Measure for Measure

Escalus.

Yes, my lord?

Explaining government affairs always makes me talk excitedly. But since you know more about matters of government than I can ever tell you, the only thing left for me to say is this: rely on your natural ability, and let it work with your knowledge. You know as much, from both learning and experience, about the nature of our people, our city’s laws and procedures, and our legal system as anyone I can think of. Here are your written orders; do not deviate from them. (to Attendants) Go and order Angelo to come to me.

How do you think he’ll represent me? For you must know, after careful consideration, I’ve chosen him to rule in my absence, deputizing him with the dread and love my presence inspires, and transferring to him all the tools in my power. What do you think?

If anyone in Vienna deserves such an honor, it’s Lord Angelo.

Here he comes.

Here I am, obedient as always; what can I do for you?

Angelo, there is a distinctive pattern to your life that tells people what sort of man you are. But your talents don’t belong to you alone, and you mustn’t waste them by keeping them to yourself. Heaven uses us the way we use a torch—not to shine for itself, but to shed light onto the world. If we don’t use our talents in the world, it would be the same as if we didn’t have those talents at all. People are given certain natures to accomplish certain things. Mother Nature doesn’t lend you even a smidgen of talent without expecting you to pay her back—with interest and gratitude. But here I am talking to someone who could instruct me! So, stand firm, Angelo—in my absence, you’ll stand in for me completely. Vienna’s criminals will be executed or pardoned based on what you feel and say. Although old Escalus is senior to you, he’ll be your second-in-command. Take your written orders.

My good lord, please test me further before you raise me to such a high, prominent position.

No more procrastinating. I’ve chosen you after careful consideration, so accept the honor. It’s imperative that I leave now, even if it means leaving some important matters undiscussed. I’ll write to you when I have the time and feel the need, telling you how I am, and I’ll expect to hear how you’re doing. So, goodbye; I’ll leave you to carry out your orders—successfully, no doubt.

My lord, will you allow us to escort you part of the way?

Sorry, I’m in too big a rush. But please don’t have any doubts—you have all my authority to enforce or change the laws in any way that seems good to you. Let’s shake hands, and I’ll sneak off. I love the people but don’t like to parade before them. I don’t like their loud applause and emphatic cheering, though they can be politically useful; nor do I trust the judgment of any man who does desire such cheers and applause. Once again, goodbye.

May heaven grant you a safe trip!

A happy departure, and a happy homecoming as well!

Thank you. Goodbye.

Sir, I’d like to have a frank talk with you because I want to figure out the exact nature of my new job. I know I’ve got some authority, but how much, and what kind, I’m not clear on.

Same with me. Let’s leave together and we’ll go figure it out.

I’ll accompany you.

If our Duke, along with the other Dukes, can’t reach an agreement with the King of Hungary, they’re all going to attack him.

May God give us peace—except not with Hungary.

Amen.

You talk like the self-righteous pirate who went to sea with the Ten Commandments but cut out one of the commandments.

Was it “Thou shalt not steal”?

Yep, that’s the one.

Right, because that commandment would’ve put the captain and his pirate crew out of business—they went to sea to steal. When grace is being said before a meal, there’s not a soldier among us who likes a prayer for peace.

I never heard any soldier say he dislikes it.

I believe you—I don’t think you’ve ever been at a table where they said grace.

No? I’ve heard it a dozen times at least.

What, in verse?

In any form or in any language.

Or in any religion.

Well, why not? Grace is grace, no matter what your religious beliefs are, just like you’re a scoundrel, no matter how much grace you have.

Hey, you and me are cut from the same cloth.

Right—the way a piece of velvet and the scrap ends are from the same cloth. You’re the scrap.

And you’re the velvet: a nice, thick piece of piled velvet. I swear, I’d rather be a piece of plain, English cloth than be like you, a French velvet that’s full of piles and STDs. Got you there, didn’t I?

I think you did, and from the painful way you talk, I think something’s got you down there. I’d be glad to toast your health; just remind me never to drink from your glass after you.

I guess I set myself up, didn’t I?

Yeah, you did, whether you’ve got something or not.

Oh, look, here comes Madam Satisfaction. The number of venereal diseases I’ve caught under her roof comes to—

To what?

Guess.

Three thousand dollars’ worth.

Yeah, and more.

A syphilis sore more.

You’re always suggesting I’m diseased, but you’re wrong. I’m sound and healthy.

You may be sound, but you’re not healthy. Your bones sound hollow. Loose living has eaten out your insides.

Hey, there! In which hip is the pain of your sciatica worse?

Well, well. There’s someone over there who’s been arrested and hauled off to prison who was worth five thousand of you all.

Who’s that?

That’s Claudio, Signior Claudio.

Claudio in prison? It can’t be true.

I know it’s true: I saw him arrested and saw him carried away, and what’s more, they’re chopping his head off in three days.

All kidding aside, I’d hate for this to be true. Are you sure?

I’m all too sure. It’s for getting Miss Julietta pregnant.

She might be right about this. He promised to meet me two hours ago, and he always keeps his promises.

You know, this is exactly the sort of thing we were just talking about.

Most of all it fits with the public proclamation that was made.

Let’s go see if we can get to the bottom of this.

What with the war, plague, executions, and general poverty, I’m losing business.

Hi! what’s new with you?

That man over there is being hauled off to prison.

What did he do?

A woman.

But what’s his crime?

Fishing in the “private part” of a river.

What, a virgin is pregnant because of him?

No, but a woman’s having a child because of him. You haven’t heard about the proclamation, have you?

What proclamation, man?

All the brothels in the suburbs of Vienna must be torn down.

And what about those in the city?

They’ll be left standing. They would’ve been destroyed, too, but a savvy businessman bought them.

But all our brothels in the suburbs are going to be demolished?

Down to the ground, ma’am.

Wow, that’s a change for the country. What’s going to happen to me?

Come on, don’t worry. Good lawyers never lack for clients. Though you change locations, you don’t need to change professions. I’ll still be your pimp. Courage! They’ll take pity on you; all of you that have grown old and gray servicing people will be repaid.

What’s all this fuss, Thomas Tapster? Let’s get out of here.

Here comes Signior Claudio, led to prison by the provost. And there’s Miss Juliet.

Man, why are you parading me like this in front of everyone? Take me off to prison already.

I’m not being cruel. It’s Lord Angelo’s special order.

This is how the authorities, like gods, make us pay for our crimes. As the Bible says, God has mercy on those he chooses to have mercy on, and doesn’t have mercy on those he chooses not to, and so on. I suppose that’s fair.

Claudio! Why are you being arrested?

For being too promiscuous, Lucio, too promiscuous. The same way overeating leads to fasting, and overdoing anything leads to being restricted. Like rats gobbling up rat poison, we have a thirst for harmful things, and when we drink them we die.

If I could speak so well while under arrest, I’d ask a few creditors I know to come and lock me up. Though frankly, I’d rather be foolish and free than wise and a prisoner. What’s your crime, Claudio?

To speak of it would be another crime.

What, is it murder?

No.

Lechery?

You could call it that.

Sir, you have to go.

(to the Provost) Just a minute, good friend. Lucio, let me have a word with you.

A hundred, if they’ll do you any good. Is lechery regulated now?

Here’s what happened: I slept with Julietta after we got engaged. You know her—she’s practically my wife, except that we haven’t had an official ceremony. The only reason we didn’t was to increase the amount of the dowry she might receive from her friends and relatives. We thought we’d hide our love until we had a chance to win them over. But it turned out our secret intimacy had an all-too-obvious effect on Juliet.

Pregnant, huh?

Unfortunately, yes. And this new deputy of the duke’s—I can’t say whether he’s been blinded by his new power or if he sees the public like a horse to be broken in, so he digs his spurs in right away to show it who’s boss; or if he’s just a bully; or if being a bully is part of the job. But this new governor is taking all these old penalties that, like rusty armor hanging on the wall, haven’t been used in years and is applying them to me. He’s imposing all these unenforced, long-ignored laws on me to make a name for himself. That has to be it, to make his name.

I bet it is; and your head sits so precariously on your shoulders right now that the sigh of a lovesick milkmaid could knock it off. Get in touch with the duke and appeal to him.

I tried, but he can’t be found. Please, Lucio, do this favor for me: My sister’s entering a nunnery and starting her training period today. Tell her the danger I’m in, and implore her, in my name, to befriend this strict deputy and try to change his mind. I’ve got a lot of hope in her. Her youthful sweetness alone would move a man. Besides, she has a gift for rhetoric, and she can really persuade people.

I pray she can, for the lives of everyone like you who could now be punished, as well as for your own life, which I’d be sad to see lost so stupidly for playing with you. I’ll go to her.

Thank you, Lucio. You’re a good friend.

I’ll be there in two hours.

OK, officer, let’s go.

No, holy father, forget that idea. Don’t think that Cupid’s feeble arrow can pierce this invulnerable bosom. I want you to shelter me secretly for a reason more ageless and serious than any youthful, burning desire.

Can you talk about it?

Reverend sir, no one knows better than you how I’ve always loved the quiet life and never cared much for the social scene where young people brag and throw their money around. I’ve given Lord Angelo, a man of strict self-discipline and self-denial, my absolute power and position here in Vienna. He thinks I’ve gone to Poland, since I’ve spread that rumor among the general public, and everybody believes it. Now, religious sir, do you want to know why I did this?

Yes, my lord.

I instituted strict statutes and firm laws, necessary controls for headstrong human natures, but for nineteen years I’ve let them grow lax, like an old, fat lion that lies in his cave and never leaves to hunt. Now, a doting father can make a birch whipping rod and wave it in his children’s faces, but if he only threatens and never uses it, eventually they’ll laugh at it and not fear it. Similarly, our regulations have gone unenforced, and so they’re as good as dead. People are flouting the law with their loose living. The proper order of things is turned upside down, as if babies were spanking their nannies.

It was in your lordship’s ability to get the justice system working again whenever you wanted. And it would’ve been taken more seriously if you’d done it, rather than Lord Angelo.

Too seriously, I’m afraid. Since it was my fault to give the people so much freedom, I’d seem like a real tyrant now to whip them for things I allowed them to do. We essentially tell people to misbehave when we give evil deeds a pass and don’t punish them. So, friar, I’ve given the job to Angelo. He can effectively deal with this, in my name—but since I’m not personally involved, I won’t look bad. To see how he rules, I’d like to visit him and the people disguised as one of your order’s monks. So please furnish me with a robe and teach me how to behave like a real friar. When there’s more time, I’ll give you additional reasons for my actions. For now, I’ll tell you this one: Lord Angelo is a puritanical man, constantly guarding himself against desire, the type who barely admits blood flows in his veins. So if power changes a person’s principles, we’ll see how he really is.

And so you nuns have no other privileges?

Aren’t these enough?

Oh, yes. I didn’t mean I wanted more freedom. Actually, I wish there were even more restrictions on the Saint Claire sisterhood.

(offstage) Hello! Peace to this place!

Who’s that?

It’s a man’s voice. Isabella, unlock the door and ask him what he wants. I can’t, but you can, since you haven’t taken your vows yet. Once you have, you’ll only be able to speak with men in the presence of the Mother Superior. Then, if you speak, you mustn’t show your face. Or if you show your face, you mustn’t speak. He’s calling again. Please answer him.

Peace and prosperity! Who’s there?

Well, hello, virgin—if you are one, as your rosy cheeks proclaim you to be. Can you help me to find Isabella, a novice here and the pretty sister to Claudio, her unlucky brother?

Why “her unlucky brother”? I ask, because I’m Isabella, his sister.

Your brother sends you his love, sweet, pretty one. To get right to the point, he’s in prison.

How awful! For what?

For something which, if you ask me, he should be thanked rather than punished. He’s gotten his lover pregnant.

Sir, don’t make things up.

It’s true. I admit, I often play the deceiver and joker with young virgins and say things I don’t mean. But because of your religious vocation, I see you as a heavenly, spiritual being, and someone to speak to with sincerely, as I would a saint.

You mock real saints by calling me one.

Don’t think that. In brief: your brother and his girl have slept together. And the same way your stomach gets full when you eat—and as a bare field, when you plant it, yields a rich harvest—her body shows the results of his plowing.

He’s made someone pregnant? My cousin Juliet?

Is she your cousin?

Unofficially, in the silly but sweet way schoolgirls swear to be sisters.

She’s the one.

Oh, let him marry her.

Here’s the problem. The duke has mysteriously left town. He deluded many men—myself included—with the hope of some military action. But now we hear from government insiders that his publicly announced reasons for leaving were far from his real plans. In his place, and with his full authority, Lord Angelo rules. This is a man whose blood is like melted snow, never warmed by uncontrolled lust, but who represses and dulls his natural appetites with exercises for the mind—studying and fasting. To scare folks who are habitually promiscuous and have evaded the law like mice running past a lion, he’s found a severe act that, if taken literally, would cost your brother his life. He’s arrested him under it and plans to make an example of him by strictly applying this law. All hope is gone, unless you can soften Angelo with your pretty prayers. That’s the essence of this errand between you and your poor brother.

Does he really intend to kill him?

He’s already sentenced him to death, and I hear the provost has the warrant for his execution.

Oh, dear! What can a poor girl like me do to help?

Test the power you have.

My power? I doubt—

Our doubts work against us and make us lose the good things we often could win by making us scared to try. Go to Lord Angelo, and show him that when girls plead, men give like gods. But when girls cry and kneel, their requests are granted even more freely, as if the girls were asking themselves for permission.

I’ll see what I can do.

Make it fast.

I’ll go straightaway, as soon as I give notice of my business to the Mother Superior. Thank you so much. Give my brother my love. I’ll let him know how I made out early this evening.

I’ll go now.

Goodbye, sir.

We mustn’t let the law turn into a scarecrow—something you set up to scare away birds of prey but then never change, until the birds get so used to it that they sit on it rather than fear it.

Yes, but we should also be precise. Better to use a scalpel than a hatchet, cutting carefully instead of chopping to death. This gentleman whose life I’d like to save had such a noble father. I know you’re a completely disciplined, virtuous man. But imagine you felt sexual stirrings for a woman, and you were in the right place at the right time, and by acting on that desire you could have her. If sometime in your life, you’d made the same mistake for which you now condemn him, you’d have brought the law down on yourself.

It’s one thing to be tempted, Escalus, but another thing to give in. I don’t deny that the twelve members of a jury might include a thief or two who are far guiltier than the prisoner they’re passing sentence on. But justice takes the opportunities it has; who knows what laws thieves pass against other thieves? Obviously, if we stumble across a jewel in the road, we’ll bend down and take it, because we see it. But things we don’t see, we step over and never think about. You can’t excuse his crime on the grounds that I could have done the same thing. Instead, if I—the man who’s condemning him—commit the same offense, let this verdict of mine act as a precedent for my death, and let no allowances be made for me. Sir, he must die.

As you command.

Where is the provost?

Here, sir.

See that Claudio is executed by nine tomorrow morning. Give him a priest to confess to, and let him prepare himself for death, for this is his journey’s end.

(to himself) Well, heaven forgive him—and forgive us all! Some people succeed by sinning, and some are brought down by virtue. Some people run from dubious situations and so never suffer punishment, and some people get punished for a single mistake.

Bring them this way. If these aren’t the kind of people who do nothing but dirty things in whorehouses, then I don’t know the law. Bring them this way.

Well, sir! What’s your name? And what’s the matter?

If it pleases your honor, I am the duke’s poor police officer, and my name is Elbow. I rely on the law, sir, and bring in here before you two notorious benefactors (confusing the word benefactor with malefactor).

Benefactors? What benefactors are they? Aren’t they malefactors?

If it pleases your honor, I don’t really know what they are. But they’re definitely scoundrels, that I’m sure of, and lacking the universal piety that all good Christians ought to have.

(to Angelo, sarcastically) He’s a good talker, and a real smart cop.

Out with it. What’s their rank? Your name’s Elbow? Why don’t you speak, Elbow?

He can’t, sir. He’s been pushed out of the way.

(to Pompey) What do you do, sir?

Him, sir! He’s a bartender, sir, and a part-time pimp, one who works for a madam. Her brothel in the suburbs, sir, was, as they say, torn down, and now she claims to run a bathhouse, and I think that’s a bad house too.

How do you know that?

My wife sir, whom I detest with heaven and your honor as my witnesses—

(confusing detest with attest)

What, you detest your wife?

Yes, sir, whom, I thank heaven, is a morally upright woman—

That’s why you detest her?

I say, sir, I’ll detest myself as well as her, if this house, if it’s not a whorehouse, it’s a great pity, for it’s an immoral place.

How do you know that?

From my wife, who, if she had been a woman given to sin, might have been accused of fornication, adultery, and all sorts of dirty things there.

Because of the actions of the madam of the whorehouse?

Yes, sir, by Mistress Overdone’s doing. But my wife spit in this man’s face, defying him.

Please, sir, this is not true.

Prove it before these rogues here, you honorable man. Prove it.

(to Angelo) Do you hear how he mixes up his words?

Sir, this very pregnant woman came in, longing—I beg your honor’s pardon—for stewed prunes. Sir, we had only two in the house, which at that very time were sitting, it so happened, in a fruit dish, a three-cent dish. Your honors have seen such dishes; they’re not fine china, but they’re very good dishes—

Get on with it. Never mind about the dish, sir.

No, sir, you’re right. It’s not worth a pin, but back to the point. As I was saying, this Mrs. Elbow, was, as I say, very pregnant, and longing, as I said, for prunes. We had only two left in the dish, as I said, and this very man, Mr. Froth here, having eaten the rest and paid for them very generously. Because as you know, Mr. Froth, I couldn’t give you three cents’ change.

No, indeed.

Very well. If you remember, you were talking about the previously mentioned prunes—

Right, I was.

Ok, and I was telling you, if you remember, that so-and-so couldn’t be cured of you-know-what, unless they kept to a strict diet—

All this is true.

Why, very well, then—

You’re a tedious fool. Get to the point. What was done to Elbow’s wife that gave him a reason to complain? Come and get to what was done to her.

Sir, your honor can’t get to that yet.

That’s not what I meant, sir.

But you will get it, sir, if your honor pleases. And, I beg you, look at Mr. Froth here, sir; a man who makes only 80 pounds a year and whose his father died, leaving him an inheritance, on All Saints’ Day—wasn’t it All Saints’ Day, Mr. Froth?

Halloween.

Very well. I hope we’ll get to the truth here. He, sir, was sitting, as I say, in a reclining chair, sir. It was at the Bunch of Grapes tavern, where you like to sit and relax, don’t you?

I do, because the room has a big open fire, good in winter.

Why, very well, then. I hope we’ll get to the truth here.

This could last as long as a night in Russia, during the time of year when nights are longest. I’m leaving. I’ll leave you to get to the bottom of this case, hoping you’ll find reasons to whip them all.

I think I will. Good-bye, your lordship.

Now, sir, come on: what happened to Elbow’s wife, once more?

Once, sir? Nothing happened to her once.

I beg you, sir, ask him what this man did to my wife.

I beg your honor, ask me.

Well, sir; what did this gentleman do to her?

I beg you, sir, look at this gentleman’s face. Good Mr. Froth, look at his honor—it’s for a good reason. Does your honor see his face?

Yes, sir, very well.

No, I beg you, really study it.

Well, I am.

Does your honor see any harm in his face?

Why, no.

I’ll swear upon a bible, his face is the worst thing about him (confusing supposed for deposed). And if his face is the worst thing about him, how could Mr. Froth do the officer’s wife any harm? I’d like your honor to explain that.

He’s right. Officer, what do you say to that?

(confusing respected for suspected throughout) First, if it pleases you, the house is a respected house; next, this is a respected fellow, and his employer a respected woman.

I swear, sir, his wife is a more respected person than any of us.

Scoundrel, you lie. You lie, wicked scoundrel! The time has yet to come that she was ever respected by man, woman, or child.

Sir, he respected her before he married her.

Who’s smarter here? The representative of justice or the representative of sin? Is this true?

Oh, you wretch! Oh, you scoundrel! Oh, you cannibal! I respected her before I was married to her! If I ever respected her, or she respected me, I’m not the duke’s poor officer. Prove this, you wicked cannibal, or I’ll sue you for assault.

If he boxed your ears, you could sue him for slander, too.

Thank you, your worship. What would you like me to do with this wicked wretch?

Honestly, officer, because he’s committed some crime that you would expose if you were capable, let him keep on until you figure out what it is.

Thank you, your worship. Now, you wicked wretch, you see what’s going to happen to you: you’re to be kept on; they’re keeping you on.

Where were you born, friend?

Here in Vienna, sir.

Do you have an income of 80 pounds a year?

Yes, sir.

All right. What do you do, sir?

Bartender; a poor widow’s bartender.

Your employer’s name?

Mistress Overdone.

Has she had more than one husband?

Nine, sir. She got the name Overdone from the last one.

Nine! Come here, Mr. Froth. Mr. Froth, I’d prefer you not associate with bartenders. They’ll draw you dry, Mr. Froth, and you’ll get them hanged. Get out, and don’t let me hear of you again.

Thank you, your worship. Personally, I never go into bars, unless I’m drawn in.

Well, not anymore, Mr. Froth. Goodbye.

Come here, Mr. Bartender. What’s your name, Mr. Bartender?

Pompey.

What else?

Ass, sir.

Yes, and your ass is the biggest thing about you, so in the crudest sense you are Pompey the Great. Pompey, you’re a part-time pimp, however much you hide it by bartending, aren’t you? Come on, it’ll be better for you if you tell me the truth.

Honestly, sir, I’m a poor man just trying to earn a living.

How would you live, Pompey? By being a pimp? What do you think of that profession, Pompey? Is it a legal profession?

If the law allowed it, sir.

But the law will not allow it, Pompey, nor will it be allowed in Vienna.

Does your worship mean to castrate and spay all the young men and women in town?

No, Pompey.

Then, sir, in my poor opinion, they’ll get it on. If your worship would make arrangements for the whores and their clients, you wouldn’t need to fear the pimps.

I can tell you, we’re introducing some strong penalties— specifically, beheading and hanging.

If you behead and hang everyone who breaks the law by having sex, in just ten years you’ll have to commission people to repopulate the city. If this law lasts a decade in Vienna, I’ll rent the best house in town at three cents a square foot. If you’re alive to see this, say Pompey told you so.

Thank you, Pompey, and, in return for your prediction, listen carefully. I advise you, don’t let me find you appearing before me again upon any complaint whatsoever, not even for living where you do. If I do, I’ll beat you like Julius Caesar did to your namesake—Pompey —and send you scurrying to your tent in defeat. To put it plainly, Pompey, I will have you whipped. So, for now, Pompey, goodbye.

I thank your worship for your good advice.

But I shall follow it only as my body and my opportunities dictate. Whip me? No, no; let a cart driver whip his old nag. A brave heart isn’t whipped out of his job.

Come here, Mr. Elbow; come here, Mr. Policeman. How long have you been a policeman?

Seven and a half years, sir.

I thought you’d been at the job for a while, given your skill at it. You say seven years altogether?

And a half, sir.

Oh, that’s so hard on you. It’s wrong that you have to work so much. Aren’t there enough capable men in your precinct?

Honestly, sir, few who are bright enough. They’re happy to have me substitute for them. They pay me a little money, and I handle all the duties.

Please bring me some six or seven names, the most competent people in your parish.

To your worship’s house, sir?

To my house. Goodbye.

What time is it?

Eleven, sir.

Please, come home to lunch with me.

I’m most grateful. Thank you.

Claudio’s death saddens me, but there’s no way to prevent it.

Lord Angelo is severe.

It’s unfortunately necessary. Mercy isn’t often what it seems, since pardoning a crime can lead to additional pain. Even so—poor Claudio! There’s no way to prevent it. Let’s go, sir.

He’s listening to a case. He’ll come at once, when I tell him you’re here.

Please do.

I’ll ask him his intentions; maybe he’ll relent. Claudio didn’t consciously commit a crime. People of every class and age indulge in this vice—and he’s going to die for it!

Now, what’s the matter, Provost?

Do you want Claudio to die tomorrow?

Did I not tell you yes? Don’t you have your orders? Why do you ask again?

In case I might be too rash. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’ve seen judges regret imposing the death sentence after the execution.

Enough—that’s my problem. Do your job, or resign your position. We can easily do without you.

I beg your honor’s pardon. What should we do, sir, with Juliet? She’s in labor, very close to giving birth.

Make arrangements to get her to a more appropriate place, and do it quickly.

The condemned man’s sister is here and wants to speak to you.

He has a sister?

Yes, my good lord—a very virtuous girl who’s entering a convent, if she hasn’t already.

Well, bring her in.

See that the tramp Juliet is moved, and provide her with everything she needs, but nothing extravagant. I’ll authorize it.

(departing) God save your honor!

Don’t leave yet.

Welcome. What do you want?

I sadly beg a request of your honor. Please hear me, your honor.

Well, what’s your request?

There’s a certain vice that I hate, and would love to see struck down by law. I’d rather not plead for it, but I must. I shouldn’t plead for it, but I’m torn between wanting and not wanting to.

Well, what’s the matter?

I have a brother who’s condemned to death. I beg you, condemn his crime but not him.

(to himself) Heaven give you the power to persuade him!

Condemn the crime and not the person who commits it? Why, by definition every crime is condemned before it’s committed. I would have a meaningless role if I just punished the crimes whose penalties were in the law books and let the criminal go.

Oh, fair but harsh law! Then I had a brother but don’t anymore. (departing) Heaven protect your honor!

(aside to ISABELLA) Don’t give up so fast. Go to him again, beg him, kneel down before him, cling to his gown. You’re too cold. You couldn’t be more casual if you were asking him for a pin. Go to him.

Does he have to die?

Miss, there’s no way out.

Yes, there is. I think that you could pardon him, and no one on heaven or earth would be sorry.

I won’t do it.

But could you, if you wanted to?

Look, what I won’t do, I can’t do.

But might you do it, without harming the world, if your heart felt as compassionate toward him as mine does?

He’s sentenced; it’s too late.

(aside to ISABELLA) You’re too cold.

Too late? why, no—I can speak a word and then take it back. Believe this: no symbol of authority—not the king’s crown, or the deputy’s sword, or the military officer’s baton, or the judge’s robe—makes a person great as much as mercy does. If he’d been you and you’d been him, you would have slipped like he did; but he, in your place, wouldn’t have been so stern.

Please leave.

I wish to heaven I had your power, and you were Isabel! Would things be like this? No, I’d decide what it is to be a judge, and to be a prisoner.

(aside to ISABELLA) Yes, that’s the way to talk.

Your brother is doomed for breaking the law. You’re wasting your breath.

How sad! Why, all the souls on earth were doomed once upon a time. And God, who might have seized the chance to condemn us, instead found a way to redeem our sins. What would happen to you, if he who is the highest judge of all should judge you as you are now? Oh, think about that, and then merciful speech will flow out your mouth, as if you had been reborn.

Accept it, lovely lady. It’s the law, not I, that condemns your brother. Were he my cousin, brother, or my son, it’d be the same. He must die tomorrow.

Tomorrow! Oh, that’s so sudden! Spare him, spare him! He’s not prepared for death. We only kill fowl in season, when they’re in the best shape for eating. Should we serve him up to heaven with less respect than we show toward our inferior mortal bodies? My good, good lord, consider: who else has died for this crime? Many people have committed it.

(aside to ISABELLA) Yes, well said.

The law wasn’t dead, but it was asleep. All those people wouldn’t have dared to commit that crime if the first lawbreaker had been punished. Now the law’s awake, notes what’s going on, and, like a fortuneteller, looks in a crystal ball to see what future evils, either newly conceived or just being contemplated, will someday hatch. Now, they won’t develop any further but will die before they’re born.

Show some pity.

I show it most of all when I show justice, for then I pity all those people I don’t know who’d be harmed by an unpunished crime. I do right to the man who, by paying for one wrong act, doesn’t live to commit another one. Be satisfied with this. Your brother dies tomorrow. Accept it.

So you must be the first one to impose this sentence, and he the first one to suffer it. Oh, it’s excellent to have a giant’s strength, but it’s tyranny to use it like a giant.

(aside to ISABELLA) That’s well said.

If men of power could thunder and wield lightning as the god Jove himself does, Jove would never have any peace, for every puny, petty official would use his heaven for thunder, nothing but thunder! Merciful Heaven, you use your sharp, sulfur-scented lightning bolts to split the hard gnarled oak tree, rather than the soft myrtle bush. But give a proud man a little bit of temporary authority and he forgets what it means to be made in God’s image. Instead, like an angry ape that mimics people’s behavior, he does such incredibly grotesque things before high heaven that the angels, if they were human, would either weep or die laughing.

(aside to ISABELLA) Oh, keep at him, keep at him, girl! He’s going to relent. He’s coming around, I can tell.

(to himself) Pray heaven she wins him over!

We can’t use ourselves as a standard to judge others. Great men may joke about the saints; that’s good fun. But if an ordinary person does it, it’s profane.

You’re right, girl. Keep talking like that.

When a captain curses, it’s just angry words. When a private does it, it’s blasphemy.

(aside to ISABELLA) You know about that sort of stuff? Tell us more.

Why are you attacking me with these sayings?

Because people in authority, even though they sin like everyone else, apply a sort of bandage to cover—but not cure—their sinful sores. Look in your heart and ask yourself if you’ve ever experienced anything like my brother’s crime. If your heart admits to being guilty of the same natural impulses, don’t say a word to condemn my brother.

(to himself) She speaks with such sense, she’s got my senses and desire stirred up. Goodbye.

My gracious lord, come back.

I’ll consider the matter. Come again tomorrow.

I’ll bribe you—come back, my good lord.

What? Bribe me?

Yes, with gifts from heaven.

(aside to ISABELLA) You nearly blew it.

Not with silly coins of real gold, or jewels whose value rises and falls, depending on fashion; but with constant prayers that will rise up and enter heaven before dawn—the prayers of protected souls, nuns whose minds are dedicated only to spiritual things.

Well, come see me tomorrow.

(aside to ISABELLA) Great, that’s enough. Let’s go!

Heaven keep your honor safe!

(to himself) Amen—for I’m falling into temptation, where desires and prayers work against each other.

What time tomorrow should I come to your lordship?

Anytime before noon.

God save your honor!

From you, and from your virtue, too! What’s happening? Is this her fault or mine? The tempter or the tempted, who sins the most? Ha! It’s not her, she’s not trying to be a tempter. It’s me. It’s like I’m lying in a field of violets, only instead of blossoming and smelling like a flower, I’m rotting and stinking like a corpse from the same sun that makes the flowers grow. Is it possible that a modest woman can arouse desire more than a seductive one? Having destroyed enough land already, should a person want to tear down a holy place and establish evil there as well? Oh, damn, damn, damn! Angelo, what are you doing, who are you? Do you sinfully desire her for the things that make her good? Oh, I should let her brother live! Thieves are justified in robbing when the judges themselves are thieves. Can it be I’m in love with her, when I want to hear her speak again, and gaze into her eyes? What am I dreaming of? Oh, the devil’s a cunning enemy—to catch a saint, he baits the hook with saints! The most dangerous temptation is the one that uses our love of goodness to draw us into sin. A prostitute could never attract me, even with her two powers: her seductive skills and her natural endowments. But this virtuous girl totally overwhelms me. Whenever I saw men who were infatuated like idiots, I smiled and didn’t understand—up until now.

Hello, Provost—I think that’s who you are.

I am the provost. What do you want, good friar?

My sense of charity and my religious order make it my duty to come visit the troubled souls here in prison. Grant me the clergy’s usual right to see them, and tell me the nature of their crimes, so I may minister to them accordingly.

I’d do more than that, if it were needed.

Look, here comes one: a gentlewoman in my charge who, by giving in to her youthful passion, has ruined her reputation. She’s pregnant, and the child’s father is sentenced to death. He’s just a young man, who deserves the chance to make more babies, rather than to die for this one.

When must he die?

Tomorrow, I think.

I’ve gotten accommodations for you. Wait here, and you’ll be escorted to them.

Pretty one, do you repent the sin you’re carrying?

I do, and patiently bear the shame.

I’ll teach you how to examine your conscience, and to test if your repentance is real or insincere.

I’ll gladly learn.

Do you love the man who wronged you?

Yes, as I love myself, the woman who wronged him.

So then it seems your sinful act was mutually committed?

Mutually.

But your sin is heavier than his.

I do confess it, and repent it, father.

That’s appropriate, daughter. But if you’re only sorry because your sin’s been found out, that’s being sorry for yourself, not for offending Heaven. We tend to repent out of fear of God, rather than love for him—

I repent because my act was evil. I’m happy to be ashamed of it.

Maintain that attitude. I hear your partner must die tomorrow, and I’m going to give him spiritual guidance. Grace go with you, and God bless you!

Must die tomorrow! Oh, painful love! By making me pregnant, it’s spared my life. But that comfort means I have to live with the horror of Claudio’s death.

He’s to be pitied.

When I try to pray and think, I think and pray about different things. My empty words focus on heaven, while my imagination ignores what I’m saying and fixates on Isabel. It’s as if I’m only mouthing God’s name, while an evil idea grows in my heart. The politics I used to study with such interest now seem dry and tedious. The dignity I was so proud of (I hope no one hears this) is now worth even less than some silly hat feather waving uselessly in the wind. Oh, how often do rank and ceremonial trappings impress the foolish and entrap even the wise! Passions are passions—they cannot simply be swept away. You can write “good angel” on the devil’s horns, but that doesn’t change his devilish nature.

Hello! Who’s there?

One Isabel, a nun, wishes to see you.

Show her the way.

Oh, heavens! Why does my blood rush to my heart, both choking it and making the rest of my body weak? It’s like a stupid crowd surrounding somebody who faints—they’re all trying to help him and actually they’re cutting off the air he needs. Or, like the common people who drop what they’re doing and rush over to see their beloved king when he appears, fawning and crowding him so much that their ignorant adoration becomes offensive.

How are you, pretty lady?

I’ve come to find out what you want to do.

If only you knew what I want to do and didn’t have to ask. Your brother cannot live.

Very well, then. Heaven keep your honor!

On the other hand, he may live awhile—maybe as long as you or me. Still, he must die.

By your command?

Yes.

I beg you, tell me when. So that, no matter how long or short his reprieve is, he’ll be spiritually prepared and can save his soul.

Ha! Damn these filthy vices! One might as well pardon a murderer as forgive a fornicator who begets an illegitimate child. It’s as easy to take a legitimate life as it is to create an illegitimate one.

Heaven may regard the two sins as equal, but humans do not.

You think so? Then I’ll put this question to you: which would you prefer, that this very fair law took your brother’s life, or to save your brother, you give up your body to the same sort of sweet sin as did the girl he ruined?

Sir, believe this, I’d rather give up my body than my soul.

I’m not talking about your soul: sins we’re compelled to commit get counted, but they don’t count against us.

What are you saying?

No, don’t hold me to that, for I can argue a point I don’t really believe. Answer this. As the voice of the written law, I pronounce a death sentence on your brother’s life. Might it not be charity to commit a sin to save this brother’s life?

If you want to do it, I’ll risk the punishment on my soul, and say it’d be no sin at all, but charity.

If you felt like doing it, even at the risk of your soul, sin and charity would balance each other perfectly.

If begging for his life is a sin, Heaven let me bear it! If your granting my request is a sin, I’ll pray each morning to have it added to my faults and not one you have to answer for.

No, listen to me. You’re not following me. Either you’re dumb or you’re playing dumb, and that’s not good.

Call me dumb, then, and not very good. Let me accept by God’s grace that I’m not any better than that.

This is how smart people try to seem really bright: by knocking their own intelligence. It’s the same way hiding behind a black mask makes a woman seem ten times more beautiful than her naked face does. But pay attention. I’ll be more blunt, so that you get it. Your brother is to die.

Yes.

That’s the penalty for his crime, under the law.

True.

Suppose that there was no other way to save his life—not that I’m admitting this, it’s just for the sake of argument—let’s say that you, his sister, were desired by someone whose influence with the judge, or whose own powerful position, could rescue your brother from the law’s binding chains. And there was no other earthly way to save him, unless you gave your virginity to this hypothetical man, or else your brother dies. What would you do?

I would do this as much for my poor brother as myself—that is, if I were under a death sentence, I’d strip myself naked and display the whip’s bloody lashes like rubies. And I’d go to my death like going to my bed, before I’d surrender my body to sin.

Then your brother must die.

And that’s the better bargain. Better a brother die once than a sister suffer eternal damnation to save him.

Then aren’t you as cruel as the sentence you’ve so deplored?

A shameful release and an unconditional pardon are two different things. Legal mercy is in no way related to an immoral rescue.

You said a little while ago the law was tyrannical, arguing that your brother’s sinning was a lighthearted act, not a vice.

Oh, forgive me, my lord. To get what we want, we often say things we don’t mean. I’ve made excuses for something I hate in order to help the brother I love.

We’re all weak.

Yes. Otherwise, my brother would deserve to die, if he were the only person to have inherited this weakness.

No, women are weak too.

Yes, as weak their mirrors, which break as easily as they reflect images. Women—Heaven help us!—are ruined by men who take advantage of us. Call us frail ten times over, for we’re as soft as our skin, and gullible.

I agree. And based on what you say about your sex—since I suppose we’re only as strong as our own weakest points—let me be bold. I take you at your word. Be what you are—a woman, that is. If you are better than that, then you’re not a woman. But if you are one, as you certainly seem to be by all outward appearances, show it now by being weak.

I can only speak with a sincere tongue. My gentle lord, please talk plainly, as you did before.

To put it plainly, I love you.

My brother loved Juliet, and you tell me that he’ll die for it.

He won’t, Isabel, if you give me love.

I know your virtue gives you the freedom to act wicked, in order to test others.

Believe me, I swear I mean what I say.

What! To believe so much in someone with so little honor and such evil intentions! You deceiver! I’ll denounce you, Angelo, believe me. Sign a pardon for my brother immediately, or I’ll scream to the entire world what sort of man you are.

Who will believe you, Isabel? My spotless reputation, my strict way of living, my testimony against you, and my position will all outweigh your accusation. You’ll be silenced and discredited, accused of slander. The starting gate is open now, and my desires are off and running. Feed my hunger—no more of your modesty and time-wasting blushes, which charm me and then banish me for being charmed. Save your brother by sleeping with me, or he’ll be put to death. And not only that, but it’ll be death by torture, drawn out by your cruelty. Accept my offer tomorrow, or by my almighty passion, I’ll tyrannize him. As for you, say what you want. My lie, which calls your claim false, will outweigh your true claim.

Who can I complain to? If I reported this, who would believe me? Oh, dangerous mouths, with double-talking tongues that can both condemn and approve, and make the law bow to their wishes. They put their sexual desires before notions of right and wrong! I’ll go to my brother. Although he gave in to his body’s demands, his mind’s so honorable that, if he had twenty heads to lay on twenty bloody execution blocks, he’d give them all up, rather than let his sister pollute her body. So, Isabel, you’ll live chaste, and brother, you’ll die. My chastity is more important than my brother. I’ll tell him of Angelo’s request, and prepare him for death—and the eternal rest of his soul.

So, you hope for a pardon from Lord Angelo?

Hope is the only medicine miserable people have. I hope to live, and am prepared to die.

Be ready to die; then either death or life will be all the sweeter. Tell life this: if I lose you, I lose something that only fools would want to keep. You’re just a breath, subject to all the changes of weather that hourly buffet the body you occupy. You’re simply death’s dupe, constantly struggling to run away from him, while all the while you’re running toward him. You’re not noble, because all your civilized comforts come from lowly plants and animals. You’re by no means brave, because the forked tongue of a little snake scares you. Sleep is your best way to rest, and you do that a lot, yet you stupidly fear death, which is basically the same thing. You’re not a single being, because you’re composed of thousands of grains of dust. You’re not happy, because you’re always trying to get what you don’t have, and what you do have, you forget about. You’re unstable, your moods changing as often as the phases of the moon. If you’re rich, you’re actually poor—like an ass staggering under a load of gold bars, you’re just carrying your heavy wealth for a period, and you lose that wealth when you die. You don’t have any friends, for even your children—the offspring of your own loins—curse the gout, skin rashes, and colds for not carrying you off sooner. You’re neither old or young, but always suspended in a sort of mid-afternoon nap, because when young, you’re like an old beggar, wheedling money from your feeble elders. And when you’re old and rich yourself, you have neither the passion, love, agility, or beauty to enjoy your wealth. So, what in all this is worth living for? Life hides more than a thousand deaths. Yet it’s death, which fixes all these problems, that we fear.

I humbly thank you. In looking to live, I find I actually seek to die, and by seeking death, I find life. Let death come.

(offstage) Hello, there! Peace, grace, and good company to everyone here!

Who’s there? Come in. That wish deserves a welcome.

Dear sir, I’ll visit you again soon.

Most holy sir, thank you.

My business is a word or two with Claudio.

And very welcome. Look, signor, here’s your sister.

Provost, a word with you.

As many as you please.

Take me to a place where I can hide and overhear them.

Now, sister, what’s the good word?

Why, as all good words are—very good indeed. Lord Angelo has business with heaven, and he’s going to make you his ambassador there—an eternal appointment. So get ready, quickly. Tomorrow you set off.

Is there no way out?

None, except a way that would save his head by breaking my heart in two.

But is there any?

Yes, brother, you can live. If you beg him, the judge will offer a devilish sort of mercy that will free you, yet chain you until death.

Lifetime imprisonment?

Yes, exactly. A type of lifetime imprisonment that would limit your movements, even if you had the freedom to roam the entire world.

But what type?

The type that, if you agreed to it, would strip your honor from your body like bark from a tree trunk, and leave you exposed to shame.

Get to the point.

Oh, I’m afraid of you, Claudio. I tremble to think you would cherish a wild existence and would value six or seven years of life more than everlasting honor. Do you dare to die? The worst part of death is anticipating it. A beetle we step on suffers as much as a giant when it dies.

Why are you shaming me like this? Do you think I can summon my resolve from flowery, comforting speeches? If I have to die, I will meet the darkness like a bride, and hug it in my arms.

Now, that’s my brother talking—like my father speaking from his grave. Yes, you must die. You’re too noble to save yourself in a shameful way. This seemingly saintly deputy, whose composed face and carefully calculated words target and attack young people like some bird of prey, is really a devil. If you drained him of all the filth inside him, you’d reveal a pond as deep as hell.

The “priestly” Angelo!

Oh, it’s a cunning disguise from hell, to cloak and cover the wickedest people in priestly clothes. Can you believe it, Claudio? If I gave him my virginity, you’d be freed.

Oh, heavens! It can’t be.

Yes, in exchange for this awful sin, he’d free you to keep on sinning. Tonight’s the time I have to do something I hate to even pronounce, or else you die tomorrow.

You mustn’t do it.

Oh, if it were just my life, I’d throw it away like a pin to save you.

Thanks, dear Isabel.

Be ready, Claudio, for your death tomorrow.

Yes. Is his lust so great that it causes him to make a mockery of the law, even while he’s enforcing it? Of course, it isn’t a sin, or anyway it’s the least of the seven deadly sins.

Which is the least?

If it were a damnable thing, why—if he’s so wise—would he risk being eternally punished for a momentary pleasure? Oh, Isabel!

What are you saying?

Death is a fearful thing.

And a disgraced life a hateful one.

Yes, but to die, and go who knows where. To lie cold and congealing, and to rot—this conscious, warm body to become a compact lump of earth, and the vast spirit to swim in hell’s fiery floods or reside in a frigid land of thick ice. To be confined inside invisible winds and perpetually, violently blown all around the world hanging in space. Or to be worse off than one of those tortured souls howling from punishment of sinful thoughts—it’s too horrible! The weariest, most hateful life that old age, aches, poverty and imprisonment can inflict on us is paradise compared to our fears of death.

Oh, no!

Sweet sister, let me live. Any sin you commit to save a brother’s life, nature will pardon as though it were a good deed.

Oh, you beast! Treacherous coward! Shameful wretch! Will you be given your life as a result of my vice? Isn’t it a kind of incest, to gain life from your own sister’s shame? What should I think? God forbid, my mother must have cheated on my father, for such a twisted son as you never could have sprung from his blood! I renounce you—die, perish! Even if all I had to do was pray on bended knees to stop your execution, I’d let it happen. I’ll pray a thousand prayers for your death, and not one word to save you.

No, listen to me, Isabel.

Oh, shame, shame, shame! Your sin was no one-time accident, but a habit. Granting you mercy would be like pimping, enabling you to do it again. It’s best that you die right away.

Oh, listen to me, Isabella!

Permit me to say a word, young sister, just one word.

What do you want?

If you can spare the time, I’d like to talk with you in a little while. You’d be doing yourself a favor as well as me.

I don’t have any spare time, but I’ll wait for you a little while.

Son, I overheard what happened between you and your sister. Angelo never meant to seduce her. He was only testing her virtue, to test his ability to judge character. Being a person of integrity, she virtuously refused him, and he was happy to hear it. I’m Angelo’s confessor, so I know this is true. Therefore, prepare yourself for death. Don’t prop yourself up with false hopes. Tomorrow you must die. Fall to your knees and prepare for confession.

Let me ask my sister to forgive me. I’m so out of love with life that I’ll pray to be rid of it.

Maintain that attitude. Farewell.

Provost, a word with you!

What is it, father?

Now that you’ve come over, you should go away. Leave me with the girl awhile. My intentions and the fact that I’m a friar guarantee that nothing bad will happen to her.

Very well.

He who made you lovely made you good, as well. Beauty has a cheap kind of goodness, which is why beauty doesn’t last. But virtue lies at the heart of your character, so you will always be beautiful. I’ve heard about Angelo’s sexual advances to you, and if there weren’t other examples of such lapses, I’d be really surprised. What are you going to do to satisfy this stand-in and save your brother?

I’m going now to give him my answer: I’d rather my brother die by legitimate execution than have an illegitimate baby. But, oh, how wrong the good duke was about Angelo! If he ever returns and I can speak to him, the first words I speak will be to expose Angelo’s way of governing.

That’s not a bad idea. But, as the matter now stands, he’ll deny your accusation. He’ll say he was only testing you. So, listen to my advice. My delight in doing good gives me an idea for a solution. I’m convinced there’s a way you righteously can do a poor wronged lady some well-deserved good, save your brother from the cruel law, keep your own gracious self pure, and greatly please the absent duke, if he ever returns to hear about all this.

Tell me more. I have the courage to do anything, as long as it doesn’t strike me as wrong.

Virtue is bold, and goodness is never afraid. Have you ever heard of Mariana, the sister of Frederick, the great soldier who died at sea?

I’ve heard of the lady, and people always spoke well of her.

She was supposed to marry this Angelo. They were engaged, and the wedding day was set. But before the ceremony, her brother Frederick was lost at sea, in the ship that was carrying his sister’s dowry. The poor woman suffered a heavy blow. She lost a famous, noble brother, who loved her dearly and devotedly. She lost with him her dowry, the bulk of her fortune, and with both, she lost her husband-to-be, this oh-so-respectable Angelo.

Can this be true? Did Angelo leave her?

Left her in her tears, without drying a single one of them. He reneged on his vows completely, saying he discovered that she’d been unfaithful to him. He gave her only grief, basically, and she still wears it, like a wedding dress. Her tears wash over him, but like a marble statue, he never budges.

It’s the equivalent of a death to take this poor girl away from the world! And life is so unfair, that this man lives! But how can she benefit from all this?

It’s a break that you can easily heal, and the cure not only saves your brother, but keeps you from dishonor.

Show me how, good father.

This maid still loves Angelo. Logically, his unfair cruelty should have ended her love, but it’s actually intensified it, the way water becomes violent and choppy when it hits a barrier. Go to Angelo. Pretend to yield to his request, and obey his demands to the letter. But set some conditions: that you not spend much time together, that it be in the dark, that there be absolute silence, and that it be in a convenient place. When he agrees—and now here’s the key part—we’ll tell the wronged girl to go in your place. If their encounter later comes to light, it might compel him to compensate her. The result of all this: your brother is saved, your honor is maintained, poor Mariana is helped, and the corrupt deputy is punished. I’ll prepare the girl and make her ready for the encounter. If you think you can manage this, the double benefit outweighs any blame for the deception. What do you think?

I like the idea already, and I hope it’ll be successful.

A lot depends on your ability to pull it off. Hurry over to Angelo. If he begs you to sleep with him tonight, promise to satisfy him. I’ll go to Saint Luke’s; poor Mariana is living there, in a country house. Arrange things with Angelo and come see me there, the sooner the better.

Thank you for your help. Goodbye, good father.

No, but if you go on buying and selling men and women like beasts, everyone in the world will end up spawning bastards.

Oh, heavens! What nonsense is this?

Life’s become a lot less fun since the law took two crimes—prostitution and moneylending—and suppressed the one that was the most fun, while condoning the worse of the two. The thriving moneylender wraps himself in a warm fur coat, made of skins from the innocent lamb and trimmed in fur from the crafty fox, proving that craftiness is worth more than innocence.

Come along, sir. Bless you, good father friar.

And you, good brother father. How has this man offended you, sir?

Actually, sir, he has offended the law. And, sir, we take him to be a thief too, sir, because we found on him, sir, a strange device for picking locks, which we have sent to the deputy.

(to POMPEY) Shame, sirrah! A pimp, a wicked pimp! You support yourself by doing evil. Do you ever stop to think what it is to stuff your mouth or clothe your back from such a filthy vice? Say to yourself, I eat, dress myself, and live off abominable, beastly sex. Can you believe your way of life is a life, when it’s dependent on such stinking acts? Change your ways, change your ways.

Yes, it does stink in a way, sir; but, sir, I would prove—

No, if the devil has given you excuses for sin, you’ll prove only that you belong to him. Take him to prison, officer. Punishment and religion must both be used on this crude beast before he improves.

He has to appear before the deputy, sir, who’s already given him a warning. The deputy can’t stand pimps, and if he is a pimp, and appears before him, he would be better off being anywhere but there.

If only we were all—as some of us seem to be—as free from sin as this pimp is from hypocrisy!

Like your waist, his neck will soon have a rope around it, sir.

I see help coming—and bail. Here’s a gentleman and a friend of mine.

Hey there, noble Pompey! Oh dear, are you being paraded like a prisoner-of-war after the victorious Caesar’s chariot? What, aren’t there any more girls just turned women who can be had for a handful of dollars? Ha, don’t you have any answers? How do you feel about the new regime? Puts quite a damper on things, right? What do you say, old man? Hasn’t the world changed? What’s your mood nowadays, a bit sad and silent? Or how? What’s the plan?

This is getting worse and worse.

How’s my sweetheart, your boss-lady? Is she still a madam?

Truthfully, sir, she’s worn out all her prostitutes, and is herself getting treated for an STD.

That’s right, that’s the way it goes: your fresh-faced whore ages into a heavily made-up madam. It’s unavoidable. Are you going to prison, Pompey?

I am indeed, sir.

Not a bad thing, Pompey. Goodbye. Go and say I sent you. For debt, Pompey? Or something else?

For being a pimp, for being a pimp.

Well, then, put him in jail: if imprisonment is the punishment for being a pimp, then he deserves it. He’s undoubtedly a pimp, and has been for a long time. Born a pimp. Goodbye, good Pompey. Give my regards to prison. You’ll be a good husband now, Pompey—you’ll never leave home.

I hope, sir, you’ll post bail for me.

No, I won’t, Pompey. It’s not in style now. I will pray, Pompey, to increase your sentence. Show an iron will while you’re in iron chains. Adieu, Pompey. God bless you, friar.

And you.

Does Bridget still get dolled up, Pompey, ha?

Come along, sir, come.

You won’t bail me out, then, sir?

Neither then, Pompey, nor now. What’s happening, friar? What’s the news?

Come along, sir, come.

Off to the doghouse, Pompey. Go.

Any news, friar, of the duke?

I don’t know anything. Can you tell me any news?

Some say he’s with the emperor of Russia. Others say that he’s in Rome. Where do you think he is?

I don’t know, but wherever he is, I wish him well.

It was a crazy whim of his to sneak away from the city and pretend to be the commoner he was never born to be. Lord Angelo runs things well in his absence—he’s hard on criminals.

He does a good job of it.

It wouldn’t hurt him to go a little easier on sex. There’s something too harsh in the way he’s handling that, friar.

It is too widespread a vice. It needs a severe cure.

Yes, to tell the truth, this is a vice a lot of people practice. But it’s impossible to stamp it out totally, friar. You’d have to stop people eating and drinking first. They say this Angelo wasn’t the result of a normal act between a man and woman. Do you think that’s true?

What was he the result of, then?

Some say a mermaid gave birth to him, some that he was conceived by two dried codfish. But it’s a fact that when he pees, his urine is congealed ice. That I know to be true. And he’s an impotent puppet—that’s certain.

You’re a funny guy, sir, and speak freely.

Well, what a cruel thing for him to do, to take a man’s life because his penis rose up! Would the absent duke have done something like this? Before he would’ve hanged a man for fathering a hundred bastards, he would’ve paid for nursing a thousand. He had some understanding of prostitution. He knew the game, and that made him merciful.

I never heard the absent duke accused of womanizing. He wasn’t inclined that way.

Oh, sir, you’re wrong.

That’s not possible.

Who, the duke? Yes, your fifty-year-old beggar-woman—he’d habitually make a deposit in her dish. The duke was a little kinky. He’d get drunk, too, let me tell you.

Surely, you’re being unfair to him.

Sir, I was a close friend of his. The duke was a shy fellow, and I believe I know the reason for his sudden departure.

What, please tell me, was the reason?

No, sorry. It’s a secret that must stay locked in my mouth. But this I can tell you: the majority of his subjects thought the duke a wise man.

Wise! Well, there’s no doubt that he was.

A very superficial, ignorant, thoughtless fellow.

You’re either jealous, mad, or mistaken. The way he conducts his life and his role as a ruler by themselves must earn him a better reputation. Judge him by his public actions and even the envious would see him as a scholar, a statesman, and a soldier. So, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Or, if you do, you’re spitefully trying to tarnish his name.

Sir, I know him, and I love him.

If you loved him you would know him better, and if you knew him better you would love him more.

Look, sir, I know what I know.

I can hardly believe that, since you don’t know what you’re talking about. But, if the duke ever returns, as we pray he will, I challenge you to justify your comments in front of him. If you’ve spoken the truth, you should have the courage to defend it. It’s my duty to summon you to testify. May I ask your name?

Sir, my name is Lucio, and it’s well known to the duke.

He’ll know you even better, sir, if I live to report you.

I’m not afraid of you.

Oh, you hope the duke will never come back, or you think I’m too weak an enemy. But I really can do you a little harm—you’ll end up denying this.

I’ll be hanged first. You’re wrong about me, friar. But forget all this. Can you tell me if Claudio is to die tomorrow or not?

Why should he die, sir?

Why? For plugging a hole. I wish the duke were back again. His sexless deputy’s abstinence policy will depopulate the province. Even sparrows can’t nest on his roof, because they’re lecherous! The duke would have punished sexual acts privately—he’d never publicly expose them. I wish he were back! Claudio is condemned for getting undressed. Goodbye, good friar. Please pray for me. I tell you again, the duke was no choir boy—he would eat mutton on Fridays. He’s not past it yet, and I tell you, he’d French-kiss a beggar, even if she smelled of moldy bread and garlic. Say that I said so. Goodbye.

Neither political power nor noble character can escape criticism; even the most virtuous person can be stabbed in the back by slurs. What king is so strong he can bottle up the poison of a slandering tongue? But who’s coming now?

Go on, take her to prison!

My good lord, be good to me. Your honor is said to be that of a merciful man, my good lord.

You’ve been warned two, three times, and you’re still committing the same crime! This is enough to turn mercy itself into a cursing tyrant.

A madam for eleven years, your honor.

My lord, this is Lucio’s accusation against me. He got Miss Kate Keepdown pregnant, back in the days when the duke was still here, and he promised to marry her. Now his child will be fifteen months old on May Day. I kept the kid myself, and now see how he goes out of his way to abuse me!

That fellow is a dangerous fellow. Bring him before me. Take her away to prison! No more talking.

Provost, my colleague Angelo won’t change his mind—Claudio must die tomorrow. Furnish him with priests, to give him spiritual consolation. If my colleague possessed my sense of pity, this wouldn’t be happening.

This friar’s been with him, and helped him prepare for death.

Good evening, good father.

Bliss and goodness to you!

Where are you from?

Not from this country, though I happen to be here for the time being. I belong to a holy brotherhood, and have just come from Rome, on special business from the Vatican.

What’s the news from abroad?

None, except that goodness is so sick that only death can cure it. People only want the latest thing, and it’s as dangerous to be faithful as it is virtuous to be promiscuous. There’s barely enough honesty left for it to be safe to get involved with people, but there’s enough blind trust to doom partnerships. The wisdom of the world runs on paradoxes like this. It’s old news, but everyday news. Tell me, sir, what sort of man was the duke?

Someone who, above everything else, truly wanted to know himself.

What sort of things did he enjoy?

He enjoyed seeing someone else happy more than doing something that made himself happy—an even-tempered man. But let’s leave him to his affairs, with a prayer that they’ll be prosperous, and tell me how Claudio is. I understand you’ve visited him.

He claims to have received no unfair treatment from his judge, but willingly yields to the law’s verdict. Out of human weakness, he’d formed many deceptive hopes about a reprieve. But gradually I showed him these made no sense, and now he is ready to die.

You have fulfilled your duty to both God and the prisoner. I pleaded for the poor man as much as I could, without giving offense, but my fellow judge is so severe, I swear, he’s like Justice itself.

If his own behavior matches the strictness of his judgments, it’s to his credit. But if he slips, he’s written his own sentence.

I’m going to visit the prisoner. Goodbye.

Peace be with you!

(to himself) He who wants to be a ruler and enact heaven’s justice should be as holy as he is severe. He should find in himself a model of proper conduct, the grace to stand firm, and the strength to go forward, punishing others no more or less than he’d punish his own sins. Shame on him who cruelly strikes and kills others for the very faults he possesses! Shame on Angelo six times over, for weeding out my vice while nurturing his own! Oh, what evil an angelic-looking man can hide in himself! How this seemingly virtuous behavior, born out of sin, can deceive everyone! It’s like a spider web that traps small sins like small insects, but breaks when anything large and heavy touches it. I must combat vice with cunning. Tonight Angelo will sleep with his rejected, former fiancée. By deceit, the deceiver will be forced to pay for his wrongful demands, and fulfill his old contract.

(singing) Take, oh take those lips away, that swore such sweet lies, and those eyes, which trick the morning by shining bright as the sun at dawn. But give back, give back my kisses, which seal my love, but seal it in vain, seal it in vain.

Stop singing, and leave, quickly. Here comes a man whose advice has often calmed me down.

I beg your pardon, sir. I wish you hadn’t found me listening to music. Please excuse me, and believe me, it drove away my joy and nurtured my sorrow.

That’s good, though music often has a magical power to make the bad seem good and encourage good people to misbehave. Please tell me, has anybody been asking for me here today? I promised to meet someone here about this time.

No one’s been asking for you. I’ve been sitting here all day.

I believe you; she’s here now. May I ask you to leave for a little while? I’ll be with you shortly, and it’ll be to your advantage.

I’m always grateful to you.

Welcome—and perfect timing. What’s the news from our favorite deputy?

He has a garden surrounded by a brick wall, whose western side is backed by a vineyard. Leading to that vineyard is a gate of wooden planks that you open with this larger key. This other key opens a little door that leads from the vineyard to the garden. I’ve promised to meet him there, in the dark middle of the night.

But do you know how to find the way there?

I’ve noted it carefully—he gave me the directions twice, whispering the details with care and using gestures to explain.

Are there any other agreed-on signals she has to give?

No, none, only a visit in the dark. And I’ve let him know I can only stay a short time, because I told him a servant would be waiting for me, under the pretense that I was coming about my brother.

You’ve handled it well. I haven’t told Mariana a word of this yet. Hey, you in there! Come here!

(to MARIANA) Please, let me introduce you to this girl. She’s here to help you.

That’s what I want to do.

Do you believe that I’ve got your best interests at heart?

Good friar, I know you do, and that you’ve found a way to help.

Then take the hand of your new friend, who has a tale to tell you. I’ll wait for you until you’re ready, but hurry— night’s falling.

Will you walk with me?

Oh, you people of high rank! Millions of treacherous eyes are fixed on you, accompanied by a mass of hostile rumors that follow everything you do. A thousand imaginations make you the source of their silly fantasies and torture you with their delusions.

Welcome back. What did you decide?

She’ll do it, father, if you recommend it.

I don’t just recommend it. I beg her to do it.

When you leave him, all you have to do is say softly, “Now remember my brother.”

Don’t worry about me.

And, gentle daughter, don’t worry for yourself. He is your husband-to-be, so it’s no sin for you two to sleep together—your valid claim as his wife allows the deception. Come on, let’s go. We have to sow the seeds before we can reap the harvest.

Come here, you. Can you cut off a man’s head?

If the man’s a bachelor, sir, I can. But if he’s a married man, he’s also his wife’s head, and I can never cut off a woman’s head.

Come on, sir, spare me your jokes and give me a straight answer. Claudio and Barnardine are to die tomorrow morning. Here in our prison we have a public executioner, who needs a helper. If you’ll take on the job of assisting him, it’ll free you from your chains. If you don’t, you’ll have to serve your full sentence, with a fierce whipping before you’re released because you’ve been a notorious pimp.

Sir, I’ve been an illegal pimp for longer than I can remember, but I’ll be happy to be a legal hangman. I’d be glad for my new partner to teach me.

Hey, Abhorson! Where are you, Abhorson?

Did you call, sir?

Here’s a fellow to help you with tomorrow’s executions. If he works out, settle on an annual salary and let him stay here with you. If he doesn’t, use him just for now and then fire him. He can’t claim to be too good for the work since he’s been a pimp.

A pimp, sir? To hell with him! He’ll discredit our profession.

Go on, sir. You two are worth the same. No more than a featherweight’s difference, anyway.

Sir, would you please—for you do have a pleasing face, except for your hanging expression—tell me if you call your job a profession?

Yes, sir, a profession.

I’ve heard it said that painting, sir, is a profession, and since whores—who are in my field—paint their faces, they prove my occupation is a profession. But I’ll be hanged if I can imagine how hanging is a profession.

Sir, it is a profession.

Can you prove it?

A thief steals and puts on the clothes of an honest man. If the thief thinks the clothes don’t make him seem honest enough, a truly honest man will think that’s appropriate. If the thief thinks the clothes make him seem extra honest, then the thief thinks the disguise fits just right. So someone is always happy with the way the disguise works for the thief.

Have you reached an agreement?

Sir, I’ll work for him, because I think a hangman’s job is a sorrier one than a pimp’s—he asks forgiveness more often.

You, fellow, have your block and your axe ready tomorrow at four o’clock.

Come on, pimp, I’ll show you the ropes. Follow me.

I want to learn, sir. And I hope, if you ever get the chance to use me for your own execution, you’ll find me ready. Because, really, I owe you a good turn for your kindness.

Call Barnardine and Claudio here. I pity one, but not the other, even if he were my brother, as he’s a murderer.

Look, Claudio, here’s your death warrant. It’s now dead midnight, and by 8 a.m. tomorrow you must be laid to eternal rest. Where’s Barnardine?

As fast asleep as the most innocent of exhausted laborers. He won’t wake up.

Who could do him any good, anyway? Well, go, prepare yourself.

What’s that noise? (to Claudio) Heaven give your spirits comfort!

In a minute. I hope it’s some pardon or reprieve for gentle Claudio.

Welcome, father.

The best, most wholesome night spirits surround you, good Provost! Who’s been here lately?

No one, since the curfew bell rang.

Not Isabel?

No.

Someone will be, then, before long.

Is there any news to give comfort to Claudio?

There’s comfort in hope.

Angelo’s a cruel deputy.

No, no. His life parallels the same straight line that his mighty justice draws. With religious restraint, he suppresses in himself the same impulses he persecutes in others. If he were stained with the sort of sins he punishes, then he’d be a tyrant. But because he’s virtuous, he’s fair.

They’re here.

This provost is a nice man. It’s rare that a hardened jailer has sympathy for his fellow men.

What is that noise? That messenger’s so impatient he’s going to hurt that poor door with his knocking.

He’s stuck there until the officer at the gate wakes up to let him in. The officer’s up now.

Haven’t you received any order yet countermanding Claudio’s execution tomorrow?

None, sir, none.

Even though it’s almost dawn, provost, you’ll have news before morning.

Perhaps you know something. But I don’t think any reprieve is coming. There’s no precedent for it. Besides, Lord Angelo declared the opposite, in public, from the judge’s bench.

This is his lordship’s servant.

And here comes Claudio’s pardon.

(presenting a paper) My lord has sent you this note, and charged me to tell you not to swerve from the smallest item in it—not the time, details, or anything else. Good morning, since I gather it’s almost morning.

I will obey him.

(to himself) This is his pardon, bought by the same sin Angelo committed. Crimes spread quickly when those in power perpetrate them as well. When evildoers extend mercy, they widen mercy’s grasp, pardoning other sinners because they love the sin. Now, sir, what’s the news?

I told you. Lord Angelo, thinking me careless in my duties maybe, is putting unusual pressure on me. It’s strange—he’s never done this before.

Please, let’s hear the letter.

(reads) “Whatever you may hear to the contrary, have

Claudio executed by four o’clock, and Barnardine in the afternoon. Reassure me by sending me Claudio’s head by five o’clock. Be sure you do it, and be aware that more depends on it than I can reveal at this time. Don’t fail to do your duty, or you will be held accountable.” What do you say to this, sir?

Who is this Barnardine who’s to be executed in the afternoon?

He was born in Bohemia, but raised here. He’s been a prisoner for the last nine years.

How did it happen that the absent duke neither freed him nor executed him? I’ve heard he usually does one or the other.

Barnardine’s friends kept getting him reprieves. And there was no clear evidence that he was actually guilty, until now, when Angelo came to power.

It’s clear now?

Very clear, and he doesn’t deny it himself.

Has he shown remorse while in prison? What effect has it had on him?

He’s a man who fears death as no worse than a drunken sleep. He’s careless, reckless, and fearless of the past, present, or future. He’s unaware of the concept of death, and desperately clinging to life.

He needs counseling.

He won’t listen to any. He’s always had the freedom to go anywhere inside the prison. If you gave him a chance to escape, he wouldn’t run. He’s drunk many times a day, or spends many days entirely drunk. Often, we’ve woken him up, as if to take him to be executed, and shown him a pretend warrant. It’s never affected him at all.

More of him soon. Provost, I see honesty and loyalty in your face. If I’m wrong, my old skill at reading people deceives me, but because I’m confident of my ability, I’ll take a chance. Claudio, whom you have a warrant to execute, deserves to die no more than Angelo, who sentenced him. I can clearly demonstrate this, but I need four days, so I’m going to ask you to do me an immediate and dangerous favor.

What is it, sir?

Delay the death.

Sorry, but how can I, with the time fixed and an explicit command to deliver his head to Angelo, at risk of penalty? I’ll find myself in Claudio’s shoes if I swerve from this in even the smallest way.

By my holy vows, I guarantee your safety if you follow my instructions. Execute this Barnardine this morning, and take his head to Angelo.

Angelo’s seen both of them, and will recognize the face.

Oh, death’s a great disguiser, and you can help disguise him more. Shave his head and trim his beard, and say it was the prisoner’s request to be shaved before his death. You know that’s a common thing. If anything happens to you because of this—aside from thanks and good fortune —by the patron saint of my brotherhood, I’ll plead against it with my life.

Forgive me, good father. It’s against my oath.

Did you swear allegiance to the duke, or to the deputy?

To him, and to his representatives.

Will you think you’ve done nothing wrong if the duke vouches for the justice of your action?

But how likely is that?

Not a possibility, but a certainty. Yet since I see you’re afraid, that neither my religious robes, integrity, nor arguments can easily persuade you, I’ll go farther than I meant to, to dispel all your fears. (displays a letter) Look, sir, here’s the duke’s handwriting and seal. You recognize them both, I’m sure.

I know them both.

This letter’s contents describe the duke’s return; you can read it over at your leisure, and you’ll learn that he’ll be here in two days. Angelo doesn’t know this, since today he’ll be getting some letters with strange news, maybe about the duke’s death, maybe about him entering some monastery—but nothing about what’s written here. Look, the morning star is out. Don’t be confused by all this. Everything makes sense after it’s been done. Call your executioner, and off with Barnardine’s head. I’ll give him confession, and prepare him for a better place. You’re still stunned, but this absolutely will explain everything to you. Let’s go, it’s almost dawn.

I’ve got as many friends here as I did back at the brothel. You’d think it were Mistress Overdone’s very own house, so many of her old customers are here. First, here’s young Mister Hasty; he’s in for debt, having paid 197 pounds for some coarse brown paper and old ginger candy, and making back only three pounds selling it. Ginger wasn’t much in demand, because the old ladies were all dead. Then there’s one Mister Pirouette, defendant in a suit about four suits, brought by Mister Thick Velvet, the textile merchant. He’s being impeached over peach-colored satin. Then we’ve also got young Ditsy, and young Mister Cross-My-Heart, and Mister Cubic Zirconia and Mister Cheapskate, armed to fight duels, and young Kill-Heir who murdered robust Stuffed-Guts, and Mister Forward-Thrust the fighter, and dressed-to-kill Mister Shoe-Buckle, the world-traveler, and wild Half-Pint who stabbed Pots, and, I think, forty more gents—all great clients of our business, who now sing that old prison refrain, “Give us food for the Lord’s sake.”

You there, bring Barnardine here.

Mister Barnardine! You’ve got to get up, and get onto the scaffold. Mister Barnardine!

Hey, Barnardine!

(offstage) Damn your throats! Who’s making all that noise? Who are you?

Your friends, sir, the hangmen. Please be so good, sir, as to rise and be put to death.

(offstage) Go away, scoundrel. Away! I’m sleepy.

Tell him he has to wake up, and quickly too.

Please, Mister Barnardine, stay awake till you’re executed, and sleep afterwards.

Get in there and fetch him.

He’s coming, sir, he’s coming. I hear the straw on his cell floor rustling.

Is the axe on the block, man?

Very ready, sir.

How goes it, Abhorson? What’s the news with you?

Actually, sir, I’d like you to get on with your prayers, because the warrant’s arrived.

You jerk, I’ve been drinking all night. I’m not ready for it.

Oh, all the better, sir, for he who drinks all night and is hanged early in the morning may sleep better all the next day.

Look, sir, here comes your holy confessor. Think we’re joking now?

Sir, out of my sense of charity, and hearing how hastily you have to leave, I came to advise you, comfort you, and pray with you.

Not me, friar. I’ve been drinking hard all night, and either I get more time to prepare, or they’ll have to beat out my brains with clubs. I won’t agree to die today, that’s for sure.

Oh, sir, you must, and so I beg you to look forward to the journey you’re going on.

I swear I will not die today, no matter who tries to persuade me.

But listen—

Not a word: if you got anything to say to me, come to my cell. I’m not leaving it today.

Unfit to live or die, that stony heart! After him, boys. Bring him to the block.

Now, sir, how is the prisoner?

A creature unprepared, unfit for death. To send him off in his current frame of mind would be damnable.

Here in prison, father, a notorious pirate named Ragozine just died this morning of a terrible fever. He was Claudio’s age, with the same color beard and hair. What if we forget about this reprobate until he’s agreeable, and send the deputy Ragozine’s head, which is more like Claudio’s?

Oh, this is a heaven-sent chance! Do it at once. It’s getting near the time Angelo set for the execution. See that it’s done, and the head sent, as ordered. Meanwhile, I’ll persuade this uncivilized wretch to die willingly.

We’ll do it, good father, immediately. But Barnardine must die this afternoon. And what do we do with Claudio, to save me from the danger of word getting out that he’s alive?

Let’s do this: put both Barnardine and Claudio in secret cells. Before two more days, it’ll be obvious you’re safe.

I’m in your hands.

Hurry, get the head and send it to Angelo.

Now I’ll write letters to Angelo. The provost can deliver them. They’ll say I’m close to home and it’s of the utmost importance that I make a big public entrance. I’ll ask him to meet me at the holy springs three miles out of town. And from there, step by cool step, and observing all the proper procedures, I’ll deal with Angelo.

Here’s the head. I’ll carry it myself.

Suitable, isn’t it? Come back soon, because I want to talk with you about things that are for your ears only.

I’ll be as fast as I can.

(offstage) Hello! Peace to all here!

That’s Isabel’s voice. She’s here to see if her brother’s pardon has come yet. But I’ll hide the news for her own good, to turn her despair into divine comfort when she least expects it.

May I come in?

Good morning to you, fair and gracious daughter.

All the better a morning when so holy a man says it to me. Has the deputy sent my brother’s pardon yet?

He has released him, Isabel, from the world. His head is off and sent to Angelo.

No, it’s not true.

It is. Be smart, daughter, and keep control of yourself.

Oh, I’ll go and tear his eyes out!

They won’t let you see him.

Unhappy Claudio! Wretched Isabel! Cruel world! Damned Angelo!

This neither hurts him nor helps you a bit. Control yourself and leave your case to heaven. Pay attention to what I say. Every syllable is truth you can rely on. The duke’s coming home tomorrow—no, dry your eyes. His confessor, who belongs to our monastery, gave me this information. He’s already sent word to Escalus and Angelo, who are preparing to meet him at the gates and surrender their authority to him there. If you can, steer your mind along the path I want it to follow. You’ll have your desire inflicted on this wretch, the favor of the duke, revenge to your heart’s content, and general acclaim.

I’ll do whatever you say.

Then give this letter to Friar Peter. It’s the one he sent me about the duke’s return. It’ll be a sign that I want to meet him at Mariana’s house tonight. I’ll tell him all about her case and yours, and he’ll bring you before the duke, and you can thoroughly accuse Angelo face-to-face. My poor self is bound by a sacred vow, so I won’t be there. (giving the letter) Go with this letter. Banish those worried tears with a light heart. Never trust my holy order again if I steer you wrong. Who’s here?

Good evening. Friar, where’s the provost?

Not inside, sir.

Oh, pretty Isabella, I’m sick at heart to see your eyes so red, but try to calm down. I have to dine on plain bread and water—to control my desire, I don’t fill my belly, since one big meal would get me excited. But they say the duke will be here tomorrow. I swear, Isabel, I loved your brother. If the good old whimsical duke, who loved to fool around in dark places, had been at home, Claudio would’ve lived.

Sir, the duke is nothing at all like you report.

Friar, you don’t know the duke as well as I do. He’s more of a womanizer than you think.

Well, you’ll pay for this one day. Goodbye.

No, wait. I’ll go along with you. I can tell you some great tales about the duke.

You’ve already told me too many, sir, if they’re true. If they’re not true, I don’t want to hear any.

I appeared before him once for getting a girl pregnant.

Did you do such a thing?

Yes, I did, but I denied it under oath. They would’ve made me marry the rotten whore otherwise.

Sir, you look a lot nicer than you are. Goodbye.

I swear, I’ll go with you to the end of the lane. If dirty talk offends you, we’ll avoid it. No, friar, I’m like a kind of burr—I’ll stick to you.

Every letter he’s written has contradicted the others.

In a very vague, inconsistent way. His behavior seems almost insane—pray God he’s not going mad! And why do we have to meet him at the gates, and surrender our authority there?

I can’t guess.

And why, an hour before his arrival, should we announce that if anyone wants compensation for unjust treatment, they should come ready to present their petitions publicly?

He gives a reason for that: to be able to deal promptly with the complaints, and to save us from future lawsuits.

Well, I urge you to announce it early in the morning. I’ll come pick you up at your house. Alert all the high-ranking officials who are supposed to meet him.

I will, sir. Goodbye.

Good night.

This thing I’ve done has totally destroyed me. I’m stupid, can’t concentrate on anything. A girl robbed of her virginity, and by a respected public figure who enforced the law against sex! If she weren’t too ashamed to admit it, she could easily denounce me! But her head tells her not to, because my credibility is so strong that any scandal would ruin the person who spreads it, not me. I would’ve let Claudio live, except that a hotheaded youth like him might have come after me someday, feeling that his life is dishonored because he paid such a shameful price for it. Even so, I wish I’d let him live. Sadly, nothing goes right once we forget virtue. I don’t do the good thing, which I don’t want to do, but the evil I don’t want to commit, that I do.

At the right time, deliver these letters for me.

The provost knows about my plan. Once things get going, remember your orders and follow my lead, though sometimes you can deviate from the plan, if it seems appropriate. Go to Flavius’ house, and tell him where I’m staying. Inform Valentinus, Rowland, and Crassus, too, and ask them to bring the trumpeters to the gate. But send me Flavius first.

I’ll do it right away.

Thanks, Varrius, you got here fast. Let’s get going. More of our friends will be here soon, honorable Varrius.

I hate to speak so evasively. I’d rather tell the truth. But to accuse Angelo is your job, the friar says, and he advises me to lie, to hide our real aim.

We should do as he says.

Besides, he tells me that I shouldn’t think it strange if he happens to contradict me. It’ll be like swallowing a bitter pill that offers a sweet cure.

I wish Friar Peter—

Oh, wait! The friar’s here.

Come on, I’ve found you a good place to stand, where you’ll be so positioned that the duke won’t be able to bypass you. The trumpets have blown twice, the most high-born and important people have already gathered at the gates, and the duke’s about to enter. So, let’s go!

(to Angelo) My fellow nobleman, welcome! (to Escalus) My faithful old friend, I’m glad to see you.

Welcome home, your royal grace!

Many hearty thanks to you both. I’ve been asking about you, and I’ve heard such good things about your rule that I just had to thank you publicly, as a preview of more rewards to come.

You make my debt to you even greater.

Oh, you’re extremely worthy, and it’d be wrong of me to hide it in my heart, when it deserves to be written in brass letters, as on a monument, where time can’t erase it. Give me your hand, and let the people see, so they’ll know how proud I am to display my high regard for you. Come, Escalus, you must walk with me on my other side. You make a fine supporter.

Now’s the time: speak up and kneel before him.

Justice, royal duke! Look down here, at a girl—I wish I could say a virgin—who has been wronged. Oh, worthy prince, don’t consider anything else until you’ve heard my valid case and given me justice, justice, justice, justice!

Describe how you’ve been wronged—in what way? By whom? Be brief. Lord Angelo here will give you justice. Tell him your complaint.

Oh, worthy duke, you’re urging me to ask the devil for help. Listen to me yourself. What I have to say will result either in you not believing and punishing me, or you feeling compelled to right the wrong. Hear me, oh hear me, here!

My lord, I’m afraid she’s not in her right mind. She’s appeared before me, begging for her brother, who was executed by the justice system—

By the justice system!

And she will speak in a very bitter, strange way.

I’ll speak strangely, but truthfully. That Angelo’s a liar, isn’t that strange? That Angelo’s a murderer, isn’t that strange? That Angelo’s an adulterous thief, a hypocrite, a man who rapes virgins, isn’t that extremely strange?

That’s strange to the tenth degree.

It’s just as true as the fact that he’s Angelo, and this is all as true as it is strange. No, it’s true to the tenth degree, for the truth is the truth, no matter how much you multiply it.

Take her away! Poor soul, she’s insane.

Oh, prince, I beg you, as you believe in a better world than this one, don’t dismiss me by thinking I’m mad! Don’t assume something’s impossible because it’s unlikely. It’s not impossible that the wickedest wretch on the face of the earth may look just as cautious, as dignified, as fair, as perfect as Angelo—even as Angelo, for all his official finery, badges, titles, and ceremonies, can be an arch-villain. Believe it, royal prince. If he’s less than a wretch, he’s nothing. But he’s more, if only I had more names for badness.

I declare, if she’s mad—as I believe she is—her madness has an oddly rational sound. I’ve rarely heard such coherent logic from someone insane.

Oh, gracious duke, don’t harp on that. But don’t dismiss rational statements because they don’t jibe with appearances. Use your intelligence to uncover the hidden truth, which is obscured by lies that seem like truth.

A lot of sane people make a lot less sense. What would you like to say?

I am the sister of one Claudio, sentenced to die by the decree against fornication—sentenced by Angelo. I was about to enter a convent, when my brother contacted me. He sent me a message through a man named Lucio—

That’s me, if it please your grace: I came to her from Claudio, and asked her to try her good luck in asking Lord Angelo for her poor brother’s pardon.

Yes, that’s the man.

No one asked you to speak.

No, my good lord, but no one asked me to be quiet, either.

I’m asking you now, then. Remember it. And when you have your own business before me, pray heaven you behave yourself.

I’ll take notice, your honor.

The notice is for yourself. Pay attention to it.

This gentleman has told some of my story—

Right.

It may be right, but you’re wrong to interrupt. Proceed.

I went to this wicked, evil deputy—

You’re sounding crazy.

Excuse me—the choice of words is appropriate.

That’s better. Continue.

To make a long story short—because it took a while, how I begged, how I prayed and kneeled, how he refused me, and how I replied—I’ll sadly and shamefully get to the awful ending. He wouldn’t release my brother unless I gave my chaste body over to his yearning lust. And after much internal debate, my sisterly pity overcame my honor, and I gave in to him. But having got what he wanted, early the next morning he sent an order for my poor brother’s head.

(sarcastically) This is very believable!

Oh, I wish it were as believable as it is true!

Heavens above, you poor fool, you don’t know what you’re saying, or else you’ve been bribed to falsely accuse him. First of all, his integrity is beyond reproach. Next, it makes no sense that he should so vigorously prosecute crimes he himself commits. If he had committed such a crime, he would’ve judged your brother against himself, and not executed him. Someone has put you up to this. Confess the truth, and tell us who urged you to come here with this accusation.

That’s it? Then, oh, you blessed angels above, help me be patient, and let time reveal the evil hiding here behind appearances! Heaven protect your grace from harm. Since you don’t believe me, I have to go.

I bet you’d like to go. Officer, take her to prison! Should I permit such destructive, scandalous rumors about someone so close to me? This must be a conspiracy. Who knew about your plan, and that you were coming here?