ALONSO         You cram these words into mine ears, against

The stomach of my sense. Would I had never

Married my daughter there, for coming thence

My son is lost and (in my rate) she too,

Who is so far from Italy removed

I ne’er again shall see her. O thou mine heir

Of Naples and of Milan, what strange fish

Hath made his meal on thee?

FRANCISCO                                                    Sir, he may live.

I saw him beat the surges under him

And ride upon their backs. He trod the water,

Whose enmity he flung aside, and breasted

The surge most swoll’n that met him. His bold head

’Bove the contentious waves he kept and oared

Himself with his good arms in lusty stroke

To th’ shore, that o’er his wave-worn basis bowed,

As stooping to relieve him. I not doubt

He came alive to land.

ALONSO                                             No, no, he’s gone. (2.1.107-123)

 

Finally, Alonso snaps. Just shut up, I’m really, really not in the mood; it’s like you’re force-feeding me, cramming me with words, when I’m not even hungry, when I don’t want to hear or listen, against the stomach of my sense. And stop reminding me about Claribel’s wedding: this is all my fault, none of this would have happened if I hadn’t married her there, that is, to the King of Tunis – and, another thing, I’ll never see her again, Tunis is so far from Italy. I’ve lost both of my children, in effect. But his main grief is the loss of his son, and Alonso mirrors Ferdinand in the way he frames his lamentation: just as Ferdinand mourned the king my father father (believing Alonso to be drowned), Alonso mourns mine heir of Naples and of Milan. There is a slightly bathetic, or perhaps ironic touch in what strange fish hath made his meal on thee – Caliban will later be compared to a strange fish, and his name at least gestures, anagrammatically, to cannibals. It is not Caliban who has encountered Ferdinand, but Prospero and Miranda: how will they feed upon him? And now Francisco speaks but – sorry, actor playing Francisco – these lines could very easily be reallocated to Gonzalo or Adrian, now anxious to placate and reassure the king, given that they’ve been winding him up so much. Francisco does strike a slightly different note, though; he’s not just reassuring the king, but giving extravagant praise to Ferdinand as a strong swimmer, who beat the surges, the waves under him, and rode upon their backs. The way he describes it, Ferdinand was fighting the water, whose enmity he flung aside, and winning; he quite literally kept his head about water and swam strongly, oared himself with his good arms in lusty stroke to’th shore. (Compare what the Sea Captain says to Viola, of her brother Sebastian in Twelfth Night: like Arion on the dolphin’s back I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves so long as I could see.) It sounds as if Francisco almost saw Ferdinand make landfall; he imagines that the cliffs bowed, as stooping to relieve him– but can’t quite confirm it. Still, he’s confident that Ferdinand made it: I not doubt he came alive to land. (Part of the purpose here, perhaps, is to make Ferdinand sound like more of a catch – not the bedraggled, grief-struck, love-struck boy of the previous scene, but a sexy strong-armed swimmer.

One of the things that this scene does is stage different varieties of courtier, and perhaps reveal something about court life. Gonzalo: pedantic, garrulous, but confident in his position as long-term counsellor to the king; he’s used to being listened to. Adrian: trying to strike the same note, but a bit too eager; perhaps younger. Antonio chafing, a Duke in his own right, or so he thinks, but aware that he is reliant on Alonso for his dukedom, and therefore nitpicking, pointscoring, sarcastic. Sebastian, even more sarcastic, thinking about whether he should throw in his lot with duke rather than king, but also showing off his cynical wit for its own sake. And now Francisco, flattering the king by praising his son’s physical prowess, even as he offers him some hope that the young man has survived. One has to feel sorry for Alonso, surrounded by these boring, mostly self-serving men. And the scene’s switched back into verse, to reinforce the emotional intensity of what Alonso has to say: I think my son is dead.