The Collected Plays of George Bernard Shaw - 60 Titles in One Edition (Illustrated Edition). GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

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СКАЧАТЬ VOICE (outside). Halt! Four outside: two in with me.

      Judith half rises, listening and looking with dilated eyes at Richard, who takes up his cup prosaically, and is drinking his tea when the latch goes up with a sharp click, and an English sergeant walks into the room with two privates, who post themselves at the door. He comes promptly to the table between them.

      THE SERGEANT. Sorry to disturb you, mum! duty! Anthony Anderson: I arrest you in King George’s name as a rebel.

      JUDITH (pointing at Richard). But that is not — (He looks up quickly at her, with a face of iron. She stops her mouth hastily with the hand she has raised to indicate him, and stands staring affrightedly.)

      THE SERGEANT. Come, Parson; put your coat on and come along.

      RICHARD. Yes: I’ll come. (He rises and takes a step towards his own coat; then recollects himself, and, with his back to the sergeant, moves his gaze slowly round the room without turning his head until he sees Anderson’s black coat hanging up on the press. He goes composedly to it; takes it down; and puts it on. The idea of himself as a parson tickles him: he looks down at the black sleeve on his arm, and then smiles slyly at Judith, whose white face shows him that what she is painfully struggling to grasp is not the humor of the situation but its horror. He turns to the sergeant, who is approaching him with a pair of handcuffs hidden behind him, and says lightly) Did you ever arrest a man of my cloth before, Sergeant?

      THE SERGEANT (instinctively respectful, half to the black coat, half to Richard’s good breeding). Well, no sir. At least, only an army chaplain. (Showing the handcuffs.) I’m sorry, air; but duty —

      RICHARD. Just so, Sergeant. Well, I’m not ashamed of them: thank you kindly for the apology. (He holds out his hands.)

      SERGEANT (not availing himself of the offer). One gentleman to another, sir. Wouldn’t you like to say a word to your missis, sir, before you go?

      RICHARD (smiling). Oh, we shall meet again before — eh? (Meaning “before you hang me.”)

      SERGEANT (loudly, with ostentatious cheerfulness). Oh, of course, of course. No call for the lady to distress herself. Still — (in a lower voice, intended for Richard alone) your last chance, sir.

      They look at one another significantly for a moment. Than Richard exhales a deep breath and turns towards Judith.

      RICHARD (very distinctly). My love. (She looks at him, pitiably pale, and tries to answer, but cannot — tries also to come to him, but cannot trust herself to stand without the support of the table.) This gallant gentleman is good enough to allow us a moment of leavetaking. (The sergeant retires delicately and joins his men near the door.) He is trying to spare you the truth; but you had better know it. Are you listening to me? (She signifies assent.) Do you understand that I am going to my death? (She signifies that she understands.) Remember, you must find our friend who was with us just now. Do you understand? (She signifies yes.) See that you get him safely out of harm’s way. Don’t for your life let him know of my danger; but if he finds it out, tell him that he cannot save me: they would hang him; and they would not spare me. And tell him that I am steadfast in my religion as he is in his, and that he may depend on me to the death. (He turns to go, and meets the eye of the sergeant, who looks a little suspicious. He considers a moment, and then, turning roguishly to Judith with something of a smile breaking through his earnestness, says) And now, my dear, I am afraid the sergeant will not believe that you love me like a wife unless you give one kiss before I go.

      He approaches her and holds out his arms. She quits the table and almost falls into them.

      JUDITH (the words choking her). I ought to — it’s murder —

      RICHARD. No: only a kiss (softly to her) for his sake.

      JUDITH. I can’t. You must —

      RICHARD (folding her in his arms with an impulse of compassion for her distress). My poor girl!

      Judith, with a sudden effort, throws her arms round him; kisses him; and swoons away, dropping from his arms to the ground as if the kiss had killed her.

      RICHARD (going quickly to the sergeant). Now, Sergeant: quick, before she comes to. The handcuffs. (He puts out his hands.)

      SERGEANT (pocketing them). Never mind, sir: I’ll trust you. You’re a game one. You ought to a bin a soldier, sir. Between them two, please. (The soldiers place themselves one before Richard and one behind him. The sergeant opens the door.)

      RICHARD (taking a last look round him). Goodbye, wife: goodbye, home. Muffle the drums, and quick march!

      The sergeant signs to the leading soldier to march. They file out quickly.

      When Anderson returns from Mrs. Dudgeon’s he is astonished to find the room apparently empty and almost in darkness except for the glow from the fire; for one of the candles has burnt out, and the other is at its last flicker.

      ANDERSON. Why, what on earth — ? (Calling) Judith, Judith! (He listens: there is no answer.) Hm! (He goes to the cupboard; takes a candle from the drawer; lights it at the flicker of the expiring one on the table; and looks wonderingly at the untasted meal by its light. Then he sticks it in the candlestick; takes off his hat; and scratches his head, much puzzled. This action causes him to look at the floor for the first time; and there he sees Judith lying motionless with her eyes closed. He runs to her and stoops beside her, lifting her head.) Judith.

      JUDITH (waking; for her swoon has passed into the sleep of exhaustion after suffering). Yes. Did you call? What’s the matter?

      ANDERSON. I’ve just come in and found you lying here with the candles burnt out and the tea poured out and cold. What has happened?

      JUDITH (still astray). I don’t know. Have I been asleep? I suppose — (she stops blankly) I don’t know.

      ANDERSON (groaning). Heaven forgive me, I left you alone with that scoundrel. (Judith remembers. With an agonized cry, she clutches his shoulders and drags herself to her feet as he rises with her. He clasps her tenderly in his arms.) My poor pet!

      JUDITH (frantically clinging to him). What shall I do? Oh my God, what shall I do?

      ANDERSON. Never mind, never mind, my dearest dear: it was my fault. Come: you’re safe now; and you’re not hurt, are you? (He takes his arms from her to see whether she can stand.) There: that’s right, that’s right. If only you are not hurt, nothing else matters.

      JUDITH. No, no, no: I’m not hurt.

      ANDERSON. Thank Heaven for that! Come now: (leading her to the railed seat and making her sit down beside him) sit down and rest: you can tell me about it tomorrow. Or, (misunderstanding her distress) you shall not tell me at all if it worries you. There, there! (Cheerfully.) I’ll make you some fresh tea: that will set you up again. (He goes to the table, and empties the teapot into the slop bowl.)

      JUDITH (in a strained tone). Tony.

      ANDERSON. Yes, dear?

      JUDITH. Do you think we are only in a dream now?

      ANDERSON (glancing round at her for a moment with a pang of anxiety, though he goes on steadily and cheerfully putting fresh tea into the pot). Perhaps so, pet. But you may as well dream a cup of tea when you’re about it.

      JUDITH. СКАЧАТЬ