The Essential Plays of George Bernard Shaw (Illustrated Edition). GEORGE BERNARD SHAW
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I am Gentlemanly Johnny, sir, at your service. My more intimate friends call me General Burgoyne. (Richard bows with perfect politeness.) You will understand, sir, I hope, since you seem to be a gentleman and a man of some spirit in spite of your calling, that if we should have the misfortune to hang you, we shall do so as a mere matter of political necessity and military duty, without any personal ill-feeling.
RICHARD. Oh, quite so. That makes all the difference in the world, of course.
They all smile in spite of themselves: and some of the younger officers burst out laughing.
JUDITH (her dread and horror deepening at every one of these jests and compliments). How CAN you?
RICHARD. You promised to be silent.
BURGOYNE (to Judith, with studied courtesy). Believe me, madam, your husband is placing us under the greatest obligation by taking this very disagreeable business so thoroughly in the spirit of a gentleman. Sergeant: give Mr. Anderson a chair. (The sergeant does so. Richard sits down.) Now, Major Swindon: we are waiting for you.
SWINDON. You are aware, I presume, Mr. Anderson, of your obligations as a subject of His Majesty King George the Third.
RICHARD. I am aware, sir, that His Majesty King George the Third is about to hang me because I object to Lord North’s robbing me.
SWINDON. That is a treasonable speech, sir.
RICHARD (briefly). Yes. I meant it to be.
BURGOYNE (strongly deprecating this line of defence, but still polite). Don’t you think, Mr. Anderson, that this is rather — if you will excuse the word — a vulgar line to take? Why should you cry out robbery because of a stamp duty and a tea duty and so forth? After all, it is the essence of your position as a gentleman that you pay with a good grace.
RICHARD. It is not the money, General. But to be swindled by a pigheaded lunatic like King George.
SWINDON (scandalised). Chut, sir — silence!
SERGEANT (in stentorian tones, greatly shocked). Silence!
BURGOYNE (unruffled). Ah, that is another point of view. My position does not allow of my going into that, except in private. But (shrugging his shoulders) of course, Mr. Anderson, if you are determined to be hanged (Judith flinches), there’s nothing more to be said. An unusual taste! however (with a final shrug) — !
SWINDON (to Burgoyne). Shall we call witnesses?
RICHARD. What need is there of witnesses? If the townspeople here had listened to me, you would have found the streets barricaded, the houses loopholed, and the people in arms to hold the town against you to the last man. But you arrived, unfortunately, before we had got out of the talking stage; and then it was too late.
SWINDON (severely). Well, sir, we shall teach you and your townspeople a lesson they will not forget. Have you anything more to say?
RICHARD. I think you might have the decency to treat me as a prisoner of war, and shoot me like a man instead of hanging me like a dog.
BURGOYNE (sympathetically). Now there, Mr. Anderson, you talk like a civilian, if you will excuse my saying so. Have you any idea of the average marksmanship of the army of His Majesty King George the Third? If we make you up a firing party, what will happen? Half of them will miss you: the rest will make a mess of the business and leave you to the provo-marshal’s pistol. Whereas we can hang you in a perfectly workmanlike and agreeable way. (Kindly) Let me persuade you to be hanged, Mr. Anderson?
JUDITH (sick with horror). My God!
RICHARD (to Judith). Your promise! (To Burgoyne) Thank you, General: that view of the case did not occur to me before. To oblige you, I withdraw my objection to the rope. Hang me, by all means.
BURGOYNE (smoothly). Will 12 o’clock suit you, Mr. Anderson?
RICHARD. I shall be at your disposal then, General.
BURGOYNE (rising). Nothing more to be said, gentlemen. (They all rise.)
JUDITH (rushing to the table). Oh, you are not going to murder a man like that, without a proper trial — without thinking of what you are doing — without — (She cannot find words.)
RICHARD. Is this how you keep your promise?
JUDITH. If I am not to speak, you must. Defend yourself: save yourself: tell them the truth.
RICHARD (worriedly). I have told them truth enough to hang me ten times over. If you say another word you will risk other lives; but you will not save mine.
BURGOYNE. My good lady, our only desire is to save unpleasantness. What satisfaction would it give you to have a solemn fuss made, with my friend Swindon in a black cap and so forth? I am sure we are greatly indebted to the admirable tact and gentlemanly feeling shown by your husband.
JUDITH (throwing the words in his face). Oh, you are mad. Is it nothing to you what wicked thing you do if only you do it like a gentleman? Is it nothing to you whether you are a murderer or not, if only you murder in a red coat? (Desperately) You shall not hang him: that man is not my husband.
The officers look at one another, and whisper: some of the Germans asking their neighbors to explain what the woman has said. Burgoyne, who has been visibly shaken by Judith’s reproach, recovers himself promptly at this new development. Richard meanwhile raises his voice above the buzz.
RICHARD. I appeal to you, gentlemen, to put an end to this. She will not believe that she cannot save me. Break up the court.
BURGOYNE (in a voice so quiet and firm that it restores silence at once). One moment, Mr. Anderson. One moment, gentlemen. (He resumes his seat. Swindon and the officers follow his example.) Let me understand you clearly, madam. Do you mean that this gentleman is not your husband, or merely — I wish to put this with all delicacy — that you are not his wife?
JUDITH. I don’t know what you mean. I say that he is not my husband — that my husband has escaped. This man took his place to save him. Ask anyone in the town — send out into the street for the first person you find there, and bring him in as a witness. He will tell you that the prisoner is not Anthony Anderson.
BURGOYNE (quietly, as before). Sergeant.
SERGEANT. Yes sir.
BURGOYNE. Go out into the street and bring in the first townsman you see there.
SERGEANT (making for the door). Yes sir.
BURGOYNE (as the sergeant passes). The first clean, sober townsman you see.
SERGEANT. Yes Sir. (He goes out.)
BURGOYNE. Sit down, Mr. Anderson — if I may call you so for the present. (Richard sits down.) Sit down, madam, whilst we wait. Give the lady a newspaper.
RICHARD (indignantly). Shame!
BURGOYNE (keenly, with a half smile). If you are not her husband, sir, the case is not a serious one — for her. (Richard bites his lip silenced.)
JUDITH (to Richard, as she returns to her seat). I couldn’t help it. (He shakes his head. She sits down.)
BURGOYNE. You will understand of course, Mr. Anderson, that you must not build on this little incident. We are bound to make an example of somebody.
RICHARD. I quite understand. I suppose there’s no use in my explaining.
BURGOYNE. I think we should prefer independent testimony, if you don’t mind.
The sergeant, with a packet of papers in his hand, returns conducting Christy, who is much scared.
SERGEANT (giving Burgoyne the packet). Dispatches, Sir. Delivered by a corporal of the 53rd. Dead beat with hard riding, sir.
Burgoyne opens the dispatches, and presently becomes absorbed in them. They are so serious as to take his attention completely from the court martial.
SERGEANT (to Christy). Now then. Attention; and take your hat off. (He posts himself in charge of Christy, who stands on Burgoyne’s side