class="">The Tempest

Considered to be Shakespeare’s last play, The Tempest is a tragi-comedy about the universe of illusions in which a person’s life unfolds. And about freedom, a word that runs through the entire story, till the very end. That freedom can only be attained when we have the power to forgive, to free ourselves from the captivity of our own illusions, and to tame our human nature—that is, the power to calm the storm within us.

Prospero, Duke of Milan, has been deposed and exiled by his usurping brother, Antonio. Set adrift at sea in a small boat, Prospero and his daughter Miranda reach a distant, deserted island, inhabited only by a spirit who creates illusions, Ariel, and a slippery creature, Caliban. Twelve years later, as Miranda reaches adolescence, fate brings all those to whom Prospero owes both his downfall and his survival to sail nearby. During his time on the island, Prospero has mastered the art of magic, and now, with Ariel’s help, he conjures a powerful storm at sea, wrecking the ship upon his island’s shores, bringing both enemies and a few friends to land.

In the three hours that follow the storm, everything changes for both the island’s inhabitants and the shipwrecked. History enters this idyllic and isolated space, and each character faces extreme situations: those who aspired to heights fall, the enslaved are set free, the arrogant are humbled, the humble are elevated; the girl becomes a woman, the boy becomes a man, and the wizard—having forgiven everyone—breaks his magic wand, throws his spellbooks into the sea, ends the story, and returns to reality.

Our revels now are ended. These our actors,

As I foretold you, were all spirits and

Are melted into air, into thin air:

And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,

The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,

The solemn temples, the great globe itself,

Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve

And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,

Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff

As dreams are made on, and our little life

Is rounded with a sleep.

Photos: Zsolt Barabás