"You should have told me earlier that he was the craftsman who created you, Perturabo."

"Then I can be harsher on you."

…

A craftsman, a wrapping cloth, a side of glass, a rein;

The forger who smelt iron and stone, the minstrel of Olympia.

Morse.

This is my new name, given by your creation - Perturabo, your failed instrument, your unsuccessful man.

O Emperor, the yoke of our sins is bound by your hands, and like a yoke is tied around your neck.

(The author is unspeakably loyal and 100% imperialist)