There was once a lonely island far away in the midst of a wide sea.
Only four beings lived on this island: an elderly man called Prospero,
noble, grave and learned; his daughter Miranda; and two attendants.
One of these attendants was a beautiful and dainty spirit called
Ariel, the other a sullen monster called Caliban. For Prospero had
more than worldly learning; he knew the art of magic, and by his
mighty spells he could control not only the spirits of light and
darkness, but also the forces of Nature.
No travellers ever came to the island, and since the day when Miranda
had been brought thither, a little baby girl, she had never seen the
face of any man except her father. Peacefully the years slipped by,
and Miranda had grown into a beautiful young maiden, when one day a
terrible storm of thunder and lightning burst over the island. In the
midst of the tempest a noble vessel seemed to be sinking, and Miranda
ran to entreat her father that, if by his magic arts he had put the
waves into such an uproar, he would now allay them.
“Be comforted, dear child; there is no harm done,” said her father.
“What I have done is only in care for you, and I have so safely
ordered this wreck that not a hair of anyone on board shall suffer
hurt. Until now we have lived peacefully in this little spot, and
you know nothing of what you are, nor that I am anything more than
Prospero, the master of a poor enough cell, and your father.”
“It never entered into my thoughts to inquire further,” said Miranda.
“The time has come when you must know everything,” said Prospero; and
laying aside his magic mantle, he bade his daughter sit down beside
him, and then he told her the story of their life.
“Can you remember a time before we came to this island?” he began. “I
do not think you can, for you were then only a few years old.”
“Certainly I can,” replied Miranda. “It is far off, and more like
a dream than a remembrance. Had I not four or five women once that
waited on me?”
“You had, Miranda, and more. Twelve years ago your father was the Duke
of Milan, and a Prince of power.”
“Oh, heaven! what foul play had we that we came from thence? Or was it
a blessing that we did?”
“Both, both, my girl. By foul play, as you say, were we driven from
Milan, but blessedly helped thither. In those days Milan was the first
State in Italy, and everywhere renowned for its splendour. I had so
great a love for art and learning that I devoted much of my time to
study, and left the government of the State to my brother Antonio,
whom I loved best in the world and trusted beyond measure. But he
was false to the confidence reposed in him, and soon began to think
that he was Duke in reality. He therefore entered into a plot with an
inveterate enemy of mine, Alonso, King of Naples, and by promise of a
large bribe obtained his assistance. A treacherous army was levied,
and one midnight Antonio opened the gates of Milan to the King of
Naples. In the dead of darkness you and I were seized and hurried
away. So great was the love borne me by my people that the traitors
dared not kill us, but we were cast adrift in a rotten boat, without
sail, mast, or tackle. By the kindness of a noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo,
rich stuffs, foods, and necessaries, had been placed in the boat,
together with many valuable books from my library, which I prize more
than my dukedom. The waves bore us to this island, and here we have
lived ever since, and I have given such care to your teaching that you
know more than many other Princesses with more leisure time and less
careful tutors.”
“Heaven thank you for it, dear father!” said Miranda. “And now, I pray
you, tell me your reason for raising this storm.”
By his magic art, Prospero replied, he knew that by chance his enemies
had come near the island, and unless he seized this happy moment his
fortunes would droop, never to recover.
“But ask no more questions, Miranda,” he ended. “You are weary; rest
here and sleep a little.”
As soon as Miranda was asleep, Prospero summoned his dainty and nimble
little sprite, Ariel, and asked whether he had performed his bidding.
“In every particular,” replied Ariel; and he told his master how, in
the guise of a flame, he had danced all over the storm-driven ship
till the whole vessel seemed on fire, and every one on board except
the mariners had plunged affrighted into the sea.
“But are they safe, Ariel?”
“Not a hair perished, not a thread of their garments hurt. I have
scattered them in troops about the island, as you bade me. The King
of Naples’ son, Ferdinand, I have landed by himself, and now he is
sitting and sighing alone in an odd corner of the isle.”
“And the King’s ship?”
“Safely in harbour, hidden in a deep nook. The mariners, already
weary with their labour, I have charmed away to sleep. The rest
of the fleet which I scattered have now all met again, and are in
the Mediterranean, bound sadly home for Naples. They believe that
they have seen the King’s ship wrecked, and that all on board have
perished.”
Prospero was much pleased with the way Ariel had performed his charge,
but he said there was still some further work to do. He promised that
if all went well Ariel in two days should be set free from service,
and henceforward should be his own master. He bade Ariel now take a
new shape--that of a nymph of the sea, invisible to all but his own
master. In this guise Ariel approached the young Prince of Naples, and
began to sing in the sweetest fashion:
“Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones a’e 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.
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:
Hark! now I hear them, ding-dong, bell.”
Lured by the sound of this sweet singing, which came he knew not
whence, Ferdinand followed the unseen Ariel into the presence of
Prospero and Miranda.
Now, excepting her father, Miranda had never seen a man, and at first
she did not know what Ferdinand was.
“Is it a spirit, father?” she asked.
“No, child; it eats and sleeps, and has the same senses that we have.
This gallant whom you see was in the wreck, and except that his
handsome face is somewhat worn with grief and trouble, you might call
him a goodly person. He has lost his companions, and wanders about to
find them.”
“I might call him a thing divine,” replied Miranda warmly, “for I
never saw anything so noble.”
Ferdinand, in his turn, was equally enchanted with the sight of
Miranda, and declared on the spot that, if there were no one else whom
she already loved, he would make her Queen of Naples.
Prospero was delighted with the way matters were going, for it was
his desire that the young people should love each other; but fearing
that a prize so easily won would be held too light, he began to throw
some difficulties in the way. He pretended to believe that Ferdinand
was not really a King’s son, and had come to the island as a spy. He
declared he would put him into fetters, and give him only the coarsest
food to eat. In vain Miranda implored her father to treat the young
Prince less harshly. Prospero told her to be silent, and roughly bade
Ferdinand to follow him.
The Prince was naturally indignant at such uncourteous treatment, and
hastily drew his sword in defiance. But Prospero threw a sudden spell
over the young man, and he stood motionless, unable to stir.
“What? Put thy sword up, traitor!” commanded Prospero sternly.
And Ferdinand, feeling himself powerless to resist, and happy that
in his prison he should at least have the pleasure of beholding
the beautiful maiden who had so kindly pleaded for him, followed
obediently when the magician again summoned him.