SYNOPSIS
Act 1, Scene I
On a storm-wracked ship, the BOATSWAIN exchanges curses with two arrogant passengers, ANTONIO and
SEBASTIAN, who are travelling with King ALONSO of Naples. The king’s counsellor GONZALO remains calm,
however, as the ship goes down.
Act 1, Scene 2
On a nearby island MIRANDA is upset by the shipwreck, but her father PROSPERO, a magician, assures her
that the seamen will be safe. He reveals to her that he was once the Duke of MILAN. He studied magic in preference to
governing and was deposed by his brother, Antonio, who was aided by King Alonso. The conspirators put Prospero and
Miranda, then two years old, in a small boat and abandoned them at sea, but the kindly Gonzalo had given them
supplies, including Prospero’s books of magic. They then found the island and have lived there since. Through magic,
Prospero has raised the storm to bring his old enemies to the island. He magically puts Miranda to sleep and summons
his servant, a sprite named ARIEL. Ariel reports that he has entranced the vessel’s passengers and dispersed the people
around the island, taking particular care, as instructed, with FERDINAND, the son of King Alonso. When he complains
about his tasks, the magician sternly reminds him that he must work in exchange for his rescue from magical
imprisonment in a tree trunk, imposed by the now-dead witch who formerly occupied the island. Prospero promises
that if his present scheme is successful, he will release the sprite. He then instructs Ariel to wear a cloak of invisibility,
so that he can be seen only by Prospero, and report for further duty. After Ariel leaves, Miranda awakes and
Prospero summons CALIBAN, his half-human slave, son of the late witch. Ariel returns, invisible to Miranda, and is
sent away again with whispered orders. The surly Caliban reluctantly appears and complains of his slavery, but
Prospero declares that he has earned it, for after being taken in and educated by the magician, he attempted to rape
Miranda. Caliban is sent to gather wood. Ariel returns, leading Ferdinand by singing fairy songs. Miranda is amazed
and delighted by this the first young man she has ever seen. Ferdinand is equally charmed to encounter her. Prospero
observes in an aside that they are already in love, as he has planned. However, to ensure that Ferdinand will not take
Miranda lightly, he adopts a stern attitude and pretends to distrust the young man. Despite Miranda’s pleas, he
imprisons him.
Act 2, Scene I
Gonzalo attempts to cheer King Alonso with assurances that Ferdinand has survived, but he is mocked by
Antonio and Sebastian. Ariel appears, invisible to the men, and puts Gonzalo and the king to sleep. Antonio suggests to
Sebastian, who is the king’s brother, that they should kill the sleeping men and make Sebastian king. Sebastian agrees,
but as they draw their swords, Ariel reappears and awakens Gonzalo and the king. The four men go oil in search of
Ferdinand.
Act 2, Scene 2
Caliban tries to hide from TRINCULO, a FOOL who has survived the shipwreck, but Trinculo sees him.
Frightened by thunder, Trinculo takes refuge under Caliban’s cloak. Another survivor, STEPHANO, appears, drunk on
salvaged wine. Seeing Trinculo and Caliban, he decides that they are a single, two-headed, four-legged monster. He
feeds Caliban wine, hoping to tame the monster. Trinculo identifies himself, Ariel the two friends rejoice at their
reunion. Caliban is delighted with his first taste of wine and tipsily volunteers to serve the two men as though they were
gods, ii they will give him more. They agree and leave with him. Caliban sings drunkenly of his pleasure at leaving
Prospero.
Act 3, Scene 1
Ferdinand, forced by Prospero to move a large pile of logs, reflects that though his princely nature rebels
against such labour, the work seems joyous because he knows his master’s daughter sympathises with him. Miranda
appears, and they confess their love for each other, agreeing that they will marry. Prospero, overhearing them, is
pleased.
Act 3, Scene 2
Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo are drunk and squabble comically. Caliban proposes that Stephano
Page 1 of 7
kill Prospero, stealing his magic books and taking possession of Miranda. Stephano decides to do so,
envisioning himself as king of the island, with Caliban and Trinculo as viceroys. Ariel leads them away with fairy
music.
Act 3, Scene 3
Prospero causes a magical banquet to appear. Alonso, Sebastian, and Antonio step greedily forward, but the
banquet disappears. Ariel, disguised as a HARPY, declares that they are evil men and that destiny has therefore
stranded them on this island and taken Alonso’s son. They shall be tormented until they atone and adopt a sin-free life.
Alonso leaves, declaring that he will find his dead son and die beside him. Sebastian and Antonio go with him, angrily
intent on fighting the spirits of the island. Gonzalo, believing that their guilt has made them crazy, follows them, to
keep them from harming themselves.
Act 4, Scene 1
Prospero consents to the engagement of Miranda and Ferdinand. He calls on Ariel to provide entertainment to
celebrate the betrothal, and several sprites impersonate the goddesses IRIS, CERES, and JUNO in a MASQUE.
Prospero, recalling Caliban and Stephano’s plot, sends Ariel to gather some fine clothes he has prepared, which are
hung in full view. Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo arrive, still drunk. Trinculo and Stephano, seeing the fine clothes,
cannot resist trying them on, despite Caliban’s warnings that Prospero will catch them. Spirits disguised as hunting
dogs chase the comical villains away. Prospero reflects that his enemies are now all at his mercy. Soon his task will be
complete, and Ariel can be freed.
Act 5, Scene 1
Ariel reports that the captive Alonso, Sebastian, and Antonio are insane, while Gonzalo is grief-stricken. Ariel
says he feels sorry for them, and Prospero declares that he will be merciful to them, despite the losses he has suffered at
their hands. After sending Ariel to fetch them, he asserts in a soliloquy that he will renounce magic once he has cured
his victims. He exchanges his magician’s robes for the garments he wore as Duke of Milan, and as the victims recover
their senses they recognise him. He forgives their offences, and they concede him his duchy. Alonso still mourns the
loss of his son, and Prospero reveals Ferdinand and Miranda. Miranda is delighted to see so many humans, Ferdinand is
reunited with his father, and the future succession of the engaged couple to the throne of Naples is proclaimed. Ariel
appears with the Boatswain and MASTER of the king’s ship; they report that the vessel has been miraculously restored
to shipshape condition. Ariel fetches Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo—still drunk—and Prospero sends them to restore
the stolen clothes to his closet. He then invites the king and his followers indoors, to hear the story of his time on the
island. He gives Ariel a last order—to prepare auspicious winds and weather for the return to Milan—and sets him free.
COMMENTARY
With The Tempest Shakespeare reached new heights in a recently developed genre, the ROMANCES; indeed,
some commentators find it the greatest accomplishment of his career. After progressively more successful attempts—in
Pericles, Cymbeline, and The Winter's Tale—at mingling elements of TRAGEDY and COMEDY within a framework
of magic and exoticism taken from literary romances, the playwright created in The Tempest a stunning theatrical
entertainment that is also a moral allegory of great beauty and emotional power. Unlike the traditional medieval
MORALITY PLAY, Shakespeare’s work does not merely present symbols of already understood Christian doctrines;
rather, it offers a vision as complex and ambiguous as human nature itself. Such is the inclusiveness of Shakespeare’s
sensibility and the power of the play’s characters as emblems of humanity that The Tempest cannot be pinned down by
any particular interpretation, but must instead be taken as the embodiment of a variety of propositions. The themes of
The Tempest are multifarious and mingled, but nevertheless the various elements come together in a traditional
comedic happy ending of reconciliation and regeneration.
The Tempest has very little actual plot: the love of Ferdinand and Miranda meets only token—and
feigned—opposition, and the proposed assassinations of Alonso and Prospero are never plausible, due to Prospero’s
overwhelming mastery of the situation. However, Shakespeare makes up for the lack of suspense with bold theatre.
Bizarre characters and extravagant effects abound in a spectacular presentation that plainly reflects the influence of the
courtly masque, an increasingly popular form in the early 17th century. Striking tableaus figure in almost every act: the
shipwreck in 1.1, the supernatural banquet in 3.3, the formal betrothal masque and the spectral hounds in 4.1, and the
sudden appearance of Ferdinand and Miranda in 5.1. These elements are almost independent of the dialogue, but their
visual imagery adds meaning to the story.
Magic is a vital ingredient of The Tempest. The supernatural qualities of Caliban and Ariel are
particularly impressive on stage—Caliban is usually costumed to resemble a sea monster and Ariel sometimes flies on
Page 2 of 7
cables. The text describes a number of remarkable feats of magic that add to our sense of wonder, as do Ariel’s
appearances with goddesses and as a harpy. Music is another strong component of the play, which incorporates many
songs and several dance numbers. Indeed, music is part of Prospero’s magical repertoire, as all of the visitors to the
island are manipulated at some point by Ariel’s tabor and pipe. The island itself seems haunted by ‘sounds and sweet
airs [of] a thousand twangling instruments’ (3.2.134—135).
Another unifying feature of The Tempest is the way the conspiracies that compose the action reflect
each other. Before the time of the play, Antonio stole Prospero’s dukedom; on the island, that original crime is reenacted as Antonio offers Sebastian the prospect of a kingdom if he murders Alonso and as Caliban recruits Stephano
against Prospero. Each of these conspiracies is finally defused by Prospero, as order is systematically restored. Just as
important, they all lead to the reconciliation with which the play closes.
Yet another important theme is the contrast between Art and nature. Prospero rules through his
magical ‘Art’ (1.2.1), consistently spelled with a capital A in the conventional 17th-century usage associated with the
RENAISSANCE image of the magician as philosopher. Such a mage, as they were called, attempted to elevate his soul
through arcane knowledge of the divine, whether through alchemy, the lore of supernatural signs, or communication
with spirits. Although Prospero’s goal was originally to transcend nature, he gains control of nature as a by-product of
his magic. This, then, provides for his control of the island.
The contrast of ‘Art’ and nature is furthered by the comparison of Prospero, whose learned sorcery is
Art, and the ‘natural’ Caliban, with his lust and his beastlike resistance to education. Caliban’s naturalness leads him to
attempt rape—he would have ‘peopled this isle with Calibans’ (1.2.352—353)—whereas Prospero and Ferdinand, with
civilised sensibilities believe in celibacy before marriage. They understand marital happiness to depend on discipline;
the satisfactions of sex are to be preceded by a formal declaration of intention, in the ‘full and holy rite’ (4.1.17)
sanctified by tradition. Put another way, we must intelligently assert what we are doing and not simply plunge.
Ferdinand, Miranda, and Prospero all exercise the self-discipline that Caliban lacks, and their success and happiness are
compared with his misery. Nature is insufficient and must be built upon by civilisation.
When Prospero arrived on the island, he found it in a state of barbarity; Ariel was imprisoned and the
amoral beast Caliban ran free. At the close Ariel is liberated as Caliban returns to the bondage he briefly evaded. The
contrast between these two characters spans the play. Both are supernatural, and they are similar in their dislike for
being under an obligation to mortals, but otherwise they are antithetical creatures—one airy and beautiful, pleasant, and
allied with good; the other dank and ugly, sullen, and inclined to evil. Ariel is a spiritual being, composed of air,
uninhibited by normal physical restraints, while Caliban is utterly material, confined to the earth, without the power to
resist even the ‘urchin-shows’ (2.2.5) of Ariel’s minor underlings. Explicitly non-human, Ariel and Caliban are
essentially allegorical, representing human possibilities. Ariel embodies our potential spirituality, Caliban our
propensity to waste that potential in materialism or sensual pleasure.
Ariel is Prospero’s analogue and like him is rather isolated; except as a seeming hallucination, he has
no contact with anyone but his master. Caliban, however, is pointedly compared to many other characters. He is the
baseline from which all else is measured. As we have seen, his conspiracy parallels Antonio’s. His inability to learn
more than curses contrasts with Miranda’s high moral sensibility, even though they were educated together. His
response to Miranda’s beauty contrasts with Ferdinand’s. Caliban resists carrying wood in 1.2, while Ferdinand rejoices
in his similar labour in 3.1. When Miranda judges her admirers, she finds Caliban ‘a thing most brutish’ (1.2.358) and
Ferdinand ‘a thing divine’ (4.1.42 1).
As already suggested, the ultimate comparison is between Caliban and Prospero. The black magic of
Caliban’s mother Sycorax contrasts with Prospero’s employment of sorcery for a good end, after which it is abjured.
Caliban wishes only for ‘a new master’ (2.2. 185) and even encourages murder to get one; Prospero pits his ‘nobler
reason ‘gainst fury”, seeking ‘the rarer action is / In virtue’ (5.1.26, 27—28). The ineducable monster can only
approach the least of humanity’s capacities, while the learned magician aspires to high moral accomplishment.
Caliban represents the ‘natural man’ that enthralled Europeans as the New World was opened up and
its natives became known, lie is pointedly associated with the New World through allusions to the Patagonian god
Setebos, the island of Bermuda, and such familiar anecdotes of exploration as the reception of explorers as gods and
their offering liquor to the natives. With these associations, Shakespeare raised an issue that concerned thinking people
throughout Europe: the relative merits of nature and civilisation. Many of Shakespeare’s contemporaries viewed
‘natural man’ as a healthy counter to the ills of civilisation—an attitude that has survived to the present day—but the
playwright disagreed. One of the chief spokesmen for the admiring view of natural man was Michel de MONTAIGNE,
and Shakespeare gave his position a place in The Tempest—a passage from Montaigne’s essay ‘Of Cannibals’ is
echoed in Gonzalo’s remarks on an ideal commonwealth in 2.1.143—164, but only as a foil to the play’s point of view.
The ineffectual Gonzalo envisions ‘all men idle (and) women... innocent and pure’ (2.1.150—151), but Caliban, whose
name is a pointed anagram of ‘cannibal’, has in his idleness attempted to rape Miranda and thus represents a standing
refutation of Montaigne’s thesis. Caliban cannot, like Ferdinand, make the commitment of a ‘patient log-man’ (3.1.67),
Page 3 of 7
and his undisciplined lust is naturally rejected by Miranda. Similarly, Prospero’s learning, the key to his power, is
rejected by Caliban, and the monster is accordingly powerless. His slavery is a function of his defects as well as of
Prospero’s magic.
That Caliban and Ariel are non-human is part of the play’s masquelike spectacle, but their
supernatural quality also serves another function. The role of providence in human affairs, an important idea throughout
Shakespeare’s romances, is particularly emphasised by the prevalence of magic in The Tempest. Moreover, the
references to the New World, along with the unspecific location of Prospero’s island, add a sense of exotic climes in
which the supernatural is to be expected. The eeriness of the play’s world—’as strange a maze as e’er men trod’
(5.1.242)—virtually requires divine intervention. Action by a specific divinity (provided in the other romances) is
lacking here, but it is alluded to in the betrothal masque with its goddesses. They are merely portrayed—although by
supernatural creatures—but their capacity to bless is evoked in striking fashion. When all has been resolved, it is
natural for ‘Holy Gonzalo’ (5.1.62) to attribute the outcome to the gods in 5.1.201—204, and for Alonso to cry, ‘I say,
Amen’ (5.1.204).
Prospero’s magic leaves both characters and audience unclear about what is real and what is not, and
the boundaries of reality constitute another important theme of the play. Mistaken beliefs abound: Ferdinand and
Miranda each mistake the other for a supernatural being, and Caliban takes Trinculo and Stephano for gods. Alonso and
Ferdinand each believe the other dead. Stephano thinks Caliban and Trinculo a twoheaded, four-legged creature. (These
three buffoons befuddle their senses with liquor and are then led astray by Ariel, so their capacity to recognise reality is
doubly damaged. In a remarkable passage that encompasses both sorts of unreality, Ariel relates his supernatural effects
on the trio in a delightfully naturalistic description of drunkenness.) Most strikingly, the audience shares the difficulties
of Prospero’s subjects. We see Ariel when the characters do not, but other illusions are designed to take US in, too. At
the outset we are fooled by the supernatural storm and shipwreck. The sudden appearance of the banquet in 3.3 is
obviously supernatural, but like Alonso and his party, we believe it is for eating until Ariel’s Harpy makes it disappear.
The king and his party, surprised to have survived the shipwreck, remain baffled throughout, until Prospero finally
permits them to shed the ‘subtilties o’ the isle, that will not let you / Believe things certain’ (5.1.124—125).
Prospero’s ‘subtilties’ are manifested in several miniature plays, each itself a pretence of reality,
reflecting Shakespeare’s interest in this aspect of theatre. Prospero stages the banquet of 3.3, the masque of goddesses
in 4.1, and the tableau of Ferdinand and Miranda in 5.1. After the masque he points out to his audiences—both on stage
and in the theatre—that a masque is an illusion. He then adds, in one of Shakespeare’s most famous passages, that
reality is too; we ourselves, we are told, ‘are such stuff! As dreams are made on’ (4.1.156—157). The number of levels
of reality exposed here is startling to contemplate: the goddesses we have just been delighting in are supernatural, but
they are merely portrayed by actors presenting a masque. However, those actors are themselves supernatural, Ariel’s
cohorts. Yet in reminding Ferdinand of this, Prospero reminds us that these sprites are themselves actors, in The
Tempest. Then Prospero goes on to dissolve that reality as well, along with ‘the great globe itself’ (4.1.153). Although
we are not permitted to dwell on this proposition—Prospero immediately dismisses it as merely a ‘vex’d . . . weakness’
(4.1.158—159)—the point has been made, and the many veils of illusion that have been evoked remain to tantalise us.
The shifting realities of The Tempest are appropriate, perhaps even necessary, to its presentation of a
multiplicity of themes. Comparisons of art and nature, imagination and reality, discipline and laxity, civilisation and
savagery combine to yield a powerful image of the moral nature of humankind. At the same time the play’s
extraordinary complexity permits quite differing interpretations of what that nature is. For example, Prospero’s total
control over the events of the play, combined with Ariel’s and Caliban’s desire for freedom from his rule, has
suggested political readings to many commentators, especially in the 20th century, with its concern for oppression and
imperialism. Another modern interpretation, influenced by the advent of psychology, sees the characters as
representing various aspects of Prospero’s unconscious enacting an internal conflict. A related, less scientific idea is
that the play is an allegory of Shakespeare’s own life, or at least of his artistic career. A large body of interpretation has
been devoted to religious readings: the play has been seen as a work of Christian mysticism or as an explication of
ancient pagan mystery cults or of the cabala. Specific interpretations have ranged widely; among other things, The
Tempest has been said to be about Neoplatonism, 16th-century French politics, Renaissance science, the creative
impulse, and the discovery of America.
Obviously, not all of these interpretations can be correct—possibly none of them is—but whether
psychological or political, religious or secular, all reflect an underlying quality of the play. The Tempest is about the
inner nature of human beings revealed in circumstances of crisis and change. The characters are subject to startling
personal transformations: Miranda, Alonso, and Gonzalo are magically put to sleep and awakened; for much of the
play, Alonso is stricken by a grief that is based on an illusion; Ferdinand, faced with Miranda, finds that his ‘spirits, as
in a dream, are all bound up’ (1.2.489), and he forgets his own false mourning. All of the island’s visitors are subjected
to a purging experience of some sort: Ferdinand is put to log-carrying, Stephano and Trinculo find themselves in a
‘pickle’ (5.1.282), the king and his followers are rendered ‘distracted’ (5.1.12). Prospero’s ‘insubstantial pageant’
Page 4 of 7
(4.1.155) is a fitting metaphor for the play’s fluid, transitory world. Not for nothing does Gonzalo rejoice at the end that
‘all of us ourselves / When no man was his own’ (5.1.212—213).
Even Prospero, the agent of transformation in others, is not immune to change, although his occurs
largely before the time of the play. His decision that ‘the rarer action is / In virtue than in vengeance’ (5.1. 27—28)
implies a temptation to avenge himself from which he has refrained. We recognise that he has undergone a series of
changes: from a student of magic, he became a seeker of revenge through it, and finally he has found his way to a
transcendence of’ it. At the end lie abandons his godlike status on the island and, embracing his own humanity, returns
to Milan and his proper position as duke. Like the others, he is subject to alteration in the depths of his being. These
processes of transfiguration enact human possibilities; while The Tempest points out the clay of which we’re made, it
also insists on our divine potential.
Strikingly, however, one character, Antonio, is not transfigured. Shakespeare never accepted a single,
simple point of view on life’s complexities, and The Tempest does not provide a clear and unambiguous conclusion.
Prospero does not entirely succeed in effecting his reconciliation, for Antonio remains silent (except for one snide
witticism). The defeat of evil is not complete; perhaps Prospero’s dry response to Miranda’s ‘0 brave new world’
(5.1.183)—’ ‘Tis new to thee’ (5.1.184)—reflects his awareness of this. And while Prospero brings happiness to others,
he himself remains melancholy. As in the other late plays, Shakespeare in The Tempest acknowledges that an evil once
committed can never be entirely compensated for; there are Antonios who will refuse virtue, and Prosperos who cannot
forget injustice.
Nevertheless, The Tempest has the traditional happy ending of comedy. Prospero is reconciled with
his old enemies—he forgives Antonio despite his intransigence—and reassurance is thus offered that redemption is
possible in a sinful world. The marriage of Ferdinand and Miranda is especially significant in light of this
reconciliation: the daughter of the victim of an injustice marries the son of its perpetrator. The auspiciousness of the
marriage is strengthened by the declaration that the couple will inherit the crown of Naples. The focus on the future
suggests the rebirth of the world.
SOURCES OF THE PLAY
The general situation in The Tempest may derive from the plays of the Italian COMMEDIA DELL’ARTE,
several of which depict seamen shipwrecked on islands inhabited by magicians. However, Shakespeare’s play is much
deeper than these farcical entertainments, and the features that make it so—Ariel and Caliban, Prospero’s relationship
to and forgiveness of his enemies, and the importance of philosophical themes—are the playwright’s inventions.
Although various themes in The Tempest were treated in earlier works, no specific literary or theatrical sources can be
associated with the central material of the play.
Nevertheless, there are various minor sources for particular elements within it. The exploration of the
New World inspired Shakespeare and his contemporaries in many ways, and one event in particular probably
stimulated the playwright’s adoption of a remote island for his drama’s setting. A shipload of Virginia-bound colonists
was wrecked at Bermuda in 1609; a survivor, William STRACHEY, described his experience in a letter—circulated in
manuscript—that Shakespeare read and exploited for The Tempest. The shipwreck in 1.1, Ariel’s description of St
Elmo’s fire in 1.2.196—206, and some other details derive from this document. It was supplemented by two public
accounts of the same disaster, The Discovery of the Bermudas (1610) by Sylvester JOURDAIN and A True Declaration
of the state of the Colony in Virginia (1610), possibly by Dudley DIGGES. Besides offering historical details, these
accounts all emphasise the providential survival of everyone aboard the vessel and the fact that Bermuda, previously
notorious as an abode of devils and other evil spirits, turned out to be a pleasant and productive island. Both themes are
paralleled in Shakespeare’s depiction of Prospero’s realm.
Another essay on the New World was exploited by Shakespeare, though in a different way. As
already mentioned, Montaigne wrote about the native societies being discovered abroad in his essay ‘Of the Cannibals’,
describing them as utopian societies free of the defects of civilisation. Shakespeare apparently respected Montaigne’s
clarity of thought, and it finds expression in Gonzalo’s remarks on ideal government (2.1.143—164)—although
Montaigne’s ideas are rejected in general by the play. A passage in another Montaigne essay, ‘Of Crueltie’, probably
inspired Prospero’s praise of reconciliation in 5.1.25—30. In both cases Shakespeare used John FLORIO’s translation
of Montaigne, Essayes on Morall, Politike, and Millilane Discourses (1603).
Other minor sources supplied additional material. OVID’S Metamorphoses, either in the original
Latin or as translated by Arthur GOLDING, provided much of Prospero’s catalogue of supernatural beings in 5.1.33—
50. Robert EDEN’S History of Travaille (1577) also provided several details, including the name of Caliban’s god,
Setebos. Ferdinand’s delight in the pain of worthwhile labour, in 3.1.1-14, may owe something to a similar passage in
the Confessions of St Augustine (354—430 A.D.). Mucedorus (c. 1590), a comedy revived by the KING’S MEN in
1610 (and later wrongly attributed to Shakespeare), features a ‘wild man’ (a traditional medieval figure) whose savage
Page 5 of 7
nature may have influenced the creation of Caliban. Caliban may also reflect Shakespeare’s reading of ARISTOTLE’S
Nicomachean Ethics. Contemporary demonology and spirit lore, from common opinion as well as literary sources, are
evident throughout; in particular, Reginald SCOT’S Discovery of Witchcraft (1584) may have provided hints for
Ariel’s nature.
TEXT OF THE PLAY
The Tempest was written in late 1610 or 1611, for several of its sources were not available until at least the
late summer of 1610; a performance—not necessarily the first—occurred on November 1, 1611. Some scholars believe
that The Tempest may be a revision of an earlier work by Shakespeare—perhaps from as early as the 1590s—but the
evidence for this theory is highly tenuous, and most modern commentators assume that the play was written in a single
effort.
The play was first published in the FIRST FOLIO (1623). The copy used in printing it was a
transcript of either a PROMPT-ROOK or Shakespeare’s FOUL PAPERS. The transcript—probably made by Ralph
CRANE,
whose idiosyncratic spelling and punctuation are present in the printed text—was probably made expressly for
the Folio printing. As the only early version of the play, the Folio text has served as the basis for all subsequent
editions.
One peculiarity of the Folio text may be suggestive of the circumstances in which the play was
written:
commentators have speculated that the play’s elaborate stage directions may indicate that Shakespeare wrote
the play in STRATFORD. Distant from the workaday world of the theatre, where the desired behaviour on stage could
be established at rehearsals, Shakespeare may have felt compelled to be more specific than in earlier plays. On the other
hand, these directions are like those of the courtly masque, and Shakespeare may have merely intended to stress the
resemblance between masques and his play. It is also possible that the stage directions were not written by Shakespeare
but were added later.
THEATRICAL HISTORY OF THE PLAY
The earliest recorded performance of The Tempest was at the court of King James I on November 1, 1611, and
it was also staged as part of the festivities surrounding the marriage of Princess ELIZABETH in February 1613. (Some
scholars believe that the masque of goddesses in 4.1 may have been added to the play for this performance.) No early
performances in public theatres are recorded, although John DRYDEN remarked—in the preface to his adaptation of
the play— that it had been performed at the BLACKFRIARS THEATRE early in the century. It is believed that
Richard BURBAGE originated the role of Prospero.
Dryden’s adaptation, in which William DAVENANT collaborated, was called The Tempest, or The
Enchanted Island (1667, publ. 1670). Dryden added many characters—including siblings of the opposite sex for
Miranda and Ferdinand, a female monster for Caliban, and a female spirit for Ariel—and little of Shakespeare’s
language was retained. Also, the additions were in good part plagiarised from the Spanish playwright, Pedro Calderón
(1600—1681). Though modem commentators unanimously condemn it, The Enchanted Island was very popular. In
1674 Thomas SHADWELL turned it into an opera, with music by several composers, including Matthew LOCKE; this
work inspired a burlesque, Thomas DUFFET’s The Mock- Tempest, or The Enchanted Castle (1674). In 1690 Henry
Purcell composed a new score for The Enchanted Island. This opera remained popular for a century and continued to
influence later adaptations of The Tempest until well into the 19th century. It was revived in London in 1959, on the
tercentenary of Purcell’s birth.
In 1745 a brief revival of Shakespeare’s play failed, and the Dryden-Davenport version reappeared
the following season. David GARRICK produced another operatic version, The Tempest (1756), with words by
himself and Shakespeare (though very little of the original text was used) and music by John Christopher
Smith (1712—1795). Immense dance numbers—one involving 60 children—were a prominent feature of this
production. However, perhaps repenting, Garrick also staged Shakespeare’s text in 1757, with Hannah PRITCHARD as
Miranda. John Philip KEMBLE revived the Dryden-Davenant version in 1789, but he included some additional
Shakespearean passages and in 1806 restored much more of the original text.
In 1821 Frederic REYNOLDS produced a new version of The Enchanted Island, with William
Charles MACREADY as Prospero and with music from miscellaneous works by seven composers including Purcell,
Mozart, and Rossini. The vogue for such musical pastiches of Shakespeare was past, however, and this production was
not a success. Macready also played Prospero in another revival of the Dryden-Davenant Tempest in 1833, and then in
Page 6 of 7
1838 he staged his own revival of Shakespeare’s play. He cut the dialogue from 1.1 to emphasise a spectacular scenic
rendering of storm and shipwreck but was otherwise reasonably faithful to the text, establishing a tradition that has not
lapsed. He again played Prospero, opposite Helen FAUCIT as Miranda. Charles KEAN staged a less complete but still
wholly Shakespearean text in 1857, playing Prospero in a very elaborate production involving complex ‘scenic
appliances’, as he called them, necessitating more than 140 stagehands. In the same fashion, Samuel PHELPS
presented the play in 1871, with himself as Prospero, in a production featuring a proliferation of peacocks and dancers,
with music by Arne and Purcell. In 1900 F. R. BENSON’S Tempest helped introduce a more modern restraint in
staging, although Beerbohm TREE continued with 19th-century extravagance in his 1904 staging, in which he played
Caliban.
Among 20th-century actors, John GIELGUD has been particularly associated with The Tempest,
playing Prospero in four noteworthy productions: two at the OLD VIC THEATRE (1930, 1940); a STRATFORD
staging by Peter BROOK in 1957, and a London production of 1974. James Earl JONES was acclaimed as Caliban in
Joseph PAPP’S New York Shakespeare Festival presentation (1962). Peter HALL made his directorial debut at
London’s National Theatre with a Tempest production in 1973 and ended his tenure there with another, in 1988.
In an early experiment with FILM, the opening scene of Tree’s production was filmed in 1904, and
the silent screen saw two full-length presentations of the play (1911, 1912). However, The Tempest has only once been
made into a movie with sound—a purposefully bizarre version by Derek Jarman, set in an abandoned church (1970)—
although a famous science-fiction film, The Forbidden Planet (1954), was based on it. In contrast the play has been
done for TELEVISION six times, including a 1960 offering with Maurice EVANS as Prospero and Richard Burton as
Caliban.
Besides the operas mentioned above, The Tempest has inspired a number of other musical creations,
including symphonic fantasies by Hector BERLIOZ (1830) and Peter Ilyich TCHAIKOVSKY (1873), and a setting by
Ralph VAUGHAN WILLIAMS (1951) of Prospero’s ‘revels’ speech and Ariel’s song, ‘Where the bee sucks’ (4.1.
148—158; 5.1.88—94).
Adapted from Boyce, C. Shakespeare A to Z, 1990, New York
Page 7 of 7