play the flute while Rome burns.

Nero fiddled whilst Rome burned.

My God.

You're...

writing again.

After you promised.

Anne, you should have seen them, the mob.

They didn't sit there like the reptilia of court,

faces motionless, fangs momentarily retracted.

No! They climbed the stage! They fought the French!

Stop it! Stop this at once!

Why must you write?

Why must you continue to humiliate my family?

[ANNE SOBBlNG]

The voices, Anne.

[♪♪♪]

The voices, l can't stop them. They come to me.

When l sleep, when l wake, when l sup. When l walk down the hall.

The sweet longings of a maiden, the surging ambitions of a courtier,

the designs of a murderer, the pleas of his victims.