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!
LORD MONTAGUE.
Have a care, my Lord Clinton! We are loyal subjects! Not a word against the Queen, everything against Fabiani.
SIMON RENARD (laying his hand on Lord Clinton's shoulder).
Have patience!
LORD CLINTON.
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.
SIMON RENARD.
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.
LORD MONTAGUE.
Yes! but how to do it! I think of it all day.
SIMON RENARD.
It is not in the daytime that the favorites of queens are made and unmade; it is at night.
LORD CHANDOS.
This night is dark and frightful.
SIMON RENARD.
I find it good for what I wish to do.
LORD CHANDOS.
What do you mean to do?
SIMON RENARD.
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.
LORD CLINTON.
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.
SIMON RENARD.
If I find the man I am looking for, to-night, Tyrconnel will sup with you to-morrow.
LORD CLINTON.
What do you mean? What will have become of Fabiani?
SIMON RENARD.
Have you good eyes, my lord?
LORD CLINTON.
Yes, although I am old and the night is dark.
SIMON RENARD.
Do you see London on the other side of the water?
LORD CLINTON.
Yes. Why?
SIMON RENARD.
Look well! From here you can see the height and the depth of every favorite's fortune—Westminster and the Tower of London.
LORD CLINTON.
Well?
SIMON RENARD.
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].
LORD CLINTON.
Pray God be with you!
LORD MONTAGUE.
The people hate him no less than we do. What a festival will his fall make in London!
LORD CHANDOS.
We have placed ourselves in your hands, Sir Bailiff. Dispose of us. What must we do?
SIMON RENARD (indicating a house, near to the water).
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.
LORD CHANDOS.
It is agreed. [They all exit at different sides.
SIMON RENARD (alone).
The man I need is not easy to find.
[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
Jane, Gilbert, Joshua Farnaby
JOSHUA.
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?
GILBERT.
In one week, isn't it, Jane?
JOSHUA.
Faith!
