TITANIA         His mother was a votaress of my order;

And in the spiced Indian air by night,

Full often hath she gossiped by my side,

And sat with me on Neptune’s yellow sands

Marking th’embarked traders on the flood,

When we have laughed to see the sails conceive

And grow big-bellied with the wanton wind,

Which she with pretty and with swimming gait

Following (her womb then rich with my young squire)

Would imitate, and sail upon the land

To fetch me trifles and return again

As from a voyage, rich with merchandise.  (2.1.123-134)

The changeling child has a backstory, and it’s as if Titania opens a window into the past, which is indeed another country, one of warmth, sunshine, laughter, and friendship between women. His mother was a votaress of my order—a follower, a devotee, but so much more than that; she was my friend. (In mythological terms, Titania is an aspect of Diana, goddess of chastity and the moon—so this is the very fate with which Hermia has been threatened. It’s going to sound like an increasingly good deal.) And in the spiced Indian air by night—far, far away from soggy England, or Athens—the spices make it all the more heady, emotional, nostalgic—full often hath she gossiped by my side, we’d just sit, and talk and talk, and sat with me on Neptune’s yellow sands, that perfect beach, marking th’embarked traders on the flood; we’d just watch the ships as they set off, when we have laughed to see the sails conceive and grow big-bellied with the wanton wind—such joy to see the sails billow, round, full of promise, swelling with the wind—and she with pretty and with swimming gait following (her womb then rich with my young squire), so dainty, she’d imitate the ships as if she too were floating, flowing, running down the wind, rounded, swelling, glowing, because she was pregnant, with this boy; she’d sail upon the land, off down the beach to fetch me trifles (a fan, some fruit; my sunhat, and an icecream, maybe chips) and then she’d return again as from a voyage, rich with merchandise. The rich merchandise is also the memory, and the growing child.

It all tumbles out in a rush, this vivid, sensual memory, sitting on the beach with a beloved friend, sea and sun and sand, watching the ships, being silly, having a laugh, full of hope for the future, not a care in the world. This is the story of the changeling boy; this is what Titania cannot give up.