The Pagliacci (5)

That night there are two inspectors in the camp. I sit alone. I am approached.
“I am Petruccio.”
“And I am Festus. We are investigators.”
I already know.
“Did you, the man they call Pagliacci, strike Signore Simon, the man they call Propizio?”
I did. “I did.”
“Signore, you are under arrest. Please come with us.”
I go.

I sit in my cell. I await trial. I watch from my window as the heavens turn their restless course. The stars twinkle in merriment. My new audience. They laugh at me. They mock me – I, who gave them their laughter.
I once performed for Gasparo the Great. The people sang my name.

I am Pagliacci, the buffoon, and what a fool I have been.

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