Читать книгу Borgia. A Period Play онлайн
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ALEXANDER.
Poto,
There was no scar on him, not the least wound;
That is the truth: and he stood armed again.
As bright as San Michele he looked down
Upon us from the wall, his gonfalon
Swathing around him as he stood. His face
Was to me as an angel’s.
[He weeps quietly.] I repent, I will change all to meet that boy again In Paradise, no wound on him, no scar. And yet the sight of him, O Poto, drove down to the rasping quick Of conscience through my heart. All shall be changed, The Vatican be cleared of sin. These bastards ... Let me not see them more! Joffré, Lucrezia— Joffré must mind his government afar, I banish him. Lucrece—oh, I shall gather The seas between us; she shall dwell in Spain, Dwell in Valencia, deep, where I was born, White little demon-girl! [He rises, trembling, and Poto robes him.] No priest henceforward Shall hold two benefices; simony No more shall breed among us. God would punish Some sin in us; it could not be Giovanni Deserved a death so cruel. Gently, Poto, You are too violent.