Much Ado About Nothing

All right, Friar Francis, let’s keep this short. Do a simple ceremony, and list all the particular duties of marriage later.

(to CLAUDIO) Have you come here, my lord, to marry this lady?

No.

No, he comes to be married to her. Friar, you are the one who has come to marry her.

Lady, do you come here to be married to this count?

I do.

If either of you knows any secret reason why you two should not be joined in marriage, I order you on your souls to say so.

Do you know any, Hero?

None, my lord.

Do you know any, count?

I’m sure I can answer for him—he doesn’t know any, either.

Oh, the things men dare to do! The things men are allowed to do! The things men do daily, not knowing what they’re doing!

What, are we playing with interjections? Well then, add some interjections that indicate laughter, like “ah,” “ha,” and “he!”

Hold on, Friar. (to LEONATO) Father, are you giving me your daughter freely?

As freely, son, as God gave her to me.

And what should I give you that would be equal in value to this rare and precious gift?

Nothing, sir, except grandchildren.

Good Prince, you have taught me how to accept things nobly. There, Leonato, take your daughter back. Don’t insult a friend by giving him a beautiful orange that rots inside. She only appears honorable from the outside. Look, how she blushes like a virgin! Oh, sin can disguise itself so artfully! Doesn’t that rising blush suggest that she is virtuous and innocent? All of you who are looking at her, wouldn’t you swear that she’s a virgin, judging by these outward shows? But she is no virgin. She has been in a man’s bed. She blushes from guilt, not modesty.

What do you mean, my lord?

I won’t be married. I won’t join my soul to such a proven slut.

My dear lord, if it was you who conquered her and took her virginity—

I know what you’re about to say. If I had slept with her, you’d say that we did so as husband and wife, merely anticipating our eventual marriage. No, Leonato. I never seduced her, or tempted her with indecent words. I treated her like a brother would treat a sister, with modest sincerity and appropriate affection.

And have I ever seemed less than modest or appropriate to you?

Curse you for your false appearances! To me, you seemed like Diana in her orbit—as virginal as the flower bud before it blooms. But you’re actually as hot-blooded as Venus, or a pampered animal allowed to run wild.

Are you sick, my lord? Is that why you’re talking so wildly?

Good Prince, say something!

What should I say? I’ve been dishonored: I arranged for a friend of mine to marry a common whore.

Are you really saying these things, or am I dreaming?

They’re really being spoken, sir, and they’re true.

This doesn’t look like a wedding.

It’s true! Oh God!

Leonato, am I standing here? Is this the Prince? Is this the Prince’s brother? Is this face Hero’s? Are these our eyes?

Yes, that’s all true—but what do you mean by it, my lord?

Let me just ask her one question, and by your authority as her father, order her to answer truthfully.

As my child, I order you to do so.

Oh, God help me! How I’m being attacked! What kind of game is this?

We just want you to answer to your real name.

Isn’t my name Hero? Who can stain that name with a just accusation?

Indeed, Hero herself can! You’ve stained your virtue with your own actions. What man were you talking to at your window last night, between the hours of midnight and one? If you’re a virgin, you’ll answer this question.

I wasn’t talking to any man at that time, my lord.

Well then, you are no virgin. Leonato, I’m sorry you have to hear this. I swear on my honor that we saw and heard Hero talking to a brute at her window last night. And that man confessed at length how he has secretly come to her bedroom thousands of times.

No, my lord, don’t name her sinful acts or speak of them! There’s no way to describe them without offending everyone here. Pretty lady, I’m much ashamed of your shocking behavior.

Oh Hero, you could have equaled the mythical Hero if only half your outward beauty matched your inner thoughts and desires! Goodbye, beautiful sinner. Goodbye to your pure wickedness and your wicked purity. Because of you, I’ll keep myself away from love. I’ll hang suspicion on my eyelids, so that all the beautiful things I see are transformed into dangers and are never able to trick me again.

Does anyone have a dagger for me?

What’s wrong, cousin? Why have you collapsed?

Come, let’s go. These revelations have overwhelmed her.

How is she?

She’s dead, I think.—Help, uncle!—Hero, why Hero! Uncle! Signior Benedick! Friar!

Oh Fate, don’t spare Hero from being punished! Death is the best way to cover over her shame.

How are you, Hero?

(to HERO) Take comfort, lady.

(to HERO) Are you looking up?

Yes, why shouldn’t she?

Why not! Isn’t every living thing condemning her? Can she deny the accusations that are proven by her guilty blush? Die, Hero, don’t open your eyes. If I didn’t think you were about to die soon—if I thought your spirit could bear this shame—I would risk punishment and kill you myself. Am I sorry that I only had one child? Do I blame Nature for being so thrifty? Oh, one child is one too many! Why did I ever have one? Why did you once seem lovely to me? Why didn’t I just adopt a beggar’s child left at my doorstep, whose shame and dishonor I could have denied, not being its true father? But you were mine, and I loved and praised you for being mine, and was proud of you for being mine—I loved you so much that I hardly cared about myself. Oh, but now you have fallen into a pit of ink, and there’s not enough water in the whole wide sea to wash you clean again, and not enough salt to cover your stink.

Sir, sir, calm down. I’m so amazed by this, I don’t know what to say.

Oh, on my soul, my cousin has been slandered falsely!

Lady, did you sleep in her room last night?

No, I didn’t, but I did every night for the past year.

Then it’s confirmed! That’s even more proof, and the case against her was airtight already. Would the two princes and Claudio lie? Claudio, who loved her so much that talking about her wickedness made him weep?

Listen to me a moment. I’ve only remained silent this whole time because I’ve been watching Hero. I’ve seen her begin to blush a thousand times, only to watch those blushes disappear a thousand times and an innocent paleness take over her face. And in her eyes I see a fire that would seem to burn away the lies the princes have told about her chastity. Call me a fool, don’t trust my observations—the truth of which is backed up by all my years of experience—don’t trust my age, my reputation, my position, and my holiness. You can doubt all these things if this sweet lady turns out to be guilty.

But she must be, Friar. You see that any morals she has left are preventing her from denying the charges: she doesn’t want to add perjury to her list of sins.

Lady, who do they accuse you of having taken as your lover?

You should ask them. I don’t know who they’re talking about. If I’ve been with a man in any improper way, let all my sins be punished! Oh, father, if you yourself can prove that I talked with a man at an indecent hour, or indeed that I spoke to any creature last night, you can disown me, hate me, and torture me to death!

The princes are under some strange misunderstanding.

Two of them are completely honorable, and if they have been tricked in this, we must blame John the Bastard, who lives to create conflict.

I don’t know. If they have spoken the truth about Hero, I will tear her apart with my bare hands. But if they have accused her falsely, even the greatest of them will have to deal with me. Age hasn’t dried up my body or eroded my intelligence so much, and luck hasn’t robbed me of so much of my fortune, and my bad ways haven’t deprived me of so many friends, that they won’t find me ready to seek revenge both physically and mentally, with money and friends at my disposal.

Hold on a moment, and listen to my advice. The princes left your daughter here for dead. Hide her for a while in your house, and tell everyone that she has, in fact, died. Make a bug show of mourning for her, hang sad epitaphs up at your family’s tomb, and perform all the appropriate burial ceremonies.

Why should we do this? What will this do?

Listen, if we do this correctly, the men who slandered Hero will feel remorse for her instead. That will be a good thing. But I have an even greater goal in mind. We’ll maintain that she died the instant she was accused, and everyone who hears this will grieve for her, pity her, and excuse her actions. That’s how it goes: we don’t value the things we have until we lose them, when we suddenly rack up their value and see all the virtues we were blind to when they were alive and with us. That’s how Claudio will respond. When he hears that she died from his words, his imagination will be sweetly overtaken by thoughts of her. In death, every aspect of her life will be got up more beautifully, and in his mind she will seem more moving, more delicate, and more lively even than when she was alive. Then, if he ever truly felt love, he’ll mourn and wish he hadn’t accused her—even though he believed his accusation to be true. Follow my plan, and trust that the actual events will play out even better than I am describing. And even if they don’t, at least Hero’s supposed death will stop the rumors of her infidelity. And if it doesn’t go well, then you can keep her hidden in a nunnery, the best place for someone with her kind of dirtied reputation—away from the public’s eyes, tongues, mind, and insults.

Signior Leonato, listen to the friar’s plan. And even though you know I’m very close to the Prince and Claudio, I swear I’ll keep your counsel and deal with this secretly and justly.

Because I’m drowning in my grief, I’ll grab onto the smallest piece of string dangled in front of me.

This is a good agreement. Now, let’s go. A strange disease requires a strange cure. Come, lady; you must die in order to live. Hopefully, your wedding day is only postponed. Have patience and endure.

Lady Beatrice, have you been crying this entire time?

Yes, and I’ll keep crying a while longer.

I don’t wish that on you.

You don’t have to; I do it of my own free will.

I really believe your cousin was falsely accused.

Oh, the man who avenged her could ask anything of me!

Is there any way I could show such friendship to you?

A very clear way, but there is no friend who will undertake it.

Can a man do it?

It’s a job meant for a man, but not you.

There is nothing in the world that I love as much as you. Isn’t that strange?

It’s as strange as this other thing which I don’t understand. I could just as easily say that there is nothing in the world that I love as much as you. But don’t believe me—though I’m not lying. I confess nothing, and I deny nothing. I feel awful for my cousin.

By my sword, Beatrice, you love me.

Don’t swear like that and then go back and eat it later.

I’ll swear by my sword that you love me, too, and I’ll make any man who says that I don’t love you eat it.

But you won’t eat your words?

Not with any sauce they could provide for them. I swear, I love you.

Well then, God forgive me!

Why, what have you done, sweet Beatrice?

You got to me first. I was about to swear that I loved you.

Then do so, with all your heart.

I love you with so much of my heart that none of it is left to protest with.

Come, ask me to do anything for you.

Kill Claudio.

Ha! I wouldn’t do that for the whole wide world.

Then, rejecting my request, you kill me, instead. Goodbye.

Wait, sweet Beatrice.

My body waits here, but the rest of me is gone. You don’t really love me. I beg you to let me go.

Beatrice—

I swear, I’m going.

Not until we part as friends.

How dare you try to be my friend when you refuse to fight my enemy.

Is Claudio your enemy?

Hasn’t he proven himself to be a great villain—slandering, scorning, and dishonoring my cousin? Oh, I wish I were a man! He pretended that everything was fine until the moment they were exchanging vows, and then—with public accusation, blatant slander, pure hatred—Oh God, if only I were a man! I would rip his heart out in public and eat it.

Listen to me, Beatrice—

Talking with a man outside her bedroom window! A likely story!

No, but Beatrice—

Sweet Hero, she’s been wronged, she’s been slandered, she’s been ruined.

Beat—

Princes and counts! Oh, of course, it was all so proper and ceremonious—they gave a truly princely testimony. He’s a proper count, that Count Sugarplum, a sweet gentleman, for sure! Oh, if only I were a man! Or had a friend who would be a man for me! But there are no real men left. Their manliness has melted into pretty curtsies and fancy manners, and their bravery is spent on making clever compliments. All this conversing has turned men into tongues—and fancy ones, at that. The man who tells a lie and swears by it is now considered as brave as Hercules. I can’t make myself a man by wishing I were, so as a woman I’ll die, from grieving.

Wait, good Beatrice. I swear by this hand that I love you.

Don’t just swear by it; put your hand to some use that will prove you love me.

Do you honestly think, in your soul, that Claudio has wrongly accused Hero?

Yes, as sure as I have a thought or a soul.

That’s enough for me, then. I’ll challenge him. I’ll kiss your hand, and with that I leave you. I swear that Claudio will pay dearly for this. Keep me in your thoughts and go comfort your cousin. I’ll go tell them that she’s dead. Goodbye.