The Collected Dramas of George Bernard Shaw (Illustrated Edition). GEORGE BERNARD SHAW
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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. Richard immediately drops his raffish manner and turns to Judith with considerate sincerity.)
RICHARD. Mrs. Anderson: this visit is very kind of you. And how are you after last night? I had to leave you before you recovered; but I sent word to Essie to go and look after you. Did she understand the message?
JUDITH (breathless and urgent). Oh, don’t think of me: I haven’t come here to talk about myself. Are they going to — to — (meaning “to hang you”)?
RICHARD (whimsically). At noon, punctually. At least, that was when they disposed of Uncle Peter. (She shudders.) Is your husband safe? Is he on the wing?
JUDITH. He is no longer my husband.
RICHARD (opening his eyes wide). Eh!
JUDITH. I disobeyed you. I told him everything. I expected him to come here and save you. I wanted him to come here and save you. He ran away instead.
RICHARD. Well, that’s what I meant him to do. What good would his staying have done? They’d only have hanged us both.
JUDITH (with reproachful earnestness). Richard Dudgeon: on your honour, what would you have done in his place?
RICHARD. Exactly what he has done, of course.
JUDITH. Oh, why will you not be simple with me — honest and straightforward? If you are so selfish as that, why did you let them take you last night?
RICHARD (gaily). Upon my life, Mrs. Anderson, I don’t know. I’ve been asking myself that question ever since; and I can find no manner of reason for acting as I did.
JUDITH. You know you did it for his sake, believing he was a more worthy man than yourself.
RICHARD (laughing). Oho! No: that’s a very pretty reason, I must say; but I’m not so modest as that. No: it wasn’t for his sake.
JUDITH (after a pause, during which she looks shamefacedly at him, blushing painfully). Was it for my sake?
RICHARD (gallantly). Well, you had a hand in it. It must have been a little for your sake. You let them take me, at all events.
JUDITH. Oh, do you think I have not been telling myself that all night? Your death will be at my door. (Impulsively, she gives him her hand, and adds, with intense earnestness) If I could save you as you saved him, I would do it, no matter how cruel the death was.
RICHARD (holding her hand and smiling, but keeping her almost at arm’s length). I am very sure I shouldn’t let you.
JUDITH. Don’t you see that I can save you?
RICHARD. How? By changing clothes with me, eh?
JUDITH (disengaging her hand to touch his lips with it). Don’t (meaning “Don’t