JANE.
Madame—
THE QUEEN.
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.
THE QUEEN.
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.
JANE.
God! The unfortunate man is leaving the Tower!—You laugh, madame!