clearly made out. When the duke saw the two Antipholuses and the two
Dromios both so exactly alike, he at once conjectured aright of these
seeming mysteries, for he remembered the story Ægeon had told him in the
morning; and he said, these men must be the two sons of Ægeon and their
twin slaves.
But now an unlooked-for joy indeed completed the history of Ægeon; and
the tale he had in the morning told in sorrow, and under sentence of
death, before the setting sun went down was brought to a happy
conclusion, for the venerable lady abbess made herself known to be the
long-lost wife of Ægeon, and the fond mother of the two Antipholuses.
When the fishermen took the eldest Antipholus and Dromio away from her,
she entered a nunnery, and by her wise and virtuous conduct, she was at
length made lady abbess of this convent, and in discharging the rites of
hospitality to an unhappy stranger she had unknowingly protected her own
son.
Joyful congratulations and affectionate greetings between these long
separated parents and their children made them for a while forget that
Ægeon was yet under sentence of death; but when they were become a
little calm, Antipholus of Ephesus offered the duke the ransom money for
his father's life; but the duke freely pardoned Ægeon, and would not
take the money. And the duke went with the abbess and her newly-found
husband and children into the convent, to hear this happy family
discourse at leisure of the blessed ending of their adverse fortunes.
And the two Dromios' humble joy must not be forgotten; they had their
congratulations and greetings too, and each Dromio pleasantly
complimented his brother on his good looks, being well pleased to see
his own person (as in a glass) show so handsome in his brother.
Adriana had so well profited by the good counsel of her mother-in-law,
that she never after cherished unjust suspicions, or was jealous of her
husband.
Antipholus of Syracuse married the fair Luciana, the sister of his
brother's wife; and the good old Ægeon, with his wife and sons, lived at
Ephesus many years. Nor did the unravelling of these perplexities so
entirely remove every ground of mistake for the future, but that
sometimes, to remind them of adventures past, comical blunders would
happen, and the one Antipholus, and the one Dromio, be mistaken for the
other, making altogether a pleasant and diverting Comedy of Errors.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
MEASURE FOR MEASURE
In the city of Vienna there once reigned a duke of such a mild and
gentle temper, that he suffered his subjects to neglect the laws with
impunity; and there was in particular one law, the existence of which
was almost forgotten, the duke never having put it in force during his
whole reign. This was a law dooming any man to the punishment of death,
who should live with a woman that was not his wife; and this law,
through the lenity of the duke, being utterly disregarded, the holy
institution of marriage became neglected, and complaints were every day
made to the duke by the parents of the young ladies in Vienna, that
their daughters had been seduced from their protection, and were living
as the companions of single men.
The good duke perceived with sorrow this growing evil among his
subjects; but he thought that a sudden change in himself from the
indulgence he had hitherto shown, to the strict severity requisite to
check this abuse, would make his people (who had hitherto loved him)
consider him as a tyrant; therefore he determined to absent himself a
while from his dukedom, and depute another to the full exercise of his
power, that the law against these dishonourable lovers might be put in
effect, without giving offence by an unusual severity in his own person.
Angelo, a man who bore the reputation of a saint in Vienna for his
strict and rigid life, was chosen by the duke as a fit person to
undertake this important charge; and when the duke imparted his design
to Lord Escalus, his chief counsellor, Escalus said, "If any man in
Vienna be of worth to undergo such ample grace and honour, it is Lord
Angelo." And now the duke departed from Vienna under pretence of making
a journey into Poland, leaving Angelo to act as the lord deputy in his
absence; but the duke's absence was only a feigned one, for he privately
returned to Vienna, habited like a friar, with the intent to watch
unseen the conduct of the saintly-seeming Angelo.
It happened just about the time that Angelo was invested with his new
dignity, that a gentleman, whose name was Claudio, had seduced a young
lady from her parents; and for this offence, by command of the new lord
deputy, Claudio was taken up and committed to prison, and by virtue of
the old law which had been so long neglected, Angelo sentenced Claudio
to be beheaded. Great interest was made for the pardon of young Claudio,
and the good old Lord Escalus himself interceded for him. "Alas," said
he, "this gentleman whom I would save had an honourable father, for
whose sake I pray you pardon the young man's transgression." But Angelo
replied, "We must not make a scare-crow of the law, setting it up to
frighten birds of prey, till custom, finding it harmless, makes it their
perch, and not their terror. Sir, he must die."
Lucio, the friend of Claudio, visited him in the prison, and Claudio
said to him, "I pray you, Lucio, do me this kind service. Go to my
sister Isabel, who this day proposes to enter the convent of Saint
Clare; acquaint her with the danger of my state; implore her that she
make friends with the strict deputy; bid her go herself to Angelo. I
have great hopes in that; for she can discourse with prosperous art, and
well she can persuade; besides, there is a speechless dialect in
youthful sorrow, such as moves men."
Isabel, the sister of Claudio, had, as he said, that day entered upon
her noviciate in the convent, and it was her intent, after passing
through her probation as a novice, to take the veil, and she was
inquiring of a nun concerning the rules of the convent, when they heard
the voice of Lucio, who, as he entered that religious house, said,
"Peace be in this place!"--"Who is it that speaks?" said Isabel. "It is
a man's voice," replied the nun: "Gentle Isabel, go to him, and learn
his business; you may, I may not. When you have taken the veil, you must
not speak with men but in the presence of the prioress; then if you
speak you must not show your face, or if you show your face, you must
not speak."--"And have you nuns no further privileges?" said Isabel.
"Are not these large enough?" replied the nun. "Yes, truly," said
Isabel: "I speak not as desiring more, but rather wishing a more strict
restraint upon the sisterhood, the votarists of Saint Clare." Again they
heard the voice of Lucio, and the nun said, "He calls again. I pray you
answer him." Isabel then went out to Lucio, and in answer to his
salutation, said, "Peace and Prosperity! Who is it that calls?" Then
Lucio, approaching her with reverence, said, "Hail, virgin, if such you
be, as the roses on your cheeks proclaim you are no less! can you bring
me to the sight of Isabel, a novice of this place, and the fair sister
to her unhappy brother Claudio?"--"Why her unhappy brother?" said
Isabel, "let me ask! for I am that Isabel, and his sister."--"Fair and
gentle lady," he replied, "your brother kindly greets you by me; he is
in prison."--"Woe is me! for what?" said Isabel. Lucio then told her,
Claudio was imprisoned for seducing a young maiden. "Ah," said she, "I
fear it is my cousin Juliet." Juliet and Isabel were not related, but
they called each other cousin in remembrance of their school days'
friendship; and as Isabel knew that Juliet loved Claudio, she feared she
had been led by her affection for him into this transgression. "She it
is," replied Lucio. "Why then, let my brother marry Juliet," said
Isabel. Lucio replied that Claudio would gladly marry Juliet, but that
the lord deputy had sentenced him to die for his offence; "Unless," said
he, "you have the grace by your fair prayer to soften Angelo, and that
is my business between you and your poor brother."--"Alas!" said Isabel,
"what poor ability is there in me to do him good? I doubt I have no
power to move Angelo."--"Our doubts are traitors," said Lucio, "and make
us lose the good we might often win, by fearing to attempt it. Go to
Lord Angelo! When maidens sue, and kneel, and weep, men give like
gods."--"I will see what I can do," said Isabel: "I will but stay to
give the prioress notice of the affair, and then I will go to Angelo.
Commend me to my brother: soon at night I will send him word of my
success."
Isabel hastened to the palace, and threw herself on her knees before
Angelo, saying, "I am a woful suitor to your honour, if it will please
your honour to hear me."--"Well, what is your suit?" said Angelo. She
then made her petition in the most moving terms for her brother's life.
But Angelo said, "Maiden, there is no remedy; your brother is sentenced,
and he must die."--"O just, but severe law," said Isabel: "I had a
brother then--Heaven keep your honour!" and she was about to depart. But
Lucio, who had accompanied her, said, "Give it not over so; return to
him again, entreat him, kneel down before him, hang upon his gown. You
are too cold; if you should need a pin, you could not with a more tame
tongue desire it." Then again Isabel on her knees implored for mercy.
"He is sentenced," said Angelo: "it is too late."--"Too late!" said
Isabel: "Why, no: I that do speak a word may call it back again. Believe
this, my lord, no ceremony that to great ones belongs, not the king's
crown, nor the deputed sword, the marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's
robe, becomes them with one half so good a grace as mercy does."--"Pray
you begone," said Angelo. But still Isabel entreated; and she said, "If
my brother had been as you, and you as he, you might have slipped like
him, but he, like you, would not have been so stern. I would to heaven I
had your power, and you were Isabel. Should it then be thus? No, I would
tell you what it were to be a judge, and what a prisoner."--"Be content,
fair maid!" said Angelo: "it is the law, not I, condemns your brother.
Were he my kinsman, my brother, or my son, it should be thus with him.
He must die to-morrow."--"To-morrow?" said Isabel; "Oh, that is sudden:
spare him, spare him; he is not prepared for death. Even for our
kitchens we kill the fowl in season; shall we serve Heaven with less
respect than we minister to our gross selves? Good, good, my lord,
bethink you, none have died for my brother's offence, though many have
committed it. So you would be the first that gives this sentence, and he
the first that suffers it. Go to your own bosom, my lord; knock there,
and ask your heart what it does know that is like my brother's fault; if
it confess a natural guiltiness such as his is, let it not sound a
thought against my brother's life!" Her last words more moved Angelo
than all she had before said, for the beauty of Isabel had raised a
guilty passion in his heart, and he began to form thoughts of
dishonourable love, such as Claudio's crime had been; and the conflict
in his mind made him to turn away from Isabel; but she called him back,
saying, "Gentle my lord, turn back; hark, how I will bribe you. Good my
lord, turn back!"--"How, bribe me!" said Angelo, astonished that she
should think of offering him a bribe. "Ay," said Isabel, "with such
gifts that Heaven itself shall share with you; not with golden
treasures, or those glittering stones, whose price is either rich or
poor as fancy values them, but with true prayers that shall be up to
Heaven before sunrise,--prayers from preserved souls, from fasting
maids whose minds are dedicated to nothing temporal."--"Well, come to me
to-morrow," said Angelo. And for this short respite of her brother's
life, and for this permission that she might be heard again, she left
him with the joyful hope that she should at last prevail over his stern
nature: and as she went away she said, "Heaven keep your honour safe!
Heaven save your honour!" Which when Angelo heard, he said within his
heart, "Amen, I would be saved from thee and from thy virtues:" and
then, affrighted at his own evil thoughts, he said, "What is this? What
is this? Do I love her, that I desire to hear her speak again, and feast
upon her eyes? What is it I dream on? The cunning enemy of mankind, to
catch a saint, with saints does bait the hook. Never could an immodest
woman once stir my temper, but this virtuous woman subdues me quite.
Even till now, when men were fond, I smiled and wondered at them."
In the guilty conflict in his mind Angelo suffered more that night than
the prisoner he had so severely sentenced; for in the prison Claudio was
visited by the good duke, who, in his friar's habit, taught the young
man the way to heaven, preaching to him the words of penitence and
peace. But Angelo felt all the pangs of irresolute guilt: now wishing to
seduce Isabel from the paths of innocence and honour, and now suffering
remorse and horror for a crime as yet but intentional. But in the end
his evil thoughts prevailed; and he who had so lately started at the
offer of a bribe, resolved to tempt this maiden with so high a bribe, as
she might not be able to resist, even with the precious gift of her dear
brother's life.
When Isabel came in the morning, Angelo desired she might be admitted
alone to his presence: and being there, he said to her, if she would
yield to him her virgin honour and transgress even as Juliet had done
with Claudio, he would give her her brother's life; "For," said he, "I
love you, Isabel."--"My brother," said Isabel, "did so love Juliet, and
yet you tell me he shall die for it."--"But," said Angelo, "Claudio
shall not die, if you will consent to visit me by stealth at night, even
as Juliet left her father's house at night to come to Claudio." Isabel,
in amazement at his words, that he should tempt her to the same fault
for which he passed sentence upon her brother, said, "I would do as much
for my poor brother as for myself; that is, were I under sentence of
death, the impression of keen whips I would wear as rubies, and go to my
death as to a bed that longing I had been sick for, ere I would yield
myself up to this shame." And then she told him, she hoped he only spoke
these words to try her virtue. But he said, "Believe me, on my honour,
my words express my purpose." Isabel, angered to the heart to hear him
use the word Honour to express such dishonourable purposes, said, "Ha!
little honour to be much believed; and most pernicious purpose. I will
proclaim thee, Angelo, look for it! Sign me a present pardon for my
brother, or I will tell the world aloud what man thou art!"--"Who will
believe you, Isabel?" said Angelo; "my unsoiled name, the austereness of
my life, my word vouched against yours, will outweigh your accusation.
Redeem your brother by yielding to my will, or he shall die to-morrow.
As for you, say what you can, my false will overweigh your true story.
Answer me to-morrow."
"To whom should I complain? Did I tell this, who would believe me?" said
Isabel, as she went towards the dreary prison where her brother was
confined. When she arrived there, her brother was in pious conversation
with the duke, who in his friar's habit had also visited Juliet, and
brought both these guilty lovers to a proper sense of their fault; and
unhappy Juliet with tears and a true remorse confessed that she was more
to blame than Claudio, in that she willingly consented to his
dishonourable solicitations.
As Isabel entered the room where Claudio was confined, she said, "Peace
be here, grace, and good company!"--"Who is there?" said the disguised
duke; "come in; the wish deserves a welcome."--"My business is a word or
two with Claudio," said Isabel. Then the duke left them together, and
desired the provost, who had the charge of the prisoners, to place him
where he might overhear their conversation.
"Now, sister, what is the comfort?" said Claudio. Isabel told him he
must prepare for death on the morrow. "Is there no remedy?" said
Claudio.--"Yes, brother," replied Isabel, "there is; but such a one, as
if you consented to it would strip your honour from you, and leave you
naked."--"Let me know the point," said Claudio. "O, I do fear you,
Claudio!" replied his sister; "and I quake, lest you should wish to
live, and more respect the trifling term of six or seven winters added
to your life, than your perpetual honour! Do you dare to die? The sense
of death is most in apprehension, and the poor beetle that we tread
upon, feels a pang as great as when a giant dies." "Why do you give me
this shame?" said Claudio. "Think you I can fetch a resolution from
flowery tenderness? If I must die, I will encounter darkness as a bride,
and hug it in my arms."--"There spoke my brother," said Isabel; "there
my father's grave did utter forth a voice. Yes, you must die; yet would
you think it, Claudio! this outward sainted deputy, if I would yield to
him my virgin honour, would grant your life. O, were it but my life, I
would lay it down for your deliverance as frankly as a pin!"--"Thanks,
dear Isabel," said Claudio. "Be ready to die to-morrow," said Isabel.
"Death is a fearful thing," said Claudio. "And shamed life a hateful,"
replied his sister. But the thoughts of death now overcame the constancy
of Claudio's temper, and terrors, such as the guilty only at their
deaths do know, assailing him, he cried out, "Sweet sister, let me live!
The sin you do to save a brother's life, nature dispenses with the deed
so far, that it becomes a virtue."--"O faithless coward! O dishonest
wretch!" said Isabel; "would you preserve your life by your sister's
shame? O fie, fie, fie! I thought, my brother, you had in you such a
mind of honour, that had you twenty heads to render up on twenty blocks,
you would have yielded them up all, before your sister should stoop to
such dishonour." "Nay, hear me, Isabel!" said Claudio. But what he would
have said in defence of his weakness, in desiring to live by the
dishonour of his virtuous sister, was interrupted by the entrance of the
duke; who said, "Claudio, I have overheard what has passed between you
and your sister. Angelo had never the purpose to corrupt her; what he
said, has only been to make trial of her virtue. She having the truth of
honour in her, has given him that gracious denial which he is most glad
to receive. There is no hope that he will pardon you; therefore pass
your hours in prayer, and make ready for death." Then Claudio repented
of his weakness, and said, "Let me ask my sister's pardon! I am so out
of love with life, that I will sue to be rid of it." And Claudio
retired, overwhelmed with shame and sorrow for his fault.
The duke being now alone with Isabel, commended her virtuous resolution,
saying, "The hand that made you fair, has made you good."--"O," said
Isabel, "how much is the good duke deceived in Angelo! if ever he
return, and I can speak to him, I will discover his government." Isabel
knew not that she was even now making the discovery she threatened. The
duke replied, "That shall not be much amiss; yet as the matter now
stands, Angelo will repel your accusation; therefore lend an attentive
ear to my advisings. I believe that you may most righteously do a poor
wronged lady a merited benefit, redeem your brother from the angry law,
do no stain to your own most gracious person, and much please the absent
duke, if peradventure he shall ever return to have notice of this
business." Isabel said, she had a spirit to do anything he desired,
provided it was nothing wrong. "Virtue is bold, and never fearful," said
the duke: and then he asked her, if she had ever heard of Mariana, the
sister of Frederick, the great soldier who was drowned at sea. "I have
heard of the lady," said Isabel, "and good words went with her
name."--"This lady," said the duke, "is the wife of Angelo; but her
marriage dowry was on board the vessel in which her brother perished,
and mark how heavily this befell to the poor gentlewoman! for, beside
the loss of a most noble and renowned brother, who in his love towards
her was ever most kind and natural, in the wreck of her fortune she lost
the affections of her husband, the well-seeming Angelo; who pretending
to discover some dishonour in this honourable lady (though the true
cause was the loss of her dowry) left her in her tears, and dried not
one of them with his comfort. His unjust unkindness, that in all reason
should have quenched her love, has, like an impediment in the current,
made it more unruly, and Mariana loves her cruel husband with the full
continuance of her first affection." The duke then more plainly unfolded
his plan. It was, that Isabel should go to Lord Angelo, and seemingly
consent to come to him as he desired at midnight; that by this means she
would obtain the promised pardon; and that Mariana should go in her
stead to the appointment, and pass herself upon Angelo in the dark for
Isabel. "Nor, gentle daughter," said the feigned friar, "fear you to do
this thing; Angelo is her husband, and to bring them thus together is no
sin." Isabel being pleased with this project, departed to do as he
directed her; and he went to apprise Mariana of their intention. He had
before this time visited this unhappy lady in his assumed character,
giving her religious instruction and friendly consolation, at which
times he had learned her sad story from her own lips; and now she,
looking upon him as a holy man, readily consented to be directed by him
in this undertaking.
When Isabel returned from her interview with Angelo, to the house of
Mariana, where the duke had appointed her to meet him, he said, "Well
met, and in good time; what is the news from this good deputy?" Isabel
related the manner in which she had settled the affair. "Angelo," said
she, "has a garden surrounded with a brick wall, on the western side of
which is a vineyard, and to that vineyard is a gate." And then she
showed to the duke and Mariana two keys that Angelo had given her; and
she said, "This bigger key opens the vineyard gate; this other a little
door which leads from the vineyard to the garden. There I have made my
promise at the dead of the night to call upon him, and have got from him
his word of assurance for my brother's life. I have taken a due and wary
note of the place; and with whispering and most guilty diligence he
showed me the way twice over."--"Are there no other tokens agreed upon
between you, that Mariana must observe?" said the duke. "No, none," said
Isabel, "only to go when it is dark. I have told him my time can be but
short; for I have made him think a servant comes along with me, and that
this servant is persuaded I come about my brother." The duke commended
her discreet management, and she, turning to Mariana, said, "Little have
you to say to Angelo, when you depart from him, but soft and low,
_Remember now my brother_!"
Mariana was that night conducted to the appointed place by Isabel, who
rejoiced that she had, as she supposed, by this device preserved both
her brother's life and her own honour. But that her brother's life was
safe the duke was not well satisfied, and therefore at midnight he again
repaired to the prison, and it was well for Claudio that he did so, else
would Claudio have that night been beheaded; for soon after the duke
entered the prison, an order came from the cruel deputy, commanding that
Claudio should be beheaded, and his head sent to him by five o'clock in
the morning. But the duke persuaded the provost to put off the
execution of Claudio, and to deceive Angelo, by sending him the head of
a man who died that morning in the prison. And to prevail upon the
provost to agree to this, the duke, whom still the provost suspected not
to be anything more or greater than he seemed, showed the provost a
letter written with the duke's hand, and sealed with his seal, which
when the provost saw, he concluded this friar must have some secret
order from the absent duke, and therefore he consented to spare Claudio;
and he cut off the dead man's head, and carried it to Angelo.
Then the duke in his own name, wrote to Angelo a letter, saying, that
certain accidents had put a stop to his journey, and that he should be
in Vienna by the following morning, requiring Angelo to meet him at the
entrance of the city, there to deliver up his authority; and the duke
also commanded it to be proclaimed, that if any of his subjects craved
redress for injustice, they should exhibit their petitions in the street
on his first entrance into the city.