"Ah, then -- the King of Naples, being an enemy to me inveterate, hearkened my brother's suit; which was, that he, in lieu o' the premises of homage and I know not how much tribute, should presently extirpate me and mine out of the dukedom and confer fair Milan with all the honours on my brother: whereon, a treacherous army levied, one midnight fated to the purpose did Antonio open the gates of Milan, and, i' the dead of darkness, the ministers for the purpose hurried thence me and my daughter, then but three years old."
(His expression softens slightly, for almost the first time, when he mentions his daughter.)
Matt's expression, meanwhile, sharpens-- in alarm.
"Oh, snap."
It's one thing to want a little recognition for all the hard work you're doing while your brother gets his bookworm on. But extirpation is a whole other ballgame.
He raises his eyebrows quizzically, but the emotion behind the expression is clear even if the words are unfamiliar.
"Aye. And yet, so dear was the love my people bore me, they durst not destroy us outright. Instead, they hurried us aboard a bark, bore us some leagues to sea; where they prepared a rotten carcass of a boat, not rigg'd, nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats instinctively had quit it. There they hoist us, to cry to the sea that roar'd to us, to sigh to the winds whose pity, sighing back again, did us but loving wrong. Some food we had and some fresh water that a noble Neapolitan, did give us, with Rich garments, linens, stuffs and necessaries. And above all these, in his gentleness, knowing I loved my books, he furnish'd me from mine own library with volumes that I prize above my dukedom."
He glances up into the rafters. "Providence herself put her hand to the work then, and guided our meager vessel to the island that we now call home. And there I may say I came into my power -- no more were the words on the page alone, but now on my tongue; no more a power in theory, but now in practice."
He inclines his head. "My thanks, Master Jamison, but there is no need. The architects of this treachery are far away now, and justice shall come to them in due time."
"--Sorry, right. Karma is a force of the universe in most Indian cosmologies. In its most basic form, it's the principle of cause and effect-- but it's just. So it basically says, if you act in an immoral way, you can expect it to catch up with you."
Prospero arches an eyebrow. "Indeed. Though who is to say that we mortals are not the instruments of the divine? Such has always been the aim of judge and jury, to be the eyes of blind Justice and bear her sword and scales on Earth."
"But there seems to be some kind of contradiction somewhere about being an agent of ineffable divinity, cognizant of that fact, and also a finite being."
He pauses thoughtfully.
"Our justice systems, eventually, are usually found to be lacking by the societies that come after us."
"We do what we may in the time we have. We cannot forestall action because the unseen future looks back upon us as a child looks upon his parents. The world turns whether we will or no; if a man stays still as the tide comes in around him, he drowns."
"Ah, then -- the King of Naples, being an enemy to me inveterate, hearkened my brother's suit; which was, that he, in lieu o' the premises of homage and I know not how much tribute, should presently extirpate me and mine out of the dukedom and confer fair Milan with all the honours on my brother: whereon, a treacherous army levied, one midnight fated to the purpose did Antonio open the gates of Milan, and, i' the dead of darkness, the ministers for the purpose hurried thence me and my daughter, then but three years old."
(His expression softens slightly, for almost the first time, when he mentions his daughter.)
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"Oh, snap."
It's one thing to want a little recognition for all the hard work you're doing while your brother gets his bookworm on. But extirpation is a whole other ballgame.
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He raises his eyebrows quizzically, but the emotion behind the expression is clear even if the words are unfamiliar.
"Aye. And yet, so dear was the love my people bore me, they durst not destroy us outright. Instead, they hurried us aboard a bark, bore us some leagues to sea; where they prepared a rotten carcass of a boat, not rigg'd, nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats instinctively had quit it. There they hoist us, to cry to the sea that roar'd to us, to sigh to the winds whose pity, sighing back again, did us but loving wrong. Some food we had and some fresh water that a noble Neapolitan, did give us, with
Rich garments, linens, stuffs and necessaries. And above all these, in his gentleness, knowing I loved my books, he furnish'd me from mine own library with volumes that I prize above my dukedom."
He glances up into the rafters. "Providence herself put her hand to the work then, and guided our meager vessel to the island that we now call home. And there I may say I came into my power -- no more were the words on the page alone, but now on my tongue; no more a power in theory, but now in practice."
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"That's how you got there ... by shipwreck."
He wonders briefly if the strain and the emotional pain is what kicked Prospero's abilities into high gear.
"Wow. I'm sorry."
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He inclines his head. "My thanks, Master Jamison, but there is no need. The architects of this treachery are far away now, and justice shall come to them in due time."
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More along the lines of what you'd expect from a guy who enlists unhappy spirits into his service.
"Like in a karmic sense, or something a little more direct?"
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"Karmic?"
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"Ah, yes. Natural justice, divine justice -- such as we shall all face, one day, no doubt."
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Prospero arches an eyebrow. "Indeed. Though who is to say that we mortals are not the instruments of the divine? Such has always been the aim of judge and jury, to be the eyes of blind Justice and bear her sword and scales on Earth."
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"But there seems to be some kind of contradiction somewhere about being an agent of ineffable divinity, cognizant of that fact, and also a finite being."
He pauses thoughtfully.
"Our justice systems, eventually, are usually found to be lacking by the societies that come after us."
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"We do what we may in the time we have. We cannot forestall action because the unseen future looks back upon us as a child looks upon his parents. The world turns whether we will or no; if a man stays still as the tide comes in around him, he drowns."
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"Well, I can't exactly knock revenge. I've never tried it."
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This time, Prospero's brows draw down.
"And I hope you shall never have need to."
Not everyone, is the subtext, is so lucky.
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He sounds mostly thoughtful.
"But in general ... what do you think merits non-divine intervention?"
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