'Twill weep for having wearied you: My father Is hard at study; pray now, rest your- He's safe for these three hours. Mira. me that: I'll carry it to the pile. Fer. No, precious creature; I had rather crack my sinews, break my back, Besides yourself, to like of: But I prattle I therein do forget. you, (Chiefly, that I might set it in my pray- What is your name? Miranda:-O my father, I have ey'd with best regard; and many The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage Brought my too diligent ear: for several Have I lik'd several women; never any I do not know than you, good I am skill-less of; but, by my modesty, This wooden slavery, than to suffer The very instant that I saw you, did Than you should such dishonour undergo, It would become me And yours against. Any companion in the world but you ; Am I this patient log-man. crown what I profess with kind event, If I speak true; if hollowly, invert Pro. Poor worm! thou art infected; What best is boded me, to mischief! I, This visitation shews it. Beyond all limit of what else i'the world, Mira. You look wearily. Do love, prize, honour you. Fer. No, noble mistress; 'tis fresh morning with me, When you are by at night. I do beseech Mira. On that which breeds between them! What I desire to give; and much less What I shall die to want: But this is trifling; And all the more it seeks to hide itself, The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning! And prompt me, plain and holy innocence! I am your wife, if you will marry me ; If not, I'll die your maid: to be your fellow You may deny me; but I'll be your ser- hand. A thousand! thousand! Who are surpris'd with all; but my rejoicing At nothing can be more. I'll to my book; For yet, ere supper time, must I perform Much business appertaining. [Exit." where said by the same fine observer," is less a quality than an instinct, it is like the self-unfolding of a flower, spontaneous and unconscious." What celestial servitude is that of Ferdinand! The log-bearer is a god. For "my sweet mistress weeps when she sees me work." No wonder she weeps to see so "brave a form" slaving like Caliban. The young Prince had never carried logs till now-neither assuredly had Miranda—but she offers to do so now-and even thinks it fitter that she should than " the first man she ever sighed for"-she, the daughter of the Great Magician, who in his own country had, she knows, been the greatest of the great, and who is now obeyed by the elements, and the creatures of the elements. 'Tis almost a pity Ferdinand allowed her not one trial, she had looked so more than beautiful under the burden. Aye-Miranda now knows love. Prospero says so"Poor worm! thou art infected!" She too-like Juliet-proposes marriage. But she knows not so well as that other warmer Italian what marriage means; and if he will not marry her-she believes it possible he will not-then is she content" to die his maid." And in saying so she said the holy truth. Had Juliet said so to Romeo she had surely lied. But heaven preserve us, are we indeed so foolish as to idly dream of bringing out beauties! Of rubbing with our coarse clumsy hands, to brighten their lustre, gems in their own native splendour eyeing the sun in heaven that wonders at their unreflected light? No-we are but admiring them-and so is the lady whose commentaries are written in the same spirit, and who finely says of this matchless scene,-" In Ferdinand, who is a noble creature, we have all the chivalrous magnanimity with which man, in a high state of civilisation, disguises his real superiority, and does humble homage to the being of whose destiny he disposes; while Miranda, the mere child of nature, is struck with wonder at her own emotions. Only conscious of her own weakness as a woman, and ignorant of those usages of society which teach us to dissemble the real passion, and assume (sometimes abuse) our unreal and transient power, she is equally ready to place her life, her love, her service, beneath his feet. Her bashfulness,” it is else "Enter PROSPERO, FERDINAND, and MIRANDA. Pro. If I have too austerely punish'd you, Your compensation makes amends; for I Have given you here a thread of mine own life, Or that for which I live; whom once' again I tender to thy hand: all thy vexations Were but my trials of thy love; and thou Hast strangely stood the test: here, afore Heaven, I ratify this my rich gift. O Ferdinand, And make it halt behind her. Fer. Against an oracle. Pro. Then, as my gift, and thine own acquisition, Worthily purchas'd, take my daughter: But If thou dost break her virgin knot before With full and holy rite be minister'd, sweet aspersion shall the heavens let To make this contract grow; but barren fall hate, Sour-ey'd disdain, and discord, shall be strew The union of your bed with weeds so loathly, That you shall hate it both therefore, take heed, As Hymen's lamps shall light you. est den, The most opportune place, the strongest suggestion Our worser genius can, shall never melt Mine honour into lust; to take away The edge of that day's celebration, When I shall think, or Phoebus' steeds are founder'd, Or night kept chain'd below. Pro. Fairly spoke: Sit then, and talk with her, she is thine own. What, Ariel; my industrious servant Ariel! Did worthily perform; and I must use you In such another trick: go, bring the rabble, O'er whom I give thee power, here, to Incite them to quick motion; for I must And they expect it from me. Presently? Ari. Will be here with mop and mowe: Pro. Dearly, my delicate Ariel: Do Ophelia! Think of Capulet or Polonius along with Prospero. Yet they too loved their father-and one of them went mad-so some saidfor his sake. Good girls always love their father, even though he be fool and knave-for piety is sweet to female hearts—and though sin or folly may make them sad as they are straw To the fire i' the blood: be more abste look at the author of their being, yet sire is still a gracious name, and round the brows of parent to pure filial cyes seems ever to be wreathed a heavenly halo. not approach, Till thou dost hear me call. Ari. Well I conceive. [Exit. Pro. Look, thou be true: do not give dalliance Too much the rein; the strongest oaths mious, Or else, good night, your vow! Fer. Abates the ardour of my liver." Prospero possesses, from first to last, not only our respect, but our affection. Through the magician we always see the man-and in the man the father. He loves his daughter better than all his books, yet his library to him is life. His wand is waved but for her delight; all his harshness to Ferdinand is but seeming; to that noble slave it is the source of divinest happiness; and, looking forwards to their marriage, he will then resign his dominion over all the spirits, and let the disenchanted and forsaken Isle settle down into common daylight on common sea. Mrs Jameson thus speaks of Prospero sceptred hand, before the eye of fancy. He controls the invisible world, and works through the agency of spirits; not by any evil and forbidden compact, but solely by superior might of intellect-by potent spells gathered from the lore of ages, and abjured when he mingles again as a man with his fellow-men. He is as distinct a being from the necromancers and astrologers celebrated in Shakspeare's age, as can well be imagined; and all the wizards of poetry and fiction, even Faust and St Leon, sink into common places before the princely, the philosophic, the benevolent Prospero." "As Miranda, being what she is, could only have had a Ferdinand for her lover, and an Ariel for her attendant, so she could have had with propriety no other father than the majestic and gifted being, who fondly claims her as 'a thread of his own life-nay, that for which he lives.' Prospero, with his magical powers, his superhuman wisdom, his moral worth and grandeur, and his kingly dignity, is one of the most sublime visions that ever swept with ample robes, pale brow, and O Miranda! how much happier wert thou in a father than Juliet or In this scene there is perfect blessedness. Was there ever so tenderly paternal line as "I have given you here a thread of mine own life!" ter to her face-if she deserve it. If Let no father fear to praise his daughshe be beautiful and good, let him tell her and heaven that her beauty and her goodness do make him blest. Both will breathe more sweetly, burn words-even as did Miranda's now in more brightly, at his smiles and his the lime-grove-weather-fended cell in the Enchanted Isle. But hath Prospero no fears for her virgin innocence, as she and her lover roam at their own sweet will among the solitary places silent but for the seamurmur on the yellow sands, and the music of the invisible Ariel, in cloud or sunshine? Not fearsbut the shadows of fears-for Miranda, though divine, is human, and the bright-eyed Prince is a "child of strength and state," and of passion. But the expression of such shadowy fears serves only to heighten the image of the perfect purity of Miranda. The shipwrecked sailor is too noble a creature for the sin of ingratitude; but without thinking of what he owes to his benefactor, "the thread of mine own life" is holy to his heart-holy that "white, cold virgin snow." Freely father and lover speak-giving and receiving solemn advice; but Miranda is mute-she sits listening in her simplicity-the sweet subject of their discourseand as she hears her Ferdinand speak hope "for quiet days, fair issue, and long life," unmoved in her innocence as an angel. The while Prospero has been giving his orders to Ariel, the lovers have met in an embrace-before their father's eyes. "Be more abstemious." But it was not in nature for Ferdinand to be so; and as for Miranda, as well might a rose in the wilderness turn away her fragrant blushes from the sun that loves the leaves he beautifies. 66 The Aerial Masque got up by Prospero a contract of true love to celebrate, and some donation freely to estate on the blessed lovers," is in beautiful keeping with all the rest of the Enchanted Island life. Iris, "Many-coloured messenger, That ne'er must disobey the wife of Jupiter," in richest language calls Ceres to leave all her other domains, and to come and sport "here on this grass-plot, on this very place." Ceres comes, and asks if Venus and her son attend Juno, for that she has forsworn "her and her blind boy's scandal'd company," ever since they did plot the means that dusky Dis her daughter got;" but the Heavenly Bow tells Ceres not to be afraid of her society, for that she 66 "Met her deity Cutting the clouds towards Paphos ; and her son Dove-drawn with her; here thought they to have done Some wanton charm upon this man and maid, Whose vows are, that no bed-rite shall be paid Till Hymen's torch be lighted." How delicately the Phantoms, the Apparitions of Goddesses, commend Ferdinand and Miranda for their modest and chaste affection; Prospero thus again counselling them, through visionary lips, "to be abstemious." Juno joins Ceres, and they sing an antenuptial song, which may serve as a model for all such songs In dreams we never-wonder. Happen what may-all seems in the course of nature. Without wings we fly, nor think we that motion strange though most delightful; down we sink without diving-bell, to the roots of coral rocks, and, unsurprised, bid good day to the Queen of the Mermaids; realities seem to people what we know not then to be the realms of imagination. Shakspeare is Somnus -and the Tempest is a dream. We wonder not to see the brave vessel by Prospero "dashed all to pieces," by Prospero rebuilt, launched, masted, rigged anew, misbegotten;-and even Miss herself would look less revolting if set near the hairy hide of flesh so fishified. But we had forgotten the hag-born; and Miranda 66 "l -in all her trim freshly beheld Our royal, good, and gallant ship." Most exquisitely beautiful is Ariel, gay creature of the element; but seeing is believing," and we are prepared to hear him play and sing, visible himself or invisible; with him "whatever is, is right." Caliban himself is unquestioned where all is enchantment, and we say not a word on being told that a demon was his sire, and a witch his dam. Iris Ceres- Juno Naiads-spirits in the shape of hounds-reapers brought from far-off climes-and nymphs not native to the Isle-they come and go; nor startled are wesuch over our whole being is the power of genius- by the magical masque, more than by natural pageant of sunset-clouds! Who gave Prospero his magic book and staff? We ask not-nor care to know. One Being alone commands our wonder THAT HAS SUCH PEOPLE IN'T! through our love. The human Princess of the Isle of Glamoury; and she will be the world's wonder, till the world's self hath passed away with all its dreams. Pro. Heavens! what has become of all the rest of the shipwrecked? We have forgotten them all as entirely as Ferdinand and Miranda have done -but the scenes we have stolen are not all "The Tempest." We daresay you have all of you heard it said and seen it written, that the beauty and purity of Miranda are miraculously heightened by contrast with the hideousness of Caliban. He is, indeed, the most hideous of all monsters (one excepted) ever miscreated or "Was yet a spirit still and bright, With something of an angel light," without the aid of any contrast. She needed no foil-any more than a star, "when only one is shining in the sky." Why, really some of the drunken sailors are little better than Caliban. Trinculo has more wit, for he was educated at Wapping College, but Stephano is about on a par, as to intellect, with the son of Sycorax. As a moral being, the " poor monster," if we take into account his birth and parentage, is not worse than either of the tars-and all three are alike ripe and ready for rape and murder. While they are plotting the death of Prospero and violation of Miranda, Sebastian and Antonio were conspirators against the life of the King of Naples. But the punishment of the guilty has been preparing by the magician; and, therefore, the breaking up of the beautiful pageant in honour of the contract. Amazement and fear fall on noble and knave; all is cleared up; all is reconciled; and all eyes, at the close, are fixed on MIRANDA. "Miranda. O WONDER How MANY GOODLY CREATURES ARE THERE HERE! 'TIS NEW TO THEE.' The whole wide world is henceforth, in her imagination-Paradise. Oh! did it not once seem so to one and all of us,-when our bliss bade the sun burn bright on a day of clouds; when we could change at will gloom into glory; when at the sight of a few daisies, the earth seemed all overspread with flowers, and flowers that knew no withering; when the inarticulate voice of streams murmured to ours their own unwearied joy in the wilderness; when we did say in our hearts the very words of the magician's child; when thou hadst thine own Ferdinand, and we our own Miranda! Printed by Ballantyne and Company, Paul's Work, Edinburgh. |