"If I have too austerely punished you, your compensation makes amends,"
Ferdinand took the stage first. Bane gave silent thanks that the boy had recovered his shirt. Miranda and Prospero followed hand in hand.
"I have given you here, a third of mine own life, or that for which I live."
Prospero extended his empty hand to the newly freed prince.
He liked that line as well, though it puzzled him. It was true that people lived for other people. Humans constructed their existence around family or friends or loves. But it rang false coming from Prospero.
The old man loved his daughter, Bane was sure of that. But his actions were rooted in personal vengeance. That was the most unbelievable part of the character. Ignoring, of course, that he was a wizard on a somehow undiscovered island in the Mediterranean.
Vengeance was not entirely personal. It stemmed from relationships, care, and concern for others. Harvey Dent, for example, snapped after Rachel Dawes died. Talia began her crusade after her father died. The list went on and on, but he could not think of a solely personal revenge.
"Then, as my guest, and thine own acquisition worthily purchased, take my daughter. But…"
Prospero joined the lover's hands and clasped them between his own. Ferdinand and Miranda tugged lightly at his grasp, but Prospero did not let go. Instead he took a breath and spoke again.
"If thou dost break her virgin-knot, before all sanctimonious ceremonies may with full and holy right, be ministered, no sweet aspersion shall the heavens let fall to make this contract grow; but barren hate, sour-eyed disdain, and discord shall bestrew the union of your bed"
Prospero released them. Ferdinand's eyes were wide and Miranda sported the deepest blush Bane had ever seen. He went slightly pink himself.
"The strongest suggestion our worser genius can, shall never melt mine honor into lust,"
It was as good a response as any, he supposed. Personally he would have gone with "that's none of your business, old man."
"Fairly spoke. Sit then, and talk with her,"
Prospero hit "talk" far harder than was strictly necessary but Miranda and Ferdinand complied. They settled comfortably downstage leaving very slight room for the Holy Spirit.
"What would my potent master? Here I am."
"Thou, and thy meaner fellows, your last service did worthily perform: and I must use you in such another trick."
He would not describe the last service as "worthy." "Outrageous," "scandalous," and "shameless" were closer to the mark.
And now they were in for a repeat performance. He wondered who would come on next. Surely they were running out of public figures.
"Be more abstemious, or else good night your vow."
"I warrant you, sir, the white cold virgin snow upon my heart abates the ardor of my liver."
He wished Prospero would drop the subject. Ferdinand's eloquent parries were almost worth it. He liked the image of a snow covered heart. Though he wasn't sure what livers had to do with anything.
The curtains stirred. Ariel entered and whispered to Prospero. Bane silently ticked off a list of possible "spirits." The GCPD. Commissioner Gordon. Harvey Dent.
"No tongue: all eyes: be silent."
He braced himself.
"Ceres, most bounteous lady,"
He blinked. He didn't get it.
"The Queen of the Sky, whose watery arch and messenger am I, bids thee leave these, and with her sovereign grace, here on this grass-plot, in this very place to come, and sport: her peacocks fly amain. Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain."
Stephano – or the actor playing him – wore a wig and an obviously stuffed floor-length evening gown. He was supposed to be Iris. Bane did a quick tally. There were two actresses backstage – Gonzalo and Trinculo. Why weren't they playing Iris?
"Hail, many-colored messenger, that ne're dost disobey the wife of Jupiter."
Alonso had traded his original costume for women's formal wear. His was covered in fake flowers.
What were they going for? Was there a reference he was missing? What did it mean?
"Why hath thy queen summoned me hither, to this short grassed green?"
"A contract of true love, to celebrate."
True love? After one day? He doubted it.
Then again, Miranda was smiling and Ferdinand watched her more than the bizarre parade of deities. Perhaps it was just the acting, but for a second he could believe it.
"Great Juno comes, I know her by her gait."
"How does my bounteous sister? Go with me to bless this twain, that they may prosperous be, and honored in their issue."
Caliban entered through the center in a flurry of curtains. He sported a platinum wig with a tiara nestled in its curls. The trio began a song showering blessings upon the happy couple.
It was utter nonsense. And funny. And defiant.
He had seen the remnants of temples to these goddesses—Iris, Ceres, and Juno. Before his eyes three boys in cast-off finery counterfeited three long dead idols. And they did it with joy.
He glanced at the audience and saw smiles. On every face. More than he'd seen in a long time. The faded grandeur was enough. In that moment, the actors may as well have been goddesses.
"May I be bold to think these spirits?"
"Spirits, which by mine art I have from their confines called to enact my present fancies."
"Let me live here ever, so rare a wondred father and a wise makes this place paradise."
It was a paradise. Compared to the rest of life—the life he'd given them—this was miraculous. Then something happened. Ferdinand almost turned. Almost looked at him. He stopped and looked back to Prospero. They held each other's gazes for a split second. Apprehension flickered across Ferdinand's face as he searched Prospero's. Whatever he was looking for—strength, reassurance, something—he must have found it and in the blink of an eye he was back to cuddling Miranda.
That wasn't part of the play. That was the actors underneath. He could feel it. Bane looked at Ferdinand again. His grey-blue eyes, his gentle face which held the tiniest bit of steel. He looked familiar. But he couldn't remember.
What had he said? So rare a wondred father and a wise makes this place paradise…
"Sweet now, silence: Juno and Ceres whisper seriously."
Who cared? He'd let them finish the show and round up the actors after. He'd figure it out then.
Prospero pulled his attention back to the scene. The wizard—or the actress, or both—was a fount of distraction. This time his weapon was puns. The lovers shared a groan with the audience as he said "Juno and Ceres whisper cere-ously."
"Come temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate a contract of true love. Be not too late."
And then they were all on stage. Gonzalo and Trinculo as nymphs. Antonio and Sebastian as farmers or some sort. Miranda and Ferdinand danced front and center. Ariel strummed a frenzied tune on his guitar. Prospero and Juno-Caliban tangoed in a corner. Iris-Stephano and Ceres-Alonso pulled audience members from their seats to join the delirium.
The whole crowd danced, and swayed, and clapped, and sang, and smiled. It was bigger than the beginning tempest. There were more colors, more sounds, and more life.
This wasn't about commenting or teasing or sending a message. That would have been preaching to the choir. Everyone was already on board. It was the end and they were going out with a bang.
And then it stopped.
"I had forgot that foul conspiracy of the beast Caliban and his confederates"
The actors froze. Several flustered audience members shuffled back to their seats. Prospero came to the fore.
Prospero waved the trigger like a wand. The actors unfroze, gathered themselves, and left. All expect Ferdinand and Miranda who simply stood and stared.
They didn't understand, but he did. There was work to do. Plans and promises.
In the stillness he remembered that all those people—those smiling, happy people—would kill him if they could.
"Never till this day saw I him touched with anger, so distempered."
Or had she never seen it so close up? He had seen Ra's' anger, but never thought to see it turned on him. He had never so much as frowned at Talia, but the day she reappeared he raged. He had built anew, moved on. But he hadn't moved on enough, and in the end she won.
"You do look, my son, in a moved sort, as if you were dismayed. Be cheerful sir."
Prospero remembered where he was and who was with him. He pocketed the detonator and straightened his coat. He turned to Ferdinand then faltered and struggled for the right words. The right apology. The right explanation.
"Our revels now are ended. These our actors (as I foretold you) were all spirits, and are melted into air, into thin air."
Prospero was only half speaking of the god and nymphs and spirits. No one looked at him or smiled or winked, but Bane could tell the other half was from the players to him. They were the spirits. And soon they would fade.
"And like the baseless fabric of this vision—the cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, the solemn temples, the great globe itself—yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve. And like this insubstantial pageant faded leave not a rack behind."
Gotham's shining skyscrapers, wide parks, and busy harbors would be wiped from the face of the Earth. It was what he wanted. What Talia wanted.
"We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep."
But it would have happened without them. Wait long enough and everything will fade. Today or tomorrow. Warm in bed at ninety, or on the ice at twenty: it didn't matter. Not to them. Not anymore.
"Sir, I am vexed, bear with my weakness, my old brain is troubled."
Prospero took a shaky breath and rubbed his forehead. For the first time the omnipotent wizard seemed truly lost. It made Bane uneasy. He wanted to help, but had no idea what to do.
Then he realized what the rest of the audience was seeing. They saw an actress, in his likeness, lamenting the transience of existence and the dying splendor of their city. The actress had created a vision of him wracked with pity and regret. That wasn't him. It wasn't.
"Be not disturbed with my infirmity. If you be pleased, retire into my cell, and there repose, a turn or two, I'll walk to still my beating mind."
Prospero forced a smile and ushered his daughter and son-in-law to the curtains.
Beating mind. He liked that. That was what the play felt like. Every moment something new, a memory, a musing, an objection. It was endless, wonderful, and terrifying. Plays—or at least this play—were pure thought.
It was dangerous. Not just for what it told the attentive crowd, but for what it did to him. It—he—questioned so much. These few hours would haunt him long after they ended.
"We wish your peace."
They meant him. Having shown that they no longer cared, that he couldn't touch them or scare them, that they would enjoy what they had no matter what that was, they tipped their hats and said "nothing personal." It wasn't quite forgiveness. It was more an honest "nice try."
"Spirit, we must prepare to meet with Caliban."
"Aye, my commander, when I presented Ceres I thought to have told thee of it, but I feared lest I might anger thee."
So couldn't they stop now? The message had been received. But they kept going dragging more and more unwanted thoughts into his head. Ariel. Barsad.
He knew his followers feared him, even his lieutenant. But Barsad never hesitated, never failed him. Now he didn't so much hesitate as disappear. He'd wander the city for hours. As he'd proved so many times to Bane, if he did not want to be found he was not going to be found. Bane knew the other man would never betray him—an even if he did he couldn't do much. But it was sad to see someone he'd known for so long drifting away.
Prospero dismissed Ariel into the cave.
"A devil, a born devil, on whose nature nurture can never stick. On whom my pains humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost,"
That sounded like Gotham. It was not a thing to mourn or pity. It was inherently flawed.
Whatever the plan it involved fine clothing. Ariel reappeared loaded down with fur coats, silk robes, and a few tuxedo jackets. He hung them on the audience along the left side, and waited for Stephan, Trinculo, and Caliban to stumble on.
"To lose our bottles in the pool."
"There is not only disgrace and dishonor in that, monster, but an infinite loss."
Barsad had started drinking again. The lingering scent of alcohol followed him on his walks.
"This is the mouth of the cell. No noise, and enter. Do that good mischief, which may make this island thine own forever."
It could be, he supposed. If he convinced Talia they could change the plan. Find another way. Stay in Gotham and rule it.
But so many others had tried. They declared their reigns in blazing terms and were consumed by the fire. Jonathan Crane's Scarecrow persona. The Joker. Even, in his own way, Commissioner Gordon and the Dent Act.
It wasn't worth it.
"O king Stephano, O peer, O worthy Stephano, look what a wardrobe here is for thee."
"Let it alone, thou fool, it is but trash."
Trinculo had finally noticed the garments lying on the shoulders of the audience. Ignoring Caliban, the butler and the fool began trying on as many as they could.
It is but trash. How true. The city and the play both were trash. Alluring and enthralling trash, but trash nonetheless.
So why was he still watching?
"Let them be hunted soundly."
What happened next was ludicrous even for the circumstances. The actors backstage entered as a pack, on all fours, and chased Caliban, Trinculo, and Stephano off stage. They were wearing dog's ears. Apparently they were magical hounds Prospero conjured to torment his would be attackers.
As the barking and the laughter died down, Prospero and Ariel were left alone once more.
"At this hour lies at my mercy all mine enemies. Shortly shall all my labors end, and thou shalt have the air at freedom. For a little follow, and do me service."
That was the third time Prospero had said that. Bountiful fortune hath mine enemies brought to this shore. They are now in my power. After two days I will discharge thee.
Who was he trying to convince?
The characters appearing in this story belong to Christopher Nolan, D.C. Comics, and Warner Brothers Pictures. No profit is made of their use herein.
All quotes from The Tempest are taken from First Folio Facsimiles on Internet Shakespeare Editions ( . ). The author has modernized the spelling, grammar, and formatting.
Sorry for the long wait. I've just started my semester abroad. We're almost to the end now.