PROSPERO Bravely the figure of this harpy hast thou
Performed, my Ariel; a grace it had, devouring.
Of my instruction hast thou nothing bated
In what thou hadst to say. So, with good life
And observation strange, my meaner ministers
Their several kinds have done. My high charms work,
And these, mine enemies, are all knit up
In their distractions. They now are in my power;
And in these fits I leave them while I visit
Young Ferdinand (whom they suppose is drowned)
And his, and mine, loved darling. [Exit.] (3.3.83-93)
Darling, you were wonderful! or words to that effect, as Prospero (probably up on the gallery over the stage) praises Ariel’s performance. You made a splendid harpy. A grace it had, devouring: a rather opaque formulation, suggesting that either the harpy devoured the banquet (which seems odd, in view of the action described in the stage directions, at least) or rather (my preference) that its grace was devouring, all-consuming, ravishing. Grace is a strange word to apply to a harpy, though, and it might relate more to the overarching vocabulary of sin and redemption here: Ariel as harpy has been a means of grace, through repentance and reformation, for the three men of sin, rather than graceful – even though they were fierce and frightening, devouring. Maybe. Ariel has done exactly what they were asked to do, and said everything they were asked to say, nothing bated, not leaving anything out. And the other spirits, Prospero’s meaner ministers, with their good life, liveliness and excellent actions, and their strange, peculiarly well-observed, painstaking observance, observation, care (sort of); they’ve done all the various things I commanded them to do too. My high charms, my superior magic, works, both in the sense of, it works, and, it works on these, mine enemies, who are now knit up, entangled, ensnared, entrapped, in their distractions, their madness. (What are they doing? Standing and staring? Or running mad? Actual seizures? Lying on the ground, covering their faces in fear?) They now are in my power – just as I was once in theirs. And I’m going to leave them in this state, these fits, while I go to see Ferdinand (whom they suppose is drowned). A small additional cruelty there, from Prospero; he knows that Alonso is grief-stricken and shattered by the loss of his son. He’s not going to tell him that Ferdinand is alive and well, but let him suffer a bit longer. Naming Ferdinand even has the effect of Prospero claiming him as son-in-law, or son, as if he knows him better than his own father. Softened, a little bitter-sweetly, by the description of Miranda, not named for once, as his, and mine, loved darling. She is a loved darling – and Prospero concedes, perhaps ruefully, perhaps possessively, that he now shares her, and her love, with Ferdinand.
