The Dramas of Victor Hugo: Mary Tudor, Marion de Lorme, Esmeralda. Виктор Мари Гюго

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.

      FABIANI.

      Insolent fool!

      THE MAN.

      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.

      FABIANI.

      This man goes to the bottom of everything.

      THE MAN.

      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.

      FABIANI.

      Thank you.

      THE MAN.

      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.

      FABIANI.

      All—he knows it all! Well, come to the point. What do you want of me?

      THE MAN.

      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.

      FABIANI.

      Yes! But no one has those papers.

      THE MAN.

      Yes. Some one has them.

      FABIANI.

      Who?

      THE MAN.

      I.

      FABIANI.

      You, miserable wretch! It isn't true! Jew speaks, Jew lies.

      THE MAN.

      I have got the papers.

      FABIANI.

      You lie! Where have you got them?

      THE MAN.

      In my pocket.

      FABIANI.

      I don't believe you. Are they all in order? Nothing lacking?

      THE MAN.

      Nothing is lacking.

      FABIANI.

      Then I must have them.

      THE MAN.

      Gently.

      FABIANI.

      Jew, give me those papers!

      THE MAN.

      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!

      FABIANI.

      Those papers are everything to me and nothing to you.

      THE MAN.

      Simon Renard and Lord Chandos would pay me pretty high for them.

      FABIANI.

      Simon Renard and Lord Chandos are two dogs between whom I will have you hanged.

      THE MAN.

      You have nothing else to say to me? Then farewell.

      FABIANI.

      Come back! What do you want me to give you for those papers?

      THE MAN.

      Something which you have with you.

      FABIANI.

      My purse?

      THE MAN.

      Out upon you! Do you want mine?

      FABIANI.

      What then?

      THE MAN.

      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.

      FABIANI.

      What do you want to do with this signature in blank?

      THE MAN.

      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.

      FABIANI.

      Impossible! I can't give you this signature in blank. Ten thousand gold