As the head of the prosecution, I will now offer my closing statement.

Let us take a moment to think on what the other side is telling you.

The defendant and her astrologer son tell you that the Reinbolds are too low to be trusted. Trust our word over hers, they say. She is of the rabble, they say. Why they say this when she is a respected citizen of our community, I do not know, but that is what they say. Our side says something different. Our side says each human is a reflection of God, and deserves justice.

The defendant and her astrologer son tell you to disregard Ursula Reinbold because she had no children, while Katharina Kepler raised four children to adulthood, including her much-discussed astrologer son. They say this as if it is unique to have family. We say something different. We say that Ursula is a child of God, deserving of our compassion.

The defendant and her astrologer son tell you that the testimony of women and children needs to be discounted. They tell you that women and children are too suggestible, too superstitious, too fragile, too easily deceived. There is something in what they say. But who is doing the deceiving? Do Frau Kepler and Herr Kepler really believe that a woman or child cannot speak reliably even of their own pain?

The defendant and her astrologer son tell you that disease and death happen every day. Can we cry witch every time a man coughs? they suggest. But Frau Kepler has been accused not once, but many times. She has been accused of having killed a pig with a touch, ridden to death a goat, and made two cows and one horse ill. She has brought on dangerous storms. She has injured the leg of the butcher. She has offered false and dangerous remedies. She tried to dig up her father’s skull as a weapon of sorcery. She has killed by poison a mother of three. She made lame a schoolmaster. She likely contributed to the deaths of the tailor’s two small children. She has menaced her guards. This is without even speaking of Ursula’s pains, or of the witch’s grip found on the arm of the young Haller girl. Is every evil to be written off as one more trial of our world? As something to be expected? Or is there room for us as men to say: This evil we can prevent. This evil we can head off. This child we can protect. This village we can make safe. Beyond our walls, war may rage. But we still have faith that there is that which is within our power, which we can make right.

The defendant and her astrologer son laugh at this court. They attack the court’s impartiality. They blame it for delays of their own making. They belittle the citizens of Leonberg. They call this one scurrilous, that one an exaggerator, a third a rumormonger, another a liar, another a fool. No one can be trusted, they imply, except for them. The defendant and her astrologer son must consider themselves made of a different stuff. Stardust? Frau Kepler laughs at serious questioning; Herr Kepler taps his foot impatiently. The pewterer can show only a red face. His wife sits reading lurid pamphlets. Only the daughter, Greta, shows good faith.

Amid their derision, they want to impress upon you their connections to the late Duchess Sybille, even to the Emperor.

They are right that we are different from them. We respect the court. We know that God dwells in each human being. We—

Counsel, it’s been a long day, after many long days. May we ask that, if at all possible, you advance succinctly to your conclusion?

Yes, of course.

Let me say: Perhaps we could have acted otherwise than to convict if we saw some humanity in the defendant. If it were simply that she had strayed, but wanted to return to our loving fold. If she showed some penance. Some emotion. Some consideration. Have we seen a single tear from Frau Kepler? We have not. We say to her, Kath-chen—for some of us have known her since she was a girl—can’t you show us something of your heart? Show us your remorse? Children have fallen ill. Animals that families depend on have been afflicted. The will of God is being obscured by the devil. Your own children are here watching you. Give us some sign of your true heart. Weep for us. Shed a tear. And what does she say? “I have cried so many tears in my life, sir, that there are none left.” We must call a witch a witch.

It’s simple. If an army climbed over our walls, we would pick up arms and fight. We would do so without hesitation. Shadowy troops hide among us. I advise torture in order to get a full confession from the defendant, and then to punish her unto death.