Читать книгу Borgia. A Period Play онлайн

21 страница из 32

His ducats in his purse.

It sails, it sails, it sails

On to Sant’ Angelo. The torches....

Nothing is stol’n?

No, not a single gem.

Vendetta? Are there wounds?

I counted seven;

One mortal in the throat. His hands were tied.

[With a howl like a lion’s.] God, by God’s blood, my curse!

[He falls in a swoon.

[Lifting both hands.] His Vicar here on earth!

[Who kneels and supports the Pope.] Beware! His father must not see him.

Washed and habited

As Gonfalonier, on an open bier,

He will be borne,

With flambeaux, to his mother’s private chapel,

And will be swiftly hidden!

[Shrugging his shoulders.] But, my lords, The populace is ribald: it acclaims His Holiness the fisher of his son, Though not, by rights, of men.

[Poto and the Cardinals laugh.

[Slowly opening his eyes.] Francesco, are they talking of my son?

ssss1

A room in the Lord Cardinal Cesare Borgia’s Palace of Borgo Sant’ Angelo.