  The end of “Much Ado about Nothing” must always leave the sympathetic playgoer in tears. The future looks black for everybody concerned. Claudio’s jealous disposition will make him a most uncomfortable husband for the resuscitated Hero, while Benedick and Beatrice are likely to find that a common taste in badinage is not the most satisfactory basis for matrimony. When it is added that Don John’s genius for plotting MORE ADO ABOUT NOTHING.Scene.—The garden of Benedick’s house at Padua. Benedick is sitting on a garden seat, sunning himself indolently. Beatrice is beside him, keeping up her reputation for conversational brilliancy by a series of sprightly witticisms. Beatrice. Very likely I do talk twice as much as I should. But then, if I talk too much you certainly listen far too little, so we are quits. Do you hear? Benedick. [Opening his eyes slowly.] Eh? Beatrice. I believe you were asleep! But there—’tis a great compliment to my wit. Like Orpheus, I can put even the savage beasts to sleep with it. [Benedick’s eyes close Benedick. [Drowsily.] When will he be here? Beatrice. Ere you have done gaping. Benedick. [Terribly bored by this badinage.] My dear, if only you would occasionally answer a plain question. When do you expect him? Beatrice. [Skittish to the last.] Plain questions should only be answered by plain people. Benedick. [Yawning heartily.] A pretty question then. Beatrice. Pretty questions should only be asked by pretty people. There! What do you think of that for wit! Benedick. Really, my dear, I can har Page. In half-an-hour, Sir. Benedick. Thank you. [Exit Page. Beatrice. [Pouting.] You needn’t have rung. I could have told you that. Benedick. I am sure you could, my dear. But as you wouldn’t—— Beatrice. I was going to, if you had given me time. Benedick. Experience has taught me, my dear Beatrice, that it is usually much quicker to ring! [Closes his eyes again.] Beatrice. How rude you are! Benedick. [Half opening them.] Eh? Beatrice. I said it was very rude of you to go to sleep when I am talking. Benedick. [Closing his eyes afresh.] It’s perfectly absurd of you to talk when I am going to sleep. Beatrice. [Girding herself for fresh witticisms.] Why absurd? Benedick. Because I don’t hear what you say, of course, my love. Beatrice. [Whose repartees have been scattered for the moment by this adroit compliment.] Well, well, sleep your fill, Bear. I’ll go and bandy epigrams with Ursula. [Exit Beatrice. Benedick looks cautiously round to see if she is really gone, and then heaves a sigh of relief. Benedick. Poor Beatrice! If only she were not so incorrigibly sprightly. She positively drives one to subterfuge. [Produces a book from his pocket, which he reads with every appearance of being entirely awake. Enter Don Pedro, as from a journey. Benedick does not see him. Don Pedro. Signior Benedick! Benedick. [Starting up on hearing his name.] Ah, my dear Lord. Welcome to Padua. Don Pedro. [Looks him up and down.] But how’s this? You look but poorly, my good Benedick. Benedick. I am passing well, my Lord. Don Pedro. And your wife, the fair Beatrice? As witty as ever? Benedick. [Grimly.] Quite! Don Pedro. [Rubbing his hands.] I felt sure of it! I made the match, remember! I said to old Leonato “She were an excellent match for Benedick” as soon as I saw her. Benedick. [Sighing.] So you did, so you did. Don Pedro. [Puzzled.] I’m bound to say you don’t seem particularly happy. Benedick. [Evasively.] Oh, we get on well enough. Don Pedro. Well enough! Why, what’s the matter, man? Come, be frank with me. Benedick. [Impressively.] My dear Lord, never marry a witty wife! If you do, you’ll repent it. But it’s a painful subject. Let’s talk of something else. How’s Claudio? I thought we should see him—and Hero—with you. Don Pedro. [Looking slightly uncomfortable.] Claudio is—er—fairly well. Benedick. Why, what’s the matter with him? His wife isn’t developing into a wit, is she? Don Pedro. No. She’s certainly not doing that! Benedick. Happy Claudio! But why aren’t they here then? Don Pedro. [Coughing nervously.] Well, the truth is, Claudio’s marriage hasn’t been exactly one of my successes. You remember I made that match too? Benedick. I remember. Don’t they hit it off? Don Pedro. [Querulously.] It was all Claudio’s suspicious temper. He never would disabuse his mind of the idea that Hero was making love to somebody else. You remember he began that even before he was married. First it was me he suspected. Then it was the mysterious man under her balcony. Benedick. You suspected him too. Don Pedro. That’s true. But that was all my brother John’s fault. Anyhow, I thought when they were once married things would settle down comfortably. Benedick. You were curiously sanguine. I should have thought anyone would have seen that after that scene in the church they would never be happy together. Don Pedro. Perhaps so. Anyhow, they weren’t. Of course, everything was against them. What with my brother John’s absolute genius for hatching plots, and my utter inability to detect them, not to speak of Claudio’s unfortunate propensity for overhearing conversations and misunderstanding them, the intervals of harmony between them were extremely few, and, at last, Hero lost patience and divorced him. Benedick. So bad as that? How did it happen? Don Pedro. Oh, in the old way. My brother pretended that Hero was unfaithful, and as he could produce no evidence of the fact whatever, of course Claudio believed him. So, with his old passion for making scenes, he selected the moment when I and half-a-dozen others were staying at the house and denounced her before us all after dinner. Benedick. The church scene over again? Don Pedro. No. It took place in the drawing-room. Hero behaved with her usual dignity, declined to discuss Claudio’s accusations altogether, put the matter in the hands of her solicitor, and the decree was made absolute last week. Benedick. She was perfectly innocent, of course? Don Pedro. Completely. It was merely another ruse on the part of my amiable brother. Really, John’s behaviour was inexcusable. Benedick. Was Claudio greatly distressed when he found how he had been deceived? Don Pedro. He was distracted. But Hero declined to have anything more to do with him. She said she could forgive a man for making a fool of himself once, but twice was too much of a good thing. Benedick. [Frowning.] That so Don Pedro. She had great provocation. Benedick. That’s true. And one can see her point of view. It was the publicity of the thing that galled her, no doubt. But poor Claudio had no reticence whatever. That scene in the church was in the worst possible taste. But I forgot. You had a share in that. Don Pedro. [Stiffly.] I don’t think we need go into that question. Benedick. And now to select the hour, after a dinner party, for taxing his wife with infidelity! How like Claudio! Really, he must be an absolute fool. Don Pedro. Oh, well, your marriage doesn’t seem to have been a conspicuous success, if you come to that. Benedick. [Savagely. Don Pedro. I know, I know. But seriously, my dear Benedick, what is wrong? Benedick. [Snappishly.] Beatrice, of course. You don’t suppose I’m wrong, do you? Don Pedro. Come, that’s better. A spark of the old Benedick. Let me call your wife to you, and we’ll have one of your old encounters of wit. Benedick. [Seriously alarmed.] For Heaven’s sake, no. Ah, my dear Lord, if you only knew how weary I am of wit, especially Beatrice’s wit. Don Pedro. You surprise me. I remember I thought her a most amusing young lady. Benedick. [Tersely.] You weren’t married to her. Don Pedro. But what is it you complain of? Benedick. Beatrice bores me. It is all very well to listen to sparkling sallies for ten minutes or so, but Beatrice sparkles for hours together. She is utterly incapable of answering the simplest question without a blaze of epigram. When I ask her what time it is, she becomes so insufferably facetious that all the clocks stop in disgust. And once when I was thoughtless enough to enquire what there was for dinner, she made so many jokes on the subject that I had to go down without her. And even then the soup was cold! Don Pedro. [Quoting.] “Here you may see Benedick, the married man!” Benedick. Don’t you try to be funny too! One joker in a household is quite enough, I can tell you. And poor Beatrice’s jokes aren’t always in the best of taste either. The other day, when the Vicar came to lunch he was so shocked at her that he left before the meal was half over and his wife has never called since. Don Pedro. My poor Benedick, I wish I could advise you. But I really don’t know what to suggest. My brother could have helped you, I’m sure. He was always so good at intrigue. But unfortunately I had him executed after his last exploit with Claudio. It’s most unlucky. But that’s the worst of making away with a villain. You never know when you may need him. Poor John could always be depended upon in an emergency of this kind. Benedick. [Gloomily.] He is certainly a great loss. Don Pedro. Don’t you think you could arrange so that Beatrice should overhear you making love to someone else? We’ve tried that sort of thing more than once in this play. Benedick. [Acidly.] As the result has invariably been disastrous, I think we may dismiss that expedient from our minds. No, there’s nothing for it but to put up with the infliction, and by practising a habit of mental abstraction, reduce the evil to within bearable limits. Don Pedro. I don’t think I quite follow you. Benedick. In plain English, my dear Lord, I find the only way to go on living with Beatrice is never to listen to her. As soon as she begins to be witty I fall into a kind of swoon, and in that comatose condition I can live through perfect coruscations of brilliancy without inconvenience. Don Pedro. Does she like that? Benedick. Candidly, I don’t think she does. Don Pedro. Hold! I have an idea. Benedick. [Nervously.] I hope not. Your ideas have been singularly unfortunate hitherto in my affairs. Don Pedro. Ah, but you’ll approve of this. Benedick. What is it? Don Pedro. Leave your wife, and come away with me. Benedick. [Doubtfully.] She’d come after us. Don Pedro. Yes, but we should have the start. Benedick. That’s true. By Jove, I’ll do it! Let’s go at once. [Rises hastily. Don Pedro. I think you ought to leave some kind of message for her—just to say good-bye; you know. It seems more polite. Benedick. Perhaps so. [Tears leaf out of pocket-book.] What shall it be, prose or verse? I remember Claudio burst into poetry when he was taking leave of Hero. Such bad poetry too! Don Pedro. I think you might make it verse—as you’re leaving her for ever. It seems more in keeping with the solemnity of the occasion. Benedick. So it does. [Writes.] Bored to death by Beatrice’ tongue Was the hero that lived here—— Don Pedro. Hush! Isn’t that your wife over there in the arbour? Benedick. [Losing his temper.] Dash it all! There’s nothing but eaves-dropping in this play. Don Pedro. Perhaps she doesn’t see us. Let’s steal off, anyhow, on the chance. [They creep off on tip-toe (r) as Beatrice enters with similar caution (l). Beatrice. [Watching them go.] Bother! I thought I should overhear what they were saying. I believe Benedick is Curtain. |
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