[In the following essay, the Mueschkes present Much Ado about Nothing as a play primarily about honor and dishonor, particularly “feminine honor sullied by slander.”]

The gaity of Much Ado About Nothing is consistently praised; its somber aspects are either ignored or disparaged. Most critics agree that Much Ado is the gayest of Shakespeare's three joyous comedies, that its theme is courtship, and that the main plot centers on the wooing and winning of Hero. These basic assumptions lead to a number of widely accepted conclusions: since the subplot is more original than the main plot, the witty lovers overshadow the troubled lovers; Hero, shadowy and silent, is not a credible heroine since the audience assuming a vindication of her innocence is imminent takes her plight lightly; Claudio, the titular hero, is a cad who should not be rewarded by marrying the lady he has flagrantly slandered; John, the nominal villain, is unconvincing because he delegates his plotting to Borachio; and finally, the repudiation scene, though theatrically effective, is a blot on an otherwise brilliant comedy.¹

The interpretation of Much Ado developed in this article is, point for point, at variance with the view generally accepted. We hold that the theme of this comedy is honor, that its spirit is less joyous than reflective, and that courtship, a peripheral concern, is presented as an imminent threat to masculine honor. Once the accent on honor is established, interest in the witty lovers becomes subordinated to interest in the troubled lovers; John, the malevolent match-breaker, becomes more than a nominal villain; the main plot focuses less on the birth and growth of love than on the death and rebirth of love. Finally, seen in the light of lost faith restored and sincere atonement for “unintentional” injury, the recantation scene (V.iii) restores the moral equilibrium lost in the repudiation scene (IV.i) with the result that Hero becomes more credible and Claudio more admirable. The intermittent gaiety of Much Ado is not an end in itself, it serves as a foil to the gravity. This comedy is of mingled yarn, in which the grave and the gay are at times contrasted, at times fused—so artfully that they sometimes temper, sometimes enrich each other.²

The structure of Much Ado—composed of three hoaxes, four witheld secrets, and three metamorphoses—achieves organic unity through an integration of subplot with main plot. This integration, based on parallel construction, is elaborated by opposing antithetical images, ideas, characters, motives, or scenes. The first four scenes, like the first three scenes in Othello, are treated as a prologue to the main action; in both plays the villain's initial attempt to sow dissension is short lived, but his subsequent slander, supported by ocular and auditory proof, is devastating. The Claudio-Hero alliance is the exciting force which precipitates the conflict between the benevolent Prince and his malevolent brother as they play their respective roles of matchmaker and matchbreaker.

The Prince, matchmaker in main plot as well as subplot, devises the amiable hoax which facilitates the marriage between the wary lovers. Aided by members of Leonato's household, Don Pedro creates the illusion which culminates in Benedick and Beatrice's self-appraisal, followed by their commitment to reciprocal love (II.iii; III.i). In both main and subplot, marriage is delayed by internal impediments, not by external obstacles; the malicious hoax generates an illusory impediment; the amiable hoax dissolves actual impediments. John's ruse culminates in undeserved suffering; Pedro's ruse creates a love that expands into compassionate sympathy for those who suffer.

John, assisted by Borachio, instigates the malicious hoax, which, by playing on the latent fear of cuckoldry, culminates in Claudio's tearful disillusionment and Hero's symbolic death (IV.i). The Bastard's vicious slander generates much ado about nothing, since Hero, who is unequivocally chaste, must be, and finally is vindicated. Through the device of the withheld secret, which heightens suspense, her vindication is deliberately delayed until late in V.i. Just as the rising action up to and through the climax in IV.i depends on the interplay of the three evolving hoaxes, so does the falling action depend on the interplay of the four withheld secrets that culminate in the three metamorphoses of Hero. The first withheld secret, that Hero is belied, culminates in her metamorphosis from virgin to wanton (IV.i); the second, that Hero is alive, culminates in her transfiguration from sinner to martyr (V.iii); the third, that Hero “died … but whiles her slander liv'd”, culminates in her metamorphosis from martyr to bride (V.iv). The fourth, that Benedick and Beatrice have been snared into love, a secret withheld from them until near the close of the fifth act, adds greater depth as well as piquancy to their repartee of courtship at the end of II.iii and after III.i.

Our more detailed interpretation of Much Ado (1598-1599) is divided into four interlocking sections, developed in the following sequence:

(I) A nexus of hearsay and ordeal not only infiltrates both plot and subplot but also unites them. Emanating from this nexus are hitherto unnoted overtones of thought and feeling which are implied or expressed by a varied range of rhetorical and technical devices.

(II) The rigid concept of honor which flares up in the crises and climax of Much Ado is illuminated by references to Castiglione's Courtier (trans. Hoby, 1561) and Peter Beverley's Ariodanto and Ieneura (1565-1566). Once this courtly ethos is seen as the determining factor in Hero's three transfigurations, a significant number of characters and scenes take on an added dimension.

(III) A reexamination of tone, role, structure, and imagery in key scenes provides a broader perspective, from which Much Ado emerges as a masterpiece of Shakespeare's maturing dramaturgy.

(IV) This play, a milestone in Shakespeare's development, is less closely related to the two “joyous comedies” with which it is generally associated than with the history plays with which it is contemporaneous and the tragedies by which it is followed.

In the crises of this far from joyous comedy, hearsay creates illusory dilemmas which seemingly necessitate hasty commitment; ill-advised commitment culminates in serio-comic ordeals. Hearsay in the sense of a reported report—as well as such related forms as noting, reputation, rumor, insinuation, and slander—are freighted with or colored by either accidental or deliberate distortion. Distortion due to ignorance, inattention, fear, pride, or malice motivates impulsive and precipitate action which in turn creates or accentuates apprehension, misunderstanding, dissension, and realignment of the individuals or groups in conflict. The impact of hearsay, or its collateral equivalents, alters existing relationships between two pairs of brothers, two pairs of lovers, a trio of gallants, and a father and daughter, when successive conflicts crystallize in a sequence of ascending crises.³

The power of hearsay and the potency of defamation that are topics for jesting in the subplot (III.i) become sources of anguish in the main plot (IV.i). What was a jocular phrase is transformed into a shocking act; the figurative becomes the literal; the impersonal generalization foretells a personal catastrophe. Hero, who jests about hearsay, is martyred by hearsay; she, the deviser of the comic trap, is herself caught in a vicious trap. Unlike the “honest slander” with which she proposes to stain Beatrice, John's furtive slander almost destroys not only Hero but also those who cherish her. She herself discovers “How much an ill word may empoison liking” (III.ii.86), when she is deserted by father and lover, who discredit her truth in favor of the Bastard's perjury (IV.i).⁴

The impact of hearsay is singularly pervasive; it not only colors dialogue, motivation, and action, but also gives rise to a cryptic irony which is as characteristic of this remarkable comedy as is the wit of Benedick and Beatrice. Intermittent irony frequently stems from crisply phrased oxymoron—a rhetorical device deftly used to intensify the present, recall the past, and foreshadow the future. The comedy opens with a glowing report of Claudio's valor, followed by the messenger's paradox, “joy could not show itself modest enough without a badge of bitterness” (ll.21-22). The tone and tenor of this reflection is underscored by Leonato's prophetic response, “How much better is it to weep at joy than to joy at weeping!”—(as John invariably does). This remark, early in the play, sets off the enigmatic overtones of the dialogue. These overtones—like those in Troilus and Cressida (1601-1602) and Othello (1604-1605)—sometimes contrast, sometimes fuse, joy and sorrow, faith and doubt, emotion and reason, love and hate, honor and shame, and substance and shadow. Viewed as reflections of Shakespeare's concern with the fallibility of the senses and the ravages of mutability, these and similar stressed dichotomies somehow evoke the inexpressible about the riddle of existence and the mystery of the human predicament.

Honor, whether the setting be the court of Beverley's Jenevra, the palace of Castiglione's Courtier, or the court-oriented house of Leonato, is the primary virtue in a caste-conscious society. Uncrowned by honor, all other gifts of nature, fortune, or culture are debased and worthless. The honorable lady must be modest and chaste; the honorable gentleman, loyal and valorous. At all costs, not only honor, but also the reputation for honor, must be zealously preserved. Man's reputation depends on unsullied valor; woman's, on unstained chastity. Once lost, a reputation for either valor or chastity can never be wholly regained. Castiglione, as translated by Hoby, expresses this idea more colorfully; “And even as in women honestye once stained dothe never retourne againe to the former astate: so the fame of a gentleman that carieth weapon, yf it once take a foile in any little point through dastardliness or any other reproche, doeth evermore continue shameful” (Bk. I, p. 48).⁵

Honor in Much Ado, as in The Courtier, is a rigid, compulsive force which varies from but retains vestiges of the chivalric code exemplified by The Historie of Ariondanto and Ieneura.⁶ Whether clad in satin or steel, a “worthie” gentleman must be ever ready to vindicate a victim of calumny. In Beverley's verse romance, the champion enters the lists to save the perjured Jenevra from an actual death by fire; in Much Ado, Leonato, Antonio, and Benedick in turn challenge Claudio to a duel, charging that his slander has slain Hero (V.i). In the narrative as well as in the drama, suspense is heightened when the belied lady as well as her defender suffers an undeserved ordeal. Beverley's ordeals are spectacular and sensational, those in Much Ado are seriocomic. Jenevra faces literal death, Hero suffers figurative death; princess and lady alike almost become martyrs of slander.

In both cases, heedless of the law of church or state, their defenders take justice in their own hands. Theirs is the stock response of their caste—once honor is impugned shame must be dissolved in blood. Their courtly code forbids turning the other cheek, it prescribes vengeance through bloodshed. As Castiglione confirms: “me thinketh it a meete matter to punish them … sharply, that with lyes bringe up a sclaunder upon women. And I beleave that everie worthie gentilman is bounde to defend alwaies with weapon … when he knoweth any woman falslye reported to be of little honestie” (p. 249).

Courtly honor is the matrix of the ironies and reversals which characterize Hero's two rejections (II.i; IV.i) and three metamorphoses (IV.i; V.iii; V.iv). Whether Hero acts or fails to act is less significant than what she essentially is; what she is, less important than what she symbolizes. Even were one to ignore, as many critics still do, Hero's obediently guarded repartee during the courtship by proxy in II.i, her chaste thoughts and language during the snaring of Beatrice in III.i, and her virginal forebodings about marriage in III.iv, she still remains the embodiment of the courtly concept of ideal daughter and bride. Emblem of the sheltered life—crowned by beauty, modesty, and chastity—she is bred from birth for a noble alliance which will add luster to her lineage.

In the crises, Hero is intentionally portrayed as vulnerably passive. Her passivity as well as her innocence not only intensifies the shock of her martyrdom but also heightens the dramatic effectiveness of her three transfigurations. The centrality of Hero's role must be reestablished, emphasis must be shifted from her function as foil to Beatrice, to her function as center of the mores, the imagery, and the irony of the action.

Thematically linked to the direct attack on honor, which separates the hearsay-crossed pair in the climax, is the covert fear of dishonor, which keeps the taunting lovers of the subplot apart in their initial skirmish for ascendancy. Verbally, Benedick flees while Beatrice pursues (I.i.117-146). That the maid is far from reticent in her pursuit of the bachelor is as apparent as that he is no less attracted by her than fearful of her wit and disdain. The reason for his fear of Beatrice and matrimony is elaborated later in the scene when Claudio hazards ridicule by admitting an inclination toward marriage.

Comically aghast at the prospect of separation from his brother-in-arms, Benedick inadvertently reveals his own hidden fear of the tender trap. Haunted by phantom horns, the professed misogynist attempts to dissuade his enamored friend from courting cuckoldry: “Is't come to this? In faith, hath not the world one man but he will wear his cap with suspicion?” (ll. 199-201). When accused of being “an obstinate heretic in the despite of beauty,” Benedick not only reaffirms his mistrust of women and marriage but also again reveals his fear of cuckoldry. So even in the subplot, where courtship is dwelt upon and depicted with inimitable verve, the accent is on honor—not on the raptures of courtship, but on the gnawing fear which discourages marriage: “That a woman conceived me, I thank her … but that I will have a recheat winded in my forehead, or hang my bugle in an invisible baldrick, all women shall pardon me. Because I will not do them the wrong to mistrust any, I will do myself the right to trust none; and the fine is, for the which I may go the finer, I will live a bachelor” (ll. 240-248).⁷

The cuckoldry jest, ubiquitous in Renaissance and Restoration comedy, has lost much of its evocative power for the modern mind. Yet even now, witty allusions to cuckoldry trigger the wry laughter which stems from an awareness of the distrust and antagonism between the sexes; an antagonism which is heightened when women challenge male dominance and upset the status quo. Although the timeworn taunts of cuckoldry have lost the full measure of their emotive impact, in context, they still are much more than obsolete obscenity. This antic wit, often offensive as the phallic pun, is still laden with invaluable clues to Renaissance thought and mores. Then as now, a dominant wife implies an inadequate husband; a weak husband led by a wily wife portends dishonor. Then, before marriage, a man's honor is his own responsibility; only real or apparent breach of faith or lack of valor can debase him. After marriage, part of his honor passes into his wife's keeping; her actual or seeming unchastity blots his escutcheon.⁸

Honor is the warp of the three hoaxes, hearsay is the weft, and illusion spins the web. Don Pedro's amiable hoax unites the subplot lovers, Don John's malicious hoax separates the main-plot lovers, and the Friar's benign hoax reunites the hearsay-crossed pair. The purpose of each of the three hoaxes is to reverse existing relationships. Each hoax is designed to create the specific illusion which will secure such a reversal. Dupes of illusion, both pairs of lovers are somewhat plot-ridden; they act less than they are acted upon.

The Prince, blithely unaware that the Claudio-Hero alliance is being undermined, concerns himself solely with the amiable hoax, directed toward the bickering pair, which is intended to create faith by destroying fear and distrust. John's malicious hoax, directed against the Claudio-Hero alliance, is based on the latent fear of cuckoldry; it subverts instinctive love and faith by substituting in their stead doubt, confusion, and shame. The malicious hoax induces Claudio, Pedro, and even Leonato to credit and support the slander which in IV.i culminates in Hero's first metamorphosis from virgin to wanton. To counteract John's hoax, the Friar devises the benign hoax which culminates in Hero's second transfiguration—from wanton to martyr (V.iii). Hero's third metamorphosis—from martyr to bride—is reserved for the surprise and discovery in the denoucement, where the masked “niece” of Leonato is discovered to be Claudio's slander-slain betrothed who died “but whiles her slander liv'd” (V.iii.66).

The malicious hoax, the most complex of the three, is prominent in both the rising and falling action of the main plot. That Borachio, not John, concocted the scheme is relatively unimportant, that John never appears in person after IV.i is even less significant. Coleridge was essentially right in observing, “Don John, the mainspring of the plot, is merely shown then withdrawn.”⁹ Modern critics who quote Coleridge usually omit the all important appositive, “the mainspring of the plot.” Consequently they fail to see that, once injected, the venom of John's slander spreads its infection. Whether he is present or not, evil dominates good, judgment is poisoned, will is perverted, shadow becomes substance, and undeserved ordeals proliferate.

John is actually the mainspring of the counterintrigue in the main plot. The force of his villainy is not rooted in a talent for plotting; his power stems from a tenacious will, implemented partly by his familiarity with the peculiarities of the courtly code, and partly by his talent for distortion, hyperbole, and innuendo. Impresario of fantasy, he fashions hydras from latent fear of cuckoldry. The sly treachery with which John drops insinuation into the initially unreceptive ears of Claudio and the Prince recalls Iago, that other dissembling rogue who, posing as a plain-dealer, “twists suspicion into assurance.” Both villains are qualified by nature and experience to play on the passions of their betters; both know how to sting emotion until reason dissolves, how to arouse a sense of betrayed honor, and how to goad illusory betrayal into rash action.

Spawn of paternal venery, John envies his more fortunate brother's power and prestige; Pedro, the licit heir, inherits honor and authority, the Bastard is born to shame and subjection. The frustrated malcontent is obsessed by a desire to debase others as he himself has been debased, to cause suffering as he himself has suffered, and to dishonor as he himself has been dishonored. Act I, scene iv traces the Bastard's metamorphosis from passive malcontent railing at Fortune into an active villain eager to hamper the very alliance his brother is attempting to assure. At first John's mood is that of a muzzled mastiff unable to lick festering wounds. His ego smarts, he recalls his abortive revolt against his brother and winces at the very mention of Claudio, who had the “glory of his overthrow”; nothing will soothe his smarting pride except an opportunity to crush the “start up” Claudio, and to pit wit and will against those of his invulnerable brother. After hearing the report that the Prince intends to woo Hero for Claudio, John invites his cronies to help devise a means of forestalling the anticipated match.

Out of the kaleidoscopic merriment of the masked revelry scene—a perfect setting for a miniature comedy of errors—John emerges as matchbreaker (II.i.). Here, the villain pretends he has mistaken the masked Claudio for Benedick; Claudio, in turn, deliberately encourages the seeming error. So the curious youth (like the subplot lovers in II.iii, III.i) by eavesdropping hears more disturbing gossip than he had anticipated. The villain makes his dupe's ears tingle by confiding, “my brother … is enamor'd on Hero … dissuade him … she is no equal for his birth” (ll. 169-172).

The embittered lover releases pent emotions in a soliloquy: “Friendship is constant in all other things / Save in the office and affairs of love” (ll. 182-183). These verses condone Pedro's seeming violation of trust, the next lines bemoan beauty's mystic power to ensnare and to betray: “beauty is a witch / Against whose charms faith melteth into blood. … Farewell, therefore, Hero!” (ll. 186-189). Reasoning in metaphorical absolutes, Claudio decides: Friendship shrivels in the flame of desire; his patron has become his rival; Hero who has bewitched the Prince is to blame; she alone is the source of dissension; she must be rooted out of Claudio's mind and heart.¹⁰ This sudden, short-lived rejection of Hero is a prelude to the longer lasting, more shocking repudiation at the altar.

Claudio's susceptibility to suspicion emanating from hearsay indicates that under stress the immature lover values friendship for the Prince, who appears faithless, above love for Hero, who appears fickle. When finally aware that both Claudio and Benedick assume Pedro has wooed Hero for himself, he assures them that he has not only won her for Claudio but has also gained Leonato's consent to an immediate betrothal. Obviously, John's initial attempt to frustrate his brother by destroying the Claudio-Hero alliance has been a fiasco. At this point, there is a triple irony of situation; on the one hand, John's abortive attempt to sow lasting dissension fails; on the other, neither the Prince nor his favorites suspect John of renewed treachery; and most ironical of all, the mutual faith binding the trio of gallants is strengthened by the very trial to which it was subjected.

In III.ii, the Prince and Count, who in the first half of the scene are genial jesters at Benedick's metamorphosis into an avowed lover, are themselves transformed in the second part to dazed dupes of John's calumny. This sort of ironical reversal, which is both typical of and recurrent in Much Ado, probes deeper beneath the surface of events than is customary in Shakespeare's earlier comedies. Toward the middle of III.ii, the matchbreaker traps the matchmaker and undermines Claudio's certainty that he will wed Hero on the morrow; by whipping up stock responses to illusory dishonor, John impels her admirers to become detractors. After arousing the apprehension of the Prince and Claudio by demanding a private conference on a mysterious matter which deeply concerns both patron and lover, the villain implies that if Claudio knew what John knows, he would shun marriage. The villain obliquely suggests a secret impediment which threatens honor; he implies, then asserts, Hero is unchaste; her unchastity is the impediment which must be faced (ll. 84-110). The entire process of leading up to the slander is calculatingly ambiguous. He deliberately tantalizes his victims until their nerves are raw and fear of dishonor is fomented; after their judgment is paralyzed by innuendo, he lures men reft of judgment to make an immediate and irrevocable choice between tainted love or undefiled honor.

Mercilessly, John's defamatory taunts dare the beguiled Prince and Count to swear what they would do if the unchastity charge were true, before it has been proved true. Vacillating between faith that the unchastity charge is false and fear that it is true, Claudio resolves his dilemma with the promise, “If I see anything to-night why I should not marry her to-morrow, in the congregation, where I should wed, there will I shame her” (ll. 126-128). And the Prince adds, “as I wooed for thee to obtain her, I will join with thee to disgrace her” (ll. 129-130).

The repudiation scene (IV.i), the adroitly delayed climax of the malicious hoax, depicts prescribed response to apparent unchastity. John's hoax, never staged, intermittently reported—part slander, part timing, part mistaken identity, part perjured witness, and part duped witnesses—creates an illusion of dishonor that engenders delusion and revulsion. Convinced that father and daughter have connived to conceal Hero's unchastity at the expense of her bridegroom's honor, Claudio enters the church determined to turn the tables by publicly shaming those who had conspired to dishonor him. On the other hand, Leonato, confident that he is about to witness a union of virtue and valor, is perplexed but not deeply disturbed when Claudio, with the deliberate ruthlessness of a disillusioned idealist, turns the words of the marriage ceremony itself into an inquisitor's catechism (ll. 11-31). Soon, cryptic quibbles about secret impediments turn into outright rejection, as Claudio cries, “She's but the sign and semblance of her honour. … Her blush is guiltiness, not modesty” (ll. 34-43).

Vainly, Leonato seeks reassurance from the Prince, who scoffs, “I stand dishonour'd that have gone about / To link my dear friend to a common stale” (ll. 65-66). After Hero denies guilt, Pedro challenges her denial: “Upon mine honour, / Myself, my brother, and this grieved count / Did see her, hear her … Talk with a ruffian at her chamber-window; / Who hath … Confess'd the vile encounters” (ll. 89-94). John, at the height of his Pyrrhic victory, gloats, “pretty lady, / I am sorry for thy much misgovernment” (ll. 99-100). In riddling oxymoron Claudio laments the loss of love and faith: “But fare the [sic] well, most foul, most fair! Farewell, / Thou pure impiety, and impious purity! / For thee I'll lock up all the gates of love, … turn all beauty into thoughts of harm” (ll. 104-108). Again, as in the initial rejection (II.i), Claudio fears and denounces the enigmatic power of defiled beauty. Struck by irony, hyperbole, antithesis, and paradox, the thread of laughter vibrates fitfully as deluded father and lover grapple with illusory unchastity.

Leonato, convinced of Hero's infamy, thinks of his dishonor, not of her plight; he demands, “Hath no man's dagger here a point for me?” (l. 110). Perhaps the audience are not unduly perturbed, since the Watch have overheard Borachio's inadvertent confession (III.iii), and even though neither Dogberry nor Verges understands the tenor of the drunkard's babblings, the audience does. Nevertheless, though the audience may be certain that Hero is belied, her father, her bridegroom, and the Prince, convinced of her guilt, play their roles with tragic intensity. Leonato's despair submerges his judgment, he accepts appearance for reality, perjury for proof; love turns to loathing, his cherished daughter dwindles from virgin to wanton (ll. 122-144). Obsessed by illusory dishonor, the Bastard's dupes intensify their own seriocomic ordeals. The malicious hoax has created havoc. There is a realignment of forces, the duped patron, the embittered lover, and the distracted father flee into John's camp to escape contagion! Friendship displaces courtship or fatherhood; male honor withdraws from female defilement. The Lady is a harlot; let her die for shame. Theirs is the stock response of their caste, the rigidity of the courtly code sanctions little compassion for frailty or dishonor.

The repudiation scene, examined with the courtly code of honor in mind, is much more than a coup de théâtre. In terms of Renaissance mores, it is a scene of poignant disillusionment and despair. In the conflict between appearance and reality, between emotion and reason, tension increases when lover turns inquisitor and father turns executioner. Here, in a conflict between good and evil, truth clashes with error in a charged atmosphere of contradictory moods and shifting relationships while the outraged moral sense oscillates between absolute praise and absolute blame. Here, when malice triumphs, shame so submerges compassion that slander, mirage, and perjury are accepted as ocular and auditory proof. Incensed by defiled honor, men argue in absolutes shorn from any rational mean, and under the aegis of the courtly code act and react with prescribed cruelty.

The significance of the Friar's role, in and after the climax, has never been recognized; it is his wisdom that casts out the demons of despair; it is his compassion that substitutes symbolic death for literal death. After the exit of the Count and Princes, Hero revives from the swoon that resembles death. Leonato, convinced that Hero is “mir'd with infamy”, believes honor prescribes that she, like Lucrece, should literally die for shame. That is why he cries, “O Fate! take not away thy heavy hand. / Death is the fairest cover for her shame” (ll. 116-117). The Friar, aided by Benedick and Beatrice, gradually leads the distraught father's thoughts from fatalistic acceptance of shame to active vindication of honor. After the Friar argues that “ocular proof” may be an illusion, and after Benedick suggests that the Bastard belies Hero, Leonato's wrath turns from his daughter's shame to her detractors' slander. Leonato urges vindication through bloodshed. The Friar prefers a ruse designed to change slander to remorse: “She dying, as it must be so maintain'd, / Upon the instant that she was accus'd, / Shall be lamented, pitied, and excus'd” (ll. 216-218).

What is trite chronological narrative in Bandello and Beverley becomes foreshadowing through prophesy in Much Ado, as the Friar foresees and foretells the psychology of Claudio's remorse: “When he shall hear she died upon his words, / Th' idea of her life shall sweetly creep / Into his study of imagination” (ll. 225-227). Throughout his incisively truncated recantation, Claudio does mourn; throughout his rapt vigil he mourns the martyr slain by slanderous tongues. Hero, glowing with more than mortal glory, does rise before his inner eye. In the penultimate scene, the vision which elevates Hero displaces the illusion which debased her. The intensity of Claudio's remorse atones for the cruelty of the public repudiation at the altar.¹¹ Staged in retarded tempo, embellished by stylized movement, haunting music, and appropriate lighting, the recantation scene not only ennobles Claudio, who lost stature in the repudiation scene, but also sanctifies his delayed union with Hero. To appreciate the organic unity of Much Ado in terms of illusion and metamorphosis—the tense climax (IV.i), the evocative recantation (V.iii), and the animated denouement (V.iv) must be envisioned, though they seldom are, as mutually illuminating.

The recantation scene, a miniature masque, depicts the ritual of expiation performed by Claudio, shortly before his union with Leonato's “niece.” By torchlight, Claudio, accompanied by his Prince and several other witnesses, solemnly approaches Hero's ancestral tomb to propitiate her “bones” and absolve his blood guilt. The tapers flicker on the mourning weeds of the celebrants, as, bowed with contrition, Claudio ascends the seven steps of atonement. The lyric intensity of this requiem masque is heightened by the hour, the setting, and the allusion: (1) The scroll which bears the epitaph is unrolled; (2) the retraction is read aloud before hushed mourners, “So the life that died with shame / Lives in death with glorious fame” (ll.7-8); (3) symbolically, the recantation is eternized by hanging the epitaph-bearing scroll on the tomb, “Praising her when I am dumb [dead]” (l.10); (4) the music is prelude to a dirge burdened with contrition and a plea that the penitents responsible for the virgin's death be forgiven, “Pardon, goddess of the night, / Those that slew thy virgin knight” (ll.12-13); (5) with ritualistic solemnity, the procession circles the tomb; (6) as coup de grâce, Claudio, still intent upon perpetuating the bitter-sweet memory of his betrothed, pledges, “unto thy bones good night! / Yearly will I do this rite” (ll.22-23); (7) finally, with an insight which begets empathy, Claudio, aware that he is no longer Fortune's favorite, begs Hymen to guard Leonato's “niece” from the woes experienced by his daughter, “Hymen now with luckier issue [speed's] / Than this for whom we rend'red up this woe” (ll. 32-33).

The power of language to create an illusion which either elevates or debases a relationship has been stressed not only in our comparison of the function of illusion in the subplot with that in the main plot, but also in our integration of the shifting imagery with the ironies and reversals clustering about the three transfigurations. Our integration of imagery with action demonstrates that the precarious equilibrium of the volatile aristocrats is disturbed less by ocular illusion than by verbal delusion; in the crises, not ocular proof but hearsay and insinuation twist suspicion into assurance. The sporadic word-play on “die for love” which snares the wary couple into both declarations and reaffirmations of reciprocal love is paralleled by the more grim and pervasive word play on “die for shame” which first separates, then, after literal death is transmuted into symbolic death, finally unites the hearsay-crossed pair.

The tantalizing ambiguities in the subplot lovers' repartee of courtship has fascinated critics; but even the most astute commentators have ignored the multifaceted word-play on death which centers on Hero's transfigurations. This intricate pattern of calculated ambiguity sustains suspense throughout the falling action: the climax ends with the Friar's paradox, “die to live”; the three challenges of Claudio are justified by the iterated refrain, slander slew Hero; Claudio recants by playing variations on the theme, “done to death by slanderous tongues”; and finally, in the denouement, martyred Hero, who “died defil'd,” is reborn through vindicated fame and becomes the bride of Claudio, who, chastened by remorse and atonement, becomes a more deserving bridegroom.

The contrast between the adroit use and the maladroit abuse of language which distinguishes the speech of Dogberry, Verges, and the Watch from that of the articulate aristocrats is no less self evident than an endless source of delight. The aptly inept word-play of Dogberry and his flunkies has been explored with gusto—not only as an end in itself, as a means of characterization, and as a comic foil for the subtler wit of Benedick and Beatrice, but also as a technical device for delaying the exposure of John's defamation. Word-play in Much Ado, unlike that in the earlier romantic plays, is ever closely integrated with and dependent on action—as it runs the gamut from broad low comedy to sophisticated high comedy. Laughter in Much Ado is frequently ironic; pervasively reflective. The symbolism in the much maligned main plot is at least as significant as is the comic potential in the deliberate use and inadvertent abuse of language in the subplots. The enigmatic word-play of John, Hero, Claudio, Leonato, and the Friar, too long overlooked, is at least as important for a balanced appraisal of tone, structure, and values as are the inimitable ineptitudes of Dogberry and Verges, or the widely heralded witticisms of Benedick and Beatrice.¹²

Much Ado (1598-1599), as we interpret it, is closer in spirit to Henry IV (1597-1598) than to the two joyous comedies (As You Like It, 1599-1600; Twelfth Night, 1599-1600) with which it is generally associated. Written contemporaneously, the comedy of private conflict and the chronicle of public strife, though seldom compared, are reciprocally illuminating. The accent in both plays is on honor; dishonor in the comedy is illusory, dishonor in the history play is real. Honor, in the one, is viewed in terms of seeming and being; honor, in the other, is discussed in terms of a mean contrasted with two extremes.¹³ The conflict in the comedy centers on feminine honor sullied by slander; that in the chronicle, on male honor tainted by cowardice or foolhardiness. The dominant ethos in both plays is rooted in the courtly code that prescribes modesty and chastity for women, valor and loyalty for men. In the comedy all four attributes of honor come into play; in the chronicle where the attributes of feminine honor are less relevant, the interest is centered on the attributes of masculine honor.

The tragicomic ordeals in Troilus and Cressida (1602-1603) which culminate in disillusionment and the serio-comic ordeals in Much Ado which culminate in delusion differ less in tone than in sustained intensity. Both center on violated fidelity; real violation in the former, seeming violation in the latter. Whereas Claudio's delusion can be and is dispelled by exposing its contrived origin, Troilus' disillusionment, battening on mutability, corrodes faith in love and in valor. The implications of the action in the problem play are predominantly cynical largely because the amorous entanglements of Priam's sons are as costly to the walled Trojans as the bickering between the strategists and warriors is to the encamped Greeks. The oath of fealty, the Achilles tendon of the chivalric code, is stretched to the snapping point, no less by the deteriorating military alliances between the Greeks than by the amatory misalliances and political expediencies of the two willful Trojan princes.¹⁴

Troilus, enmeshed in his own casuistry, is first apostle and later victim of appetite; his own misalliance like his sophistic defence of Paris' stolen love is steeped in bitter irony. The fine amour of Troilus, abetted by Pandar, culminates in copulation and is interrupted by the fortunes of war. Separation imminent, Troilus insists upon iterated vows of eternal fidelity which the worldly-wise Cressida reluctantly swears. Later, after his unsuspected rival in turn appropriates Troilus' mistress, his love-tokens, and his charger, his love affair shatters into irrational disillusionment. Betrayed, in varying degrees, by Fortune, by Cressida, by Paris, and by his own rash words and acts, Troilus, seemingly impervious to death, hazards foolhardy valor.

Finally shocked out of the confines of the wish to die into the realm of Trojan survival by the murder of Hector, Troilus belatedly comes of age when he instinctively dons his slain brother's mantle by assuming leadership of a doomed nation. Seen in the light of pagan-humanism, the subsequent repudiation of Pandarus is an additional indication that Troilus, seasoned by ordeal, frees himself from the debilitating influence of Paris and dedicates his valor and his future to Hector's vision of enduring glory. Throughout the martial as well as throughout the extra-marital crises in this controversial play, character, dialogue, and incident fuse in an enigmatic atmosphere of cosmic irony which grows less oppressive in V.x, where Troilus' spirit soars above self-indulgence and adversity.¹⁵

The similarities between Much Ado and Othello (1604-1605) are more numerous than are those between any other comedy and tragedy in the entire Shakespeare canon. The exciting force in both plays is an alliance between virtue and valor which the villain intends to destroy by creating an illusion that the heroine is unchaste. In the comedy the first four scenes—in the tragedy the first three scenes—are treated as a prelude to the main action; a prelude in which the villain's initial attempt to create havoc fails. In both plays a strong-willed villain is substituted for the rival lover of the source. In both, the power of insinuation to engender, heighten, and sustain relatively flimsy ocular proof is stressed.

The process by which the villain dupes the gullible soldier-lover, the illusion by which faith is transformed into doubt, love into loathing, and pride into shame—is fundamentally the same in the two plays. The delusions of both bridegrooms—the recurrent lapses into soul-searing dichotomies, the tensions between emotion and will—are expressed in oxymoron. The heroine's inability to foresee and cope with the hero's change in attitude toward her is similar in kind, though in the tragedy increased in degree. Honor in each case is a compulsive force which incites the warrior-lover in the comedy to cruelty; in the tragedy, to crime. The cultural milieu, the philosophical, and ethical assumptions in Much Ado, Troilus and Cressida, and Othello are similar. In all three, the fallibility of the senses and the vulnerability of reason contribute to the mutability of fame and glory. Illusion, which shatters into metamorphosis and culminates in ironic disillusionment, characterizes the tone of the climax in Much Ado, the falling action of Othello, and almost the entire action of Troilus and Cressida.

Notes

1. All these points are covered by Brander Matthews, Shakespeare as Playwright (New York, 1913), pp. 152-156. In modified form, and with varying emphasis, they are restated by: Oscar James Campbell, The Living Shakespeare … (New York, 1949); Hardin Craig, The Complete Works of Shakespeare (Chicago, 1951); George Lyman Kittredge, Sixteen Plays of Shakespeare … (Boston, 1946); William Allan Neilson and Charles Jarvis Hill, The Complete Plays … (Cambridge, Mass., 1942); Thomas Marc Parrott, Shakespeare: Twenty-three Plays … (New York, 1938).

2. A preliminary version of this article was presented in a paper read at the MLA [Modern Language Association], Sept., 1949.

3. For distinguished comments on the philosophic and aesthetic implications of “noting-nothing” see Paul A. Jorgensen, “Much Ado About ‘Nothing,’” SQ, [Shakespeare Quarterly] V (1954), 287-295.

4. Citations from Shakespeare in our text are to The Complete Plays, ed. W. A. Neilson and C. J. Hill (1942).

5. Ed. Walter Raleigh (London, 1900).

6. Charles T. Prouty, The Sources of Much Ado About Nothing … (New Haven, Conn., 1950). The “lost” text of Peter Beverley's adaptation from the Orlando Furioso is here reprinted for the first time—pp. 76-140.

7. See G. L. Kittredge's notes on cuckoldry, p. 133 et passim.

8. Curtis Brown Watson, Shakespeare and the Renaissance Concept of Honor (Princeton, 1960): “much modern Shakespeare criticism reveals, on many key points of ‘interpretation’, … historical ignorance … [and] a basic lack of sympathy with Renaissance pagan-humanist values in general and Shakespeare in particular … our critics are often insufficiently aware of their own preconceptions and of the many respects in which our democratic ideals in the 20th century basically contradict the aristocratic assumptions of Elizabethan society” (p. 9 et passim).

9. T. M. Raysor, Coleridge's Shakespeare Criticism (Cambridge, Mass., 1931), I, 226.

10. Cf. C. T. Prouty, Sources—friendship is reduced to “a conventional tag”, p. 9 et passim.

    See Kittredge on “image magic” (p. 119, l. 187). Combining his suggestion of literal black magic with the more obvious implication of metaphorical witchcraft explains why Claudio momentarily envisions Hero as a Medea, and instinctively rejects her. Perhaps he recalls that his knowing friend Benedick, wary of Beatrice, compared her to the “the infernal Ate in good apparel” (II.i.263).

11. Despite varied explanations of Claudio's motive for rejecting Hero before the altar, most critics still agree that the repudiation is unforgivably cruel, and that his repentance is an inadequate atonement for his offence. Professor Prouty argues that Claudio, a realistic not a romantic lover, needs no apology for publicly rejecting a damaged bride who apparently defrauds him, since his was merely a “mariage de convenance” (Sources, p. 46)—“essentially a business arrangement” (p. 50). Conversely, Miss Dorothy C. Hockey points out that Much Ado loses “meaning” if we assume with Miss Nadine Page (“The Public Repudiation of Hero”, PMLA [Publications of the Modern Language Association of America], L (1935), 739-744) and Professor Prouty “that Claudio is merely making a typical realistic Elizabethan marriage …” (Citation from Miss Hockey). If depicted as a mercenary not a romantic lover, why should Claudio grieve at the idea of a stolen Hero? “Why should he sing romantically at her tomb and promise to repeat the rite each year? “Notes, Notes, Forsooth …,” SQ, VIII (1957), 356, n. 10. For a cogent critique of Prouty's Sources, for insights into Shakespeare's alterations of Ariosto, Bandello, et al., and for a novel apology—see Kerby Neill, “More Ado About Claudio: An Acquittal for the Slandered Groom,” SQ III (1952), 91-107.

12. For recent comment on the wit of Benedick and Beatrice see G. K. Hunter, Shakespeare: The Late Comedies (London, 1962), pp. 22, 26-32. For a more comprehensive discussion see A. P. Rossiter, Angel With Horns … (London, 1916). His pertinent comparison of “Wit with nitwit” is focused on the “linguistic mishaps and semantic excesses of Dogberry,” p. 70 et passim. His distinctions between quibble and relevant wit (pp. 68-69), and his theory of “two-eyedness” (a facet of word-play) as the source of the serio-comic is stimulating (p. 62 et passim).

13. For a recent amplification of this point, see Alan S. Downer, William Shakespeare: Five Plays (New York …, 1957), p. xiii.

14. For five provocative interpretations see Discussions of Shakespeare's Problem Comedies, ed. Robert Ornstein (Boston, 1961), pp. 1-34.

15. Our reading of V.x is partially anticipated in a generally ignored footnote in The Art and Life of William Shakespeare by Hazelton Spencer (New York, 1940): “Troilus does not fail; Cressida fails him, but that failure rather strengthens the fibre of his nature, as Coleridge saw, so that … after the death of Hector he comes forward as the leader of the Trojans. (‘Troilus and Cressida,’ London Times Literary Supplement, May 19, 1932, pp. 357-358.)”—p. 409, n. 1.