JUDITH I’m sure it’s slow this evening. I’m so glad youre back.
ANDERSON [taking her more closely in his arms] Anxious, my dear?
JUDITH A little.
ANDERSON Why, youve been crying.
JUDITH Only a little. Never mind: it’s all over now. [A bugle call is heard in the distance. She starts in terror and retreats to the long seat, listening.] Whats that?
ANDERSON [following her tenderly to the seat and making her sit down with him] Only King George, my dear. He’s returning to barracks, or having his roll called, or getting ready for tea, or booting or saddling or something. Soldiers dont ring the bell or call over the banisters when they want anything: they send a boy out with a bugle to disturb the whole town.
JUDITH Do you think there is really any danger?
ANDERSON Not the least in the world.
JUDITH You say that to comfort me, not because you believe it.
ANDERSON My dear: in this world there is always danger for those who are afraid of it. There’s a danger that the house will catch fire in the night; but we shant sleep any the less soundly for that.
JUDITH Yes, I know what you always say; and youre quite right. Oh, quite right: I know it. But—I suppose I’m not brave: thats all. My heart shrinks every time I think of the soldiers.
ANDERSON Never mind that, dear: bravery is none the worse for costing a little pain.
JUDITH Yes, I suppose so. [Embracing him again] Oh how brave you are, my dear! [With tears in her eyes] Well, I’ll be brave too: you shant be ashamed of your wife.
ANDERSON Thats right. Now you make me happy. Well, well! [He rises and goes cheerily to the fire to dry his shoes]. I called on Richard Dudgeon on my way back; but he wasn’t in.
JUDITH [rising in consternation] You called on that man!
ANDERSON [reassuring her] Oh, nothing happened, dearie. He was out.
JUDITH [almost in tears, as if the visit were a personal humiliation to her] But why did you go there?
ANDERSON [gravely] Well, it is all the talk that Major Swindon is going to do what he did in Springtown—make an example of some notorious rebel, as he calls us. He pounced on Peter Dudgeon as the worst character there; and it is the general belief that he will pounce on Richard as the worst here.
JUDITH But Richard said—
ANDERSON [goodhumoredly cutting her short] Pooh! Richard said! He said what he thought would frighten you and frighten me, my dear. He said what perhaps (God forgive him!) he would like to believe. It’s a terrible thing to think of what death must mean for a man like that. I felt that I must warn him. I left a message for him.
JUDITH [querulously] What message?
ANDERSON Only that I should be glad to see him for a moment on a matter of importance to himself; and that if he would look in here when he was passing he would be welcome.
JUDITH [aghast] You asked that man to come here!
ANDERSON I did.
JUDITH [sinking on the seat and clasping her hands] I hope he wont come! Oh, I pray that he may not come!
ANDERSON Why? Dont you want him to be warned?
JUDITH He must know his danger. Oh, Tony, is it wrong to hate a blasphemer and a villain? I do hate him. I cant get him out of my mind: I know he will bring harm with him. He insulted you: he insulted me: he insulted his mother.
ANDERSON [quaintly] Well, dear, let’s forgive him; and then it wont matter.
JUDITH Oh, I know it’s wrong to hate anybody; but—
ANDERSON [going over to her with humorous tenderness] Come, dear, youre not so wicked as you think. The worst sin towards our fellow creatures is not to hate them, but to be indifferent to them: that’s the essence of inhumanity. After all, my dear, if you watch people carefully, youll be surprised to find how like hate is to love. [She starts, strangely touched—even appalled. He is amused at her]. Yes: I’m quite in earnest. Think of how some of our married friends worry one another, tax one another, are jealous of one another, cant bear to let one another out of sight for a day, are more like jailers and slave-owners than lovers. Think of those very same people with their enemies, scrupulous, lofty, self-respecting, determined to be independent of one another, careful of how they speak of one another—pooh! havent you often thought that if they only knew it, they were better friends to their enemies than to their own husbands and wives? Come: depend on it, my dear, you are really fonder of Richard than you are of me, if you only knew it. Eh?
JUDITH Oh, dont say that: dont say that, Tony, even in jest. You don’t know what a horrible feeling it gives me.
ANDERSON [laughing] Well, well: never mind, pet. He’s a bad man; and you hate him as he deserves. And youre going to make the tea, arnt you?
JUDITH [remorsefully] Oh yes, I forgot. Ive been keeping you waiting all this time. [She goes to the fire and puts on the kettle].
ANDERSON [going to the press and taking his coat off ] Have you stitched up the shoulder of my old coat?
JUDITH Yes, dear. [She goes to the table, and sets about putting the tea into the teapot from the caddy].
ANDERSON [as he changes his coat for the older one hanging on the press, and replaces it by the one he has just taken off ] Did anyone call when I was out?
JUDITH No, only—[Someone knocks at the door. With a start which betrays her intense nervousness, she retreats to the further end of the table with the tea caddy and spoon in her hands, exclaiming] Who’s that?
ANDERSON [going to her and patting her encouragingly on the shoulder] All right, pet, all right. He wont eat you, whoever he is. [She tries to smile, and nearly makes herself cry. He goes to the door and opens it. RICHARD is there, without overcoat or cloak]. You might have raised the latch and come in, Mr. Dudgeon. Nobody stands on much ceremony with us. [Hospitably] Come in. [RICHARD comes in carelessly and stands at the table, looking round the room with a slight pucker of his nose at the mezzotinted divine on the wall. JUDITH keeps her eyes on the tea caddy]. Is it still raining? [He shuts the door] .
RICHARD Raining like the very [his eye catches JUDITH’s as she looks quickly and haughtily up]—I beg your pardon; but [shewing that his coat is wet] you see—!
ANDERSON Take it off, sir; and let it hang before the fire a while: my wife will excuse your shirtsleeves. Judith: put in another spoonful of tea for Mr. Dudgeon.
RICHARD [eyeing him cynically] The magic of property, Pastor! Are even you civil to me now that I have succeeded to my father’s estate?
JUDITH throws down the spoon indignantly.
ANDERSON [quite unruffled, and helping RICHARD off with his coat.] I think, sir, that since you accept my hospitality, you cannot have so bad an opinion of it. Sit down. [With the coat in his hand, he points to the railed seat. RICHARD, in his shirtsleeves, looks at him half quarrelsomely for a moment; then, with a nod, acknowledges that the minister has got the better of him, and sits down on the seat. ANDERSON pushes his cloak into a heap on the seat of the chair at the fire, and hangs RICHARD’s coat on the back in its place].
RICHARD I come, sir, on your own invitation. You left word you had something important to tell me.
ANDERSON I have a warning which it is my duty to give you.
RICHARD [quickly rising] You want to preach to me. Excuse me: I prefer a walk in the rain [he makes for his coat].
ANDERSON [stopping him] Dont be alarmed, sir; I am no great preacher. You are quite safe. [RICHARD smiles in spite of himself. His glance softens: he even makes a gesture of excuse. ANDERSON, seeing that he has tamed him, now addresses him earnestly]. Mr. Dudgeon: you are in danger in this town.
RICHARD What danger?
ANDERSON Your uncle’s danger. Major Swindon’s gallows.
RICHARD It is you who are in danger. I warned you—
ANDERSON [interrupting him goodhumoredly but authoritatively] Yes, yes, Mr. Dudgeon; but they do not think so in the town. And even if I were in danger, I have duties here which I must not forsake. But you are a free man. Why should you run any risk?
RI
CHARD Do you think I should be any great loss, Minister?
ANDERSON I think that a man’s life is worth saving, whoever it belongs to. [RICHARD makes him an ironical bow. ANDERSON returns the bow humorously]. Come: youll have a cup of tea, to prevent you catching cold?
RICHARD I observe that Mrs. Anderson is not quite so pressing as you are, Pastor.
JUDITH [almost stifled with resentment, which she has been expecting her husband to share and express for her at every insult of RICHARD‘s] You are welcome for my husband’s sake. [She brings the teapot to the fireplace and sets it on the hob].
RICHARD I know I am not welcome for my own, madam. [He rises]. But I think I will not break bread here, Minister.
ANDERSON [cheerily] Give me a good reason for that.
RICHARD Because there is something in you that I respect, and that makes me desire to have you for my enemy.
ANDERSON Thats well said. On those terms, sir, I will accept your enmity or any man’s. Judith: Mr. Dudgeon will stay to tea. Sit down: it will take a few minutes to draw by the fire. [RICHARD glances at him with a troubled face; then sits down with his head bent, to hide a convulsive swelling of his throat]. I was just saying to my wife, Mr. Dudgeon, that enmity—[She grasps his hand and looks imploringly at him, doing both with an intensity that checks him at once]. Well, well, I mustnt tell you, I see; but it was nothing that need leave us worse friend—enemies, I mean. Judith is a great enemy of yours.
RICHARD If all my enemies were like Mrs. Anderson, I should be the best Christian in America.
ANDERSON [gratified, patting her hand] You hear that, Judith? Mr. Dudgeon knows how to turn a compliment.
The latch is lifted from without.
JUDITH [starting] Who is that?
CHRISTY comes in.
CHRISTY [stopping and staring at RICHARD] Oh, are you here?
RICHARD Yes. Begone, you fool: Mrs. Anderson doesnt want the whole family to tea at once.
CHRISTY [coming further in] Mother’s very ill.
RICHARD Well, does she want to see me?
CHRISTY No.
RICHARD I thought not.
CHRISTY She wants to see the minister—at once.
JUDITH [to ANDERSON] Oh, not before youve had some tea.
ANDERSON I shall enjoy it more when I come back, dear. [He is about to take up his cloak].
CHRISTY The rain’s over.
ANDERSON [dropping the cloak and picking up his hat from tAg/enJcrj Where is your mother, Christy?
CHRISTY At Uncle Titus’s.
ANDERSON Have you fetched the doctor?
CHRISTY No: she didnt tell me to.
ANDERSON Go on there at once: I’ll overtake you on his doorstep. [CHRISTY turns to go]. Wait a moment. Your brother must be anxious to know the particulars.
RICHARD Psha! not I: he doesnt know; and I dont care. [Violently] Be off, you oaf. [CHRISTY runs out. RICHARD adds, a little shamefacedly] We shall know soon enough.
ANDERSON Well, perhaps you will let me bring you the news myself. Judith: will you give Mr. Dudgeon his tea, and keep him here until I return.
JUDITH [white and trembling] Must I—
ANDERSON [taking her hands and interrupting her to cover her agitation ] My dear: I can depend on you?
JUDITH [with a piteous effort to be worthy of his trust] Yes.
ANDERSON [pressing her hand against his cheek] You will not mind two old people like us, Mr. Dudgeon. [Going] I shall not say good evening: you will be here when I come back. [He goes out].4 They watch him pass the window, and then look at each other dumbly, quite disconcerted. RICHARD, noting the quiver of her lips, is the first to pull himself together.
RICHARD Mrs. Anderson: I am perfectly aware of the nature of your sentiments towards me. I shall not intrude on you. Good evening. [Again he starts for the fireplace to get his coat].
JUDITH [getting between him and the coat] No, no. Dont go: please dont go.
RICHARD [roughly] Why? You dont want me here.
JUDITH Yes, I—[Wringing her hands in despair] Oh, if I tell you the truth, you will use it to torment me.
RICHARD [indignantly] Torment! What right have you to say that? Do you expect me to stay after that?
JUDITH I want you to stay; but [suddenty raging at him like an angry child] it is not because I like you.
RICHARD Indeed!
JUDITH Yes: I had rather you did go than mistake me about that. I hate and dread you; and my husband knows it. If you are not here when he comes back, he will believe that I disobeyed him and drove you away.
RICHARD [ironically] Whereas, of course, you have really been so kind and hospitable and charming to me that I only want to go away out of mere contrariness, eh?
JUDITH, unable to bear it, sinks on the chair and bursts into tears.
RICHARD Stop, stop, stop, I tell you. Dont do that. [Putting his hand to his breast as if to a wound] He wrung my heart by being a man. Need you tear it by being a woman? Has he not raised you above my insults, like himself? [She stops crying, and recovers herself somewhat, looking at him with a scared curiosity]. There: thats right. [Sympathetically] Youre better now, arnt you? [He puts his hand encouragingly on her shoulder. She instantly rises haughtily, and stares at him defiantly. He at once drops into his usual sardonic tone]. Ah, thats better. You are yourself again: so is Richard.5 Well, shall we go to tea like a quiet respectable couple, and wait for your husband’s return?
JUDITH [rather ashamed of herself ] If you please. I—I am sorry to have been so foolish. [She stoops to take up the plate of toast from the fender].
RICHARD I am sorry, for your sake, that I am—what I am. Allow me. [He takes the plate from her and goes with it to the table].
JUDITH [following with the teapot] Will you sit down? [He sits down at the end of the table nearest the press. There is a plate and knife laid there. The other plate is laid near it; but JUDITH stays at the opposite end of the table, next the fire, and takes her place there, drawing the tray towards her]. Do you take sugar.
RICHARD No; but plenty of milk. Let me give you some toast. [He puts some on the second plate, and hands it to her, with the knife. The action shews quietly how well he knows that she has avoided her usual place so as to be as far from him as possible].
JUDITH [consciously] Thanks. [She gives him his tea]. Wont you help yourself?
RICHARD Thanks. [He puts a piece of toast on his own plate; and she pours out tea for herself].
JUDITH [observing that he tastes nothing] Dont you like it? You are not eating anything?
RICHARD Neither are you.
JUDITH [nervously] I never care much for my tea. Please dont mind me.
RICHARD [looking dreamily round] I am thinking. It is all so strange to me. I can see the beauty and peace of this home: I think I have never been more at rest in my life than at this moment; and yet I know quite well I could never live here. It’s not in my nature, I suppose, to be domesticated. But it’s very beautiful: it’s almost holy. [He muses a moment, and then laughs softly].
JUDITH [quickly] Why do you laugh?
RICHARD I was thinking that if any stranger came in here now, he would take us for man and wife.
JUDITH [taking offence] You mean, I suppose, that you are more my age than he is.
RICHARD [staring at this unexpected turn] I never thought of such a thing. [Sardonic again]. I see there is another side to domestic joy.
JUDITH [angrily] I would rather have a husband whom everybody respects than—than—
RICHARD Than the devil’s disciple. You are right; but I daresay your love helps him to be a good man, just as your hate helps me to be a bad one.
JUDITH My husband has been very good to you. He has forgiven you for insulting him, and is trying to save you. Can you not forgive him for being so much better than you are? How dare you belittle him by putting yourself in his place?
RICHARD Did I?
JUDITH Yes, you did. You said that if anybody came in they would take us for man and—[She
stops, terror-stricken, as a squad of soldiers tramps past the window]. The English soldiers! Oh, what do they—
RICHARD [listening] Sh!
A 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 shews 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. [Shewing the handcuffs]. I’m sorry, sir; 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. Wouldnt you like to say a word to your missis, sir, before you go?
Man and Superman and Three Other Plays Page 28
