Don John’s malice resurfaces in Act II, scene ii, as we see him plotting to split Hero and Claudio. Once again, we must wonder about his motives, as his desire to hurt others so badly is inconsistent with his claim to be a low-grade villain. Borachio’s statement that his plan, if it succeeds, is sure “to misuse the Prince, to vex Claudio, to undo Hero, and kill Leonato” makes it clear that Don John’s schemes have some darker purpose in mind (II.ii.24–25).
In the
Renaissance, the virginity of an upper-class woman at the time of her marriage
carried a great deal of importance for not only her own reputation but also for
that of her family and her prospective husband. Adultery, unchaste behavior, or
premarital sex in a noblewoman could be a fighting matter—one that could spur a
parent to disown or even kill a daughter, a betrayed husband to murder his wife
or rival, or a defender to challenge a woman’s accuser to a duel to the death
in order to clear her name. If the entire community were to believe Hero
unchaste, then her honor, name, and reputation would suffer permanently;
Claudio would suffer considerably more than simple vexation; and the stress
might well “kill” Leonato. This plot is far more than a merely troublesome
game.
Meanwhile,
a different kind of trick occurs in the garden, as Leonato, Claudio, and Don
Pedro work together to try to convince Benedick that Beatrice is in love with
him. Benedick, of course, unknowingly finds himself caught in the position of
being the one deceived. He believes that he is eavesdropping upon his friends,
but, because they are aware of his presence, they deliberately speak louder so
that he will hear them. It is not difficult to imagine the speakers—Leonato,
Don Pedro, and Claudio—trying hard to stifle their laughter as they speak in
serious voices of Beatrice falling upon her knees, weeping, tearing her hair,
and crying, “‘O sweet Benedick, God give me patience’” (II.iii.134–135).
Don
Pedro understands Benedick’s psychology so precisely that his trick works on
his friend just as he hoped it would—upon hearing that Beatrice is in love with
him and that other people think he will be foolish enough to turn her down,
Benedick realizes that it is not so difficult for him to find it in his heart
to love Beatrice after all. In a speech memorable for both its humor and its
emotional glimpse into Benedick’s genuinely generous and compassionate heart,
Benedick decides that there is no shame in changing his mind about marriage,
and declares, “I will be horribly in love with her. . . . The world must be
peopled. When I said I could die a bachelor, I did not think I should live till
I were married” (II.iii.207–215).
By the
time Beatrice herself appears to order him in to dinner, Benedick is so far
gone that he is able to reinterpret all her words and actions as professions of
her love for him—doubtless a hilarious scene for the audience, since Beatrice
is hostile to Benedick, and the audience knows that she is not at all in love
with him. But the buoyant Benedick can hardly wait to “go get her picture”—that
is, to go and get a miniature portrait of her (II.iii.232). Later
on, Benedick even tries his hand at writing a sonnet to Beatrice. Sonnets and
miniature portraits were the typical accoutrements of the Renaissance lover,
male or female. By carrying around these objects, Benedick becomes a cliché of
Renaissance courtship.
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