Prospero

Character Analysis

Prospero is the ousted Duke of Milan who has been living in exile on a remote island for the
past twelve years. He's also a powerful magician, father of Miranda, master of Ariel and
Caliban, and a guy who really likes his books.

Prospero's Magic

Throughout the play Prospero uses his magic to whip up a dramatic storm, to put on a
dazzling wedding entertainment, to bully his servants, to manipulate his enemies, and to
orchestrate his daughter's marriage to the Prince of Naples.

In other words, our favorite magician is a pretty powerful guy and quite the control freak. (We
might have some control issues too if our own brother stabbed us in the back and stole our
dukedom before we were set adrift at sea.)

Still, before Prospero landed on the island, his devotion to the study of magic got him into big
trouble. While Prospero's nose was buried in his extensive library, his snaky brother
managed to steal his title ("Duke of Milan") and get him thrown out of Italy. So, before
Prospero was physically isolated on the isle, he did a pretty good job of isolating himself
socially by making his "art" (magic) his number one priority. Hmm. Is Shakespeare trying to
tell us something about the dangers of letting one's devotion to mastering his craft consume
him?

Prospero's Art = Shakespeare's Art?

If you think Shakespeare is suggesting that being an artist makes for a lonely life, then you'll
probably want to think about whether or not Prospero is a stand-in for Shakespeare himself.

How does this work, exactly? Well, Prospero uses magic to manipulate and dazzle, just like
Shakespeare. A lot of literary critics think Prospero manipulates the action of The Tempest
like a skillful director. (We talk a lot more about this in "Quotes: Art and Culture.")

Plus, when Prospero renounces his magic, Shakespeare knows The Tempest is the last play
he will write alone. As the sorcerer Prospero breaks his staff, Shakespeare puts down his
pen and it's as though he's speaking about his own retirement from the theater when
Prospero says, "Now my charms are all o'erthrown, / And what strength I have's mine own"
(Epilogue). He asks only that we appreciate what he's done, and humbly takes his leave of
us to disappear quietly, letting his words work magic long after he has gone.

From Bitter Old Man to Merciful Human Being

But not everyone thinks of Prospero as a stand-in for Will Shakespeare. In fact, some
audiences see Prospero as nothing but a bitter tyrant. He's taken Caliban's island in return
for his own lost title, he manipulates his daughter, is cruel to Ferdinand and Caliban, and
kind to Ariel only when the spirit is totally subservient. He also puts his enemies through all
kinds of hell to gather them up so he can judge them.

OK, fine. We're not arguing that Prospero has some serious issues. Still, we do want to point
out a couple of things. Although Prospero does everything in his power to confront his
enemies, he's no Titus Andronicus. (Instead of baking his enemies into a pie, for example,
he just terrifies them a little bit while trying to teach them a lesson.) More importantly, instead
of seeking the kind of blood-and-guts vengeance that could have turned The Tempest into a
"tragedy," Prospero ultimately discovers that the capacity for mercy and forgiveness is what
makes us human.

After learning about the shipwreck survivors' pitiful state, Prospero declares "the rarer action
is / In virtue than in vengeance" (5.1.2). This is a pretty big deal, Shmoopsters. By this point
in his career, Shakespeare made a name for himself writing bummer plays like Hamlet, King
Lear, and Macbeth, where violence and suffering are the names of the game. Yet, in
Prospero, Shakespeare creates a figure who decides to forgive his enemies even though
they have betrayed in the worst possible way. Does this mean Shakespeare has gone soft
on us by the time he pens what is most likely the last play he wrote entirely by himself? We'll
leave that for you to decide.

Caliban
Character Analysis

"Hag-born" "whelp," not "honoured with human shape."

"Demi-devil."

"Poor credulous monster."

"Hag-seed."

"Strange fish."

These are just a few descriptions of Caliban, one of the most debated figures in all of
Shakespeare. Is this cursing, would-be rapist and wannabe killer nothing but a monster? Or,
is this belligerent, iambic pentameter speaking slave worthy of our sympathy? Is Caliban a
response to Montaigne's vision of the "noble savage"? Is he symbolic of the victims of
colonial expansion?
Critical interpretations of Caliban are wildly different and have changed dramatically over the
years. In fact, scholars get pretty fired up about how this character should be interpreted.
Before we get carried away, let's start with what we do know.

Who or What is Caliban?

Caliban is the island's only native. As Prospero tells us, he is the product of the witch
Sycorax's hook-up with the devil and Caliban was "littered" (a word usually used to describe
animals being born, like kittens) on the island after Sycorax was booted out of her home in
Algiers (1.2.35). So, Caliban's life didn't exactly get off to a good start. So, was he born bad,
or did something happen in his life to turn him into a "thing most brutish" (1.2)?

We know that after Prospero and Miranda washed up on shore, Caliban seems to have had
a pretty decent relationship with the old magician. To Prospero Caliban says:

When thou camest first,

Thou strokedst me and madest much of me, wouldst give me
Water with berries in't, and teach me how
To name the bigger light, and how the less,
That burn by day and night: and then I loved thee
And show'd thee all the qualities o' the isle,
The fresh springs, brine-pits, barren place and fertile-- (1.2.3)

In other words, Caliban showed Prospero how to survive on the island and Prospero took
Caliban under his wing and taught him to speak. (Apparently, Caliban had no language
before this.) For a while, things were hunky dory. Or, as hunky dory as things can possibly
be on a remote island. We even learn that Prospero treated Caliban "with human care" and
let him stay at his pad.

So, what changed? Why does Prospero enslave Caliban, punish him with debilitating
stomach cramps, and hurl the kinds of insults that would have most of us running to the
bathroom to cry? Caliban, we learn, tried to rape Miranda in an attempt to "people" the isle
with a bunch of little Calibans (1.2.4). That's pretty inexcusable, so it's clear we're supposed
to be repulsed by Caliban's monstrous behavior and it's easy to see why Prospero treats him
like dirt.

Yet, at the same time, Caliban is also a figure who can be read as a victim of Prospero's
tyranny. When Caliban declares, "This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother" (1.2.3), we're
reminded that Prospero basically took over the island and made Caliban his slave. Caliban's
also feisty and challenges Prospero's authority, which we can't help but admire, especially
when Caliban points out that learning Prospero's language gave him the ability to "curse" his
tormenter.
Regardless of how repulsive Caliban may be, he's also the character who delivers some of
the most beautiful and stunning speeches in the play. (Hello. Did you check out the scene
where Caliban describes the beauty and wonders of the island? Here's a sample:

Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises,

Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices
That, if I then had waked after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again (3.2.18)

This is pretty great poetry, don't you think?)

What's in a Name?

A lot of literary critics say that Caliban's name is an anagram or at least a play on the word
can[n]ibal, a term derived from "carib" (as in the Caribbean), which became a European term
used to describe flesh-eaters. If this is the case, then Caliban's name associates him with the
kinds of "savage" man-eaters that Europeans were reading about in travel literature when
Shakespeare wrote the play.

It's also possible that Caliban's name may be a play on the Romany word "Cauliban," which
means "black" or something associated with blackness. This makes some sense, especially
given that Caliban is associated with darkness throughout the play. Prospero calls his slave
"thou earth" (1.2.42) and says of him, "This thing of darkness / I acknowledge mine" (5.1.20).
By the way, literary critic Kim F. Hall points out that Caliban's association with "darkness and
dirt" is the opposite of Miranda's association with purity and light.

Caliban as a Symbol of Colonial Injustice?

For a lot of critics, Caliban is symbolic of what happened to victims of European colonization
in the centuries after Shakespeare wrote The Tempest. We think Virginia Mason Vaughan
and Alden T. Vaughan do the best job of summing up this argument:

Caliban stands for countless victims of European imperialism and colonization. Like Caliban
(so the argument goes), colonized peoples were disinherited, exploited, and subjugated. Like
him, they learned a conqueror's language and perhaps that conqueror's values. Like him,
they endured enslavement and contempt by European usurpers and eventually rebelled.
Like him, they were torn between their indigenous culture and the culture superimposed on it
by their conquerors. (Shakespeare's Caliban: A Cultural History, 145)

This interpretation of Caliban can be pretty powerful and socially relevant, especially in film
and stage productions where Caliban is portrayed as a colonized, New World subject. Yet,
it's also important to remember, as Vaughan and Vaughan point out, that this "interpretation
of Caliban is symbolic for what he represents to the observer, not for what Shakespeare may
have had in mind."

Born to Serve?

Regardless of whether or not we read Caliban as a victim of colonial injustice, he's most
definitely a slave and, in some ways, the play suggests he was born to be one. Miranda (or
Prospero, depending on which edition of the play you're reading) says as much when she
points out that she helped teach Caliban language:

[...] I pitied thee,

Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour
One thing or other: when thou didst not, savage,
Know thine own meaning, but wouldst gabble like
A thing most brutish, I endow'd thy purposes
With words that made them known. But thy vile race,
Though thou didst learn, had that in't which good natures
Could not abide to be with; therefore wast thou
Deservedly confined into this rock,
Who hadst deserved more than a prison. (1.2.24)

In other words, Miranda suggests that Caliban's "vile race" and lack of language makes him
deserving of his status as a slave. (This, of course, is exactly what European imperialists
said about the people they colonized.) What's interesting is that even Caliban seems like he
lives to serve. When he conspires with Stefano and Trinculo to kill Prospero, he promises to
serve Stefano:

I'll show thee every fertile inch o' th' island;

And I will kiss thy foot: I prithee, be my god. (2.2.11)

Miranda
Character Analysis

Miranda is the virginal, fourteen-year-old daughter of Prospero. (We know her age because
her dad says she wasn't yet three years old when they landed on the island and twelve years
have passed since then. We know she's a virgin because everyone in the play is always
talking about it. Seriously. Check out "Symbols" if you want to know why the play makes
such a big deal about Miranda's V-Card, but come right back.)

After spending a dozen years on a remote island with her old man and the hideous slave
Caliban, Miranda falls in love at first sight the moment she lays her eyes on the oh-so-
dreamy Prince of Naples. What's cool about Miranda is that she's not at all bashful when she
tells her dad she thinks Prince Ferdinand is hot: "I might call him / A thing divine, for nothing
so natural / I ever saw so noble" (1.2.21).
Shakespeare also gives Miranda one of the most hopeful (and famous) lines in the play.
Check out what Miranda says when she spots the shipwreck victims at the end of the play:

O, wonder!
How many goodly creatures are there here!
How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world,
That has such people in't! (5.1.3)

Here, Miranda is the mouthpiece through which Shakespeare expresses the idea that human
beings (and life in general) are pretty marvelous, despite the fact that we are all flawed
creatures. (P.S. Aldous Huxley liked this passage so much that he made the phrase "brave
new world" the title of his famous book.)

We know what you're thinking. Miranda has no real life experience to speak of (hello, she's
been on the isle since she was a baby), so her judgment is questionable at best.

OK, we admit that Miranda is pretty naïve, but that's part of what makes such an endearing
figure. In the play, she represents the guileless innocence of youth and, when she falls in
love Ferdinand, her romantic union is the thing that will bring together Prospero and his
former enemy, the King of Naples.

Although some study guides might tell you that Miranda's a wimp who lets her dad use her
as a pawn, we think she's got a lot of nerve. (That said, it's true that her dad is pretty
manipulative.) When she has the chance, Miranda takes her fate into her own hands. She
declares her love to Ferdinand, thinking her father still hates him. She doesn't know that
Prospero secretly helped the situation along, but she's willing to do what she wants, even
though it could get her into trouble with Daddy. When Prospero pretends to be mad that
Miranda has fallen for Ferdinand, she totally stands up for herself: "My affections/ Are then
most humble. I have no ambition to / To see a see a goodlier man" (1.2.28). The girl isn't
wise in the ways of the world, but she has a brave heart and a spirit to follow it.

Miranda's most important personal qualities might be her ability to feel empathy and
amazement. When we first meet her, she's frantically begging her father to have pity on the
passengers of the storm-tossed ship, which is more than we can say for Prospero (1.1.1). In
fact, she's so worked up that Prospero assures her "Be collected. / No more amazement.
Tell your piteous heart / There's no harm done" (1.1.1).

To be amazed in Shakespeare's day literally meant to be taken with terror – the word comes
from how one would feel when facing a labyrinth, a literal maze. You'd be a bit scared, but
maybe you'd be taken over by the wonder of this unknown thing, and brave enough to go
into it anyway. Amazement might be the most fitting word for this girl – as she faces the
unknown bravely, armed with her good courage and big heart, she finds innocent wonder
and delight.
Miranda's name literally means "that which must be admired" (from mirari – to admire). She
looks on the world with a childlike wonder, which is more than naïveté and might actually just
be the eyes of an artist, able to see the beauty in everything. Admiration is an important word
for Miranda from the other side too, as she isn't the only one doing all the looking: she is
much admired by those who look upon her.

Gonzalo
Character Analysis

In the play's dramatis personae (literally, a list of the "persons of the play"), we're told that
Gonzalo is "an honest old counsellor of Naples." He's travelling with the King's party when
he's shipwrecked with the other passengers on Prospero's island.

The thing to know about Gonzalo is that he's a really good guy with an optimistic outlook on
life – kind of like Dory in Finding Nemo, but with a beard instead of fins. The first time we
meet Gonzalo, he's trying to break up a nasty argument between the royals and the mariners
on deck during the tempest. While everyone around him is bickering and worrying about
drowning, Gonzalo keeps his cool and says he's sure "good Fate" has something other than
drowning in store for everyone on board the ship (1.1.3).

We also know that, when Prospero was booted out of Italy and set adrift with his infant
daughter, Gonzalo was the one who made sure Prospero had enough food and water to
survive. Gonzalo didn't just make sure Prospero would have supplies to physically sustain
him, he also made sure Prospero had fancy linens and books – the kinds of things that
would keep a guy like Prospero comfortable:

By Providence divine.
Some food we had and some fresh water that
A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo,
Out of his charity, being then appointed
Master of this design, did give us, with
Rich garments, linens, stuffs and necessaries,
Which since have steaded much; so, of his gentleness,
Knowing I loved my books, he furnish'd me
From mine own library with volumes that
I prize above my dukedom. (1.2.16)

After washing up on shore, Gonzalo is the one who reminds everybody else that they should
be celebrating because they're alive: "Beseech you, sir, be merry. You have cause / So have
we all, of joy; for our escape is much beyond our loss" (2.1.1). Gonzalo gives voice to the
idea that, despite the (seeming) loss of the ship, the survivors can uncover something even
greater. In fact, this seems to be one of the play's biggest messages. Check out what
Gonzalo has to say at the play's end:
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. (5.1.249-254)

Literary critic Robert Langbaum writes that Gonzalo's speech sums up the philosophy of the
genre of tragicomedy – "that we lose in order to recover something greater, that we die in
order to be reborn to a better life." In other words, violence and tragedy are "all part of a
providential design."

Notice the way Prospero associates Gonzalo with "fate"? Earlier, we saw how Gonzalo
believes that "fate" determined whether or not he and the rest of the party would drown
during the storm. Here, Prospero directly associates Gonzalo with the workings of
"Providence divine," as if Gonzalo is an agent of fate. This is a pretty big deal because, in the
play, we get the sense that some force greater than even Prospero's magic is at work
guiding the lives of each of the characters.

Gonzalo also makes a big utopian speech that literary critics like to compare to a passage
from Montaigne's "Of Cannibals," a famous essay that Shakespeare totally cribbed when he
wrote Gonzalo's lines. We talk about this more in "Symbols" so check it out if you want to
know more.

Ariel
Character Analysis

Ariel is Prospero's "tricksy" spirit servant and attends to Prospero's every need. Unlike
Caliban, Ariel has a (mostly) warm and loving relationship with Prospero, who saved Ariel
when he arrived on the island. (The evil witch Sycorax imprisoned Ariel in a tree because the
"delicate" spirit didn't have the heart to do her bidding.)

Even though Ariel is affectionate toward Prospero, we learn early on that Ariel isn't a servant
by nature; he primarily wants his liberty, but, knowing that it will come, serves Prospero
wholeheartedly and happily.

Ariel is notable for his use of white magic in the play, but also for his empathy and goodness.
These traits are lacking in some of the play's human characters, and Ariel's feelings only
make that fact more conspicuous. Most telling is his report on the three traitors: Antonio,
Sebastian, and Alonso. He claims that their state is so pathetic, if Prospero saw them he
would be moved to mercy and sympathy. Ariel thinks he himself would have that same
tenderness, were he human. While we are reminded that this is a spirit of a not-human
nature, he seems filled with angelic grace – even about human matters.
Check out Ariel's response when Prospero asks how the King and his party are doing:

ARIEL
Your charm so strongly works 'em
That if you now beheld them, your affections
Would become tender.
PROSPERO
Dost thou think so, spirit?
ARIEL
Mine would, sir, were I human.
PROSPERO
And mine shall. (5.1.2)

Whoa! Did you notice what just happened? Prospero's just transformed from a revenge
thirsty magician to a human being with the capacity to forgive his enemies and feel
"tender[ness]" toward those who betrayed him and exiled him to the island. In other words,
Ariel's compassionate spirit is the catalyst for Prospero's change. Without Ariel, Prospero
may never have learned that "the rarer action is / In virtue than in vengeance" (5.1.2).

Ariel performs all of his services with great skill and presentation. From showing up as fire on
the ship to his appearance as a great harpy to the three traitors, Ariel treasures the
aesthetic. He tends to speak in beautifully poetic verse, even about the silliest things, without
ever seeming foolish. Even as he pulls on Prospero's robes, he sings a beautiful little song.
Ariel stands in for all that is delightful and good in the world.

King Alonso of Naples

Character Analysis

Alonso, the King of Naples, is not a particularly good guy, but not a particularly bad one,
either. We know he was an enemy of Prospero, but the first we hear of the King is that he
was easily swayed by Antonio's self-interested flattery. When we properly meet Alonso, we
see he's kind of like any of the kids on My Super Sweet 16 – he's completely self-involved,
easily moved to passion, sorrow, or tears, and even though he doesn't mean to be,
sometimes he is a total jerk.

Alonso is easily moved one way or another, sometimes giving up his son for dead and other
times searching for him doggedly. Gonzalo can sway him in one direction (towards good)
when he speaks, but we know Antonio's wicked flattery also worked on the King before. That
Alonso keeps Antonio and Sebastian, willing traitors, so close to him is evidence that he is at
once trusting and naïve, in addition to being a horrible judge of character.

Unlike many of the other characters here, Alonso is quick to admit when he has done wrong
– so long as he is called out on it first. When Ariel as a harpy reminds King Alonso what he's
done to Prospero and Miranda, the King is genuinely sorrowful. Further, when Alonso sees
Prospero, he's quick to return the man's dukedom. Yet we get the sense that Alonso doesn't
think too much about his actions until he's called to account for them.

Because of his remorse and his willingness to embrace Miranda, his son, and Prospero,
Alonso seems to be a not-all-that-bad kind of guy, just easily influenced by the wrong crowd.
Most importantly, Alonso doesn't really trust his own senses. At the end of the play, he
wonders at his son and can't really wrap his mind around the strange story they've all been
part of. Ultimately, he's just another one of Shakespeare's misguided royals, not the brightest
crayon in the box, easily persuaded, but not altogether bad.

Prince Ferdinand
Character Analysis

Prince Ferdinand is Alonso's son and the heir to the throne of Naples. He is quick to love,
and seemingly quick to forget his father's "death," but it does seem that his heart is true and
his affections, though quick, are genuine. He does have a sort of princely arrogance about
him. (He may be a prince, but a little humility never killed anybody.)

We learn about Ferdinand mostly through his efforts to gain Miranda from Prospero.
Ferdinand is happy in his labors, blinded by love, and quick to promise the title of queen and
wife to a girl before he even knows her name. He also vows to stay true to her father,
Prospero, and not violate Miranda's chastity before their wedding night – maybe because
he's a good guy, maybe because Prospero threatens that the heavens will rain down fire and
brimstone on him.

You can't say much about Ferdinand because he doesn't say or do much, besides mooning
in love. Still, he does seem easy to love, earnest, and good above all else. (And we needed
a little bit of that in the play, didn't we?)

Sebastian and Antonio

Character Analysis

This pair can mainly be dealt with together, since nearly all of their lines are together, and
their action is matched. They're also in similar positions, as both are traitorous younger
brothers. Antonio is Prospero's brother, who betrayed him to have the dukedom; Sebastian
is younger brother to King Alonso of Naples, and is interested in stealing Alonso's throne.
They work well together because Sebastian is prone to fooling around in a mean-spirited
way and Antonio earns Sebastian's trust and respect by also being a horrible human being.
When Sebastian is moved to murder his own brother, it is at the suggestion of the traitorous
Antonio.

In their last lines in the play, Sebastian and Antonio mock Trinculo and Stefano (who are
basically their reflections). They show they have learned absolutely nothing, have no
remorse, and do not wish to be forgiven, because they see nothing wrong with themselves.
Their plot against the King, their lack of remorse, and their wickedness in general
characterize them as bad seeds.

The entertaining part of this pair is their jesting with words and ideas. They have no
boundaries on the horrible things they'll say, and they make fun of everything, usually
cleverly and with great effect. Basically, we find them disgusting, but fascinating to watch.