Compact Anthology of World Literature [Enter Trinculo.] 1030 Lo, now, lo! 1035 Here comes a spirit of his, and to torment me 1040 For bringing wood in slowly. I’ll fall flat; 1045 Perchance he will not mind me. 1050 Trin. 1055 Here’s neither bush nor shrub, to bear off any weather 1060 at all, and another storm brewing; I hear it sing i’ 1065 the wind: yond same black cloud, yond huge one, looks like a foul bombard that would shed his liquor. 1070 If it should thunder as it did before, I know not where to 1075 hide my head: yond same cloud cannot choose but fall by pailfuls. What have we here? a man or a fish? dead or alive? A fish: he smells like a fish; a very ancient and fish-like smell; a kind of not of the newest Poor-John. A strange fish! Were I in England now, as once I was, and had but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a piece of silver: there would this monster make a man; any strange beast there makes a man: when they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian. Legged like a man! and his fins like arms! Warm o’ my troth! I do now let loose my opinion; hold it no longer: this is no fish, but an islander, that hath lately suffered by a thunderbolt. [Thunder.] Alas, the storm is come again! my best way is to creep under his gaberdine; there is no other shelter hereabout: misery acquaints a man with strange bed-fellows. I will here shroud till the dregs of the storm be past. [Enter Stephano, singing: a bottle in his hand.] Ste. I shall no more to sea, to sea, Here shall I die a-shore,— This is a very scurvy tune to sing at a man’s funeral: well, here’s my comfort. [Drinks.] [Sings.] The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I, The gunner, and his mate, Loved Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery, But none of us cared for Kate; For she had a tongue with a tang, Would cry to a sailor, Go hang! She loved not the savour of tar nor of pitch; Yet a tailor might scratch her where’er she did itch. Then, to sea, boys, and let her go hang! This is a scurvy tune too: but here’s my comfort. [Drinks.] Do not torment me:—O! Cal. What’s the matter? Have we devils here? Do you Ste. put tricks upon ’s with savages and men of Ind, ha? I have not scaped drowning, to be afeard now 288 of your four legs; for it hath been said, As proper a man as ever went on four legs cannot make him give ground; and it shall be said so again, while Stephano breathes at’s nostrils.
The Tempest Cal. 1080 The spirit torments me:—O! 1085 1090 Ste. 1095 This is some monster of the isle with four legs, 1100 who hath got, as I take it, an ague. Where the devil 1105 should he learn our language? I will give him some relief, if it be but for that. If I can recover him, and 1110 keep him tame, and get to Naples with him, he’s a present for any emperor that ever trod on neat’s-leather. Cal. Do not torment me, prithee; I’ll bring my wood home faster. Ste. He’s in his fit now, and does not talk after the wisest. He shall taste of my bottle: if he have never drunk wine afore, it will go near to remove his fit. If I can recover him, and keep him tame, I will not take too much for him; he shall pay for him that hath him, and that soundly. Cal. Thou dost me yet but little hurt; thou wilt anon, I know it by thy trembling: now Prosper works upon thee. Come on your ways; open your mouth; here is Ste. that which will give language to you, cat: open your mouth; this will shake your shaking, I can tell you, and that soundly: you cannot tell who’s your friend: open your chaps again. I should know that voice: it should be—but he Trin. is drowned; and these are devils:—O defend me! Ste. Four legs and two voices,—a most delicate monster! His forward voice, now, is to speak well of his friend; his backward voice is to utter foul speeches and to detract. If all the wine in my bottle will recover him, I will help his ague. Come:—Amen! I will pour some in thy other mouth. Stephano! Trin. Doth thy other mouth call me? Mercy, mercy! Ste. This is a devil, and no monster: I will leave him; I have no long spoon. Stephano! If thou beest Stephano, touch me, Trin. and speak to me; for I am Trinculo,—be not afeard, —thy good friend Trinculo. 289
Compact Anthology of World Literature Ste. 1115 If thou beest Trinculo, come forth: I’ll pull thee 1120 by the lesser legs: if any be Trinculo’s legs, these are they. 1125 Thou art very Trinculo indeed! How earnest thou to be 1130 the siege of this moon-calf? can he vent Trinculos? 1135 I took him to be killed with a thunder-stroke. Trin. 1140 But art thou not drowned, Stephano? I hope, now, thou art not drowned. Is the storm overblown? I hid me under the dead moon-calf ’s gaberdine for fear of the storm. And art thou living, Stephano? O Stephano, two Neapolitans scaped! Ste. Prithee, do not turn me about; my stomach is not constant. [aside] These be fine things, an if they be not sprites. Cal. That’s a brave god, and bears celestial liquor: I will kneel to him. How didst thou ’scape? How camest thou hither? Ste. swear, by this bottle, how thou camest hither. I escaped upon a butt of sack, which the sailors heaved o’erboard, by this bottle! which I made of the bark of a tree with mine own hands, since I was cast ashore. Cal. I’ll swear, upon that bottle, to be thy true subject; for the liquor is not earthly. Here; swear, then, how thou escapedst. Ste. Trin. Swum ashore, man, like a duck: I can swim like a duck, I’ll be sworn. Here, kiss the book. Though thou canst swim like a Ste. duck, thou art made like a goose. O Stephano, hast any more of this? Trin. Ste. The whole butt, man: my cellar is in a rock by the sea-side, where my wine is hid. How now, moon-calf! how does thine ague? Hast thou not dropp’d from heaven? Cal. 290
The Tempest Out o’ the moon, I do assure thee: I was the man i’ Ste. 1145 the moon when time was. 1150 1155 Cal. 1160 I have seen thee in her, and I do adore thee: My mistress show’d me thee, and thy dog, and thy bush. 1165 1170 Come, swear to that; kiss the book: I will furnish it Ste. anon with new contents: swear. By this good light, this is a very shallow monster! Trin. I afeard of him! A very weak monster! The man i’ the moon! A most poor credulous monster! Well drawn, monster, in good sooth! I’ll show thee every fertile inch o’ th’ island; Cal. And I will kiss thy foot: I prithee, be my god. Trin. By this light, a most perfidious and drunken monster! when’s god’s asleep, he’ll rob his bottle. I’ll kiss thy foot; I’ll swear myself thy subject. Cal. Come on, then; down, and swear. Ste. Trin. I shall laugh myself to death at this puppy-headed monster. A most scurvy monster! I could find in my heart to beat him,— Come, kiss. Ste. Trin. But that the poor monster’s in drink: an abominable monster! I’ll show thee the best springs; I’ll pluck thee berries; Cal. I’ll fish for thee, and get thee wood enough. A plague upon the tyrant that I serve! I’ll bear him no more sticks, but follow thee, Thou wondrous man. A most ridiculous monster, to make a wonder Trin. of a poor drunkard! I prithee, let me bring thee where crabs grow; Cal. And I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts; 291
Compact Anthology of World Literature Show thee a jay’s nest, and instruct thee how 1175 To snare the nimble marmoset; I’ll bring thee 1180 To clustering filberts, and sometimes I’ll get thee Young scamels from the rock. Wilt thou go with me? 1185 1190 Ste. I prithee now, lead the way, without any more talking. 1195 Trinculo, the king and all our company else being drowned, 1200 we will inherit here: here; bear my bottle: fellow Trinculo, 1205 we’ll fill him by and by again. 1210 Cal. [sings drunkenly.] Farewell, master; farewell, farewell! A howling monster; a drunken monster! Trin. Cal. No more dams I’ll make for fish; Nor fetch in firing At requiring; Nor scrape trencher, nor wash dish: ’Ban, ’Ban, Cacaliban Has a new master:—get a new man. Freedom, hey-day! hey-day, freedom! freedom, hey-day, freedom! O brave monster! Lead the way. [Exeunt.] Ste. ACT III Scene I—Before Prospero’s cell [Enter Ferdinand, bearing a log.] Fer. There be some sports are painful, and their labour Delight in them sets off: some kinds of baseness Are nobly undergone, and most poor matters Point to rich ends. This my mean task Would be as heavy to me as odious, but The mistress which I serve quickens what’s dead, And makes my labours pleasures: O, she is Ten times more gentle than her father’s crabbed. And he’s composed of harshness. I must remove Some thousands of these logs, and pile them up, Upon a sore injunction: my sweet mistress Weeps when she sees me work, and says, such baseness Had never like executor. I forget: But these sweet thoughts do even refresh my labours, Most busy lest, when I do it. [Enter Miranda; and Prospero at a distance, unseen.] Alas, now, pray you, Mir. Work not so hard: I would the lightning had Burnt up those logs that you are enjoin’d to pile! Pray, set it down, and rest you: when this burns, 292
The Tempest ’Twill weep for having wearied you. My father Fer. 1215 Is hard at study; pray, now, rest yourself; Mir. He’s safe for these three hours. Fer. 1220 O most dear mistress, 1225 The sun will set before I shall discharge Mir. What I must strive to do. 1230 If you’ll sit down, Pros. I’ll bear your logs the while: pray, give me that; Mir. 1235 I’ll carry it to the pile. Fer. 1240 No, precious creature; 1245 I had rather crack my sinews, break my back, Mir. Than you should such dishonour undergo, Fer. While I sit lazy by. It would become me As well as it does you: and I should do it With much more ease; for my good will is to it, And yours it is against. Poor worm, thou art infected! This visitation shows it. You look wearily. No, noble mistress; ’tis fresh morning with me When you are by at night. I do beseech you,— Chiefly that I might set it in my prayers,— What is your name? Miranda.—O my father, I have broke your hest to say so! Admired Miranda! Indeed the top of admiration! worth What’s dearest to the world! Full many a lady I have eyed with best regard, and many a time The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage Brought my too diligent ear: for several virtues Have I liked several women; never any With so full soul, but some defect in her Did quarrel with the noblest grace she owed, And put it to the foil: but you, O you, So perfect and so peerless, are created Of every creature’s best! 293
Compact Anthology of World Literature I do not know Mir. 1250 One of my sex; no woman’s face remember, 1255 Save, from my glass, mine own; nor have I seen Fer. 1260 More that I may call men than you, good friend, 1265 And my dear father: how features are abroad, Mir. 1270 I am skilless of; but, by my modesty, Fer. 1275 The jewel in my dower, I would not wish Any companion in the world but you; Mir. 1280 Nor can imagination form a shape, Pros. Besides yourself, to like of. But I prattle Fer. 1285 Something too wildly, and my father’s precepts Mir. 1290 I therein do forget. I am, in my condition, A prince, Miranda; I do think, a king; I would, not so!—and would no more endure This wooden slavery than to suffer The flesh-fly blow my mouth. Hear my soul speak: The very instant that I saw you, did My heart fly to your service; there resides, To make me slave to it; and for your sake Am I this patient log-man. Do you love me? O heaven, O earth, bear witness to this sound, And crown what I profess with kind event, If I speak true! if hollowly, invert What best is boded me to mischief! I, Beyond all limit of what else i’ the world, Do love, prize, honour you. I am a fool To weep at what I am glad of. Fair encounter Of two most rare affections! Heavens rain grace On that which breeds between ’em! Wherefore weep you? At mine unworthiness, that dare not offer What I desire to give; and much less take 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 294
The Tempest You may deny me; but I’ll be your servant, Whether you will or no. My mistress, dearest; Fer. And I thus humble ever. My husband, then? Mir. 1295 Ay, with a heart as willing Fer. As bondage e’er of freedom: here’s my hand. And mine, with my heart in’t: and now farewell Mir. Till half an hour hence. A thousand thousand! Fer. 1300 [Exeunt Fer. and Mir. severally.] Pros. So glad of this as they I cannot be, Who are surprised withal; 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.] 1305 Scene II—Another part of the island [Enter Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo.] Ste. Tell not me;—when the butt is out, we will drink water; not a drop before: therefore bear up, and board ’em. Servant-monster, drink to me. Servant-monster! the folly of this island! They say Trin. there’s but five upon this isle: we are three of them; if th’ other two be brained like us, the state totters. 1310 1315 Drink, servant-monster, when I bid thee: thy eyes Ste. 1320 are almost set in thy head. Where should they be set else? he were a brave Trin. monster indeed, if they were set in his tail. My man-monster hath drowned his tongue in sack: Ste. for my part, the sea cannot drown me; I swam, ere I could recover the shore, five-and-thirty leagues off and on. By this light, thou shalt be my lieutenant, monster, or my standard. 295
Compact Anthology of World Literature Your lieutenant, if you list; he’s no standard. Trin. We’ll not run, Monsieur Monster. Ste. Nor go neither; but you’ll lie, like dogs, and yet say Trin. nothing neither. Moon-calf, speak once in thy life, if thou beest Ste. 1325 a good moon-calf. 1330 1335 How does thy honour? Let me lick thy shoe. Cal. I’ll not serve him, he is not valiant. 1340 1345 Trin. Thou liest, most ignorant monster: I am in case to justle a constable. Why, thou debauched fish, thou, was there ever man a coward that hath drunk so much sack as I to-day? Wilt thou tell a monstrous lie, being but half a fish and half a monster? Lo, how he mocks me! wilt thou let him, my lord? Cal. Trin. ‘Lord,’ quoth he! That a monster should be such a natural! Lo, lo, again! bite him to death, I prithee. Cal. Trinculo, keep a good tongue in your head: if you Ste. prove a mutineer,—the next tree! The poor monster’s my subject, and he shall not suffer indignity. I thank my noble lord. Wilt thou be pleased to Cal. hearken once again to the suit I made to thee? Ste. Marry, will I: kneel and repeat it; I will stand, and so shall Trinculo. [Enter Ariel, invisible.] Cal. As I told thee before, I am subject to a tyrant, a sorcerer, that by his cunning hath cheated me of the island. Thou liest. Ari. Thou liest, thou jesting monkey, thou: Cal. I would my valiant master would destroy thee! I do not lie. 296
The Tempest Trinculo, if you trouble him any more in’s tale, Ste. 1350 by this hand, I will supplant some of your teeth. 1355 1360 Why, I said nothing. Trin. 1365 1370 Mum, then, and no more. Proceed. Ste. 1375 I say, by sorcery he got this isle; Cal. From me he got it. If thy greatness will Revenge it on him,—for I know thou darest, But this thing dare not,— That’s most certain. Ste. Thou shalt be lord of it, and I’ll serve thee. Cal. How now shall this be compassed? Canst thou Ste. bring me to the party? Yea, yea, my lord: I’ll yield him thee asleep, Cal. Where thou mayst knock a nail into his head. Thou liest; thou canst not. Ari. Cal. What a pied ninny’s this! Thou scurvy patch! I do beseech thy Greatness, give him blows, And take his bottle from him: when that’s gone, He shall drink nought but brine; for I’ll not show him Where the quick freshes are. Ste. Trinculo, run into no further danger: interrupt the monster one word further, and, by this hand, I’ll turn my mercy out o’ doors, and make a stock-fish of thee. Why, what did I? I did nothing. I’ll go farther off. Trin. Didst thou not say he lied? Ste. Thou liest. Ari. Ste. Do I so? take thou that. [Beats him.] As you like this, give me the lie another time. 297
Compact Anthology of World Literature Trin. 1380 I did not give the lie. Out o’ your wits, and hearing too? A pox o’ your bottle! this can sack and drinking do. 1385 A murrain on your monster, and the devil take your fingers! 1390 1395 Ha, ha, ha! Cal. 1400 Ste. 1405 Now, forward with your tale.—Prithee, stand farther off. 1410 Cal. Beat him enough: after a little time, I’ll beat him too. Stand farther. Come, proceed. Ste. Why, as I told thee, ’tis a custom with him Cal. I’ th’ afternoon to sleep: there thou mayst brain him, Having first seized his books; or with a log Batter his skull, or paunch him with a stake, Or cut his wezand with thy knife. Remember First to possess his books; for without them He’s but a sot, as I am, nor hath not One spirit to command: they all do hate him As rootedly as I. Burn but his books. He has brave utensils,—for so he calls them,— Which, when he has a house, he’ll deck withal. And that most deeply to consider is The beauty of his daughter; he himself Calls her a nonpareil: I never saw a woman, But only Sycorax my dam and she; But she as far surpasseth Sycorax As great’st does least. Is it so brave a lass? Ste. Ay, lord; she will become thy bed, I warrant, Cal. And bring thee forth brave brood. Ste. Monster, I will kill this man: his daughter and I will be king and queen,—save our Graces!—and Trinculo and thyself shall be viceroys. Dost thou like the plot, Trinculo? Excellent. Trin. Give me thy hand: I am sorry I beat thee; but, Ste. while thou livest, keep a good tongue in thy head. Within this half hour will he be asleep: Cal. Wilt thou destroy him then? 298
The Tempest Ay, on mine honour. Ste. This will I tell my master. Ari. Thou makest me merry; I am full of pleasure: Cal. 1415 Let us be jocund: will you troll the catch 1420 You taught me but while-ere? 1425 At thy request, monster, I will do reason, any reason. Ste. —Come on. Trinculo, let us sing. [Sings.] 1430 Flout ’em and scout ’em, and scout ’em and flout ’em; 1435 Thought is free. 1440 That’s not the tune. Cal. [Ariel plays the tune on a tabor and pipe.] What is this same? Ste. Trin. This is the tune of our catch, played by the picture of Nobody. If thou beest a man, show thyself in thy likeness: Ste. if thou beest a devil, take’t as thou list. O, forgive me my sins! Trin. Ste. He that dies pays all debts: I defy thee. Mercy upon us! Art thou afeard? Cal. No, monster, not I. Ste. Cal. 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: and then, in dreaming, The clouds methought would open, and show riches Ready to drop upon me; that, when I waked, I cried to dream again. This will prove a brave kingdom to me, where Ste. I shall have my music for nothing. 299
Compact Anthology of World Literature When Prospero is destroyed. Cal. That shall be by and by: I remember the story. Ste. Trin. The sound is going away; let’s follow it, and after do our work. Lead, monster; we’ll follow. I would I could see Ste. 1445 this taborer; he lays it on. 1450 Wilt come? I’ll follow, Stephano. [Exeunt.] Trin. 1455 1460 Scene III—Another part of the island 1465 [Enter Alonso, Sebastian, Antonio, Gonzalo, Adrian, Francisco, and others.] Gon. By’r lakin, I can go no further, sir; My old bones ache: here’s a maze trod, indeed, Through forth-rights and meanders! By your patience, I needs must rest me. Old lord, I cannot blame thee, Alon. Who am myself attach’d with weariness, To the dulling of my spirits: sit down, and rest. Even here I will put off my hope, and keep it No longer for my flatterer: he is drown’d Whom thus we stray to find; and the sea mocks Our frustrate search on land. Well, let him go. [Aside to Seb.] Ant. I am right glad that he’s so out of hope. Do not, for one repulse, forego the purpose That you resolved to effect. [Aside to Ant.] Seb. The next advantage Will we take throughly. [Aside to Seb.] Ant. Let it be to-night; For, now they are oppress’d with travel, they Will not, nor cannot, use such vigilance As when they are fresh. [Aside to Ant.] Seb. I say, to-night: no more. [Solemn and strange music.] 300
The Tempest Alon. 1470 What harmony is this?—My good friends, hark! Gon. Marvellous sweet music! 1475 [Enter Prospero above, invisible. Enter several 1480 strange Shapes, bringing in a banquet: they dance 1485 about it with gentle actions of salutation; and, inviting 1490 the King, &c. to eat, they depart.] 1495 Alon. Give us kind keepers, heavens!—What were these? A living drollery. Now I will believe Seb. That there are unicorns; that in Arabia There is one tree, the phœnix’ throne; one phœnix At this hour reigning there. I’ll believe both; Ant. And what does else want credit, come to me, And I’ll be sworn ’tis true: travellers ne’er did lie, Though fools at home condemn ’em. If in Naples Gon. I should report this now, would they believe me? If I should say, I saw such islanders,— For, certes, these are people of the island,— Who, though they are of monstrous shape, yet, note, Their manners are more gentle-kind than of Our human generation you shall find Many, nay, almost any. [Aside] Pros. Honest lord, Thou hast said well; for some of you there present Are worse than devils. Alon. I cannot too much muse Such shapes, such gesture, and such sound, expressing— Although they want the use of tongue—a kind Of excellent dumb discourse. [Aside] Pros. Praise in departing. They vanish’d strangely. Fran. Seb. No matter, since They have left their viands behind; for we have stomachs.— Will’t please you taste of what is here? 301
Compact Anthology of World Literature Not I. Alon. 1500 1505 Gon. 1510 Faith, sir, you need not fear. When we were boys, Who would believe that there were mountaineers 1515 Dew-lapp’d like bulls, whose throats had hanging at ’em 1520 Wallets of flesh? or that there were such men 1525 Whose heads stood in their breasts? which now we find 1530 Each putter-out of five for one will bring us 1535 Good warrant of. 1540 Alon. I will stand to, and feed, Although my last: no matter, since I feel The best is past. Brother, my lord the duke, Stand to, and do as we. [Thunder and lightning. Enter Ariel, like a harpy; claps his wings upon the table; and, with a quaint device, the banquet vanishes.] Ari. You are three men of sin, whom Destiny,— That hath to instrument this lower world And what is in’t,—the never-surfeited sea Hath caused to belch up you; and on this island, Where man doth not inhabit,—you ’mongst men Being most unfit to live. I have made you mad; And even with such-like valour men hang and drown Their proper selves. [Alon., Seb. &c. draw their swords.] You fools! I and my fellows Are ministers of Fate: the elements, Of whom your swords are temper’d, may as well Wound the loud winds, or with bemock’d-at stabs Kill the still-closing waters, as diminish One dowle that’s in my plume: my fellow-ministers Are like invulnerable. If you could hurt, Your swords are now too massy for your strengths, And will not be uplifted. But remember,— For that’s my business to you,—that you three From Milan did supplant good Prospero; Exposed unto the sea, which hath requit it, Him and his innocent child: for which foul deed The powers, delaying, not forgetting, have Incensed the seas and shores, yea, all the creatures, Against your peace. Thee of thy son, Alonso, They have bereft; and do pronounce by me: Lingering perdition—worse than any death Can be at once—shall step by step attend You and your ways; whose wraths to guard you from,— Which here, in this most desolate isle, else falls Upon your heads,—is nothing but heart-sorrow And a clear life ensuing. [He vanishes in thunder; then, to soft music, enter the Shapes again, and dance, with mocks and mows, and carrying out the table.] 302
The Tempest Pros. 1545 Bravely the figure of this harpy hast thou 1550 Perform’d, my Ariel; a grace it had, devouring: 1555 Of my instruction hast thou nothing bated 1560 In what thou hadst to say: so, with good life 1565 And observation strange, my meaner ministers Their several kinds have done. My high charms work, 1570 And these mine enemies are all knit up In their distractions: they now are in my power; 1575 And in these fits I leave them, while I visit Young Ferdinand,—whom they suppose is drown’d,— And his and mine loved darling. [Exit above.] I’ the name of something holy, sir, why stand you Gon. In this strange stare? O, it is monstrous, monstrous! Alon. Methought the billows spoke, and told me of it; The winds did sing it to me; and the thunder, That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounced The name of Prosper: it did bass my trespass. Therefore my son i’ th’ ooze is bedded; and I’ll seek him deeper than e’er plummet sounded, And with him there lie mudded. [Exit.] But one fiend at a time, Seb. I’ll fight their legions o’er. I’ll be thy second. Ant. [Exeunt Seb. and Ant.] All three of them are desperate: their great guilt, Gon. Like poison given to work a great time after, Now ’gins to bite the spirits. I do beseech you, That are of suppler joints, follow them swiftly, And hinder them from what this ecstasy May now provoke them to. Follow, I pray you. [Exeunt.] Adr. ACT IV Scene I—Before Prospero’s cell [Enter Prospero, Ferdinand, and Miranda.] If I have too austerely punish’d you, Pros. Your compensation makes amends; for I Have given you here a third of mine own life, Or that for which I live; who once again I tender to thy hand: all thy vexations 303
Compact Anthology of World Literature Were but my trials of thy love, and thou 1580 Hast strangely stood the test: here, afore Heaven, 1585 I ratify this my rich gift. O Ferdinand, 1590 Do not smile at me that I boast her off, 1595 For thou shalt find she will outstrip all praise, 1600 And make it halt behind her. 1605 I do believe it Fer. 1610 Against an oracle. 1615 Then, as my gift, and thine own acquisition Pros. Worthily purchased, take my daughter: but If thou dost break her virgin-knot before All sanctimonious ceremonies may With full and holy rite be minister’d, No sweet aspersion shall the heavens let fall To make this contract grow; but barren hate, Sour-eyed disdain and discord shall bestrew 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. As I hope Fer. For quiet days, fair issue and long life, With such love as ’tis now, the murkiest den, The most opportune place, the strong’st 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 Phœbus’ steeds are founder’d, Or Night kept chain’d below. Fairly spoke. Pros. Sit, then, and talk with her; she is thine own. What, Ariel! my industrious servant, Ariel! [Enter Ariel.] What would my potent master? here I am. Ari. Thou and thy meaner fellows your last service Pros. 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 this place: Incite them to quick motion; for I must Bestow upon the eyes of this young couple Some vanity of mine art: it is my promise, And they expect it from me. Presently? Ari. 304
The Tempest Ay, with a twink. Pros. 1620 1625 Before you can say, ‘come,’ and ‘go,’ Ari. And breathe twice, and cry, ‘so, so,’ 1630 Each one, tripping on his toe, 1635 Will be here with mop and mow. Do you love me, master? no? 1640 1645 Dearly, my delicate Ariel. Do not approach Pros. 1650 Till thou dost hear me call. 1655 Well, I conceive. [Exit.] Ari. Look thou be true; do not give dalliance Pros. Too much the rein: the strongest oaths are straw To the fire i’ the blood: be more abstemious, Or else, good night your vow! I warrant you, sir; Fer. The white cold virgin snow upon my heart Abates the ardour of my liver. Well. Pros. Now come, my Ariel! bring a corollary, Rather than want a spirit: appear, and pertly! No tongue! all eyes! be silent. [Soft music.] [Enter Iris.] Iris Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and pease; Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep, And flat meads thatch’d with stover, them to keep; Thy banks with pioned and twilled brims, Which spongy April at thy best betrims, To make cold nymphs chaste crowns; and thy broom-groves, Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves, Being lass-lorn; thy pole-clipt vineyard; And thy sea-marge, sterile and rocky-hard, Where thou thyself dost air;—the queen o’ the sky, Whose watery arch and messenger am I, Bids thee leave these; and with her sovereign grace, Here on this grass-plot, in this very place, To come and sport:—her peacocks fly amain: Approach, rich Ceres, her to entertain. [Enter Ceres.] Hail, many-colour’d messenger, that ne’er Cer. Dost disobey the wife of Jupiter; 305
Compact Anthology of World Literature Who, with thy saffron wings, upon my flowers 1660 Diffusest honey-drops, refreshing showers; 1665 And with each end of thy blue bow dost crown 1670 My bosky acres and my unshrubb’d down, 1675 Rich scarf to my proud earth;—why hath thy queen 1680 Summon’d me hither, to this short-grass’d green? 1685 A contract of true love to celebrate; Iris 1690 And some donation freely to estate 1695 On the blest lovers. Tell me, heavenly bow, Cer. If Venus or her son, as thou dost know, Do now attend the queen? Since they did plot The means that dusky Dis my daughter got, Her and her blind boy’s scandal’d company I have forsworn. Iris Of her society Be not afraid: I 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-right shall be paid Till Hymen’s torch be lighted: but in vain; Mars’s hot minion is returned again; Her waspish-headed son has broke his arrows, Swears he will shoot no more, but play with sparrows, And be a boy right out. High’st queen of state, Cer. Great Juno, comes; I know her by her gait. [Enter Juno.] How does my bounteous sister? Go with me Juno To bless this twain, that they may prosperous be, And honour’d in their issue. [They sing:] Honour, riches, marriage-blessing, Juno Long continuance, and increasing, Hourly joys be still upon you! Juno sings her blessings on you. Earth’s increase, foison plenty, Cer. Barns and garners never empty; Vines with clustering bunches growing; Plants with goodly burthen bowing; Spring come to you at the farthest In the very end of harvest! 306
The Tempest Scarcity and want shall shun you; 1700 Ceres’ blessing so is on you. 1705 This is a most majestic vision, and Fer. 1710 Harmonious charmingly. May I be bold 1715 To think these spirits? 1720 Spirits, which by mine art Pros. 1725 I have from their confines call’d to enact 1730 My present fancies. Fer. Let me live here ever; So rare a wonder’d father and a wife Makes this place Paradise. [Juno and Ceres whisper, and send Iris on employment.] Sweet, now, silence! Pros. Juno and Ceres whisper seriously; There’s something else to do: hush, and be mute, Or else our spell is marr’d. You nymphs, call’d Naiads, of the windring brooks, Iris With your sedged crowns and ever-harmless looks, Leave your crisp channels, and on this green land Answer your summons; Juno does command: Come, temperate nymphs, and help to celebrate A contract of true love; be not too late [Enter certain Nymphs.] You sunburnt sicklemen, of August weary, Come hither from the furrow, and be merry: Make holiday; your rye-straw hats put on, And these fresh nymphs encounter every one In country footing. [Enter certain Reapers, properly habited: they join with the Nymphs in a graceful dance; towards the end whereof Prospero starts suddenly, and speaks; after which, to a strange, hollow, and confused noise, they heavily vanish.] Pros. [Aside] I had forgot that foul conspiracy Of the beast Caliban and his confederates Against my life: the minute of their plot Is almost come. [To the Spirits.] Well done! avoid; no more! This is strange: your father’s in some passion Fer. That works him strongly. Never till this day Mir. Saw I him touch’d with anger so distemper’d. 307
Compact Anthology of World Literature You do look, my son, in a moved sort, Pros. As if you were dismay’d: be cheerful, sir. Our revels now are ended. These our actors, 1735 As I foretold you, were all spirits, and 1740 Are melted into air, into thin air: 1745 And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on; and our little life Is rounded with a sleep. Sir, I am vex’d; Bear with my weakness; my old brain is troubled: Be not disturb’d with my infirmity: If you be pleased, retire into my cell, And there repose: a turn or two I’ll walk, To still my beating mind. Fer. Mir. We wish your peace. [Exeunt.] 1750 Come with a thought. I thank thee, Ariel: come. Pros. [Enter Ariel.] Thy thoughts I cleave to. What’s thy pleasure? Ari. Spirit, Pros. We must prepare to meet with Caliban. Ay, my commander: when I presented Ceres, Ari. 1755 I thought to have told thee of it; but I fear’d Lest I might anger thee. Say again, where didst thou leave these varlets? Pros. Ari. 1760 I told you, sir, they were red-hot with drinking; 1765 So full of valour that they smote the air 1770 For breathing in their faces; beat the ground For kissing of their feet; yet always bending Towards their project. Then I beat my tabor; At which, like unback’d colts, they prick’d their ears, Advanced their eyelids, lifted up their noses As they smelt music: so I charm’d their ears, That, calf-like, they my lowing follow’d through Tooth’d briers, sharp furzes, pricking goss, and thorns, Which enter’d their frail shins: at last I left them I’ the filthy-mantled pool beyond your cell, There dancing up to the chins, that the foul lake O’erstunk their feet. 308
The Tempest This was well done, my bird. Pros. Thy shape invisible retain thou still: The trumpery in my house, go bring it hither, 1775 For stale to catch these thieves. 1780 1785 I go, I go. [Exit.] Ari. 1790 1795 A devil, a born devil, on whose nature Pros. 1800 Nurture can never stick; on whom my pains, Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost; And as with age his body uglier grows, So his mind cankers. I will plague them all, Even to roaring. [Re-enter Ariel, loaden with glistering apparel, &c.] Come, hang them on this line. [Prospero and Ariel remain, invisible. Enter Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo, all wet.] Pray you, tread softly, that the blind mole may not Cal. Hear a foot fall: we now are near his cell. Ste. Monster, your fairy, which you say is a harmless fairy, has done little better than played the Jack with us. Trin. Monster, I do smell all horse-piss; at which my nose is in great indignation. So is mine. Do you hear, monster? If I should Ste. take a displeasure against you, look you,— Thou wert but a lost monster. Trin. Cal. Good my lord, give me thy favour still. Be patient, for the prize I’ll bring thee to Shall hoodwink this mischance: therefore speak softly. All’s hush’d as midnight yet. Ay, but to lose our bottles in the pool,— Trin. Ste. There is not only disgrace and dishonour in that, monster, but an infinite loss. Trin. That’s more to me than my wetting: yet this is your harmless fairy, monster. 309
Compact Anthology of World Literature Ste. I will fetch off my bottle, though I be o’er ears for my labour. Prithee, my king, be quiet. See’st thou here, Cal. This is the mouth o’ the cell: no noise, and enter. Do that good mischief which may make this island 1805 Thine own for ever, and I, thy Caliban, 1810 For aye thy foot-licker. 1815 Ste. 1820 Give me thy hand. I do begin to have bloody thoughts. 1825 1830 O King Stephano! O peer! O worthy Stephano! Trin. look what a wardrobe here is for thee! Let it alone, thou fool; it is but trash. Cal. O, ho, monster! we know what belongs to a Trin. frippery. O King Stephano! Ste. Put off that gown, Trinculo; by this hand, I’ll have that gown. Thy Grace shall have it. Trin. The dropsy drown this fool! what do you mean Cal. To dote thus on such luggage? Let’s alone, And do the murder first: if he awake, From toe to crown he’ll fill our skins with pinches, Make us strange stuff. Ste. Be you quiet, monster. Mistress line, is not this my jerkin? Now is the jerkin under the line: now, jerkin, you are like to lose your hair, and prove a bald jerkin. Trin. Do, do: we steal by line and level, an’t like your Grace. I thank thee for that jest; here’s a garment for’t: Ste. wit shall not go unrewarded while I am king of this country. ‘Steal by line and level’ is an excellent pass of pate; there’s another garment for’t. Trin. Monster, come, put some lime upon your fingers, and away with the rest. I will have none on’t: we shall lose our time, Cal. And all be turn’d to barnacles, or to apes With foreheads villanous low. 310
The Tempest Monster, lay-to your fingers: help to bear this Ste. away where my hogshead of wine is, or I’ll turn you out of my kingdom: go to, carry this. 1835 And this. Trin. Ay, and this. Ste. [A noise of hunters heard. Enter divers Spirits, in shape of dogs and hounds, and hunt them about, Prospero and Ariel setting them on.] Hey, Mountain, hey! Pros. Silver! there it goes, Silver! Ari. Pros. 1840 Fury, fury! there, Tyrant, there! hark, hark! [Cal., Ste., and Trin. are driven out.] Go charge my goblins that they grind their joints With dry convulsions; shorten up their sinews With aged cramps; and more pinch-spotted make them Then pard or cat o’ mountain. Hark, they roar! Ari. 1845 Pros. Let them be hunted soundly. At this hour Lie at my mercy all mine enemies: Shortly shall all my labours end, and thou Shalt have the air at freedom: for a little Follow, and do me service. [Exeunt.] 1850 ACT V Scene I—Before the cell of Prospero [Enter Prospero in his magic robes, and Ariel.] Now does my project gather to a head: Pros. My charms crack not; my spirits obey; and time Goes upright with his carriage. How’s the day? On the sixth hour; at which time, my lord, Ari. You said our work should cease. 1855 I did say so, Pros. When first I raised the tempest. Say, my spirit, How fares the king and’s followers? 311
Compact Anthology of World Literature Ari. 1860 Confined together 1865 In the same fashion as you gave in charge, 1870 Just as you left them; all prisoners, sir, In the line-grove which weather-fends your cell; 1875 They cannot budge till your release. The king, 1880 His brother, and yours, abide all three distracted, 1885 And the remainder mourning over them, Brimful of sorrow and dismay; but chiefly 1890 Him that you term’d, sir, “The good old lord, Gonzalo;” 1895 His tears run down his beard, like winter’s drops 1900 From eaves of reeds. Your charm so strongly works ’em, That if you now beheld them, your affections Would become tender. Dost thou think so, spirit? Pros. Mine would, sir, were I human. Ari. Pros. And mine shall. Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling Of their afflictions, and shall not myself, One of their kind, that relish all as sharply, Passion as they, be kindlier moved than thou art? Though with their high wrongs I am struck to the quick, Yet with my nobler reason ’gainst my fury Do I take part: the rarer action is In virtue than in vengeance: they being penitent, The sole drift of my purpose doth extend Not a frown further. Go release them, Ariel: My charms I’ll break, their senses I’ll restore, And they shall be themselves. I’ll fetch them, sir. [Exit.] Ari. Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and groves; Pros. And ye that on the sands with printless foot Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him When he comes back; you demi-puppets that By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make, Whereof the ewe not bites; and you whose pastime Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice To hear the solemn curfew; by whose aid— Weak masters though ye be—I have bedimm’d The noontide sun, call’d forth the mutinous winds. And ’twixt the green sea and the azured vault Set roaring war: to the dread rattling thunder Have I given fire, and rifted Jove’s stout oak With his own bolt; the strong-based promontory Have I made shake, and by the spurs pluck’d up The pine and cedar: graves at my command Have waked their sleepers, oped, and let ’em forth 312
The Tempest By my so potent art. But this rough magic 1905 I here abjure; and, when I have required 1910 Some heavenly music,—which even now I do,— To work mine end upon their senses, that 1915 This airy charm is for, I’ll break my staff, 1920 Bury it certain fathoms in the earth, 1925 And deeper than did ever plummet sound 1930 I’ll drown my book. [Solemn music.] 1935 [Re-enter Ariel before: then Alonso, with a 1940 frantic gesture, attended by Gonzalo; Sebastian and 1945 Antonio in like manner, attended by Adrian and Francisco: they all enter the circle which Prospero 1950 had made, and there stand charmed; which Prospero observing, speaks:] A solemn air, and the best comforter To an unsettled fancy, cure thy brains, Now useless, boil’d within thy skull! There stand, For you are spell-stopp’d. Holy Gonzalo, honourable man, Mine eyes, even sociable to the show of thine, Fall fellowly drops. The charm dissolves apace; And as the morning steals upon the night, Melting the darkness, so their rising senses Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle Their clearer reason. O good Gonzalo, My true preserver, and a loyal sir To him thou follow’st! I will pay thy graces Home both in word and deed. Most cruelly Didst thou, Alonso, use me and my daughter: Thy brother was a furtherer in the act. Thou art pinch’d for’t now, Sebastian. Flesh and blood, You, brother mine, that entertain’d ambition, Expell’d remorse and nature; who, with Sebastian,— Whose inward pinches therefore are most strong,— Would here have kill’d your king; I do forgive thee, Unnatural though thou art. Their understanding Begins to swell; and the approaching tide Will shortly fill the reasonable shore, That now lies foul and muddy. Not one of them That yet looks on me, or would know me: Ariel, Fetch me the hat and rapier in my cell: I will discase me, and myself present As I was sometime Milan: quickly, spirit; Thou shalt ere long be free. [Ariel sings and helps to attire him.] 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. Why, that’s my dainty Ariel! I shall miss thee; Pros. But yet thou shalt have freedom: so, so, so. To the king’s ship, invisible as thou art: 313
Compact Anthology of World Literature There shalt thou find the mariners asleep 1955 Under the hatches; the master and the boatswain Being awake, enforce them to this place, 1960 And presently, I prithee. 1965 1970 I drink the air before me, and return Ari. 1975 Or ere your pulse twice beat. [Exit.] 1980 All torment, trouble, wonder and amazement Gon. 1985 Inhabits here: some heavenly power guide us Out of this fearful country! 1990 Behold, sir king, Pros. The wronged Duke of Milan, Prospero: For more assurance that a living prince Does now speak to thee, I embrace thy body; And to thee and thy company I bid A hearty welcome. Alon. Whether thou be’st he or no, Or some enchanted trifle to abuse me, As late I have been, I not know: thy pulse Beats, as of flesh and blood; and, since I saw thee, The affliction of my mind amends, with which, I fear, a madness held me: this must crave— An if this be at all—a most strange story. Thy dukedom I resign, and do entreat Thou pardon me my wrongs.—But how should Prospero Be living and be here? First, noble friend, Pros. Let me embrace thine age, whose honour cannot Be measured or confined. Whether this be Gon. Or be not, I’ll not swear. You do yet taste Pros. Some subtilties o’ the isle, that will not let you Believe things certain. Welcome, my friends all! [Aside to Seb. and Ant.] But you, my brace of lords, were I so minded, I here could pluck his Highness’ frown upon you, And justify you traitors: at this time I will tell no tales. [Aside] Seb. The devil speaks in him. 314
The Tempest No. Pros. For you, most wicked sir, whom to call brother Would even infect my mouth, I do forgive 1995 Thy rankest fault,—all of them; and require 2000 My dukedom of thee, which perforce, I know, Thou must restore. 2005 If thou be’st Prospero, Alon. 2010 Give us particulars of thy preservation; How thou hast met us here, who three hours since 2015 Were wreck’d upon this shore; where I have lost— 2020 How sharp the point of this remembrance is!— 2025 My dear son Ferdinand. 2030 I am woe for’t, sir. Pros. Irreparable is the loss; and patience Alon. Says it is past her cure. I rather think Pros. You have not sought her help, of whose soft grace For the like loss I have her sovereign aid, And rest myself content. You the like loss! Alon. As great to me as late; and, supportable Pros. To make the dear loss, have I means much weaker Than you may call to comfort you, for I Have lost my daughter. Alon. A daughter? O heavens, that they were living both in Naples, The king and queen there! that they were, I wish Myself were mudded in that oozy bed Where my son lies. When did you lose you daughter? Pros. In this last tempest. I perceive, these lords At this encounter do so much admire, That they devour their reason, and scarce think Their eyes do offices of truth, their words Are natural breath: but, howsoe’er you have Been justled from your senses, know for certain That I am Prospero, and that very duke Which was thrust forth of Milan; who most strangely Upon this shore, where you were wreck’d, was landed, To be the Lord on’t. No more yet of this; For ’tis a chronicle of day by day, 315
Compact Anthology of World Literature Not a relation for a breakfast, nor 2035 Befitting this first meeting. Welcome, sir; 2040 This cell’s my court: here have I few attendants, 2045 And subjects none abroad: pray you, look in. My dukedom since you have given me again, 2050 I will requite you with as good a thing; 2055 At least bring forth a wonder, to content ye 2060 As much as me my dukedom. [Here Prospero discovers Ferdinand and Miranda playing at chess.] Sweet lord, you play me false. Mir. No, my dear’st love, Fer. I would not for the world. Yes, for a score of kingdoms you should wrangle, Mir. And I would call it fair play. If this prove Alon. A vision of the island, one dear son Shall I twice lose. A most high miracle! Seb. Though the seas threaten, they are merciful; Fer. I have cursed them without cause. [Kneels.] Now all the blessings Alon. Of a glad father compass thee about! Arise, and say how thou camest here. O, wonder! Mir. How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world, That has such people in’t! ’Tis new to thee. Pros. What is this maid with whom thou wast at play? Alon. Your eld’st acquaintance cannot be three hours: Is she the goddess that hath sever’d us, And brought us thus together? Sir, she is mortal; Fer. But by immortal Providence she’s mine: I chose her when I could not ask my father 316
The Tempest For his advice, nor thought I had one. She 2065 Is daughter to this famous Duke of Milan, 2070 Of whom so often I have heard renown, But never saw before; of whom I have 2075 Received a second life; and second father 2080 This lady makes him to me. 2085 I am hers: Alon. 2090 But, O, how oddly will it sound that I Must ask my child forgiveness! 2095 2100 There, sir, stop: Pros. Let us not burthen our remembrances with A heaviness that’s gone. Gon. I have inly wept, Or should have spoke ere this. Look down, you gods, And on this couple drop a blessed crown! For it is you that have chalk’d forth the way Which brought us hither. I say, Amen, Gonzalo! Alon. Was Milan thrust from Milan, that his issue Gon. Should become kings of Naples? O, rejoice Beyond a common joy! and set it down With gold on lasting pillars: 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. [to Fer. and Mir.] Alon. Give me your hands: Let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart That doth not wish you joy! Gon. Be it so! Amen! [Re-enter Ariel, with the Master and Boatswain amazedly following.] O, look, sir, look, sir! here is more of us: I prophesied, if a gallows were on land, This fellow could not drown. Now, blasphemy, That swear’st grace o’erboard, not an oath on shore? Hast thou no mouth by land? What is the news? The best news is, that we have safely found Boats. Our king and company; the next, our ship— Which, but three glasses since, we gave out split— 317
Compact Anthology of World Literature Is tight and yare and bravely rigg’d, as when 2105 We first put out to sea. 2110 [Aside to Pros.] Ari. 2115 Sir, all this service 2120 Have I done since I went. 2125 [Aside to Ari.] Pros. 2130 My tricksy spirit! 2135 Alon. These are not natural events; they strengthen From strange to stranger. Say, how came you hither? Boats. If I did think, sir, I were well awake, I’ld strive to tell you. We were dead of sleep, And—how we know not—all clapp’d under hatches; Where, but even now, with strange and several noises Of roaring, shrieking, howling, jingling chains, And more diversity of sounds, all horrible, We were awaked; straightway, at liberty; Where we, in all her trim, freshly beheld Our royal, good, and gallant ship; our master Capering to eye her:—on a trice, so please you, Even in a dream, were we divided from them, And were brought moping hither. [Aside to Pros.] Ari. Was’t well done? [Aside to Ari.] Pros. Bravely, my diligence. Thou shalt be free. This is as strange a maze as e’er men trod; Alon. And there is in this business more than nature Was ever conduct of: some oracle Must rectify our knowledge. Pros. Sir, my liege, Do not infest your mind with beating on The strangeness of this business; at pick’d leisure Which shall be shortly, single I’ll resolve you, Which to you shall seem probable, of every These happen’d accidents; till when, be cheerful, And think of each thing well. [Aside to Ari.] Come hither, spirit: Set Caliban and his companions free; Untie the spell. [Exit Ariel.] How fares my gracious sir? There are yet missing of your company Some few odd lads that you remember not. [Re-enter Ariel, driving in Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo, in their stolen apparel.] 318
The Tempest Ste. 2140 Every man shift for all the rest, and let no man take 2145 care for himself; for all is but fortune.—Coragio, bully-monster, 2150 coragio! 2155 2160 If these be true spies which I wear in my head, Trin. here’s a goodly sight. 2165 2170 O Setebos, these be brave spirits indeed! Cal. How fine my master is! I am afraid He will chastise me. Ha, ha! Seb. What things are these, my lord Antonio? Will money buy ’em? Very like; one of them Ant. Is a plain fish, and, no doubt, marketable. Mark but the badges of these men, my lords, Pros. Then say if they be true. This mis-shapen knave, His mother was a witch; and one so strong That could control the moon, make flows and ebbs, And deal in her command, without her power. These three have robb’d me; and this demi-devil— For he’s a bastard one—had plotted with them To take my life. Two of these fellows you Must know and own; this thing of darkness I Acknowledge mine. I shall be pinch’d to death. Cal. Is not this Stephano, my drunken butler? Alon. He is drunk now: where had he wine? Seb. And Trinculo is reeling ripe: where should they Alon. Find this grand liquor that hath gilded ’em?— How camest thou in this pickle? I have been in such a pickle, since I saw you last, Trin. that, I fear me, will never out of my bones: I shall not fear fly-blowing. Why, how now, Stephano! Seb. 319
Compact Anthology of World Literature Ste. O, touch me not;—I am not Stephano, but a cramp. You’ld be king o’ the isle, sirrah? Pros. I should have been a sore one, then. Ste. 2175 2180 Alon. 2185 This is a strange thing as e’er I look’d on. [Pointing to Caliban.] 2190 He is as disproportion’d in his manners Pros. 2195 As in his shape. Go, sirrah, to my cell; 2200 Take with you your companions; as you look 2205 To have my pardon, trim it handsomely. Ay, that I will; and I’ll be wise hereafter, Cal. And seek for grace. What a thrice-double ass Was I, to take this drunkard for a god, And worship this dull fool! Go to; away! Pros. Alon. Hence, and bestow your luggage where you found it. Or stole it, rather. [Exeunt Cal., Ste., and Trin.] Seb. Sir, I invite your Highness and your train Pros. To my poor cell, where you shall take your rest For this one night; which, part of it, I’ll waste With such discourse as, I not doubt, shall make it Go quick away: the story of my life, And the particular accidents gone by Since I came to this isle: and in the morn I’ll bring you to your ship, and so to Naples, Where I have hope to see the nuptial Of these our dear-beloved solemnized; And thence retire me to my Milan, where Every third thought shall be my grave. I long Alon. To hear the story of your life, which must Take the ear strangely. Pros. I’ll deliver all; And promise you calm seas, auspicious gales, And sail so expeditious, that shall catch Your royal fleet far off. [Aside to Ari.] My Ariel, chick, 320
The Tempest That is thy charge: then to the elements Be free, and fare thou well! Please you, draw near. [Exeunt.] Epilogue Spoken by Prospero Now my charms are all o’erthrown, 2210 And what strength I have’s mine own, 2215 Which is most faint: now, ’tis true, 2220 I must be here confined by you, 2225 Or sent to Naples. Let me not, Since I have my dukedom got, And pardon’d the deceiver, dwell In this bare island by your spell; But release me from my bands With the help of your good hands: Gentle breath of yours my sails Must fill, or else my project fails, Which was to please. Now I want Spirits to enforce, art to enchant; And my ending is despair, Unless I be relieved by prayer, Which pierces so, that it assaults Mercy itself, and frees all faults. As you from crimes would pardon’d be, Let your indulgence set me free. Utopia Thomas More (1477-1535 C.E.) 1516 C.E. England Thomas More invented the word utopia, a word that literally translates as not place (from the Greek ou-topos) or nowhere, although it sounds like good place (eu-topos in Greek). As the double meaning indicates, More’s invented society may sound great, but it does not actually exist. In More’s work, the country of Utopia is in the New World, and details about it are reported by Hythloday, a sailor whose name translates as “speaker of nonsense.” What follows is actually a criticism of the Old World, in that the Utopians do well in all of the things that More thinks that his society does poorly; for example, as More praises the Utopians for consciously despising gold, he implicitly condemns his own society, which he says will scarcely believe that any society would not desire gold. Other authors followed his lead (such as Jonathan Swift, who plays with the idea of utopia in Gulliver’s Travels), and eventually utopian literature led to another genre: dystopian literature, such as George Orwell’s Animal Farm and 1984, movies such as Blade Runner, and a list of young adult novels, including The Hunger Games. Written by Laura J. Getty Selections from Utopia License: Public Domain Thomas More, Translated by Gilbert Burnet Henry VIII., the unconquered King of England, a prince adorned with all the virtues that become a great monarch, having some differences of no small consequence with Charles the most serene Prince of Castile, sent me into Flanders, as his ambassador, for treating and composing matters between them. I was colleague and compan- 321
Compact Anthology of World Literature ion to that incomparable man Cuthbert Tonstal, whom the King, with such universal applause, lately made Master of the Rolls; but of whom I will say nothing; not because I fear that the testimony of a friend will be suspected, but rather because his learning and virtues are too great for me to do them justice, and so well known, that they need not my commendations, unless I would, according to the proverb, “Show the sun with a lantern.” Those that were appointed by the Prince to treat with us, met us at Bruges, according to agreement; they were all worthy men. The Margrave of Bruges was their head, and the chief man among them; but he that was esteemed the wisest, and that spoke for the rest, was George Temse, the Provost of Casselsee: both art and nature had concurred to make him eloquent: he was very learned in the law; and, as he had a great capacity, so, by a long practice in affairs, he was very dexterous at unravelling them. After we had several times met, without coming to an agreement, they went to Brussels for some days, to know the Prince’s pleasure; and, since our business would admit it, I went to Antwerp. While I was there, among many that visited me, there was one that was more acceptable to me than any other, Peter Giles, born at Antwerp, who is a man of great honour, and of a good rank in his town, though less than he deserves; for I do not know if there be anywhere to be found a more learned and a better bred young man; for as he is both a very worthy and a very knowing person, so he is so civil to all men, so particularly kind to his friends, and so full of candour and affection, that there is not, perhaps, above one or two anywhere to be found, that is in all respects so perfect a friend: he is extraordinarily modest, there is no artifice in him, and yet no man has more of a prudent simplicity. His conversation was so pleasant and so innocently cheerful, that his company in a great measure lessened any longings to go back to my country, and to my wife and children, which an absence of four months had quickened very much. One day, as I was returning home from mass at St. Mary’s, which is the chief church, and the most frequented of any in Antwerp, I saw him, by accident, talking with a stranger, who seemed past the flower of his age; his face was tanned, he had a long beard, and his cloak was hanging carelessly about him, so that, by his looks and habit, I concluded he was a seaman. As soon as Peter saw me, he came and saluted me, and as I was returning his civility, he took me aside, and pointing to him with whom he had been discoursing, he said, “Do you see that man? I was just thinking to bring him to you.” I answered, “He should have been very welcome on your account.” “And on his own too,” replied he, “if you knew the man, for there is none alive that can give so copious an account of unknown nations and countries as he can do, which I know you very much desire.” “Then,” said I, “I did not guess amiss, for at first sight I took him for a seaman.” “But you are much mistaken,” said he, “for he has not sailed as a seaman, but as a traveller, or rather a philosopher. This Raphael, who from his family carries the name of Hythloday, is not ignorant of the Latin tongue, but is eminently learned in the Greek, having applied himself more particularly to that than to the former, because he had given himself much to philosophy, in which he knew that the Romans have left us nothing that is valuable, except what is to be found in Seneca and Cicero. He is a Portuguese by birth, and was so desirous of seeing the world, that he divided his estate among his brothers, ran the same hazard as Americus Vesputius, and bore a share in three of his four voyages that are now published; only he did not return with him in his last, but obtained leave of him, almost by force, that he might be one of those twenty-four who were left at the farthest place at which they touched in their last voyage to New Castile. The leaving him thus did not a little gratify one that was more fond of travelling than of returning home to be buried in his own country; for he used often to say, that the way to heaven was the same from all places, and he that had no grave had the heavens still over him. Yet this disposition of mind had cost him dear, if God had not been very gracious to him; for after he, with five Castalians, had travelled over many countries, at last, by strange good fortune, he got to Ceylon, and from thence to Cali- cut, where he, very happily, found some Portuguese ships; and, Image 11.18: Utopia, More | Thomas More’s beyond all men’s expectations, returned to his native country.” Utopia, written in Latin and decorated with cherub When Peter had said this to me, I thanked him for his kindness in angels around the text. intending to give me the acquaintance of a man whose conversa- Author: Thomas More tion he knew would be so acceptable; and upon that Raphael and I Source: Wikimedia Commons embraced each other. After those civilities were past which are usu- License: Public Domain al with strangers upon their first meeting, we all went to my house, 322
Utopia and entering into the garden, sat down on a green bank and entertained one another in discourse. He told us that when Vesputius had sailed away, he, and his companions that stayed behind in New Castile, by degrees insinuated themselves into the affections of the people of the country, meeting often with them and treating them gently; and at last they not only lived among them without danger, but conversed familiarly with them, and got so far into the heart of a prince, whose name and country I have forgot, that he both furnished them plentifully with all things necessary, and also with the conveniences of travelling, both boats when they went by water, and waggons when they trained over land: he sent with them a very faithful guide, who was to introduce and recommend them to such other princes as they had a mind to see: and after many days’ journey, they came to towns, and cities, and to com- monwealths, that were both happily governed and well peopled. Under the equator, and as far on both sides of it as the sun moves, there lay vast deserts that were parched with the perpetual heat of the sun; the soil was withered, all things looked dismally, and all places were either quite uninhabited, or abounded with wild beasts and serpents, and some few men, that were neither less wild nor less cruel than the beasts themselves. But, as they went farther, a new scene opened, all things grew milder, the air less burning, the soil more verdant, and even the beasts were less wild: and, at last, there were nations, towns, and cities, that had not only mutual commerce among themselves and with their neighbours, but traded, both by sea and land, to very remote countries. There they found the convenien- cies of seeing many countries on all hands, for no ship went any voyage into which he and his companions were not very welcome. The first vessels that they saw were flat-bottomed, their sails were made of reeds and wicker, woven close together, only some were of leather; but, afterwards, they found ships made with round keels and canvas sails, and in all respects like our ships, and the seamen understood both astronomy and navigation. He got wonderfully into their favour by showing them the use of the needle, of which till then they were utterly ignorant. They sailed before with great caution, and only in summer time; but now they count all seasons alike, trusting wholly to the loadstone, in which they are, perhaps, more secure than safe; so that there is reason to fear that this discovery, which was thought would prove so much to their advantage, may, by their imprudence, become an occasion of much mischief to them. But it were too long to dwell on all that he told us he had observed in every place, it would be too great a digression from our present purpose: whatever is necessary to be told concerning those wise and prudent institutions which he observed among civilised nations, may perhaps be related by us on a more proper occasion. We asked him many questions concerning all these things, to which he answered very willingly; we made no inquiries after monsters, than which nothing is more common; for everywhere one may hear of ravenous dogs and wolves, and cruel men-eaters, but it is not so easy to find states that are well and wisely governed. As he told us of many things that were amiss in those new-discovered countries, so he reckoned up not a few things, from which patterns might be taken for correcting the errors of these nations among whom we live; of which an account may be given, as I have already promised, at some other time; for, at present, I intend only to relate those particulars that he told us, of the manners and laws of the Utopians: but I will begin with the occasion that led us to speak of that commonwealth. After Raphael had discoursed with great judgment on the many errors that were both among us and these nations, had treated of the wise institutions both here and there, and had spoken as distinctly of the customs and government of every nation through which he had past, as if he had spent his whole life in it, Peter, being struck with admiration, said, “I wonder, Raphael, how it comes that you enter into no king’s service, for I am sure there are none to whom you would not be very acceptable; for your learning and knowledge, both of men and things, is such, that you would not only entertain them very pleasantly, but be of great use to them, by the examples you could set before them, and the advices you could give them; and by this means you would both serve your own interest, and be of great use to all your friends.” “As for my friends,” answered he, “I need not be much concerned, having already done for them all that was incumbent on me; for when I was not only in good health, but fresh and young, I distributed that among my kindred and friends which other people do not part with till they are old and sick: when they then unwillingly give that which they can enjoy no longer themselves. I think my friends ought to rest contented with this, and not to expect that for their sakes I should enslave myself to any king whatsoever.” “Soft and fair!” said Peter; “I do not mean that you should be a slave to any king, but only that you should assist them and be useful to them.” “The change of the word,” said he, “does not alter the matter.” “But term it as you will,” replied Peter, “I do not see any other way in which you can be so useful, both in private to your friends and to the public, and by which you can make your own condition happier.” “Happier?” answered Raphael, “is that to be compassed in a way so abhorrent to my genius? Now I live as I will, to which I believe, few courtiers can pretend; and there are so many that court the favour of great men, that there will be no great loss if they are not troubled either with me or with others of my temper.” Upon this, said I, “I perceive, Raphael, that you neither desire wealth nor greatness; and, indeed, I value and admire such a man much more than I do any of the great men in the world. Yet I think you would do what would well become so generous and philosophical a soul as yours is, if you would apply your time and thoughts to public affairs, even though you may happen to find it a little uneasy to yourself; and this you can never do with so much advantage as by being taken into the council of some great prince and putting him on noble and worthy actions, which I know you would do if you were in such a post; for the 323
Compact Anthology of World Literature springs both of good and evil flow from the prince over a whole nation, as from a lasting fountain. So much learn- ing as you have, even without practice in affairs, or so great a practice as you have had, without any other learning, would render you a very fit counsellor to any king whatsoever.” “You are doubly mistaken,” said he, “Mr. More, both in your opinion of me and in the judgment you make of things: for as I have not that capacity that you fancy I have, so if I had it, the public would not be one jot the better when I had sacrificed my quiet to it. For most princes apply themselves more to affairs of war than to the useful arts of peace; and in these I neither have any knowledge, nor do I much desire it; they are generally more set on acquiring new kingdoms, right or wrong, than on governing well those they possess: and, among the ministers of princes, there are none that are not so wise as to need no assistance, or at least, that do not think themselves so wise that they imagine they need none; and if they court any, it is only those for whom the prince has much personal favour, whom by their fawning and flatteries they endeavour to fix to their own interests; and, indeed, nature has so made us, that we all love to be flattered and to please ourselves with our own notions: the old crow loves his young, and the ape her cubs. Now if in such a court, made up of persons who envy all others and only admire themselves, a person should but propose anything that he had either read in history or observed in his travels, the rest would think that the reputation of their wisdom would sink, and that their interests would be much depressed if they could not run it down: and, if all other things failed, then they would fly to this, that such or such things pleased our ancestors, and it were well for us if we could but match them. They would set up their rest on such an answer, as a sufficient confutation of all that could be said, as if it were a great misfortune that any should be found wiser than his ancestors. But though they willingly let go all the good things that were among those of former ages, yet, if better things are proposed, they cover themselves obstinately with this excuse of reverence to past times. ********* Upon this I said to him, “I earnestly beg you would describe that island very particularly to us; be not too short, but set out in order all things relating to their soil, their rivers, their towns, their people, their manners, constitu- tion, laws, and, in a word, all that you imagine we desire to know; and you may well imagine that we desire to know everything concerning them of which we are hitherto ignorant.” “I will do it very willingly,” said he, “for I have digested the whole matter carefully, but it will take up some time.” “Let us go, then,” said I, “first and dine, and then we shall have leisure enough.” He consented; we went in and dined, and after dinner came back and sat down in the same place. I ordered my servants to take care that none might come and interrupt us, and both Peter and I desired Raphael to be as good as his word. When he saw that we were very intent upon it he paused a little to recollect himself, and began in this manner:— “The island of Utopia is in the middle two hundred miles broad, and holds almost at the same breadth over a great part of it, but it grows narrower towards both ends. Its figure is not unlike a crescent. Between its horns the sea comes in eleven miles broad, and spreads itself into a great bay, which is environed with land to the compass of about five hundred miles, and is well secured from winds. In this bay there is no great current; the whole coast is, as it were, one continued harbour, which gives all that live in the island great convenience for mutual commerce. But the entry into the bay, occasioned by rocks on the one hand and shallows on the other, is very dangerous. In the middle of it there is one single rock which appears above water, and may, therefore, easily be avoided; and on the top of it there is a tower, in which a garrison is kept; the other rocks lie under water, and are very dangerous. The channel is known only to the natives; so that if any stranger should enter into the bay without one of their pilots he would run great danger of shipwreck. For even they themselves could not pass it safe if some marks that are on the coast did not direct their way; and if these should be but a little shifted, any fleet that might come against them, how great soever it were, would be certainly lost. On the other side of the island there are likewise many harbours; and the coast is so fortified, both by nature and art, that a small number of men can hinder the descent of a great army. But they report (and there remains good marks of it to make it credible) that this was no island at first, but a part of the continent. Utopus, that conquered it (whose name it still carries, for Abraxa was its first name), brought the rude and uncivilised inhabitants into such a good government, and to that measure of politeness, that they now far excel all the rest of mankind. Having soon subdued them, he designed to separate them from the continent, and to bring the sea quite round them. To accomplish this he ordered a deep channel to be dug, fifteen miles long; and that the natives might not think he treated them like slaves, he not only forced the inhabitants, but also his own soldiers, to labour in carrying it on. As he set a vast number of men to work, he, beyond all men’s expectations, brought it to a speedy conclusion. And his neighbours, who at first laughed at the folly of the undertaking, no sooner saw it brought to perfection than they were struck with admiration and terror. “There are fifty-four cities in the island, all large and well built, the manners, customs, and laws of which are the same, and they are all contrived as near in the same manner as the ground on which they stand will allow. The nearest lie at least twenty-four miles’ distance from one another, and the most remote are not so far distant but that 324
Utopia a man can go on foot in one day from it to that which lies next it. Every city sends three of their wisest senators once a year to Amaurot, to consult about their common concerns; for that is the chief town of the island, being situated near the centre of it, so that it is the most convenient place for their assemblies. The jurisdiction of every city extends at least twenty miles, and, where the towns lie wider, they have much more ground. No town desires to enlarge its bounds, for the people consider themselves rather as tenants than landlords. They have built, over all the country, farmhouses for husbandmen, which are well contrived, and furnished with all things necessary for country labour. Inhabitants are sent, by turns, from the cities to dwell in them; no country family has fewer than forty men and women in it, besides two slaves. There is a master and a mistress set over every family, and over thirty families there is a magistrate. Every year twenty of this family come back to the town after they have stayed two years in the country, and in their room there are other twenty sent from the town, that they may learn country work from those that have been already one year in the country, as they must teach those that come to them the next from the town. By this means such as dwell in those country farms are never ignorant of agriculture, and so commit no errors which might otherwise be fatal and bring them under a scarcity of corn. But though there is every year such a shifting of the husbandmen to prevent any man being forced against his will to follow that hard course of life too long, yet many among them take such pleasure in it that they desire leave to continue in it many years. These husbandmen till the ground, breed cattle, hew wood, and convey it to the towns either by land or water, as is most convenient. They breed an infinite multitude of chickens in a very curious manner; for the hens do not sit and hatch them, but a vast number of eggs are laid in a gentle and equal heat in order to be hatched, and they are no sooner out of the shell, and able to stir about, but they seem to consider those that feed them as their mothers, and follow them as other chickens do the hen that hatched them. They breed very few horses, but those they have are full of mettle, and are kept only for exercising their youth in the art of sitting and riding them; for they do not put them to any work, either of ploughing or carriage, in which they employ oxen. For though their horses are stronger, yet they find oxen can hold out longer; and as they are not subject to so many diseases, so they are kept upon a less charge and with less trouble. And even when they are so worn out that they are no more fit for labour, they are good meat at last. They sow no corn but that which is to be their bread; for they drink either wine, cider or perry, and often water, sometimes boiled with honey or liquorice, with which they abound; and though they know exactly how much corn will serve every town and all that tract of country which belongs to it, yet they sow much more and breed more cattle than are necessary for their consumption, and they give that overplus of which they make no use to their neighbours. When they want anything in the country which it does not produce, they fetch that from the town, without carrying anything in exchange for it. And the magistrates of the town take care to see it given them; for they meet generally in the town once a month, upon a festival day. When the time of harvest comes, the magis- trates in the country send to those in the towns and let them know how many hands they will need for reaping the harvest; and the number they call for being sent to them, they commonly despatch it all in one day. ********* “In their great council at Amaurot, to which there are three sent from every town once a year, they examine what towns abound in provisions and what are under any scarcity, that so the one may be furnished from the other; and this is done freely, without any sort of exchange; for, according to their plenty or scarcity, they supply or are supplied from one another, so that indeed the whole island is, as it were, one family. When they have thus taken care of their whole country, and laid up stores for two years (which they do to prevent the ill consequences of an unfavourable season), they order an exportation of the overplus, both of corn, honey, wool, flax, wood, wax, tallow, leather, and cattle, which they send out, commonly in great quantities, to other nations. They order a seventh part of all these goods to be freely given to the poor of the countries to which they send them, and sell the rest at mod- erate rates; and by this exchange they not only bring back those few things that they need at home (for, indeed, they scarce need anything but iron), but likewise a great deal of gold and silver; and by their driving this trade so long, it is not to be imagined how vast a treasure they have got among them, so that now they do not much care whether they sell off their merchandise for money in hand or upon trust. A great part of their treasure is now in bonds; but in all their contracts no private man stands bound, but the writing runs in the name of the town; and the towns that owe them money raise it from those private hands that owe it to them, lay it up in their public chamber, or enjoy the profit of it till the Utopians call for it; and they choose rather to let the greatest part of it lie in their hands, who make advantage by it, than to call for it themselves; but if they see that any of their other neighbours stand more in need of it, then they call it in and lend it to them. Whenever they are engaged in war, which is the only occasion in which their treasure can be usefully employed, they make use of it themselves; in great extremities or sudden acci- dents they employ it in hiring foreign troops, whom they more willingly expose to danger than their own people; they give them great pay, knowing well that this will work even on their enemies; that it will engage them either to betray their own side, or, at least, to desert it; and that it is the best means of raising mutual jealousies among them. 325
Compact Anthology of World Literature For this end they have an incredible treasure; but they do not keep it as a treasure, but in such a manner as I am almost afraid to tell, lest you think it so extravagant as to be hardly credible. This I have the more reason to appre- hend because, if I had not seen it myself, I could not have been easily persuaded to have believed it upon any man’s report. “It is certain that all things appear incredible to us in proportion as they differ from known customs; but one who can judge aright will not wonder to find that, since their constitution differs so much from ours, their value of gold and silver should be measured by a very different standard; for since they have no use for money among them- selves, but keep it as a provision against events which seldom happen, and between which there are generally long intervening intervals, they value it no farther than it deserves—that is, in proportion to its use. So that it is plain they must prefer iron either to gold or silver, for men can no more live without iron than without fire or water; but Nature has marked out no use for the other metals so essential as not easily to be dispensed with. The folly of men has enhanced the value of gold and silver because of their scarcity; whereas, on the contrary, it is their opinion that Nature, as an indulgent parent, has freely given us all the best things in great abundance, such as water and earth, but has laid up and hid from us the things that are vain and useless. “If these metals were laid up in any tower in the kingdom it would raise a jealousy of the Prince and Senate, and give birth to that foolish mistrust into which the people are apt to fall—a jealousy of their intending to sacrifice the interest of the public to their own private advantage. If they should work it into vessels, or any sort of plate, they fear that the people might grow too fond of it, and so be unwilling to let the plate be run down, if a war made it nec- essary, to employ it in paying their soldiers. To prevent all these inconveniences they have fallen upon an expedient which, as it agrees with their other policy, so is it very different from ours, and will scarce gain belief among us who value gold so much, and lay it up so carefully. They eat and drink out of vessels of earth or glass, which make an agreeable appearance, though formed of brittle materials; while they make their chamber-pots and close-stools of gold and silver, and that not only in their public halls but in their private houses. Of the same metals they likewise make chains and fetters for their slaves, to some of which, as a badge of infamy, they hang an earring of gold, and make others wear a chain or a coronet of the same metal; and thus they take care by all possible means to render gold and silver of no esteem; and from hence it is that while other nations part with their gold and silver as unwill- ingly as if one tore out their bowels, those of Utopia would look on their giving in all they possess of those metals (when there were any use for them) but as the parting with a trifle, or as we would esteem the loss of a penny! They find pearls on their coasts, and diamonds and carbuncles on their rocks; they do not look after them, but, if they find them by chance, they polish them, and with them they adorn their children, who are delighted with them, and glory in them during their childhood; but when they grow to years, and see that none but children use such bau- bles, they of their own accord, without being bid by their parents, lay them aside, and would be as much ashamed to use them afterwards as children among us, when they come to years, are of their puppets and other toys. “I never saw a clearer instance of the opposite impressions that different customs make on people than I ob- served in the ambassadors of the Anemolians, who came to Amaurot when I was there. As they came to treat of affairs of great consequence, the deputies from several towns met together to wait for their coming. The ambassa- dors of the nations that lie near Utopia, knowing their customs, and that fine clothes are in no esteem among them, that silk is despised, and gold is a badge of infamy, used to come very modestly clothed; but the Anemolians, lying more remote, and having had little commerce with them, understanding that they were coarsely clothed, and all in the same manner, took it for granted that they had none of those fine things among them of which they made no use; and they, being a vainglorious rather than a wise people, resolved to set themselves out with so much pomp that they should look like gods, and strike the eyes of the poor Utopians with their splendour. Thus three ambassa- dors made their entry with a hundred attendants, all clad in garments of different colours, and the greater part in silk; the ambassadors themselves, who were of the nobility of their country, were in cloth-of-gold, and adorned with massy chains, earrings and rings of gold; their caps were covered with bracelets set full of pearls and other gems—in a word, they were set out with all those things that among the Utopians were either the badges of slavery, the marks of infamy, or the playthings of children. It was not unpleasant to see, on the one side, how they looked big, when they compared their rich habits with the plain clothes of the Utopians, who were come out in great numbers to see them make their entry; and, on the other, to observe how much they were mistaken in the impression which they hoped this pomp would have made on them. It appeared so ridiculous a show to all that had never stirred out of their country, and had not seen the customs of other nations, that though they paid some reverence to those that were the most meanly clad, as if they had been the ambassadors, yet when they saw the ambassadors themselves so full of gold and chains, they looked upon them as slaves, and forbore to treat them with reverence. You might have seen the children who were grown big enough to despise their playthings, and who had thrown away their jewels, call to their mothers, push them gently, and cry out, ‘See that great fool, that wears pearls and gems as if he were yet a child!’ while their mothers very innocently replied, ‘Hold your peace! this, I believe, is one of the ambassadors’ fools.’ Others censured the fashion of their chains, and observed, ‘That they were of no use, for they were too slight 326
Utopia to bind their slaves, who could easily break them; and, besides, hung so loose about them that they thought it easy to throw their away, and so get from them.” But after the ambassadors had stayed a day among them, and saw so vast a quantity of gold in their houses (which was as much despised by them as it was esteemed in other nations), and beheld more gold and silver in the chains and fetters of one slave than all their ornaments amounted to, their plumes fell, and they were ashamed of all that glory for which they had formed valued themselves, and according- ly laid it aside—a resolution that they immediately took when, on their engaging in some free discourse with the Utopians, they discovered their sense of such things and their other customs. The Utopians wonder how any man should be so much taken with the glaring doubtful lustre of a jewel or a stone, that can look up to a star or to the sun himself; or how any should value himself because his cloth is made of a finer thread; for, how fine soever that thread may be, it was once no better than the fleece of a sheep, and that sheep, was a sheep still, for all its wear- ing it. They wonder much to hear that gold, which in itself is so useless a thing, should be everywhere so much esteemed that even man, for whom it was made, and by whom it has its value, should yet be thought of less value than this metal; that a man of lead, who has no more sense than a log of wood, and is as bad as he is foolish, should have many wise and good men to serve him, only because he has a great heap of that metal; and that if it should happen that by some accident or trick of law (which, sometimes produces as great changes as chance itself) all this wealth should pass from the master to the meanest varlet of his whole family, he himself would very soon become one of his servants, as if he were a thing that belonged to his wealth, and so were bound to follow its fortune! But they much more admire and detest the folly of those who, when they see a rich man, though they neither owe him anything, nor are in any sort dependent on his bounty, yet, merely because he is rich, give him little less than divine honours, even though they know him to be so covetous and base-minded that, notwithstanding all his wealth, he will not part with one farthing of it to them as long as he lives! “These and such like notions have that people imbibed, partly from their education, being bred in a country whose customs and laws are opposite to all such foolish maxims, and partly from their learning and studies—for though there are but few in any town that are so wholly excused from labour as to give themselves entirely up to their studies (these being only such persons as discover from their childhood an extraordinary capacity and dispo- sition for letters), yet their children and a great part of the nation, both men and women, are taught to spend those hours in which they are not obliged to work in reading; and this they do through the whole progress of life. They have all their learning in their own tongue, which is both a copious and pleasant language, and in which a man can fully express his mind; it runs over a great tract of many countries, but it is not equally pure in all places. They had never so much as heard of the names of any of those philosophers that are so famous in these parts of the world, before we went among them; and yet they had made the same discoveries as the Greeks, both in music, logic, arith- metic, and geometry. But as they are almost in everything equal to the ancient philosophers, so they far exceed our modern logicians for they have never yet fallen upon the barbarous niceties that our youth are forced to learn in those trifling logical schools that are among us. They are so far from minding chimeras and fantastical images made in the mind that none of them could comprehend what we meant when we talked to them of a man in the abstract as common to all men in particular (so that though we spoke of him as a thing that we could point at with our fin- gers, yet none of them could perceive him) and yet distinct from every one, as if he were some monstrous Colossus or giant; yet, for all this ignorance of these empty notions, they knew astronomy, and were perfectly acquainted with the motions of the heavenly bodies; and have many instruments, well contrived and divided, by which they very accurately compute the course and positions of the sun, moon, and stars. But for the cheat of divining by the stars, by their oppositions or conjunctions, it has not so much as entered into their thoughts. They have a particular sagacity, founded upon much observation, in judging of the weather, by which they know when they may look for rain, wind, or other alterations in the air; but as to the philosophy of these things, the cause of the saltness of the sea, of its ebbing and flowing, and of the original and nature both of the heavens and the earth, they dispute of them partly as our ancient philosophers have done, and partly upon some new hypothesis, in which, as they differ from them, so they do not in all things agree among themselves. ********* “There are several sorts of religions, not only in different parts of the island, but even in every town; some wor- shipping the sun, others the moon or one of the planets. Some worship such men as have been eminent in former times for virtue or glory, not only as ordinary deities, but as the supreme god. Yet the greater and wiser sort of them worship none of these, but adore one eternal, invisible, infinite, and incomprehensible Deity; as a Being that is far above all our apprehensions, that is spread over the whole universe, not by His bulk, but by His power and virtue; Him they call the Father of All, and acknowledge that the beginnings, the increase, the progress, the vicissitudes, and the end of all things come only from Him; nor do they offer divine honours to any but to Him alone. And, indeed, though they differ concerning other things, yet all agree in this: that they think there is one Supreme Being 327
Compact Anthology of World Literature that made and governs the world, whom they call, in the language of their country, Mithras. They differ in this: that one thinks the god whom he worships is this Supreme Being, and another thinks that his idol is that god; but they all agree in one principle, that whoever is this Supreme Being, He is also that great essence to whose glory and majesty all honours are ascribed by the consent of all nations. “By degrees they fall off from the various superstitions that are among them, and grow up to that one religion that is the best and most in request; and there is no doubt to be made, but that all the others had vanished long ago, if some of those who advised them to lay aside their superstitions had not met with some unhappy accidents, which, being considered as inflicted by heaven, made them afraid that the god whose worship had like to have been abandoned had interposed and revenged themselves on those who despised their authority. “After they had heard from us an account of the doctrine, the course of life, and the miracles of Christ, and of the wonderful constancy of so many martyrs, whose blood, so willingly offered up by them, was the chief occasion of spreading their religion over a vast number of nations, it is not to be imagined how inclined they were to receive it. I shall not determine whether this proceeded from any secret inspiration of God, or whether it was because it seemed so favourable to that community of goods, which is an opinion so particular as well as so dear to them; since they perceived that Christ and His followers lived by that rule, and that it was still kept up in some communi- ties among the sincerest sort of Christians. From whichsoever of these motives it might be, true it is, that many of them came over to our religion, and were initiated into it by baptism. But as two of our number were dead, so none of the four that survived were in priests’ orders, we, therefore, could only baptise them, so that, to our great regret, they could not partake of the other sacraments, that can only be administered by priests, but they are instructed concerning them and long most vehemently for them. They have had great disputes among themselves, whether one chosen by them to be a priest would not be thereby qualified to do all the things that belong to that character, even though he had no authority derived from the Pope, and they seemed to be resolved to choose some for that employment, but they had not done it when I left them. “Those among them that have not received our religion do not fright any from it, and use none ill that goes over to it, so that all the while I was there one man was only punished on this occasion. He being newly baptised did, notwithstanding all that we could say to the contrary, dispute publicly concerning the Christian religion, with more zeal than discretion, and with so much heat, that he not only preferred our worship to theirs, but condemned all their rites as profane, and cried out against all that adhered to them as impious and sacrilegious persons, that were to be damned to everlasting burnings. Upon his having frequently preached in this manner he was seized, and after trial he was condemned to banishment, not for having disparaged their religion, but for his inflaming the people to sedition; for this is one of their most ancient laws, that no man ought to be punished for his religion. At the first constitution of their government, Utopus having understood that before his coming among them the old inhab- itants had been engaged in great quarrels concerning religion, by which they were so divided among themselves, that he found it an easy thing to conquer them, since, instead of uniting their forces against him, every different party in religion fought by themselves. After he had subdued them he made a law that every man might be of what religion he pleased, and might endeavour to draw others to it by the force of argument and by amicable and modest ways, but without bitterness against those of other opinions; but that he ought to use no other force but that of per- suasion, and was neither to mix with it reproaches nor violence; and such as did otherwise were to be condemned to banishment or slavery. “This law was made by Utopus, not only for preserving the public peace, which he saw suffered much by daily contentions and irreconcilable heats, but because he thought the interest of religion itself required it. He judged it not fit to determine anything rashly; and seemed to doubt whether those different forms of religion might not all come from God, who might inspire man in a different manner, and be pleased with this variety; he therefore thought it indecent and foolish for any man to threaten and terrify another to make him believe what did not ap- pear to him to be true. And supposing that only one religion was really true, and the rest false, he imagined that the native force of truth would at last break forth and shine bright, if supported only by the strength of argument, and attended to with a gentle and unprejudiced mind; while, on the other hand, if such debates were carried on with violence and tumults, as the most wicked are always the most obstinate, so the best and most holy religion might be choked with superstition, as corn is with briars and thorns; he therefore left men wholly to their liberty, that they might be free to believe as they should see cause; only he made a solemn and severe law against such as should so far degenerate from the dignity of human nature, as to think that our souls died with our bodies, or that the world was governed by chance, without a wise overruling Providence: for they all formerly believed that there was a state of rewards and punishments to the good and bad after this life; and they now look on those that think otherwise as scarce fit to be counted men, since they degrade so noble a being as the soul, and reckon it no better than a beast’s: thus they are far from looking on such men as fit for human society, or to be citizens of a well-ordered common- wealth; since a man of such principles must needs, as oft as he dares do it, despise all their laws and customs: for there is no doubt to be made, that a man who is afraid of nothing but the law, and apprehends nothing after death, 328
Utopia will not scruple to break through all the laws of his country, either by fraud or force, when by this means he may satisfy his appetites. They never raise any that hold these maxims, either to honours or offices, nor employ them in any public trust, but despise them, as men of base and sordid minds. Yet they do not punish them, because they lay this down as a maxim, that a man cannot make himself believe anything he pleases; nor do they drive any to dissemble their thoughts by threatenings, so that men are not tempted to lie or disguise their opinions; which being a sort of fraud, is abhorred by the Utopians: they take care indeed to prevent their disputing in defence of these opinions, especially before the common people: but they suffer, and even encourage them to dispute concerning them in private with their priest, and other grave men, being confident that they will be cured of those mad opin- ions by having reason laid before them. There are many among them that run far to the other extreme, though it is neither thought an ill nor unreasonable opinion, and therefore is not at all discouraged. They think that the souls of beasts are immortal, though far inferior to the dignity of the human soul, and not capable of so great a happiness. They are almost all of them very firmly persuaded that good men will be infinitely happy in another state: so that though they are compassionate to all that are sick, yet they lament no man’s death, except they see him loath to part with life; for they look on this as a very ill presage, as if the soul, conscious to itself of guilt, and quite hopeless, was afraid to leave the body, from some secret hints of approaching misery. They think that such a man’s appearance before God cannot be acceptable to Him, who being called on, does not go out cheerfully, but is backward and un- willing, and is as it were dragged to it. They are struck with horror when they see any die in this manner, and carry them out in silence and with sorrow, and praying God that He would be merciful to the errors of the departed soul, they lay the body in the ground: but when any die cheerfully, and full of hope, they do not mourn for them, but sing hymns when they carry out their bodies, and commending their souls very earnestly to God: their whole behaviour is then rather grave than sad, they burn the body, and set up a pillar where the pile was made, with an inscription to the honour of the deceased. When they come from the funeral, they discourse of his good life, and worthy actions, but speak of nothing oftener and with more pleasure than of his serenity at the hour of death. They think such respect paid to the memory of good men is both the greatest incitement to engage others to follow their example, and the most acceptable worship that can be offered them; for they believe that though by the imperfection of human sight they are invisible to us, yet they are present among us, and hear those discourses that pass concerning themselves. They believe it inconsistent with the happiness of departed souls not to be at liberty to be where they will: and do not imagine them capable of the ingratitude of not desiring to see those friends with whom they lived on earth in the strictest bonds of love and kindness: besides, they are persuaded that good men, after death, have these affections; and all other good dispositions increased rather than diminished, and therefore conclude that they are still among the living, and observe all they say or do. From hence they engage in all their affairs with the great- er confidence of success, as trusting to their protection; while this opinion of the presence of their ancestors is a restraint that prevents their engaging in ill designs. 329
Native America 12 With the exception of a few pictographic systems, literature in the Americas was transmitted orally until the arrival of Europeans. The Quiché Mayans of Central America quickly used the new alphabet system to write texts in their native language, while the Cherokee of North America (in the early 1800s C.E.) developed their own syllabary, rather than using Roman letters. Because there were so many different languages spoken in North, Central, and South America, stories were most often recorded in either English or Spanish. The transition between oral and written culture, therefore, took place after the mutual culture shock of meet- ing new groups of people. As a result, there are elements in some Native American stories that clearly have been influenced. For example, horses were not found in the Americas before the arrival of the conquistadors, but there are some creation stories among the native tribes of the Great Plains that include the creation of horses. Obviously, any story that includes a reference to Europeans was influenced by contact with the new group. Scholars are partic- ularly interested in trying to identify the stories, or elements of stories, that pre-date contact with the Europeans, in order to preserve as much of the previous oral culture that has survived. There is value, however, in reading the influenced stories as well, since they record in literary form the reactions of the native groups to the newcomers. Sometimes the reaction is humorous, with critical undertones (such as Coyote tricking the man who owns the trading post out of his horse, his money, and his clothes), but more often the stories reflect the tragic consequences of the interaction. The earliest recorded stories generally fall into the following categories: myths, legends, folktales (including jokes and riddles), and biography/autobiography. The definition of mythology in this instance is simply a collec- tion of beliefs held by one group; all groups technically have a mythology, which outsiders usually regard as false, leading to the more common modern application of the word myth. Myths take place before recorded history, explaining how the world came to be the way that it is. Legends have a kernel of truth to them, with lots of embel- lishment added over the years (for example, a real person who becomes superhuman over the centuries of telling stories about him). Folktales are timeless; with a little adaptation, a folktale could be adapted to another time or place. Folktales are also considered fiction by the people hearing the stories, whereas myths and legends are consid- ered true by the original audiences. The stories in this section generally fall under the category of myth: stories of the creation of the world. As you read, consider the following questions: • Which elements of the stories seem to be original (from the oral past), and which seem influenced by con- tact with the Europeans? What evidence is there in the text? • What kind of worldview do the narrators have? What is important to them, and why? • What view of nature does each story have? Is nature to be feared or not, and why? • What examples of that group’s culture are in the stories? There is a huge difference between the cultures of the Pima and the Cherokee, for example. Written by Laura J. Getty Myths of the Cherokee Cherokee (Native America) Compiled by James Mooney (1861-1921 C.E.) 331
Compact Anthology of World Literature Published in 1900 C.E. The Cherokee are a group of North American Indians of Iroquoian lineage and were one of the largest tribes when Europeans colonized the Americas. It is estimated that in 1650 about 22,500 Cherokee Indians controlled approximately 40,000 square miles of the Appalachian Mountains, the areas that are now northern Georgia, east- ern Tennessee, and the western Carolinas. A typical Cherokee town had between 30 and 60 log-cabin houses and a council house; they used deer, bear, and elk for meat and clothing, made baskets and pottery, and grew corn, beans, and squash. The Spanish, French, and English all attempted to colonize parts of the Southeast of North America, including Cherokee territory. After 1800, the Cherokee quickly assimilated aspects of American settler culture in such areas as farming, weaving, and home building; they also developed their own government, modeling it after the United States, and invented a writing system for the Cherokee language. Despite their adaptive efforts, however, the Indian Removal Act of 1830 under President Andrew Jackson forcibly moved Cherokee Indians to Oklahoma; about 4,000 Cherokee died on the Tail of Tears, during the fall and winter of 1838–39. As of the twenty-first centu- ry, there are more than 730,000 individuals of Cherokee descent living in the United States. Myths of the Cherokee was compiled by James Moony, an early twentieth-century ethnographer who lived with the Cherokee for several years, but these stories can be traced back to the time of or even before the arrival of the Europeans. Written by Kyounghye Kwon Selections from Myths of the Cherokee License: Public Domain Compiled by James Mooney Cherokee Cosmogonic Myths Image 12.1: Individuals of Cherokee Heritage | 1. How the World Was Made A collage of people with Cherokee ancestry. The earth is a great island floating in a sea of water, and Author: User “Robfergusonjr” suspended at each of the four cardinal points by a cord hang- Source: Wikimedia Commons ing down from the sky vault, which is of solid rock. When License: Public Domain the world grows old and worn out, the people will die and the cords will break and let the earth sink down into the ocean, and all will be water again. The Indians are afraid of this. When all was water, the animals were above in Gälûñ’lätï, beyond the arch; but it was very much crowded, and they were wanting more room. They wondered what was below the water, and at last Dâyuni’sï, “Beaver’s Grandchild,” the little Water-beetle, offered to go and see if it could learn. It darted in every direction over the surface of the water, but could find no firm place to rest. Then it dived to the bottom and came up with some soft mud, which began to grow and spread on every side until it became the island which we call the earth. It was afterward fastened to the sky with four cords, but no one remembers who did this. At first the earth was flat and very soft and wet. The an- imals were anxious to get down, and sent out different birds to see if it was yet dry, but they found no place to alight and came back again to Gälûñ’lätï. At last it seemed to be time, and they sent out the Buzzard and told him to go and make ready for them. This was the Great Buzzard, the father of all the buzzards we see now. He flew all over the earth, low down near the ground, and it was still soft. When he reached the Cherokee country, he was very tired, and his wings began to flap and strike the ground, and wherever they struck the earth there was a valley, and where they turned up again there was a mountain. When the animals above saw this, they were 332
Myths of the Cherokee afraid that the whole world would be mountains, so they called him back, but the Cherokee country remains full of mountains to this day. When the earth was dry and the animals came down, it was still dark, so they got the sun and set it in a track to go every day across the island from east to west, just overhead. It was too hot this way, and Tsiska’gïlï’, the Red Crawfish, had his shell scorched a bright red, so that his meat was spoiled; and the Cherokee do not eat it. The conjurers put the sun another hand-breadth higher in the air, but it was still too hot. They raised it another time, and another, until it was seven handbreadths high and just under the sky arch. Then it was right, and they left it so. This is why the conjurers call the highest place Gûlkwâ’gine Di’gälûñ’lätiyûñ’, “the seventh height,” because it is seven hand-breadths above the earth. Every day the sun goes along under this arch, and returns at night on the upper side to the starting place. There is another world under this, and it is like ours in everything—animals, plants, and people—save that the seasons are different. The streams that come down from the mountains are the trails by which we reach this under- world, and the springs at their heads are the doorways by which we enter it, but to do this, one must fast and go to water and have one of the underground people for a guide. We know that the seasons in the underworld are differ- ent from ours, because the water in the springs is always warmer in winter and cooler in summer than the outer air. When the animals and plants were first made—we do not know by whom—they were told to watch and keep awake for seven nights, just as young men now fast and keep awake when they pray to their medicine. They tried to do this, and nearly all were awake through the first night, but the next night several dropped off to sleep, and the third night others were asleep, and then others, until, on the seventh night, of all the animals only the owl, the pan- ther, and one or two more were still awake. To these were given the power to see and to go about in the dark, and to make prey of the birds and animals which must sleep at night. Of the trees only the cedar, the pine, the spruce, the holly, and the laurel were awake to the end, and to them it was given to be always green and to be greatest for medi- cine, but to the others it was said: “Because you have not endured to the end you shall lose your, hair every winter.” Men came after the animals and plants. At first there were only a brother and sister until he struck her with a fish and told her to multiply, and so it was. In seven days a child was born to her, and thereafter every seven days another, and they increased very fast until there was danger that the world could not keep them. Then it was made that a woman should have only one child in a year, and it has been so ever since. 2. The First Fire In the beginning there was no fire, and the world was cold, until the Thunders (Ani’-Hyûñ’tïkwälâ’skï), who lived up in Gälûñ’lätï, sent their lightning and put fire into the bottom of a hollow sycamore tree which grew on an island. The animals knew it was there, because they could see the smoke coming out at the top, but they could not get to it on account of the water, so they held a council to decide what to do. This was a long time ago. Every animal that could fly or swim was anxious to go after the fire. The Raven offered, and because he was so large and strong they thought he could surely do the work, so he was sent first. He flew high and far across the water and alighted on the sycamore tree, but while he was wondering what to do next, the heat had scorched all his feathers black, and he was frightened and came back without the fire. The little Screech-owl (Wa’huhu’) volunteered to go, and reached the place safely, but while he was looking down into the hollow tree a blast of hot air came up and nearly burned out his eves. He managed to fly home as best he could, but it was a long time before he could see well, and his eyes are red to this day. Then the Hooting Owl (U’guku’) and the Horned Owl (Tskïlï’) went, but by the time they got to the hollow tree the fire was burning so fiercely that the smoke nearly blinded them, and the ashes carried up by the wind made white rings about their eyes. They had to come home again without the fire, but with all their rubbing they were never able to get rid of the white rings. Now no more of the birds would venture, and so the little Uksu’hï snake, the black racer, said he would go through the water and bring back some fire. He swam across to the island and crawled through the grass to the tree, and went in by a small hole at the bottom. The heat and smoke were too much for him, too, and after dodging about blindly over the hot ashes until he was almost on fire himself he managed by good luck to get out again at the same hole, but his body had been scorched black, and he has ever since had the habit of darting and doubling on his track as if trying to escape from close quarters. He came back, and the great blacksnake, Gûle’gï, “The Climber,” offered to go for fire. He swam over to the island and climbed up the tree on the outside, as the blacksnake always does, but when he put his head down into the hole the smoke choked him so that he fell into the burning stump, and before he could climb out again he was as black as the Uksu’hï. Now they held another council, for still there was no fire, and the world was cold, but birds, snakes, and four-footed animals, all had some excuse for not going, because they were all afraid to venture near the burning sycamore, until at last Känäne’skï Amai’yëhï (the Water Spider) said she would go. This is not the water spider that looks like a mosquito, but the other one, with black downy hair and red stripes on her body. She can run on top of 333
Compact Anthology of World Literature the water or dive to the bottom, so there would be no trouble to get over to the island, but the question was, ‘How could she bring back the fire?’ “I’ll manage that,” said the Water Spider; so she spun a thread from her body and wove it into a tusti bowl, which she fastened on her back. Then she crossed over to the island and through the grass to where the fire was still burning. She put one little coal of fire into her bowl, and came back with it, and ever since we have had fire, and the Water Spider still keeps her tusti bowl. 3. Kana’tï and Selu: The Origin of Game and Corn When I was a boy this is what the old men told me they had heard when they were boys. Long years ago, soon after the world was made, a hunter and his wife lived at Pilot Knob with their only child, a little boy. The father’s name was Kana’tï (The Lucky Hunter), and his wife was called Selu (Corn). No matter when Kana’tï went into the wood, he never failed to bring back a load of game, which his wife would cut up and prepare, washing off the blood from the meat in the river near the house. The little boy used to play down by the river every day, and one morning the old people thought they heard laughing and talking in the bushes as though there were two children there. When the boy came home at night his parents asked him who had been playing with him all day. “He comes out of the water,” said the boy, “and he calls himself my elder brother. He says his mother was cruel to him and threw him into the river.” Then they knew that the strange boy had sprung from the blood of the game which Selu had washed off at the river’s edge. Every day when the little boy went out to play the other would join him, but as he always went back again into the water the old people never had a chance to see him. At last one evening Kana’tï said to his son, “Tomorrow, when the other boy comes to play, get him to wrestle with you, and when you have your arms around him hold on to him and call for us.” The boy promised to do as he was told, so the next day as soon as his playmate appeared he challenged him to a wrestling match. The other agreed at once, but as soon as they had their arms around each oth- er, Kana’tï’s boy began to scream for his father. The old folks at once came running down, and as soon as the Wild Boy saw them he struggled to free himself and cried out, “Let me go; you threw me away!” but his brother held on until the parents reached the spot, when they seized the Wild Boy and took him home with them. They kept him in the house until they had tamed him, but he was always wild and artful in his disposition, and was the leader of his brother in every mischief. It was not long until the old people discovered that he had magic powers, and they called him I’näge-utäsûñ’hï (He-who-grew-up-wild). Whenever Kana’tï went into the mountains he always brought back a fat buck or doe, or maybe a couple of tur- keys. One day the Wild Boy said to his brother, “I wonder where our father gets all that game; let’s follow him next time and find out.” A few days afterward Kana’tï took a bow and some feathers in his hand and started off toward the west. The boys waited a little while and then went after him, keeping out of sight until they saw him go into a swamp where there were a great many of the small reeds that hunters use to make arrow shafts. Then the Wild Boy changed himself into a puff of birds down, which the wind took up and carried until it alighted upon Kana’tï’s shoulder just as he entered the swamp, but Kana’tï’ knew nothing about it. The old man cut reeds, fitted the feath- ers to them and made some arrows, and the Wild Boy—in his other shape—thought, “I wonder what those things are for?” When Kana’tï had his arrows finished he came out of the swamp and went on again. The wind blew the down from his shoulder, and it fell in the woods, when the Wild Boy took his right shape again and went back and told his brother what he had seen. Keeping out of sight of their father, they followed him up the mountain until he stopped at a certain place and lifted a large rock. At once there ran out a buck, which Kana’tï shot, and then lifting it upon his back he started for home again. “Oho!” exclaimed the boys, “he keeps all the deer shut up in that hole, and whenever he wants meat he just lets one out and kills it with those things he made in the swamp.” They hurried and reached home before their father, who had the heavy deer to carry, and he never knew that they had followed. A few days later the boys went back to the swamp, cut some reeds, and made seven arrows and then started up the mountain to where their father kept the game. When they got to the place, they raised the rock and a deer came running out. Just as they drew back to shoot it, another came out, and then another and another, until the boys got confused and forgot what they were about. In those days all the deer had their tails hanging down like other ani- mals, but as a buck was running past the Wild Boy struck its tail with his arrow so that it pointed upward. The boys thought this good sport, and when the next one ran past the Wild Boy struck its tail so that it stood straight up, and his brother struck the next one so hard with his arrow that the deer’s tail was almost curled over his back. The deer carries his tail this way ever since. The deer came running past until the last one had come out of the hole and es- caped into the forest. Then came droves of raccoons, rabbits, and all the other four-footed animals-all but the bear, because there was no bear then. Last came great flocks of turkeys, pigeons, and partridges that darkened the air like a cloud and made such a noise with their wings that Kana’tï, sitting at home, heard the sound like distant thunder on the mountains and said to himself, “My bad boys have got into trouble; I must go and see what they are doing.” So he went up the mountain, and when he came to the place where he kept the game he found the two boys 334
Myths of the Cherokee standing by the rock, and all the birds and animals were gone. Kana’tï was furious, but without saying a word he went down into the cave and kicked the covers off four jars in one corner, when out swarmed bedbugs, fleas, lice, and gnats, and got all over the boys. They screamed with pain and fright and tried to beat off the insects, but the thousands of vermin crawled over them and bit and stung them until both dropped down nearly dead. Kana’tï stood looking on until he thought they had been punished enough, when he knocked off the vermin and made the boys a talk. “Now, you rascals,” said he, “you have always had plenty to eat and never had to work for it. Whenever you were hungry all I had to do was to come up here and get a deer or a turkey and bring it home for your mother to cook; but now you have let out all the animals, and after this when you want a deer to eat you will have to hunt all over the woods for it, and then maybe not find one. Go home now to your mother, while I see if I can find some- thing to eat for supper.” When the boys got home again they were very tired and hungry and asked their mother for something to eat. “There is no meat,” said Selu, “but wait a little while and I’ll get you something.” So she took a basket and started out to the storehouse. This storehouse was built upon poles high up from the ground, to keep it out of the reach of ani- mals, and there was a ladder to climb up by, and one door, but no other opening. Every day when Selu got ready to cook the dinner she would go out to the storehouse with a basket and bring it back full of corn and beans. The boys had never been inside the storehouse, so wondered where all the corn and beans could come from, as the house was not a very large one; so as soon as Selu went out of the door the Wild Boy said to his brother, “Let’s go and see what she does.” They ran around and climbed up at the back of the storehouse and pulled out a piece of clay from between the logs, so that they could look in. There they saw Selu standing in the middle of the room with the basket in front of her on the floor. Leaning over the basket, she rubbed her stomach—so—and the basket was half full of corn. Then she rubbed under her armpits—so—and the basket was full to the top with beans. The boys looked at each other and said, “This will never do; our mother is a witch. If we eat any of that it will poison us. We must kill her.” When the boys came back into the house, she knew their thoughts before they spoke. “So you are going to kill me?” said Selu. “Yes,” said the boys, “you are a witch.” “Well,” said their mother, “when you have killed me, clear a large piece of ground in front of the house and drag my body seven times around the circle. Then drag me seven times over the ground inside the circle, and stay up all night and watch, and in the morning you will have plenty of corn.” The boys killed her with their clubs, and cut off her head and put it up on the roof of the house with her face turned to the west, and told her to look for her husband. Then they set to work to clear the ground in front of the house, but instead of clearing the whole piece they cleared only seven little spots. This is why corn now grows only in a few places instead of over the whole world. They dragged the body of Selu around the circle, and wherever her blood fell on the ground the corn sprang up. But instead of dragging her body seven times across the ground they dragged it over only twice, which is the reason the Indians still work their crop but twice. The two brothers sat up and watched their corn all night, and in the morning it was full grown and ripe. When Kana’tï came home at last, he looked around, but could not see Selu anywhere, and asked the boys where was their mother. “She was a witch, and we killed her,” said the boys; “there is her head up there on top of the house.” When he saw his wife’s head on the roof, he was very angry, and said, “I won’t stay with you any longer; I am going to the Wolf people.” So he started off, but before he had gone far the Wild Boy changed himself again to a tuft of down, which fell on Kana’tï’s shoulder. When Kana’tï reached the settlement of the Wolf people, they were holding a council in the townhouse. He went in and sat down with the tuft of bird’s down on his shoulder, but he never noticed it. When the Wolf chief asked him his business, he said: “I have two bad boys at home, and I want you to go in seven days from now and play ball against them.” Although Kana’tï spoke as though he wanted them to play a game of ball, the Wolves knew that he meant for them to go and kill the two boys. They promised to go. Then the bird’s down blew off from Kana’tï’s shoulder, and the smoke carried it up through the hole in the roof of the town- house. When it came down on the ground outside, the Wild Boy took his right shape again and went home and told his brother all that he had heard in the townhouse. But when Kana’tï left the Wolf people, he did not return home, but went on farther. The boys then began to get ready for the Wolves, and the Wild Boy—the magician—told his brother what to do. They ran around the house in a wide circle until they had made a trail all around it excepting on the side from which the Wolves would come, where they left a small open space. Then they made four large bundles of arrows and placed them at four different points on the outside of the circle, after which they hid themselves in the woods and waited for the Wolves. In a day or two a whole party of Wolves came and surrounded the house to kill the boys. The Wolves did not notice the trail around the house, because they came in where the boys had left the opening, but the moment they went inside the circle the trail changed to a high brush fence and shut them in. Then the boys on the outside took their arrows and began shooting them down, and as the Wolves could not jump over the fence they were all killed, excepting a few that escaped through the opening into a great swamp close by. The boys ran around the swamp, and a circle of fire sprang up in their tracks and set fire to the grass and bushes and burned up nearly all the other wolves. Only two or three got away, and from these have come all the wolves that are now in the world. 335
Compact Anthology of World Literature Soon afterward some strangers from a distance, who had heard that the brothers had a wonderful grain from which they made bread, came to ask for some, for none but Selu and her family had ever known corn before. The boys gave them seven grains of corn, which they told them to plant the next night on their way home, sitting up all night to watch the corn, which would have seven ripe ears in the morning. These they were to plant the next night and watch in the same way, and so on every night until they reached home, when they would have corn enough to supply the whole people. The strangers lived seven days’ journey away. They took the seven grains and watched all through the darkness until morning, when they saw seven tall stalks, each stalk bearing a ripened ear. They gathered the ears and went on their way. The next night they planted all their corn, and guarded it as before until daybreak, when they found an abundant increase. But the way was long and the sun was hot, and the people grew tired. On the last night before reaching home they fell asleep, and in the morning the corn they had planted had not even sprouted. They brought with them to their settlement what corn they had left and planted it, and with care and attention were able to raise a crop. But ever since the corn must be watched and tended through half the year, which before would grow and ripen in a night. As Kana’tï did not return, the boys at last concluded to go and find him. The Wild Boy took a gaming wheel and rolled it toward the Darkening land. In a little while the wheel came rolling back, and the boys knew their father was not there. He rolled it to the south and, to the north, and each time the wheel came back to him, and they knew their father was not there. Then he rolled it toward the Sunland, and it did not return. “Our father is there,” said the Wild Boy, “let us go and find him.” So the two brothers set off toward the east, and after traveling a long time they came upon Kana’tï walking along with a little dog by his side. “You bad boys,” said their father, “have you come here?” “Yes,” they answered, “We always accomplish what we start out to do—we are men.” “This dog overtook me four days ago,” then said Kana’tï, but the boys knew that the dog was the wheel which they had sent after him to find him. “Well,” said Kana’tï, “as you have found me, we may as well travel together, but I shall take the lead.” Soon they came to a swamp, and Kana’tï told them there was something dangerous there and they must keep away from it. He went on ahead, but as soon as he was out of sight the Wild Boy said to his brother, “Come and let us see what is in the swamp.” They went in together, and in the middle of the swamp they found a large panther asleep. The Wild Boy got out an arrow and shot the panther in the side of the head. The panther turned his head and the other boy shot him on that side. He turned his head away again and the two brothers shot together—tust, tust, tust! But the panther was not hurt by the arrows and paid no more attention to the boys. They came out of the swamp and soon overtook Kana’tï, who was waiting for them. “Did you find it?” asked Kana’tï. “Yes,” said the boys, “We found it, but it never hurt us. We are men.” Kana’tï was surprised, but said nothing, and they went on again. After a while he turned to them and said, “Now you must be careful. We are coming to a tribe called the Anäda’dûñtäskï. (“Roasters,” i.e., cannibals), and if they get you they will put you into a pot and feast on you.” Then he went on ahead. Soon the boys came to a tree which had been struck by lightning, and the Wild Boy directed his brother to gather some of the splinters from the tree and told him what to do with them. In a little while they came to the settlement of the cannibals, who, as soon as they saw the boys, came running out crying, “Good, here are two nice fat strangers. Now we’ll have a grand feast!” They caught the boys and dragged them into the townhouse, and sent word to all the people of the settlement to come to the feast. They made up a great fire, put water into a large pot and set it to boiling, and then seized the Wild Boy and put him down into it. His brother was not in the least frightened and made no attempt to escape, but quietly knelt down and began putting the splinters into the fire, as if to make it burn better. When the cannibals thought the meat was about ready they lifted the pot from the fire, and that instant a blinding light filled the townhouse, and the lightning began to dart from one side to the other, striking down the cannibals until not one of them was left alive. Then the lightning went up through the smokehole, and the next moment there were the two boys standing outside the townhouse as though nothing had happened. They went on and soon met Kana’tï, who seemed much surprised to see them, and said, “What! Are you here again?” “O, yes, we never give up. We are great men!” “What did the cannibals do to you?” “We met them and they brought us to their townhouse, but they never hurt us.” Kana’tï said nothing more, and they went on. * * * * * * * He soon got out of sight of the boys, but they kept on until they came to the end of the world, where the sun comes out. The sky was just coming down when they got there, but they waited until it went up again, and then they went through and climbed up on the other side. There they found Kana’tï and Selu sitting together. The old folk received them kindly and were glad to see them, telling them they might stay there a while, but then they must go to live where the sun goes down. The boys stayed with their parents seven days and then went on toward the Dark- ening land, where they are now. We call them Anisga’ya Tsunsdi’ (The Little Men), and when they talk to each other we hear low rolling thunder in the west. 336
Myths of the Cherokee After Kana’tï’s boys had let the deer out from the cave where their father used to keep them, the hunters tramped about in the woods for a long time without finding any game, so that the people were very hungry. At last they heard that the Thunder Boys were now living in the far west, beyond the sun door, and that if they were sent for they could bring back the game. So they sent messengers for them, and the boys came and sat down in the mid- dle of the townhouse and began to sing. At the first song there was a roaring sound like a strong wind in the northwest, and it grew louder and nearer as the boys sang on, until at the seventh song a whole herd of deer, led by a large buck, came out from the woods. The boys had told the people to be ready with their bows and arrows, and when the song was ended and all the deer were close around the townhouse, the hunters shot into them and killed as many as they needed before the herd could get back into the timber. Then the Thunder Boys went back to the Darkening land, but before they left they taught the people the seven songs with which to call up the deer. It all happened so long ago that the songs are now forgotten—all but two, which the hunters still sing whenever they go after deer. Wahnenauhi Version After the world had been brought up from under the water, “They then made a man and a woman and led them around the edge of the island. On arriving at the starting place they planted some corn, and then told the man and woman to go around the way they had been led. This they did, and on returning they found the corn up and grow- ing nicely. They were then told to continue the circuit. Each trip consumed more time. At last the corn was ripe and ready for use.” * * * * * * * Another story is told of how sin came into the world. A man and a woman reared a large family of children in comfort and plenty, with very little trouble about providing food for them. Every morning the father went forth and very soon returned bringing with him a deer, or a turkey, or some other animal or fowl. At the same time the mother went out and soon returned with a large basket filled with ears of corn which she shelled and pounded in a mortar, thus making meal for bread. When the children grew up, seeing with what apparent ease food was provided for them, they talked to each other about it, wondering that they never saw such things as their parents brought in. At last, one proposed to watch when their parents went out and to follow them. Accordingly, the next morning the plan was carried out. Those who followed the father saw him stop at a short distance from the cabin and turn over a large stone that appeared to be carelessly leaned against another. On looking closely they saw an entrance to a large cave, and in it were many different kinds of animals and birds, such as their father had sometimes brought in for food. The man standing at the entrance called a deer, which was lying at some distance and back of some other animals. It rose immediately as it heard the call and came close up to him. He picked it up, closed the mouth of the cave, and returned, not once seeming to suspect what his sons had done. When the old man was fairly out of sight, his sons, rejoicing how they had outwitted him, left their hiding place and went to the cave, saying they would show the old folks that they, too, could bring in something. They moved the stone away, though it was very heavy and they were obliged to use all their united strength. When the cave was opened, the animals, instead of waiting to be picked up, all made a rush for the entrance, and leaping past the frightened and bewildered boys, scattered in all directions and disappeared in the wilderness, while the guilty offenders could do nothing but gaze in stupefied amazement as they saw them escape. There were animals of all kinds, large and small—buffalo, deer, elk, antelope, raccoons, and squirrels; even catamounts and panthers, wolves and foxes, and many others, all fleeing together. At the same time birds of every kind were seen emerging from the opening, all in the same wild confusion as the quadrupeds—turkeys, geese, swans, ducks, quails, eagles, hawks, and owls. Those who followed the mother saw her enter a small cabin, which they had never seen before, and close the door. The culprits found a small crack through which they could peer. They saw the woman place a basket on the ground and standing over it shake herself vigorously, jumping up and down—when lo and behold!—large ears of corn began to fall into the basket. When it was well filled she took it up and, placing it on her head, came out, fastened the door, and prepared their breakfast as usual. When the meal had been finished in silence the man spoke to his children, telling them that he was aware of what they had done; that now he must die and they would be obliged to provide for themselves. He made bows and arrows for them, then sent them to hunt for the animals which they had turned loose. Then the mother told them that as they had found out her secret she could do nothing more for them; that she would die, and they must drag her body around over the ground; that wherever her body was dragged corn would come up. Of this they were to make their bread. She told them that they must always save some for seed and plant every year. 337
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