Then, last of all, to make quite sure Stephano would agree to the murder, Caliban told him about Miranda. That settled it. No sooner had Caliban told the old fool how beautiful Miranda was, and what a perfect wife she’d make, than Stephano was completely hooked. If he’d had any last qualms about bludgeoning a helpless old man to death – which I don’t think he had – they vanished into thin air.
Monster, he said, I will kill this man.
Now, as soon as Stephano had decided he’d do what Caliban wanted, he was delighted with himself! He called Trinculo back, and promised that he and Caliban would be his deputies, once he was king of the island. Then he apologised for hitting him, and Trinculo – whose head must have been well and truly spinning – said he thought it was an excellent idea, and shook his friend’s hand.
Caliban, of course, was delighted. He wanted to celebrate, so he asked Stephano and Trinculo to sing him the song they’d taught him earlier.
They obliged, of course – and what a noise they made! Neither of them had a clue about music, and Caliban knew that. That’s not the tune, he complained; and as soon as his words were out, I was there, bang on cue, with my drum and my pipe, playing the proper melody round and round the bewildered heads of those two clowns.
You should have seen Stephano and Trinculo then! Of course, they couldn’t see me. All they heard was music, coming from the air, or the sand, or the sea. And they were terrified. When Caliban saw how scared they were, this is what he said:
Be not afeard, the isle is full of noises,
Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears; and sometimes voices,
That if I then had waked after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again; and then in dreaming,
The clouds methought would open, and show riches
Ready to drop upon me, that when I waked
I cried to dream again.
Now, I ask you – could a monster, whose every second breath is a curse, have said these words? Could a ‘born devil’ delight in music? Could a savage murderer dream such rich dreams that when he woke, he wept? Yet those were Caliban’s words and, I’ll admit to you, if I had a heart, those words would have melted it.
But I don’t – and I was in the mood for more fun. So off I flew, still playing my music, in the direction of Prospero’s cave. I knew Stephano and Trinculo and their ‘slave’ couldn’t help but follow like calves, and what a merry dance I led them! Through prickly briars we went, and gorse and thorn bushes, till their legs were ripped raw. Then, when they could go no further, I dumped them in the smelliest, slimiest, most scum-covered pond I could find. And there I abandoned them as I flew off to tell the whole story to my master.
When I told Prospero what I’d done, he was pleased with me, and when he told me the next thing he’d planned for the mischief makers, I was delighted. For the last part of Prospero’s punishment was the best of all. It showed, you see, which of those three foolish rogues were the real fools…
Prospero had, in his cave, a load of rich-looking clothes and jewellery, and he told me to fetch them. Then he and I, both invisible, held a line between us, and I hung the sparkling bits of gaudy rubbish on it, and when Caliban, Stephano and Trinculo appeared, they ran slap-bang into our glittering trap.
Stephano and Trinculo, who had convinced themselves by this time that they really were rulers of the isle, fell upon our bait with delight. They put on the bright gowns, and the gilded crowns, and every bit of silliness they could lay their greedy hands on, and they thought these bits of nonsense made them look like real noblemen.
Caliban, however, wasn’t fooled. Remember, he’d seen the clouds open and show true riches, and had wept when these riches were taken away from him. Caliban knew what real beauty and quality were. He saw our bait as the worthless trash it was, and told Stephano and Trinculo to leave it. But, of course, those buffoons didn’t listen to him. They went their own sweet, foolish way and loaded Caliban with as many silly garments as he could carry; and it was then, when the three of them could hardly move under the weight of their worthless ‘treasure’, that Prospero and I sent them well and truly running for their lives.
It was almost as much fun as the tempest! We made a whole gang of spirits change into great hunting dogs, which chased our would-be murderers. How we shouted at the tops of our voices to egg those dogs on! It was as thrilling a hunt as ever I’ve seen, and our victims didn’t stand a chance.
‘Tell my goblins to give them cramps in every muscle,’ Prospero said, when we’d chased them to exhaustion, ‘and to pinch them so hard they’ll look like spotty leopards!’
And that was, for the moment, the end of Prospero’s punishment for Caliban and his friends. Now it was time for him to turn his attentions back to the real purpose of the tempest – his revenge on those royal villains King Alonso, Antonio and Sebastian.
Do you remember how Antonio and Sebastian had tried to kill Alonso and Gonzalo so that Sebastian could become King of Naples? And do you remember how I’d stopped them just as they raised their swords to strike? Well, you won’t be surprised when I tell you that didn’t put them off. They’d failed once, and almost been found out, but those evil men didn’t forget about their plot. Not a bit. As they walked along the beach, they thought of nothing else. In fact, Antonio and Sebastian were so heartless, that when they all stopped to rest and King Alonso said he had finally given up any hope of finding his son Ferdinand alive, they were glad. For they knew that his grief would make him careless. That night, for sure, they would kill him.
Imagine, then, their astonishment when suddenly, out of nowhere, they heard strange, solemn, beautiful music, followed by the arrival of a host of weird and wonderful creatures! The strange beings were carrying a table, which was set with the most magnificent banquet they’d ever seen. The royal men simply couldn’t believe their eyes, and the sight before them was so fantastic that they felt as if they were losing their senses. Just like my master’s masque, it was all too beautiful to take in. It was too much like Paradise.
Now, along with the strange creatures (my ‘gang’ again) and the fabulous food, there was something else there that no one could see. Someone, I should say – for this time Prospero made a personal ‘appearance’, though he was careful to stay invisible. He had to be there, you see, for a very, very important piece of magic was about to happen. And it was the magic that, finally, made King Alonso change for good.
There they all were, those royal men, rubbing their eyes and staring at the delicious food, wondering whether they dared eat it. Everyone was tempted to try some, except Alonso. He was as cautious as ever, but eventually he was persuaded. He had, after all, nothing to lose. He felt as if his life couldn’t get any worse. How wrong he was! For it was time for my big entrance – and this time, I wasn’t a storm, or a lightning flash, or a thunder crack, and I wasn’t invisible, either. Believe me, I was even more awesome…
Have you ever heard of a Harpy? It’s quite a monster! It’s got the head and upper body of a woman, and the tail, wings and claws of a massive bird. And, knowing your Ariel as you do, you’ll know that when I appeared as a Harpy, it was the most terrifying one you could possibly imagine. That wasn’t all. I summoned up a mighty flash of lightning and a deafening crack of thunder, too, so when I swooped down to strike the table with my wings, they glowed fiery gold. And as soon as they touched that table, it disappeared, and with it all the fine food. Everything vanished in the twinkling of an eye, just like the masque had done.
Once again, Paradise hadn’t been real after all.
Then, when my audience thought they were going completely mad, I made my most important speech. This is how it began:
You are three men of sin, whom Destiny –
That hath to instrument this lower world,
And what is in’t – the never-surfeited sea
Hath caused to belch up you.
And on this island,
Where man doth not inhabit – you ’mongst men
Being most unfit to live – I have made you mad.
Oh, how these words cut through Alonso, Antonio and Sebastian. They pierced them as deeply as if they had been their own murderous swords; for the truth hurts. If they had any pride left (and I think by this time Alonso had precious little), that pride took a terrible tumble. It was, I’m sure you’ll agree, a far better revenge than mere drowning!
I couldn’t have been more insulting, could I? For didn’t I describe them as vomit, and tell them they weren’t worthy of being alive? Strong words from an airy spirit! I wasn’t finished, either. I went on to list all their sins. I faced them fairly and squarely with all the evil deeds they’d done, and I left them in no doubt whatsoever that the tempest and shipwreck were a punishment for all their past evil. In particular, I pointed out to Alonso that the mighty powers that had made the tempest had taken his son away from him.
Now, of course, that didn’t mean that Ferdinand had been drowned, as we know – but Alonso thought it did. If any hope remained that his son had survived the storm, I washed those last traces clean away.
Oh how those three men shook with fear and shame! My words were like a great mirror held up in front of them, which forced them to see themselves, and their crimes, for the first time.
What did Alonso’s fine clothes matter now, or his position as King of Naples? He saw himself as never before – a flawed man who’d lost his son because of his sins. Hadn’t he as good as killed Ferdinand himself? And didn’t he deserve to die for his deed? How dreadfully guilty and grief-stricken that man felt. I can tell you, he’d have preferred to be dead!
But my master’s purpose wasn’t simply to show these men the error of their ways. It wasn’t an empty revenge. That would have been pointless – for I’ve told you before that Prospero’s magic spells are always spun for good, even though they may seem cruel. Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind, and so, at the end of my tirade, I told King Alonso that the only way he could avoid a dreadful life from that day onwards was to truly repent. And then, with one last glorious thunderclap, I left.
I didn’t have to wait to hear Alonso’s response. I knew he would repent, for he was a broken man. Antonio and Sebastian may have drawn their swords at the sight of my Harpy, but the king didn’t. He had reached the end; all the fight had left him. And, you know, I believe he was genuinely sorry. He had experienced such loss, such grief, that afternoon. Now at last he understood how his actions had made Prospero suffer.
Yes, King Alonso was at his wits’ end with grief. This is what he said:
O, it is monstrous: monstrous!
Methought the billows spoke and told me of it,
The winds did sing to me, and the thunder,
That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounced
The name of Prospero.
He was right, too. The sea and the winds and the thunder had spoken to him; for am I not all these things? Am I not the voice of the elements, the voice of nature? And, as I’ve told you so many times, I don’t have the feelings of humans… I don’t feel pity, do I?
Of course I don’t. Does the wind feel pity for the leaves it blows from the trees? Or the lightning feel pity for the branches it splits in two? But, you know, the story of The Tempest is a story of magical changes. Didn’t I tell you, right at the beginning, that no one was the same after that day? Well, perhaps that includes me. Perhaps the magic of that day affected me, too. For when I heard King Alonso say that he would search for his drowned son, and lie deep down on the ocean bed with him, I felt something that I’d never felt before.
It wasn’t much. Just a tiny feeling for that man’s grief, that was all. But if I, who’s made of air, felt a grain of pity for King Alonso, you may be sure that my noble master pitied him much, much more. And, as you’re about to find out, that pity moved his heart to forgiveness.
Act Five
Where the bee sucks there suck I;
In a cowslip’s bell I lie;
There I couch when owls do fly,
After summer merrily.
Merrily, merrily, shall I live now,
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
That was the last song I sang as Prospero’s slave, and what a joyful song it was. For it was, truly, my freedom-song, and oh, I was merry when I sang it!
Have you ever stood at the sea’s edge, where its waters break upon the shore, and heard the steady music of the waves lapping around your feet? Next time you do, listen well and, perhaps, underneath the water’s hum, you’ll hear the soft beating of Ariel’s heart.
Or walk in the woods where the songbirds sing, and perhaps you’ll hear my laughter drowning out the blackbirds’ sweet melodies.
Or sit among the wild grasses, surrounded by flowers, with drowsy bumblebees droning round your head. Perhaps you’ll hear me singing that freedom-song of mine again. But be warned – you’ll have to listen very well if you want to make out my words!
It was after six o’clock when I sang my song, and Prospero had promised to give me my freedom by then. Six o’clock came and went, however, and still there was more magic to do. But I didn’t complain. My airy heart was as light as a gnat’s wing; my whole being was sheer happiness, for I knew that soon I would be free.
Imagine that, after a lifetime of slavery.
Imagine being able to come and go as you please, after years and years of being sent and summoned.
Imagine having all the time in the world.
So as I flew off to fetch King Alonso and his companions and bring them to Prospero, I was charged with excitement. The very air around me crackled and hissed as though there was a lightning-storm!
And, as I flew, a part of me was listening to Prospero, for the words he spoke were so important that they chased behind me on the wind. He didn’t know I was listening, for he was talking to himself. But I heard him all right, as he spoke of all the magic he had made in the past twelve years – of how he had darkened the sun, and made the winds blow, and summoned up great storms; of how his power had split trees, and uprooted them; of how he had even made the dead live again. And I wondered at the mix of emotions he must be feeling as he spoke.
Then, at last, he said the words I had longed to hear for twelve long years. And oh, how my airy heart raced when I heard them:
But this rough magic
I here abjure. And when I have required
Some heavenly music – which even now I do –
To work mine end upon their senses that
This airy charm is for, I’ll break my staff,
Bury it certain fathoms in the earth,
And deeper than did ever plummet sound
I’ll drown my book.
At long, long last he’d break and bury that magic staff and throw that magic book into the sea; at last he’d take off his magic cloak and wear the sober clothes of a duke. At last I’d be free – but not quite yet.
There was one, final, all-important piece of work to be done, and for it Prospero needed his ‘heavenly music’. And who could the musician be but Ariel! As my master drew a circle in the sand, I played my most enchanting melody which, like a strong medicine, had the power to calm the madness of all who heard it.
For Alonso, Antonio and Sebastian had been quite mad ever since I appeared to them as the Harpy and forced them to see their sins. I’d driven them frantic with guilt, just as my master wanted me to.
You should have seen how they threw themselves around! Poor Gonzalo did his best to comfort his king, and the courtiers Adrian and Francisco tried to calm Antonio and Sebastian, but the only thing that helped them was that music of mine – the music that can heal the deepest wound, and banish the greatest fear.
So, as my melody drew that sorry crowd nearer to Prospero’s circle, their terror began to subside and, when they reached it, they stood, spell-stopped. They stared at Prospero, unable to understand what they were seeing, for
it was as if their brains were boiled inside their skulls. And Prospero, still in his magic cloak and with his magic book and staff in his hands, stood silently watching them. Then, finally, he spoke.
Now, you might have expected him to vent his rage on the villains who had done him so much wrong, but he didn’t. Instead, the first thing my master did was to praise Gonzalo for all his kindness, and promise to reward him. Then he turned to the ‘three men of sin’.
They must have been quaking in their boots, wondering what dreadful punishment he would give them, but instead Prospero did as he’d told me he would do.
He forgave them.
But so strong was the magic trance they were in that even when Prospero told his brother, I do forgive thee, unnatural though thou art, Antonio had not the slightest idea who was forgiving him. In fact, not one of the men in that magic circle knew who this great magician, who had such control over them, really was. How could they have known – for wasn’t Prospero, the former Duke of Milan, long dead? Hadn’t they made sure of that, the day they’d cast him out to sea?
At long last, it was time for them to know the truth. Prospero sent me to his cave to fetch his hat and rapier – the ones he’d worn when he was Duke of Milan – and I helped him remove his magic cloak and dress himself. Then he threw his arms round King Alonso (who couldn’t believe his eyes), and welcomed him to the island as naturally as if he were greeting guests at his palace in Milan. And no sooner had Alonso recognised him than he apologised sincerely for all he’d done, and humbly gave him back his dukedom.
Yes, King Alonso was genuinely sorry. There was no doubt that his suffering had made him see the error of his ways. And, of course, he still believed that Ferdinand was dead, and that he had died because of his sins; and, I must say, my master was in no hurry to reassure him. Oh no, he didn’t rush to tell him Ferdinand had survived the tempest. There was still a little mischief left in the serious old Duke Prospero! For when Alonso spoke of the loss of his son, my master, with a very straight face, said, ‘And I have lost a daughter.’
The Tempest Page 4
