CALIBAN This island’s mine by Sycorax, my mother,
Which thou tak’st from me. When thou cam’st first
Thou strok’st me and made much of me; wouldst give me
Water with berries in’t, and teach me how
To name the bigger light and how the less
That burn by day and night. And then I loved thee
And showed the all the qualities o’th’ isle:
The fresh springs, brine pits, barren place and fertile.
Cursed be I that did so! All the charms
Of Sycorax—toads, beetles, bats—light on you,
For I am all the subjects that you have,
Which first was mine own king; and here you sty me
In this hard rock, whiles you do keep from me
The rest o’th’ island. (1.2.332-345)
It is very difficult, surely, to argue against what Caliban has to say. He was Sycorax’s only descendant, heir, as her son, and if the island can belong to anyone, it therefore belongs to him. Instead, he has been deposed – like Prospero. And like Prospero, at first he trusted the one who usurped his position. This is, of course, a much cited account of colonisation: Caliban was initially treated well by Prospero – thou strok’st me and made much of me – he was given little treats (Caliban likes special juice, note, for later on; is the implication even that he was given alcohol by Prospero?) – and in particular he was taught things – the names of sun and moon, for instance. Prospero seems to have regarded Caliban as a pet, even a child, to be trained, just as he now sometimes treats him as a wild animal to be visited and teased for entertainment. And Caliban responded with love – I loved thee, he says, straightforwardly – and so of course I shared everything about my beloved island with you, especially the crucial things like where to find the good drinking water, as opposed to the brackish, and where plants would more readily grow. Caliban was hospitable and welcoming; he shared. But cursed be I that did so! Prospero’s care and kindness, at least as Caliban now interprets them, had an ulterior motive, that of oppression and control. Prospero had to be master – but I am all the subjects that you have (not much of a king, therefore; Caliban can’t resist a sly dig) – but I used to be master of myself. I used to be king. And now you shut me up, sty me, like an animal, a pig, in this hard rock – not even wood, or earth, but rock – and I can’t explore my island. I can no longer experience the place where I belong, my home, the place I love more than anything. And so Caliban curses Prospero, again, albeit less inventively this time: toads, beetles, bats. And invokes his mother. Sycorax is named five times in fewer than one hundred lines. She has a baleful, ominous presence through the repetition of her harsh, sibilant name.
