60 Plays: The George Bernard Shaw Edition (Illustrated). GEORGE BERNARD SHAW
He will be steadfast in his religion as you are in yours; and you may depend on him to the death. He said so.
ANDERSON. God forgive him! What else did he say?
JUDITH. He said goodbye.
ANDERSON (fidgeting nervously to and fro in great concern). Poor fellow, poor fellow! You said goodbye to him in all kindness and charity, Judith, I hope.
JUDITH. I kissed him.
ANDERSON. What! Judith!
JUDITH. Are you angry?
ANDERSON. No, no. You were right: you were right. Poor fellow, poor fellow! (Greatly distressed.) To be hanged like that at his age! And then did they take him away?
JUDITH (wearily). Then you were here: that’s the next thing I remember. I suppose I fainted. Now bid me goodbye, Tony. Perhaps I shall faint again. I wish I could die.
ANDERSON. No, no, my dear: you must pull yourself together and be sensible. I am in no danger — not the least in the world.
JUDITH (solemnly). You are going to your death, Tony — your sure death, if God will let innocent men be murdered. They will not let you see him: they will arrest you the moment you give your name. It was for you the soldiers came.
ANDERSON (thunderstruck). For me!!! (His fists clinch; his neck thickens; his face reddens; the fleshy purses under his eyes become injected with hot blood; the man of peace vanishes, transfigured into a choleric and formidable man of war. Still, she does not come out of her absorption to look at him: her eyes are steadfast with a mechanical reflection of Richard’s steadfastness.)
JUDITH. He took your place: he is dying to save you. That is why he went in your coat. That is why I kissed him.
ANDERSON (exploding). Blood an’ owns! (His voice is rough and dominant, his gesture full of brute energy.) Here! Essie, Essie!
ESSIE (running in). Yes.
ANDERSON (impetuously). Off with you as hard as you can run, to the inn. Tell them to saddle the fastest and strongest horse they have (Judith rises breathless, and stares at him incredulously) — the chestnut mare, if she’s fresh — without a moment’s delay. Go into the stable yard and tell the black man there that I’ll give him a silver dollar if the horse is waiting for me when I come, and that I am close on your heels. Away with you. (His energy sends Essie flying from the room. He pounces on his riding boots; rushes with them to the chair at the fire; and begins pulling them on.)
JUDITH (unable to believe such a thing of him). You are not going to him!
ANDERSON (busy with the boots). Going to him! What good would that do? (Growling to himself as he gets the first boot on with a wrench) I’ll go to them, so I will. (To Judith peremptorily) Get me the pistols: I want them. And money, money: I want money — all the money in the house. (He stoops over the other boot, grumbling) A great satisfaction it would be to him to have my company on the gallows. (He pulls on the boot.)
JUDITH. You are deserting him, then?
ANDERSON. Hold your tongue, woman; and get me the pistols. (She goes to the press and takes from it a leather belt with two pistols, a powder horn, and a bag of bullets attached to it. She throws it on the table. Then she unlocks a drawer in the press and takes out a purse. Anderson grabs the belt and buckles it on, saying) If they took him for me in my coat, perhaps they’ll take me for him in his. (Hitching the belt into its place) Do I look like him?
JUDITH (turning with the purse in her hand). Horribly unlike him.
ANDERSON (snatching the purse from her and emptying it on the table). Hm! We shall see.
JUDITH (sitting down helplessly). Is it of any use to pray, do you think, Tony?
ANDERSON (counting the money). Pray! Can we pray Swindon’s rope off Richard’s neck?
JUDITH. God may soften Major Swindon’s heart.
ANDERSON (contemptuously — pocketing a handful of money). Let him, then. I am not God; and I must go to work another way. (Judith gasps at the blasphemy. He throws the purse on the table.) Keep that. I’ve taken 25 dollars.
JUDITH. Have you forgotten even that you are a minister?
ANDERSON. Minister be — faugh! My hat: where’s my hat? (He snatches up hat and cloak, and puts both on in hot haste.) Now listen, you. If you can get a word with him by pretending you’re his wife, tell him to hold his tongue until morning: that will give me all the start I need.
JUDITH (solemnly). You may depend on him to the death.
ANDERSON. You’re a fool, a fool, Judith (for a moment checking the torrent of his haste, and speaking with something of his old quiet and impressive conviction). You don’t know the man you’re married to. (Essie returns. He swoops at her at once.) Well: is the horse ready?
ESSIE (breathless). It will be ready when you come.
ANDERSON. Good. (He makes for the door.)
JUDITH (rising and stretching out her arms after him involuntarily). Won’t you say goodbye?
ANDERSON. And waste another half minute! Psha! (He rushes out like an avalanche.)
ESSIE (hurrying to Judith). He has gone to save Richard, hasn’t he?
JUDITH. To save Richard! No: Richard has saved him. He has gone to save himself. Richard must die.
Essie screams with terror and falls on her knees, hiding her face. Judith, without heeding her, looks rigidly straight in front of her, at the vision of Richard, dying.
ACT III
Early next morning the sergeant, at the British headquarters in the Town Hall, unlocks the door of a little empty panelled waiting room, and invites Judith to enter. She has had a bad night, probably a rather delirious one; for even in the reality of the raw morning, her fixed gaze comes back at moments when her attention is not strongly held.
The sergeant considers that her feelings do her credit, and is sympathetic in an encouraging military way. Being a fine figure of a man, vain of his uniform and of his rank, he feels specially qualified, in a respectful way, to console her.
SERGEANT. You can have a quiet word with him here, mum.
JUDITH. Shall I have long to wait?
SERGEANT. No, mum, not a minute. We kep him in the Bridewell for the night; and he’s just been brought over here for the court martial. Don’t fret, mum: he slep like a child, and has made a rare good breakfast.
JUDITH (incredulously). He is in good spirits!
SERGEANT. Tip top, mum. The chaplain looked in to see him last night; and he won seventeen shillings off him at spoil five. He spent it among us like the gentleman he is. Duty’s duty, mum, of course; but you’re among friends here. (The tramp of a couple of soldiers is heard approaching.) There: I think he’s coming. (Richard comes in, without a sign of care or captivity in his bearing. The sergeant nods to the two soldiers, and shows them the key of the room in his hand. They withdraw.) Your good lady, sir.
RICHARD (going to her). What! My wife. My adored one. (He takes her hand and kisses it with a perverse, raffish gallantry.) How long do you allow a brokenhearted husband for leavetaking, Sergeant?
SERGEANT. As long as we can, sir. We shall not disturb you till the court sits.
RICHARD. But it has struck the hour.
SERGEANT. So it has, sir; but there’s a delay. General Burgoyne’s just arrived — Gentlemanly Johnny we call him, sir — and he won’t have done finding fault with everything this side of half past. I know him, sir: I served with him in Portugal. You may count on twenty minutes, sir; and by your leave I won’t waste any more of them. (He goes out, locking the door.