GONZALO                                           I have inly wept,

Or should have spoke ere this. Look down, you gods,

And on this couple drop a blessed crown,

For it is you that have chalked forth the way

Which brought us thither.

ALONSO                                             I say ‘amen’, Gonzalo.

GONZALO       Was Milan thrust from Milan that his issue

Should become kings of Naples? O, rejoice

Beyond a common joy, and set it down

With gold on lasting pillars: in one voyage

Did Claribel her husband find at Tunis;

And Ferdinand, her brother, find a wife

Where he himself was lost; Prospero his dukedom

In a poor isle; and all of us ourselves,

When no man was his own. (5.1.200-213)

 

Gonzalo resumes his characteristic loquacity, explaining that he has been too moved to speak until now, ere this, at the sight not only of Prospero, his old friend, but the prince, and perhaps especially Miranda, whom he last saw as a small child, knowing only that she was to be set adrift with her father in a dilapidated boat: I have inly wept, he says, moved even beyond his often-noted tears. He is moved, too, by the prospect of the union of Naples and Milan through the marriage of Miranda and Ferdinand, replacing the more unequal, contingent relationship forged between Alonso and Antonio: this will be permanent, a new era. He imagines a single blessed crown as a sign of that union, and sees it as divinely ordained: the gods have chalked forth the way, set out the path to be followed – even the storm, and the shipwreck. (There’s a parallel moment when Hermione first sees her daughter Perdita, grown and with the man she will marry, at the denouement of Winter’s Tale: ‘You gods, look down, and from your sacred vials pour your graces upon my daughter’s head’.) Alonso fervently agrees: amen. And Gonzalo, characteristically, continues. He now describes Prospero’s deposition and exile as providentially ordained, a fortunate fall: Milan – that is, the duke of Milan – was thrust from Milan in order that his issue, his descendants, would be not only dukes of Milan but kings of Naples too. There shall be general rejoicing, beyond a common joy, and the following record made of what has happened, not merely in chalk, but with gold on lasting pillars, an image of power, prestige, stability, and permanence. In a single voyage both the royal children have been matched, the succession and the future assured: Claribel (remember her?)found her husband at Tunis, and Ferdinand found a wife – where he himself was lost. And it’s this pattern of finding when all seemed lost that Gonzalo focuses on, as the play’s losses are overcome and restored to the extent that even the word loss here becomes syntactically implicit, and is no longer spoken. Prospero (found) his dukedom in a poor isle. And all of us (found) ourselves, when no man was his own, when we were beside ourselves with fear and madness. This restoration of that which has been lost is so characteristic of the resolution of romance, and here there is no equivalent of the dead boy Mamillius or the faithful Antigonus (bear…) in Winter’s Tale, or even Cymbeline’s decapitated Cloten: no one has died or been harmed, just as Prospero promised Miranda. All losses (apparently) are restored and some sorrows, at least, are ended. This strand of the plot is resolved, but there is more to come.