand tournament

SCENE I

The Queen, splendidly dressed, reclining upon a couch; Fabiano Fabiani seated on a folding-chair. Magnificent costume. The garter

When you sleep, calm and pure, love,
In shadow, 'neath my eyes,
And your soft breathing gives my heart
Its tenderest replies;
On your sweet form my eyes can feast,
Oh, beauty's priceless store!
Then sleep, my beauty, sleep, my love,
Sleep on, for evermore!

And when you say, "I love you,"
In truth, it seems to be
As if God's heaven were opening
Especially for me.
I see dreams hidden in your eyes
That we've not dreamed before;
Then love me, oh, my beauty,
Love me for evermore!

You see, the whole of life, dear,
Lies in those words, just four—
All things that people envy,
All things that men adore,
All things that are seductive
On which our hearts set store,
To sing, to laugh, my beauty,
To sleep, to love, no more!

Oh, I love you more than I can tell, madame! But this Simon Renard—this Simon Renard, who is more powerful here than you yourself—I hate him!

I can't help it, my lord; you know that. He is here as the ambassador of the Prince of Spain, my future husband.

Come, my lord, let us not speak of that. I love you! What more do you wish? Moreover, it is time for you to go, now.

It is time for the secret council to meet. Until now, there has been only a woman here. We must let the Queen enter.

You wish, do you? You wish, do you? Look at me, my lord! Fabiani, you have a young and beautiful head!

It is you who are beautiful, madame. You need only your beauty to be all-powerful. There is something on your head which tells me you are the Queen; but it is written plainer on your brow than on your crown!

You love me, do you not? You love only me? Say it to me again, just like that, with the same eyes! Alas! we poor women, we never know just what is passing in a man's heart. We have to trust your eyes; and the handsomest eyes, Fabiani, are often the most false. But yours, my lord, are so full of loyalty, so full of candor, so full of good faith, they could not deceive, those eyes—could they? Yes, my beautiful page, your glances are artless and sincere. Oh, it would be shameful to take such heavenly eyes to betray with! Your eyes are the eyes either of a devil or an angel!

Listen to me, Fabiani. I love you, too. You are young; there are many beautiful women who smile tenderly on you—I know it. People get tired of queens as well as of other women.—Don't interrupt me!—If you ever fall in love with another woman, I want you to tell me about it.—Don't interrupt me, dear!—I may forgive you, if you tell me about it. You don't know how much I love you. I don't know myself. It is true, there are moments when I would rather see you dead than happy with another; but there are also moments when I would rather have you happy. Indeed, I don't know why they try to make me out such a wicked woman!

Are you sure? Look at me! Are you sure? Oh, I am jealous sometimes! I imagine—where is the woman who does not think of these things?—sometimes I imagine that you are false to me. I would like to be invisible, so that I might follow you, and always know what you are doing, what you are saying, where you are! In fairy stories they tell about a ring which makes one invisible; I would give my crown to have such a ring as that. I keep thinking that you go to see the beautiful women in the city. Oh, you must not deceive me—indeed, you must not!

Banish such thoughts from your mind, madame. I false to you, my love, my queen, my kind mistress! To do that, I would have to be the most thankless, the most miserable of men. And I have given you no reason to think me the most thankless, the most miserable of men. I love you, Mary; I adore you! I could not even look at another woman! I love you, I say; but don't you see it in my eyes? There must be some way to persuade you! Look at me well! Do I look like a man who is false? When a man deceives a woman, you can see it at once. Women are seldom mistaken about that. And what a time you choose to tell me these things—the one moment in my life when I love you the most! It is true, I am sure I never loved you so much as I do to-day. I am not speaking to the Queen. What do I care about the Queen? What can she do to me? She can have my head cut off; what does that amount to? You, Mary, can break my heart. It isn't your sovereignty that I love, it is yourself. It is your beautiful white and soft hand that I love to kiss; it isn't your scepter, madame.

Thank you, my Fabiano. Good-by! Ah, my lord, how young you are! What beautiful black hair, what a graceful head you have! Come back to me in an hour.

[He goes out. As soon as he is gone, The Queen rises hastily, goes to a concealed door, opens it, and ushers in Simon Renard.

SCENE II

What do you say to it? Oh, of all men on earth he is the most false, the most deceitful! What do you say to it?

The whole affair will be still better proved to the Queen in a short time. The young woman is here, as I told your Majesty. I had her brought from her house last night.

What! To go to see a pretty girl by night! Oh, no, madame! Your Majesty had Frogmorton tried for a similar crime. Frogmorton was acquitted.

Frogmorton was acquitted, madame. There is only one way. I have explained it to your Majesty. The man who is there!

Tell my Lord Chandos to hold himself in the next room, with six men of my ordinance, in readiness to appear. And the woman also, let her be ready to appear. Go.

SCENE III

Yes, the Queen. I am the Queen. There is no time for astonishment. You, sir, are Gilbert, a workman, an engraver. You live somewhere beyond the borders of the river, with a woman named Jane, who is your betrothed, and who deceives you, whose lover is a man named Fabiano, who deceives me. You want revenge, so do I. In order to get it, I must be able to make any disposition I please of your life. It is necessary that you should say what I command you to say, no matter what it is. For you, there must be no longer either false or true, good or bad, justice or injustice—nothing but my vengeance and my will. I shall require you to let me act, and to let yourself be acted upon. Do you consent?

You shall have your revenge; but I warn you, it will cost you your life—that is all. Make your conditions. If you have an old mother and you want her tablecloth covered with ingots of gold, speak, I will do it. Sell me your life as dear as you please.

I have been thinking about it all night. Nothing is proved yet. I saw a man who boasted that he was Jane's lover. How do I know that he did not lie? I saw a key! How do I know that he did not steal it? I saw a letter! How do I know that she was not forced to write it? I don't even know whether it was her writing; it was dark, I was excited, I could not see. I can't give up my life, which is her life, like that. I don't believe any of it, I am not sure of any of it, I have not seen Jane!

It is easy to see that you love. You are like me, you refuse all the proofs. But if you see her, your Jane, if you hear her confess the crime, will you do what I wish?

[Simon Renard goes out. The Queen places Gilbert behind a curtain which covers part of the background of the apartment.

SCENE IV

Last night, when they seized you in your house, you had given him a rendezvous, you were waiting for him?

The first time I saw him was— But what is the use? A poor wretched girl of the people, frivolous and vain, in love with jewels and fine clothes, a girl dazzled with the handsome looks of a great lord—that is all. I am seduced, I am dishonored, I am lost. There is nothing to add to that. My God, madame, don't you see that each word I speak is killing me?

Your anger is terrible, I know it, madame. My head bends now beneath the punishment you have prepared for me.

Punishment for you? Do you think I concern myself about you, simpleton? Who are you, wretched creature, that the Queen should concern herself about you? Oh, no! Fabiano is my affair. As for you, madame, some one else will look out for your punishment.

Well, madame, whoever that one may be, whatever the punishment, I will endure all without a murmur. I will even thank you if you will listen to one prayer I am about to make. There is a man who took me in, an orphan from my birth, who adopted me, brought me up, nourished me, loved me, and who loves me still; a man of whom I am most unworthy, toward whom I have been most guilty, and yet whose image lies at the bottom of my heart, beloved, revered, sacred as is that of God; a man who now, while I am speaking to you, finds his home empty, deserted, robbed, who can't understand it, and who rends his garments in anguish. Well, madame, what I ask of your Majesty is that he may never understand, that I may disappear without his knowing what has become of me, what I have done, or what you have done with me. Alas, kind Heaven, I do not know how to make you understand, but you ought to feel that I have a friend in him—a noble, generous friend. Poor Gilbert! yes, it is true, he respects me and believes me pure, and I do not want him to hate me and despise me! Oh, you understand me, don't you, madame? That man's respect is a great deal more to me than my life. And then it will make him suffer so much—such a surprise! He won't believe it at first. No, he will not believe it. My God! Poor Gilbert. Oh, madame, have pity on him and on me! He has done you no harm! In the name of Heaven, keep him from knowing the awful truth! In the name of Heaven, don't let him know that I am guilty. He will kill himself. Don't let him know that I am dead. He will die too.

The man you are speaking of is here; he is listening to you; he will judge you, he will punish you! [Gilbert appears.

This, madame. It is very simple. It is a debt of gratitude I pay to one of your noble lords, who employed me a great deal in my capacity as engraver.

This lord has a secret liaison with a woman whom he cannot marry because she belongs to a proscribed family. This woman, who up to the present time has lived in concealment, is the only daughter and heiress of the last Lord Talbot, beheaded under King Henry VIII.

What? Are you sure of what you are saying? You say, John Talbot, the good Catholic lord, the loyal defender of my mother of Aragon, has left a daughter? Upon my crown, if that is true, this child is my daughter. And what John Talbot did for the mother of Mary of England, Mary of England will do for the daughter of John Talbot.

Then, of course, it will be a pleasure to your Majesty to give back Lord Talbot's estates to his daughter?

Yes, truly, and to take them away from Fabiano. But are there proofs that this heiress exists?

Your Majesty will give back to Lord Talbot's daughter the estates, lands, rank, coat-of-arms, and device of her father. Your Majesty will remove her from all proscription, and will guarantee that her life shall be safe. Your Majesty will marry her to this lord, who is the only man she can marry. Upon these conditions, madame, you can dispose of me, of my liberty, of my life, and of my will as you see fit.

Your Majesty will do what I have asked? The Queen of England swears it to me, Gilbert the engraver, upon her crown which is here, and upon the open gospel which is there?

Upon the royal crown which is here, and the divine gospel which is there, I swear it.

The compact is concluded, madame. Have a tomb prepared for me and a nuptial bed prepared for the lovers. The lord I speak of is Fabiani, Earl of Clanbrassil. Talbot's heiress, behold her!

Am I dealing with a fool? What do you mean? Have a care, sir! You are bold to mock the Queen of England! In the royal chambers people should look to their words; there are times when the lips bring the head to the block!

You do not mean to say you are speaking seriously? This Fabiano—this Jane! Come, come!

Have I time to read your papers? Did I ask for your papers? What do your papers matter to me? If they prove anything, upon my soul, I will throw them into the fire and nothing will be left of them.

Upon the crown and upon the gospel, madame; that is to say, on your head and your soul—on your life in this world, and on your life in the next.

What do I want? Jane has lost her rank, give it back to her! Jane has lost her honor, give it back to her! Proclaim her the daughter of Lord Talbot and the wife of Lord Clanbrassil, and then take my life.

Your life! What do you want me to do with your life then? I didn't want it except to use for vengeance on this man—this Fabiano. You can't understand anything at all, can you? Well! I can't understand you, either. You talked about vengeance! That is the way you avenge yourself, is it? These men of the people are stupid! And after all, do you suppose I believe your ridiculous story about an heiress of Talbot? The papers! You show me papers! I won't look at them. Oh, a woman wrongs you, and you play the magnanimous. Well, do it if it suits you! I am not magnanimous! No! My heart is full of rage and hate. I will avenge myself and you shall help me! Oh, but this man is mad, mad, mad! My God! why do I need him? It is exasperating to have to deal with people like this, at such a serious time.

I have your word, as Catholic Queen. Lord Clanbrassil has seduced Jane; he shall marry her!

Well, then, if this infamous wretch refuses, your Majesty can do what she pleases with him and with me!

In that case, I will do everything the Queen commands, provided the crown of the Countess of Waterford is solemnly replaced by the Queen on the sacred and inviolable head of Jane, who stands here!

Everything! Even a crime, if it is a crime you want. I will not stop at treachery, which is more than a crime; nor at infamy, which is more than treachery.

You will say what I want you to say? You will die the death that I want you to die?

Then it is settled. It is enough! I have your word, you have mine! It is agreed.

Oh, Gilbert, what is this you have done? Oh, Gilbert, I am a wretched creature, and I don't dare to raise my eyes to you. Oh, Gilbert, you are more than an angel, for you have the virtues of an angel and a man's passions at the same time. [She goes out.

SCENE V

Seize this man! He has threatened my life, with his dagger! I seized his arm as he was about to strike me. He is an assassin!

Have you forgotten your agreement so soon? Is this the way you let me use you? [Aloud.] You are all witnesses that he had a dagger in his hand. Sir Bailiff, what is the name of the executioner of the Tower of London?

Yes, the Queen will speak to the executioner. The head will speak to the hand! Send for him.

My Lord Chandos, and you, gentlemen, will answer to me for this man. Keep him there among you, back of you. Certain things are about to happen here which he must witness. Sir Lieutenant d'Amont, is Lord Clanbrassil in the palace?

He is there, in the painted chamber, awaiting the Queen's good pleasure to see him.

The entire Court is also waiting there. Will nobody be admitted before Lord Clanbrassil?

Clinton, Montague, Somerset, Earl of Derby, Gerard Fitz-Gerard, Lord Paget, and the Lord Chancellor.

[To Simon Renard.] The worthy Bishop Chancellor is not any fonder of Fabiani than the rest, but he is a more scrupulous man.

[While she is examining them, the door in the background opens. Those lords designated by The Queen enter, making profound salutations.

SCENE VI

Good-day, gentlemen! God be with you, my lords! [To Lord Montague.] Anthony Brown, I do not forget that you held your own most worthily against John of Montmorency and the Count of Toulouse during my negotiations with my uncle, the Emperor! Lord Paget, to-day you will receive your letters patent of Baron Paget de Beaudesert in Stafford. And this is our old friend, Lord Clinton. We are always your good friend, my lord. It was you who exterminated Thomas Wyatt in St. James's Field. Let us all remember it, my lords. The crown of England was saved that day by a bridge which enabled my troops to reach the rebels, and by a wall which prevented the rebels from reaching me! The bridge was London Bridge. The wall was my Lord Clinton!

My Lord Clanbrassil may enter. [To Simon Renard.] After he has been here a few moments—

[She speaks to him in a low voice and indicates the door through which Jane passed.

SCENE VII

What does this mean? There are only my enemies here, this morning! The Queen is speaking in a low tone to Simon Renard. The devil! She is laughing! It is a bad sign.

And I also, I want to speak to you, madame. I have a right to reproach you! To keep me away, to exile me so long! Ah, it wouldn't be thus if you thought of me during these hours of absence as I think of you!

Yes, my lord! Truly, I have thought of no one but you. So much so, that I have tried to plan a pleasant surprise for your return.

[He turns and sees Jane on the threshold of the little door, which is half open.

Madame, this is a conspiracy. I am surrounded by enemies. This woman is doubtless in league with them. I do not know her, madame! I do not even know who she is, madame!

Ah, you are a coward! You betray one and disown the other! You don't even know who she is? Do you want me to tell you? This woman is Jane Talbot, daughter of John Talbot, the good Catholic lord who perished on the scaffold for my mother. This woman is Jane Talbot, my cousin: Jane Talbot, Countess of Shrewsbury, Countess of Wexford, Countess of Waterford, peeress of England. That is who she is, this woman! Lord Paget, you are commissioner of the private seal; you will remember our words. The Queen of England solemnly recognizes this woman here present, as Jane, daughter and sole heiress of the last Earl of Waterford. [Showing the papers.] Here are the titles and the proofs, which you will have sealed with the great seal. It is our will.

[To Fabiani] Yes, Countess of Waterford, and it is proved! And you will give back her estates, you wretched man! Ah, you don't know this woman? You don't know who she is? Well, I am telling you! It is Jane Talbot. Shall I tell you more yet?

That is what she is! Now, this is what you are! You are a man without soul, a man without heart, a man without brains. You are a liar and a villain! You are—By my faith, gentlemen, you need not draw away. I am quite willing you should hear what I have to say to this man. I am not lowering my voice, it seems to me. Fabiano, you are a wretch; a traitor to me, a coward to her; a lying lackey, the most vile, the lowest of all men. Yet it is true, I made you Earl of Clanbrassil, Baron of Dinasmonddy and what more? Baron of Darmouth in Devonshire. Ah, well! I was an idiot! My lords, I ask your pardon for having forced you to be elbowed by that man there. You, a knight! you, a noble! you, a lord! Compare yourself a little with those who are such. Look! look around you! There stand noblemen. There is Bridges, Baron Chandos; there is Seymour, Duke of Somerset. There are the Stanleys, who have been Earls of Derby since 1485. There are the Clintons, who have been barons since 1298. Do you imagine you are like these people—you? You say that you are allied to the Spanish family of Peñalver, but it is not true; you are only a bad Italian. Nothing—worse than nothing! Son of a shoemaker in the village of Larino! Yes, gentlemen, the son of a shoemaker! I knew it, and I did not tell it; I concealed it, and I made believe I credited this man when he talked about his nobility. That is the way we are, we women. Oh, Heaven! I wish there were women here; it would be a lesson to them all. This scoundrel! this scoundrel! he betrays one woman and disowns the other. Infamous creature! Oh, yes, indeed you are infamous. What! I have been speaking all this time and he is not yet on his knees? On your knees, Fabiani! My lords, force this man to kneel!

This creature whom I have loaded with benefits! this Neapolitan lackey whom I have made a noble knight and a proud earl of England. Ah, I ought to have expected this! But I am always like that; I am obstinate, and afterward I see that I am wrong. It is my fault. Italian stands for liar: Neapolitan for coward. Every time that my father made use of an Italian, he repented of it. This Fabiani! You see Lady Jane, unfortunate child, to what a man you have surrendered yourself! But I will avenge you. Oh, I ought to have known it from the first. You will find nothing in an Italian's pocket but a stiletto, nothing in his soul but treachery.

Good! Now he will perjure himself; he will descend to the depths of infamy; he will make us blush to our finger-tips before these men—we women who have loved him. He will not even lift up his head!

Yes, madame, I will lift it up! I am lost; I see it clearly. My death is decided. You will make use of every means, dagger, poison—

THE QUEEN (taking hold of both his hands and dragging him violently to the front of the stage).

Poison! Dagger! What are you saying, Italian? A treacherous vengeance, a disgraceful vengeance—a vengeance from the back, a vengeance such as you take in your country? No, Signor Fabiani, neither dagger nor poison. Do I have to conceal myself? Do I have to hide in the corners of the street at night and make myself small when I want revenge? No, by my faith, I want the daylight! Do you hear, my lord?—the full noonday, the bright sun, the public square, the ax and the stake, the crowds in the street, the crowds at the windows, the crowds on the roofs! A hundred thousand witnesses! I want people to be afraid, do you hear, my lord? I want them to think it splendid, frightful, magnificent. I want them to say, "It is a woman who has been wronged, but it is a Queen who takes revenge!" This much envied favorite, this handsome, insolent young man, whom I have dressed in velvets and satins, I want to see him bent double, terrified and trembling, on his knees before a black cloth, with naked feet, with manacled wrists, hissed by the people, fingered by the executioner. On this white neck, where I have put a golden collar, I want to put a rope. I have seen how Fabiani looks upon a throne, I want to see how he looks upon a scaffold.

Not a word! Not a word! You are indeed lost, as you say. You will mount the scaffold as did Suffolk and Northumberland. This will be a festival such as I have given before to my good city of London. You know how she hates you, this good city of mine! Faith, when one wants vengeance, it's a good thing to be Mary, Queen of England, daughter of Henry VIII. and mistress of four seas. When you are on the scaffold, you can make a long speech to the people, if you like, as Northumberland did, or a long prayer to God, as Suffolk did, in order to give pardon the time to arrive; but God is my witness that you are a traitor, and the pardon will not come. This wretched liar who talked of love to me, and this morning even said "thou" to me—Eh, gentlemen, it seems to amaze you that I talk thus openly before you; but I repeat it, what do I care?

[To Lord Somerset.] My lord duke, you are constable of the Tower; demand this man's sword!

Here it is; but I protest. Admitting that it is proved that I deceived or seduced a woman—

What does it matter to me whether you have seduced a woman? Do I concern myself about that? These gentlemen are witnesses, it is a matter of indifference to me!

The seduction of a woman is not a capital offense, madame. Your Majesty could not procure Frogmorton's condemnation upon the same accusation!

I believe he defies us now! The worm has become a serpent. Who says you are accused of that?

Of what else am I accused? I am not an Englishman; I am no subject of your Majesty. I am a subject of the King of Naples and a vassal of the Holy Father. I will appeal to his embassador, the eminent Cardinal Polus, to save me. I will defend myself, madame. I am a stranger! I cannot be tried unless I have committed a crime—a real crime. What is my crime?

You all hear this question that he has asked, my lords? You shall hear the answer. Listen, and look out for yourselves, all of you, however great you may be, because you will see that I need only stamp upon the earth with my foot to bring from out of it a scaffold. Chandos, open that folding-door. Call the Court—every one! Bid every one enter.

SCENE VIII

Enter, enter, my lords! I am truly pleased to see you to-day. Good! good! The officers of the law this way: nearer, nearer! Where are the sergeants-at-arms of the House of Lords? Harriot and Herbert? Ah, there you are, gentlemen! Be welcome! Draw your swords. Good! Place yourselves at the right and at the left of that man. He is your prisoner.

My Lord Gardiner, my learned friend, you are chancellor of England. We order you and the twelve lord commissioners of the Star Chamber, whom we regret not to see here, to assemble yourselves in haste. Strange things are passing in this palace. Listen, my lords! Madame Elizabeth has raised more than one enemy to our crown. We have had the Pietro Caro plot—that man who started the Exeter movement, and who communicated with Madame Elizabeth by means of a cipher cut on her guitar. We have had the treachery of Thomas Wyatt who roused the county of Kent. We have had the rebellion of the Duke of Suffolk, who was captured in the hollow of a tree, after his followers were defeated. To-day we have a new attempt. Listen, all of you. To-day, this morning, a man presented himself at my audience. After a few words, he drew his dagger on me. I stopped his hand in time. Lord Chandos and the bailiff D'Amont seized the man. He says that he was urged to the crime by Lord Clanbrassil.

By me! It is not true! This is a frightful thing! This man does not exist. This man cannot be found! Who is he? Where is he?

GILBERT (coming out from among the soldiers, behind whom he has been hidden up to this time).

According to this man's declarations, we Mary, Queen, accuse before the Star Chamber this other man, Fabiano Fabiani, Earl of Clanbrassil, of high treason, and of an attempt of regicide upon our imperial and sacred person.

Regicide? I? This is monstrous. Oh, my brain is bewildered! I cannot see clear! What is this trap? Whoever you may be, wretched creature, dare you affirm that what the Queen says is true?

Yes, always yes! Malediction! Oh, it is impossible for you to know how false that is, gentlemen. That man comes from hell! Unfortunate wretch, you want to ruin me, but don't you see that you ruin yourself in the same breath? The crime you charge upon me falls upon you too. You will send me to the block, but you will die also. Madman, with a single word you cause two heads to fall! Did you know that?

By you. Here is the purse full of gold which you paid me for the crime. Your crest and your monogram are embroidered upon it.

Just Heaven! But you don't show me the dagger with which this man, it is said, attempted to strike the Queen. Where is the dagger?

It is yours. You gave it to me for that purpose. They will find the sheath at your house!

In truth, he only saw me by night. Let me whisper two words to him, madame, they will help his memory. [He approaches Fabiani.] My lord, you appear to recognize no one to-day—neither the man you have wronged, nor the woman you have seduced. Ah, the Queen avenges herself; but the man of the people, he avenges himself also. You defied me to do it, I think. Behold yourself caught between a double vengeance, my lord! What do you say to that? I am Gilbert the engraver!

Yes, I recognize you. My lords, I recognize this man. Since it is with him I have to deal, I have nothing more to say.

According to Norman law and Statute 25, Henry VIII., in a case of high treason of the first degree, a confession does not save the accomplice. Do not forget, it is a case wherein the Queen has not the right of mercy, and you will die upon the scaffold as well as the man you accuse. Therefore reflect! Do you confirm all you have said?

With my hand upon the gospel, and my approaching death before my eyes, I swear that this man is an assassin; that this dagger, which is his, was used for the crime; that this purse, which is his, was given to me in payment for the crime. May God help me! It is the truth!

[The row of noblemen divides and the Executioner appears; he is dressed in red and black, and on his shoulder bears a long sword in its scabbard.

SCENE IX

My lord Duke of Somerset, these two men to the Tower! My Lord Gardiner, our chancellor, let their trial before the twelve peers of the Star Chamber commence to-morrow, and may God keep watch over England. We expect them to be judged, both of them, before we leave for Exford, where we are to open Parliament, and for Windsor, where we are to spend Easter.

[To the Executioner.] Approach! I am glad to see you! You are a faithful servant. You are old; you have already witnessed three reigns. It is customary for the sovereigns of this kingdom to make you as costly a gift as possible, upon their ascension. My father, Henry VIII., gave you the diamond clasp of his cloak. My brother, Edward VI., gave you a goblet of chased gold. It is my turn now; I have not given you anything yet. I must give you a present. Come nearer! [Indicating Fabiani.] Do you see that head—that young, adorable head; that head, which, up to this morning, was the dearest, the most precious thing to me, in all my kingdom? Well! that head—look at it well—I give it to you!

THIRD DAY

Scene.—Hall in the interior of the Tower of London. Pointed arch upheld by large pillars. To the right and to the left two low doors to two cells. To the right a dormer-window, which is supposed to overlook the Thames. To the left a dormer-window, which is supposed to overlook the streets. On each side a door concealed in the wall. In the background, a gallery with a sort of balcony shut in by glass and overlooking the exterior courts of the Tower

SCENE I

What do you say? We are not thinking of the same thing. What are you talking about?

Yes, of Jane! Only of Jane. What does the rest matter to me? You have forgotten, have you? You don't remember that for one whole month, glued to the bars of my cell, from which I can look into the street, I have watched her, pale and sad, wandering around the base of this tower, which holds two men, Fabiani and me. You have forgotten all about my anguish, have you, and my doubts, my misgivings? For which of us does she come? Poor wretch, I ask myself this question day and night. I asked you, Joshua; and last night you promised to try to see her, and speak to her. Oh, tell me! Did you learn anything! Is it for me she comes, or is it for Fabiani?

I learned that Fabiani is certainly to be beheaded to-day, and you to-morrow, and from that moment I confess I lost my head, Gilbert. The scaffold drove Jane entirely out of my thoughts. Your death—

My death! What do you mean by that word! My death is that Jane loves me no longer. From the day that I was no longer beloved, I was dead. Oh, yes! truly dead. Joshua, what has remained of me since that time won't be worth taking to-morrow. Oh, Joshua, you don't know, you can't understand what a man is when he loves. If any one had said to me, two months ago, "Jane, your Jane without reproach, your Jane so pure, your love, your pride, your lily, your treasure, Jane will give herself to another; will you take her then?" I should have said, "No, I will not have her! rather death a thousand times for her and for myself." And I should have crushed under my feet any one who had dared to speak to me like that. If I would take her?—To-day, you know, Jane is no longer the Jane without stain, whom I adored, the Jane whose brow I hardly dared touch with my lips. Jane has given herself to another—to a wretch! I know it—and—well, it's all the same to me. I love her! My heart is broken, but I love her! I would kiss the hem of her dress, and I would ask her pardon, if she would only take me. She might be in the gutter with those who belong there, and I would take her out, and I would hold her close to my heart, Joshua! Joshua, I would give, not a hundred years of life, since I no longer possess one day, but the eternity which will be mine to-morrow, just to see her smile at me once more—just once more before my death—and to have her say to me those dear words she used to say, "I love you." Joshua, Joshua, that is the way a man's heart is, when he loves. You think you would kill the woman who betrays you? No, you wouldn't kill her; you would lie at her feet afterward, the same as before, only you would be sad. You think I am weak? What should I have gained in killing Jane? Oh, my heart will burst with all these unbearable thoughts! If she only loved me now, what would it matter to me, what she has done? But she loves Fabiani! But she loves Fabiani! It is for Fabiani that she comes here! There is one thing that is sure, it is that I want to die. Have pity on me, Joshua!

My brother, here is the second constable of the Tower, Master Eneas Dulverton. You must go in. I will see you again to-night.

Oh, to die without being beloved! To have no one to weep for us! Jane! Jane! Jane!

Poor Gilbert! Good God! Who could have foretold that what has happened would happen?

SCENE II

As you say, it is very extraordinary. But what can you expect? The Queen is crazy. She doesn't know what she wants. You can't count upon anything. She is a woman. I would like to know what she is here for. Well! a woman's heart is a riddle of which King Francis I. wrote the solution on that pane of glass at Chambord—

Listen to me, Master Eneas. We are old friends; we must get through with this thing to-day. Everything here depends upon you. If you are ordered—[He whispers to Eneas] be slow about it; let it fall through skillfully. Let me have two clear hours before me to-night, and what I want will be accomplished; to-morrow there will be no favorite. I shall be all-powerful, and you will be baronet and lieutenant of the Tower the day after. Do you understand?

Very well. Some one is coming. We must not be seen together. Go out that way. I am going to meet the Queen. [They separate.

SCENE III

You are where you wished to be, my lady. Here are the doors to the two cells. My recompense, now, if you please.

Kind Heaven! What shall I do? It is I who have destroyed him. I must be the one to save him! I can never do it, never! A woman can do nothing! The scaffold— The scaffold! Oh, it is horrible! Come, no more tears; let us have action! I never can do it! I never can do it! Have mercy on me, my God! I think some one is coming. Whose voice is that? I recognize it. It is the Queen's voice! Ah, all is lost!

SCENE IV

Ah, the change surprises you? I am no longer myself? Well, what does that matter to me? It is the truth! I don't want him to die—now!

As I ordered the day before, that the execution should take place yesterday. As I ordered Sunday that the execution should take place Monday. To-day I ordered the execution to take place to-morrow.

As a matter of fact, since the second Sunday in Advent, when the decision was pronounced in the Star Chamber, and the two criminals came back to the Tower preceded by the executioner with the ax turned toward them—and that was three weeks ago—every day since then your Majesty has put the matter off until to-morrow.

Well, can't you understand what that means, sir? Must I explain everything, and must a woman be forced to show her naked heart to you, because she is a Queen—unfortunate woman that she is—and because you represent the Prince of Spain, her future husband? You don't understand, you men, that with a woman the heart has its chastity as well as the body. Well, then, yes—since you want to know, since you make believe that you don't understand anything—yes, every day I put off Fabiani's execution until to-morrow, because every morning my courage fails me when I think that the bell of the Tower of London will ring out his death-knell; because to think they are sharpening an ax for that man, breaks my heart; because it kills me to think they will nail a coffin over him; because I am a woman, because I am weak, because I am insane, because I love him yet, my God! There! have you got enough? Are you satisfied? Do you understand now? Oh, some day, my lord, I will have my revenge on you, for all these things you have made me tell you!

Yet it ought to be about time to get through with this Fabiani! You expect to marry my royal master, the Prince of Spain, madame!

If the Prince of Spain is not satisfied, let him say so; we will marry somebody else. Suitors are not lacking. The son of the King of the Romans, the Prince of Piedmont, the Infante of Portugal, Cardinal Polus, the King of Denmark, and Lord Courtenay are as good noblemen as he!

An English baron is worth a Spanish prince, my lord. Besides, Lord Courtenay is descended from the emperors of the East. Oh, get mad if you like!

Peasants and lords are united against him, and if he is not executed this very day, as your Majesty has promised—

Your Majesty swore upon your mother's prayer-book that you would not pardon him.

Here is a signature in blank which he has sent to me, in which I swear on my imperial crown that I will pardon him! My father's crown is worth as much as my mother's prayer-book. One oath destroys the other. But who says that I will pardon him?

What does that matter? All men are alike about that. I don't want him to die. Listen, my lord—I mean Sir Bailiff. Good God! you confuse my mind so much that I can't even tell whom I am talking to. Oh, I know all that you want to say to me! I know he is a vile, degraded, contemptible man. I know it as well as you, and I blush for it. But I love him! What do you want me to do about it? I would probably love a better man less. Moreover, who are you—all of you—great as you may be? Are you any better than he? You will tell me that he is a favorite, and the English nation detests favorites! Don't I know that you only want to overthrow him to put the Earl of Kildare—that fool, that Irishman—in his place, that he may have twenty heads a day cut off? What does that matter to you? Don't talk to me about your Prince of Spain; you make light enough of him. Don't talk to me about the anger of M. de Noailles, the French embassador! M. de Noailles is an idiot, and I will tell him so to his face. As for me, I am a woman; I want things, and then I don't want them. I am not made all in one piece. That man's life is necessary to my life. Oh, I beg of you, don't put on that air of virginal sincerity and good faith. I know all your intrigues. Between us two, you know as well as I that he didn't commit the crime for which he is condemned. Well, it is settled. I don't want Fabiani to die. Am I the mistress, or am I not? Come, Sir Bailiff, let us talk about something else, will you?

He went out with a singular expression. That man is capable of arousing a rebellion. I must hurry off to the City Hall. What ho! Some one! [Master Eneas and Joshua appear.

SCENE V

Is it you, Master Eneas? This man and you, you must attend to it that the Earl of Clanbrassil makes his escape at once.

Very well! I won't trust you; I remember you are one of his enemies. Are there none but enemies of the man I love, around me? I will wager that this turnkey, whom I don't even know, he hates him too.

My God! My God! This Simon Renard is more a king than I am a queen! What! not one person to trust? No one to whom I can give power to plan his escape?

You! Who are you? Ah, it is you, Jane Talbot. What are you doing here? Never mind, you are here! You have come to save Fabiani; thank you! I ought to hate you, Jane; I ought to be jealous of you. I have reason enough to be! But I'm not! I love you for loving him! In front of the scaffold there is no more jealousy—nothing but love! You are like me, you forgive him. I understand; men don't understand these things. Lady Jane, let us have it clearly understood. We are both of us miserable, are we not? We must save Fabiani! I have no one but you. I must let you do it! At least, I am sure, you will do it with all your heart. Take charge of it, gentlemen, both of you. Do everything that Lady Jane directs you to do, and upon your heads, you will be answerable for the execution of her orders. Embrace me, young woman!

The Thames washes the base of the Tower on this side. I noticed a secret passage. A boat at that place, and the escape might be made by the Thames. It is the safest way.

It will soon pass! It will be dark, too. That will be better if her Majesty wishes to keep the escape secret.

Perhaps you are right. In one hour then. I leave you, Lady Jane. I must go to the City Hall. Save Fabiani!

SCENE VI

You have heard the Queen's commands. A boat, there, at the base of the Tower, the keys of the secret corridors, a cap, and a cloak.

"This man!" It is very natural. One who has forgotten Gilbert will not remember Joshua.

Another who is condemned to death; some one whom you do not know—a workman named Gilbert.

SCENE VII

Listen to me! Pity me! Do not crush me! I know all that you would say. It is all true; but don't say it to me. I must save you. Everything is ready. The escape is safe. Let yourself be saved by me, just as if I were anybody else. I don't ask any more. You need never recognize me again. You need never know who I am! Don't forgive me! Just let me save you. Will you?

Thank you! It is useless. Why wish to save my life, Lady Jane, if you do not love me?

Oh, Gilbert, is that what you ask me, truly? Gilbert, do you deign to think of what is passing in this poor girl's heart? Gilbert, is it possible that the love I have for you can interest you, can seem worth thinking about? Oh, I thought it was quite indifferent to you—that you despised me too much to wonder what I did with my heart. Gilbert, if you only knew how these words you have spoken make me feel! Oh, it is an unhoped-for gleam of sunshine in my dark night. Oh, listen to me! If I dared to draw near to you, if I dared to touch your garments, if I dared to take your hand in mine, if I dared once more to lift mine eyes to you and to Heaven, as I did once—do you know what I would say to you? On my knees, prostrate, weeping at your feet, with sobs on my lips and the joy of angels in my heart, I would say, "Gilbert, I love you!"

You love me! My God! she loves me. It is indeed true! She has said it herself; her lips have spoken it. God in heaven!

You say all is prepared for my escape? Quick—let us hurry! Life! I want to live! Jane loves me! This roof descends on my head and crushes it. I want air! I suffocate here! Let us fly quickly. Let us go, Jane! I want to live! I want to live! I am beloved.

Not yet. We must have a boat. We must wait until night. But be easy. You are saved. In less than an hour we will be outside. The Queen is at the City Hall and will not come back so soon as that. I am mistress here. I will explain it all to you.

Wait an hour? That is long. Oh, I yearn to get back to life and happiness. Jane, Jane, you are there; I will live! You love me! I am come back from hell! Restrain me. I will do something mad. I will laugh, I will sing. Ah, you do love then?

Yes, I love you! yes, I love you! And listen, Gilbert, believe me; this is the truth as though I were on my death-bed: I have never loved any one but you. Even in my fall, even in the midst of my sin, I loved you. Scarcely had I fallen into the arms of that demon who ruined me, when I wept for my angel.

Forgotten! forgiven! Never speak of it again, Jane! What do I care for the past? Who could resist your voice, who would do other than I am doing? Yes, I pardon everything, my well-beloved child. The foundation of love is mercy and pardon, Jane; jealousy and despair burned the tears in my eyes, but I pardon you, but I thank you! You are the only truly bright thing in this world; at each word that you speak, I feel grief dies, and joy is born in my soul. Jane, lift your head, stand up straight before me there and look at me! I tell you that you are my child.

I wish I were outside now: in our flight, far away: free, with you! Oh, this night, which will never come! The boat is not there. Jane, we will leave London at once, this night. We will leave England; we will go to Venice. Men of my trade make a great deal of money there. You will belong to me! Oh, my God! I am insane! I have forgotten the name you bear. It is too proud a one, Jane.

Oh, no! Don't think I ask so much as that. I know I am unworthy of that. I do not lift my eyes so high. I would never take such an advantage of your pardon. The poor engraver Gilbert shall make no mesalliance with the Countess of Waterford. No, I will follow you, I will love you, I will never leave you; I will lie all day at your feet, all night at your door. I will watch you work, I will help you, I will give you all you need. I will be to you something less than a sister, something more than a dog. And if you ever marry, Gilbert—because God will want you to find somebody, some pure woman, without stain and worthy of you—well, if you marry, and if your wife is good, if she will let me, I will be your wife's servant. If she won't have me, I will go off, far off, to die where I can. That is the only way I shall ever leave you. If you do not marry I will stay with you, always; I will be gentle and patient—oh, you shall see!—and if people think ill of me because I am with you—well, they can think what they please. I have no longer the right to blush, you see—I am only an unfortunate woman!

Your wife? Ah, you are like God—your pardon purifies me. Be blessed, Gilbert, for putting this crown upon my brow.

[Gilbert takes her up and folds her to his heart. While they stand thus in each other's arms, Joshua takes Jane's hand.

[For some time a distant noise has been heard; confused voices, a tumult. It grows dark.

There is a great crowd off there. Pick-axes, pikes, torches. The Queen's pensioners on horseback, and fighting. They are all coming this way! What cries! The devil! It looks like a public revolt.

SCENE VIII

My Lord Fabiani! My lord, not an instant to lose! The people know the Queen wanted to save your life. There is a revolt of the London populace against you. In a quarter of an hour you will be torn to pieces. My lord, save yourself. Here is a cloak and a cap. Here are the keys. Here is a boatman. Don't forget that you owe it all to me. My lord, make haste! [Low to Boatman.] Remember, you are not to hurry.

What! this is not Lord Clanbrassil. You are not fulfilling the Queen's orders, my lady. You are helping another to escape.

Only for a moment. No woman in the boat, if you want it to arrive safe. It is too light yet; your dress is white. After the peril is over, you will find each other again. Come this way with me. Let him go that way.

Here are the keys. There are twelve doors to open and shut between here and the water's edge. It will take you a good quarter of an hour.

Good-by, Jane! A few more moments of separation and we will rejoin each other for a life-time!

Fabiani remains in the trap. Now, there is a shrewd little woman whom Simon Renard would have paid a good deal for. How will the Queen take all this? Provided the consequences do not fall on my shoulders!

[The Queen and Simon Renard enter with rapid steps. The tumult outside has steadily increased. It is night. Cries of death, torches, lights, sounds of moving masses; the click of arms, shots, the stamping of horses. Several noblemen with daggers in their hands accompany The Queen. Among them are the herald of England, Clarence, bearing the royal banner, and the herald of the Order of the Garter, Jarretiere, bearing the banner of that order.

SCENE IX

The Queen, Simon Renard, Master Eneas, Lord Clinton, the two heralds, lords, pages, etc.

You must make your decision on the spot, madame. The people demand this man's death! The Tower is besieged. The revolt is formidable. Your nobles have been cut to pieces on London Bridge. Your Majesty's pensioners hold their own yet; but, just the same, your Majesty has been chased street by street, from the City Hall to the Tower of London. Madame Elizabeth's followers have joined the people. You can tell that by the venom of the mob. All this is serious. What does your Majesty command?

Death to Fabiani! Do you hear that howling populace, my lords? You must throw a man out to them. The rabble is hungry!

By heaven, my lords! it seems to me you all stand trembling around me! Upon my soul! must a woman show you your duty as noblemen? To horse, my lords, to horse! Are you afraid of the rabble? Are swords afraid of clubs?

Don't let things go any further. Yield, madame, while there is yet time. You can yet say "the rabble"; in an hour you will have to say "the people"!

In a quarter of an hour, madame. The first wall of the Tower is broken down. One more step, the mob will be here.

Do you know this is infamous, that not one of you stirs? In the name of Heaven, defend me, my lords!

Very well, I will tell you all then, so much the worse for you. Fabiano is innocent. Fabiano never committed the crime for which he was condemned. It was I, and this man here, and the engraver Gilbert. We did it all; we invented it all; we imagined it all. It was all a farce! Contradict me if you dare, Sir Bailiff! Now, gentlemen, will you defend him? He is innocent; I swear it. On my head, on my crown, on my God, on my mother's soul, he is innocent of the crime. It is as true as that you stand there, Lord Clinton! Defend him! Annihilate these wretches as you annihilated Tom Wyatt, my brave Clinton, my old friend, my good Robert! I swear to you that it is false that Fabiano tried to assassinate the Queen.

The balcony! Open the balcony. I myself will prove to the people that he is not guilty.

When I think it is Simon Renard, one of Cardinal Granvelle's creatures, who dares to speak to me like this! Well, open that door! open that cell! Fabiano is there. I want to see him; I want to speak to him.

What are you doing? For his own sake, you needn't let everybody know where he is.

Choose, madame [with one hand he points to the cell], this head to the people [with the other hand he designates the crown which the Queen wears] or that crown to Madame Elizabeth.

Your Majesty is destroying herself without saving him! The second court is reached. What does the Queen command?

You are all cowards, and Clinton is the worst of all. Ah, Clinton, I will remember this, my friend!

Oh, to be abandoned by all of you! to have confessed all without obtaining anything! What sort of creatures are these noblemen here? That populace is infamous! I would like to crush them under my feet. There are times then, when a queen is nothing but a woman? You will pay dear for this, gentlemen!

Whatever you will. Do what you like. You are an assassin. [Aside.] Oh, Fabiano!

Clarence! Jarretiere! Come here! Master Eneas, open the great balcony of the gallery.

[The balcony in the back opens. Simon Renard steps out upon it, Clarence at his right, Jarretiere at his left. Immense tumult outside.

People, the Queen bids you know this: To-day, this very night, one hour after the curfew, Fabiano Fabiani, Earl of Clanbrassil, covered with a black veil from head to foot, bound with an iron gag, a yellow wax candle weighing three pounds in his hand, will be led, by torchlight, from the Tower of London, through Charing Cross, to the old Market-Place of the city, there to be publicly punished and beheaded, for the crimes of high treason and attempt of regicide on the imperial person of the Queen!

And, in order that no one in this city of London shall ignore it, this is what the Queen orders during the entire journey, which the criminal must make from the Tower of London to the old Market-Place: The great bell of the Tower shall toll; at the moment of the execution, three cannon-shots will be fired—the first, when he mounts the scaffold; the second, when he kneels upon the black cloth; the third, when his head falls. [Applause.]

This night the Tower and the city of London will be illuminated with lights and torches, in sign of joy. I have spoken. [Applause.] God protect the old charter of England!

[Simon Renard goes out. As Master Eneas is about to go, The Queen rushes to him, seizes him by the arm and drags him violently to the front of the stage.

SCENE X

Save the Earl of Clanbrassil? But the people are out there! It is impossible! By what means?

The people will keep armed until after the execution. To satisfy them, somebody must be beheaded!

Anybody I please? Wait, madame! The execution will be at night, by torchlight; the criminal covered with a black veil, gagged; the people kept a long way from the scaffold by the pike-men, the same as always. It is enough, if the people see a head fall. The thing is possible. If only the boatman is there yet! I told him not to hurry.

[He leans out of the window, a torch in his hand, waving his handkerchief, then he turns to The Queen.

THIRD DAY

Scene.—A hall or room into which lead two staircases, one ascending and the other descending. The entrance to each of these staircases fills a portion of the back of the stage. The one which ascends ends at the frieze; the one which descends ends underneath—neither the beginning nor the end is visible

The room is draped with black in a peculiar fashion. The wall on the right, the wall on the left, and the ceiling are covered with a black cloth on which is a large white cross; the background, which faces the spectator, with a white cloth and large black cross. These black and white draperies continue until they are lost to sight under the staircases. To the right and to the left, there is an altar draped with black and white, decorated as if for a funeral. Tall candles. No priests. A few funeral lamps, hanging here and there from the vaulted roof, light the room and the staircases feebly. What really lights the room is the great white cloth in the background, through which a reddish light shines as if there were a fiery furnace behind. The room is paved with tombstones. As the curtain rises, the motionless figure of The Queen is seen in black outline on this transparent cloth

SCENE I

Jane, Joshua. They enter cautiously through a little door behind the black draperies, which they push aside

On the great landing of the staircase down which the criminals go to execution. It was draped in this way under Henry VIII.

The people are on guard at every exit. They want to be sure of getting their criminal this time. No one can go out before the execution.

The proclamation they made from the balcony rings in my ears yet. This is a horrible thing, Joshua.

The Tower wasn't surrounded on the waterside. Then, when he started, the riot wasn't as bad as it was afterward. It was a fine riot, if you but knew it.

And waiting for you under the first arch of London Bridge, where you will meet him before midnight.

[While Jane looks at this figure in horror, a distant voice, which seems to come from above, pronounces these words slowly and distinctly.

The man, covered with a black veil, who follows me, is the very high and mighty Lord Fabiano Fabiani, Earl of Clanbrassil, Baron of Dinasmonddy, Baron of Darmouth in Devonshire, who is to be beheaded at the London Market-Place, for the crimes of regicide and high treason. God have mercy on his soul!

[A funeral procession appears at the head of the staircase, and gradually forms itself on the steps as it descends. A man dressed in black is at the head, bearing a white banner with black cross. Next comes Master Eneas Dulverton, wearing a great black cloak, holding his Constable's baton in his hand. Then a group of halberdiers, dressed in red; then a man in white, bearing black banner with white cross. To the right and to the left, halberdiers bearing torches.

[The procession reaches the other staircase: Simon Renard, who appeared at the entrance of this staircase, some moments before, and has observed everything, moves aside to let them pass. The procession goes under the arch of the staircase, and gradually disappears. Jane, terrified, follows it with her eyes.

What does this mean? Is that really Fabiani? I thought him not so tall. Has Master Eneas?—It seems to me the Queen kept him near her for a moment. Let us see!

The great bell will announce his exit from the Tower, presently. Perhaps you can make your escape now: I must try to find a way. Wait for me here: I will come back.

It will be dangerous for you to wander over the Tower with me. I must get you away from here. Remember Gilbert is waiting for you.

Oh, what a terrible sight!—when I think that it might have been like this for Gilbert.

[The cloth at the back opens. The Queen appears: she comes slowly to the front of the stage, without seeing Jane, who turns around.

SCENE II

Jane, The Queen. Jane clings to the altar, with horror, and fixes a look of stupor and terror on The Queen's face

THE QUEEN (she stands a few seconds at the front of the stage, her glance fixed, pale, as if absorbed in gloomy thoughts. At last she sighs profoundly).

Some one is here. Oh, it is you, young woman! It is you, Lady Jane. I frighten you. Don't be afraid. You know the turnkey Eneas betrayed us. Don't be afraid. I have already told you, child, you have nothing to fear from me. What was your ruin a month ago is your salvation to-day. You love Fabiano. There are only you and I in the whole world to-day who have a heart like that. Only you and I love him. We are sisters.

Yes, you and I—two women, we are all he has! Every one else is against him; a whole city, a whole nation, a whole world. Unequal struggle of love against hate. Love for Fabiano is a sad thing, a fatal, a horror-stricken thing: it has a pallid brow like yours, tear-filled eyes like mine; it hides itself close to a funereal altar; it entreats with your lips, it curses with mine. But hate for Fabiano is a proud thing, radiant, triumphant: it is well-armed and victorious; it has the Court, the people, the crowded streets; it munches cries of death and cries of joy at the same time; it is magnificent, haughty, powerful; it illuminates a whole city surrounding a scaffold. Love, here it is—two women weeping in a tomb! Hate, there it is!

[She pulls the white cloth violently aside, which reveals a balcony, and beyond the balcony, almost out of sight, the whole city of London, brilliantly illuminated. What is visible of the Tower of London is also illuminated. Jane fixes her amazed eyes on this startling scene, the reflection of which lights up the theater.

Oh, infamous city; rebellious city; accursed city; monstrous city—who soaks her holiday dress in blood, and who holds the torch for the executioner! You are afraid of it, aren't you, Jane? Doesn't it seem to you, as it does to me, that it cowardly defies us both; that it is watching us with its hundred thousand flaming eyes—us, feeble, forsaken women that we are, alone and lost in this sepulcher? Jane, do you hear it howl and laugh—that horrible city? Oh, England, all England to him who will destroy London! Would that I could change those torches into fiery brands, those lights into flames, and that illuminated city into a city of fire!

[A tremendous outburst from the people outside—applause, confused cries, "There he is! There he is! Death to Fabiani—" The great bell of the Tower begins to toll. At this sound, The Queen breaks into a terrible peal of laughter.

Yes, I laugh! [She laughs.] Yes, and you will laugh, too. Let me drop those hangings first. It seems to me all the time as if we were not alone, as if that frightful city could see and hear us.

Now that he is gone, now that there is no more danger, I can tell you about it. Laugh, laugh, let us both laugh at those execrable people who drink blood! Oh, it is grand, Jane! Jane, you tremble for Fabiano? Be at ease, laugh with me, I tell you. Jane, the man they've got, the man who is going to die, the man they think is Fabiano—is not Fabiano.

You know well enough! You know him—that workman—that man. Besides, what does it matter?

Madame! Oh, no, madame! Don't say that, madame! Gilbert—it would be too horrible! He has escaped!

He was escaping when they seized him. They put him under the black veil in Fabiano's place. It is night. The people won't know. Rest easy.

What? What do you say? Are you going crazy? Did you deceive me, too? Ah, it is Gilbert whom you love! Well, what does that matter to me?

JANE (at The Queen's feet, broken-hearted, sobbing, dragging herself on her knees, her hands clasped: the great bell tolls through all this scene).

Madame—just for pity! Madame, in the name of Heaven! Madame, by your crown, by your mother, by the angels! Gilbert, Gilbert—it will make me mad! Madame, save Gilbert! That man, he is my life; that man, he is my husband; that man— I have told you that he did everything for me, that he brought me up, that he adopted me, that beside my cradle he took the place of my father, who died for your father. Madame, you see that I am a poor, wretched creature, and it isn't right to be too hard on me. What you said to me just now struck such a terrible blow that I don't truly see how it is I have strength to speak to you. I am just saying what I can, you see. But you must stop the execution—right away! Stop the execution! Put it off until to-morrow. Just time to have things understood, that is all. The people can wait until to-morrow, I know. We will see what we can do. No! don't shake your head! There is no danger for your Fabiano. You can put me in his place—under the black veil—at night. Who will know? But you must save Gilbert. What difference does it make whether it be he or I? And since—since I want to die! Oh, my God, that bell, that frightful bell! Every knell of that bell is a step toward the scaffold. Every knell of that bell strikes me full in the heart. Do it, madame. Be merciful! No danger for your Fabiano! Let me kiss your hands. I love you, madame. I never said it before—but I love you dearly. You are a great queen. See, how I kiss your beautiful hands! Give an order to stop the execution. There is time yet. I am sure we can do it. They go so slowly. It is a long way from the Tower to the old Market-Place. The man on the balcony said they would pass through Charing Cross. There is a quicker way. A man on horseback could get there. In Heaven's name, madame, be merciful! Try to put yourself in my place. Imagine that I am Queen and you the poor young woman; and you would weep as I do, and I would pardon. Pardon! Pardon! Oh, that is what I was afraid of, that my tears would hinder me from speaking! Oh, right away!—stop the execution! There won't be any trouble, madame; no danger for Fabiano, I swear it to you. Don't you really think you ought to do what I say, madame?

I wish I could, poor girl. Ah, yes, you are weeping as I wept; what you feel I have just felt myself, and my anguish makes me understand yours. Look! I am weeping too. It is very sad, my poor child. It seems to me, too, they might have taken somebody else—Tyrconnel, for instance. But he is too well known: they had to have some obscure man. He was the only one they could get hold of. I explain all this so that you can understand, don't you see? My God, there are fatalities like that: we get caught. We can't do anything.

I am listening to you, madame. I am like you. I have got many things to say. But I would like to have the order to suspend the execution signed, and the man sent off. You see it would be finished then. We could talk better afterward. Oh, that bell! forever, that bell!

Oh, no, it is possible!—a man on horseback. There is a very short way—by the wharf. I can go—I— It is quite possible! It is easy! You see I talk very quietly.

But the people won't have it. They will come back here and massacre everybody in the Tower. And Fabiano is here yet. Can't you understand? You are trembling, poor child. I am like you—I tremble also. In your turn, put yourself in my place. I might easily not take the trouble to explain all this to you. You see I do what I can. Don't think about this Gilbert any more. Jane, it is over— Resign yourself.

Over! No, it is not over! No—as long as that horrible bell tolls, it is not over! Resign myself to Gilbert's death? Do you think I am going to let Gilbert die like that? No, madame! Ah, I am wasting my time! Ah, you won't listen to me! Very well, if the Queen won't hear me, the people will. They are good, the people—if you but knew it! They are in the court yet. You can do what you like with me afterward. I am going to tell them they are cheated; and that it is not Fabiani, it's a poor workman, named Gilbert—a workman like themselves!

This is the way you thank me, is it? I am patient and gentle with you, I weep with you—and all at once, you get wild and furious! Well, my love is just as great as yours, and my hand is more powerful! You shall not stir! Your lover!—what do I care for your lover? Are all the girls in England coming to ask me about their lovers, now? By my soul, I save my own as well as I can, and at the cost of everything which stands in his way. You must look after yours.

I will not hush! Do you want me to tell you what I'm thinking of now? I don't believe the man who is going to die out there is my Gilbert.

I don't know, but I saw him pass by under that black veil; and if it had been my Gilbert, something would have stirred in me, something would have roused itself in my heart, and would have cried out to me, "Gilbert—it is Gilbert." But I felt nothing at all; it is not Gilbert.

What are you saying? Ah, my God! you are crazy. What you have said is idiotic, but it terrifies me just the same. Ah, you have roused one of the secret terrors of my own heart! Why did that riot prevent me from looking after him myself? Why did I intrust to any one but myself the safety of my Fabiano? Eneas Dulverton is a traitor. Perhaps Simon Renard was there. What if I have been betrayed a second time by Fabiano's enemies? What if it is Fabiano himself? What, ho! quick—some one—come—some one!

[To the first.] You—run! Here is my royal signet. Tell them to suspend the execution. To the old Market-Place; to the old Market-Place! There is a shorter way, you said, Jane.

[To the second Jailer.] You—go at once to Edward the Confessor's Tower. The two cells of the condemned criminals are there. There is a man in one of them. Bring him here at once.

I tremble; my knees sink under me; I have not strength enough to go myself. Ah, you have made me as mad as yourself! Miserable girl, you have made me as wretched as yourself. I curse you as you cursed me. My God, will the man get there in time? What a torturing anxiety! I can't see anything more. All is trouble in my soul. Does the bell toll yet? Is it for Gilbert? Is it for Fabiano?

Then the procession is on the place for the execution. Will the man get there in time?

There is only one alive now. In a moment we will know which one. My God, let the man who comes in be Fabiano!

[The curtain at the back opens. Simon Renard appears, holding Gilbert by the hand.

MARION DE LORME

ACT I

Scene.—Blois. A bed-chamber. A window opening on a balcony at the back. To the right, a table with a lamp, and an armchair. To the left a door, covered by a portière of tapestry. In the background a bed

SCENE I

Marion de Lorme, in a very elegant wrapper, sitting beside the table, embroidering. Marquis de Saverny, very young man, blonde, without mustache, dressed in the latest fashion of 1638

SCENE II

Go—
Go quickly! Oh, I feared lest Didier—

[Midnight strikes.

Hark!
It's striking midnight! Didier should be here!

[She goes to the balcony and looks into the street.

No one!

[She comes back and sits down impatiently.

Late! To be late—so soon!

[A young man appears behind the balustrade of the balcony, jumps over it lightly, enters, places his cloak and sword on the armchair. Costume of the day: all black: boots. He takes one step forward, pauses and contemplates Marion, sitting with her eyes cast down.

At last!

[Reproachfully.

To let me count the hour alone!

Down there, outside the wall,
I was o'ercome with pity. Pity? yes,
For you! I, poor, accursed, unfortunate,
Stood there a long time thinking, ere I came!
"Up there an angel waits," I thought, "in virgin grace,
Untouched by sin—a being chaste and fair,
To whose sweet face shining on life's pathway
Each passer-by should bend his knees and pray.
I, who am but a vagrant 'mongst the crowd,
Why should I seek to stir that placid stream?
Why should I pluck that lily? With the breath
Of human passion, why should I consent
To cloud the azure of that radiant soul?
Since in her loyalty she trusts to me,
Since virtue shields her with its sanctity,
Have I a right to take her gift of love,
To bring my storms into her perfect day?"

No! at your feet.

[He sits on a stool at Marion's feet and looks at her for some moments in complete silence.

Hear me, Marie!
I have no name but Didier—never knew
My father nor my mother. I was left,
A baby, on the threshold of a church.
A woman, old, belonging to the people,
Preserved me, was my mother and my nurse.
She brought me up a Christian, then she died
And left me all she had—nine hundred francs
A year, on which I live. To be alone
At twenty is a sad and bitter thing!
I traveled—saw mankind: I learned to hate
A few and to despise the rest. For on
This tarnished mirror we call human life,
I saw nothing but pride and misery
And pain; so that, although I'm young, I'm old,
And am as weary of the world as are
The men who leave it. Never touched a thing
That did not tear and lacerate my soul!
Although the world was bad, I found men worse.
Thus I have lived; alone and poor and sad,
Until you came, and you have set things right.
I hardly know you. At the corner of
A Paris street you first appeared to me.
Then afterward I met you, and I thought
Your eyes were sweet, your speech was beautiful!
I was afraid of loving you, and fled!
But destiny is strange: I found you here,
I find you everywhere, as if you were
My guardian angel. So at last, my love
Grew powerful, resistless, and I felt
I must talk with you. You were willing. Now
They're at your service, both my heart and life.
I will do anything that you wish done.
If there is any man or anything
That troubles you, or you have any whim
And somebody must die to satisfy it—
Must die, and make no sign—and feel 'twas worth
Death any time to see you smile; if you
Need such a man, speak, lady: I am here!

[He takes his sword and step's over the balustrade. Marion rises, runs to him and tries to hold him back by his cloak.

[The clashing of swords subsides little by little, then entirely ceases. The sounds of footsteps become indistinct. Didier reappears scaling the balcony.

SCENE III

SCENE IV

ACT II

Scene.—Blois. The door of a public-house. A square. In the background the city of Blois is visible in the form of an amphitheater, also the towers of St. Nicholas upon the hill, which is covered with houses

SCENE I

Count de Gassé, Marquis de Brichanteau, Viscount de Bouchavannes, Chevalier de Rochebaron. They are seated at tables in front of the door: some are smoking, the others are throwing dice and drinking. Afterward Chevalier de Montpesat, Count de Villac; afterward L'Angely; afterward The Town-Crier and The Populace

No, nothing. Corneille still upsets all heads.
Guiche has obtained the order; Ast is duke.
Of trifles, plenty—thirty Huguenots
Were hung; a quantity of duels. On
The third, D'Angennes fought Arquien on account
Of wearing point of Genoa; the tenth,
Lavardie had a rendezvous with Pons,
Because he'd taken Sourdis' wife from him.
Sourdis and D'Ailly met about a creature
In the theater Mondori. On the ninth,
Lachâtre fought with Nogent because he wrote
Three rhymes of Colletet's badly; Margaillan
With Gorde, about the time of day; D'Humière
With Gondi on the way to walk in church;
And all the Brissacs 'gainst all the Soubises
For some bet on a horse against a dog.
Then Caussade and Latournelle fought for nothing—
Merely for fun: Caussade killed Latournelle.

[Marion and Didier cross the back of the stage slowly without being noticed by the talkers; they enter a small door in one of the houses on the side.

[L'Angely enters, seats himself at a table alone, and in silence. He is dressed in black velvet with gold trimming.

[All shudder: turn away, and are silent with terror; all fix their eyes on L'Angely, who silently resumes his seat.

[New consternation among the young men. Villac and Montpesat separate, keeping their eyes fixed on L'Angely.

[A crowd of people enter from the streets and houses, and spread over the Square. In the center appears The Town-Crier on horseback, with four Town-servants in livery, one of whom blows the trumpet, while the other beats the drum.

BRICHANTEAU (to a juggler with a monkey on his back, who has joined the crowd).

[The two Servants attach a great placard to an iron gallows protruding from the wall on the right.

[The Town-Crier exits; the crowd retires. Saverny enters. It begins to grow dark.

SCENE II

[It is quite dark; the windows in the city are lighted one by one; a lamplighter enters and lights a street-lamp above the edict and goes out. The little door through which Marion and Didier disappeared is re-opened. Didier comes forth dreamily, walking slowly, his arms folded.

SCENE III

[He advances slowly, his eyes fixed on the noblemen, and sits down at a table placed under the street-lamp, which lights up the edict. L'Angely, motionless and silent, is a few steps distant.

[Both throw off their cloaks, take off their hats with which they salute each other, throwing them afterward on the ground. Then they draw their swords.

[They cross swords and fence, silently and furiously. Suddenly the small door opens, Marion in a white dress appears.

SCENE IV

[The Archers lead Didier off on one side, the noblemen carry Saverny off on the other.

SCENE V

ACT III

Scene.—The Castle of Nangis. A park in the style of Henry IV. In the background on an elevation, the Castle of Nangis, part new, part old, is visible. The old, a castle-keep with arches and turrets: the new, a large brick house with corners of wrought stone, and pointed roof. The large door of the castle-keep is hung with black: from afar one distinguishes a coat-of-arms—that of the families of Nangis and of Saverny

SCENE I

M. DE LAFFEMAS, undress costume of a magistrate of the period. Marquis de Saverny, disguised as an officer of the Regiment of Anjou; with black mustache and imperial, and a plaster on the eye

[In the background, the old Marquis de Nangis passes; white hair, pale countenance, arms folded across his breast, dress of the day of Henry IV.: deep mourning; the star and the ribbon of the order of the Holy Ghost. He walks slowly; nine guards in three rows follow; they are dressed in mourning, their halberds on their right shoulder, their muskets on their left; they keep within a short distance, stopping when he stops, and continuing when he continues.

SCENE II

[The Marquis de Nangis re-enters; he is still absorbed in a deep reverie. He walks slowly, does not appear to notice any one, and seats himself upon a bank of turf.

SCENE III

[The old Marquis, who has remained silent and motionless during all this scene, rises and goes out slowly on the side opposite where he came in. His guards follow him.

SCENE IV

[He exits. Enter a troupe of strolling actors, men, women and children in character costumes. Among them are Marion and Didier, dressed as Spaniards. Didier wears a great felt hat and is covered with a cloak.

SCENE V

SCARAMOUCHE (to Marion and Didier, who until now have remained quietly apart).

SCENE VI

Oh, may I be accursed! Cursed first by Heaven,
Then cursed 'mongst men: cursed throughout all my life;
Cursed more than we are now, if a reproach
Shall ever leave my lips for you! What matter
Though all the earth abandon me, you're mine!
You are my savior, refuge, all my hope!
Who duped the jailer, filed my chains for me?
Who came from heaven to follow me to hell?
Who was a captive with the prisoner,
An exile with the fugitive? Ah, who,
Who else had heart so full of love and wit,
Heart to sustain, console, deliver me?
Great, feeble woman, have you not saved me
From destiny, alas! and my own soul?
Had you not pity on my nature, crushed?
Have you not loved one whom all others hate?

[Marion rises hastily from Didier's side. At the same time that Gracieux enters, Saverny comes in; he stands in the background and looks attentively at Marion without seeing Didier, who remains sitting on the bank and is hidden by a bush.

SCENE VII

SCENE VIII

SCENE IX

Humph!
The wretched juggler! Pride in such base souls!
If you some day should fall into my hands
Unoccupied with better sort of game—
But this will not find Didier! Now, I can't
Take all this crowd and put them to the torture.
This is worse work than hunting needles in
A haystack. Faith! a chemist's crucible
Bewitched I ought to have, which, eating up
The lead and copper, would reveal at last
The golden ingot hid by much alloy.
Go to the Cardinal without my prize?

[Striking his brow.

That's it! The clever thought! Oh, joy! He's mine!

[Calling through the barn door.

Ho, gentlemen, comedians! one word, please.

SCENE X

The same. Comedians, among them Marion and Didier; afterward Saverny, afterward Marquis de Nangis

[All the actors press eagerly forward. Saverny enters, and watches the scene with curiosity.

[All the actors take their places before Laffemas. Marion and Didier among them. Didier does not look at Marion; his eyes are bent on the ground; his arms are folded underneath his cloak. Marion watches him anxiously.

[Laffemas interrupts Scaramouche with a gesture and signs to Taillebras to speak. Taillebras makes a profound obeisance, then draws himself up.

[Laffemas rises gallantly and kisses her hand. Marion is pale; she looks at Didier, who remains motionless with eyes on the ground.

[Didier repulses Marion, who staggers terrified to the bench where Laffemas sits, and falls upon it.

[At this moment Marquis de Nangis passes across the back of the stage, in the same attitude, with his escort of Halberdiers. Marion's cry arrests him; pale and silent he turns to the characters.

MARQUIS DE NANGIS (as if awakening from a dream, starts, and with a great cry throws himself into his nephew's arms).

MARION (indicating Marquis de Nangis, who is still holding Saverny in his arms).

[The Guards, terrified, drag the two prisoners off in silence, Marquis de Nangis turns away indignant and buries his face in his hands.

ACT IV

SCENE I

Duke de Bellegarde, rich court costume covered with embroidery and lace, the order of the Holy Ghost around his neck, and the star upon his cloak. Marquis de Nangis, in deep mourning and followed by his escort of Guards. Both cross the back of the hall

DUKE DE BELLEGARDE (to a Musketeer who walks up and down in front of a small gilt door).

[Both go out. Marion, in deep mourning, enters through the great door in the back, which opens on a staircase.

SCENE II

[The little gilt door is opened. M. de Laffemas comes out, holding in his hand a parchment to which a red seal hangs by strands of silk.

SCENE III

Marion, Laffemas: gesture of surprise from both. Marion turns away from him with horror

SCENE IV

[The hall is gradually filled with Courtiers; they talk together. Duke de Bellegarde goes from one to the other. L'Angely enters.

SCENE V

The same. Duke de Beaupréau, Laffemas, Viscount de Rohan, Count de Charnacé, Abbé de Gondi, and other courtiers

[Laffemas enters; all the Courtiers vie with each other in paying court to him and surrounding him. Duke de Bellegarde watches them with vexation.

[He seeks Laffemas, presents him to Duke de Bellegarde, who bows with ill-concealed displeasure.

VISCOUNT DE ROHAN (bursting into laughter among a group of Courtiers in the back of the hall).

[The King enters; he is in black, his eyes are cast down. The order of the Holy Ghost is on his doublet and his cloak. Hat on his head. The Courtiers all uncover and range themselves, silently, in two rows. The Guards lower their pikes and present muskets.

SCENE VI

The same. The King. The King enters slowly, passes through the crowd of Courtiers, without lifting his head, stops at front of stage, and stands for several instants absorbed and silent. The Courtiers retire to the back of the hall

I hate him! He is in my way.
He crushes me! I am not master here—
Not free! And yet I might be something. Ah,
When he walks o'er me with such heavy tread,
Does he not fear to rouse a slumbering king?
For trembling near me, be it ne'er so high,
His fortune vacillates with every breath
I draw, and all would crumble at a word,
Did I wish loud, what I wish in my heart!

[A pause.

That man makes good men bad, and bad men vile!
The kingdom, like the king, already sick,
Grows worse. Without is cardinal, within
Is cardinal; no king is anywhere!
He torments Austria, lets any one
Capture my vessels in Gascony's Bay.
Allies me with Gustavus Adolphus!
What more? I do not know. He's everywhere:
As if he were soul of the king, he fills
My kingdom, and my family, and me.
I am much to be pitied. [Going to window.
Always rain.

I am bored.

[A pause.

I am the first in France and yet the last!
I'd change my lot to lead a poacher's life—
To hunt all day; to have no cares to fret
The pleasures of the chase; to sleep 'neath trees;
To laugh at the King's officers, to sing
During the storm; to live as freely in the woods
As birds live in the air. The peasant in
His hut, at least, is master and is king;
But with that scarlet man forever there,
Forever stern and cold, and speaking thus,
"This must be your good pleasure, sire!" Oh, outrage!
This man conceals me from my people's gaze.
As with young children, he hides me beneath
His robe; and when a passer-by asks, "Who
Is that behind the Cardinal?" they say,
"The King!" Then there are new lists every day.
Last week the Huguenots; the duelists
To-day! He wants their heads. Such a great crime—
A duel! But the heads; what does he do
With them?

SCENE VII

The same. Marion, Marquis de Nangis. Marquis de Nangis advances with his escort to within a few steps of The King; he kneels there. Marion falls on her knees at the door

That 'tis high time
You thought about these things! The Cardinal-Duke
Has more than one disastrous scheme afoot.
He drinks the best blood of your subjects, sire!
Your father, Henry IV., of royal heart,
Would not have sacrificed his nobles thus!
He never struck them down without dire need!
Well served by them, he sought to guard them well.
He knew good soldiers had more use in them
Than trunkless heads. He knew their worth in war,
This soldier-king whose doublet smelled of battle!
Great days were those. I shared, I honor them!
A few of the old race are living yet.
Never could priest have touched one of those lords.
There was no selling of a great head cheap!
Sire, in these treacherous days to which we've come,
Trust an old man, keep a few nobles by.
Perhaps, in your turn, you will need their help.
The time may come when you will groan to think
Of all the honors lavished on La Grève!
Then, sadly, your regretful eyes will seek
Those lords indomitably brave and true,
Who, dead so long, had still been young to-day.
The country's heart yet pants with civil war;
The tocsin of past years re-echoes yet,
Be saving of the executioner's arm!
He is the one should sheathe his sword, not we!
Be miserly with scaffolds, O my sire!
'Twill be a woful thing some later day
To mourn this great man's help, who hangs to-day
A whitening skeleton on gallows-tree!
For blood, my king, is no good, wholesome dew.
You'll reap no crops from irrigated Grève!
The people will avoid the sight of kings.
That flattering voice which tells you all is well,
Tells you you're son of Henry IV., and Bourbon—
That voice, my sire, however high it soars,
Can never drown the thud of falling heads!
Take my advice: play not this costly game.
You, King, are bound to look God in the face,
Hark to the words of fate, ere it rebels!
War is a nobler thing than massacre!
'Tis not a prosperous nor joyful State
When headsmen have more work than soldiers have!
He for our country is a pastor hard,
Who dares collect his tithes in slaughtered heads!
Look! this proud lord of inhumanity
Who holds your scepter has blood-covered hands!

Oh, no, sire!
Since God himself is merciful, you need
Not fear! Have pity! Two young, thoughtless men,
Pushed by this duel o'er a precipice
To die! Good God! to die upon the gallows!
You will have pity, won't you? I don't know
How people talk to kings—I'm but a woman;
To weep so much perhaps is wrong. But oh,
A monster is that cardinal of yours.
Why does he hate them? They did naught to him.
He never saw my Didier. All who do
Must love him! They're so young—these two! To die
For just a duel! Think about their mothers.
Oh, it is horrible! You will not do it, sire!
We women cannot talk as well as men.
We've only cries and tears and knees, which bend
And totter as kings turn their eyes on us.
They were in fault, of course! But if they broke
Your law, you can forgive it! What is youth?
Young people are so heedless! For a look,
A word, a trifle, anything or nothing,
They always lose their heads like that! Such things
Are happening every day. Each noble, here,
He knows it. Ask them, sire! Is it not true,
My lords? Oh, frightful hour of agony!
To know with one word you can save two lives!
I'd love you all my life, sire, if you would
Have mercy—mercy, God! If I knew how,
I'd talk so that you'd have to say that word.
You'd pardon them; you'd say, "I must console
That woman, for her Didier is her soul."
I suffocate, sire. Pity, pity me!

Sire, reflect!
Think of their age, their expiated fault!

[Falling on his knees.

The pride of an old man, who, prostrate, kneels!
Have mercy!

[The King makes an abrupt sign of anger and refusal.

I was comrade to Henry!
Your father and our father! I was there
When he—that monster—struck the fatal blow.
'Til night I watched beside my royal dead:
It was my duty. I have seen my father
And my six brothers fall 'neath rival factions;
I have lost the wife who loved me. Now
The old man standing here is like a victim
Whom a hard executioner, for sport,
Has bound unto the wheel the whole long day.
My master, God has broken every limb
With His great iron rod! 'Tis night-time now,
And I've received the final blow! Farewell,
My king! God keep you!

[He makes a profound obeisance, and exits. Marion lifts herself with difficulty, and, staggering, falls on the threshold of the gilt door of The King's private room.

THE KING (to Duke de Bellegarde, wiping his eyes and watching the retreating figure of Marquis de Nangis).

A sad interview!
Ah, not to weaken, kings must watch themselves!
To do right is not easy. I was touched.

[Reflects for a moment, then interrupts himself suddenly.

No pardoning to-day, for yesterday
I sinned too much!

[Approaching Duke de Bellegarde.

Before he came, my lord,
You said bold things, which may be bad for you
When I report to my lord cardinal
The conversation we have had. I'm sorry
For you, Duke. In the future, have more care!
I slept so wretchedly, my poor Bellegarde.

[With a gesture dismissing Courtiers and Guards.

Pray leave us, gentlemen!
[To L'Angely.] Stay, you!

[All go out except Marion, whom The King does not see. Duke de Bellegarde sees her crouching on the threshold of the door and goes to her.

[He returns to The King, who is seated in the great armchair and is in a profound reverie.

SCENE VIII

THE KING (after a moment's hesitation, dismisses Marion with a gesture without looking at her).

You speak the truth. I always suffer when
La Grève holds court. Nangis was right: the dead
Serve nobody. To fill Montfaucon
I make a desert of the Louvre!

[Walking rapidly.

'Tis treason
To strike my right of pardon out, before
My face. What can I do? Disarmed, dethroned,
And fallen: in this man absorbed, as in
A sepulcher! His cloak becomes my shroud:
My people mourn for me as for the dead.
I am resolved: those two boys shall not die!
The joy of living is a heavenly gift.

[After reflection.

God, who knows where we go, can ope the tomb;
A king cannot. Back to their families
I give them; that old man, that fair young girl,
Will bless me. It is said: I've signed it—I,
The King. The Cardinal will be furious,
But it will please Bellegarde.

ACT V

Scene.—Beaugency. The tower of Beaugency. A courtyard; the tower in the background, all around a high wall. To the left, a tall arched door; to the right, a small rounded door in the wall; near the door a stone table and stone bench

SCENE I

Some Workmen. They are pulling down a corner of the back wall on the left. The demolition is almost completed

[They continue their work. Laffemas enters; The Workmen are silent. He comes from the back as though he were coming from an inside court of the prison; stops beside The Workmen, appears to examine the breach, and gives them some directions. When the space is opened, he orders them to hang black cloth across it, which covers it entirely; then he dismisses them. At almost the same moment Marion appears, dressed in white, and veiled; she enters through the great door, crosses the court rapidly, and runs to the grating of the small door, at which she knocks. Laffemas follows slowly in the same direction. The grating is opened; The Turnkey appears.

SCENE II

[When about to enter, Laffemas turns, looks at Marion a moment, then approaches her. The Turnkey shuts the door.

MARION (without looking at him, turning to the small door, her hands clasped).

[Marion is buried in a deep and painful reverie. Suddenly she passes her two hands over her brow and turns, as if wild, toward Laffemas.

[Laffemas goes toward the large door and signs to her to follow. She falls on her knees, turned toward the grating of the prison; then she arises with a convulsive effort and disappears through the great door after Laffemas. Saverny and Didier enter, surrounded by Guards.

SCENE III

Didier, Saverny. Saverny, dressed in the latest fashion, enters gayly and petulantly. Didier is in black, walks slowly, is very pale. A jailer accompanied by Halberdiers conducts them. The Jailer places the two Halberdiers as sentinels beside the black curtain. Didier sits, silently, on the stone bench

DIDIER (motionless at front of stage, holding the portrait in his hand, and as if absorbed in a deep study of it).

Come, look at me well!
Eyes in my eyes: thus. You are beautiful!
What radiant grace! Hardly a woman, you!
No: much more like an angel. God Himself
When He formed that divinely honest look
Put much fire in it but more chastity.
That childish mouth, pushed open by sweet hopes,
Throbs with its innocence.

[Throwing the portrait violently to the ground.

Why did that peasant
Take me unto her breast? Why not have dashed
My head against the stones? What did I do
Unto my mother to be cursed with birth?
Why, in that misery, it may be crime,
Which forced her to abandon her own blood,
Had she not motherhood enough to choke
Me in her arms?

DIDIER (without heeding him, picks up the picture and fixes his eyes upon it).

SCENE IV

[Councilor exits with his escort. The two prisoners remain alone. Day begins to fade. The halberds of the two sentinels, who silently promenade before the breach, are all that can be seen.

[He leans his elbows on the stone table and drops his head on his hands. The Guard is changed.

My friend, do not give way!
Don't falter on this threshold we must cross.
The tomb they're fitting up for us is low,
And won't permit the entrance of a head.
Let's go to meet them with a fearless tread.
The scaffold can afford to shake, not we.
They claim our heads; and since no fault is ours,
We'll bear them proudly to the fatal block.

[Approaches Saverny, who is motionless.

Courage!

[Touches his arm and finds he is asleep.

Asleep! While I've been preaching courage
This man has slept! What is my bravery
Compared to his? Sleep on, you who can sleep.
My turn will come—provided all things die,
That nothing of the heart survives within
The tomb, to hate what it has loved too much.

[It is night. While Didier has become absorbed in his thoughts, Marion and The Jailer enter through the opening in the wall; The Jailer precedes her. He carries a dark-lantern and a bundle, both of which he places on the ground, then advances cautiously toward Marion, who has remained standing on the threshold, pale, motionless, half-wild.

SCENE VI

[The scenes are mis-numbered in the book and skip from the number IV to the number VI in Act V. (note of etext transcriber)]

[Goes up stage; during the rest of this scene he continues to walk up and down at the back.

MARION (advances with tottering steps as if absorbed in some desperate thought. Every now and then she draws her hand across her face as if to rub off something).

MARION (rises, without hearing him, and gets the bundle and brings it to him).

[Aside.] The kisses of that man, he sees them! God!
[Aloud.] You have a secret, something against me!
It hurts you! Tell me all about it, dear.
You know we often make things worse by thinking,
And too late find it out; then we regret.
I had my share in all your thoughts, love, once!
Speak, are those days for evermore gone by?
Do you not love me now? Have you forgot
My little room at Blois? Forgotten how
We loved each other, till the world was lost?
Sometimes you grew uneasy; then I said,
"If any one should see him!" Oh, 'twas fine!
But one day has destroyed it all. You've said
A thousand times, in words that burned my soul,
I was your love, I knew your secrets, I
Could make you anything I chose. What have
I ever asked? I've always thought with you!
This time, oh, yield to me! It is your life
I'm pleading for. My Didier, hark to me.
Alive or dead, I swear to follow you.
All things with you, love, will be sweet to me—
To fly, or die upon the scaffold. What!
You push me back? You shall not! Leave your hand,
I want it. My poor brow, it does no harm
To rest it on your knees. I am so tired;
I ran so fast to come! What would they say,
The people I knew once, to see me now?
I was so gay, so merry; now I weep!
What is it that you have against me? Speak!
Oh, shame! You must let me lie at your feet.
It's very cruel of you not to say
One single word. When we have thoughts, we speak!
'Twould be more merciful to stab me, love!
See, I have dried my tears, and I am smiling.
You smile too. Oh, if you don't smile at me,
I will not love you! I have always done
Just what you wanted; now it is your turn.
These chains are what have chilled your soul. Love, smile
And speak to me, and say "Marie."

I thank you! To descend
As low as that! To have no shame, no soul!
Oh, madame! can one be so infamous?

[Crossing the court with a great cry of rage.

Who is this trader in disgrace and vice,
Who puts a price like that upon my head?
Where is the jailer, where the judge, the man?—
That I may crush him as I crush this thing.

[He is about to break the portrait in his hands, but he stops, and beside himself, continues.

The judge? Yes, gentlemen, make laws and judge!
What matters it to me if the false weight
Which swings your vile scales to this side or that
Be made of woman's honor or man's life?
[To Marion.] Go to your lover!

[Rolling of drums. Enter Councilor of the Great Chamber, accompanied by penitents bearing torches, and by Executioner. A crowd of soldiers and people follow.

SCENE VII

To my heart, oh, come!
You who behold this direful tragedy,
I wonder if there's one of you who would
Refuse love unto one who'd given herself
Entirely and unceasingly to him?
Oh, I was wrong! Say, would you have me face
Eternity without a pardon from
Her lips? No! Stand by me and listen, love:
Among all womankind—and those who hear
Will prove me right by their own hearts—the one
I love, the one in whom I trust, the one
I venerate is you—is always you!
For you were kind, devoted, loving, good.
My life is almost ended. When death's near
A clearer light illuminates all things.
If you deceived me, 'twas excess of love;
And if you fell, have you not cruelly atoned?
Perhaps your mother—life's so hard—forgot
You in your cradle, as my mother did;
When you were young and helpless, perhaps they sold
Your innocence. Ah, lift up your white brow!
And listen, all of you. At such an hour
The earth is a mere shadow and the heart
Speaks true. Well, at this moment, from the height
Of the dread scaffold—and there's naught so high
When guiltless souls ascend it—here,
I say to you, Marie, angel of light,
Whose luster earth has dimmed, my love, my wife,
In God's name, before whom I soon shall stand,
I pardon you.

[Nine o'clock strikes. Didier makes sign to all to hush. Marion listens with terror. After the nine strokes have sounded, Didier goes and stands close to Saverny.

[The cannon sounds at the door of the tower; the black veil which concealed the opening in the wall, falls: the gigantic litter of The Cardinal appears, borne by twenty-four foot-guards, surrounded by twenty other guards bearing halberds and torches: the litter is scarlet and ornamented with the arms of the House of Richelieu. It crosses the back of the stage slowly. Great agitation among the crowd.

MARION (dragging herself up to the litter on her knees and wringing her hands).

[Marion falls to the ground. The litter passes and the procession of the condemned men follows it. The crowd rush madly after them.

MARION (alone, lifts herself half way up, and drags herself along by her hands: looking around.)

ESMERALDA

ACT I

Scene.—The Court of Miracles. It is night. A crowd of vagrants. Noisy dancing. Male and female beggars in different attitudes of their profession. The King of Thune on his cask. Fires, lights, torches. In the shadow a circle of wretched dwellings

SCENE I

Claude Frollo, Clopin Frouillefou, then Esmeralda, then Quasimodo. The Vagrants

CLAUDE FROLLO (apart behind a pillar in a corner of the stage. He is covered with a long cloak which hides his priestly garb).

[She reaches the center of the stage. The Vagrants form an admiring circle around her.

[Claude attempts to draw near to Esmeralda; she turns away from him with a kind of horror. The procession of the Pope of Fools enters. Torches, lanterns and music. In the middle of the procession, upon a litter surrounded with candles, Quasimodo, decked with cope and miter, is carried.

CLAUDE FROLLO (perceiving Quasimodo, and starting toward him with a gesture of anger).

[Claude Frollo tears off Quasimodo's pontifical ornaments, and crushes them underfoot. The Vagrants begin to murmur; they form menacing groups around him; he looks at them angrily.

[At the moment when The Vagrants' fury has reached its highest pitch, Clopin Frouillefou appears at the back of the stage.

[The Vagrants retire to their hovels. The Court of Miracles appears deserted. Clopin approaches Claude cautiously.

SCENE II

CLAUDE FROLLO (grasping Clopin's arm excitedly, and dragging him to the front of the stage).

[He motions to Clopin to leave him, after having thrown him his purse. When he finds himself alone with Quasimodo, he draws him to the front of the stage.

[Upon a sign from Claude Frollo he retires up stage and leaves his master down stage.

[Claude Frollo and Quasimodo look anxiously at the door through which Esmeralda must pass.

[Esmeralda enters: they throw themselves upon her and try to drag her away: she struggles.

SCENE III

[The archers take Quasimodo up stage and off. Esmeralda, recovered from her fright, approaches Phœbus with curiosity, mingled with admiration, and draws him gently to the front of the stage.

[She slips out of his arms and escapes. Phœbus, disappointed, turns to Quasimodo, whom the archers hold bound at the back of the stage.

[He places himself at the head of his guard and goes out, taking Quasimodo with him.

ACT II

Scene.—The square of Grève. The pillory. Quasimodo is in the pillory. Populace on the square

SCENE I

[Esmeralda, some instants ago, joined the crowd. She perceives Quasimodo, first with surprise, then with pity. Suddenly, in the midst of all the noise, she mounts the pillory, unfastens a little cup which she carries on her belt, and gives a drink to Quasimodo.

SCENE II

A magnificent drawing-room in which people are making preparations for a festival. Phœbus, Fleur-de-lys, Madame Aloise De Gondelaurier

[She goes up stage and gives orders to the servants, who continue the preparations.

She speaks the truth: my heart is sad
Even when she is near—
The one I love, the one who fills my soul—
Alas! she is not here.

Exquisite creature,
To you my love!
Oh, dancing shadow,
My sweet-voiced dove,
Absent, yet with me
Wherever I move!

She's as bewildering and sweet
As is a nest 'mid rushes,
Sweet as a rosebud crowned with moss,
Sweet as the joy which sorrow hushes.

Humble child and virgin proud,
Soul that's pure though free!
Voluptuous ardors sink abashed
Before thy chastity.

In the dark night she comes,
An angel from the skies;
Her forehead veiled by shadows,
Flames darting from her eyes.

I see her face forever—
Now bright, now dark it seems;
But strangely—'tis in heaven
I see her in these dreams.

Exquisite creature.
To you my love!
Oh, dancing shadow,
My sweet-voiced dove,
Absent, yet with me
Wherever I move!

SCENE III

The preceding. Viscount de Gif, M. de Morlaix, M. de Chevreuse, Madame de Gondelaurier, Fleur-de-lys, Diana, Bérangère. Ladies, Lords

[The guests greet and salute each other; servants circulate among the crowd, bearing platters laden with flowers and fruits. A group of young girls forms itself near a window to the left. Suddenly one of them calls to the others, and motions to them to look out of the window.

SCENE IV

The same. Esmeralda. The gypsy enters timidly, confused and radiant. Movement of admiration. The crowd falls back before her

[Esmeralda prepares to dance, and draws from her bosom the scarf which Phœbus gave her.

[Fleur-de-lys snatches the scarf from Esmeralda, and falls in a swoon. All the people rush angrily toward the gypsy, who flies for protection to Phœbus.

[Phœbus and his friends protect the gypsy, who is menaced by all the guests of Madame De Gondelaurier. Esmeralda staggers toward the door.

ACT III

Scene.—The front yard of a tavern. Tavern to the right; trees to the left. In the back a door, and a small low wall which closes in the yard. In the distance the roof of Notre Dame with its towers and its spire. A dark silhouette of old Paris outlines itself against the red sunset. The river Seine is at the base of the picture

SCENE I

Phœbus, Viscount de Gif, M. de Morlaix, M. de Chevreuse, and many other friends of Phœbus, seated at tables, are drinking, and singing; afterward Don Claude Frollo

[Enter Claude Frollo, who seats himself at a table at some distance from Phœbus, and appears at first to observe nothing that passes around him.

[The curfew rings; the friends of Phœbus arise from the table, replace their swords, their caps, their cloaks, and prepare to depart.

SCENE II

[Claude Frollo's earnestness seems to trouble Phœbus, who looks at his interrogator with anxiety.

[Phœbus exits quickly, in spite of Claude Frollo. Claude Frollo stands gloomy and undecided for a moment; then follows Phœbus.

SCENE III

A chamber. In the background, a window which opens on the river. Clopin Frouillefou enters, bearing a torch. He is followed by several men, to whom he makes a preconcerted sign, and places them in a dark corner, in which they disappear; then he returns to the door and signals to some one to come up. Don Claude appears

[Claude Frollo hides himself in the alcove. Clopin exits with caution. Esmeralda and Phœbus enter.

[Claude Frollo rushes upon Phœbus and stabs him; then he opens the window in the back, through which he escapes. With a great cry, Esmeralda falls upon the body of Phœbus. The men stationed at the corner rush forward, seize her, and seem to accuse her.

ACT IV

SCENE I

[The door opens. Claude Frollo enters, a lamp in his hand, his hood pulled over his face: he comes and stands, motionless, in front of Esmeralda.

[A jailer appears. Claude Frollo signs to him to lead out Esmeralda. He exits while they drag forth the gypsy.

SCENE II

The area before Notre Dame; the front of the church. The sound of bells is heard

My God! I love,
Except myself,
All that's here—
The air which passes,
And which chases
Away care;
And the swallow
Who is faithful
To the old roof;
The chapels high
O'ershadowed by
The Holy Cross;
Every rose
That grows;
Every sight
Of delight!

Sad creature, I—
Uncouth, ill-made!
None envies me!
This is life
As it is!
Darkest night,
Bluest sky,
What matters it?
Every door
Leads to God.
Ignoble scabbard,
Noble blade;
Fair my soul
God has made.

Ring, bells small and great—
Ring on, ring on!
Mix well your voices,
Gruff and sweet!
In the turrets,
In the tower,
Sing your song!

How they ring!
With all their might,
Let them hum
Day and night!
Our festival shall be
Magnificent, I swear!
Assail it fiercer yet,
The palpitating air!
The stupid peasants run,
And o'er the bridges tear!

Let them ring,
Let them hum,
Day and night!
Every feast
Is increased
By their might!

SCENE III

SCENE IV

The populace; Quasimodo; afterward Esmeralda, and her escort; then Claude Frollo, Phœbus, Clopin Frouillefou, priests, archers, officers of the law

[The crowd increases; noise; a gloomy procession begins to appear on the Place du Parvis. Rows of black penitents. Banners of La Miséricorde. Torches, archers, officers of the law and the watch. The soldiers disperse the crowd. Esmeralda appears. She wears a chemise; a rope is around her neck; her feet are bare, and she is covered with a long black veil of crape. Following her, come the executioners and the King's officers. As the prisoner reaches the front of the church, a somber chant is heard in the distance, coming from the interior of the church, whose doors are closed.

[The chant draws nearer. It bursts forth, at length, when near the doors, which open suddenly and discover the interior of the church. It is filled with a long procession of priests in their robes of ceremony; banners are borne before them. Claude Frollo, in sacerdotal costume, leads the procession. He goes toward the criminal.

[As the officers of the law are about to seize Esmeralda, Quasimodo jumps into the square, thrusts back the archers, takes Esmeralda in his arms, and throws himself with her into the church.

PHŒBUS (appearing on horseback. He is pale, breathless, exhausted as is a man who has made a long journey).

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Marion de Lorme.
Didier.
Louis XIII.
Marquis de Saverny.
Marquis de Nangis.
L'Angely.
M. de Laffemas.
Duke de Bellegarde.
Marquis de Brichanteau,	}	Officers of the Regiment of Anjou.
Count de Gassé,	}
Viscount de Bouchavannes,	}
Chevalier de Rochebaron,	}
Count de Villac,	}
Chevalier de Montpesat,	}
Duke de Beaupréau.
Viscount de Rohan.
Abbé de Gondi.
Count de Charnacé.
Scaramouche,	}	Provincial comedians.
Gracieux,	}
Taillebras,	}
Councilor of the Great Chamber.
Town Crier.		Captain.
A Jailer.		A Registrar.
The Executioner.		First Workman.
Second Workman.		Third Workman.
A Lackey.		Dame Rose.

The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Dramas of Victor Hugo: Mary Tudor, Marion de Lorme, Esmeralda

MARY TUDOR MARION DE LORME ESMERALDA

MARY TUDOR

FIRST DAY

SCENE I

SCENE II

SCENE III

SCENE IV

SCENE V

SCENE VI

SCENE VII

SCENE VIII

SCENE IX

SECOND DAY

SCENE I

SCENE II

SCENE III

SCENE IV

SCENE V

SCENE VI

SCENE VII

SCENE VIII

SCENE IX

THIRD DAY

SCENE I

SCENE II

SCENE III

SCENE IV

SCENE V

SCENE VI

SCENE VII

SCENE VIII

SCENE IX

SCENE X

THIRD DAY

SCENE I

SCENE II

MARION DE LORME

ACT I

SCENE I

SCENE II

SCENE III

SCENE IV

ACT II

SCENE I

SCENE II

SCENE III

SCENE IV

SCENE V

ACT III

SCENE I

SCENE II

SCENE III

SCENE IV

SCENE V

SCENE VI

SCENE VII

SCENE VIII

SCENE IX

SCENE X

ACT IV

SCENE I

SCENE II

SCENE III

SCENE IV

SCENE V

SCENE VI

SCENE VII

SCENE VIII

ACT V

SCENE I

SCENE II

SCENE III

SCENE IV

SCENE VI

SCENE VII

ESMERALDA

ACT I

SCENE I

SCENE II

MARY TUDOR
MARION DE LORME
ESMERALDA