Where the bee sucks there suck I;
In a cowslip’s bell I lie;
There I couch when owls do fly,
After summer merrily.
Merrily, merrily, shall I live now,
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
That was the last song I sang as Prospero’s slave, and what a joyful song it was. For it was, truly, my freedom-song, and oh, I was merry when I sang it!
Have you ever stood at the sea’s edge, where its waters break upon the shore, and heard the steady music of the waves lapping around your feet? Next time you do, listen well and, perhaps, underneath the water’s hum, you’ll hear the soft beating of Ariel’s heart.
Or walk in the woods where the songbirds sing, and perhaps you’ll hear my laughter drowning out the blackbirds’ sweet melodies.
Or sit among the wild grasses, surrounded by flowers, with drowsy bumblebees droning round your head. Perhaps you’ll hear me singing that freedom-song of mine again. But be warned – you’ll have to listen very well if you want to make out my words!
It was after six o’clock when I sang my song, and Prospero had promised to give me my freedom by then. Six o’clock came and went, however, and still there was more magic to do. But I didn’t complain. My airy heart was as light as a gnat’s wing; my whole being was sheer happiness, for I knew that soon I would be free.
Imagine that, after a lifetime of slavery.
Imagine being able to come and go as you please, after years and years of being sent and summoned.
Imagine having all the time in the world.
So as I flew off to fetch King Alonso and his companions and bring them to Prospero, I was charged with excitement. The very air around me crackled and hissed as though there was a lightning-storm!
And, as I flew, a part of me was listening to Prospero, for the words he spoke were so important that they chased behind me on the wind. He didn’t know I was listening, for he was talking to himself. But I heard him all right, as he spoke of all the magic he had made in the past twelve years – of how he had darkened the sun, and made the winds blow, and summoned up great storms; of how his power had split trees, and uprooted them; of how he had even made the dead live again. And I wondered at the mix of emotions he must be feeling as he spoke.
Then, at last, he said the words I had longed to hear for twelve long years. And oh, how my airy heart raced when I heard them:
But this rough magic
I here abjure. And when I have required
Some heavenly music – which even now I do –
To work mine end upon their senses that
This airy charm is for, I’ll break my staff,
Bury it certain fathoms in the earth,
And deeper than did ever plummet sound
I’ll drown my book.
At long, long last he’d break and bury that magic staff and throw that magic book into the sea; at last he’d take off his magic cloak and wear the sober clothes of a duke. At last I’d be free – but not quite yet.
There was one, final, all-important piece of work to be done, and for it Prospero needed his ‘heavenly music’. And who could the musician be but Ariel! As my master drew a circle in the sand, I played my most enchanting melody which, like a strong medicine, had the power to calm the madness of all who heard it.
For Alonso, Antonio and Sebastian had been quite mad ever since I appeared to them as the Harpy and forced them to see their sins. I’d driven them frantic with guilt, just as my master wanted me to.
You should have seen how they threw themselves around! Poor Gonzalo did his best to comfort his king, and the courtiers Adrian and Francisco tried to calm Antonio and Sebastian, but the only thing that helped them was that music of mine – the music that can heal the deepest wound, and banish the greatest fear.
So, as my melody drew that sorry crowd nearer to Prospero’s circle, their terror began to subside and, when they reached it, they stood, spell-stopped. They stared at Prospero, unable to understand what they were seeing, for it was as if their brains were boiled inside their skulls. And Prospero, still in his magic cloak and with his magic book and staff in his hands, stood silently watching them. Then, finally, he spoke.
Now, you might have expected him to vent his rage on the villains who had done him so much wrong, but he didn’t. Instead, the first thing my master did was to praise Gonzalo for all his kindness, and promise to reward him. Then he turned to the ‘three men of sin’.
They must have been quaking in their boots, wondering what dreadful punishment he would give them, but instead Prospero did as he’d told me he would do.
He forgave them.
But so strong was the magic trance they were in that even when Prospero told his brother, I do forgive thee, unnatural though thou art, Antonio had not the slightest idea who was forgiving him. In fact, not one of the men in that magic circle knew who this great magician, who had such control over them, really was. How could they have known – for wasn’t Prospero, the former Duke of Milan, long dead? Hadn’t they made sure of that, the day they’d cast him out to sea?
At long last, it was time for them to know the truth. Prospero sent me to his cave to fetch his hat and rapier – the ones he’d worn when he was Duke of Milan – and I helped him remove his magic cloak and dress himself. Then he threw his arms round King Alonso (who couldn’t believe his eyes), and welcomed him to the island as naturally as if he were greeting guests at his palace in Milan. And no sooner had Alonso recognised him than he apologised sincerely for all he’d done, and humbly gave him back his dukedom.
Yes, King Alonso was genuinely sorry. There was no doubt that his suffering had made him see the error of his ways. And, of course, he still believed that Ferdinand was dead, and that he had died because of his sins; and, I must say, my master was in no hurry to reassure him. Oh no, he didn’t rush to tell him Ferdinand had survived the tempest. There was still a little mischief left in the serious old Duke Prospero! For when Alonso spoke of the loss of his son, my master, with a very straight face, said, ‘And I have lost a daughter.’
Wasn’t that a bit unkind! Although it was true – Prospero had lost Miranda, for she’d soon be Ferdinand’s wife. But he knew perfectly well that Alonso would think he meant that she’d died, and Alonso fell for his trick.
‘If only,’ he said sadly, ‘your daughter and my son were alive and well, and were king and queen of Naples!’
How my master must have laughed inwardly as he heard those words! And how teasingly he smiled as he led King Alonso to the mouth of his cave and pointed in to where Ferdinand and Miranda were sitting, playing chess and looking lovingly into one another’s eyes!
So, in the end, our story has a happy ending. Gonzalo, that good and wise old man, summed it up when he said:
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.
Listen to those last words again: ‘When no man was his own’. Gonzalo was right, wasn’t he? Everyone changed that afternoon, when their minds were so full of my magic that they couldn’t think straight.
Ferdinand and Miranda fell in love and changed from boy and girl to future king and queen.
King Alonso changed from traitor to friend, and from grief-stricken man to proud and happy father.
Prospero changed from a great magician to a serious duke, and where Alonso gained a daughter, he gained a fine son.
Then there were the two clowns, Stephano and Trinculo, who’d wanted to rule this island and had ended up being dragged through thorns, and dumped in muddy pools, and chased by hounds. I rather think that, in days to come, they looked back and saw their whole adventure as a kind of drunken nightmare. I don’t think they’ll ever have ideas above their station again, though whether they changed much is anyone’s guess. When I finally fetched them and delivered them to Alonso, they said they were sorry – but who knows how sorry they actually felt.
And what about Antonio and Sebastian? Did they really change? Did the hardships they suffered make them see the error of their ways and become good and noble men? Were their consciences pricked when they were shown their sins?
Your guess is as good as mine. All I know is that Prospero, who knew they’d tried to murder Alonso, could very easily have ruined them by telling the truth, and he chose not to. They knew he knew, though – so once they all got home to Italy, they’d have to think hard before they tried any more of their tricks. They’d have to at least appear to be good and noble men.
And that is the end of my story of The Tempest. After resting in Prospero’s cave, the royal party boarded their ship for the journey home, and the very last piece of spriting I did was to promise them calm seas and gentle winds. Then off they sailed to plan another wedding, leaving the island to me, and to Caliban. And oh, what a wonderful sight it was to see that royal ship disappear over the horizon! What a marvellous feeling it was to be as free as the air, at long, long last!
Now, you know how I changed from slave to free spirit, but what about that monster Caliban? Did he change, when he got his freedom? Was he at peace when his hard work and punishments were over, and this island his at last?
I’ve often wondered, and so I’ve looked for him today, hoping to find out. I’ve flown over the sands and peered into the cave that used to be his prison, thinking perhaps I’d see him dragging his logs as he always did. But I haven’t managed to find him, and now it’s time I flew off, for evening’s come and there are a thousand other places I want to be.
Shall I tell you what I think, though? I don’t think Caliban did change; because Caliban didn’t need to change. I’m sure that he’s somewhere on this island right now, catching fish in a stream, opening oysters with his claws, or simply sitting with his feet in a warm rock pool, gazing at the clouds’ reflections and humming a melody from long ago. And if he’s humming it tunelessly, you can be sure he knows how it should sound. He remembers how I sang it, and that’s the way he’s hearing it in his head.
But there’s one more person who did change. Do you know who it is?
It’s someone who saw the tempest, and heard my music, and saw all my spriting. It’s someone who, from this day onwards, can see me if they simply shut their eyes. Then, they can be whisked back to this island in the twinkling of an eye, and when they’re here they can swim, or dive into the fire, or ride on the curled clouds with me. It’s someone who’s understood the story of The Tempest, and who knows that everything is possible if you are free to use that one magical power that you possess: your imagination.
For Ariel changes everyone he meets; and – believe me – he’s changed you, too.