Fourth Reader

“How now?” said Prospero. “Do you forget from what I freed you? Do you forget Sycorax, the wicked witch? Where was she born? Tell me, Ariel.”

“Sir, she was born in Algiers.”

“Was she?” said Prospero. “Now let me remind you of something which methinks you have forgotten. Sycorax was for her wicked witchcraft banished from Algiers, and left upon this lonely island by some sailors; and because you were not able to obey her commands, she shut you up in a hollow tree. Do you forget that I found you howling there, and set you free?”

Ariel was ashamed of having seemed ungrateful. “Pardon me, dear master,” he said. “I will continue to obey your orders.”

“Do so, and then I shall set you free,” said Prospero; and having received his directions, Ariel went off to where Ferdinand sat upon the grass with a sad countenance.

“Come, young gentleman,” said the sprite. “Come, and let the lady Miranda have a sight of you;” and he began to sing this song, which gave Ferdinand news of his father, and roused him from his silent grief: —

“Full fathom five thy father lies:
Of his bones are 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.”

Following the sound of Ariel’s sweet voice, Ferdinand found himself in the presence of Prospero and Miranda, who stood under the shade of a large tree.

“O father,” cried the maiden, who had never before seen any human being besides Prospero, “surely this must be a spirit coming towards us?”

“It is a young man who was one of the company in the ship,” said Prospero. “He is in great grief, which somewhat lessens the beauty of his features. Having lost his companions, he is wandering in search of them.”

Ferdinand now saw with amazement and delight the beautiful Miranda, and he began to address her as if she were the goddess of an enchanted island.

She replied that she was but a simple maiden and no goddess, and would have given an account of herself, had not Prospero interrupted her. He foresaw that these two young people would become much attached to each other, and therefore resolved to throw many difficulties in Ferdinand’s way, that he might prove the strength and constancy of his affection.

“I will bind you hand and foot,” he cried. “Shell-fish, acorns, withered roots shall be your food, and salt sea water your only drink.”

“No,” cried Ferdinand, drawing his sword; “I shall resist such entertainment – at any rate until I am overcome by some more powerful enemy than yourself.”

At this Prospero raised his magic wand, which completely fixed Ferdinand to the spot, so that he could not move!

“O father, be not so unkind,” cried Miranda, clinging to the old man. “Have some pity on him, for indeed it seems to me that he is good and true.”

“Silence, girl. You think much of this youth because you have seen no comelier form than mine: but I tell you there are others who in person excel him as far as he excels in beauty the monster, Caliban.”

Then, turning to the prince, Prospero cried, “Come, young sir; you have no power to disobey me.”

And Ferdinand found himself compelled to follow the old man into the cavern, although he turned once and again to gaze upon Miranda. “In truth this man’s threats would seem as nothing to me,” he sighed, “if only I might from my prison behold this fair maid.”

Ferdinand was not confined very long; he was brought out and set to some laborious task, while Prospero from his study watched both the young man and Miranda.

The prince had been ordered to pile up some heavy logs of wood, and soon the maiden saw him half-fainting beneath his burden. “Pray rest,” she cried; “my father will for three hours be at his studies. I entreat you not to work so hard.”

“Dear lady, I dare not rest,” said Ferdinand; “I must finish my task.”

“Sit down and I shall carry the logs for a while,” said the maiden; but Ferdinand would not have it so, and so she began to assist him, though the business went on but slowly because they were talking together.

But Prospero was not among his books, as Miranda thought; he was quite close to them, although invisible, and he smiled as he heard his daughter tell her name, and smiled again as Ferdinand professed his great love and admiration for her.

“I fear I am talking too freely. I have forgotten my father’s command,” said Miranda, at last.

And here Prospero nodded his head, and said to himself, “My daughter shall be queen of Naples.”

They had not talked long, before Miranda had promised to be the bride of Ferdinand; and then her father no longer concealed his presence, but made himself visible to the eyes of these young people. “Be not afraid, daughter,” he said; “I have heard all that has passed, but I approve it. As for you, Ferdinand, if I have been hard, it was but to try if you were worthy of my child; and by giving her to you I make amends for it all.”

Calling his attendant, Ariel, Prospero left them, saying he had business to attend to; which business was to hear how the sprite had been tormenting and frightening his master’s brother and the king of Naples. When they were weary and well-nigh famished, he set a delicate banquet before them; but only to appear again as a monster, who carried the untasted food away. Then he spoke to them, still in the form of a harpy, and reminded them of the shameful way in which they had treated Prospero and his little child, adding that in punishment this shipwreck had befallen them.

The king and Antonio were greatly distressed at this; and Ariel declared that though he was but a sprite, he could not but pity them, their grief seemed so sincere.

“Bring them here,” cried Prospero. “Bring them quickly, my good Ariel; for if you feel for them, much more should I who am a human being, such as they, take compassion on them in their misfortune, and freely forgive the past.”

So Ariel brought the king and Prospero’s brother into his presence; and with them came Gonzalo, who had proved his love for his master by putting food and apparel into the boat in which he had been left to the mercy of the winds and waves.

When Prospero spoke to Gonzalo, and called him the preserver of his life, Antonio knew this old man must be his own much-injured brother, and he began to implore his pardon with many tears; the king also asked forgiveness for the part he had taken against him.

Prospero assured them that he freely forgave all; and, opening a door, he showed them Ferdinand, who was engaged in a game of chess with Miranda. What joy was this to the father and son, both of whom believed the other had been lost in the storm!

The king of Naples was astonished at the beauty of Miranda. “Is this a goddess” he asked, “who parted us that she might bring us together?”

“Not a goddess,” answered Ferdinand, smiling. “A fair maiden, whom I have asked to be my bride. She is the daughter of the duke of Milan, who, in giving her to me, has made himself my second father.”

“Then I must be her father,” said the king. “And, first, I must ask her forgiveness.”

“Not so,” interrupted Prospero; “let us rather forget the past and think only of the happy present.” And then, embracing his brother, he declared that all his troubles had been overruled by Providence; as, but for their meeting on the desert island, perhaps Ferdinand would never have known and loved Miranda.

The ship was safe in harbor, the sailors were on board, and the whole company intended to depart together in the morning; but for that last evening they partook of some refreshments in the cavern, which was so soon now to be deserted, while Prospero gave them the story of his adventures.

Before he left the island he dismissed Ariel from his service, to the joy of the active sprite, who loved liberty above all else. “But, master, I shall attend your passage home, and get for you prosperous winds; and then how merrily I’ll live.” And at this Ariel broke into a sweet song, which went like this: —

“Where the bee sucks, there suck I:
In a cowslip’s bell I lie;
There I couch when owls do cry.
On the bat’s back I do fly
After summer merrily:
Merrily, merrily shall I live now,
Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.”

Prospero’s last act was to bury all his magical books and his wand; for he meant to have nothing more to do with the art, but to spend the rest of his life in his native land, watching over the welfare of his people, and at peace with all the world.

As soon as the party reached Naples, the marriage of Ferdinand and Miranda took place with much splendor, thus completing the happiness of Prospero, now again duke of Milan, but whom we have learned to know as the old man of the island. – Mary Seymour.

    From “Tales from Shakespeare,” by Mary Seymour, published by Thomas Nelson & Sons, Edinburgh.