Much Ado About Nothing

Wasn’t Don John at dinner tonight?

I didn’t see him.

That man always looks so sour! Just looking at him gives me heartburn.

He has a very gloomy attitude.

It would be excellent if they could make a man halfway between Don John and Benedick. One of them is too much like a painting of a man—he never speaks—and the other is too much like a spoiled little boy, always chattering.

So, the man would talk half as much as Benedick and be half as serious as Don John—

And if he were handsome, agile, and rich, too, he could have any woman in the world—all he’d need was her good will.

Really, niece, you’ll never get a husband if you keep saying such harsh things about people.

Honestly, she is too ill-tempered.

Being “too ill-tempered” is different from being simply “ill-tempered,” right? So I suppose that means I can escape God’s punishment, for in the old proverb, it is said that “God gives an ill-tempered cow short horns” so that she can’t inflict damage on anyone. But it doesn’t say anything about a cow that is too ill-tempered.

So then, for being too argumentative, God won’t send you any horns?

Exactly. I pray every morning and night that the Lord won’t send me a husband. Really, I couldn’t stand a husband with a beard. I’d rather be wrapped in scratchy blankets all night.

Maybe you will find a husband without a beard.

And then what would I do with him? Dress him up in my clothes and pretend he’s my lady servant? If he has a beard, he’s more than a boy; if he doesn’t have a beard, he’s less than a man. If he’s more than a boy, he’s not the one for me, and if he’s less than a man, I’m not the one for him. They say that women who die unmarried are destined to lead the apes to hell, and I suppose that’ll be my fate as well.

So you’ll go to hell?

No, just to the gates of hell, where the devil will meet me, with the horns on his head like a cuckold, and say, “Go up to heaven, Beatrice. Hell is no place for you virgins.” So I’ll fly up to heaven (leaving the apes behind) where I’ll be met by Saint Peter guarding heaven’s gates. He will show me the part of heaven where the bachelors sit, and I’ll have fun there forever.

(to HERO) Well, niece, I trust that you will defer to your father on these important decisions.

Surely, my cousin has a duty to please her father. But if the husband her father chooses isn’t handsome, she should sweetly tell her father that she will please herself—with another one.

Well, niece, I hope that I will see you married one day.

No, I won’t take a husband until they make men out of something other than dirt. What woman wouldn’t be distressed, being lorded over by a handful of dust? Can you imagine being hitched to a lump of clay? No, uncle, I won’t be married. And anyhow, if Adam is the father of all mankind, then his sons are my brothers, and really I believe that incest is a sin.

(to HERO) Daughter, remember what I told you. If the Prince asks for your hand in marriage, you know what to tell him.

But cousin, make sure he woos you properly and appropriately. If he is too insistent, tell him that romance is like a dance: it has its own rhythm and timing. Look, the three stages of romance are like three different dances. The wooing is like a Scottish jig: hot and fast and full of whimsy and illusion. The wedding is a like a dance you would do before the King: proper and decorous. Finally, you get to the part where you regret having gotten married in the first place. It is like the lively cinquepace: it goes faster and faster until you eventually topple over and die.

Niece, you are exceptionally perceptive.

I have a good eye, uncle. I can see what’s in broad daylight.

The partygoers have arrived. Let’s give them room.

My lady, will you have a dance with me?

As long as you move gracefully, look handsome, and say nothing, I’m yours for the dance. And I’ll even linger after I’ve gone.

Will I be with you then?

Perhaps, if I decide to let you.

And when will that be?

When I like the way you look, for God forbid your face be as ugly as your mask!

My mask is like the roof of the poor Philemon’s humble cottage; underneath the mask, I am as magnificent as the glorious god Jove.

Well, then, since Philemon’s roof was thatched with straw, your mask should have a beard.

If you wish to speak of love, speak more softly.

Well, I wish you liked me.

I’m glad I don’t, for your sake. I have many awful qualities.

Tell me one.

I say my prayers out loud.

That makes me love you even more. Everyone who hears you can shout, “Amen.”

God give me a good dance partner!

Amen. That would be me.

And God take him away from me when we’re finished dancing! Go ahead—say “Amen.”

No more talking. I’ve got my answer.

I know who you are; you are Signior Antonio.

No, really, I’m not.

I can tell by the way you waggle your head.

Really, I’m only pretending to be him.

You could only imitate his imperfections so well if you were the man himself. Look, you’ve got his wrinkled hands. You are Antonio, you are he.

In short, I’m not.

Come on, do you think I can’t recognize you by your excellent wit? Can a good thing hide itself? Be quiet, you are Antonio. A man’s virtues will always show themselves, and that’s the end of that.

Won’t you tell me who told you that?

No, you’ll have to excuse me.

And you won’t tell me who you are?

Not now.

Who said that I was disdainful, and that I got all my best lines out of a bad joke book?! Well, it must have been Signior Benedick.

Who’s that?

I’m sure you know him.

No I don’t, believe me.

What, he never made you laugh?

Please tell me, who is this man?

Why, he’s the Prince’s fool, and a very dull fool at that. His only talent is his capacity to come up with unbelievable slanders. Only the most immoral people enjoy his company, and they like him not for his wit but his outrageousness. He manages to both please and anger people; they laugh at him and then beat him up. I’m sure he’s out there dancing. I could have sworn he trampled on me.

When I meet this gentleman, I’ll tell him what you’ve said.

Oh, please do. He’ll say a few nasty things about me, and if nobody listens to him or laughs, he’ll be thrown into a funk. And that will save a partridge wing from being eaten, because he’ll be too miserable for dinner.

Come on, we have to follow the leaders of the dance.

In every good thing they do.

No, if they try to lead us to harm, I will leave the dance floor at the next song.

(to BORACHIO) My brother just wooed Hero and now has taken her father inside to tell him his feelings. The ladies have followed Hero, but one masked man remains.

That’s Claudio. I can tell by the way he carries himself.

(to CLAUDIO) Aren’t you Signior Benedick?

You know me too well. I am Benedick.

Sir, my brother is very fond of you. He is in love with Hero. Please make him change his mind. She doesn’t have the proper rank to marry the Prince. You would be doing a good service.

How do you know he loves her?

I heard him swear he did.

I did too, and he also swore he would marry her tonight.

Come on, let’s get to the banquet.

(taking off his mask) Though I said my name was Benedick, I heard this news with Claudio’s ears. Of course the Prince wants Hero for himself. Friendship is enduring except when love is involved. Therefore, all lovers should speak for themselves. They should look for themselves, without asking someone else to get involved in their affairs. Beauty is a witch whose spells can turn loyalty into passion. This happens a lot, but it didn’t occur to me that it would happen to me. Goodbye then, Hero.

Claudio?

Yes, that’s me.

Will you come with me?

Where?

Right over to that willow tree to see about your business. How do you want to wear your garland of willow leaves? Around your neck, like a moneylender’s gold chain, or under your arm, like a lieutenant’s sash? You have to wear it somehow, because the Prince has gotten your Hero.

I hope he enjoys her.

You sound like a cattle dealer: that’s the way they sell bulls. But do you really think the Prince would treat you that way?

Please, leave me alone.

Look at you, thrashing about like a blind man. A boy robbed you, but you’ll beat up the post instead.

If you won’t leave, then I’ll leave.

Oh, the poor bird. Now he’ll hide himself in the bushes. But how strange that Beatrice should seem to know who I was and yet not know at the same time. “The Prince’s fool”! Maybe they call me that because I am cheerful. Yes, but I am insulting myself by thinking this way. I don’t have that kind of reputation! Beatrice’s mean, sarcastic nature makes her believe that the entire world shares her opinions; that’s why she describes me this way. Well, I’ll get my revenge.

Now, sir, where is Claudio? Did you see him?

Yes, my lord, I played the part of a gossip and brought him the news. I found him here, as sad as a rabbit in a burrow. I told him—and I think I was telling the truth—that you had won the lady’s heart. I offered to accompany him to the willow tree, where he could either make a garland—fit to be worn by an abandoned lover—or gather sticks into a bundle, ready for his beating.

Beating? Why, what did he do?

He was like a schoolboy who finds a bird’s nest and happily shows it to his friend, who then steals it from him.

What, is trusting a friend such a crime? The criminal is the one who stole the nest.

It might have been appropriate to make both the rod and the garland. He could have worn the garland himself and beaten you with the rod, since you—as I understand it—have stolen his bird’s nest.

I only want to teach the baby birds to sing; then I will return the nest to its rightful owner.

We’ll wait and see; if the chicks follow your lead—if Hero is ready to love Claudio—then we’ll know you’re telling the truth.

Lady Beatrice is angry with you. The gentleman she danced with told her you insulted her.

Not even a block of wood could handle her abuses! An oak tree barely clinging to life would have revived itself to fight her. Even my mask seemed to come to life in order to argue with her. She told me—not realizing it was me—that I was the Prince’s jester and as dull as mud. She hurled mocking insults at me with such incredible speed that all I could do was stand there, paralyzed. She speaks daggers, and every word stabs. If her breath were as terrible as her words, she would kill every living thing from here to the furthest star. I wouldn’t marry her, even if she were as blessed as paradise. If she were married to the great hero Hercules, she would have humiliated him with chores around the house and ordered him to chop up his famous club for firewood. Please, don’t mention her. She’s as wicked as Ate, just disguised in pretty clothes. I wish to God that some wise man would conjure her away, because as long as she lives on earth, our lives are filled with turmoil. It’s quieter in hell, where people, sinning on purpose, are eager to be sent just to get away from her. So chaos, horror, and sorrow follow her wherever she goes.

Look, here she comes.

Your highness, could you send me on a mission to the ends of the earth? I’ll go to the Antipodes for any little errand you can think of. I’ll fetch you a toothpick from the farthest reaches of Asia, or find out Prester John’s shoe size, or snatch a hair from Kublai Khan’s beard, or deliver any message you wish to relay to the Pygmies—anything rather than exchange three words with this awful, screeching woman. Isn’t there something you want from me?

Nothing but your good company.

Oh, God, sir, here comes a dish I hate. I can’t stand tongue.

(to BEATRICE) Lady, you have lost Signior Benedick’s heart.

It’s true, my lord. He lent it to me once, and I paid him back with interest: a double heart for his single one. Really, he won it from me once before in a dishonest game of dice. So I suppose your grace can truly say that I have lost it.

You’ve humiliated him, lady: you’ve put him down.

And I hope that he won’t put me down or I’m sure to have fools for children.I’ve brought Claudio, who you sent me to find.

Why, what’s wrong, count? Why are you so sad?

I’m not sad, my lord.

What then, sick?

I’m neither, my lord.

The count is neither sad nor sick nor cheerful nor well—he’s just civil, as Seville as an orange, with the same jealous-yellow complexion.

Truly, lady, I think your description is correct, though I swear he has no reason to look like that. Here, Claudio, I’ve wooed Hero for you, and she’s agreed to marry you. I’ve told her father, and he’s given his permission. Tell us when you wish to get married, and may God give you joy.

Claudio, take my daughter, and, with her, take my fortunes. The Prince has made the match, and may God bless it.

Speak, Claudio, that’s your cue.

Complete joy makes one speechless; if I were only a little happy, then I could say exactly how much. Lady, you are mine and I am yours. For you, I give myself away and I’m ecstatic about the exchange.

Say something, cousin. Or, if you can’t say anything, stop his mouth with a kiss and don’t let him speak, either.

Truly, lady, you have a merry heart.

Yes, my lord. I thank my heart—the poor fool—for it keeps away from seriousness. Look, my cousin is whispering to Claudio that she loves him.

Why, you’re absolutely right, cousin.

Thank the lord for alliances! So everyone goes off into the world except me, who stays in because I’m sunburned. I should sit in the corner and sing that song, “Heigh-Ho for a Husband!”

Lady Beatrice, I’ll get you a husband.

I’d rather get a husband from your father. Don’t you have any brothers like you? Your father’s sons would make excellent husbands, if only a girl could catch one for herself.

Will you take me, my lady?

No, my lord, unless I could have another husband for the work week. You are too expensive to wear every day. But please, forgive me, your highness. I was born to speak cleverly, not seriously.

I’d be more offended if you were silent, for being lively and cheerful suits you best. Surely, you must have been born at a happy time.

Actually, my lord, my mother cried when she was giving birth to me. But then a star danced in the sky, and that’s the moment I was born.—Kinsmen, I’m off.

Niece, will you take care of those things I mentioned?

Oh, yes, I’m sorry, uncle.—If you’ll excuse me, your grace.

I swear, she’s a very good-natured lady.

There’s very little about her that’s gloomy, my lord. She’s only sad when she sleeps—and not even then. Hero told me that Beatrice has often had dreams about being unhappy, and managed to wake herself from them by laughing.

She can’t stand to hear about getting a husband.

No, not at all. She mocks all her suitors so severely that they drop the suit.

She would make a good wife for Benedick.

Oh, Lord, if they were married, they’d drive themselves crazy within a week.

Count Claudio, when do you plan to go to church and be married?

Tomorrow, my lord. Time will move as slowly as an old man until our love receives its proper ceremony.

Wait till Monday, my dear son, which is only a week away. Even that is too short a time to plan things the way I would like.

(to CLAUDIO) Oh, don’t look so frustrated at having to wait so long. I promise you, Claudio, the time will go by quickly. While we’re waiting for the wedding, I’m going to take on an impossible task: to make Signior Benedick and the Lady Beatrice fall in love with each other. I aim to see them matched, and with all of your help, I’m sure we can make it happen.

My lord, I will help you, even if it means I have to stay awake for ten nights straight.

Me too, my lord.

And you, sweet Hero?

I’ll do any decent thing, my lord, to help my cousin get a good husband.

And Benedick is not the worst husband I can think of. This much I can say about him: he is well-born, has proven his bravery in battle, and has established his good character. Hero, I’ll show you how to influence your cousin so she falls in love with Benedick. We men will trick Benedick so that, despite his quick wit and his queasiness about marriage, he will fall in love with her. If we can do this, then we will steal Cupid’s glory. We will be the supreme love gods! Come inside with me, and I will tell you my plan.