STEPHANO I prithee, now, lead the way without any more talking. Trinculo, the King and all our company else being drowned, we will inherit here. Here, bear my bottle. Fellow Trinculo, we’ll fill him by and by.
CALIBAN (Sings drunkenly.) Farewell master; farewell, farewell!
TRINCULO A howling monster, a drunken monster!
CALIBAN No more dams I’ll make for fish,
Nor fetch in firing at requiring,
Nor scrape trenchering, nor wash dish,
Ban’ ban’ Ca-caliban,
Has a new master, get a new man.
Freedom, high-day; high-day freedom; freedom high-day, freedom.
STEPHANO O brave monster, lead the way. Exeunt. (2.2.170-183)
And so the scene ends, Stephano taking charge, and taking Caliban up on his offer – apparently – to see, and share the riches of the island. Without any more talking. Stephano is, after all, also very drunk, and has possibly exhausted himself in the reunion with Trinculo and the convincing of Caliban that he is indeed a god, the man in the moon – so now he needs quiet time, and ideally the prospect of some serious carbs in the medium-term. (And they need to get offstage somehow. One small issue in this play, which might not be noticed: because there is only one general location, one setting – the island – and because most of the characters are unfamiliar with its features, it’s quite difficult to motivate an exit, end a scene, with an intention to go somewhere else specific and identifiable. The transitions between scenes can be quite dream-like and arbitrary.) Caliban is given the bottle to carry – a trophy, a sacred vessel – and it, and he, will be filled by and by, with more wine, when they visit the barrel in the cave. But in the middle of Stephano’s straightforward commands here, a key statement for how the action of the play will develop: the King and all our company else being drowned, we will inherit here. The assumption, first, that they are indeed the only two Neapolitans ’scaped and, second, that therefore, naturally, they are in charge; that they can claim the island, inherit here. There is no question of this being Caliban’s island. As far as Stephano’s concerned, if the King were living, he’d claim the island as of right (imperial privilege, whatever) but as he’s apparently not, then they can, as two Europeans, two men. That’s just how it works. And there is a bitter poignancy in Caliban’s not seeing the contradiction in his farewell master – to Prospero – and his proud, joyous proclamation that Caliban has a new master. Apparently he cannot conceive of being his own master; he has internalised and naturalised his own subjection… But, all the same, he thinks that this time it will be different, as he lists what are presumably his most hated tasks: making dams to catch fish; the hated fire-wood-carrying at requiring, on demand – and doing the washing up, scraping the trenchers, the wooden plates, and washing the dishes. His joy at this prospect is matched by his joy in language itself, its sounds and rhythms, as he plays with his name – Ban’ ban’ Ca-caliban – in a song or chant that is rich with rhyme and repetition: high-day, holiday freedom! Freedom! Brave monster could be amused, or it could be mocking: amazing, swaggering, show-off monster!
And that’s the end of act 2. Two out of three of the groups into which the Neapolitans have been separated have now met with the inhabitants of the island, Ferdinand with Prospero and Miranda and Caliban with Trinculo and Stephano. Various plots have been set in motion. What will happen next?!
