Written Between 1610 and 1611

Written between 1610 and 1611, The Tempest is William Shakespeare's final play. (OK.
If you're
nitpicky, it's the last play he wrote entirely by himself.) In it, Shakespeare portrays an aging magician
who has been living in exile with his young daughter on a remote island for the past twelve years. Over
the course of a single day, Prospero uses his magic to whip up a tempest to shipwreck the men
responsible for his banishment. He then proceeds to dazzle and dismay the survivors (and the
audience) with his art as he orchestrates his triumphant return home where he plans to retire in peace.
For a lot of audiences and literary scholars, Prospero seems like a stand-in in for Shakespeare, who
spent a lifetime dazzling audiences before retiring in 1611, shortly after The Tempest was completed.
Not only is the play chock-full of self conscious references to the workings of the theater, its epilogue
seems to be a final and fond farewell to the stage. When Prospero (after giving up the art of magic he's
spent a lifetime perfecting) appears alone before the audience he confesses, "Now my charms are all
o'erthrown, / And what strength I have's mine own," we can't help but wonder of Shakespeare is
speaking through this character here.
Regardless of whether or not our boy Shakespeare intended for us to understand the epilogue as a big
adios to his own art, the play does seem to be a nice capstone to a brilliant career because The
Tempest revisits some of the most important issues and themes to have emerged from Shakespeare's
previous plays. Literary scholar Stephen Greenblatt, who calls the play an "echo-chamber of
Shakespearean motifs," points out that The Tempest resonates "with issues that haunted
Shakespeare's imagination throughout his career." Of course, you'll be wanting some examples, so be
sure to check out "Allusions" and "Themes."

Why Should I Care?
As we discuss in "In a Nutshell," The Tempest was the last play that William Shakespeare ever wrote,
and Prospero's decision to move to Naples and break his magic staff is similar to Shakespeare's
decision to let go of his art. We could argue that Shakespeare is one of the most popular figures in the
entire universe we'd even bet money that astronauts never forget to bring some Shakespeare with
them to outer space. So, the fact that we get to watch this genius take a bow and say adieu through this
play makes us care big-time. It's like watching a comet that only comes around every three hundred
years we hang on Shakespeare's every word, listening for last drops of wisdom.
If Shakespeare is like Prospero, then playwriting is similar to being a lonely magician on an island.
Writing is like performing magic. This is not just pull-a-bunny-out-of-a-hat magic we're talking storm-
inducing, ship-splitting magic. If giving up playwriting is akin to giving up magic, making peace with your
sworn enemy, and moving to Naples (where there are lots of people), then we might infer that the life of
an artist is a lonely one.
So just what does it mean to be an artist? Do you have to be alone, separated from society in order to
be a good one? For the love of seaweed, why do we, the audience, have the power to release Prospero
with our applause at the end of the play? We thought Prospero was the one at the wheel, the one with
all the ammo. What does it mean that the most powerful character is at the mercy of his audience?
Work on those queries for us, Shmoopster, and let us know what you think.
The Tempest Summary
How It All Goes Down
It's stormy you might even call it tempestuous when we meet some characters on a boat, which is a
decidedly bad place to be in a storm. We learn that the King of Naples and several of his attendants are
on this boat, and that things are going so badly there's not much to do but pray. The boat splits in half
and the people float off into the sea.
We cut to Prospero (on dry land), our main character, chatting with his daughter Miranda. We learn that
Prospero was the source of the magic that caused the storm that sank this boat, and that he did it for
good reason. However, he promises his sweet daughter that nobody was hurt in spite of all the fire,
boat-splitting, and drowning that was clearly going on.
Prospero also tells Miranda that it's time she found out that she's a princess. Prospero says he used to
be the Duke of Milan until his brother, Antonio, betrayed him and stole the dukedom (with the consent
of the King) while Prospero was busy learning magic in his library (arguably, not really his job). After all
the usurping (which is a great word for stealing something, especially positions of power), Prospero and
the three-year-old Miranda were shuttled out to the ocean in a wreck of a boat. They ended up on this
island, where the ex-Duke has raised his daughter for the last twelve years. However, a star is looking
pretty lucky in the sky, so Prospero thinks the time is right for action and revenge.
We briefly meet his two servants. One is a delicate and airy spirit who was imprisoned in a tree by a
witch for not being nasty enough (Ariel) and the other is the child of said witch and the Devil (Caliban).
Guess who's Prospero's favorite.
Then we learn that mostly all the folks responsible for stealing Prospero's dukedom were on the sinking
boat from the beginning of the play, and they're now scattered about the island. Alonso, the King who
allowed the wicked Antonio to take Prospero's dukedom, fears he lost his son (the Prince) in the storm.
The shipwrecked group Alonso, Antonio, Alonso's brother Sebastian, and various lesser lords set
off to find Alonso's son, the lost Prince Ferdinand.
Meanwhile, the not-so-lost Prince is alive and convinced that his dad and everyone else from the boat
are dead. His grieving is kind of soft-core, since he's already fallen in love with Prospero's daughter
Miranda. Prospero accuses the shipwrecked Prince of being a traitor and puts Prince Ferdinand to the
hard task of carrying wood. Ferdinand is happy to do this because his newfound love for Miranda
makes work seem easy. (Aw.) On Ferdinand's second encounter with Miranda, he learns her name and
promises to marry her. She also declares her love for him, though he is only the third man she has ever
seen (the first two are her dad and Caliban, the son of the Devil).
Back with the search party looking for the Prince, everyone feels weary and assumes the guy is dead.
A banquet appears in front of the shipwrecked group, set up by silent fairy spirits. Yes, this is weird, but
the search party is hungry and wants to eat. Before they can dig in, a scary harpy monster shows up.
This freaky harpy (a result of Prospero's magic) says that the sea took Prince Ferdinand in exchange
for the wrong Alonso committed against Prospero many years ago. The harpy also points out that there
are three traitors at the table. This traitor comment brings us to an important side-plot: Antonio and
Sebastian, thinking Prince Ferdinand is dead, are plotting to murder Alonso so Sebastian can be king.
This is messed up because Alonso is Sebastian's brother. Still, Antonio clearly has no conscience; he
admits that he's never been bothered by stealing his brother Prospero's dukedom. So, back at the
scene with the monster harpy, Alonso is disturbed and repents of his foul deed, but Sebastian and
Antonio not so much.
Switching back to the other group on the island, Prospero now accepts Ferdinand, saying that he was
just testing the young man with all that hard labor. Since the Prince has worked for at least three hours
carrying heavy wood, he has permission to marry Prospero's daughter.
There is also another side story going on: Caliban has been plotting with the King's drunken butler,
Stefano, and jester, Trinculo (also drunk), to murder Prospero so they can rule the island. Caliban (very
drunk) pledges to be Stefano's slave and kisses his feet way more than we are comfortable with. The
drunken schemers are led off by Ariel playing music. Ariel leaves the group in a pool that smells like the
lesser part of a horse to wait his master's orders. The trio eventually gets out of the muck pool and sets
off to murder Prospero. However, Prospero sets hounds upon them, and the would-be-murderers run
off. Eventually they come back and get made fun of for a bit, at which point Caliban repents and says
he'll work to be in Prospero's good graces again.
That being dealt with, Prospero now goes to meet the shipwrecked King & Co. The harpy really shook
up the King, so Alonso apologizes to Prospero and returns his dukedom. Prospero doesn't tell the King
directly of Antonio and Sebastian's treachery, but neither of the traitors apologize or repent or even
shuffle their feet. They don't learn a lesson. However, Prospero starts some banter about how he
recently lost his daughter to the tempest too, commiserating with the King. Prospero changes the
subject and asks if they'd like to see his cell (the place he lives). He pulls back the curtain covering his
dwelling to reveal you guessed it two not-dead children very much in love.
Alonso rejoices to see his son, Ferdinand rejoices to show-off his new girl, and Miranda rejoices at
seeing so many men hence the line "O brave new world that has such people in it." Prospero
promises to explain most of this eventually. Tonight he'll tell some of his life story and everyone will
head back to Naples via ships in the morning. Prospero says he'll watch the kids get married, and then
he'll retire to his dukedom in peace. He charges Ariel to make sure the ships get to Naples safely, and
then frees him from the servant gig.
During the closing lines, Prospero speaks directly to the audience, and says they can free him from the
island with their applause. It's like "clap if you believe in fairies" except it's actually the best playwright in
Western history saying goodbye to writing plays. All around, it's pretty intense. Maybe you should read
it some time.
The Tempest Act 1, Scene 1 Summary
A ship is being bombarded by thunder, lightning and rain in short a tempest (surprise!) that
seems worse than the big storm in King Lear.
Boat crewmembers try to keep everything afloat for their passengers, who are, as follows:
Alonso (the King of Naples), Sebastian (the King's brother), Antonio (the Duke of Milan),
Ferdinand (son of the King), and Gonzalo (an honest old councilor). Basically, it's a hubbub of
courtly figures putzing around while the experienced sailors are trying to save everyone from
drowning.
Drowning is likely in this storm, since the ship is described as "leaky as an unstaunched
wench." (We dare you to look that up.)
The King and Prince take the advice of the sailors and go below deck to pray while Antonio,
Sebastian, and Gonzalo stay above. Gonzalo has already exchanged words with the boatswain,
who was testy to the royals. Antonio and Sebastian show their nasty dispositions, calling the
boatswain an uncharitable dog and a whoreson.
While everyone's busy being friendly, the mariner demands that everyone should get busy and
pray because "all's lost!"
The boat splits (just like the ships in The Comedy of Errors and Twelfth Night) and everyone
seems to go their separate ways into the water.
Brain Snack: Shakespeare has always liked to insert a good shipwreck into his plays but the
wreck in The Tempest may have been inspired by a real-life accident at sea. In 1609, the Sea
Venture was on its way from England to Jamestown when it wrecked in the Bermudas. The
crew was thought to be lost forever but managed to survive on an uninhabited island for about
nine months to everyone's shock and dismay, the crew built two new ships and sailed on to
Jamestown. (Learn more about the Sea Venture shipwreck here.)
The action moves to an island, where we meet Prospero and
his daughter, Miranda. If you read the "Names of the Actors,"
you know that Prospero is the "rightful Duke of Milan, usurped
by his brother Antonio." If you didn't know this key piece of
information, Prospero just seems to be an average old guy
stranded with his daughter on a deserted island.
Miranda saw the ship sink and asks her father if he created the
storm, cluing us in to the fact that Prospero has powerful magic,
which they both call "art." Prospero doesn't deny he made the
tempest, but instead says there was no harm done. He assures
his daughter that everyone from the ship is safe, and that he
only did it for her (which she'll learn more about later).
Prospero says the storm is a good occasion for him to reveal
their family secret to her, which he's often started telling her but
never finished. He promises to finish this time.
He asks if she remembers a time before they were on the
island, and she says yes. This surprises Prospero, because
she was only three years old then, but she clearly remembers
that she used to have four or five women that took care of her.
Miranda doesn't remember how she and her father came to the
island, so Prospero tells her the long story, which we now sum
up for you:
Twelve years ago, Miranda was a princess and her father was
the Duke of Milan. Miranda is shocked to hear the news, and
asks if Prospero isn't really her father. Prospero replies that, to
the best of his knowledge, he was the only one sleeping with
Miranda's mother. So yes, Prospero was a Duke and Miranda a
princess. (Hmm. Didn't Perdita learn something similar about
herself in The Winter's Tale?)
Miranda asks whether a blessing or curse brought them to the
island. Prospero says it was both.
The story that follows is long, and Prospero keeps poking
Miranda to stay awake (imagine we're doing the same to you,
except in a non-weird, non-Facebook way).
Basically, the story goes like this: Prospero has a brother,
Antonio, whom he used to love and trust. Prospero was
devoted to the study of magic. He trusted his brother so much
that he let him run the affairs of state while Prospero closeted
himself away in his library.
Antonio, meanwhile, was busy learning how to run Milan, but
also making all the right friends in all the right places.
Eventually, he took advantage of Prospero's trust and, by
sucking up constantly with tributes and compliments to the King
of Naples. Antonio managed to get the King to give him his
brother's title as Duke of Milan.
Hmm. Now, where have we seen an evil, usurping brother
before? Oh, yeah, in Hamlet, where Claudius kills his brother
and then takes his crown and his wife.
Antonio then sent an army at midnight, under the cover of
darkness, to force Prospero and baby Miranda out of Milan.
They weren't killed because Prospero was so well-loved by his
people. Prospero and the baby were banished to sea on a used
'83 Chevy Impala of a ship, which "even the rats left
instinctively."
While on their rickety boat, the duo faced a terrible storm.
Miranda, far from being trouble, gave Prospero the strength to
continue on. Finally they washed ashore onto their present
island. They survived because Gonzalo (the same guy from the
first scene) was so kind; before leaving, he gave them food and
water, fine clothes, and also Prospero's books. Prospero was
able to use his small library to educate Miranda for the last
twelve years, affording her a better education than most
princesses, who generally spend their time combing golden
locks and looking out of windows.
Finally, Prospero explains the reason he created the recent
storm: his enemies, the ones from all those years ago, were on
the ship. According to the stars, now is the moment of
Prospero's good fortune, but his power depends on good
timing.
Prospero then lulls Miranda to sleep with art (not boring
postmodern art magic art) and calls his servant, the spirit
Ariel, so they can go to work right away.
We find out Ariel was in charge of the details of the tempest.
He performed his duties down to the last detail: he appeared on
the ship as fire, jumping between cabins and the deck. This,
understandably, weirded everyone out on the ship, and while
the mariners stayed on deck, everyone else jumped overboard.
Ariel then saw to it that they all made it ashore unharmed, but
in separate groups. Most importantly, the King's son was
separated from the rest of the group. Ariel left the mariners
were on their newly restored ship in an enchanted sleep, and
sent the other vessels in the fleet back to Naples.
Prospero is glad of Ariel's good work, but demands that there is
much more to do in the next four hours. Ariel reminds him then
that he's already done lots of good work, and that Prospero
promised that when his work was done, he would set the spirit-
servant free. So SHOW HIM THE MONEY, essentially.
Prospero flies into something of a rage. He reminds Ariel that
he once rescued him (therefore Ariel should be as indebted as
a Harry Potter house-elf without socks for the rest of eternity).
Prospero tells us a story: Sycorax was a terrible witch, born in
Algiers and banished from there because she got it on with the
Devil himself. We don't get the details of that interesting night,
but instead we learn that the pregnant Sycorax was banished
to this very island, where she made Ariel her lackey. Still,
because Ariel was too "delicate" to do the horrible things she
commanded, Sycorax had a fit and imprisoned Ariel in the cleft
of a pine tree, where he stayed rather stuck.
Twelve years later, Sycorax was dead, and Prospero came to
the island to find the loud, sad, unearthly moans of Ariel coming
from a tree. After he freed the spirit, Prospero committed Ariel
to his service, with the promise of eventual liberty.
After Prospero tells this long story, he chides Ariel that any
more whining will get him locked back into tree. However, if
Ariel behaves, Prospero will free him in two days, once all the
work is done.
Brain Snack: The rest of the play actually takes place over the
course of about four hours (not two days). In fact, The Tempest
is one of two Shakespeare plays (including The Comedy of
Errors) that takes place over the course of a single day in a
single location. Literary critics have a fancy name for this the
"unities" of time and place. Contrast the action and location of
The Tempest to, say, The Winter's Tale, which spans a huge
length of time and space.
Prospero sends Ariel off in the shape of an invisible water
nymph (we don't know either), and wakes Miranda so they can
go together to see Caliban.
Miranda says she can't stand to look at Caliban, but her dad
points out that Caliban (who has been enslaved by Prospero)
does all those pesky island chores that nobody else likes to do
(like fetch wood and build fires).
Prospero and Miranda stroll up to Caliban's pad and
immediately begin to verbally abuse him, during which time we
learn the following: Caliban was the island's only other
inhabitant when Miranda and Prospero arrived; he is the child
of the Sycorax (a witch) and the Devil.
We also learn that, initially, Prospero had taken Caliban under
his wing, taught him to speak, and fed him. In exchange,
Caliban had shown him all the tricks and treasures of the
island. Sadly, the friendship ended when Caliban tried to rape
Miranda, with the intention of populating the island with little
Calibans (or Mirand-abans, or whatever). Prospero then
confined Caliban to servitude and a dwelling near a rock
outside of Prospero's cell.
Caliban hates being a slave, but Prospero is powerful and likes
to inflict Caliban with terrible body cramps for misbehaving and
talking back. (Caliban eventually pipes down and leaves, but
not before he hurls a few insults and curses Prospero.)
Ferdinand (the stranded Prince) enters with Ariel who is
invisible and sings a tune so beautiful that the amazed
Ferdinand quits mourning his father (who Ferdinand thinks has
dies in the shipwreck) to follow the music.
Ariel leads Ferdinand to Miranda. When the prince and
princess look into each other's eyes, it's love at first sight.
Miranda turns to her dad and announces that Ferdinand is the
hottest guy she's ever seen (never mind the fact that the only
men Miranda's seen for the past twelve years are Caliban and
Prospero). Miranda thinks Ferdinand must be a god or a spirit.
Ferdinand declares that Miranda must be a goddess and then
asks our girl if she's a "maid." (No, not the kind who washes
your socks and cleans up your room. Ferdinand wants to know
if Miranda's an unmarried virgin.)
Ferdinand announces that he's the King of Naples (now that his
dad has perished in a dramatic shipwreck). However, this
situation conveniently puts him in a good position to make
Miranda Queen of Naples. Miranda meets all the practical
requirements of love, so they're all ready for marriage in 26
lines.
Prospero, though he has been making asides all along that his
plan is going well, declares to himself that if things are too easy
for the young couple, then they won't take their vows of love
seriously.
In order to add a bit of conflict to the romance, Prospero
accuses Ferdinand of being a spy intending to steal the island.
Prospero threatens to chain up Ferdinand and enchant him, but
the Prince rebels against the accusation.
Miranda, newly in love, comes to the defense of Ferdinand.
Thankfully, Ferdinand feels the same way, and he says that the
weight of his would-be father-in-law's threats and the death of
his own father would seem light if he could only look out of his
prison once a day and see Miranda. (Maybe he and his dad
weren't that close. Who can say?)
Prospero insults Ferdinand, but we know Prospero is just
putting on a tough dad act because he secretly comments to
himself that he's glad to see the two falling in love, all according
to his master plan.
Prospero calls Ariel to do more work, and again promises the
spirit will soon be free as the mountain winds in Pocahontas.
Alonso, King of Naples, has washed up on shore with Antonio,
Sebastian, Gonzalo, and attendant lords. Gonzalo tells
everyone that they can balance their sorrow with comfort at
least they've survived the terrible shipwreck.
Antonio and Sebastian launch into teasing Gonzalo mean-
spiritedly. Interestingly, the two different sets of people see
entirely different things when they survey the island. Gonzalo
sees "lush and lusty grass," while Antonio and Sebastian only
see a nasty, uninhabitable place kind of like a glass half-full,
glass half-empty deal.
Gonzalo also notes their clothes are as fresh as the first time
they were worn for the marriage of Alonso's daughter, Claribel,
to the King of Tunis.
The King interrupts his bickering companions with his grief. He
regrets that he married his daughter to a man in so far off a
place the voyage to visit her (this one) has cost him his son,
and his daughter is so far away she might as well be dead, too.
Francisco, an attendant lord, tries to reassure the King that
Prince Ferdinand might still be alive, but the King won't hear
any of this perky optimism.
Sebastian takes the opportunity to confirm that his brother, the
King, needs a good kick in the teeth. As the King grieves his
two lost children, Sebastian points out that the King's loss is his
own fault; even though everyone harassed King Alonso about
it, he chose to marry his daughter to a far-off African instead of
a closer European.
Gonzalo gently tells Sebastian to hold off, and changes the
subject back to the island, which shows itself to him as
beautiful.
Gonzalo begins to talk of what he would do if he were king of
the island there would be no trade in money, no politicians,
no schools, no rich or poor, no slavery, no inheritance, no
dividing up the land, no metal, corn, wine or oil (things needing
careful cultivation and work), and no occupation of any kind
just idle, wholesome, idyllic men and women living happily.
Brain Snack: Gonzalo's big speech is based on a famous
passage from John Florio's 1603 translation of an essay called
"Of Cannibals" by Montaigne.
Gonzalo's people would live off of the bounty of everything
nature brings forth, and he announces he would govern to
excel the Golden Age (according to classical mythology, this
was the first of the "Ages of Man," when there was no violence,
conflict, or injustice, and when nobody had to work for food or
shelter).
Antonio and Sebastian make snide comments and the King
tells everyone to pipe down, as they're all talking nonsense.
Ariel enters playing a song, and everyone suddenly drifts off to
sleep, lulled by the music, except for Alonso, Sebastian, and
Antonio. Antonio and Sebastian agree they will keep watch
over the King while he sleeps, as they are not at all sleepy, and
wonder what happened to make everyone pass out so quickly.
Antonio, who we know took his brother's (Prospero's) dukedom
through treachery, doesn't waste any time before suggesting to
Sebastian that all that stands between Sebastian and the
crown is the sleeping King. (They all think Prince Ferdinand is
dead and Claribel, the princess, is so far away that she couldn't
properly rule the kingdom.) Further, Antonio claims sleep is a
sort of death; it would be easy for them to kill the King while he
slumbers, and convince the others of Sebastian's noble title.
Sebastian quibbles a bit, and asks if Antonio's conscience
doesn't bother him for stealing his brother's title. Antonio replies
that he's led by practicality, not conscience. (Geesh. Who does
Antonio think he is? Bad-brother Claudius from Hamlet?)
Sebastian comes around, and two plotters agree that if Antonio
draws his sword to kill the King, Sebastian will draw on
Gonzalo, and Sebastian's path to power will be clear. As the
two unsheathe their swords, Ariel enters and whispers in
Gonzalo's ear of their treachery, waking him up.
Gonzalo quickly wakes the King, and everyone rises to find
Sebastian and Antonio with their swords drawn. The two are
surprised in the midst of their horrible act. They claim they
heard the howling of lions and only drew their swords to protect
the King.
King Alonso is freaked out by the possibility of lions and, not
knowing Antonio and Sebastian's wicked plan, Alonso suggests
they all leave the place at once to see if they can find his son.
Ariel pledges to tattle to Prospero about Sebastian and
Antonio's wickedness. Meanwhile, he will help the King safely
seek the Prince.
On another part of the island, Caliban is busy fetching wood
and cursing Prospero for the mean things he does to Caliban,
like sending spirits to torment him while he works. As Caliban
complains of apes that chatter at and bite him, hedgehogs that
prick his feet, and snakes that hiss him to madness, Trinculo
enters, and Caliban assumes the stranger is another one of
Prospero's nasty spirits.
Trinculo, a jester and member of the shipwrecked group,
wanders alone searching for cover, should another storm
come. He spots Caliban, and seeing he is maybe a man or a
fish (or both), immediately thinks of how people in England
would pay to see an odd thing like this. Then he decides
Caliban's deformed shape is simply that of a native islander
recently hit by lightning.
Brain Snack: In sixteenth and seventeenth-century England
(and the rest of Europe), people paid money to see American
Indians who had been brought over from the New World and
were exhibited like circus animals.
Hearing more thunder, Trinculo (quite a wuss, to put it
delicately) immediately jumps under Caliban's cape, seeking
shelter.
Just then, Stefano, the drunken butler, wanders in singing
saucy songs about which women will put out for sailors, and
which women won't. Surprised at seeing Caliban as a four
legged creature (because Trinculo is under his cape), Stefano
announces he did not escape drowning to fall to savages.
Caliban, thinking Stefano is another of Prospero's spirits, cries
out.
Stefano is shocked that this four-legged monster knows his
own language, and thinks the monster suffers from some fever.
Stefano will give the monster a drink to ease him, but also
hopes he might drunkenly tame the monster and lure him back
to Naples as a present for a European emperor.
Stefano makes Caliban drink wine from his flask; the still
scared and hiding Trinculo thinks he recognizes Stefano's voice
and calls out to him.
Finally, after some silly nonsense, Stefano and Trinculo
discover each other, and Caliban realizes the two are not
spirits, but must be gods, what with the celestial liquor Stefano
carries.
Stefano doesn't deny it, and drunkenly claims that he was the
man in the moon until recently, when he fell down.
Caliban, steadily drinking, swears himself to be Stefano's
servant and agrees to show his new master the best stuff of the
island.
Stefano and Trinculo, drunk and sure everyone else is dead,
are happy to be kings of this island, with Caliban as their
subject. Caliban, now also drunk, is happy to be free of
Prospero's tyranny (even though he's just volunteered to be
Stefano's servant).
Near Prospero's cell, Ferdinand collects firewood, and
philosophizes that it isn't so bad to do such terrible work,
because he is refreshed by the thought of his young, virginal,
sweet, would-be wife, Miranda. She conveniently enters, and
Prospero, being the overbearing father that he is, spies on
them.
Miranda begs Ferdinand to take a break, and even offers to do
his work for a while. Ferdinand refuses, and takes the
opportunity to ask a very important question, namely, what his
promised wife's name is. Seriously.
Moving briskly along, Miranda tells Ferdinand her name, which
she promised her father she wouldn't do. The two briefly share
their experiences: He's known lots of women (we're not sure if
he's known all of them, or just has chatted them up a couple of
times at the corner Starbucks), and still likes Miranda best.
Miranda has known no men, but likes Ferdinand best.
They declare their mutual love of each other and now that all
the tricky formalities like knowing each other's names are out of
the way, they promise to be husband and wife.
Prospero, watching all of this, rejoices.
Caliban is with Trinculo and Stefano, and they're all still pretty
drunk. Stefano promises that Caliban will be lieutenant on his
island, and Caliban promises to lick Stefano's shoe. Fair trade.
Trinculo and Caliban get into a little tiff, and Caliban demands
that Stefano defend him against Trinculo. Caliban then reminds
his two new friends of what he told them earlier: he has been
subject to the tyrant sorcerer Prospero, who has wrongfully
stolen the island from him.
Meanwhile, the invisible Ariel has entered, and whispers things
like "thou liest!" Seeing no one, Caliban and Stefano think
Trinculo is the one whispering, so they beat him up.
Caliban instructs Stefano of what must be done to kill Prospero
and gain power over the island. Caliban will lead them to
Prospero's favorite afternoon nap spot. If they steal his books,
Prospero will be powerless, and then they can nail him in the
head, or something.
Caliban promises that all the pretty linens and things in
Prospero's house will belong to them, and, best of all, Stefano
can have the beautiful Miranda, who will "become thy bed, and
bring thee forth brave brood" after they've murdered her father.
Not cute.
As they get ready to find and murder the magician, Ariel enters
playing a tune.
Trinculo and Stefano are frightened by the song that comes
from nowhere, and ask for forgiveness from Heaven.
Caliban reassures them that the island is full of sweet noises,
and gives one of the most beautiful speeches in the play,
speaking of wonder and dreams.
All agree to follow the song, which they hope will lead them to
Prospero, so they can do their awful deed.
Now we're back to Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, and
their attendant lords somewhere else on the island.
Gonzalo is weary, and Alonso has given up hope that his son
might still be alive.
Antonio, hearing this news, utters an aside to Sebastian,
reminding him of their plan. Antonio says they will murder the
King tonight when everyone else sleeps.
Strange music then begins to play, and Prospero enters,
invisible. Before the eyes of the King and shipwrecked lords, a
magical banquet is laid by welcoming spirits who invite the King
and company to eat. All wonder at the strange sight for a while,
thinking they could now believe anything.
Sebastian is done with oohing and ahhing for a while, and
suggests that since they are hungry, they should eat what the
spirits have given them. Alonso refuses, and Gonzalo comforts
him by saying there were lots of things they wouldn't have
believed when they were young that turn out to be true like
girls don't actually have cooties and Santa isn't real.
Alonso decides to eat in spite of the risk, as "the best is past,"
meaning life can't get much worse than it is now. He invites
everyone to the table.
Before they can dig in to their meal, Ariel appears in the shape
of a harpy (a horrible monster with a woman's face and the
body and claws of a vulture-like bird) and the food disappears.
The harpy stuns the men, and declares that three men of sin
are at the table. The harpy says Destiny has caused the sea to
put them on this uninhabited land because they are men unfit
to live.
The men draw their swords, and the harpy laughs at their
foolishness, as their swords are no good against the natural
elements she wields. The monster reminds them of the evil
they did Prospero and the baby Miranda, and claims the sea
paid them back for their crimes, taking Ferdinand and dooming
the rest of them. If they repent their evil deeds, a better life
might follow.
Ariel (as the harpy) then vanishes, and the spirits come once
more to carry away the banquet table.
Prospero praises Ariel for his good work, which he has watched
while invisible.
Gonzalo breaks the stunned silence when he asks what
Alonso, Antonio, and Sebastian are looking so shocked about.
(It seems Gonzalo didn't see the harpy.)
King Alonso admits that the sea and thunder spoke to him of
his ill deeds against Prospero, and has claimed his son as
punishment.
Sebastian and Antonio are unmoved. Instead of repenting, they
agree to fight the ills that might befall them, one at a time.
As the three exit, Gonzalo notes that Alonso, Antonio, and
Sebastian's treachery against Prospero is catching up to them.
The kind councilor asks the rest of the group to follow the three
traitors and stop them from whatever craziness they might
attempt in their stunned, post-harpy encounter state.
Back at Prospero's cell, Prospero relents to Ferdinand. He says
the mean trials he put Ferdinand through were only to test the
guy's love for Miranda. Prospero says Miranda is a third of his
life (we're not sure what the other two thirds are) and he
wouldn't give her up to a man he hadn't tested. However, now
that he's sure Ferdinand is a good guy, he can have Miranda
for his wife.
Ferdinand accepts gladly, but not before Prospero warns him
that if he "break[s] her virgin-knot" before all the sacred
ceremonies of marriage, the heavens will rain down misery on
him, and they will be assured an unhappy life.
Ferdinand assures him that, even if he's in the darkest,
steamiest place, he'll keep his paws off Miranda so they can
have a special wedding night. He adds that the wedding day
will be agonizingly long and says that he'll be very anxious to
get Miranda back to the honeymoon suite after the ceremony is
over, if you know what we mean. This is definitely weird for us
to be reading, but even weirder for Ferdinand to be talking
about with Miranda's dad.
Prospero then calls in Ariel, who has more work to do;
Prospero wants to show some of his "art" (read: magic) to the
young couple. As an engagement gift, Prospero is going to
whip up a little "masque" (a lavish courtly performance with lots
of music and dancing).
Ariel then pledges to perform, and asks, like a pet, if he is
loved. Prospero replies that Ariel is loved dearly.
Soft music begins playing and a series of gods appear before
the young couple. Iris, goddess of the rainbow and messenger
of Juno (a.k.a. Hera, Zeus/Jupiter's wife), calls upon Ceres,
goddess of agriculture, to show herself and join in the
celebration of true love.
Ceres shows up, and asks if Cupid and Venus will be there
she has beef with them, since they plotted the way for Ceres'
daughter, Proserpine (or Persephone) to be stolen by Pluto
(a.k.a. Hades), the god of the underworld. Iris assures Ceres
that Cupid and Venus are both busy, and Juno then shows up
to shower blessings on the couple along with Ceres.
Ferdinand and Miranda are amazed, and Prospero says these
are spirits he has called up on behalf of the young lovers.
Nymphs and land reapers are then summoned, and they
perform a beautiful dance.
We interrupt this magical performance for a brain snack: In the
winter of 1612-1613, The Tempest (along with thirteen other
plays) was performed in honor of the marriage of King James
I's daughter Elizabeth to Frederick (the Elector Palatine). Some
scholars think that Prospero's "masque" was added by
Shakespeare just for this performance, but other critics say
there's no evidence that it wasn't an original part of the play.
Suddenly Prospero jumps with surprise, and all the spirits
vanish. Prospero has realized that, oopsy-daisy, he's forgotten
Caliban's plot against his life! He'd better stop messing around
and get to halting that scheme.
Responding to Ferdinand's surprise at his sudden change in
mood, Prospero gives a beautiful speech that these wonders
(his magic), much like life, will melt into thin air eventually. He
says, "We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little
life is rounded with a sleep."
Prospero sends Ferdinand and Miranda into his cell while he
plans for his next move.
Prospero has a chat with Ariel, who says that Stefano, Trinculo,
and Caliban were hot with rage (and completely drunk) when
he last saw them. Ariel led them to just outside Prospero's cell
with his music, and left them wading in a filthy, scummy pool.
Prospero instructs Ariel to set his nice linens and fineries
outside the cell as bait for the thieves and would-be murderers.
He curses Caliban for being a devil. Prospero promises to
plague all of the men plotting against his life. You do NOT want
to get on this guy's bad list.
Caliban, Trinculo, and Stefano have escaped from the nasty
pool, and while they all smell of "horse piss," the greatest
tragedy was losing their wine bottle.
Caliban comforts that their prize will be worth it, and eggs them
on to Prospero's cell.
Just as Stefano begins to have thoughts of bloody murder,
Trinculo points out what nice things there are for a king's
wardrobe hanging outside, and the two get distracted. Caliban
panics at their lack of focus; he is sure Prospero will wake up,
find them all out, and torture them.
Sure enough, Ariel and Prospero conjure up spirit-dogs and
hounds that chase the three off. Prospero promises they'll have
plenty of cramps, pinches, and convulsions as they run away,
hunted by the spirits.
Prospero asks about King Alonso and his attendants. Ariel
informs his master that the shipwrecked group is a pitiful sight:
the three traitors (Alonso, Antonio, and Sebastian) are
distracted and the rest are mourning. Ariel says Prospero's
feelings toward the group would become tender at the sight
and Ariel would cry...if he were human.
Hearing Ariel speak so kindly, with mercy befitting a human,
Prospero says he'll put his thirst for vengeance aside and be
merciful. He sends Ariel to free the traitors and the rest of their
crew from their confusion, and draws a magic circle with his
staff (his big magical stick).
As Ariel leaves him, Prospero muses on all that he has done
with his potent art of magic, and solemnly says that once this
last task is done, he'll break his staff and bury it in the earth,
and drown his book in the ocean. In other words, the guy is
giving up his magic.
Ariel arrives, dragging behind him a frantic Alonso, Gonzalo,
Sebastian, and Antonio, with their attendant lords Adrian and
Francisco. They all stand in Prospero's magic circle, charmed,
as Prospero addresses each of them.
He speaks to Gonzalo first, and tears up as he thanks him for
being his "true preserver" and remaining so loyal to whomever
he serves.
Prospero then chides King Alonso for treating him and Miranda
so poorly, and says Sebastian, too, suffers for wronging them.
Finally, Prospero comes to his terrible brother Antonio.
Prospero reveals that Antonio plotted with Sebastian to murder
the King, but forgives them all.
Prospero then notes that the group may not recognize him
(which is kind of a bummer, as they don't know how gracious
he's being, given how bad they were to him). Prospero then
asks Ariel to bring his hat and sword, so they might know that
the man before them is the old, genuine Duke of Milan.
As Ariel dresses Prospero, the airy spirit sings another pretty
little song and Prospero notes, though he will miss Ariel, the
spirit will surely soon have his freedom. All Ariel needs to do is
bring the sleeping mariners (remember them?) from their ship
to this spot.
Alonso and all the shipwrecked gang look on, unsure whether
this is more enchantment, or if it's really Prospero before them.
Alonso, struck, immediately returns Prospero's dukedom and
asks for Prospero's forgiveness. Alonso also wants to know
how Prospero survived and ended up on this island. (Did he tie
together a fleet of sea turtles? Build a raft out of human
bones?)
Prospero turns then to Gonzalo, praising him again before
getting back to Antonio and Sebastian.
Prospero says he could say some things that would raise a
couple of eyebrows, but out of the kindness of his heart, he will
keep them to himself. The pair of traitors is not even a bit
ashamed or sorry. Sebastian claims the Devil speaks in
Prospero, but Prospero ignores this, and instead
wholeheartedly forgives his traitorous brother Antonio.
King Alonso brings up the loss of his son, Ferdinand, and
Prospero cryptically says he has lost his daughter they've lost
both children on account of the tempest. The story of how all of
this came to be, he says, is not the kind of thing that can be
discussed over a single sitting, but over the course of long
days. In the meantime, they can entertain themselves with
other things.
Perhaps, for instance, they'd like to take a look in Prospero's
humble cell?
Prospero draws back the curtain to his home and reveals
Ferdinand and Miranda, who happen to be playing chess.
Alonso and Ferdinand are pleasantly surprised to find each
other alive, and Miranda, faced with so many men for the first
time, declares "O, wonder! / How many goodly creatures are
there here! / How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world /
That has such people in't!" (The writer Aldous Huxley liked this
so much that he chose the phrase "brave new world" as the title
of his famous book.)
Alonso points out that Ferdinand can't have known the girl he's
playing chess with for more than three hours, but hears the
surprising news that the girl is his new daughter-in-law, three
hours or no.
Gonzalo, Alonso, and all the other "good" guys are overjoyed
with the news.
Ariel then enters on cue with the boatswain from the first scene,
who happily announces that not only are all the sailors alive,
but the ship is good as new. Like magic.
Alonso, meanwhile, thinks they should consult an oracle about
how on earth all of this very strange stuff has happened, but
Prospero tells him to relax. He assures Alonso that he'll explain
everything eventually, and for now they should just enjoy the
moment.
Finally, Prospero tells Ariel to free Caliban and his companions
from the whole "being savagely hunted by hounds" spell.
Stefano, Trinculo, and Caliban enter, the former two in
Prospero's stolen clothes.
Alonso claims Stefano as his drunken butler, and Prospero
claims Caliban as his own slave-begotten-of-a-witch-and-the-
Devil. There's some punning on being in a pickle, and
Prospero, in a merciful mood, demands that Caliban take his
friends and go to work tidying up the cell, if he wants
forgiveness.
Caliban relents that he was, as we suspected, a "thrice-double
ass" to take this drunkard Stefano for a god. The three exit to
prepare Prospero's cell.
Prospero invites Alonso and everyone back to his place, where
they'll be treated to Prospero's long life story.
Prospero promises that in the morning they'll all go on the
newly fixed ship to Naples. Once there, Prospero hopes to see
the children married, and then head back to Milan, "where
every third thought shall be my grave."
Alonso glosses over this happy little sentiment by saying he
looks forward to Prospero's autobiography.
Prospero promises tomorrow will bring them favorable weather
(and no more tempests!). He leaves Ariel the final task (yes,
this is like, his sixth final task) of seeing to the weather, and
after that the spirit is finally free.
Prospero sends everyone into his home, and then speaks
directly to the audience.
In the play's final speech, Prospero informs the audience that
the only thing that can free him from the island prison and send
him to Naples is the audience's applause and approval.
P.S. Some literary critics think that this speech is Shakespeare
the playwright's way of saying "so long" to the theater. If you
want to know more about this, go to "Symbolism."
The Tempest Theme of The Supernatural
In The Tempest, magic is a dazzling art form that infuses the play with a sense of wonder and a whole
lot of spectacle. (Think "The Sorcerer's Apprentice" in Disney's Fantasia, but better.) This lends itself to
a concept developed throughout The Tempest magic is a craft not unlike that of the playwright.
Although Prospero uses magic to control the natural and the supernatural worlds, the play also
suggests his art is distinct from the kind of black magic practiced by the witch Sycorax.
Questions About The Supernatural
1. How did Prospero come to master his "art"? What were the consequences of his intense study of
magic?
2. What difference, if any, is there between Prospero's magic and Sycorax's magic?
3. When and why does Prospero promise to give up his "rough magic"? Do we actually see him do this?
4. Are Miranda and Ferdinand under a spell when they fall in love, or is their love genuine?
Chew on This
Try on an opinion or two, start a debate, or play the devils advocate.
Although Prospero uses magic to regain his place in Italy, magic is also the thing that got him into
trouble in the first place if Prospero hadn't isolated himself with his books, he never would have lost
his dukedom.
Although the play goes out of its way to differentiate Prospero's studied art from Sycorax's black magic,
at times, the play makes us wonder if Prospero and Sycorax don't share more in common.
The Tempest Theme of Art and Culture
"Now my charms are all o'erthrown, / And what strength I have's mine own" (Epilogue). So says the
newly retired magician as he bids adieu to the audience. Since The Tempest is likely the last play
Shakespeare wrote by himself, the epilogue has long been cited as Shakespeare's own fond farewell to
the stage. Regardless of whether or not we read Prospero the magician as a stand-in for Shakespeare
the playwright, the similarities between Prospero's "art" and the "magic" of the theater are undeniable.
Like Hamlet, The Tempest not only features a "play within the play" (Prospero's dazzling wedding
masque) and blatant shout-outs to the theater, but it also features a protagonist who manipulates the
play's action like a skillful director.
Questions About Art and Culture
1. What's the purpose of Prospero's wedding masque? How does it draw our attention to the workings of
the theater?
2. In the epilogue, Prospero says the audience's applause is the only thing that can "set [him] free." Why
is that?
3. Does Prospero share anything in common with master playwrights like Will Shakespeare?
4. Compare the theme of "Art and Culture" in The Tempest and Hamlet.
Chew on This
When Prospero uses his magic to produce a masque, or "some vanity of [his] art," the play makes it
clear that the old magician is a lot like a master playwright.
It doesn't make any sense to associate a grumpy, revenge-thirsty magician like Prospero with a
playwright like Will Shakespeare.
The Tempest Theme of Contrasting Regions
Although the play takes place entirely on an island, The Tempest dramatizes the divide between the
courtly worlds and the wilderness. As the play opens, Prospero, a former Italian duke now living in
exile, has already journeyed from the court to the remote island and is now trying to return. When
Prospero causes his royal enemies to be shipwrecked on his isle, we learn that loyalty to the King is no
longer sacred, and court members must abandon their traditions and expectations. The Tempest's
foray into a kind of "pastoral" world also aligns this play with As You Like It and A Midsummer Night's
Dream.
Questions About Contrasting Regions
1. Does Prospero conform to the ideals of the court or the pastoral world? With which world would he
most likely align himself?
2. Where does Miranda fall in the pastoral/courtly divide? Is she prepared to be Queen of Naples?
3. It's clear through the actions of the play that courtly laws aren't suited for the pastoral setting. Or can
they be? How would the laws of the pastoral world hold up in the environment of court?
4. Are there principles that differentiate courtly values from pastoral values, or are the norms that govern
each just the same rules, interpreted differently?
Chew on This
While hierarchy still matters in the pastoral setting, the rules of the court lose authority once court
members find themselves in the wilderness.
The rules of the court are abandoned by the shipwreck survivors because courtly rules have no place
anywhere outside the court.
The Tempest Theme of Freedom and Confinement
The Tempest is obsessed with the concept of imprisonment both literal and figurative. Prospero and
Miranda are forced to live in exile on a remote island, where Prospero enslaves the island's only native
inhabitant (Caliban) and forces Ariel to do all of his bidding. The theme continues into the epilogue
where Shakespeare suggests that, during the performance of a play, actors and playwrights are held
captive by powerful audiences who may or may not approve of the artists' work.
Questions About Freedom and Confinement
1. How did Ariel come to serve Prospero?
2. Why has Prospero enslaved Caliban? Is Prospero justified in his treatment of Caliban?
3. What is the nature of Prospero's relationship with Ariel? How does Prospero view the spirit? How is this
different from how Prospero views Caliban?
4. Analyze the play's epilogue and explain why Prospero insists the audience must "release [him] from
[his] bonds."
Chew on This
Because Prospero forces Ariel to serve him, he is no better than the witch Sycorax, who imprisoned
Ariel in a pine tree before Prospero came along and "rescued" the sprite.
Prospero is not free because he is subject to his own desire for justice; he is a slave to the past wrongs
done to him.
The Tempest Theme of Man and the Natural World
Is man more "noble" in a natural state than in a state of civilization? The Tempest returns to this
question over and over again in its portrayal of the ambiguous "monster" Caliban and in Gonzalo's
utopian speech about the ideal state of the island. Throughout the play (which paraphrases a key
passage from Montaigne's famous essay "Of Cannibals"), Shakespeare also asks whether man can be
at one with nature, or whether (perhaps by virtue of the biblical Fall in Eden) he is destined to make
unnatural whatever he touches.
Questions About Man and the Natural World
1. Is the natural state morally superior to the state of civilization (at court)?
2. Can the island be considered a natural or pristine place, untouched by man, when there is so much of
Prospero's magic and enchantment all around it?
3. Caliban is constantly referred to as evil or deformed by nature. How can nature produce things that are
unfit to exist?
Chew on This
Gonzalo's utopian speech in Act 1, Scene 1 suggests that man is more noble living in a natural state.
Despite Gonzalo's utopian speech in Act 1, Scene 1, the play suggests that man is not more noble
living in a natural state Caliban, after all, is in no way a "noble savage."
The Tempest Theme of Betrayal
Loyalty and betrayal are linked to The Tempest's larger themes of servitude and freedom; either feeling
is motivated by how each individual perceives his position relative to others. Antonio's betrayal of his
brother and theft of the dukedom of Milan are the source of conflict in the play, but the action
contemporary to the play follows a series of attempted betrayals. Alonso and Prospero would both be
murdered by traitors, but this is thwarted by the actions of loyal characters like Ariel and Gonzalo.
Loyalty and treachery also serve as the two main personality traits of the players. You can separate the
loyal out, and divide the bad into those who were misguided and now repentant, and those who are just
plain evil.
Questions About Betrayal
1. Gonzalo is arguably the most loyal character in the play, though he doesn't stop anyone from exiling
Prospero. He's also doggedly loyal to Alonso, who aided in Prospero's betrayal. Does Gonzalo's
sympathy mean anything?
2. What is the turning point for Sebastian, after which he is willing to murder Alonso? Is it Antonio's
persuasion, or some seed that must just be part of Sebastian's character? (Think of Macbeth and the
"influence" of the three witches.)
3. Was it disloyal of Antonio to take over a dukedom that he effectively ran anyway, especially if Prospero
was never doing his duke-y duties? How much of this betrayal is Prospero's own perspective and
convenient forgetting that Antonio was doing all the hard work?
4. The Tempest is the origination of the phrase "what's past is prologue." What does this kind of mentality
say about opportunities in the present? Can one really have loyalty built on old ties when so much is
new?
Chew on This
Loyalty is a farce in the play; everyone follows the courtly rule of swearing loyalty, but gives up on the
notion as soon as it is no longer convenient.
Antonio's betrayal of Prospero reminds us that even family members cannot be counted on to be loyal.
The Tempest Theme of Compassion and Forgiveness
"The rarer action is / In virtue than in vengeance" (5.1.2). This is Prospero's startling revelation after
years of living in exile and plotting his return to Italy. The Tempest's emphasis on mercy and
forgiveness are hallmarks of Shakespeare's "romances," four plays (The Tempest, Pericles, The
Winter's Tale, and Cymbeline) written late in the playwright's career. Prospero's capacity to forgive
those who have betrayed him, Miranda's empathy, Ariel's mercy, and Gonzalo's thoughtfulness
dramatize the triumph of the human spirit.
Questions About Compassion and Forgiveness
1. Does forgiveness come naturally to Prospero? If it does, why was it so important to orchestrate the
whole tempest? So he could publicly forgive everyone for stuff they weren't even sorry about? What's
the real motivation here?
2. Ariel says he would feel tenderness towards the enchanted men if he were "human." Can we take it for
granted that mercy is a natural human sentiment?
3. What is it that prompts Prospero to forgive his enemies?
4. How do we reconcile Prospero's constant petty harassments of Caliban with the wonderfully forgiving
Prospero later in the play? Has Prospero changed, or is he merciful and magnanimous only on a
human-to-human basis? Is this a colonial thing again, where everyone's equal but some are more equal
than others?
Chew on This
Mercy does come naturally to man in the state of nature. Miranda, full of empathy and sympathy, is
evidence of this. Prospero and the others in the play do not come to mercy so easily because they have
been ruined by civilization.
The Tempest Theme of The Divine
The divine is a parallel to Prospero's magic in The Tempest. Like nature, the divine is often given credit
for Prospero's work, yet it has a special meaning for Prospero in particular. He is the only one that
grasps the limitation of his power, and he knows that it stops shy of making him a god. To celebrate
Miranda and Ferdinand's union, Prospero brings spirits in the shape of gods before them, hoping to
impress the young lovers. Prospero admits, perhaps with some sadness, that these are not the real
deal. Prospero, as everyone else, is subject to the divine. His magic is only a tinkering tool in the face of
the larger project designed for him by powers higher than his own.
Questions About The Divine
1. Prospero seems a bit sad that he can only show the children fanciful mockups of the real gods as he
celebrates Ferdinand and Miranda's union. Does Prospero envy the gods' power?
2. What is Prospero's relation to the gods? Does he answer to any higher power?
3. How much of what happens in the play is the direct result of Prospero's magic, and how much seems to
be the coincidentally convenient outcome of divine providence?
Chew on This
Prospero's art is not at odds with the gods because he still answers to and appeals to them, not to
himself.
Prospero has no god, otherwise he would not dare meddle in works of both nature and the divine.
The Tempest Theme of Versions of Reality
Perspective plays a large role in The Tempest. The island is dominated by magic, and it clouds the
ability of all the new arrivals to tell the difference between reality and the magical illusions they
see. Reality is also tempered by the outlook of the individuals Gonzalo is relentlessly positive, and so
sees the island as beautiful. Ariel revels in the island's naturalness, while Sebastian and Antonio see it
as an inhospitable place because of their negative outlooks. Reality is clouded by magic, and this
duality is only furthered by the influence of personal perspective over each individual's perceptions.
Questions About Versions of Reality
1. How do you account for the difference between Gonzalo's vision of the island, as opposed to Antonio
and Sebastian's vision?
2. Why does Alonso move back and forth so much on the issue of whether Ferdinand is dead? What does
he really believe to be true?
3. How does Ariel's appearance as a harpy at the banquet table impact the traitors Alonso, Antonio, and
Sebastian? Do they view themselves as traitors?
4. Is it safe to trust your senses, or your own sense of reality, when in a magical place? Can the strange
occurrences and behaviors in the play be explained by personal quirks, or by the island's enchantment?
Chew on This
People construct their own versions of reality depending on their perspective. The influence of magic in
this play is irrelevant, because the characters' divergent interpretations of reality are due to their
different experiences and perspectives.
Antonio and Sebastian are unrealistic characters because they have absolutely no remorse or fear of
accountability.
Prospero
Character Analysis
Prospero is the ousted Duke of Milan who has been living in exile on a remote island for the past twelve
years. He's also a powerful magician, father of Miranda, master of Ariel and Caliban, and a guy who
really likes his books.
Prospero's Magic
Throughout the play Prospero uses his magic to whip up a dramatic storm, to put on a dazzling
wedding entertainment, to bully his servants, to manipulate his enemies, and to orchestrate his
daughter's marriage to the Prince of Naples.
In other words, our favorite magician is a pretty powerful guy and quite the control freak. (We might
have some control issues too if our own brother stabbed us in the back and stole our dukedom before
we were set adrift at sea.)
Still, before Prospero landed on the island, his devotion to the study of magic got him into big trouble.
While Prospero's nose was buried in his extensive library, his snaky brother managed to steal his title
("Duke of Milan") and get him thrown out of Italy. So, before Prospero was physically isolated on the
isle, he did a pretty good job of isolating himself socially by making his "art" (magic) his number one
priority. Hmm. Is Shakespeare trying to tell us something about the dangers of letting one's devotion to
mastering his craft consume him?
Prospero's Art = Shakespeare's Art?
If you think Shakespeare is suggesting that being an artist makes for a lonely life, then you'll probably
want to think about whether or not Prospero is a stand-in for Shakespeare himself.
How does this work, exactly? Well, Prospero uses magic to manipulate and dazzle, just like
Shakespeare. A lot of literary critics think Prospero manipulates the action of The Tempest like a skillful
director. (We talk a lot more about this in "Quotes: Art and Culture.")
Plus, when Prospero renounces his magic, Shakespeare knows The Tempest is the last play he will
write alone. As the sorcerer Prospero breaks his staff, Shakespeare puts down his pen and it's as
though he's speaking about his own retirement from the theater when Prospero says, "Now my charms
are all o'erthrown, / And what strength I have's mine own" (Epilogue). He asks only that we appreciate
what he's done, and humbly takes his leave of us to disappear quietly, letting his words work magic
long after he has gone.
From Bitter Old Man to Merciful Human Being
But not everyone thinks of Prospero as a stand-in for Will Shakespeare. In fact, some audiences see
Prospero as nothing but a bitter tyrant. He's taken Caliban's island in return for his own lost title, he
manipulates his daughter, is cruel to Ferdinand and Caliban, and kind to Ariel only when the spirit is
totally subservient. He also puts his enemies through all kinds of hell to gather them up so he can judge
them.
OK, fine. We're not arguing that Prospero has some serious issues. Still, we do want to point out a
couple of things. Although Prospero does everything in his power to confront his enemies, he's no Titus
Andronicus. (Instead of baking his enemies into a pie, for example, he just terrifies them a little bit while
trying to teach them a lesson.) More importantly, instead of seeking the kind of blood-and-guts
vengeance that could have turned The Tempest into a "tragedy," Prospero ultimately discovers that the
capacity for mercy and forgiveness is what makes us human.
After learning about the shipwreck survivors' pitiful state, Prospero declares "the rarer action is / In
virtue than in vengeance" (5.1.2). This is a pretty big deal, Shmoopsters. By this point in his career,
Shakespeare made a name for himself writing bummer plays like Hamlet, King Lear, and Macbeth,
where violence and suffering are the names of the game. Yet, in Prospero, Shakespeare creates a
figure who decides to forgive his enemies even though they have betrayed in the worst possible way.
Does this mean Shakespeare has gone soft on us by the time he pens what is most likely the last play
he wrote entirely by himself? We'll leave that for you to decide.
P.S. If you want to know about Prospero's relationship with the "hag-born" whelp he stole the island
from, check out "Characters: Caliban."
Caliban
Character Analysis
"Hag-born" "whelp," not "honoured with human shape."
"Demi-devil."
"Poor credulous monster."
"Hag-seed."
"Strange fish."
These are just a few descriptions of Caliban, one of the most debated figures in all of Shakespeare. Is
this cursing, would-be rapist and wannabe killer nothing but a monster? Or, is this belligerent, iambic
pentameter speaking slave worthy of our sympathy? Is Caliban a response to Montaigne's vision of the
"noble savage"? Is he symbolic of the victims of colonial expansion?
Critical interpretations of Caliban are wildly different and have changed dramatically over the years. In
fact, scholars get pretty fired up about how this character should be interpreted. Before we get carried
away, let's start with what we do know.
Who or What is Caliban?
Caliban is the island's only native. As Prospero tells us, he is the product of the witch Sycorax's hook-
up with the devil and Caliban was "littered" (a word usually used to describe animals being born, like
kittens) on the island after Sycorax was booted out of her home in Algiers (1.2.35). So, Caliban's life
didn't exactly get off to a good start. So, was he born bad, or did something happen in his life to turn
him into a "thing most brutish" (1.2)?
We know that after Prospero and Miranda washed up on shore, Caliban seems to have had a pretty
decent relationship with the old magician. To Prospero Caliban says:
When thou camest first,
Thou strokedst me and madest much of me, wouldst give me
Water with berries in't, and teach me how
To name the bigger light, and how the less,
That burn by day and night: and then I loved thee
And show'd thee all the qualities o' the isle,
The fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place and fertile-- (1.2.3)
In other words, Caliban showed Prospero how to survive on the island and Prospero took Caliban
under his wing and taught him to speak. (Apparently, Caliban had no language before this.) For a while,
things were hunky dory. Or, as hunky dory as things can possibly be on a remote island. We even learn
that Prospero treated Caliban "with human care" and let him stay at his pad.
So, what changed? Why does Prospero enslave Caliban, punish him with debilitating stomach cramps,
and hurl the kinds of insults that would have most of us running to the bathroom to cry? Caliban, we
learn, tried to rape Miranda in an attempt to "people" the isle with a bunch of little Calibans (1.2.4).
That's pretty inexcusable, so it's clear we're supposed to be repulsed by Caliban's monstrous behavior
and it's easy to see why Prospero treats him like dirt.
Yet, at the same time, Caliban is also a figure who can be read as a victim of Prospero's tyranny. When
Caliban declares, "This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother" (1.2.3), we're reminded that Prospero
basically took over the island and made Caliban his slave. Caliban's also feisty and challenges
Prospero's authority, which we can't help but admire, especially when Caliban points out that learning
Prospero's language gave him the ability to "curse" his tormenter.
Regardless of how repulsive Caliban may be, he's also the character who delivers some of the most
beautiful and stunning speeches in the play. (Hello. Did you check out the scene where Caliban
describes the beauty and wonders of the island? Here's a sample:
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 sometime voices
That, if I then had waked after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again (3.2.18)
This is pretty great poetry, don't you think?)
What's in a Name?
A lot of literary critics say that Caliban's name is an anagram or at least a play on the word can[n]ibal, a
term derived from "carib" (as in the Caribbean), which became a European term used to describe flesh-
eaters. If this is the case, then Caliban's name associates him with the kinds of "savage" man-eaters
that Europeans were reading about in travel literature when Shakespeare wrote the play.
It's also possible that Caliban's name may be a play on the Romany word "Cauliban," which means
"black" or something associated with blackness. This makes some sense, especially given that Caliban
is associated with darkness throughout the play. Prospero calls his slave "thou earth" (1.2.42) and says
of him, "This thing of darkness / I acknowledge mine" (5.1.20). By the way, literary critic Kim F. Hall
points out that Caliban's association with "darkness and dirt" is the opposite of Miranda's association
with purity and light.
Caliban as a Symbol of Colonial Injustice?
For a lot of critics, Caliban is symbolic of what happened to victims of European colonization in the
centuries after Shakespeare wrote The Tempest. We think Virginia Mason Vaughan and Alden T.
Vaughan do the best job of summing up this argument:
Caliban stands for countless victims of European imperialism and colonization. Like Caliban (so the
argument goes), colonized peoples were disinherited, exploited, and subjugated. Like him, they learned
a conqueror's language and perhaps that conqueror's values. Like him, they endured enslavement and
contempt by European usurpers and eventually rebelled. Like him, they were torn between their
indigenous culture and the culture superimposed on it by their conquerors. (Shakespeare's Caliban: A
Cultural History, 145)
This interpretation of Caliban can be pretty powerful and socially relevant, especially in film and stage
productions where Caliban is portrayed as a colonized, New World subject. Yet, it's also important to
remember, as Vaughan and Vaughan point out, that this "interpretation of Caliban is symbolic for what
he represents to the observer, not for what Shakespeare may have had in mind."
Born to Serve?
Regardless of whether or not we read Caliban as a victim of colonial injustice, he's most definitely a
slave and, in some ways, the play suggests he was born to be one. Miranda (or Prospero, depending
on which edition of the play you're reading) says as much when she points out that she helped teach
Caliban language:
[...] I pitied thee,
Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour
One thing or other: when thou didst not, savage,
Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like
A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes
With words that made them known. But thy vile race,
Though thou didst learn, had that in't which good natures
Could not abide to be with; therefore wast thou
Deservedly confined into this rock,
Who hadst deserved more than a prison. (1.2.24)
In other words, Miranda suggests that Caliban's "vile race" and lack of language makes him deserving
of his status as a slave. (This, of course, is exactly what European imperialists said about the people
they colonized.) What's interesting is that even Caliban seems like he lives to serve. When he conspires
with Stefano and Trinculo to kill Prospero, he promises to serve Stefano:
I'll show thee every fertile inch o' th' island;
And I will kiss thy foot: I prithee, be my god. (2.2.11)
What's up with that?
Miranda
Character Analysis
Miranda is the virginal, fourteen-year-old daughter of Prospero. (We know her age because her dad
says she wasn't yet three years old when they landed on the island and twelve years have passed
since then. We know she's a virgin because everyone in the play is always talking about it. Seriously.
Check out "Symbols" if you want to know why the play makes such a big deal about Miranda's V-Card,
but come right back.)
After spending a dozen years on a remote island with her old man and the hideous slave Caliban,
Miranda falls in love at first sight the moment she lays her eyes on the oh-so-dreamy Prince of Naples.
What's cool about Miranda is that she's not at all bashful when she tells her dad she thinks Prince
Ferdinand is hot: "I might call him / A thing divine, for nothing so natural / I ever saw so noble" (1.2.21).
Shakespeare also gives Miranda one of the most hopeful (and famous) lines in the play. Check out
what Miranda says when she spots the shipwreck victims at the end of the play:
O, wonder!
How many goodly creatures are there here!
How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world,
That has such people in't! (5.1.3)
Here, Miranda is the mouthpiece through which Shakespeare expresses the idea that human beings
(and life in general) are pretty marvelous, despite the fact that we are all flawed creatures. (P.S. Aldous
Huxley liked this passage so much that he made the phrase "brave new world" the title of his famous
book.)
We know what you're thinking. Miranda has no real life experience to speak of (hello, she's been on the
isle since she was a baby), so her judgment is questionable at best.
OK, we admit that Miranda is pretty nave, but that's part of what makes such an endearing figure. In
the play, she represents the guileless innocence of youth and, when she falls in love Ferdinand, her
romantic union is the thing that will bring together Prospero and his former enemy, the King of Naples.
Although some study guides might tell you that Miranda's a wimp who lets her dad use her as a pawn,
we think she's got a lot of nerve. (That said, it's true that her dad is pretty manipulative.) When she has
the chance, Miranda takes her fate into her own hands. She declares her love to Ferdinand, thinking
her father still hates him. She doesn't know that Prospero secretly helped the situation along, but she's
willing to do what she wants, even though it could get her into trouble with Daddy. When Prospero
pretends to be mad that Miranda has fallen for Ferdinand, she totally stands up for herself: "My
affections/ Are then most humble. I have no ambition to / To see a see a goodlier man" (1.2.28). The
girl isn't wise in the ways of the world, but she has a brave heart and a spirit to follow it.
Miranda's most important personal qualities might be her ability to feel empathy and amazement. When
we first meet her, she's frantically begging her father to have pity on the passengers of the storm-tossed
ship, which is more than we can say for Prospero (1.1.1). In fact, she's so worked up that Prospero
assures her "Be collected. / No more amazement. Tell your piteous heart / There's no harm done"
(1.1.1).
To be amazed in Shakespeare's day literally meant to be taken with terror the word comes from how
one would feel when facing a labyrinth, a literal maze. You'd be a bit scared, but maybe you'd be taken
over by the wonder of this unknown thing, and brave enough to go into it anyway. Amazement might be
the most fitting word for this girl as she faces the unknown bravely, armed with her good courage and
big heart, she finds innocent wonder and delight.
Miranda's name literally means "that which must be admired" (from mirari to admire). She looks on
the world with a childlike wonder, which is more than navet and might actually just be the eyes of an
artist, able to see the beauty in everything. Admiration is an important word for Miranda from the other
side too, as she isn't the only one doing all the looking: she is much admired by those who look upon
her.
Gonzalo
Character Analysis
In the play's dramatis personae (literally, a list of the "persons of the play"), we're told that Gonzalo is
"an honest old counsellor of Naples." He's travelling with the King's party when he's shipwrecked with
the other passengers on Prospero's island.
The thing to know about Gonzalo is that he's a really good guy with an optimistic outlook on life kind
of like Dory in Finding Nemo, but with a beard instead of fins. The first time we meet Gonzalo, he's
trying to break up a nasty argument between the royals and the mariners on deck during the tempest.
While everyone around him is bickering and worrying about drowning, Gonzalo keeps his cool and says
he's sure "good Fate" has something other than drowning in store for everyone on board the ship
(1.1.3).
We also know that, when Prospero was booted out of Italy and set adrift with his infant daughter,
Gonzalo was the one who made sure Prospero had enough food and water to survive. Gonzalo didn't
just make sure Prospero would have supplies to physically sustain him, he also made sure Prospero
had fancy linens and books the kinds of things that would keep a guy like Prospero comfortable:
By Providence divine.
Some food we had and some fresh water that
A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo,
Out of his charity, being then appointed
Master of this design, did give us, with
Rich garments, linens, stuffs and necessaries,
Which since have steaded much; so, of his gentleness,
Knowing I loved my books, he furnish'd me
From mine own library with volumes that
I prize above my dukedom. (1.2.16)
After washing up on shore, Gonzalo is the one who reminds everybody else that they should be
celebrating because they're alive: "Beseech you, sir, be merry. You have cause / So have we all, of joy;
for our escape is much beyond our loss" (2.1.1). Gonzalo gives voice to the idea that, despite the
(seeming) loss of the ship, the survivors can uncover something even greater. In fact, this seems to be
one of the play's biggest messages. Check out what Gonzalo has to say at the play's end:
In one voyage
Did Claribel her husband find at Tunis,
And Ferdinand, her brother, found a wife
Where he himself was lost, Prospero his dukedom
In a poor isle and all of us ourselves
When no man was his own. (5.1.249-254)
Literary critic Robert Langbaum writes that Gonzalo's speech sums up the philosophy of the genre of
tragicomedy "that we lose in order to recover something greater, that we die in order to be reborn to a
better life." In other words, violence and tragedy are "all part of a providential design."
Notice the way Prospero associates Gonzalo with "fate"? Earlier, we saw how Gonzalo believes that
"fate" determined whether or not he and the rest of the party would drown during the storm. Here,
Prospero directly associates Gonzalo with the workings of "Providence divine," as if Gonzalo is an
agent of fate. This is a pretty big deal because, in the play, we get the sense that some force greater
than even Prospero's magic is at work guiding the lives of each of the characters.
Gonzalo also makes a big utopian speech that literary critics like to compare to a passage from
Montaigne's "Of Cannibals," a famous essay that Shakespeare totally cribbed when he wrote Gonzalo's
lines. We talk about this more in "Symbols" so check it out if you want to know more.
Ariel
Character Analysis
Ariel is Prospero's "tricksy" spirit servant and attends to Prospero's every need. Unlike Caliban, Ariel
has a (mostly) warm and loving relationship with Prospero, who saved Ariel when he arrived on the
island. (The evil witch Sycorax imprisoned Ariel in a tree because the "delicate" spirit didn't have the
heart to do her bidding.)
Even though Ariel is affectionate toward Prospero, we learn early on that Ariel isn't a servant by nature;
he primarily wants his liberty, but, knowing that it will come, serves Prospero wholeheartedly and
happily.
Ariel is notable for his use of white magic in the play, but also for his empathy and goodness. These
traits are lacking in some of the play's human characters, and Ariel's feelings only make that fact more
conspicuous. Most telling is his report on the three traitors: Antonio, Sebastian, and Alonso. He claims
that their state is so pathetic, if Prospero saw them he would be moved to mercy and sympathy. Ariel
thinks he himself would have that same tenderness, were he human. While we are reminded that this is
a spirit of a not-human nature, he seems filled with angelic grace even about human matters.
Check out Ariel's response when Prospero asks how the King and his party are doing:
ARIEL
Your charm so strongly works 'em
That if you now beheld them, your affections
Would become tender.
PROSPERO
Dost thou think so, spirit?
ARIEL
Mine would, sir, were I human.
PROSPERO
And mine shall. (5.1.2)
Whoa! Did you notice what just happened? Prospero's just transformed from a revenge thirsty magician
to a human being with the capacity to forgive his enemies and feel "tender[ness]" toward those who
betrayed him and exiled him to the island. In other words, Ariel's compassionate spirit is the catalyst for
Prospero's change. Without Ariel, Prospero may never have learned that "the rarer action is / In virtue
than in vengeance" (5.1.2).
Ariel performs all of his services with great skill and presentation. From showing up as fire on the ship
to his appearance as a great harpy to the three traitors, Ariel treasures the aesthetic. He tends to speak
in beautifully poetic verse, even about the silliest things, without ever seeming foolish. Even as he pulls
on Prospero's robes, he sings a beautiful little song. Ariel stands in for all that is delightful and good in
the world.
King Alonso of Naples
Character Analysis
Alonso, the King of Naples, is not a particularly good guy, but not a particularly bad one, either. We
know he was an enemy of Prospero, but the first we hear of the King is that he was easily swayed by
Antonio's self-interested flattery. When we properly meet Alonso, we see he's kind of like any of the
kids on My Super Sweet 16 he's completely self-involved, easily moved to passion, sorrow, or tears,
and even though he doesn't mean to be, sometimes he is a total jerk.
Alonso is easily moved one way or another, sometimes giving up his son for dead and other times
searching for him doggedly. Gonzalo can sway him in one direction (towards good) when he speaks,
but we know Antonio's wicked flattery also worked on the King before. That Alonso keeps Antonio and
Sebastian, willing traitors, so close to him is evidence that he is at once trusting and nave, in addition
to being a horrible judge of character.
Unlike many of the other characters here, Alonso is quick to admit when he has done wrong so long
as he is called out on it first. When Ariel as a harpy reminds King Alonso what he's done to Prospero
and Miranda, the King is genuinely sorrowful. Further, when Alonso sees Prospero, he's quick to return
the man's dukedom. Yet we get the sense that Alonso doesn't think too much about his actions until
he's called to account for them.
Because of his remorse and his willingness to embrace Miranda, his son, and Prospero, Alonso seems
to be a not-all-that-bad kind of guy, just easily influenced by the wrong crowd. Most importantly, Alonso
doesn't really trust his own senses. At the end of the play, he wonders at his son and can't really wrap
his mind around the strange story they've all been part of. Ultimately, he's just another one of
Shakespeare's misguided royals, not the brightest crayon in the box, easily persuaded, but not
altogether bad.
Prince Ferdinand
Character Analysis
Prince Ferdinand is Alonso's son and the heir to the throne of Naples. He is quick to love, and
seemingly quick to forget his father's "death," but it does seem that his heart is true and his affections,
though quick, are genuine. He does have a sort of princely arrogance about him. (He may be a prince,
but a little humility never killed anybody.)
We learn about Ferdinand mostly through his efforts to gain Miranda from Prospero. Ferdinand is happy
in his labors, blinded by love, and quick to promise the title of queen and wife to a girl before he even
knows her name. He also vows to stay true to her father, Prospero, and not violate Miranda's chastity
before their wedding night maybe because he's a good guy, maybe because Prospero threatens that
the heavens will rain down fire and brimstone on him.
You can't say much about Ferdinand because he doesn't say or do much, besides mooning in love.
Still, he does seem easy to love, earnest, and good above all else. (And we needed a little bit of that in
the play, didn't we?)
Sebastian and Antonio
Character Analysis
This pair can mainly be dealt with together, since nearly all of their lines are together, and their action is
matched. They're also in similar positions, as both are traitorous younger brothers. Antonio is
Prospero's brother, who betrayed him to have the dukedom; Sebastian is younger brother to King
Alonso of Naples, and is interested in stealing Alonso's throne. They work well together because
Sebastian is prone to fooling around in a mean-spirited way and Antonio earns Sebastian's trust and
respect by also being a horrible human being. When Sebastian is moved to murder his own brother, it is
at the suggestion of the traitorous Antonio.
In their last lines in the play, Sebastian and Antonio mock Trinculo and Stefano (who are basically their
reflections). They show they have learned absolutely nothing, have no remorse, and do not wish to be
forgiven, because they see nothing wrong with themselves. Their plot against the King, their lack of
remorse, and their wickedness in general characterize them as bad seeds.
The entertaining part of this pair is their jesting with words and ideas. They have no boundaries on the
horrible things they'll say, and they make fun of everything, usually cleverly and with great effect.
Basically, we find them disgusting, but fascinating to watch.

Tempest
Symbolism, Imagery, Allegory
Like the storm in King Lear, the tempest that opens our play is full of symbolic meaning.
When Prospero uses magic to whip up a storm that shipwrecks the King of Naples on the island, the
tempest seems like a very physical manifestation of Prospero's anger and his suffering, which has been
eating at him for the past twelve years. Big surprise there, right?
Although the tempest (like Prospero's anger) is definitely powerful enough to cause a shipwreck, no real
harm is actually done. Prospero wants to teach Alonso and Antonio a lesson, but the fact is that he
doesn't kill anybody or cause permanent damage to the ship or its inhabitants. Unlike the notorious
storm-whipper-uppers in Macbeth (that would be the Weird Sisters), Prospero is NOT an evil guy. He's
bitter, controlling, and wants some payback for losing his dukedom, but, ultimately, Prospero forgives
the men who once betrayed him.
We also want to point out how the tempest is associated with social upheaval. You probably noticed
that as the crew and passengers are being tossed around on deck, panic sets in and quite a lot of trash
talking goes down after Duke Antonio tries barking orders at the crew. The Boatswain, who knows a
thing or two about sailing, basically tells the Duke of Milan to keep his mouth shut and get out of the
way: "Hence! What cares these roarers / for the name of King? To cabin! Silence; trouble us not"
(1.1.5). Oh, snap! The social and political hierarchy begins to break down here as the Boatswain points
out that royal titles are meaningless in a life and death situation at sea. ("Roarers," by the way, means
"waves" in this context but it's also a term used to describe a rioting crowd.)
At this point, we wonder for a moment if we'll have a mutiny on our hands that could turn into a Lord of
the Flies scenario once everyone washes up on shore. (If Stefano, Caliban, and Trinculo had their way,
Stefano would have usurped both Alonso's and Prospero's power, right?) When we think about it, this is
basically what happened back on dry land in Milan when Prospero's brother snatched the dukedom
from him.
Want to know more about Shakespeare's love of storms? Check out "Symbols" in King Lear and
Macbeth.
Chess
By the middle of Act 5, Scene 1, Prospero has worked his magic to win back his dukedom and he has
also orchestrated the marriage of Miranda and Prince Ferdinand, who everyone thinks is dead thanks
to Prospero. Still, Prospero's got one more trick up his sleeve. In the middle of the scene, Prospero
gathers everyone around and dramatically draws back a curtain to reveal his virginal daughter and
Ferdinand...playing a game of chess. Surprise!
It looks like Ferdinand has made good on his promise to keep his hands to himself until his wedding
night, wouldn't you say? As it turns out, the conversation going on between Miranda and Ferdinand is
as G-rated as the action. Miranda bats her eyelashes and says something cute ("Sweet lord, you play
me false") and Ferdinand promises that he'd never do such a thing (5.1.1). So, it seems like chess is
being used here as a metaphor for romantic pursuits or, the kinds of teasing little "games" played by
people who are in love.
We really want to believe Ferdinand when he says he'd never cheat (it wouldn't bode well for the
couple's marriage), but we can't say the same thing about the parents of this sweet couple. Hmm. Is
Shakespeare trying to tell us something?
Let's think about this. The goal of a chess game is to capture your opponent's king by strategically
placing him in a position from which he can't move. Gee. That sounds kind of familiar. Where have we
seen this kind of game before? Oh, we know! This is exactly what's been going on between Prospero
and Alonso ever since the King of Naples allowed Antonio to steal Prospero's dukedom. In the end,
Prospero has ultimately won this little game by backing Alonso into a corner from which the king cannot
move. Check mate. Game over.
Prospero's Books
Prospero's books are a pretty big deal in this play. They're the source of Prospero's magic, which is why
Caliban says Prospero is completely vulnerable without them:
Why, as I told thee, 'tis a custom with him,
I' th' afternoon to sleep: there thou mayst brain him,
Having first seized his books, or with a log
Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake,
Or cut his wezand with thy knife. Remember
First to possess his books; for without them
He's but a sot, as I am, nor hath not
One spirit to command: they all do hate him
As rootedly as I. Burn but his books. (3.2.11)
In other words, without the contents of his treasured library, Prospero's a "sot" (a stupid fool) and as
powerless as Caliban. When Prospero says he's going to retire from the magic business, he promises
"I'll drown my book" (5.1.5).
As useful as these books are, we also want to point out that Prospero's nose was buried in these very
same texts back in Milan when his brother was busy stealing his dukedom (1.2). By his own admission,
when Prospero was "rapt in secret studies," he neglected his duties as a ruler and isolated himself from
the rest of the world (1.2.10). That's odd. Why would Shakespeare warn us that burying oneself in his or
her art can be dangerously isolating? Let us know when you work that one out for us.
Brain Snack: The artsy 1991 film Prospero's Books concentrates on the (imagined) contents of our
favorite magician's library.
Gonzalo's Big Utopian Speech
Ever the optimist, Gonzalo's response to being stranded is to make a big speech about how things
would be if he ruled the isle:
I' the commonwealth I would by contraries
Execute all things; for no kind of traffic
Would I admit; no name of magistrate;
Letters should not be known; riches, poverty,
And use of service, none; contract, succession,
Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none;
No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil;
No occupation; all men idle, all;
And women too, but innocent and pure;
No sovereignty;--
[...]
All things in common nature should produce
Without sweat or endeavour: treason, felony,
Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine,
Would I not have; but nature should bring forth,
Of its own kind, all foison, all abundance,
To feed my innocent people. (2.1.23)
Shakespeare (a notorious and unapologetic plagiarist) cribbed Gonzalo's speech from Montaigne's
famous essay "Of Cannibals" (1580), where the Brazilian Indians are described as living at one with
nature:
[Brazilian Indians have] no kind of traffic, no knowledge of letters, no intelligence of numbers, no name
of magistrate or politic superiority, no use of service, of riches or of poverty, no contracts, no
successions...no occupation but idle, no respect of kindred but common, no apparel but natural, no
manuring of lands, no use of wine, corn, or metal. (from John Florio's 1603 English translation)
At a time when Europeans were running around calling natives in the Americas "savages," Montaigne
suggests that the Brazilian Indians live a utopian lifestyle while European colonizers are the real
barbarians. (This essay, by the way, is where the concept of the "noble savage" comes from.)
So, it's interesting that Shakespeare puts this speech in the mouth of one of his characters, don't you
think? Does this mean that Shakespeare endorses Montaigne's ideas about New World inhabitants?
Maybe. Gonzalo, after all, is the play's ultimate good guy. On the other hand, Caliban, who is a kind of
exotic "other," is portrayed as a complete savage in this play.
Miranda's Virginity
If you're like us, you're probably wondering why the play and most of the characters in it are so
obsessed with Miranda's virginity. Prospero is always talking about it (and guarding it from the likes of
Caliban) and, when Ferdinand sees Miranda for the first time, he says he hopes she's unmarried and
still carrying her V-card (1.2.3). What the heck is going on here? We've done some investigating (read:
close analysis of the text) and we've come up with some ideas.
First of all, it was really, really, really important for unmarried women to be chaste in Shakespeare's
day. If they had sex before marriage, they were considered damaged goods who couldn't be depended
on to produce legitimate offspring. (Trust us. There were entire sermons and books written about the
subject.)
Miranda's virginity is a thing that's treated like a "treasure" to be guarded, mostly by her dad, who
prevents Caliban from raping her and populating the "isle with Calibans" (1.2.3). Prospero not only
prevents his daughter from being assaulted, he also puts a stop to the potential threat that the island
could be taken over by the offspring of his slave. Prospero would much rather give his daughter over to
Prince Ferdinand (although he gives his son-in-law a huge lecture about keeping his hands to himself
until after the wedding) because 1) Miranda loves the guy and 2) Miranda and Ferdinand will have
legitimate babies that will one day rule Naples.
At times, it also seems like Miranda's virginity is symbolic of her purity, innocence, and goodness. (As
opposed to Sycorax the witch, who hooked up with the devil and gave birth to Caliban.) It also seems
like Miranda's status as a virgin helps to somehow redeem the island's naturalness. Remember that the
last woman on the island was Sycorax. She was unnatural by virtue of being a witch, but also because
when she came to the island, she was already carrying the devil's child (it doesn't get any more
unnatural than that). If the island is to be a place of redemption for all the characters in the play,
Miranda's virginity is symbolic of the promise of a new and pure beginning.
We also want to point out that Miranda will inevitably lose her virginity to her new husband and this
signals that she is growing up and, well, changing in ways that not even her father can manipulate and
control. Miranda (unlike Isabella in Measure for Measure) is really excited about this and says as much
about what she "desires to give" Ferdinand after she becomes his wife (3.1.9).
Water, Water, Everywhere!
Water is central to this play, and, particularly, the act of being immersed in water namely, drowning.
Of course, the first scene when the ship splits is a pretty good time to worry about drowning, but the
imagery goes beyond that to represent loss and recovery.
When first exiled with Miranda, Prospero suggests that he could have drowned the sea with his own
tears when he cried over his lost dukedom and his past: "When I have deck'd the sea with drops full
salt" (1.2.18).
The new inhabitants of the isle are obsessed with water too. Ferdinand, upon hearing Ariel's song,
knows it refers to his father's certain drowning:
Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes;
Nothing of him that doth fade
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange (1.2.20)
Ariel's song leads Ferdinand to believe that his father has drowned and is lost to him forever. Not only
that, but the song suggests that his body has been transformed into something unrecognizable.
Later, when Alonso gives up hope that Ferdinand could have survived the shipwreck he says, "he is
drown'd / Whom thus we stray to find, and the sea mocks / Our frustrate search on land. Well, let him
go" (3.1.1) and Antonio notes the King has "given up hope" (3.1.1).
The idea here is that when someone is lost to the sea, there probably isn't even going to even be a
body that can be recovered. Drowning demands that the dead must be let go, without the closure of a
burial ceremony. So what we're talking about here is the seeming finality of drowning. Usually, once a
thing is given to the ocean, it can never be taken back, which is why Rose drops the diamond necklace
into the ocean in everyone's favorite tacky love story (yes, Titanic).
But wait! The Tempest isn't just a story about loss. It's also about the recovery of what seems to have
been lost forever. As we know, Ferdinand and his father don't actually drown and when they discover
each other at the play's end, we're reminded that new beginnings are possible.
Same goes for Prospero, who once thought Milan would never be restored to him but lives to see the
day his daughter is married to Prince Ferdinand and will live as a royal in Italy. While Miranda and
Prospero will never get back the twelve years they lost on the island, the play suggests that, despite
their suffering, they will gain something even greater.
Clasping of Hands
Hands stuff pops up all over the place in this play. Prospero takes Miranda's hand before he tells her of
their true identity, and our first introduction to the Prince and King has them below deck, praying, with
their hands clasped. Ariel invites Ferdinand to take hands (presumably Miranda's) as he leads him
away from crying over his father's death. Miranda is offered Ferdinand's hand as a symbol of his faith to
her and of their marriage. Prospero gives Miranda's hand in marriage to Ferdinand when he agrees to
their union, and Alonso clasps all their hands together and raises them to the heavens when asking
God's blessing on the new union. Finally, when Prospero gives his epilogue speech to the audience, he
asks that they bring their hands together, supposedly in prayer forgiving him his failures, but really in
applause to tell him that he's totally awesome.
So, hands mean prayer, truth, love, and applause. (By the way, did you know the origin of the
handshake was to show the other person your goodwill by revealing that you had no concealed weapon
in your hand? Well now you do.)
Of course, to stretch this thing out the way English professor-types do, the ultimate importance of the
hand is that it is the source of the translation from the mind to the page, the seat of writing and so the
palm of the play. This act of translating words beyond the page, of making them worthy of playing, is
the best thing that Shakespeare could hope to do. As his plays were written to be acted, applause (the
act of the audience's hands) was the playwright's only assurance that he hadn't sucked. This is
especially significant if we think of The Tempest as Shakespeare's last play. After a long career, the
man deserved a bit of the audience's indulgence, in the form of their clasped hands, providing the
ultimate praise of his own hand's work.
The Epilogue
We thought you might look here for some thoughts about Prospero's epilogue. We talk about it in
"What's Up With the Ending?," which is where you should go now if you want to know more about it.
The Tempest Setting
Where It All Goes Down
An island that might be Caribbean or Mediterranean
The play takes place entirely on an island (and the water surrounding it). We have a confession,
Shmoopsters. We're not exactly sure where the island is located. Since the King of Naples and his party
were travelling between Naples and Tunis when Prospero whipped up the little storm that shipwrecked
them, it seems likely the island is located somewhere in the Mediterranean.
Yet, there are some obvious references to the Caribbean, which has led some scholars to suggest the
island is either located in the New World or that the New World was on Shakespeare's mind when he
wrote the play. Ariel's reference to "the still-vex'd Bermoothes" is a pretty clear shout-out to Bermuda,
previously avoided because it was thought to be the devil's island.
The Caribbean isles might also have been fresh in Shakespeare's imagination because of a popular
travel account written around the same times as the play: In 1609, a Virginia Company expedition to
Jamestown lost its flagship, the Sea Venture. It was assumed that the flagship was as good as gone,
but then a year later, the crew turned up happy and tan, after having passed the time in Bermuda. The
account of that adventure was published as A Discovery of the Bermudas, Otherwise Called the Isle of
the Devils and was a very popularly read. (Learn more about the Sea Venture shipwreck here.) Did we
mention that Caliban's name is probably an anagram of the word "can[n]ibal," a term derived from
"carib" (as in the Caribbean)?
What's important is that the place is an island, and thus removed from territorial or national claims, and,
most importantly, any kind of civilization including the King's court and Prospero's ex-dukedom in
Milan. If you want to know more about the setting, check the "Themes: Contrasting Regions."

Brain Snack: The fancy setting also just so happens to work out for Princess Elizabeth, daughter of the
English King James I, who enjoyed a special production of the play as part of her wedding festivities.
The whimsical setting probably made for a pretty magical evening.
The Tempest Genre
Comedy and Tragicomedy
The Tempest is actually classified in Shakespeare's first folio as a comedy, which would be fine
enough, except this play has certain elements that are peculiar to a new genre. When The Tempest
came out, the "tragicomedy" had recently been brought into the English theater scene (by John
Fletcher, who would eventually replace Shakespeare as principle writer for the King's Men). Its principle
elements were pastoral settings (shepherds, shepherdesses, etc.), misunderstandings or mix-ups about
love, and potentially tragic consequences that are happily avoided by some magical intervention.
Shakespeare, because he's just like that, added to the form.
Romance
The Tempest is also part of a group of four plays (including Cymbeline, The Winter's Tale, and Pericles)
that literary critics refer to as the "romances." (Not the kind of romances that feature a scantily clad
woman and guy with bulging muscles on the book cover.) These plays were written at the end of
Shakespeare's career and share a few things in common. Let's take a quick peek at our handy-dandy
checklist of elements that are common in Shakespeare's "romance" plays to see how The Tempest fits
into the genre:
Elements of magic and the fantastic: Prospero is a magician who whips up a storm and
sends his airy sprite on crazy missions all over the island. Check.
A long, wandering journey: OK. The action of the play only takes place during the course of a
day but, just think about what Prospero and Miranda have gone through during the twelve years
leading up to the play's opening scene they're booted out of Milan and set adrift at sea before
landing on a remote island, where they live for a really long time before finally getting the
chance to return to Italy. Check.
Obsession with the concept of loss and recovery: Check. This is the most important
element of Shakespeare's "romances." So much has been lost (or seems to have been lost) in
this play but, in the end, most characters gain something far better. Prospero, for example,
loses his kingdom and twelve years of his life in Milan, but he also gains a new son in law and
learns that vengeance is far less important than forgiveness. We could go on but you get the
idea.
The Tempest Tone
Take a story's temperature by studying its tone. Is it hopeful? Cynical? Snarky? Playful?
Whimsical, Magical, Dreamy, Hopeful
The play's opening scene is set in the midst of a murderous storm, which would seem to suggest that
The Tempest is going to be as dark as, say, Macbeth, which also happens to begin with a terrible
storm. This play, though, is most definitely NOT Macbeth. Soon enough, we learn from the tricksy spirit
Ariel that not a soul on the ship was harmed. (Seriously, the play has a "tricksy spirit." How can you
argue with the tone being "whimsical"?)
Thus, even naturally scary events are undone by the magic of the island, and the tone that seeps into
the rest of the play is one of wonder, amazement, and admiration. Mystery still abounds, but the magic
performed is not black and scary, rather more a thing of the natural world. Further, with its silly
drunkards and ample spirits, the play has a certain lightness to it even the would-be killers of the King
tell hilarious jokes and are occasionally lighthearted.
In The Tempest, all past wrongs are forgiven and even the nastiest people get second chances. We
think Miranda's final speech pretty much sums up the play's hopeful attitude about life and the human
condition:
O, wonder!
How many goodly creatures are there here!
How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world,
That has such people in't! (5.1.3)
Sure. Miranda may be a little naive but we like to think this is Shakespeare's way of telling us that life is
pretty marvelous.
The Tempest Writing Style
Iambic Pentameter, Prose
Reading any one of Shakespeare's plays can feel like reading a long poem and that's because they're
written in a combination of verse (poetry) and prose (how we talk every day). (Note: The play Richard II
is the one exception to this rule it's the only Shakespeare play written entirely in verse even the
gardeners speak poetry.)
We break all of this down in the paragraphs that follow, but here's what you should remember about
Shakespeare's plays. The nobility and other important figures tend to speak in "blank verse," which is a
formal way to talk. The commoners, or "everyday Joes," tend to speak just like we do, in regular old
prose.
However, in The Tempest, Shakespeare does something a little bit different. Prospero's slave, Caliban,
speaks prose (especially when he's cursing at Prospero), but he also speaks a lot of verse, which
makes sense since Prospero taught him to talk.
Blank Verse or, Unrhymed Iambic Pentameter (The nobles)
Let's talk about unrhymed iambic pentameter (also called "blank verse"). Don't let the fancy names
intimidate you it's really pretty simple once you get the hang of it.
Let's start with a definition of iambic pentameter. An "iamb" is an unaccented syllable followed by an
accented one (sounds like da DUM). "Penta" means "five," and "meter" refers to a regular rhythmic
pattern. So "iambic pentameter" is a kind of rhythmic pattern that consist of five iambs per line. It's the
most common rhythm in English poetry and sounds like five heartbeats:
da DUM da DUM da DUM da DUM da DUM
Let's try it out on these lines from The Tempest, where Gonzalo comforts the shipwreck survivors:
beSEECH you, SIR, be MErry. YOU have CAUSE,
so HAVE we ALL, of JOY; for OUR esCAPE.
Every second syllable is accented (stressed) so this is classic iambic pentameter. Since the lines have
no regular rhyme scheme, we call it unrhymed iambic pentameter, a.k.a. blank verse.
Prose (Commoners)
Like we said, not everyone in the play speaks in verse. "Everyday Joes," (with the exception of Caliban)
don't usually talk in a special rhythm they just talk. Check out the way the drunken Trinculo speaks
when he bags on Caliban:
I shall laugh myself to death at this puppy-headed
monster. A most scurvy monster! I could find in my heart to
beat him--
Whats Up With the Title?
The Tempest is named after the big storm that dominates the entire first scene of the play. The rest of
the play takes place on an island, so maybe the play should really be called The Island, right? Wrong.
Shakespeare, as usual, draws our attention to not just the word, but the thing behind the word. The
whole play can be thought of as the result of big storms both personal and public, both real and
imagined. We talk about the symbolic meaning of the tempest in "Symbols," so check it out if you want
to know more...
Whats Up With the Ending?
At the play's end, everyone is ready to head back to Naples, where Miranda and Ferdinand will get
hitched before old Prospero retires to Milan. (Good thing Prospero's big, nasty storm didn't actually
destroy the ship, right?)
In the meantime, everyone leaves the stage and heads inside to Prospero's cell. But Prospero remains
on stage and delivers one of the most fascinating and moving speeches in all of Shakespeare:
Now my charms are all o'erthrown,
what strength I have's mine own,
Which is most faint: now, 'tis true,
I must be here confined by you,
Or sent to Naples. Let me not,
Since I have my dukedom got
And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell
In this bare island by your spell;
But release me from my bands
With the help of your good hands:
Gentle breath of yours my sails
Must fill, or else my project fails,
Which was to please. Now I want
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant,
And my ending is despair,
Unless I be relieved by prayer,
Which pierces so that it assaults
Mercy itself and frees all faults.
As you from crimes would pardon'd be,
Let your indulgence set me free.
In other words, Prospero says that now that he's retired from a lifetime of performing magic, he needs
the audience's help if he wants to leave the island the only thing that can free him and send him home
is the audience's approval and loud applause. That's weird, don't you think? Why the heck does
Prospero need the audience's applause in order to return home?
Like we've said before, for some, this final speech is Shakespeare's way of saying goodbye to the
theater. (The Tempest was probably the last play Big Willy wrote entirely himself and, soon after The
Tempest was completed around 1611, Shakespeare left London and retired to Stratford.)
If we read Prospero the skillful magician as an artist like Shakespeare the skillful playwright, then we
can see why the following lines might sound like a touching goodbye: " Now my charms are all
o'erthrown, / what strength I have's mine own."
For more on Prospero's relationship to the magic of the theater, see "Quotes: Art and Culture."
The Tempest Plot Analysis
Most good stories start with a fundamental list of ingredients: the initial situation, conflict,
complication, climax, suspense, denouement, and conclusion. Great writers sometimes shake
up the recipe and add some spice.
Initial Situation
Prospero lives on a lonely island with his daughter, Miranda, and two spirits.
The play starts out on a rather even keel for the characters. They've lived this way for twelve years in
relative peace, with Prospero teaching Miranda yet there's room for improvement under an auspicious
star.
Conflict
A tempest has deposited the very villains that landed Prospero in this situation on the island.
The peace that Miranda and Prospero have known is suddenly shattered by the presence of all these
strangers. Of course, what's funny about The Tempest is that Prospero essentially willed the villains to
him, so he's kind of created his own emergency on purpose. At least with them around, he has a
conflict to resolve. Faced with all these bad guys, Prospero can either wreak havoc upon them with his
vengeance, or forgive and maybe get his dukedom back. Also, he'd like his daughter to fall in love with
the Prince of Naples, which he hopes is in line with her desires, though he doesn't really know if it will
work. Despite the fact that Prospero seems to be in control of the action, we're unsure of how
everything will turn out. Kind of.
Complication
Dual murder plots hatch, and a fake love complication is created by Prospero.
Though Prospero has called the conflict to him, putting all these wicked people on the island together is
bound to create unanticipated problems in a seemingly controlled situation. Sebastian agrees to murder
the King, aided by Antonio. Elsewhere, Caliban is plotting to murder Prospero. While the little murder
plots don't really deeply impact Prospero or his goals, they're still trifles he has to deal with. Prospero
knows that all of this is happening. Regardless, Prospero is busy creating complications for Ferdinand
and Miranda by pretending he hates Ferdinand, so the young couple will take their love seriously
having struggled for it. He's plagued by complications, but he's not above adding to them for his own
ends.
Climax
Ariel appears as a harpy to the three serious traitors.
The harpy chides all the traitors. Alonso in particular is singled out by the monster for the great wrong
that was done to Prospero, claiming this past treachery is the source of the sea's anger at Alonso, and
for this, the sea claimed his son. Up to this point, Prospero hasn't made any action to reveal himself or
his power to the shipwrecked folks, and they've all been wandering around aimlessly. With the harpy
incident, we get the satisfaction of knowing that not only does Prospero plan to deal with the villains, but
he's not above messing with their heads a little bit, too. For the first time, we know justice will be served.
Suspense
Alonso, Antonio, and Sebastian are sure they have seen an illusion; Trinculo, Stefano, and
Caliban approach Prospero's cell.
The three traitors are unraveled by the harpy incident. The King is distraught at the confirmation that he
does indeed suffer for what he's done to Prospero. Gonzalo is afraid of what the King might do in his
crazed state. Antonio and Sebastian, murderous even when not crazed, have now vowed to fight the
spirits one by one. We're on the edge of our seats (or pages?) trying to figure out how each of the
villains will respond to the harpy warning, and what will come of their reaction. Everyone is tense, with
the saner group of the party in pursuit of the other three, hoping to stop them from doing anything
drastic. Meanwhile, a drunk and power-lusty Stefano approaches Prospero's cell, with a coolly
calculating and enraged Caliban by his side, all planning Prospero's bloody murder. Will Caliban
succeed? Will Prospero die?
Denouement
Ariel speaks and distracts, to the aid of all parties.
Prospero inquires after where the three traitors Alonso, Antonio, and Sebastian are. Ariel informs his
master that the men are all tied up in some strange states. Although Ariel is not human, he thinks that
anyone who looked at them might be moved to pity the three traitors. Prospero is moved by Ariel's
gracious thought and decides to act on his virtue rather than his vengeance. Once Prospero has
decided to treat the villains gently, he relaxes any tension we felt. We know the falling action of the play
has begun, with resolution to follow. Also, hearing of Caliban's planned treachery, Prospero gets Ariel to
lay out his fine robes, which break Stefano and Trinculo's concentration on the deed against Prospero.
Caliban, though enraged, sees the men for the distracted fools they are, and all are sent forth running
by a comedic pack of bloodthirsty hounds. Caliban's renunciation of the real bad guys also adds to the
falling action; he's no longer a dangerous rebel.
Conclusion
Prospero confronts all of the traitors; Miranda and Ferdinand publicly declare their intention
to marry.
With all the spells broken, Prospero gathers everyone and gets to say his piece. Alonso, having
survived an almost-attempted assassination, gives Prospero back the dukedom of Milan, which
neutralizes the threat of Antonio and Sebastian. We find out from the King that Stefano is merely his
harmless, drunken butler (which we think is some assurance that he wouldn't really have tried to cut out
Prospero's windpipe), and Caliban repents for his foolishness, wishing to be once again in Prospero's
good graces. Most importantly, the rift between Naples and Milan will be sealed up in the marriage of
Miranda and Ferdinand. Everything is declared finished, which is the defining stuff of conclusions.
The Tempest as Bookers Seven Basic Plots Analysis: Voyage and Return
Plot
Christopher Booker is a scholar who wrote that every story falls into one of seven basic plot
structures: Overcoming the Monster, Rags to Riches, the Quest, Voyage and Return, Comedy,
Tragedy, and Rebirth. Shmoop explores which of these structures fits this story like
Cinderellas slipper.
Plot Type : Voyage and Return
Anticipation Stage and 'Fall' into the Other World
Prospero is forced out of Milan (his dukedom) along with his baby daughter.
Prospero has been wrongly thrust onto this island, and that wrong must be addressed, or, by Jove, this
isn't a play by William Shakespeare.
Initial Fascination or Dream Stage
Prospero lives twelve years happily on the island with his daughter.
We find Prospero with a loving and precocious daughter, who has a sensitivity towards those she has
not met (namely everybody). Prospero has two servants, and is well kept on the island.
Frustration Stage
Prospero discovers an auspicious star; timing must be perfect as all of his former enemies draw
near the island.
We meet Prospero when he is anxious about the work he has ahead. His power depends on getting
this timing right. Unlike a traditional frustration stage, we're not really worried that Prospero won't pull it
all off (nor is he). Why? Because the play isn't really about the plot at all, since Prospero has already
moved all of his enemies to the island in the first scene of the first act.
Nightmare Stage
Usurpers roam rampantly around the island some enemies of Prospero, some of Alonso, all
going down.
Again, not so much of a nightmare we've seen that Prospero's power is amazing enough to create a
tempest, and his manservant (or spirit servant) Ariel is fiercely competent. It is distressing though, to
have two murder plots hatched simultaneously. Prospero must face and stop both of these attempts at
treachery.
Thrilling Escape and Return
Prospero gathers everyone together to delight in the fruits of his labor and marvel at his art;
Prospero is sent back to Milan, a duke once more.
Beautiful magic is performed all around, and Prospero gets over his vengeance kick while the bad guys
escape the punishment they deserve. This works for some of them, and all of this mercy and good
feeling is an all-around new start for everyone they return to their old land with freshly clean
consciences and clear futures.
The Tempest Trivia
Brain Snacks: Tasty Tidbits of Knowledge
Shakespeare's play may have been inspired by a real life shipwreck. In 1609, a ship named the Sea
Venture (part of the Virginia Company) was on its way from England to Jamestown (yep that's the
early American colony alright) when it wrecked in the Bermudas. The crew was thought to be lost
forever but managed to survive on a deserted island. So, does this mean The Tempest is inspired by
the New World? Check out this "Shakespeare in American Life" podcast if you want to know more...
The title of Aldous Huxley's Brave New World comes directly from Miranda's speech "O brave new
world, that has such people in it!" There's even a character in Brave New World who can't stop talking
about Shakespeare.
BBC News Broadcasting House has a statue of Ariel and Prospero on the front of the building. It's
rumored that "on initial inspection by the BBC's governors, they demanded that several inches be
lopped off the manhood of the sprite Ariel" (source).
Patrick Stewart, known as Captain Picard of Star Trek and Professor Xavier in the movie versions of X-
Men, has played Prospero on stage (source). We can totally see that.
Musician Beck's 2002 release, Sea Change, was ranked 440 in Rolling Stone's list "Top 500 Albums Of
All Time." The term "sea change" originated in The Tempest, with Ariel's "Full fathom five thy father lies"
speech, and has come to mean an incredibly significant change (source).
The Tempest Steaminess Rating
Exactly how steamy is this story?
PG
There's not a lot of explicit sex in this play, even between the two characters who are in love. When
Miranda and Ferdinand meet secretly, they hold hands, and when Prospero sends them alone together
to his dark cell, they play chess. Seriously.
Maybe this is because of Prospero's warning about what will happen to Ferdinand if he's all up in the
marriage bed before the marrying's done, but in these kinds of conversations we catch a glimpse of
how sex is discussed in the play. Prospero explicitly tells Ferdinand there's to be no fooling around
before the marriage. Ferdinand, instead of being like "Dude, you're her DAD!" decides to tell Prospero
that, when the wedding day comes, he's sure it will seem a super-long day, because he's so itchy to get
into bed with Miranda.
Miranda has already suffered an attempted rape by Caliban, and Stefano hears about her in relation to
the fact that she'll breed well. Besides Ferdinand's anticipation of his wedding night, sex is referenced
as a good means to breed this is the animal (or natural) way to view the act, instead of the courtly,
romantic way.
The other sexual references in the play are mostly made in jest. Prospero teases that his wife was
virtuous, and though he couldn't get a DNA test, he trusts that Miranda is the issue of his seed. A
drunken Stefano sings a dirty sailor's song about Kate, who would let a tailor "scratch her where she
itched." So that's a pretty good look at sex in the play it's present, but under the skin of the text.
The Tempest Allusions & Cultural References
When authors refer to other great works, people, and events, its usually not accidental. Put
on your super-sleuth hat and figure out why.
Shakespeare's shout-outs to, um, Shakespeare
The big tempest in Act 1, Scene 1: The storms in King Lear and Macbeth
Prospero's evil, power hungry brother Antonio: Claudius in Hamlet, Edmund vs. Edgar in King
Lear, Oliver in As You Like It,Richard III in Richard III.
The story of loss and recovery: Pericles, The Winter's Tale, Cymbeline
Journey from court to the wilderness and back: A Midsummer Night's Dream, As You Like It
Prospero's obsession with controlling his daughter's sex life and choice of husband: Polonius
and Ophelia in Hamlet.
Prospero's Masque (a "play" within the play): The Mousetrap in Hamlet, The Taming of the
Shrew, Much Ado About Nothing, Henry IV Part 1
Portrayal of Caliban as a dark "Other": Othello, Merchant of Venice, Titus Andronicus
Surprise! Miranda's really a princess: Perdita's discovery of her royal status in The Winter's Tale
Shipwrecks: Pericles, The Winter's Tale, The Comedy of Errors, Twelfth Night
Prospero's Magic: A Midsummer Night's Dream, Macbeth, Henry VI Part 2
Literature and Mythology
Virgil, The Aeneid Virgil presents the Widow Dido in the story of Dido and Aeneas (2.1)
Ceres' loss of Persephone to Pluto in Roman mythology (4.1.89)
Historical References
Montaigne, "Of Cannibals" (2.1)
A Discovery of the Bermudas, Otherwise Called the Isle of the Devils, a travel log from
Bermudas (1.2)
"The great globe itself" (a reference to the Globe Theater) (4.1)

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Written between 1610 and 1611, The Tempest is William Shakespeare's final play. (OK.

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