The Duke—A Precursor to the Modern Comic Book Superhero?

I have to admit that I am taking a kind of perverse pleasure in Measure for Measure. I am enjoying the hilarity of the role switching that is taking place and, while the narrative line is somewhat predictable, only in that Shakespeare broadcasts his intent early on in the play, I find the whole thing kind of fun. Which is why it surprises me to find that several of those posting before me seem to find the Duke detestable.

I do, to some degree, understand this. After all, the Duke does seem to be intentionally leaving all the other players in this play hanging. (pun intended) But, from where I sit, there is a sense of justice and mercy at play here that makes the story intriguing and there is a sense of the humorous here that really tickles me.

What I found particularly delightful was the interplay in 4.3 between Pompey, Barnardine, and Abhorson in the moments before Barnardine is supposed to lose his head. It is, I think, gallows humor at its best, and a signifier that Barnardine is unlikely, as we do see in the latter part of 5.1, to lose his head.

Abhorson
Sirrah, bring Barnardine hither.

Pompey
Master Barnardine! You must rise and be hang’d, Master Barnardine!

Abhorson
What ho, Barnardine!

Barnardine (Within)
A pox o’ your throats! Who makes that noise there? What are you?

Pompey
Your friends, sir, the hangman. You must be so good, sir, to rise, and be put to death.

Barnardine (Within)
Away, you rogue, away! I am sleepy.

Abhorson
Tell him he must awake, and that quickly too.

Pompey
Pray, Master Barnardine, awake till you are executed, and sleep afterwards.

Abhorson
Go in to him, and fetch him out.

Pompey
He is coming, sir, he is coming. I hear his straw rustle.

Enter Barnardine.

Abhorson
Is the axe upon the block, sirrah?

Pompey
Very ready, sir.

Barnardine
How now, Abhorson? What’s the news with you?

Abhorson
Truly, sir, I would desire you to clap into your prayers; for look you, the warrant’s come.

Barnardine
You rogue, I have been drinking all night, I am not fitted for’t.

Pompey
O, the better, sir; for he that drinks all night, and is hang’d betimes in the morning, may sleep the sounder all the next day.

Enter Duke disguised as a friar.

Abhorson
Look you, sir, here comes your ghostly father. Do we jest now, think you?

Vincentio, the Duke
Sir, induc’d by my charity, and hearing how hastily you are to depart, I am come to advise you, comfort you, and pray with you.

Barnardine
Friar, not I; I have been drinking hard all night, and I will have more time to prepare me, or they shall beat out my brains with billets. I will not consent to die this day, that’s certain.

Vincentio, the Duke
O sir, you must; and therefore I beseech you
Look forward on the journey you shall go.

Barnardine
I swear I will not die today for any man’s persuasion.

Vincentio, the Duke
But hear you—

Barnardine
Not a word. If you have any thing to say to me, come to my ward; for thence will not I today.

I do understand that it seems repulsive that the Duke is willing to sacrifice the head of poor Barnardine for the sake of fulfilling his plan, but what I feel when I read the dialog is that Barnardine is pretty capable of holding his own. In fact, I have the feeling that he's been down this road before and has, in a similar manner, saved his own neck in the past. It's clear to me that this is here for comedic effect. And, frankly, it works quite well on me. I mean really, "Friar… I have been drinking hard all night, and I will have more time to prepare me…" seems a rather thin excuse for putting off a beheading, and yet the Duke consents, and in the end relents, setting Barnardine free.

As to the question of whether the Duke is cruel, beyond the obvious dramatic purposes behind the way he behaves, I think what we see here is a desire to have the truth reveal itself. If you remember early in the first scene of the first act The Duke says:

I love the people,
But do not like to stage me to there eyes;
Though it do well, I do not relish well
Their loud applause and aves vehement;

There is a degree of humility here that I think is revealed throughout the play in the way that The Duke handles himself and in how slow he is to reveal his identity. Granted, some of this is the apparatus of drama—you would lose almost two acts if The Duke were to pop out from behind a curtain, grab Angelo by the neck and scream, "Scoundrel! I know your deeds!" So, instead we enjoy a bit of a cat-and-mouse game, which adds to the interest of the play. But, by his own admission, The Duke loves the people he serves but doesn't like the limelight. I think the whole charade playing out here allows The Duke the anonymity he desires while still allowing him to handle the law in the way he desires.

In the end, I see The Duke as a precursor to the modern comic book hero, although, unlike most comic book heroes, The Duke's true identity is revealed in the end. But the concept remains the same. The Duke, not unlike Bruce Wayne or Peter Parker, is someone who dons a costume in order to fight evil or corruption anonymously. And it is this anonymity that allows him to work in the way that he does.