The Tempest: A Tempestuous Play
Comments(48) “…the great globe itself,/Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,/And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,/Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff/As dreams are made on, and our little life/Is rounded with a sleep” (IV.i.153-158).
Upon my first reading of The Tempest, I took away two things: the quote above and the riddling of the word “art”–with its many connotations–used throughout the play. I have to forewarn you that I am partial to this play because I feel it is a culmination with so many of the elements and aspects encountered in other plays we’ve read. But as much as I would like to spill the beans, I will stick to my thoughts of what we as readers find in the exposition of Act I.
Right from the start, the characters are in the throes of a tempest with a feeling of chaos on board. As we come to discover, the tempest–much like death–has an equalizing, democratizing aspect to it which inverts the social order of the “rude mechanicals” of the ship–in this case, the boatswain and mariners–with that of the gentlemen (king, prince, duke, councilor, etc.). The boatswain says it best to Gonzalo: “What cares these/roarers for the name of king?” (I.i.16-17). Rich or poor, high-born or low-born, royalty or plebeian, all of those distinctions go out the window once one faces the inevitable “elements.” I’d also like to think that the manipulation of the elements and weather are somehow tied to Prospero’s psyche filled with vengeance. According to the Norton Critical Edition, the earliest recorded performance of The Tempest was 1611. That would put our friend, Will the Bard at 47 years old, so it should come as no surprise that he shifts his attention of subject matter to contemplating what one’s life amounts to during the declining years.
Professor D. likes for us to be mindful of settings. I find it interesting that Shakespeare sets the scene of The Tempest on “an uninhabited island.” We will come to find out that it does in fact have inhabitants, but something about the lack of a tie to an imperialistic power/nation allows for unconventional happenings to occur. I think we can very much consider it as another “green space” similar to the forest in Midsummer Night’s Dream or Portia’s residence, Belmont, in The Merchant of Venice. The topography of the island is actually quite similar to the liminal grange where Mariana is stashed away in Measure for Measure. Anyhow, it may be worth keeping an eye out to see how the setting of the island coincides with the events that are about to unfold.
The last thing I want to bring up is how my reading of Prospero has changed slightly. Upon my first reading, I had somewhat of a woe-to-Prospero empathy. However, this time around, I’m not feeling as sympathetic towards Prospero. When he finally decides to reveal to his teenage (pure and virginal, mind you) daughter, Miranda about their origins leading to their current circumstances, Prospero recounts how his “perfidious” brother, Antonio usurps his dukedom. This bequeathing [usurping] of power is similar to what happens between the duke and Angelo in Measure for Measure; however, Prospero doesn’t share in the duke’s design when the duke states: “Hence shall we see,/If power change purpose, what our seemers be” (Measure for Measure, I.v.53-54). Prospero admits to his negligence of ducal duties in favor of books and learning: “I thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated/To closeness and the bettering of my mind–” (I.ii.89-90), as well as: “I loved my books…From mine own library with volumes that/I prize above my dukedom” (I.ii.166-168). Now, we’ve come across enough characters to know the corrupting effect(s) that go along with power. Are we really supposed to feel for a guy who turns his back on the responsibilities that are part and parcel of his position? I don’t find it surprising that Antonio would be seduced by this taste of power and want more of it for himself.
Another point that turns me off about Prospero is the master/servant power dynamic he has with Ariel and Caliban. It is also here that I’d like to share somewhat of a digression. Is it me or can we possibly read Ariel as the supernatural embodiment of Prospero’s learning and “art” rather than a separate entity? True, Prospero recounts for us how he saved Ariel from his/her previous master, the “foul witch Sycorax,” but, can’t Ariel be another manifestation with magic powers like his “robe?” Hmmmm…Okay, back to the point. I bring up the relationship because there still seems to be a sense of entitlement and hierarchy in Prospero (you can take the duke out of Milan but you can’t take Milan out of the duke, I guess)…but all the while, how far would he have gotten without the domination he has over Ariel and Caliban? It is this slippage–again, reminiscent of the duke in Measure for Measure–afforded to Prospero which makes him slightly more complex/complicated a character. And while Caliban is a fascinating character in his own right, I feel like I’ve over-shared (like I do in class). 🙂
Thoughts?
-CT
PS – for those of you possibly considering a reworking of The Tempest for your casebook assignment, here is a link of the recent movie adaptation directed by Julie Taymor (the same director of the stylized Titus Andronicus which we saw in class). How does your perception of the play change–if at all–by having our main character converted to a duchess: Prospera?
I think that I agree with you, in that there is a real urge to typecast these characters one way or another. And yet, there is an underlying complexity in these characters. Ariel is a freed slave slave (I think that in itself is kind of a duplicity), we have an impotent ruler or two (Caliban and Prospero), and a daughter who’s so virginal and innocent, she falls in love/lust with the third man she meets in her entire life.
Another agree/disagree at the same time point I want to bring up is the master/servant relationship with Prospero and the slaves. Also, isn’t it strange that Ariel, a man, is asked to play a nymph, a woman? I digress, the point I wanted to make was with Prospero, and whether he actually has any real agency if he relies on others to sustain him and his plans? In a sense, he definitely does as he is the so far only source of plot plodding and power base (the king and false duke are rendered impotent in the first scene). However, the reliance of Caliban to provide food and shelter, and the storm which even sets the story in motion from Arial, is Prospero truly a master of virtu, or is he simply at the top of fortune’s wheel, ready to slip down again? Curiouser and curiouser…
I was also wondering about Ariel and his performance as the nymph. But I think Miranda calls the spirit a he when she sees him. I also was wondering what the costumes would look like for Ariel. One part I really looked into was when we learn of some of the things that Prospero has taught to Caliban. And how Caliban claims that Prospero taught him the language he uses to curse. It shows possible depth in Caliban’s character and also his capacity to act in a certain manner.
One thing I liked about this play is that it is explicitly charmed. There is some preternatural force working its hand in The Tempest.
Another foray into the “Green Space” from which, I assume, th balance of society back home will be restored. I do wonder how Prospero has come by his robey-powers, however, as the powers in such places are generally reserved to the otherworldly inhabitants. In response to Kenny, perhaps Prospero’s position of power and agency is legitimized on the island by his posession of the supernatural type of power that reigns there…
Chris’ opening quote brings to my attention W.S.’ apparent pre-occupation with sleep, and likening the lack of conscious awareness with death. It came up often enough in one or two of the plays we’ve read prior to that I made note of it. Does it mean anything that Miranda is bidden to succumb to sleep after hearing the tale of their arrival to the island?
With respect to the whole “art” thing, I wonder if Shakespeare isn’t chiding the artists that they aren’t creators, per se, but demi-urges of a sort, creating “counterfeits” by harnessing and channeling some otherworldy energy/idea and giving it a somewhat deformed means of temporal manifestation. In Midsummer, Duke Thesus remarks, regarding the poet’s eye, “And as imagination bodies forth / The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen / Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing / A local habitation and a name.” (V. i. 14) Maybe tied into the recurring legitimacy issue too? Legitimacy of power, of roles, of titles, of judgements.
And, yay, more unnatural reproduction – more fruit of accursed wombs.