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Chapter Text

Scene I: Before Leonato's house.

[HERO seated, forward. She is heavily pregnant.]

Enter BEATRICE.

Beat.: And any news from the war, cousin? Within, all heard upon the road a sound of horses like the army's self, meaning, we had thought, at least a single messenger. [Coming forward] No, do not stir! For news such as we look for is but news of little moment, and doth not need thy standing; and news such as we might get is best heard already downwards.

Hero: I will stand, for good news doth bear my rising, and if as they say no news is good news, why then we have had the very best of it.

Beat.: On my arm, then, and brace thyself-- that is some news cannot be long now-- ah, see, I am recognized as cousin in all the dignity that is deserved me, and given a sound kicking. Tell thy rascal I am not the sexton's donkey.

Hero: No, the sexton's donkey hath a voice to make its own complaints.

Beat.: And so shall I do when there are ears for it, and with that kick a fortnight at the most shall show me one to hear my scoldings.

Hero: Think thee Claudio will to home by then?

Beat.: Truly, I know not, but he hath my husband with him, to guard his life and love him as a brother, and our prince withal to love them as a father, and aye a father here to pray for them as might a whole devoted monastery, and my cousin and myself to keep the prayers from turning them to holy orders. So I should say he will as can, and happy in it.

Hero: Yes, and what shall we if he can not? I do think on it, Beatrice, for war is cruel.

Beat.: It is, and this everlasting waiting not the least of evils. Week upon week we sit, all pious in hope as a convent boarder who wants news of her wedding, howbeit Margaret then should be the convent purser, so fervent prays she Conrade never come-- I tell thee we should not have made him marry her, for if e'er a wench could take disgrace in stride it is our Marget-- I sit a-gnawing at my fingernails, and thou, at least, hast something well to do, who sit there waxing rounder by the hour.

Hero: It is not an occupation in itself to swell.

Beat.: Is it not? The moon finds it so, although when pricked she shrivels down to start again, and thou, pricked, only started.

Hero: Lucky moon, who looks down upon our menfolk!

Beat.: Lucky Margaret, who looks down upon her husband, too; the more fool thou and I for marrying for love. And then when tales do come to our hearing, late and infrequent and as trusty as the tales men tell of war so often are, the warrantage of safety is but that they were unwounded a week, a month ago, and we to remark our waiting from that point, ever starting over and over. But was there not a rider on the road?

Hero: I heard the hoofbeats, too, as though a messenger had come up to the house, yet thou asketh me for news: so I shall give it thee. Oft sitting here, with my sewing and my women, I think on Claudio, and if he were taken from me what the manner, and what the words he'd cry out at his passing, and what I would do or say to such and such a one--

Beat.: This is not well--

Hero: Ah, no, cousin, it is the greatest cheer I have, for by foreshadowing the worst that Nyx could throw upon our house I have to myself the proof that I can last it. I will show thee it, so. [Leads Beatrice to the side.] Now, thy part is messenger, who comes to this garden to say to me, O Lady, your husband hath been killed.

Beat.: This likes me not, but I will follow. [Comes to Hero, bowing.] O Lady, I am sorry for what I have to say, for what is beyond any heart to bear, any tongue to utter, a wound beyond any way of healing: Count Claudio is dead in battle.

Hero: And I say to you, did he die well?

Beat.: Aye, lady, and made brave work of it, saving the prince his master from a brace of arrows from beyond the wall, and yet stuck through to the choking blood he still spoke well of you, his Hero and his angel, and said his orisons.

Hero: And then I say, as long as this is so then it is well, and I shall raise his son (if son it be) to know the manner of his father and to love him. And then I weep. [Show of weeping.] Seest thou, Beatrice? Am I not most brave?

Beat.: [aside] I would my Benedick were here, for it seems her wits are nearly turning with this wait and with her bearing. [to Hero, gently] Thou art brave, my dear.

Hero: But well I know it would not be like this. An Claudio died, they would not send me any messenger, but one well concerned with his and our fortunes; I know Don Pedro to be that kindly. They would send-- [Leads Beatrice back to the side.] Now, madam, thou art Benedick.

Beat.: I Benedick? For sure I am lacking the paint of him, the beard of him, and likewise most the smell of him, and certes he will come home wearing horns again as he is wont to do a-teasing me, singing heigh-ho for the married life till there is nothing for't but drop him in the cistern and then for widow's guilt jump after him.

Hero: Truly, I have seen that happen, and then our water good for nothing but love-elixirs for a sevennight. Now, though, I do call thee Benedick, and in most somber outlook. [Returns forward.]

Beat.: I tell you I am not he.

Hero: 'Tis but play-acting, and 'tis a little comfort. Wilt not allow me such comfort as can be had in these hours?

Beat.: [sighs] An I must, but I see not the comfort in't. [walks with head down across the front, and jumps at seeing Hero.] Cousin! ... I had thought to seek my wife, who deserveth the news of my homecoming, for I know she will be like to die of love; or even your father, if my wife be dead already, so that he may get me a new one. Is my honored uncle now at home?

Hero: Ah, yes, good Benedick, but sit down here, and rest you from the weary war awhile. We had safe news of your coming by our near neighbors, so you do no hurt tarrying here a minute. [Draws Beatrice down, holding her hand.] And tell me, for you've seen him nearest: how is Claudio?

Beat.: [trying to stand up] Nothing of Claudio to tell but what is ever of the best, but I will go in.

Hero: You will not go in. Is it he has found some new young widow needeth cozening, or is there any scandal? Sure often you have sat by me, appointed yourself the very ballad-crier of Ares, and told your stories of sieges and defenses till I could only hear your voice as water through the mill-courses. Now hangs a shadow on your brow so heavy one might see't from the road, and, Benedick, the ones who love you know what aspects you put on to give us show.

Beat.: Did I ever sing you about the pikemen? It went
'The pikeman on returning from the wars
Doth not bring pike within his household doors
The which his lady thought to keep by her--'

Hero: You sang it, and it was a bad song, Benedick. Let us not have it again.

Beat.: [resigned] You are a very witch to keep a man stuck at your side with a glance and a refusal to hear his singing. So then I must tell you what I did not want to say: all is of the best for Claudio, but not for us, who must lack him hereafter, and wait below.

Hero: Good.

Beat.: Good?

Hero: A blessing for the bearer of fair tidings: and for my very sweetest Benedick. [kisses Beatrice on the mouth]

Beat.: [jumps back violently] Have you run mad?

Hero: And is't yet a hot January? Nay, Benedick, have I not but given thee one part of the reward due thy stature? Surely I know what thou and I have wanted, and now comest thou, conquering Hero with thy news. Dost not thou joy to see such joy in me, thou who swore to kill Claudio or ever he and I were married? And faith I had in that, lo this long time of it.

Beat.: [troubled] I forgave Claudio when he had wed with you. I love him as a brother.

Hero: As the brothers who tore Thebes apart between 'em. But when I bear the child, shalt thou help me to dispose of it? I think myself I am not strong enough, but kiss me again and perhaps I shall be.

Beat.: Ah, stop it, stop it, Hero! What sayest thou? My Benedick has ever been thy friend! He saw as well as I when thou hadst found thy own Leander as in legend. A' would in Claudio's place sink himself cheerfully in the very Hellespont should the choice between Claudio and himself be his. What harm has been between us all is over long since. Am I to think the two of you false to me together? I will not believe it: he at least would have said something to bring it to my notice.

Hero: [rising] Well, if one has been false here, it is not thee, Beatrice, and I bless thee for it.

Beat.: [slowly] What meanest thou by this?

Hero: I must now say thee something can be put off no longer. Cousin, I had a messenger while thou wert within the house.

Beat.: [quietly] I thought as much.

Hero: Claudio is dead indeed, within the lines and not engaged, indeed within his very bed in camp, and in his back a dagger we all know: for it belongs to Signior Benedick. So I, not sure of what I should believe, thought to myself the two of you might work such ill together, all mistaken, for the love of me. I tested thee, cousin, and for that I am sorry.

Beat.: Sorry and forgiven between us, cousin, hath ever been in the same breath. Oh, Hero! This is above all things crueler than I could have imagined. Thy child's sire is grievous loss, 'tis true; and I, it seems, may lose a husband too.

[Hero and Beatrice embrace, weeping; after a time Beatrice supports Hero as they walk back and into the house.]

Chapter Text

Scene II: a prison cell.

[BENEDICK, in chains, pacing back and forth. Every so often he is brought up short by a chain from the wall to his ankle.]

Bene.: [singing]
... the which his lady thought to keep by her,
To hold it among lances the most dear--

[breaking off] I can rather see, now I have had time to spend at it, what Beatrice meant when she said this song could put a lady off pikemen forever; but she had no call to say the song delved the very depth of married life in general. Extension of analogies is a very plague in these parts, to wit: one Benedick hath a sworn brother, whom he keeps at his side as if he were worn in Benedick's baldric, and also this Benedick hath a dagger, that he holds as dear as a brother and which likewise never leaves him. Now given this, if one of these have made away with t'other, I should not have besought the cause within this Benedick, but should rather have thought it a natural tendency toward jealousy between these objects. [putting his head in his hands] Thou dearest fool, Claudio. Couldst not have been thou to dispose of the dagger? I shall not forgive thee for this.

[Enter DON PEDRO, attended, his countenance stern. His attendants have swords drawn.]

D. Pedro: Thy day is set, Benedick, and it is to-morrow. Hast nothing to say on the matter?

Bene.: No, my liege. My brother; my dagger; my responsibility, and there's an end to't, and so an end to Benedick.

D. Pedro: It grieves me much to hear thee speak so. Wilt not even swear that the dagger was stolen? I as thy prince and lord, who love thee, Benedick, passing well, would move the vault of heaven itself shouldst thou but give me reason enough to do it.

Bene.: I know it, my prince. Yet a thing hath come that has no remedy, and one knowing no remedy exists doth see no merit in calling for the physick.

D. Pedro: I have brought one may give thee argument about that matter.

[Enter Beatrice, attended by one cloaked. She pauses coming into the room to nod to Don Pedro. Benedick turns away from her, looking strained.]

Beat.: [crossing to Benedick] I was told I had only one day to come and see the greatest fool unhanged.

D. Pedro: Keep him so, lady, and I shall thank thee.

[Exit Don Pedro and his attendants. Beatrice's attendant waits by the door.]

Beat.: [as if after Don Pedro] I am not to be thanked for his foolery. It is a gift of the gods.

Bene.: [not turning around] A gift I as ever lay at your feet, only to see it discarded and flown into the mirk. I will away after it for you, even unto Hell.

Beat.: [exaggeratedly startling] Oh! you here! I had thought you coming back from Hell for me, and not remaining idly within it.

Bene.: But, lady, I have not yet gone.

Beat.: I say you have, for I saw you there myself, mispursued by some Erinyes of your violent imagination, stumbling from marsh to river till you struck your roots in the wood of suicides and could flee no more. Remember, Benedick, that is barely perdition when placed against the circle where Hero dwelleth now; or had you forgot her?

Bene.: [unwillingly turns to face Beatrice] I could not. I tell you it were more than a strong man could do to see her face this moment.

Beat.: In Hell are many such sights withal, which strength or no strength for 'em must be borne henceforth. You had also forgot that my own face might be an instrument to harrow you.

Bene.: Harrow me forth you shall not, madam, although you be my Beatrice. I own my guilt where it is due.

Beat.: [coming forward and taking his hands] Your Beatrice does not shine in Heaven, and she says this to you: it matters not to her how well-requited your guilt may be.

Bene.: How now?

Beat.: Remember you that grief Claudio wrought on my sweetest friend ere they were wed?

Bene.: I have forgot it.

Beat.: Nor she nor I have ever done. You told me you would kill him. When she heard he was dead, she vowed to do a thing for you, which I pass on. [kisses Benedick]

Bene.: [breaks away violently] I had not thought you one of the Erinyes yourself. My dagger till this moment was the thing I hated most, but if 'twere here it should pierce both you and I for that.

Beat.: Thank fortune it is not, then, for there speaks my true husband, who has just told me he did not kill Claudio.

Bene.: [walks away from her and lightly beats his head against the wall] Outside my window the morning of the day I married thee was a cuckoo took first flight from its nest, prattling to the winds with a voice in no way like its nest-mates, for there was no sense nor song within it. I took it for an omen, as was only just, and married with wax melted in my ears-- but is it fair a man at my time of life should so often be himself a cuckoo?

Beat.: I have grown fond of the cry of the cuckoo of a May morning. Indeed without it I should scarce know my own name, so oft have I required its lack-wit to set my wit towards again.

Bene.: Thou knowest thy name and habitations for thyself.

Beat.: Indeed. And dost thou not? They are thine own.

Bene.: [turning back to Beatrice] Wouldst have me live then, lady?

Beat.: I would. I have I think grown used to thee.

Bene.: Then use me as occasion serves.

Beat.: Thy testimony, I believe, would serve us very well. [to her attendant] Unveil thee there!

[The attendant removes her cloak. It is MARGARET. She curtsies to Benedick.]

Marg.: Sir, I am glad to find you well.

Bene.: Well enough, if 'tis said I am so; what dost thou here?

Marg.: You know my husband is Conrade, that was a man of Don John's.

Bene.: And a fair enough fellow, as an unmastered man.

Beat.: Nay, dissembling knaves follow one another, and as Don John was not least among the company of liars, so neither were those wont to follow him.

Bene.: Which is why we packed that Conrade off into the army and bade him fight the French transalpine, many leagues from here.

Marg.: Then a' must have been an apparition came to my chamber some nights since, wishful to see his swaddling son. For a ghost was a lively fellow, too, who said he would not leave till cockcrow, so stiff lay he in his grave; and made this argument with force to it.

Beat.: [aside, to Benedick] I told thee we should not have made him marry her.

Bene.: [aside, to Beatrice] But though a knave was still a gentleman, of money, name, and quartering. Wouldst have the child for aye in our kitchens?

Beat.: [is not convinced]

Marg.: I lulled him then, for even ghosts, it seems, may sleep. Then I had him ta'en for a deserter from his company, as I knew he'd not have come unless it were to work some mischief.

Bene.: Wise Margaret! [to Beatrice] See, I told thee. [aloud] Where is he now?

Beat.: In our prince's cells the same as thy own self, and it seems sure to all that he hath done revenge for the removal of his master. Yet thou swear'st thy dagger was not stolen, as though thy death could pay for Claudio's, and Conrade sitteth silent as the wall he hath been chained to--

Bene.: [quietly] I bear some news for thee, my lady.

Beat.: And what is that?

Bene.: My dagger has been stolen.

Marg.: Then in God's name, make the miscreant who did it confess it.

Bene.: He shall find me as ready an ear as his own priest, an Don Pedro thinks I make a good confessor. As thou wast Fury, lady, let me be; this Conrade I'll destroy with blasphemy.

Chapter Text

Scene III: a different prison cell.

[CONRADE chained to the wall, and fast asleep sitting up.]

[A commotion without. Benedick dragged in by several guards, with loud noises, chained to the wall next to Conrade, and left. Conrade stirs, clearly awake, but does not speak.]

[Some little silence.]

Bene.: Well, then, what art thou? Thief? Defrauder of honest harlots? Trickster or deserter?

Con.: [glares and says nothing]

Bene.: [proudly] I myself am a murderer unconfessed and unrepentant, and am to hang for it to-morrow. Ask anyone i'the soldiery; the fame of it has spread.

Con.: [smiles slightly]

Bene.: Now the last hours of a murderer unconfessed ought to be attended with wine, and women, and song, and all due merriment, as the last he will get before he speed him downward: that is logic, for if he will not confess, the things of this world must be his only joys. The wine I have had and 'twas brought by the lady, so now for it there is only song.

[loudly, and out of tune]
The pikeman on returning from the wars
Doth not bring pike within his household doors
The which his lady thought to keep by her
To hold it among lances the most dear;

No, to the stables he doth bear his rod
Wherein there is a donkey newly shod
A beating has required half an age--

Con.: [throws a pebble at Benedick, which does not hit]

Bene.: I see what thou art! A pikeman! Unless perchance thou art the donkey?

Con.: And you're a braying fool, who call yourself a murderer but say you have confessed it not. Can not a man get half an hour's sleep?

Bene.: I did not do the murder, sirrah pikeman, but the benefits of being thought to have are such that I might almost wish it true, were not the dead as dear to me as anything within the world. And so I call myself the murderer, for thus I derive both benefit and innocence.

Con.: How do you mean?

Bene.: Why, no sooner was I arrested for it than Don Pedro shakes me by the hand and thanks me, and after that who should come to my cell to see me?

Con.: [suspicious] Who?

Bene.: Milady Hero, that was married to this Claudio, and is but newly risen from her childbed.

Con.: To spit in your face, I have no doubt of it.

Bene.: Thou shouldst cherish thy doubts more, friend donkey. The girl was very glad to see me. Very, very glad she was.

Con.: Unlikely.

Bene.: On the contrary, I say thee, nothing more natural. Remember how that Claudio played her false at the very altar, tricking her, defaming her, and slurring her virginity? I assure thee that has smoldered like a coal within her, living with a man could treat her so, and the fire of that hatred o'erspilling, she came to burn the last of it with me. And brought her with her a very good wine, and a good supper with it, among other gifts a man might well enjoy in life. Her kiss might make a man glad to die a death in a thousand.

Con.: If that is so, what make you in this place?

Bene.: She left, some little while later; and the straw in that cell being fusty, I requested to be brought to here.

Con.: You seem fair joyous for a man to be hanged in the morning.

Bene.: The law is the law, but I am here, after all, here, and so may laugh at it.

Con.: You begin to interest me.

Bene.: Having been long in Don Pedro's service, I know well the ways of his household. This cell he doth use for those he would plant i'the midst of his enemies, those he must make show of holding so that everyone may see his wrath at them. I think it may be so with me, for he was at milady Hero's wedding, but if not I care not. At deep midnight, when the guard shall change, I shall take the bar from out that window there, wherein it swings, and get me to the highway through the shadows. And then, I think, I shall have aid and comfort for the road when I have reached the house of Leonato.

Con.: Is that so?

Bene.: Indeed it is.

Con.: But you made one mistake.

Bene.: What is that?

Con.: You did not remember my face.

Bene.: How should I?

Con.: You will hereafter. It is the face of one who hates you most of all the men in the world. Time was that you were only second, but I have rid me of the one who was ahead of you, and you will die the next.

Bene.: Who art thou who speakest thus? A man should know who hates him with such venom.

Con.: I am Conrade, who hath been beaten by you and robbed of employment by you, who hath been wounded and wronged and forcibly married off by you, and all for standing near a window with a woman was willing enough. I am Conrade, and for Don John my master's sake and for my own I have killed Claudio. Rejoice in that, fool. [pounding on the wall and rattling his chains] Guards! Ho, help! This man hath tried to kill me also! You must remove him to another cell!

[The guards rush in, and unchain Benedick from the wall.]

Bene.: Rejoice in it, sayst thou? So I do: not that Claudio hath died, and not that thou hast killed him, but rather that I hear thee say it.

[Enter Don Pedro.]

D. Pedro: It is all writ down, good Benedick. We heard it all, and the priest hath witnessed it. This man shall die to-morrow.

[Conrade lunges at Benedick in a fury but is slammed back to the wall by the guards.]

Bene.: I vow his wife may be so unhinged by the prospect of widowhood, she may bewail herself with singing and dancing. Let us leave, my liege. There is no more to say here.

D. Pedro: This only: May Nemesis ever come so swiftly to those deserving as it has in guise of thee, and may Justice be some comfort to we that linger.

Bene.: Where Justice cannot heal, there perchance can time, but I will warrant this will need a glut of it, for me at least.

D. Pedro: Get thee home, then, till that healing can begin.

Chapter Text

Epilogue: before Leonato's house.

[Benedick seated on a bench, at a table, looking out at the garden. Hero, no longer pregnant, comes out of the house to sit next to him. She is carrying a tray with a flask of wine, three cups, bread, and cheese.]

Hero: How do you, cousin? I had thought to find you with Beatrice. [hands Benedick some bread and cheese, and slices some for herself]

Bene.: My wife takes so to your daughter, I vow she may produce one of her own from the aether, not staying to wait the usual courses, an we are not careful.

Hero: More that my daughter hath set heart on your wife. Get you two a girl-child, then, and she can decide I am her only joy. [smiling]

Bene.: I am glad to see you smile.

Hero: I am glad to see you not slinking about the place as though to rob it. Let us be glad together of small favors. [pours the wine]

Bene.: [drinks pensively] I mind not that I had Conrade killed, for the knave deserved what he got, and I mind not that I enjoyed it. I do object that I destroyed him by slandering you again, cousin.

Hero: Benedick, here I could make you a pretty speech about not minding honor for the sweet sake of vengeance, but falsehoods would lie ill between us. I shall say this: 'twas not as wrong of you to slander me out of love as was for Claudio to slander me out of fear, and him I forgave wholeheartedly... some little while later.

Bene.: Then in some little time I shall ask your mind on it again. But what shall I till then, lady?

Hero: What was it that you said of me to Conrade?

Bene.: That you came to me as solace in my prison, and were glad of me and made joy of me; that you brought me victuals and wine with them, and that your kiss was such as would make a man glad of dying for it. I said not what I meant more, but he heard it. I am sorry.

Hero: Set down thy cup.

Bene.: What do you?

Hero: Only do it.

Bene.: [puts his cup on the table. As he is doing so, Hero catches him and kisses him.]

Hero: Wouldst have died gladly for that, Benedick?

Bene.: ... nearly, I think me. What--

Hero: I have been angry at thee for a slander, yet here I am in thy prison, with thy wine and thy provisioning. See, the slander is no longer falsehood; and see, I am no longer wroth.

Bene.: I--

Hero: Have told the truth in all good measure, as thou said it me.

Bene.: If thou sayst, I will believe it. But Beatrice--

Hero: Doth share our bitter grief, and the more my own sadness that thou think th'art responsible for't.

Bene.: Then there is nothing but to accept thy forgiveness.

Hero: That is well. Do thou go and play with Estella; I will bide here yet awhile.

[Exit Benedick, into the house.]

Hero: They say that time is physick, Claudio. I do not think so. [smiling a little] I feel thy loss more than I felt the birth of thy child. She hath the very look of thee, though, and I shall teach her to know thee well and love thee as do I, who shall live without thee forward. I can not see that good will come of that. And yet I gladness have upon these ends: I find both truth and vengeance in my friends.

[After a time, Hero gets up and goes into the house.]