Man and Superman and Three Other Plays

by George Bernard Shaw

  As noon approaches there is excitement in the marketplace. The gallows which hangs there permanently for the terror of evildoers, with such minor advertizers and examples of crime as the pillory, the whipping post, and the stocks, has a new rope attached, with the noose hitched up to one of the uprights, out of reach of the boys. Its ladder, too, has been brought out and placed in position by the town beadle, who stands by to guard it from unauthorized climbing. The Websterbridge townsfolk are present in force, and in high spirits; for the news has spread that it is the devil’s disciple and not the minister that the Continentals [so they call BURGOYNE’s forcesJ are about to hang: consequently the execution can be enjoyed without any misgiving as to its righteousness, or to the cowardice of allowing it to take place without a struggle. There is even some fear of a disappointment as midday approaches and the arrival of the beadle with the ladder remains the only sign of preparation. But at last reassuring shouts of Here they come: Here they are, are heard, and a company of soldiers with fixed bayonets, half British infantry, half HESSIANS, tramp quickly into the middle of the marketplace, driving the crowd to the sides.

  THE SERGEANT Halt. Front. Dress. [The soldiers change their column into a square enclosing the gallows, their petty officers, energetically led by the SERGEANT, hustling the persons who find themselves inside the square out at the corners]. Now then! Out of it with you: out of it. Some o youll get strung up yourselves presently. Form that square there, will you, you damned Hoosians. No use talkin German to them: talk to their toes with the butt ends of your muskets: theyll understand that. Get out of it, will you. [He comes upon JUDITH, standing near the gallows]. Now then: y o u v e no call here.

  JUDITH May I not stay? What harm am I doing?

  SERGEANT I want none of your argufying. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, running to see a man hanged thats not your husband. And he’s no better than yourself. I told my major he was a gentleman; and then he goes and tries to strangle him, and calls his blessed Majesty a lunatic. So out of it with you, double quick.

  JUDITH Will you take these two silver dollars and let me stay?

  The SERGEANT, without an instant’s hesitation, looks quickly and furtively round as he shoots the money dexterously into his pocket. Then he raises his voice in virtuous indignation.

  THE SERGEANT Me take money in the execution of my duty! Certainly not. Now I’ll tell you what I’ll do, to teach you to corrupt the King’s officer. I’ll put you under arrest until the execution’s over. You just stand there; and dont let me see you as much as move from that spot until youre let. [With a swift wink at her he points to the corner of the square behind the gallows on his right, and turns noisily away, shouting] Now then, dress up and keep em back, will you.

  Cries of Hush and Silence are heard among the townsfolk; and the sound of a military band, playing the Dead March from Saul,bz is heard. The crowd becomes quiet at once; and the SERGEANT and petty officers, hurrying to the back of the square, with a few whispered orders and some stealthy hustling cause it to open and admit the funeral procession, which is protected from the crowd by a double file of soldiers. First come BURGOYNE and SWINDON, who, on entering the square, glance with distaste at the gallows, and avoid passing under it by wheeling a little to the right and stationing themselves on that side. Then MR. BRUDENELL, the chaplain, in his surplice, with his prayer book open in his hand, walking beside RICHARD, who is moody and disorderly. He walks doggedly through the gallows framework, and posts himself a little in front of it. Behind him comes the executioner, a stalwart soldier in his shirtsleeves. Following him, two soldiers haul a light military waggon. Finally comes the band, which posts itself at the back of the square, and finishes the Dead March.JUDITH, watching RICHARD painfully, steals down to the gallows, and stands leaning against its right post. During the conversation which follows, the two soldiers place the cart under the gallows, and stand by the shafts, which point backwards. The executioner takes a set of steps from the cart and places it ready for the prisoner to mount. Then he climbs the tall ladder which stands against the gallows, and cuts the string by which the rope is hitched up; so that the noose drops dangling over the cart, into which he steps as he descends.

  RICHARD [with suppressed impatience, to BRUDENELL] Look here, sir: this is no place for a man of your profession. Hadnt you better go away?

  SWINDON I appeal to you, prisoner, if you have any sense of decency left, to listen to the ministrations of the chaplain, and pay due heed to the solemnity of the occasion.

  THE CHAPLAIN [gently reproving RICHARD] Try to control yourself, and submit to the divine will. [He lifts his book to proceed with the service].

  RICHARD Answer for your own will, sir, and those of your accomplices here [indicating BURGOYNE and SWINDON]: I see little divinity about them or you. You talk to me of Christianity when you are in the act of hanging your enemies. Was there ever such blasphemous nonsense! [To SWINDON, more rudely] Youve got up the solemnity of the occasion, as you call it, to impress the people with your own dignity-Handel’s music and a clergyman to make murder look like piety! Do you suppose I am going to help you? Youve asked me to choose the rope because you dont know your own trade well enough to shoot me properly. Well, hang away and have done with it.

  SWINDON [to the CHAPLAIN] Can you do nothing with him, Mr. Brudenell?

  CHAPLAIN I will try, sir. [Beginning to read] Man that is born of woman hath—

  RICHARD [fixing his eyes on him] “Thou shalt not kill.”

  The book drops in BRUDENELL’s hands.

  CHAPLAIN [confessing his embarrassment] What am I to say, Mr. Dudgeon?

  RICHARD Let me alone, man, cant you?

  BURGOYNE [with extreme urbanity] I think, Mr. Brudenell, that as the usual professional observations seem to strike Mr. Dudgeon as incongruous under the circumstances, you had better omit them until—er—until Mr. Dudgeon can no longer be inconvenienced by them. [BRUDENELL, with a shrug, shuts his book and retires behind the gallows]. You seem in a hurry, Mr. Dudgeon.

  RICHARD [with the horror of death upon him] Do you think this is a pleasant sort of thing to be kept waiting for? You’ve made up your mind to commit murder: well, do it and have done with it.

  BURGOYNE Mr. Dudgeon: we are only doing this—

  RICHARD Because youre paid to do it.

  SWINDON You insolent—[he swallows his rage].

  BURGOYNE [with much charm of manner] Ah, I am really sorry that you should think that, Mr. Dudgeon. If you knew what my commission cost me, and what my pay is, you would think better of me. I should be glad to part from you on friendly terms.

  RICHARD Hark ye, General Burgoyne. If you think that I like being hanged, youre mistaken. I dont like it; and I dont mean to pretend that I do. And if you think I’m obliged to you for hanging me in a gentlemanly way, youre wrong there too. I take the whole business in devilish bad part; and the only satisfaction I have in it is that youll feel a good deal meaner than I’ll look when it’s over. [He turns away, and is striding to the cart when JUDITH advances and interposes with her arms stretched out to him. RICHARD, feeling that a very little will upset his self-possession, shrinks from her, crying] What are you doing here? This is no place for you. [She makes a gesture as if to touch him. He recoils impatiently. No: go away, go away; youll unnerve me. Take her away, will you.

  JUDITH Wont you bid me good-bye?

  RICHARD [allowing her to take his hand] Oh good-bye, good-bye. Now go—go—quickly, [She clings to his hand—will not be put Off with so cold a last farewell—at last, as he tries to disengage himself, throws herself on his breast in agony]. SWINDON [angrily to the SERGEANT, who, alarmed at JUDITH’s movement, has come from the back of the square to pull her back, and stopped irresolutely on finding that he is too late] How is this? Why is she inside the lines?

  SERGEANT [guiltily] I dunno, sir. She’s that artful—cant keep her away.

  BURGOYNE You were bribed.

  SERGEANT [protesting] No, sir—

  SW
INDON [severely] Fall back. [He obeys].

  RICHARD [imploringly to those around him, and finally to BURGOYNE, as the least stolid of them] Take her away. Do you think I want a woman near me now?

  BURGOYNE [going to JUDITH and taking her hand] Here, madam: you had better keep inside the lines; but stand here behind us; and dont look.

  RICHARD, with a great sobbing sigh of relief as she releases him and turns to BURGOYNE, flies for refuge to the cart and mounts into it. The executioner takes off his coat and pinions him.

  JUDITH [resisting BURGOYNE quietly and drawing her hand away]

  No: I must stay. I wont look. [She goes to the right of the gallows. She tries to look at RICHARD, but turns away with a frightful shudder, and falls on her knees in prayer. BRUDENELL comes towards her from the back of the square].

  BURGOYNE [nodding approvingly as she kneels] Ah, quite so. Do not disturb her, Mr. Brudenell: that will do very nicely. [BRUDENELL nods also, and withdraws a little, watching her sympathetically. BURGOYNE resumes his former position, and takes out a handsome gold chronometer]. Now then, are those preparations made? We must not detain Mr. Dudgeon.

  By this time RICHARD’s hands are bound behind him; and the noose is round his neck. The two soldiers take the shaft of the waggon, ready to pull it away. The executioner, standing in the cart behind RICHARD, makes a sign to the SERGEANT.

  SERGEANT [to BURGOYNE] Ready, sir.

  BURGOYNE Have you anything more to say, Mr. Dudgeon? It wants two minutes of twelve still.

  RICHARD [in the strong voice of a man who has conquered the bitterness of death] Your watch is two minutes slow by the town clock, which I can see from here, General, [The town clock strikes the first stroke of twelve. Involuntarily the people, flinch at the sound, and a subdued groan breaks from them]. Amen! my life for the world’s future!

  ANDERSON [shouting as he rushes into the marketplace] Amen; and stop the execution. [He bursts through the line of soldiers opposite BURGOYNE, and rushes, panting, to the gallows]. I am Anthony Anderson, the man you want.

  The crowd, intensely excited, listens with all its ears. JUDITH, half rising, stares at him; then lifts her hands like one whose dearest prayer has been granted.

  SWINDON Indeed. Then you are just in time to take your place on the gallows. Arrest him.

  At a sign from the SERGEANT, two soldiers come forward to seize ANDERSON.

  ANDERSON [thrusting a paper under SWINDON’s nose] There’s my safe-conduct, sir.

  SWINDON [taken aback] Safe-conduct! Are you—!

  ANDERSON [emphatically] I am. [The two soldiers take him by the elbows]. Tell these men to take their hands off me.

  SWINDON [to the men] Let him go.

  SERGEANT Fall back.

  The two men return to their places. The townsfolk raise a cheer; and begin to exchange exultant looks, with a presentiment of triumph as they see their Pastor speaking with their enemies in the gate.

  ANDERSON [exhaling a deep breath of relief, and dabbing his perspiring brow with his handkerchief] Thank God, I was in time!

  BURGOYNE [calm as ever, and still watch in hand] Ample time, sir. Plenty of time. I should never dream of hanging any gentleman by an American clock. [He puts up his watch].

  ANDERSON Yes: we are some minutes ahead of you already, General. Now tell them to take the rope from the neck of that American citizen.

  BURGOYNE [to the executioner in the cart—very politely] Kindly undo Mr. Dudgeon.

  The executioner takes the rope from RICHARD’s neck, unties his hands, and helps him on with his coat.

  JUDITH [stealing timidly to ANDERSON] Tony.

  ANDERSON [putting his arm round her shoulders and bantering her affectionately ] Well, what do you think of your husband now, eh?—eh??—eh???

  JUDITH I am ashamed—[she hides her face against his breast.]

  BURGOYNE [to SWINDON] You look disappointed, Major Swindon.

  SWINDON You look defeated, General Burgoyne.

  BURGOYNE I am, sir; and I am humane enough to be glad of it. [RICHARD jumps down from the cart, BRUDENELL offering his hand to help him, and runs to ANDERSON, whose left hand he shakes heartily, the right being occupied by JUDITHJ. By the way, Mr. Anderson, I do not quite understand. The safe-conduct was for a commander of the militia. I understand you are a—[He looks as pointedly as his good manners permit at the riding boots, the pistols, and RICHARD’s coat, and adds]—a clergyman.

  ANDERSON [between JUDITH and RICHARD] Sir: it is in the hour of trial that a man finds his true profession. This foolish young man [placing his hand on RICHARD’s shoulder] boasted himself the Devil’s Disciple; but when the hour of trial came to him, he found that it was his destiny to suffer and be faithful to the death. I thought myself a decent minister of the gospel of peace; but when the hour of trial came to me, I found that it was my destiny to be a man of action and that my place was amid the thunder of the captains and the shouting. So I am starting life at fifty as Captain Anthony Anderson of the Springtown militia; and the Devil’s Disciple here will start presently as the Reverend Richard Dudgeon, and wag his powca in my old pulpit, and give good advice to this silly sentimental little wife of mine [putting his other hand on her shoulder. She steals a glance at RICHARD to see how the prospect pleases him]. Your mother told me, Richard, that I should never have chosen Judith if I’d been born for the ministry. I am afraid she was right; so, by your leave, you may keep my coat and I’ll keep yours.

  RICHARD Minister—I should say Captain. I have behaved like a fool.

  JUDITH Like a hero.

  RICHARD Much the same thing, perhaps. [With some bitterness towards himself] But no: if I had been any good, I should have done for you what you did for me, instead of making a vain sacrifice.

  ANDERSON Not vain, my boy. It takes all sorts to make a world—saints as well as soldiers. [Turning to BURGOYNE] And now, General, time presses; and America is in a hurry. Have you realized that though you may occupy towns and win battles, you cannot conquer a nation?

  BURGOYNE My good sir, without a Conquest you cannot have an aristocracy. Come and settle the matter at my quarters.

  ANDERSON At your service, sir. [To RICHARD] See Judith home for me, will you, my boy. [He hands her over to him]. Now General. [He goes busily up the marketplace towards the Town Hall, leaving JUDITH and RICHARD together. BURGOYNE follows him a step or two; then checks himself and turns to RICHARD].

  BURGOYNE Oh, by the way, Mr. Dudgeon, I shall be glad to see you at lunch at half-past one. [He pauses a moment, and adds, with politely veiled slyness] Bring Mrs. Anderson, if she will be so good. [To SWINDON, who is fuming] Take it quietly, Major Swindon: your friend the British soldier can stand up to anything except the British War Office. (He follows ANDERSON].

  SERGEANT [to SWINDON] What orders, sir?

  SWINDON (savagely] Orders! What use are orders now? There’s no army. Back to quarters; and be d—[He turns on his heel and goes] .

  SERGEANT [pugnacious and patriotic, repudiating the idea of defeat] ‘Tention. Now then: cock up your chins, and shew em you dont care a damn for em. Slope arms! Fours! Wheel! Quick march! The drum marks time with a tremendous bang; the band strikes up British Grenadiers; and the sergeant, BRUDENELL, and the English troops march off defiantly to their quarters. The townsfolk press in behind, and follow them up the market, jeering at them; and the town band, a very primitive affair, brings up the rear, playing Yankee Doodle. ESSIE, who comes in with them, runs to RICHARD.

  ESSIE Oh, Dick!

  RICHARD (good-humoredly, but wilfully] Now, now: come, come! I dont mind being hanged; but I will not be cried over.

  ESSIE No, I promise. I’ll be good. [She tries to restrain her tears, but cannot]. I—I want to see where the soldiers are going to. [She goes a little way up the market, pretending to look after the crowd].

  JUDITH Promise me you will never tell him.

  RICHARD Dont be afraid.

  They shake hands on it.

  ESSIE (calling to
them] Theyre coming back. They want you.

  Jubilation in the market. The townsfolk surge back again in wild enthusiasm with their band, and hoist RICHARD on their shoulders, cheering him.

  SHAW’S NOTES TO THE DEVIL’S DISCIPLE

  BURGOYNE

  General John Burgoyne, who is presented in this play for the first time (as far as I am aware) on the English stage, is not a conventional stage soldier, but as faithful a portrait as it is in the nature of stage portraits to be. His objection to profane swearing is not borrowed from Mr. Gilbert’s H.M.S. Pinafore: it is taken from the Code of Instructions drawn up by himself for his officers when he introduced Light Horse into the English army. His opinion that English soldiers should be treated as thinking beings was no doubt as unwelcome to the military authorities of his time, when nothing was thought of ordering a soldier a thousand lashes, as it will be to those modern victims of the flagellation neurosis who are so anxious to revive that discredited sport. His military reports are very clever as criticisms, and are humane and enlightened within certain aristocratic limits, best illustrated perhaps by his declaration, which now sounds so curious, that he should blush to ask for promotion on any other ground than that of family influence. As a parliamentary candidate, Burgoyne took our common expression “fighting an election” so very literally that he led his supporters to the poll at Preston in 1768 with a loaded pistol in each hand, and won the seat, though he was fined £I, 000, and denounced by Junius, for the pistols.

  It is only within quite recent years that any general recognition has become possible for the feeling that led Burgoyne, a professed enemy of oppression in India and elsewhere, to accept his American command when so many other officers threw up their commissions rather than serve in a civil war against the Colonies. His biographer De Fonblanque, writing in 1876, evidently regarded his position as indefensible. Nowadays, it is sufficient to say that Burgoyne was an Imperialist. He sympathized with the colonists; but when they proposed as a remedy the disruption of the Empire, he regarded that as a step backward in civilization. As he put it to the House of Commons, “while we remember that we are contending against brothers and fellow subjects, we must also remember that we are contending in this crisis for the fate of the British Empire.” Eighty-four years after his defeat, his republican conquerors themselves engaged in a civil war for the integrity of their Union. In 1885 *the Whigs who represented the anti-Burgoyne tradition of American Independence in English politics, abandoned Gladstone and made common cause with their political opponents in defence of the Union between England and Ireland. Only the other day England sent 200,000 men into the field south of the equator to fight out the question whether South Africa should develop as a Federation of British Colonies or as an independent Afrikander United States. In all these cases the Unionists who were detached from their parties were called renegades, as Burgoyne was. That, of course, is only one of the unfortunate consequences of the fact that mankind, being for the most part incapable of politics, accepts vituperation as an easy and congenial substitute. Whether Burgoyne or Washington, Lincoln or Davis, Gladstone or Bright, Mr. Chamberlain or Mr. Leonard Courtney was in the right will never be settled, because it will never be possible to prove that the government of the victor has been better for mankind than the government of the vanquished would have been. It is true that the victors have no doubt on the point; but to the dramatist, that certainty of theirs is only part of the human comedy. The American Unionist is often a Separatist as to Ireland; the English Unionist often sympathizes with the Polish Home Ruler; and both English and American Unionists are apt to be Disruptionists as regards that Imperial Ancient of Days, the Empire of China. Both are Unionists concerning Canada, but with a difference as to the precise application to it of the Monroe doctrine. As for me, the dramatist, I smile, and lead the conversation back to Burgoyne.