As in Act 1, there are a number of allusions to proverbs in this act as well, one of which appears in line 136. "Rub the sore" is a phrase Gonzalo uses to tell Sebastian that his attempts to console the king do no more than aggravate the loss; and this phrase was a popular one during Shakespeare's time, and is much easier to understand than some of the more obscure and outmoded allusions that Shakespeare includes in his work.
Once Antonio and Sebastian begin to conspire in scene 1, parallels with Macbeth begin to surface. "My strong imagination sees a crown dropping upon thy head," Antonio says to his brother, creating an image similar to the one [who describes to who, where?] in Act 1, scene 3 of Macbeth. The presence of a conspiracy against the throne and a plot of murder creates another similarity; and Sebastian reacts to the vision of his brother, and the suggestion of murder, as Macbeth does, [does macbeth think he is asleep, react with disbelief, etc.?}
Before Sebastian is convinced to follow his brother's plan, he exclaims that he is "standing water"; the statement is a metaphor, but the words are somewhat vague in their connotation. What Sebastian means with this comparison is that he is waiting to be moved in some direction, and will remain still, or "standing," until he finds his purpose and motivation. The phrase could be alluding to another proverbial saying, but exactly which saying is being referred to is unclear.
Act 2 returns to the themes of political legitimacy, source of power, and usurpation that arose in the first act. While Prospero firmly believed that the only legitimate power was the power that came from one's knowledge and hard work, Antonio believes that the power he usurped from his brother is legitimate, because he deserved it more and had the skill to wrestle it away. "Look how well my garments sit upon me, much feater than before," Antonio brags to Sebastian; Antonio's lack of remorse over his crime, and his arrogant claim that his power is just because he uses it better, foreshadow a confrontation with his brother Prospero, and an eventual fall from this ill-gained power.
However, Ariel's involvement in this conspiracy shows it to be part of Prospero's plan; Ariel makes all but Antonio and Sebastian go to sleep, and then causes conspiratorial seriousness to settle on them as well. The situation is created as part of Prospero's project, to reinforce his idea of his brothers as villains, and act as Prospero "foresees through his art" that they will. "His project dies" if Antonio and Sebastian's deviant plot is not made; and here, Prospero again shows himself to be a manipulator of the play's events, influencing the course of the play from within. There is great dramatic irony in this situation, and in the fact that Prospero causes his brothers to do the very things that he condemns them for.
The most important literary elements in the second scene are probably those that are used to refer to Caliban. Upon finding Caliban lying on the ground, Trinculo calls him a "dead Indian"; indeed, in Elizabethan times, natives were brought back to England from foreign lands, and their captors could earn a great deal of money exhibiting them in London. Trinculo's speech is significant because he describes Caliban as a "fish," and a "strange beast," showing his Western contempt and lack of understanding of a person with a different skin color than his own. Stephano assumes that Caliban is a "mooncalf," or a monstrosity, the term alluding to a folk tale of the time.
Although Caliban asserted his natural authority over the island in Act 1, Prospero's usurpation of Caliban's power is negated by Caliban's portrayal as a savage seeking a new master. Caliban proves Prospero's view of him, as a natural servant, to be true, when Caliban immediately adopts Stephano as his new master upon Stephano's sudden appearance. Caliban, as a native, is seen as a "monster," not only by Prospero, but by Trinculo and Stephano also; their contempt for dark-skinned Caliban is analogous to Europeans' view of "natives" in the West Indies and other colonies, and Shakespeare's treatment of Caliban provides some interesting social commentary on colonization. In fact, when this play appeared in the First Folio of Shakespeare's work, shortly after Shakespeare's death in the early 17th century, Caliban's character description marks him as "a savage and deformed slave," despite glimpses of his noble character in the play. As a representation of a man apart from Western society, Caliban is seen as a contemptuous character because of prejudices of Shakespeare's time; these Elizabethan-period social prejudices also belong to many of the characters in the play, and are the prime determinant of the negative view that Prospero, Stephano, and Trinculo have of Caliban in the play.
Other colonization-related themes are raised by Gonzalo's description of his Utopia, from lines 145 to 162 in Act 2, scene 1. Gonzalo's speech recalls many of Thomas More's ideas from his book Utopia, and summons up the spirit of Renaissance political idealism with his ideas about reform. These topics were particularly relevant at the time of the play, because of New World colonization, and Europeans finally had the chance to start new governments and societies that reflected these idealistic tenets. But, Gonzalo's imagining is also self-contradictory and impractical, as Antonio and Sebastian are quick to notice; and perhaps this is Shakespeare's statement about the naivete of Utopian thought in general.
Analysis of Act III
Ferdinand is stripped of the privileges of his rank by Prospero, who did the same to Caliban by making him a slave as well. Prospero's action in this case might not be fair, but Ferdinand bears it, and in so doing, legitimates Prospero's rule, just as Caliban did; this case again stresses the theme that willful obedience is a legitimate source of power. Prospero's tone, when speaking of Ferdinand in this act, is a curious mix of affection and distaste; he refers to Ferdinand as "poor worm," which could be taken as a statement of endearment. However, the worm was often used as a symbol of corruption and lust, as mentioned in Act 2, scene 4 of Twelfth Night, and as it is represented in William Blake's poem "The Rose". In this case, the symbolic meaning foreshadows Prospero's suspicious warnings to the couple to wait until their wedding ceremony, and recalls his accusation of Ferdinand of treason and bad faith in the first act.
In his speech in this act, Ferdinand employs paradox, overstatement, etc. in his many entreaties to Miranda. "The mistress which I serve quickens what's dead, and makes my labours pleasures," Ferdinand says, using paradoxes that communicate how magical and wonderful his beloved is, to turn the unpleasant pleasant (III.i.6-7). A contrast between Miranda and her father shows her to be much more pleasant than her father, who's "composed of harshness": yet, he declares, with overstatement, that he will carry "some thousands of these logs" for his stern taskmaster, because of the great sweetness of Miranda (III.i.9-10). Ferdinand overstates his resolve, in order to impress upon Miranda how much he would do for her; he swears that he would rather "crack [his] sinews, break [his] back" than see her work, though his work could scarcely be hard enough to cause these injuries (III.i.26). They make all the vows of marriage to each other; Ferdinand swears to "love, prize, and honour" Miranda, and in turn Miranda pledges to give him her "modesty," meaning her virginity (III.i.73, 54). They give each other their hands, and Miranda declares him her "husband"; the show of love is nice, but they know almost nothing about each other, and given that they have been together for less than twenty-four hours, the sentiment is rather rash, and almost foolish.
Ferdinand and Miranda speak with a poetic, romantic, unrealistic tone that is very similar to the tone used by Romeo and Juliet when they spoke to each other; the same devices, of overstatement, paradox, contrast, and comparison are used to make elegant compliments to each other, and high-flown declarations of love. Ferdinand slips into conventional, polished phrases when speaking to this woman whom he hardly knows, an example being when he tells her "'tis fresh morning with me when you are by at night," though they have not been through a night together at all (III.i.33-34). Indeed, Ferdinand and Miranda's love is the same sort of instant physical attraction that Romeo and Juliet had, though Romeo and Juliet's love was not influenced by a mischievous sprite like Ariel. Although Ferdinand hardly knows Miranda, he brazenly declares her "perfect and peerless," though she cannot be either of those (III.i.47). The mood and feel of these passages is very different from those appearing before it, and are guided by a blind sort of idealism, and a naïve, young love.
The language in these sections of the play also turns distinctly sexual, with maidenly Miranda showing her hidden, but mature knowledge of desire and sexual politics. Miranda explains the urgency of her love to Ferdinand by telling him "all the more it seeks to hide itself, the bigger bulk it shows"; note the image of a concealed pregnancy in her description, which coincides with the increase in their declared desire (III.i.80-81). Miranda "dare[s] not offer what [she] desire[s] to give" to Ferdinand, betraying the lust behind her maidenly exterior; and she acknowledges the sexual exchange inherent in marriage, that the "jewel in [her] dower" is the main treasure which she has to attract a husband (III.i.77-78). Miranda may seem young and isolated, but this scene shows that she is far more knowledgeable about worldly matters than one might expect, given her upbringing on this remote island.
In scene 2, Caliban is still regarded as a "servant-monster," despite being revealed as a human. Stephano and Trinculo, though arguably less intelligent than Caliban, still treat him like he is hardly human because of his native status and skin color; and the fact that Caliban tolerates this treatment and name-calling shows that he accepts this inferiority and Stephano's tenuous authority as well. The previously rebellious and independent-thinking Caliban is suddenly reduced to asking if he can "lick [Stephano's] shoe" and the intelligence he demonstrated in Act 1 has all but disappeared. Caliban is once again shown to be a "natural servant" because he is a native‹another reflection of the prejudiced Elizabethan views which Shakespeare uses to shape Caliban as a character. However, these prejudices mean that Caliban, as a character, is very erratic, and his motivations are vague; when he first appears in the play, he is churlish toward his captor and shows a remarkable power of thought, but quite unexpectedly, he turns into a fawning, blind, mindless servant who refuses even to think for himself.
As characters' intelligence, nobility, and feelings become apparent through their language, Caliban's intelligence, though completely contradicted by his actions, is clear in the words he speaks to Trinculo and Stephano. At line 40, Caliban begins to speak in lines that approximate the rhythms of blank verse; and his speech, in lines 132-141, show a great descriptive power and poetic potential in this allegedly savage man. However, it must be noted that Ariel also appears right before line 40, and that means that Caliban could merely be voicing words that Prospero had already written for him. Prospero wants Caliban to try and murder him, so that his view of Caliban as a cut-throat, cruel savage is confirmed; it is difficult to tell whether Caliban's murder plot is in any way a product of his own hatred for Prospero, or whether it springs from the sole influence of Ariel, who is present for the length of Caliban's conspiratorial speech.
Some interesting magic appears in scene 3 with Prospero's spirits laying out a banquet for Alonso and his companions to take part in. The display does not seem to have much point‹perhaps it is meant so when Ariel is introduced, they focus on his words and not the device of his appearance, or perhaps to lull them temporarily, so that when Ariel starts speaking, his serious words have a bigger impact. Or, maybe the show of magic is a ploy by Prospero to keep them quiet about events on the island, meant to make the "fools at home condemn Œem" if they ever dare to tell the story (III.iii.27). Indeed, the sight makes Sebastian and Antonio drop their droll aloofness, and draws them into the action; they declare, probably sarcastically, that they are willing to believe in other legendary magic, and make allusions to the mythical unicorn and phoenix.
Though so many of the characters in this play openly show contempt for the natives on the island, Gonzalo is probably the only exception. He does describe them as being of "monstrous shape," which is hardly complimentary and also recalls Trinculo taunting Caliban as being a monster. However, Gonzalo is more open-minded in his appraisal of the natives than this statement would suggest; "their manners are more gentle-kind than of our human generation you shall find," he says of them, noting the nobility that "savages" like Caliban are capable of displaying (III.iii.33-34). Colonial attitudes toward native peoples are an important theme of the work, and Shakespeare's treatment of caliban is marked by the prejudices of his time. But, what is strange about Gonzalo's remark is that Prospero is moved to call him an "honest lord" because of it, though Prospero himself has a negative view of the natives, and does not question the correctness of his own view. That Gonzalo is considered good because of it, despite the author's and many of the characters' contradictory views is ironic, and also difficult to understand.
Another parallel with The Aeneid appears in this act; in The Aeneid, a feast is prepared for Aeneas and his party, but is suddenly swept away by harpies who give him a dire prophecy. Almost the same events happen here, with the banquet disappearing also, and Ariel, "like a harpy," descending upon them with a very serious speech (III.iii.53). Ariel's speech also recalls the language of The Aeneid in its tone and syntax, but yet is still the work of Prospero, and he takes credit for it in lines 85-86.
Ariel declares Alonso and his brothers "most unfit to live" because of their conspiracies on the island, and despite the fact that Ariel and Prospero set traps for them and caused them to form these murderous plans. This is also parallel to Prospero's account of his history, and his confession of causing Antonio's corruption through his own actions. Prospero again acting the part of the author from within the work.
In scene 3, Alonso's language changes, and becomes more image-laden and metaphoric in nature. In act 2, he spoke very little, and when he did, was very curt and brief in his replies. In lines 95 to 102, Alonso speaks of "the thunder, that deep and dreadful organ-pipeŠit did bass my trespass," and makes a story of the winds and waters causing sounds that reminded him of his guilt. The visual and sound imagery is very poetic and learned, and far more emotionally involved than Alonso's previous, clipped responses.
Analysis of Act IV
Prospero tries to dismiss his tyrannical demands for Ferdinand's service as "trials of thy love"‹but also makes mention in this first scene that he has "punished" Ferdinand, which implies a need for retribution for a wrongdoing (IV.i.6). The word "punished" that he uses recalls the fabricated charges Prospero raises against Ferdinand in the first act, of Ferdinand being a spy or a potential usurper; and the irony is that Prospero heaps his suspicion on Ferdinand, who has no such designs, while forgetting the very real plots of Caliban and his brothers.
Prospero's actions, however, were unfair and ungrounded; he uses the couple's love to try to excuse himself in this instance, but Prospero is not the just judge he would have himself appear to be. Ironically, Prospero's decision to let Miranda and Ferdinand marry was made even before Ferdinand came to the island, and was made because the marriage would secure Prospero's position back home, and would make his daughter queen as well. The work Prospero made Ferdinand do, coupled with the enchantment that he put his daughter and Ferdinand under so they would fall in love, merely assured that Prospero's plan would succeed, as it finally does. But, be wary of the difference between the way Prospero's character appears, and the machinations and plans lying beneath the appearance he would like to project, especially in instances such as this one.
However, just as Prospero begins to promise a blessing upon their union, his tone again becomes threatening. It is so important to Prospero that they not consummate their marriage before "full and holy rite be ministered," that he would wish them "barren hate" if they do, and continues with enough bitter, harsh-toned rhetoric to hopefully drive his point home (IV.i.17-20). Prospero conjures up a frightful image of disdain, personified as being "sour-eyed"; and, in meaningful contrast with the traditional flower-strewn marriage bed, an image of hateful weeds symbolizing the downfall and pollution of the marriage. Prospero's language, heavy with unpleasant images and symbols, does yield some result; Ferdinand, in earnest, forswears his "worser genius," or any possible influence of lust and dishonor within him.
Prospero seems preoccupied with Miranda's virginity because it is inextricably bound up with Prospero's own power. Her virginity is their prime bargaining chip in winning an advantageous marriage that will secure both of their positions; and if she does marry Ferdinand, their power back in Italy is secured for both of them. Virginity was often an important bargaining point‹most notably, for Queen Elizabeth, who used her eligibility to gain a great deal of power throughout her reign. If Miranda's virginity is thrown away, then Prospero's greatest hope for regaining his estate and position is gone too; so Prospero tries his best to keep Miranda well-informed of her importance, and keep Ferdinand warned as to the potential consequences of his actions. Prospero's great concern foreshadows the importance of this theme in the betrothal masque; in the masque, Iris makes mention that the couple cannot be together "till Hymen's torch be lighted," her language parallel to that in Prospero's earlier entreaty to the lovers.
Prospero reduces his daughter, who is intelligent and worthy, to a mere object, wrapping her with the language of exchange when speaking of her to Ferdinand. Prospero refers to his daughter, not by her name, but as a "rich gift," "compensation" for Ferdinand's pains; he says his daughter has been "worthily purchased" as an "acquisition," further building up his metaphor of his daughter as a thing of exchange. Prospero's metaphors, and overstatement of his daughter's perfection ("she will outstrip all praise") could be meant to distract Ferdinand from what Prospero and Miranda are getting in the bargain. Indeed, Prospero never makes mention of the power and position that he and his daughter are regaining because of this "rich gift," or the true purchase price of his daughter's hand.
It is strange to think of the "liver," as Ferdinand mentions it, as having anything to do with love; but, in Shakespeare's time, the organ was a symbol of lust and passion, just as these emotions are associated with the heart today. The heart was also related to love, but was thought to be more pure and honorable in the feelings originating there. We know now, of course, that feelings originate in the brain, and that these relations of organs and emotions are quaint in their backwardness; but, the heart remains a symbol related to love, and despite our modern medical knowledge, this ancient literary device continues to be used.
Though the marriage rites to be performed are Christian, allusions to ancient pagan mythology abound. Prospero invokes Hymen, god of marriage‹and a figure uniquely opposed to his wish for "holy rites" for his daughter. Ferdinand mentions "Phoebus' steeds," as symbols of day-time and the sun, and the characters in Prospero's masque originate in classical myths as well. Allusions to Greek and Roman myth were common in Elizabethan literature, but especially common in the first few court masques that were performed, which often featured the same goddesses as characters that appear in this masque.
Prospero calls upon Iris, the messenger of the gods and also the goddess of the rainbow, to perform a betrothal masque for Ferdinand and Miranda. A betrothal masque also appears in As You Like It that is presided over by Hymen; but otherwise, the spectacle was mostly reserved for weddings of state and almost exclusively for court functions. In this respect, the masque does confirm that the wedding is an important one‹eleven were actually performed at the court of King James, and some of these for occasions of the marriage of rich and important people. Masques were special ritual-type plays in which the monarch was always the protagonist, and the subject was how royalty made things harmonious and resolved tensions between people. Although Shakespeare's masque took some inspiration from earlier ones, thematically it is entirely innovative. Royal power is displayed as power over nature, and the idea of the masque as the projection of a royal vision first appeared in this masque in The Tempest, and were to appear again in Jonson's court masques of later years.
Within the masque are a few parallels to events within the play. Ceres presides over the play, because she symbolizes order and plenty; Ceres is credited with teaching men agriculture, thus civilizing them and stopping their wild hunter-gatherer ways. Prospero's mission parallels this, as Prospero also sought to civilize and bring order to the island, and to the wild Caliban, though he did not manage to succeed. Also, Ceres mentions "dusky Dis," meaning Pluto, the god who abducted Ceres' daughter Proserpine, inspired by Cupid and Venus. Caliban is reminiscent of the dark figure of Pluto, in his attempts to abduct and rape Miranda; and the story also recalls the plot Caliban later fosters, to get Miranda for Stephano. The parallels might be faint, but it is, after all, Prospero who has "called [them] to enact [his] present fancies"; the inclusion of the Pluto/ Proserpine story is so tangential to the concerns of the masque, that it must have been included by Prospero on purpose, as some sort of reminder to himself (IV.i.121-122).
Once again, Prospero almost loses control because he is absorbed by his art; but here, he is able to shake himself from his reverie, and becomes conscious of time again. The moment is important because Prospero is in real danger of losing control, and almost gives up his chance to act because of the pull of his magic. The moment is a humanizing one for Prospero, as he realizes his mortality and his forgetfulness, as well as the limits of his magic. The masque, which he created from his own power, disappears in an instant; and finally, Prospero realizes that his works of magic are all in vain, as they are made of "baseless fabric" and will not last. He sees that "we are such stuff as dreams are made on," and at last realizes that his mind has aged and his powers are fragile and faltering (IV.i.166-167). It is a sobering moment for Prospero, to admit his "weakness" and "infirmity"; and this marks the beginning of his surrender of his magic.
It is not Caliban and his drunken friends, whom Ariel describes in a simile as being "like unbacked colts," that Prospero has to worry about (l. 176). Indeed, the thought of Caliban upsets Prospero more than the plot, as Prospero again curses the one "on whose nature nurture can never stick" (188-89). Prospero thinks that Caliban is bad because he has not adopted the "civilized" ways of thinking that Prospero has, and must be bad natured because of this; but Prospero fails to realize that Caliban's relative goodness has been more spoiled by the way Prospero treats him than by any refusal to adopt foreign ways of thinking. Prospero, for all his learning, still espouses a haughty, colonial point of view when it comes to Caliban, and lets this prejudiced treatment corrupt a potentially good man's nature
Analysis of Act V
Prospero's first words suggest an alchemic metaphor; the words "gather to a head" denote things coming to a climax, but also liquid coming to a boil, and Prospero's "project" is a kind of scientific experiment as well. Prospero, with his somewhat sinister studies in magic and strange powers, is a figure reminiscent of an alchemist as well, though his experiments are more involved with human nature than metallurgy.
Allusions to classical literature also appear in this act, but this time to Ovid rather than Virgil. Prospero's speech, starting at line 33, is very much reminiscent of one of Medea's speeches in the Metamorphoses: both speeches run roughly "ye elvesŠby whose aid I have bedimmedŠ, called forthŠ,given fire, and rifted," and Shakespeare's language is too similar to Ovid's in its syntax, commanding and formal tone, and implications to be merely incidental.
There are also a few interesting allusions to English folk beliefs in Prospero's speeches, one of them with the "green sour ringlets" that he mentions (V.i.37). These "ringlets" that he is referring to are fairy rings, or small circles of sour grass caused by the roots of toadstools; according to folk tales, these rings were made by fairies dancing. Suddenly appearing "midnight mushrooms," as Prospero calls them, were thought to be another sign of fairies' overnight activities. The "curfew" that Prospero mentions in the same speech marked the beginning of the time of night when spirits were believed to walk abroad, and fairies and other creatures were believed to cause their mischief then.
When Prospero at last confronts Alonso and his brothers, he uses another ocean metaphor to describe the gradual process of Prospero's spell falling from them, and their minds returning to reason. Understanding, in Prospero's estimation, is the sea, and confusion is the shore at low tide, waiting to be cleared of its "foul and muddy" covering. Though they are still charmed as Prospero speaks like this, gradually understanding will reach them, like the sea on an "approaching tide" (V.i.80).
The surprise of Ferdinand alive on the island is nicely set up by one of Alonso's statements; upon being told that Prospero lost a daughter, in a manner of speaking, Alonso exclaims, "o, that they were living both in Naples, the king and queen there!" (149-50). The statement is perhaps too tidy a foreshadowing of the revelation that Ferdinand and Miranda are in fact alive, and will be united as king and queen; but, as in Act 1, an urgently expressed wish of one of the characters is fulfilled by the economical workings of the plot. Ferdinand and Miranda's pairing is a prime example of the political marriage, used frequently to cement unions between former enemies, as in this case; and they were also not uncommon in England, with Elizabeth's oft-proposed matches to French and Spanish royalty, and James I's strategic alliances forged with the marriages of his own children occurring in the era of this play.
Ferdinand and Miranda metaphorically reduce their parents' political wrangling over "kingdoms" into a game of chess. Allegorically, the game of chess often represented political conflict over a prize, and here, the stakes are the realm that Miranda and Ferdinand will inherit. Although Ferdinand and Miranda are a confirmed couple by the end of the play, their discussion over the game foreshadows some political movement looming in their own future. Miranda makes an accusation, at least partly in jest, that Ferdinand will "play [her] false"; the baseless charge recalls Prospero's false cry of treason against Ferdinand, in the first act (172). Yet, Miranda openly admits to complicity in any cheating that Ferdinand might commit: "for a score of kingdoms you should wrangle, and I would call it fair play," she assures him, her remark forecasting that the same ambition, deceit, and struggle that marked their parents' lives shall also be present in their own (174-5).
As for Miranda, her famous exclamation of "o brave new world that has such people in't" can hardly be taken at its cheery face value, when Miranda's knowledge and the context around the statement are considered (183-4). The remark comes only ten lines after Miranda's half-joking, politically minded statements to Ferdinand; and, considering Miranda's typical tone and manner in the play, a wide-eyed expression of wonder would be out of character. The remark could have been spurred purely by the briefly worded reunion of Alonso and his son Ferdinand; however, coming so soon after Sebastian's less-than-exuberant remark, and with so little buildup, it is unlikely that Miranda's remark can be construed in a purely positive way. Also, Prospero's reply, "'tis new to thee," sounds more like a remark correcting her assumption about the outside world, than a simple, rather unnecessary, and prosaic affirmation. The tone of Miranda's utterance is complicated by a great many factors, and its meaning is a great deal less straightforward than it suggests when taken out of context and character.
As for the closure of this play, do not be misled by Gonzalo's typically optimistic appraisal of the situation. Gonzalo rejoices that "FerdinandŠfound a wifeŠ Prospero his dukedomŠand all of us ourselves," conveniently omitting any mention of Caliban's fate, or Sebastian and Antonio's lack of salvation (210-2). As with many of Shakespeare's comedies, with which this play is loosely grouped, the resolution is anything but cut and dry. There is a parallel lack of closure in Love's Labours Lost, in which the ladies of France swear at the end to leave off any discussion of marriage for an additional year; and in Twelfth Night, at the end of which Orsino and Viola's union is indefinitely postponed. Also, in Much Ado about Nothing, when Hero reveals herself to Claudio, he says no words of apology or love; a happy resolution can be read into the situation, but there is no reply at all from Claudio to such a major development, either in words or gestures in the stage directions. Shakespeare's comedies might be considered to have "happy endings"; but, the conclusions of these plays, even more so than with tragedies like Hamlet, are rarely simple in their implications, or harmonized in their meaning and tone.
Prospero is finally aligned with Medea, a representation of dark magic, like Sycorax, in this act, further complicating his characterization. Prospero makes a rather strange claim in this act, that is brought up nowhere else in the play; he echoes Medea's claim in the Metamorphoses that he can call up dead men from their graves, which seems to be included merely to further identify Prospero with the figure of Medea. Sycorax, the witch whom Prospero takes every opportunity to disparage but whom he resembles in his use of force, manipulative use of his magic, and past history, is actually based upon Ovid's portrayal of Medea; and, the relation between Prospero and Sycorax/Medea becomes more apparent in Prospero's speech, based upon the words of Medea.
Medea and Sycorax represent a dark side of magic that is also present in Prospero; Prospero uses his magic for devious, selfish, and questionable purposes, and with him, it is difficult to separate the good-intentioned magic he uses from the bad. Prospero himself has a mixed view of his own magic; he recognizes how his fascination with magic lost him his dukedom, and almost caused his loss of control, and therefore cannot maintain his magical practices and his role as a man of action in the real world. He also chooses to give up his magic when he leaves the island, revealing a mixed view of magic in Prospero himself. Prospero's battle against his fabricated characterization of Sycorax is resolved when he finally accepts Caliban, her offspring, and the dark qualities that Caliban represents to him; "this thing of darkness I / acknowledge mine," Prospero says, bringing closure to his struggles against Caliban and his allegedly evil mother (V.i.275-6).
Prospero's relinquishing of his magic is coincident with the disclosure of his methods and devices; his magic is spoiled, just like any kind of magic, when the boatswain comes forth and tells of the strange fate of the ship, complete with some remarkably vivid sound imagery. Prospero's powers cannot survive the trial of being revealed, and his promise to tell Alonso of his devices and tricks is the final act of his resignation.
As for Caliban, the wrongs done to him are not redressed, and the poetic, noble sentiments that he shows within the play, especially in his beautiful speech about the island, do not reappear. "How fine my master is," Caliban exclaims; he fully proves himself a born servant, by apologizing to Prospero for taking the foolish, drunken Stephano for his master, and submitting himself to Prospero more willfully than ever (261). Trinculo and Stephano's ill-conceived murder plot is simply laughed off by the party, and Prospero shows no signs of treating Caliban with anything other than veiled contempt. Although Prospero does finally accept Caliban, he also still regards Caliban as being "as disproportioned in his manners as in his shape"; Prospero upholds his civilized superiority over this native, though to acknowledge Caliban and to also dislike his ways of being are completely contradictory views.
A major theme running through the entire work is forgiveness versus vengeance; Prospero causes the tempest out of a wish for revenge, but by the end of the work, he decides to forgive the crimes against him, fabricated or otherwise. He finally declares this intent, with his words alluding to the proverb "to be able to do harm and not do it is noble." The same sentiment is also offered up in Shakespeare's Sonnet 94: "they that have power to hurt and will do noneŠRightly do inherit heaven's graces," that poem runs. At last, Prospero renounces the anger and resentment that marked his tone throughout the play, especially in scene 2 of the first act. Prospero declares his brothers "penitent," though they are not; Alonso expresses his regret, but Antonio, who has the most to be sorry for, expresses no remorse.
The circle of forgiveness remains unresolved by the end of the play, but, in a moment of irony, Prospero believes that closure has been reached. Throughout the play, Prospero does direct a disproportionate amount of blame toward Alonso, leading him to abduct and enslave Alonso's son Ferdinand; when confronting his brothers, Prospero actually calls Antonio "a furtherer in the act," a great understatement of Antonio's actual role as prime perpetrator of the crime against Prospero. Alonso expresses complete penitence, asking Prospero to "pardon me my wrongs"; and he achieves some sort of reconciliation with Prospero, through his willingness to cooperate with Prospero's wishes of reconciliation. Also ironic is that the only crime that Prospero charges Antonio with is conspiring to kill Alonso, which Prospero himself arranged through Ariel; although Prospero focused his great anger on Antonio almost exclusively in Act 1, by the end of the play, he has, quite ironically, forgotten his primary motivation in causing the tempest and bringing his brothers and their companions to the island.
As for Antonio and Sebastian, they are not satisfactorily redeemed by the end of the play, and Prospero's forgiveness, though openly and freely declared at first, is almost rescinded when he finally addresses the pair. His previously conciliatory tone turns threatening, as he says he could "justify them traitors" if he wished to do so (V.i.128). He even states that "to call [Antonio] brother would even infect [his] mouth," which is hardly an expression of forgiveness; but, in a strange paradox of sentiment, he completes his sentence with the words "I do forgive thy rankest fault," turning an insult and a threat into some approximation of absolution (130-2). Also, Sebastian returns to his characteristic sarcasm, calling Ferdinand's survival "a most high miracle"; and his unimpressed tone is additional proof that not only is Sebastian not sorry for any wrongs, he is completely unchanged by the events of the play (177).
In the end, the play's concern with political legitimacy is resolved by the disinheritance of the usurper, though it is unresolved in the case of Caliban. Prospero has again secured his dukedom, and also his daughter's power and marriage; and so, with Prospero's main goals achieved, the play ends. However, in an epilogue spoken by Prospero in rhymed couplets, Prospero steps outside the confines of the play to address the audience, as a character from within a fiction. The audience of the play, he says, are the ones who hold the power over his fate, and must finally forgive him for his deeds; a larger world surrounding the play is revealed, with the audience recreating the role of the author, which Prospero himself recreates, in turn, from within the play. No other Shakespeare play has quite this kind of un-ended ending to it; but, the sentiment is completely fitting, coming as it does after a play in which unfinished business is such a recurrent, pervasive theme.
