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diff --git a/3618-0.txt b/3618-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ef05718 --- /dev/null +++ b/3618-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4283 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of Arms and the Man, by George Bernard Shaw + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: Arms and the Man + +Author: George Bernard Shaw + +Release Date: June 17, 2001 [eBook #3618] +[Most recently updated: December 1, 2023] + +Language: English + +Produced by: Jim Tinsley with help from the distributed proofreaders + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ARMS AND THE MAN *** + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +Arms and the Man + +A Pleasant Play + +by George Bernard Shaw + +Contents + + INTRODUCTION + ARMS AND THE MAN + ACT I + ACT II + ACT III + + + + +INTRODUCTION + + +To the irreverent—and which of us will claim entire exemption from that +comfortable classification?—there is something very amusing in the +attitude of the orthodox criticism toward Bernard Shaw. He so obviously +disregards all the canons and unities and other things which every +well-bred dramatist is bound to respect that his work is really +unworthy of serious criticism (orthodox). Indeed he knows no more about +the _dramatic art_ than, according to his own story in “The Man of +Destiny,” Napoleon at Tavazzano knew of the _Art of War_. But both men +were successes each in his way—the latter won victories and the former +gained audiences, in the very teeth of the accepted theories of war and +the theatre. Shaw does not know that it is unpardonable sin to have his +characters make long speeches at one another, apparently thinking that +this embargo applies only to long speeches which consist mainly of +bombast and rhetoric. There never was an author who showed less +predilection for a specific medium by which to accomplish his results. +He recognized, early in his days, many things awry in the world and he +assumed the task of mundane reformation with a confident spirit. It +seems such a small job at twenty to set the times aright. He began as +an Essayist, but who reads essays now-a-days?—he then turned novelist +with no better success, for no one would read such preposterous stuff +as he chose to emit. He only succeeded in proving that absolutely +rational men and women—although he has created few of the latter—can be +most extremely disagreeable to our conventional way of thinking. + +As a last resort, he turned to the stage, not that he cared for the +dramatic art, for no man seems to care less about “Art for Art’s sake,” +being in this a perfect foil to his brilliant compatriot and +contemporary, Wilde. He cast his theories in dramatic forms merely +because no other course except silence or physical revolt was open to +him. For a long time it seemed as if this resource too was doomed to +fail him. But finally he has attained a hearing and now attempts at +suppression merely serve to advertise their victim. + +It will repay those who seek analogies in literature to compare Shaw +with Cervantes. After a life of heroic endeavor, disappointment, +slavery, and poverty, the author of “Don Quixote” gave the world a +serious work which caused to be laughed off the world’s stage forever +the final vestiges of decadent chivalry. + +The institution had long been outgrown, but its vernacular continued to +be the speech and to express the thought “of the world and among the +vulgar,” as the quaint, old novelist puts it, just as to-day the novel +intended for the consumption of the unenlightened must deal with peers +and millionaires and be dressed in stilted language. Marvellously he +succeeded, but in a way he least intended. We have not yet, after so +many years, determined whether it is a work to laugh or cry over. “It +is our joyfullest modern book,” says Carlyle, while Landor thinks that +“readers who see nothing more than a burlesque in ‘Don Quixote’ have +but shallow appreciation of the work.” + +Shaw in like manner comes upon the scene when many of our social usages +are outworn. He sees the fact, announces it, and we burst into guffaws. +The continuous laughter which greets Shaw’s plays arises from a real +contrast in the point of view of the dramatist and his audiences. When +Pinero or Jones describes a whimsical situation we never doubt for a +moment that the author’s point of view is our own and that the abnormal +predicament of his characters appeals to him in the same light as to +his audience. With Shaw this sense of community of feeling is wholly +lacking. He describes things as he sees them, and the house is in a +roar. Who is right? If we were really using our own senses and not +gazing through the glasses of convention and romance and make-believe, +should we see things as Shaw does? + +Must it not cause Shaw to doubt his own or the public’s sanity to hear +audiences laughing boisterously over tragic situations? And yet, if +they did not come to laugh, they would not come at all. Mockery is the +price he must pay for a hearing. Or has he calculated to a nicety the +power of reaction? Does he seek to drive us to aspiration by the +portrayal of sordidness, to disinterestedness by the picture of +selfishness, to illusion by disillusionment? It is impossible to +believe that he is unconscious of the humor of his dramatic situations, +yet he stoically gives no sign. He even dares the charge, terrible in +proportion to its truth, which the most serious of us shrinks from—the +lack of a sense of humor. Men would rather have their integrity +impugned. + +In “Arms and the Man” the subject which occupies the dramatist’s +attention is that survival of barbarity—militarism—which raises its +horrid head from time to time to cast a doubt on the reality of our +civilization. No more hoary superstition survives than that the donning +of a uniform changes the nature of the wearer. This notion pervades +society to such an extent that when we find some soldiers placed upon +the stage acting rationally, our conventionalized senses are shocked. +The only men who have no illusions about war are those who have +recently been there, and, of course, Mr. Shaw, who has no illusions +about anything. + +It is hard to speak too highly of “Candida.” No equally subtle and +incisive study of domestic relations exists in the English drama. One +has to turn to George Meredith’s “The Egoist” to find such character +dissection. The central note of the play is, that with the true woman, +weakness which appeals to the maternal instinct is more powerful than +strength which offers protection. _Candida_ is quite unpoetic, as, +indeed, with rare exceptions, women are prone to be. They have small +delight in poetry, but are the stuff of which poems and dreams are +made. The husband glorying in his strength but convicted of his +weakness, the poet pitiful in his physical impotence but strong in his +perception of truth, the hopelessly de-moralized manufacturer, the +conventional and hence emotional typist make up a group which the drama +of any language may be challenged to rival. + +In “The Man of Destiny” the object of the dramatist is not so much the +destruction as the explanation of the Napoleonic tradition, which has +so powerfully influenced generation after generation for a century. +However the man may be regarded, he was a miracle. Shaw shows that he +achieved his extraordinary career by suspending, for himself, the +pressure of the moral and conventional atmosphere, while leaving it +operative for others. Those who study this play—extravaganza, that it +is—will attain a clearer comprehension of Napoleon than they can get +from all the biographies. + +“You Never Can Tell” offers an amusing study of the play of social +conventions. The “twins” illustrate the disconcerting effects of that +perfect frankness which would make life intolerable. _Gloria_ +demonstrates the powerlessness of reason to overcome natural instincts. +The idea that parental duties and functions can be fulfilled by the +light of such knowledge as man and woman attain by intuition is +brilliantly lampooned. _Crampton_, the father, typifies the common +superstition that among the privileges of parenthood are inflexibility, +tyranny, and respect, the last entirely regardless of whether it has +been deserved. + +The waiter, _William_, is the best illustration of the man “who knows +his place” that the stage has seen. He is the most pathetic figure of +the play. One touch of verisimilitude is lacking; none of the guests +gives him a tip, yet he maintains his urbanity. As Mr. Shaw has not yet +visited America he may be unaware of the improbability of this +situation. + +To those who regard literary men merely as purveyors of amusement for +people who have not wit enough to entertain themselves, Ibsen and Shaw, +Maeterlinck and Gorky must remain enigmas. It is so much pleasanter to +ignore than to face unpleasant realities—to take Riverside Drive and +not Mulberry Street as the exponent of our life and the expression of +our civilization. These men are the sappers and miners of the advancing +army of justice. The audience which demands the truth and despises the +contemptible conventions that dominate alike our stage and our life is +daily growing. Shaw and men like him—if indeed he is not absolutely +unique—will not for the future lack a hearing. + +M. + + + + +ARMS AND THE MAN + + + + +ACT I + + +Night. A lady’s bedchamber in Bulgaria, in a small town near the +Dragoman Pass. It is late in November in the year 1885, and through an +open window with a little balcony on the left can be seen a peak of the +Balkans, wonderfully white and beautiful in the starlit snow. The +interior of the room is not like anything to be seen in the east of +Europe. It is half rich Bulgarian, half cheap Viennese. The counterpane +and hangings of the bed, the window curtains, the little carpet, and +all the ornamental textile fabrics in the room are oriental and +gorgeous: the paper on the walls is occidental and paltry. Above the +head of the bed, which stands against a little wall cutting off the +right hand corner of the room diagonally, is a painted wooden shrine, +blue and gold, with an ivory image of Christ, and a light hanging +before it in a pierced metal ball suspended by three chains. On the +left, further forward, is an ottoman. The washstand, against the wall +on the left, consists of an enamelled iron basin with a pail beneath it +in a painted metal frame, and a single towel on the rail at the side. A +chair near it is Austrian bent wood, with cane seat. The dressing +table, between the bed and the window, is an ordinary pine table, +covered with a cloth of many colors, but with an expensive toilet +mirror on it. The door is on the right; and there is a chest of drawers +between the door and the bed. This chest of drawers is also covered by +a variegated native cloth, and on it there is a pile of paper backed +novels, a box of chocolate creams, and a miniature easel, on which is a +large photograph of an extremely handsome officer, whose lofty bearing +and magnetic glance can be felt even from the portrait. The room is +lighted by a candle on the chest of drawers, and another on the +dressing table, with a box of matches beside it. + +The window is hinged doorwise and stands wide open, folding back to the +left. Outside a pair of wooden shutters, opening outwards, also stand +open. On the balcony, a young lady, intensely conscious of the romantic +beauty of the night, and of the fact that her own youth and beauty is a +part of it, is on the balcony, gazing at the snowy Balkans. She is +covered by a long mantle of furs, worth, on a moderate estimate, about +three times the furniture of her room. + +Her reverie is interrupted by her mother, Catherine Petkoff, a woman +over forty, imperiously energetic, with magnificent black hair and +eyes, who might be a very splendid specimen of the wife of a mountain +farmer, but is determined to be a Viennese lady, and to that end wears +a fashionable tea gown on all occasions. + +CATHERINE. +(_entering hastily, full of good news_). Raina—(_she pronounces it +Rah-eena, with the stress on the ee_) Raina—(_she goes to the bed, +expecting to find Raina there._) Why, where—(_Raina looks into the +room._) Heavens! child, are you out in the night air instead of in your +bed? You’ll catch your death. Louka told me you were asleep. + +RAINA. +(_coming in_). I sent her away. I wanted to be alone. The stars are so +beautiful! What is the matter? + +CATHERINE. +Such news. There has been a battle! + +RAINA. +(_her eyes dilating_). Ah! (_She throws the cloak on the ottoman, and +comes eagerly to Catherine in her nightgown, a pretty garment, but +evidently the only one she has on._) + +CATHERINE. +A great battle at Slivnitza! A victory! And it was won by Sergius. + +RAINA. +(_with a cry of delight_). Ah! (_Rapturously._) Oh, mother! (_Then, +with sudden anxiety_) Is father safe? + +CATHERINE. +Of course: he sent me the news. Sergius is the hero of the hour, the +idol of the regiment. + +RAINA. +Tell me, tell me. How was it! (_Ecstatically_) Oh, mother, mother, +mother! (_Raina pulls her mother down on the ottoman; and they kiss one +another frantically._) + +CATHERINE. +(_with surging enthusiasm_). You can’t guess how splendid it is. A +cavalry charge—think of that! He defied our Russian commanders—acted +without orders—led a charge on his own responsibility—headed it +himself—was the first man to sweep through their guns. Can’t you see +it, Raina; our gallant splendid Bulgarians with their swords and eyes +flashing, thundering down like an avalanche and scattering the wretched +Servian dandies like chaff. And you—you kept Sergius waiting a year +before you would be betrothed to him. Oh, if you have a drop of +Bulgarian blood in your veins, you will worship him when he comes back. + +RAINA. +What will he care for my poor little worship after the acclamations of +a whole army of heroes? But no matter: I am so happy—so proud! (_She +rises and walks about excitedly._) It proves that all our ideas were +real after all. + +CATHERINE. +(_indignantly_). Our ideas real! What do you mean? + +RAINA. +Our ideas of what Sergius would do—our patriotism—our heroic ideals. +Oh, what faithless little creatures girls are!—I sometimes used to +doubt whether they were anything but dreams. When I buckled on +Sergius’s sword he looked so noble: it was treason to think of +disillusion or humiliation or failure. And yet—and yet—(_Quickly._) +Promise me you’ll never tell him. + +CATHERINE. +Don’t ask me for promises until I know what I am promising. + +RAINA. +Well, it came into my head just as he was holding me in his arms and +looking into my eyes, that perhaps we only had our heroic ideas because +we are so fond of reading Byron and Pushkin, and because we were so +delighted with the opera that season at Bucharest. Real life is so +seldom like that—indeed never, as far as I knew it then. +(_Remorsefully._) Only think, mother, I doubted him: I wondered whether +all his heroic qualities and his soldiership might not prove mere +imagination when he went into a real battle. I had an uneasy fear that +he might cut a poor figure there beside all those clever Russian +officers. + +CATHERINE. +A poor figure! Shame on you! The Servians have Austrian officers who +are just as clever as our Russians; but we have beaten them in every +battle for all that. + +RAINA. +(_laughing and sitting down again_). Yes, I was only a prosaic little +coward. Oh, to think that it was all true—that Sergius is just as +splendid and noble as he looks—that the world is really a glorious +world for women who can see its glory and men who can act its romance! +What happiness! what unspeakable fulfilment! Ah! (_She throws herself +on her knees beside her mother and flings her arms passionately round +her. They are interrupted by the entry of Louka, a handsome, proud girl +in a pretty Bulgarian peasant’s dress with double apron, so defiant +that her servility to Raina is almost insolent. She is afraid of +Catherine, but even with her goes as far as she dares. She is just now +excited like the others; but she has no sympathy for Raina’s raptures +and looks contemptuously at the ecstasies of the two before she +addresses them._) + +LOUKA. +If you please, madam, all the windows are to be closed and the shutters +made fast. They say there may be shooting in the streets. (_Raina and +Catherine rise together, alarmed._) The Servians are being chased right +back through the pass; and they say they may run into the town. Our +cavalry will be after them; and our people will be ready for them you +may be sure, now that they are running away. (_She goes out on the +balcony and pulls the outside shutters to; then steps back into the +room._) + +RAINA. +I wish our people were not so cruel. What glory is there in killing +wretched fugitives? + +CATHERINE. +(_business-like, her housekeeping instincts aroused_). I must see that +everything is made safe downstairs. + +RAINA. +(_to Louka_). Leave the shutters so that I can just close them if I +hear any noise. + +CATHERINE. +(_authoritatively, turning on her way to the door_). Oh, no, dear, you +must keep them fastened. You would be sure to drop off to sleep and +leave them open. Make them fast, Louka. + +LOUKA. +Yes, madam. (_She fastens them._) + +RAINA. +Don’t be anxious about me. The moment I hear a shot, I shall blow out +the candles and roll myself up in bed with my ears well covered. + +CATHERINE. +Quite the wisest thing you can do, my love. Good-night. + +RAINA. +Good-night. (_They kiss one another, and Raina’s emotion comes back for +a moment._) Wish me joy of the happiest night of my life—if only there +are no fugitives. + +CATHERINE. +Go to bed, dear; and don’t think of them. (_She goes out._) + +LOUKA. +(_secretly, to Raina_). If you would like the shutters open, just give +them a push like this. (_She pushes them: they open: she pulls them to +again._) One of them ought to be bolted at the bottom; but the bolt’s +gone. + +RAINA. +(_with dignity, reproving her_). Thanks, Louka; but we must do what we +are told. (_Louka makes a grimace._) Good-night. + +LOUKA. +(_carelessly_). Good-night. (_She goes out, swaggering._) + +(_Raina, left alone, goes to the chest of drawers, and adores the +portrait there with feelings that are beyond all expression. She does +not kiss it or press it to her breast, or shew it any mark of bodily +affection; but she takes it in her hands and elevates it like a +priestess._) + +RAINA. +(_looking up at the picture with worship._) Oh, I shall never be +unworthy of you any more, my hero—never, never, never. + +(_She replaces it reverently, and selects a novel from the little pile +of books. She turns over the leaves dreamily; finds her page; turns the +book inside out at it; and then, with a happy sigh, gets into bed and +prepares to read herself to sleep. But before abandoning herself to +fiction, she raises her eyes once more, thinking of the blessed reality +and murmurs_) + +My hero! my hero! + +(_A distant shot breaks the quiet of the night outside. She starts, +listening; and two more shots, much nearer, follow, startling her so +that she scrambles out of bed, and hastily blows out the candle on the +chest of drawers. Then, putting her fingers in her ears, she runs to +the dressing-table and blows out the light there, and hurries back to +bed. The room is now in darkness: nothing is visible but the glimmer of +the light in the pierced ball before the image, and the starlight seen +through the slits at the top of the shutters. The firing breaks out +again: there is a startling fusillade quite close at hand. Whilst it is +still echoing, the shutters disappear, pulled open from without, and +for an instant the rectangle of snowy starlight flashes out with the +figure of a man in black upon it. The shutters close immediately and +the room is dark again. But the silence is now broken by the sound of +panting. Then there is a scrape; and the flame of a match is seen in +the middle of the room._) + +RAINA. +(_crouching on the bed_). Who’s there? (_The match is out instantly._) +Who’s there? Who is that? + +A MAN’S VOICE. +(_in the darkness, subduedly, but threateningly_). Sh—sh! Don’t call +out or you’ll be shot. Be good; and no harm will happen to you. (_She +is heard leaving her bed, and making for the door._) Take care, there’s +no use in trying to run away. Remember, if you raise your voice my +pistol will go off. (_Commandingly._) Strike a light and let me see +you. Do you hear? (_Another moment of silence and darkness. Then she is +heard retreating to the dressing-table. She lights a candle, and the +mystery is at an end. A man of about 35, in a deplorable plight, +bespattered with mud and blood and snow, his belt and the strap of his +revolver case keeping together the torn ruins of the blue coat of a +Servian artillery officer. As far as the candlelight and his unwashed, +unkempt condition make it possible to judge, he is a man of middling +stature and undistinguished appearance, with strong neck and shoulders, +a roundish, obstinate looking head covered with short crisp bronze +curls, clear quick blue eyes and good brows and mouth, a hopelessly +prosaic nose like that of a strong-minded baby, trim soldierlike +carriage and energetic manner, and with all his wits about him in spite +of his desperate predicament—even with a sense of humor of it, without, +however, the least intention of trifling with it or throwing away a +chance. He reckons up what he can guess about Raina—her age, her social +position, her character, the extent to which she is frightened—at a +glance, and continues, more politely but still most determinedly_) +Excuse my disturbing you; but you recognise my uniform—Servian. If I’m +caught I shall be killed. (_Determinedly._) Do you understand that? + +RAINA. +Yes. + +MAN. +Well, I don’t intend to get killed if I can help it. (_Still more +determinedly._) Do you understand that? (_He locks the door with a +snap._) + +RAINA. +(_disdainfully_). I suppose not. (_She draws herself up superbly, and +looks him straight in the face, saying with emphasis_) Some soldiers, I +know, are afraid of death. + +MAN. +(_with grim goodhumor_). All of them, dear lady, all of them, believe +me. It is our duty to live as long as we can, and kill as many of the +enemy as we can. Now if you raise an alarm— + +RAINA. +(_cutting him short_). You will shoot me. How do you know that I am +afraid to die? + +MAN. +(_cunningly_). Ah; but suppose I don’t shoot you, what will happen +then? Why, a lot of your cavalry—the greatest blackguards in your +army—will burst into this pretty room of yours and slaughter me here +like a pig; for I’ll fight like a demon: they shan’t get me into the +street to amuse themselves with: I know what they are. Are you prepared +to receive that sort of company in your present undress? (_Raina, +suddenly conscious of her nightgown, instinctively shrinks and gathers +it more closely about her. He watches her, and adds, pitilessly_) It’s +rather scanty, eh? (_She turns to the ottoman. He raises his pistol +instantly, and cries_) Stop! (_She stops._) Where are you going? + +RAINA. +(_with dignified patience_). Only to get my cloak. + +MAN. +(_darting to the ottoman and snatching the cloak_). A good idea. No: +I’ll keep the cloak: and you will take care that nobody comes in and +sees you without it. This is a better weapon than the pistol. (_He +throws the pistol down on the ottoman._) + +RAINA. +(_revolted_). It is not the weapon of a gentleman! + +MAN. +It’s good enough for a man with only you to stand between him and +death. (_As they look at one another for a moment, Raina hardly able to +believe that even a Servian officer can be so cynically and selfishly +unchivalrous, they are startled by a sharp fusillade in the street. The +chill of imminent death hushes the man’s voice as he adds_) Do you +hear? If you are going to bring those scoundrels in on me you shall +receive them as you are. (_Raina meets his eye with unflinching scorn. +Suddenly he starts, listening. There is a step outside. Someone tries +the door, and then knocks hurriedly and urgently at it. Raina looks at +the man, breathless. He throws up his head with the gesture of a man +who sees that it is all over with him, and, dropping the manner which +he has been assuming to intimidate her, flings the cloak to her, +exclaiming, sincerely and kindly_) No use: I’m done for. Quick! wrap +yourself up: they’re coming! + +RAINA. +(_catching the cloak eagerly_). Oh, thank you. (_She wraps herself up +with great relief. He draws his sabre and turns to the door, waiting._) + +LOUKA. +(_outside, knocking_). My lady, my lady! Get up, quick, and open the +door. + +RAINA. +(_anxiously_). What will you do? + +MAN. +(_grimly_). Never mind. Keep out of the way. It will not last long. + +RAINA. +(_impulsively_). I’ll help you. Hide yourself, oh, hide yourself, +quick, behind the curtain. (_She seizes him by a torn strip of his +sleeve, and pulls him towards the window._) + +MAN. +(_yielding to her_). There is just half a chance, if you keep your +head. Remember: nine soldiers out of ten are born fools. (_He hides +behind the curtain, looking out for a moment to say, finally_) If they +find me, I promise you a fight—a devil of a fight! (_He disappears. +Raina takes off the cloak and throws it across the foot of the bed. +Then with a sleepy, disturbed air, she opens the door. Louka enters +excitedly._) + +LOUKA. +A man has been seen climbing up the water-pipe to your balcony—a +Servian. The soldiers want to search for him; and they are so wild and +drunk and furious. My lady says you are to dress at once. + +RAINA. +(_as if annoyed at being disturbed_). They shall not search here. Why +have they been let in? + +CATHERINE. +(_coming in hastily_). Raina, darling, are you safe? Have you seen +anyone or heard anything? + +RAINA. +I heard the shooting. Surely the soldiers will not dare come in here? + +CATHERINE. +I have found a Russian officer, thank Heaven: he knows Sergius. +(_Speaking through the door to someone outside._) Sir, will you come in +now! My daughter is ready. + +(_A young Russian officer, in Bulgarian uniform, enters, sword in +hand._) + +THE OFFICER. +(_with soft, feline politeness and stiff military carriage_). Good +evening, gracious lady; I am sorry to intrude, but there is a fugitive +hiding on the balcony. Will you and the gracious lady your mother +please to withdraw whilst we search? + +RAINA. +(_petulantly_). Nonsense, sir, you can see that there is no one on the +balcony. (_She throws the shutters wide open and stands with her back +to the curtain where the man is hidden, pointing to the moonlit +balcony. A couple of shots are fired right under the window, and a +bullet shatters the glass opposite Raina, who winks and gasps, but +stands her ground, whilst Catherine screams, and the officer rushes to +the balcony._) + +THE OFFICER. +(_on the balcony, shouting savagely down to the street_). Cease firing +there, you fools: do you hear? Cease firing, damn you. (_He glares down +for a moment; then turns to Raina, trying to resume his polite +manner._) Could anyone have got in without your knowledge? Were you +asleep? + +RAINA. +No, I have not been to bed. + +THE OFFICER. +(_impatiently, coming back into the room_). Your neighbours have their +heads so full of runaway Servians that they see them everywhere. +(_Politely._) Gracious lady, a thousand pardons. Good-night. (_Military +bow, which Raina returns coldly. Another to Catherine, who follows him +out. Raina closes the shutters. She turns and sees Louka, who has been +watching the scene curiously._) + +RAINA. +Don’t leave my mother, Louka, whilst the soldiers are here. (_Louka +glances at Raina, at the ottoman, at the curtain; then purses her lips +secretively, laughs to herself, and goes out. Raina follows her to the +door, shuts it behind her with a slam, and locks it violently. The man +immediately steps out from behind the curtain, sheathing his sabre, and +dismissing the danger from his mind in a businesslike way._) + +MAN. +A narrow shave; but a miss is as good as a mile. Dear young lady, your +servant until death. I wish for your sake I had joined the Bulgarian +army instead of the Servian. I am not a native Servian. + +RAINA. +(_haughtily_). No, you are one of the Austrians who set the Servians on +to rob us of our national liberty, and who officer their army for them. +We hate them! + +MAN. +Austrian! not I. Don’t hate me, dear young lady. I am only a Swiss, +fighting merely as a professional soldier. I joined Servia because it +was nearest to me. Be generous: you’ve beaten us hollow. + +RAINA. +Have I not been generous? + +MAN. +Noble!—heroic! But I’m not saved yet. This particular rush will soon +pass through; but the pursuit will go on all night by fits and starts. +I must take my chance to get off during a quiet interval. You don’t +mind my waiting just a minute or two, do you? + +RAINA. +Oh, no: I am sorry you will have to go into danger again. (_Motioning +towards ottoman._) Won’t you sit—(_She breaks off with an irrepressible +cry of alarm as she catches sight of the pistol. The man, all nerves, +shies like a frightened horse._) + +MAN. +(_irritably_). Don’t frighten me like that. What is it? + +RAINA. +Your pistol! It was staring that officer in the face all the time. What +an escape! + +MAN. +(_vexed at being unnecessarily terrified_). Oh, is that all? + +RAINA. +(_staring at him rather superciliously, conceiving a poorer and poorer +opinion of him, and feeling proportionately more and more at her ease +with him_). I am sorry I frightened you. (_She takes up the pistol and +hands it to him._) Pray take it to protect yourself against me. + +MAN. +(_grinning wearily at the sarcasm as he takes the pistol_). No use, +dear young lady: there’s nothing in it. It’s not loaded. (_He makes a +grimace at it, and drops it disparagingly into his revolver case._) + +RAINA. +Load it by all means. + +MAN. +I’ve no ammunition. What use are cartridges in battle? I always carry +chocolate instead; and I finished the last cake of that yesterday. + +RAINA. +(_outraged in her most cherished ideals of manhood_). Chocolate! Do you +stuff your pockets with sweets—like a schoolboy—even in the field? + +MAN. +Yes. Isn’t it contemptible? + +(_Raina stares at him, unable to utter her feelings. Then she sails +away scornfully to the chest of drawers, and returns with the box of +confectionery in her hand._) + +RAINA. +Allow me. I am sorry I have eaten them all except these. (_She offers +him the box._) + +MAN. +(_ravenously_). You’re an angel! (_He gobbles the comfits._) Creams! +Delicious! (_He looks anxiously to see whether there are any more. +There are none. He accepts the inevitable with pathetic goodhumor, and +says, with grateful emotion_) Bless you, dear lady. You can always tell +an old soldier by the inside of his holsters and cartridge boxes. The +young ones carry pistols and cartridges; the old ones, grub. Thank you. +(_He hands back the box. She snatches it contemptuously from him and +throws it away. This impatient action is so sudden that he shies +again._) Ugh! Don’t do things so suddenly, gracious lady. Don’t revenge +yourself because I frightened you just now. + +RAINA. +(_superbly_). Frighten me! Do you know, sir, that though I am only a +woman, I think I am at heart as brave as you. + +MAN. +I should think so. You haven’t been under fire for three days as I +have. I can stand two days without shewing it much; but no man can +stand three days: I’m as nervous as a mouse. (_He sits down on the +ottoman, and takes his head in his hands._) Would you like to see me +cry? + +RAINA. +(_quickly_). No. + +MAN. +If you would, all you have to do is to scold me just as if I were a +little boy and you my nurse. If I were in camp now they’d play all +sorts of tricks on me. + +RAINA. +(_a little moved_). I’m sorry. I won’t scold you. (_Touched by the +sympathy in her tone, he raises his head and looks gratefully at her: +she immediately draws back and says stiffly_) You must excuse me: our +soldiers are not like that. (_She moves away from the ottoman._) + +MAN. +Oh, yes, they are. There are only two sorts of soldiers: old ones and +young ones. I’ve served fourteen years: half of your fellows never +smelt powder before. Why, how is it that you’ve just beaten us? Sheer +ignorance of the art of war, nothing else. (_Indignantly._) I never saw +anything so unprofessional. + +RAINA. +(_ironically_). Oh, was it unprofessional to beat you? + +MAN. +Well, come, is it professional to throw a regiment of cavalry on a +battery of machine guns, with the dead certainty that if the guns go +off not a horse or man will ever get within fifty yards of the fire? I +couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw it. + +RAINA. +(_eagerly turning to him, as all her enthusiasm and her dream of glory +rush back on her_). Did you see the great cavalry charge? Oh, tell me +about it. Describe it to me. + +MAN. +You never saw a cavalry charge, did you? + +RAINA. +How could I? + +MAN. +Ah, perhaps not—of course. Well, it’s a funny sight. It’s like slinging +a handful of peas against a window pane: first one comes; then two or +three close behind him; and then all the rest in a lump. + +RAINA. +(_her eyes dilating as she raises her clasped hands ecstatically_). +Yes, first One!—the bravest of the brave! + +MAN. +(_prosaically_). Hm! you should see the poor devil pulling at his +horse. + +RAINA. +Why should he pull at his horse? + +MAN. +(_impatient of so stupid a question_). It’s running away with him, of +course: do you suppose the fellow wants to get there before the others +and be killed? Then they all come. You can tell the young ones by their +wildness and their slashing. The old ones come bunched up under the +number one guard: they know that they are mere projectiles, and that +it’s no use trying to fight. The wounds are mostly broken knees, from +the horses cannoning together. + +RAINA. +Ugh! But I don’t believe the first man is a coward. I believe he is a +hero! + +MAN. +(_goodhumoredly_). That’s what you’d have said if you’d seen the first +man in the charge to-day. + +RAINA. +(_breathless_). Ah, I knew it! Tell me—tell me about him. + +MAN. +He did it like an operatic tenor—a regular handsome fellow, with +flashing eyes and lovely moustache, shouting a war-cry and charging +like Don Quixote at the windmills. We nearly burst with laughter at +him; but when the sergeant ran up as white as a sheet, and told us +they’d sent us the wrong cartridges, and that we couldn’t fire a shot +for the next ten minutes, we laughed at the other side of our mouths. I +never felt so sick in my life, though I’ve been in one or two very +tight places. And I hadn’t even a revolver cartridge—nothing but +chocolate. We’d no bayonets—nothing. Of course, they just cut us to +bits. And there was Don Quixote flourishing like a drum major, thinking +he’d done the cleverest thing ever known, whereas he ought to be +courtmartialled for it. Of all the fools ever let loose on a field of +battle, that man must be the very maddest. He and his regiment simply +committed suicide—only the pistol missed fire, that’s all. + +RAINA. +(_deeply wounded, but steadfastly loyal to her ideals_). Indeed! Would +you know him again if you saw him? + +MAN. +Shall I ever forget him. (_She again goes to the chest of drawers. He +watches her with a vague hope that she may have something else for him +to eat. She takes the portrait from its stand and brings it to him._) + +RAINA. +That is a photograph of the gentleman—the patriot and hero—to whom I am +betrothed. + +MAN. +(_looking at it_). I’m really very sorry. (_Looking at her._) Was it +fair to lead me on? (_He looks at the portrait again._) Yes: that’s +him: not a doubt of it. (_He stifles a laugh._) + +RAINA. +(_quickly_). Why do you laugh? + +MAN. +(_shamefacedly, but still greatly tickled_). I didn’t laugh, I assure +you. At least I didn’t mean to. But when I think of him charging the +windmills and thinking he was doing the finest thing—(_chokes with +suppressed laughter_). + +RAINA. +(_sternly_). Give me back the portrait, sir. + +MAN. +(_with sincere remorse_). Of course. Certainly. I’m really very sorry. +(_She deliberately kisses it, and looks him straight in the face, +before returning to the chest of drawers to replace it. He follows her, +apologizing._) Perhaps I’m quite wrong, you know: no doubt I am. Most +likely he had got wind of the cartridge business somehow, and knew it +was a safe job. + +RAINA. +That is to say, he was a pretender and a coward! You did not dare say +that before. + +MAN. +(_with a comic gesture of despair_). It’s no use, dear lady: I can’t +make you see it from the professional point of view. (_As he turns away +to get back to the ottoman, the firing begins again in the distance._) + +RAINA. +(_sternly, as she sees him listening to the shots_). So much the better +for you. + +MAN. +(_turning_). How? + +RAINA. +You are my enemy; and you are at my mercy. What would I do if I were a +professional soldier? + +MAN. +Ah, true, dear young lady: you’re always right. I know how good you +have been to me: to my last hour I shall remember those three chocolate +creams. It was unsoldierly; but it was angelic. + +RAINA. +(_coldly_). Thank you. And now I will do a soldierly thing. You cannot +stay here after what you have just said about my future husband; but I +will go out on the balcony and see whether it is safe for you to climb +down into the street. (_She turns to the window._) + +MAN. +(_changing countenance_). Down that waterpipe! Stop! Wait! I can’t! I +daren’t! The very thought of it makes me giddy. I came up it fast +enough with death behind me. But to face it now in cold blood!—(_He +sinks on the ottoman._) It’s no use: I give up: I’m beaten. Give the +alarm. (_He drops his head in his hands in the deepest dejection._) + +RAINA. +(_disarmed by pity_). Come, don’t be disheartened. (_She stoops over +him almost maternally: he shakes his head._) Oh, you are a very poor +soldier—a chocolate cream soldier. Come, cheer up: it takes less +courage to climb down than to face capture—remember that. + +MAN. +(_dreamily, lulled by her voice_). No, capture only means death; and +death is sleep—oh, sleep, sleep, sleep, undisturbed sleep! Climbing +down the pipe means doing something—exerting myself—thinking! Death ten +times over first. + +RAINA. +(_softly and wonderingly, catching the rhythm of his weariness_). Are +you so sleepy as that? + +MAN. +I’ve not had two hours’ undisturbed sleep since the war began. I’m on +the staff: you don’t know what that means. I haven’t closed my eyes for +thirty-six hours. + +RAINA. +(_desperately_). But what am I to do with you. + +MAN. +(_staggering up_). Of course I must do something. (_He shakes himself; +pulls himself together; and speaks with rallied vigour and courage._) +You see, sleep or no sleep, hunger or no hunger, tired or not tired, +you can always do a thing when you know it must be done. Well, that +pipe must be got down—(_He hits himself on the chest, and adds_)—Do you +hear that, you chocolate cream soldier? (_He turns to the window._) + +RAINA. +(_anxiously_). But if you fall? + +MAN. +I shall sleep as if the stones were a feather bed. Good-bye. (_He makes +boldly for the window, and his hand is on the shutter when there is a +terrible burst of firing in the street beneath._) + +RAINA. +(_rushing to him_). Stop! (_She catches him by the shoulder, and turns +him quite round._) They’ll kill you. + +MAN. +(_coolly, but attentively_). Never mind: this sort of thing is all in +my day’s work. I’m bound to take my chance. (_Decisively._) Now do what +I tell you. Put out the candles, so that they shan’t see the light when +I open the shutters. And keep away from the window, whatever you do. If +they see me, they’re sure to have a shot at me. + +RAINA. +(_clinging to him_). They’re sure to see you: it’s bright moonlight. +I’ll save you—oh, how can you be so indifferent? You want me to save +you, don’t you? + +MAN. +I really don’t want to be troublesome. (_She shakes him in her +impatience._) I am not indifferent, dear young lady, I assure you. But +how is it to be done? + +RAINA. +Come away from the window—please. (_She coaxes him back to the middle +of the room. He submits humbly. She releases him, and addresses him +patronizingly._) Now listen. You must trust to our hospitality. You do +not yet know in whose house you are. I am a Petkoff. + +MAN. +What’s that? + +RAINA. +(_rather indignantly_). I mean that I belong to the family of the +Petkoffs, the richest and best known in our country. + +MAN. +Oh, yes, of course. I beg your pardon. The Petkoffs, to be sure. How +stupid of me! + +RAINA. +You know you never heard of them until this minute. How can you stoop +to pretend? + +MAN. +Forgive me: I’m too tired to think; and the change of subject was too +much for me. Don’t scold me. + +RAINA. +I forgot. It might make you cry. (_He nods, quite seriously. She pouts +and then resumes her patronizing tone._) I must tell you that my father +holds the highest command of any Bulgarian in our army. He is +(_proudly_) a Major. + +MAN. +(_pretending to be deeply impressed_). A Major! Bless me! Think of +that! + +RAINA. +You shewed great ignorance in thinking that it was necessary to climb +up to the balcony, because ours is the only private house that has two +rows of windows. There is a flight of stairs inside to get up and down +by. + +MAN. +Stairs! How grand! You live in great luxury indeed, dear young lady. + +RAINA. +Do you know what a library is? + +MAN. +A library? A roomful of books. + +RAINA. +Yes, we have one, the only one in Bulgaria. + +MAN. +Actually a real library! I should like to see that. + +RAINA. +(_affectedly_). I tell you these things to shew you that you are not in +the house of ignorant country folk who would kill you the moment they +saw your Servian uniform, but among civilized people. We go to +Bucharest every year for the opera season; and I have spent a whole +month in Vienna. + +MAN. +I saw that, dear young lady. I saw at once that you knew the world. + +RAINA. +Have you ever seen the opera of Ernani? + +MAN. +Is that the one with the devil in it in red velvet, and a soldier’s +chorus? + +RAINA. +(_contemptuously_). No! + +MAN. +(_stifling a heavy sigh of weariness_). Then I don’t know it. + +RAINA. +I thought you might have remembered the great scene where Ernani, +flying from his foes just as you are tonight, takes refuge in the +castle of his bitterest enemy, an old Castilian noble. The noble +refuses to give him up. His guest is sacred to him. + +MAN. +(_quickly waking up a little_). Have your people got that notion? + +RAINA. +(_with dignity_). My mother and I can understand that notion, as you +call it. And if instead of threatening me with your pistol as you did, +you had simply thrown yourself as a fugitive on our hospitality, you +would have been as safe as in your father’s house. + +MAN. +Quite sure? + +RAINA. +(_turning her back on him in disgust._) Oh, it is useless to try and +make you understand. + +MAN. +Don’t be angry: you see how awkward it would be for me if there was any +mistake. My father is a very hospitable man: he keeps six hotels; but I +couldn’t trust him as far as that. What about YOUR father? + +RAINA. +He is away at Slivnitza fighting for his country. I answer for your +safety. There is my hand in pledge of it. Will that reassure you? (_She +offers him her hand._) + +MAN. +(_looking dubiously at his own hand_). Better not touch my hand, dear +young lady. I must have a wash first. + +RAINA. +(_touched_). That is very nice of you. I see that you are a gentleman. + +MAN. +(_puzzled_). Eh? + +RAINA. +You must not think I am surprised. Bulgarians of really good +standing—people in OUR position—wash their hands nearly every day. But +I appreciate your delicacy. You may take my hand. (_She offers it +again._) + +MAN. +(_kissing it with his hands behind his back_). Thanks, gracious young +lady: I feel safe at last. And now would you mind breaking the news to +your mother? I had better not stay here secretly longer than is +necessary. + +RAINA. +If you will be so good as to keep perfectly still whilst I am away. + +MAN. +Certainly. (_He sits down on the ottoman._) + +(_Raina goes to the bed and wraps herself in the fur cloak. His eyes +close. She goes to the door, but on turning for a last look at him, +sees that he is dropping of to sleep._) + +RAINA. +(_at the door_). You are not going asleep, are you? (_He murmurs +inarticulately: she runs to him and shakes him._) Do you hear? Wake up: +you are falling asleep. + +MAN. +Eh? Falling aslee—? Oh, no, not the least in the world: I was only +thinking. It’s all right: I’m wide awake. + +RAINA. +(_severely_). Will you please stand up while I am away. (_He rises +reluctantly._) All the time, mind. + +MAN. +(_standing unsteadily_). Certainly—certainly: you may depend on me. + +(_Raina looks doubtfully at him. He smiles foolishly. She goes +reluctantly, turning again at the door, and almost catching him in the +act of yawning. She goes out._) + +MAN. +(_drowsily_). Sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, slee—(_The words trail off +into a murmur. He wakes again with a shock on the point of falling._) +Where am I? That’s what I want to know: where am I? Must keep awake. +Nothing keeps me awake except danger—remember that—(_intently_) danger, +danger, danger, dan— Where’s danger? Must find it. (_He starts of +vaguely around the room in search of it._) What am I looking for? +Sleep—danger—don’t know. (_He stumbles against the bed._) Ah, yes: now +I know. All right now. I’m to go to bed, but not to sleep—be sure not +to sleep—because of danger. Not to lie down, either, only sit down. +(_He sits on the bed. A blissful expression comes into his face._) Ah! +(_With a happy sigh he sinks back at full length; lifts his boots into +the bed with a final effort; and falls fast asleep instantly._) + +(_Catherine comes in, followed by Raina._) + +RAINA. +(_looking at the ottoman_). He’s gone! I left him here. + +CATHERINE. +Here! Then he must have climbed down from the— + +RAINA. +(_seeing him_). Oh! (_She points._) + +CATHERINE. +(_scandalized_). Well! (_She strides to the left side of the bed, Raina +following and standing opposite her on the right._) He’s fast asleep. +The brute! + +RAINA. +(_anxiously_). Sh! + +CATHERINE. +(_shaking him_). Sir! (_Shaking him again, harder._) Sir!! (_Vehemently +shaking very bard._) Sir!!! + +RAINA. +(_catching her arm_). Don’t, mamma: the poor dear is worn out. Let him +sleep. + +CATHERINE. +(_letting him go and turning amazed to Raina_). The poor dear! Raina!!! +(_She looks sternly at her daughter. The man sleeps profoundly._) + + + + +ACT II + + +The sixth of March, 1886. In the garden of major Petkoff’s house. It is +a fine spring morning; and the garden looks fresh and pretty. Beyond +the paling the tops of a couple of minarets can be seen, shewing that +there is a valley there, with the little town in it. A few miles +further the Balkan mountains rise and shut in the view. Within the +garden the side of the house is seen on the right, with a garden door +reached by a little flight of steps. On the left the stable yard, with +its gateway, encroaches on the garden. There are fruit bushes along the +paling and house, covered with washing hung out to dry. A path runs by +the house, and rises by two steps at the corner where it turns out of +the right along the front. In the middle a small table, with two bent +wood chairs at it, is laid for breakfast with Turkish coffee pot, cups, +rolls, etc.; but the cups have been used and the bread broken. There is +a wooden garden seat against the wall on the left. + +Louka, smoking a cigaret, is standing between the table and the house, +turning her back with angry disdain on a man-servant who is lecturing +her. He is a middle-aged man of cool temperament and low but clear and +keen intelligence, with the complacency of the servant who values +himself on his rank in servility, and the imperturbability of the +accurate calculator who has no illusions. He wears a white Bulgarian +costume jacket with decorated border, sash, wide knickerbockers, and +decorated gaiters. His head is shaved up to the crown, giving him a +high Japanese forehead. His name is Nicola. + +NICOLA. +Be warned in time, Louka: mend your manners. I know the mistress. She +is so grand that she never dreams that any servant could dare to be +disrespectful to her; but if she once suspects that you are defying +her, out you go. + +LOUKA. +I do defy her. I will defy her. What do I care for her? + +NICOLA. +If you quarrel with the family, I never can marry you. It’s the same as +if you quarrelled with me! + +LOUKA. +You take her part against me, do you? + +NICOLA. +(_sedately_). I shall always be dependent on the good will of the +family. When I leave their service and start a shop in Sofia, their +custom will be half my capital: their bad word would ruin me. + +LOUKA. +You have no spirit. I should like to see them dare say a word against +me! + +NICOLA. +(_pityingly_). I should have expected more sense from you, Louka. But +you’re young, you’re young! + +LOUKA. +Yes; and you like me the better for it, don’t you? But I know some +family secrets they wouldn’t care to have told, young as I am. Let them +quarrel with me if they dare! + +NICOLA. +(_with compassionate superiority_). Do you know what they would do if +they heard you talk like that? + +LOUKA. +What could they do? + +NICOLA. +Discharge you for untruthfulness. Who would believe any stories you +told after that? Who would give you another situation? Who in this +house would dare be seen speaking to you ever again? How long would +your father be left on his little farm? (_She impatiently throws away +the end of her cigaret, and stamps on it._) Child, you don’t know the +power such high people have over the like of you and me when we try to +rise out of our poverty against them. (_He goes close to her and lowers +his voice._) Look at me, ten years in their service. Do you think I +know no secrets? I know things about the mistress that she wouldn’t +have the master know for a thousand levas. I know things about him that +she wouldn’t let him hear the last of for six months if I blabbed them +to her. I know things about Raina that would break off her match with +Sergius if— + +LOUKA. +(_turning on him quickly_). How do you know? I never told you! + +NICOLA. +(_opening his eyes cunningly_). So that’s your little secret, is it? I +thought it might be something like that. Well, you take my advice, and +be respectful; and make the mistress feel that no matter what you know +or don’t know, they can depend on you to hold your tongue and serve the +family faithfully. That’s what they like; and that’s how you’ll make +most out of them. + +LOUKA. +(_with searching scorn_). You have the soul of a servant, Nicola. + +NICOLA. +(_complacently_). Yes: that’s the secret of success in service. + +(_A loud knocking with a whip handle on a wooden door, outside on the +left, is heard._) + +MALE VOICE OUTSIDE. +Hollo! Hollo there! Nicola! + +LOUKA. +Master! back from the war! + +NICOLA. +(_quickly_). My word for it, Louka, the war’s over. Off with you and +get some fresh coffee. (_He runs out into the stable yard._) + +LOUKA. +(_as she puts the coffee pot and the cups upon the tray, and carries it +into the house_). You’ll never put the soul of a servant into me. + +(_Major Petkoff comes from the stable yard, followed by Nicola. He is a +cheerful, excitable, insignificant, unpolished man of about 50, +naturally unambitious except as to his income and his importance in +local society, but just now greatly pleased with the military rank +which the war has thrust on him as a man of consequence in his town. +The fever of plucky patriotism which the Servian attack roused in all +the Bulgarians has pulled him through the war; but he is obviously glad +to be home again._) + +PETKOFF. +(_pointing to the table with his whip_). Breakfast out here, eh? + +NICOLA. +Yes, sir. The mistress and Miss Raina have just gone in. + +PETKOFF. +(_sitting down and taking a roll_). Go in and say I’ve come; and get me +some fresh coffee. + +NICOLA. +It’s coming, sir. (_He goes to the house door. Louka, with fresh +coffee, a clean cup, and a brandy bottle on her tray meets him._) Have +you told the mistress? + +LOUKA. +Yes: she’s coming. + +(_Nicola goes into the house. Louka brings the coffee to the table._) + +PETKOFF. +Well, the Servians haven’t run away with you, have they? + +LOUKA. +No, sir. + +PETKOFF. +That’s right. Have you brought me some cognac? + +LOUKA. +(_putting the bottle on the table_). Here, sir. + +PETKOFF. +That’s right. (_He pours some into his coffee._) + +(_Catherine who has at this early hour made only a very perfunctory +toilet, and wears a Bulgarian apron over a once brilliant, but now half +worn out red dressing gown, and a colored handkerchief tied over her +thick black hair, with Turkish slippers on her bare feet, comes from +the house, looking astonishingly handsome and stately under all the +circumstances. Louka goes into the house._) + +CATHERINE. +My dear Paul, what a surprise for us. (_She stoops over the back of his +chair to kiss him._) Have they brought you fresh coffee? + +PETKOFF. +Yes, Louka’s been looking after me. The war’s over. The treaty was +signed three days ago at Bucharest; and the decree for our army to +demobilize was issued yesterday. + +CATHERINE. +(_springing erect, with flashing eyes_). The war over! Paul: have you +let the Austrians force you to make peace? + +PETKOFF. +(_submissively_). My dear: they didn’t consult me. What could _I_ do? +(_She sits down and turns away from him._) But of course we saw to it +that the treaty was an honorable one. It declares peace— + +CATHERINE. +(_outraged_). Peace! + +PETKOFF. +(_appeasing her_).—but not friendly relations: remember that. They +wanted to put that in; but I insisted on its being struck out. What +more could I do? + +CATHERINE. +You could have annexed Servia and made Prince Alexander Emperor of the +Balkans. That’s what I would have done. + +PETKOFF. +I don’t doubt it in the least, my dear. But I should have had to subdue +the whole Austrian Empire first; and that would have kept me too long +away from you. I missed you greatly. + +CATHERINE. +(_relenting_). Ah! (_Stretches her hand affectionately across the table +to squeeze his._) + +PETKOFF. +And how have you been, my dear? + +CATHERINE. +Oh, my usual sore throats, that’s all. + +PETKOFF. +(_with conviction_). That comes from washing your neck every day. I’ve +often told you so. + +CATHERINE. +Nonsense, Paul! + +PETKOFF. +(_over his coffee and cigaret_). I don’t believe in going too far with +these modern customs. All this washing can’t be good for the health: +it’s not natural. There was an Englishman at Phillipopolis who used to +wet himself all over with cold water every morning when he got up. +Disgusting! It all comes from the English: their climate makes them so +dirty that they have to be perpetually washing themselves. Look at my +father: he never had a bath in his life; and he lived to be +ninety-eight, the healthiest man in Bulgaria. I don’t mind a good wash +once a week to keep up my position; but once a day is carrying the +thing to a ridiculous extreme. + +CATHERINE. +You are a barbarian at heart still, Paul. I hope you behaved yourself +before all those Russian officers. + +PETKOFF. +I did my best. I took care to let them know that we had a library. + +CATHERINE. +Ah; but you didn’t tell them that we have an electric bell in it? I +have had one put up. + +PETKOFF. +What’s an electric bell? + +CATHERINE. +You touch a button; something tinkles in the kitchen; and then Nicola +comes up. + +PETKOFF. +Why not shout for him? + +CATHERINE. +Civilized people never shout for their servants. I’ve learnt that while +you were away. + +PETKOFF. +Well, I’ll tell you something I’ve learnt, too. Civilized people don’t +hang out their washing to dry where visitors can see it; so you’d +better have all that (_indicating the clothes on the bushes_) put +somewhere else. + +CATHERINE. +Oh, that’s absurd, Paul: I don’t believe really refined people notice +such things. + +(_Someone is heard knocking at the stable gates._) + +PETKOFF. +There’s Sergius. (_Shouting._) Hollo, Nicola! + +CATHERINE. +Oh, don’t shout, Paul: it really isn’t nice. + +PETKOFF. +Bosh! (_He shouts louder than before._) Nicola! + +NICOLA. +(_appearing at the house door_). Yes, sir. + +PETKOFF. +If that is Major Saranoff, bring him round this way. (_He pronounces +the name with the stress on the second syllable—Sarah-noff._) + +NICOLA. +Yes, sir. (_He goes into the stable yard._) + +PETKOFF. +You must talk to him, my dear, until Raina takes him off our hands. He +bores my life out about our not promoting him—over my head, mind you. + +CATHERINE. +He certainly ought to be promoted when he marries Raina. Besides, the +country should insist on having at least one native general. + +PETKOFF. +Yes, so that he could throw away whole brigades instead of regiments. +It’s no use, my dear: he has not the slightest chance of promotion +until we are quite sure that the peace will be a lasting one. + +NICOLA. +(_at the gate, announcing_). Major Sergius Saranoff! (_He goes into the +house and returns presently with a third chair, which he places at the +table. He then withdraws._) + +(_Major Sergius Saranoff, the original of the portrait in Raina’s room, +is a tall, romantically handsome man, with the physical hardihood, the +high spirit, and the susceptible imagination of an untamed mountaineer +chieftain. But his remarkable personal distinction is of a +characteristically civilized type. The ridges of his eyebrows, curving +with a ram’s-horn twist round the marked projections at the outer +corners, his jealously observant eye, his nose, thin, keen, and +apprehensive in spite of the pugnacious high bridge and large nostril, +his assertive chin, would not be out of place in a Paris salon. In +short, the clever, imaginative barbarian has an acute critical faculty +which has been thrown into intense activity by the arrival of western +civilization in the Balkans; and the result is precisely what the +advent of nineteenth-century thought first produced in England: to-wit, +Byronism. By his brooding on the perpetual failure, not only of others, +but of himself, to live up to his imaginative ideals, his consequent +cynical scorn for humanity, the jejune credulity as to the absolute +validity of his ideals and the unworthiness of the world in +disregarding them, his wincings and mockeries under the sting of the +petty disillusions which every hour spent among men brings to his +infallibly quick observation, he has acquired the half tragic, half +ironic air, the mysterious moodiness, the suggestion of a strange and +terrible history that has left him nothing but undying remorse, by +which Childe Harold fascinated the grandmothers of his English +contemporaries. Altogether it is clear that here or nowhere is Raina’s +ideal hero. Catherine is hardly less enthusiastic, and much less +reserved in shewing her enthusiasm. As he enters from the stable gate, +she rises effusively to greet him. Petkoff is distinctly less disposed +to make a fuss about him._) + +PETKOFF. +Here already, Sergius. Glad to see you! + +CATHERINE. +My dear Sergius!(_She holds out both her hands._) + +SERGIUS. +(_kissing them with scrupulous gallantry_). My dear mother, if I may +call you so. + +PETKOFF. +(_drily_). Mother-in-law, Sergius; mother-in-law! Sit down, and have +some coffee. + +SERGIUS. +Thank you, none for me. (_He gets away from the table with a certain +distaste for Petkoff’s enjoyment of it, and posts himself with +conscious grace against the rail of the steps leading to the house._) + +CATHERINE. +You look superb—splendid. The campaign has improved you. Everybody here +is mad about you. We were all wild with enthusiasm about that +magnificent cavalry charge. + +SERGIUS. +(_with grave irony_). Madam: it was the cradle and the grave of my +military reputation. + +CATHERINE. +How so? + +SERGIUS. +I won the battle the wrong way when our worthy Russian generals were +losing it the right way. That upset their plans, and wounded their +self-esteem. Two of their colonels got their regiments driven back on +the correct principles of scientific warfare. Two major-generals got +killed strictly according to military etiquette. Those two colonels are +now major-generals; and I am still a simple major. + +CATHERINE. +You shall not remain so, Sergius. The women are on your side; and they +will see that justice is done you. + +SERGIUS. +It is too late. I have only waited for the peace to send in my +resignation. + +PETKOFF. +(_dropping his cup in his amazement_). Your resignation! + +CATHERINE. +Oh, you must withdraw it! + +SERGIUS. +(_with resolute, measured emphasis, folding his arms_). I never +withdraw! + +PETKOFF. +(_vexed_). Now who could have supposed you were going to do such a +thing? + +SERGIUS. +(_with fire_). Everyone that knew me. But enough of myself and my +affairs. How is Raina; and where is Raina? + +RAINA. +(_suddenly coming round the corner of the house and standing at the top +of the steps in the path_). Raina is here. (_She makes a charming +picture as they all turn to look at her. She wears an underdress of +pale green silk, draped with an overdress of thin ecru canvas +embroidered with gold. On her head she wears a pretty Phrygian cap of +gold tinsel. Sergius, with an exclamation of pleasure, goes impulsively +to meet her. She stretches out her hand: he drops chivalrously on one +knee and kisses it._) + +PETKOFF. +(_aside to Catherine, beaming with parental pride_). Pretty, isn’t it? +She always appears at the right moment. + +CATHERINE. +(_impatiently_). Yes: she listens for it. It is an abominable habit. + +(_Sergius leads Raina forward with splendid gallantry, as if she were a +queen. When they come to the table, she turns to him with a bend of the +head; he bows; and thus they separate, he coming to his place, and she +going behind her father’s chair._) + +RAINA. +(_stooping and kissing her father_). Dear father! Welcome home! + +PETKOFF. +(_patting her cheek_). My little pet girl. (_He kisses her; she goes to +the chair left by Nicola for Sergius, and sits down._) + +CATHERINE. +And so you’re no longer a soldier, Sergius. + +SERGIUS. +I am no longer a soldier. Soldiering, my dear madam, is the coward’s +art of attacking mercilessly when you are strong, and keeping out of +harm’s way when you are weak. That is the whole secret of successful +fighting. Get your enemy at a disadvantage; and never, on any account, +fight him on equal terms. Eh, Major! + +PETKOFF. +They wouldn’t let us make a fair stand-up fight of it. However, I +suppose soldiering has to be a trade like any other trade. + +SERGIUS. +Precisely. But I have no ambition to succeed as a tradesman; so I have +taken the advice of that bagman of a captain that settled the exchange +of prisoners with us at Peerot, and given it up. + +PETKOFF. +What, that Swiss fellow? Sergius: I’ve often thought of that exchange +since. He over-reached us about those horses. + +SERGIUS. +Of course he over-reached us. His father was a hotel and livery stable +keeper; and he owed his first step to his knowledge of horse-dealing. +(_With mock enthusiasm._) Ah, he was a soldier—every inch a soldier! If +only I had bought the horses for my regiment instead of foolishly +leading it into danger, I should have been a field-marshal now! + +CATHERINE. +A Swiss? What was he doing in the Servian army? + +PETKOFF. +A volunteer of course—keen on picking up his profession. (_Chuckling._) +We shouldn’t have been able to begin fighting if these foreigners +hadn’t shewn us how to do it: we knew nothing about it; and neither did +the Servians. Egad, there’d have been no war without them. + +RAINA. +Are there many Swiss officers in the Servian Army? + +PETKOFF. +No—all Austrians, just as our officers were all Russians. This was the +only Swiss I came across. I’ll never trust a Swiss again. He cheated +us—humbugged us into giving him fifty able bodied men for two hundred +confounded worn out chargers. They weren’t even eatable! + +SERGIUS. +We were two children in the hands of that consummate soldier, Major: +simply two innocent little children. + +RAINA. +What was he like? + +CATHERINE. +Oh, Raina, what a silly question! + +SERGIUS. +He was like a commercial traveller in uniform. Bourgeois to his boots. + +PETKOFF. +(_grinning_). Sergius: tell Catherine that queer story his friend told +us about him—how he escaped after Slivnitza. You remember?—about his +being hid by two women. + +SERGIUS. +(_with bitter irony_). Oh, yes, quite a romance. He was serving in the +very battery I so unprofessionally charged. Being a thorough soldier, +he ran away like the rest of them, with our cavalry at his heels. To +escape their attentions, he had the good taste to take refuge in the +chamber of some patriotic young Bulgarian lady. The young lady was +enchanted by his persuasive commercial traveller’s manners. She very +modestly entertained him for an hour or so and then called in her +mother lest her conduct should appear unmaidenly. The old lady was +equally fascinated; and the fugitive was sent on his way in the +morning, disguised in an old coat belonging to the master of the house, +who was away at the war. + +RAINA. +(_rising with marked stateliness_). Your life in the camp has made you +coarse, Sergius. I did not think you would have repeated such a story +before me. (_She turns away coldly._) + +CATHERINE. +(_also rising_). She is right, Sergius. If such women exist, we should +be spared the knowledge of them. + +PETKOFF. +Pooh! nonsense! what does it matter? + +SERGIUS. +(_ashamed_). No, Petkoff: I was wrong. (_To Raina, with earnest +humility._) I beg your pardon. I have behaved abominably. Forgive me, +Raina. (_She bows reservedly._) And you, too, madam. (_Catherine bows +graciously and sits down. He proceeds solemnly, again addressing +Raina._) The glimpses I have had of the seamy side of life during the +last few months have made me cynical; but I should not have brought my +cynicism here—least of all into your presence, Raina. I—(_Here, turning +to the others, he is evidently about to begin a long speech when the +Major interrupts him._) + +PETKOFF. +Stuff and nonsense, Sergius. That’s quite enough fuss about nothing: a +soldier’s daughter should be able to stand up without flinching to a +little strong conversation. (_He rises._) Come: it’s time for us to get +to business. We have to make up our minds how those three regiments are +to get back to Phillipopolis:—there’s no forage for them on the Sofia +route. (_He goes towards the house._) Come along. (_Sergius is about to +follow him when Catherine rises and intervenes._) + +CATHERINE. +Oh, Paul, can’t you spare Sergius for a few moments? Raina has hardly +seen him yet. Perhaps I can help you to settle about the regiments. + +SERGIUS. +(_protesting_). My dear madam, impossible: you— + +CATHERINE. +(_stopping him playfully_). You stay here, my dear Sergius: there’s no +hurry. I have a word or two to say to Paul. (_Sergius instantly bows +and steps back._) Now, dear (_taking Petkoff’s arm_), come and see the +electric bell. + +PETKOFF. +Oh, very well, very well. (_They go into the house together +affectionately. Sergius, left alone with Raina, looks anxiously at her, +fearing that she may be still offended. She smiles, and stretches out +her arms to him._) + +(_Exit R. into house, followed by Catherine._) + +SERGIUS. +(_hastening to her, but refraining from touching her without express +permission_). Am I forgiven? + +RAINA. +(_placing her hands on his shoulder as she looks up at him with +admiration and worship_). My hero! My king. + +SERGIUS. +My queen! (_He kisses her on the forehead with holy awe._) + +RAINA. +How I have envied you, Sergius! You have been out in the world, on the +field of battle, able to prove yourself there worthy of any woman in +the world; whilst I have had to sit at home +inactive,—dreaming—useless—doing nothing that could give me the right +to call myself worthy of any man. + +SERGIUS. +Dearest, all my deeds have been yours. You inspired me. I have gone +through the war like a knight in a tournament with his lady looking on +at him! + +RAINA. +And you have never been absent from my thoughts for a moment. (_Very +solemnly._) Sergius: I think we two have found the higher love. When I +think of you, I feel that I could never do a base deed, or think an +ignoble thought. + +SERGIUS. +My lady, and my saint! (_Clasping her reverently._) + +RAINA. +(_returning his embrace_). My lord and my g— + +SERGIUS. +Sh—sh! Let me be the worshipper, dear. You little know how unworthy +even the best man is of a girl’s pure passion! + +RAINA. +I trust you. I love you. You will never disappoint me, Sergius. (_Louka +is heard singing within the house. They quickly release each other._) +Hush! I can’t pretend to talk indifferently before her: my heart is too +full. (_Louka comes from the house with her tray. She goes to the +table, and begins to clear it, with her back turned to them._) I will +go and get my hat; and then we can go out until lunch time. Wouldn’t +you like that? + +SERGIUS. +Be quick. If you are away five minutes, it will seem five hours. +(_Raina runs to the top of the steps and turns there to exchange a look +with him and wave him a kiss with both hands. He looks after her with +emotion for a moment, then turns slowly away, his face radiant with the +exultation of the scene which has just passed. The movement shifts his +field of vision, into the corner of which there now comes the tail of +Louka’s double apron. His eye gleams at once. He takes a stealthy look +at her, and begins to twirl his moustache nervously, with his left hand +akimbo on his hip. Finally, striking the ground with his heels in +something of a cavalry swagger, he strolls over to the left of the +table, opposite her, and says_) Louka: do you know what the higher love +is? + +LOUKA. +(_astonished_). No, sir. + +SERGIUS. +Very fatiguing thing to keep up for any length of time, Louka. One +feels the need of some relief after it. + +LOUKA. +(_innocently_). Perhaps you would like some coffee, sir? (_She +stretches her hand across the table for the coffee pot._) + +SERGIUS. +(_taking her hand_). Thank you, Louka. + +LOUKA. +(_pretending to pull_). Oh, sir, you know I didn’t mean that. I’m +surprised at you! + +SERGIUS. +(_coming clear of the table and drawing her with him_). I am surprised +at myself, Louka. What would Sergius, the hero of Slivnitza, say if he +saw me now? What would Sergius, the apostle of the higher love, say if +he saw me now? What would the half dozen Sergiuses who keep popping in +and out of this handsome figure of mine say if they caught us here? +(_Letting go her hand and slipping his arm dexterously round her +waist._) Do you consider my figure handsome, Louka? + +LOUKA. +Let me go, sir. I shall be disgraced. (_She struggles: he holds her +inexorably._) Oh, will you let go? + +SERGIUS. +(_looking straight into her eyes_). No. + +LOUKA. +Then stand back where we can’t be seen. Have you no common sense? + +SERGIUS. +Ah, that’s reasonable. (_He takes her into the stableyard gateway, +where they are hidden from the house._) + +LOUKA. +(_complaining_). I may have been seen from the windows: Miss Raina is +sure to be spying about after you. + +SERGIUS. +(_stung—letting her go_). Take care, Louka. I may be worthless enough +to betray the higher love; but do not you insult it. + +LOUKA. +(_demurely_). Not for the world, sir, I’m sure. May I go on with my +work please, now? + +SERGIUS. +(_again putting his arm round her_). You are a provoking little witch, +Louka. If you were in love with me, would you spy out of windows on me? + +LOUKA. +Well, you see, sir, since you say you are half a dozen different +gentlemen all at once, I should have a great deal to look after. + +SERGIUS. +(_charmed_). Witty as well as pretty. (_He tries to kiss her._) + +LOUKA. +(_avoiding him_). No, I don’t want your kisses. Gentlefolk are all +alike—you making love to me behind Miss Raina’s back, and she doing the +same behind yours. + +SERGIUS. +(_recoiling a step_). Louka! + +LOUKA. +It shews how little you really care! + +SERGIUS. +(_dropping his familiarity and speaking with freezing politeness_). If +our conversation is to continue, Louka, you will please remember that a +gentleman does not discuss the conduct of the lady he is engaged to +with her maid. + +LOUKA. +It’s so hard to know what a gentleman considers right. I thought from +your trying to kiss me that you had given up being so particular. + +SERGIUS. +(_turning from her and striking his forehead as he comes back into the +garden from the gateway_). Devil! devil! + +LOUKA. +Ha! ha! I expect one of the six of you is very like me, sir, though I +am only Miss Raina’s maid. (_She goes back to her work at the table, +taking no further notice of him._) + +SERGIUS. +(_speaking to himself_). Which of the six is the real man?—that’s the +question that torments me. One of them is a hero, another a buffoon, +another a humbug, another perhaps a bit of a blackguard. (_He pauses +and looks furtively at Louka, as he adds with deep bitterness_) And +one, at least, is a coward—jealous, like all cowards. (_He goes to the +table._) Louka. + +LOUKA. +Yes? + +SERGIUS. +Who is my rival? + +LOUKA. +You shall never get that out of me, for love or money. + +SERGIUS. +Why? + +LOUKA. +Never mind why. Besides, you would tell that I told you; and I should +lose my place. + +SERGIUS. +(_holding out his right hand in affirmation_). No; on the honor of +a—(_He checks himself, and his hand drops nerveless as he concludes, +sardonically_)—of a man capable of behaving as I have been behaving for +the last five minutes. Who is he? + +LOUKA. +I don’t know. I never saw him. I only heard his voice through the door +of her room. + +SERGIUS. +Damnation! How dare you? + +LOUKA. +(_retreating_). Oh, I mean no harm: you’ve no right to take up my words +like that. The mistress knows all about it. And I tell you that if that +gentleman ever comes here again, Miss Raina will marry him, whether he +likes it or not. I know the difference between the sort of manner you +and she put on before one another and the real manner. (_Sergius +shivers as if she had stabbed him. Then, setting his face like iron, he +strides grimly to her, and grips her above the elbows with both +bands._) + +SERGIUS. +Now listen you to me! + +LOUKA. +(_wincing_). Not so tight: you’re hurting me! + +SERGIUS. +That doesn’t matter. You have stained my honor by making me a party to +your eavesdropping. And you have betrayed your mistress— + +LOUKA. +(_writhing_). Please— + +SERGIUS. +That shews that you are an abominable little clod of common clay, with +the soul of a servant. (_He lets her go as if she were an unclean +thing, and turns away, dusting his hands of her, to the bench by the +wall, where he sits down with averted head, meditating gloomily._) + +LOUKA. +(_whimpering angrily with her hands up her sleeves, feeling her bruised +arms_). You know how to hurt with your tongue as well as with your +hands. But I don’t care, now I’ve found out that whatever clay I’m made +of, you’re made of the same. As for her, she’s a liar; and her fine +airs are a cheat; and I’m worth six of her. (_She shakes the pain off +hardily; tosses her head; and sets to work to put the things on the +tray. He looks doubtfully at her once or twice. She finishes packing +the tray, and laps the cloth over the edges, so as to carry all out +together. As she stoops to lift it, he rises._) + +SERGIUS. +Louka! (_She stops and looks defiantly at him with the tray in her +hands._) A gentleman has no right to hurt a woman under any +circumstances. (_With profound humility, uncovering his head._) I beg +your pardon. + +LOUKA. +That sort of apology may satisfy a lady. Of what use is it to a +servant? + +SERGIUS. +(_thus rudely crossed in his chivalry, throws it off with a bitter +laugh and says slightingly_). Oh, you wish to be paid for the hurt? +(_He puts on his shako, and takes some money from his pocket._) + +LOUKA. +(_her eyes filling with tears in spite of herself_). No, I want my hurt +made well. + +SERGIUS. +(_sobered by her tone_). How? + +(_She rolls up her left sleeve; clasps her arm with the thumb and +fingers of her right hand; and looks down at the bruise. Then she +raises her head and looks straight at him. Finally, with a superb +gesture she presents her arm to be kissed. Amazed, he looks at her; at +the arm; at her again; hesitates; and then, with shuddering intensity, +exclaims_) + +SERGIUS. +Never! (_and gets away as far as possible from her._) + +(_Her arm drops. Without a word, and with unaffected dignity, she takes +her tray, and is approaching the house when Raina returns wearing a hat +and jacket in the height of the Vienna fashion of the previous year, +1885. Louka makes way proudly for her, and then goes into the house._) + +RAINA. +I’m ready! What’s the matter? (_Gaily._) Have you been flirting with +Louka? + +SERGIUS. +(_hastily_). No, no. How can you think such a thing? + +RAINA. +(_ashamed of herself_). Forgive me, dear: it was only a jest. I am so +happy to-day. + +(_He goes quickly to her, and kisses her hand remorsefully. Catherine +comes out and calls to them from the top of the steps._) + +CATHERINE. +(_coming down to them_). I am sorry to disturb you, children; but Paul +is distracted over those three regiments. He does not know how to get +them to Phillipopolis; and he objects to every suggestion of mine. You +must go and help him, Sergius. He is in the library. + +RAINA. +(_disappointed_). But we are just going out for a walk. + +SERGIUS. +I shall not be long. Wait for me just five minutes. (_He runs up the +steps to the door._) + +RAINA. +(_following him to the foot of the steps and looking up at him with +timid coquetry_). I shall go round and wait in full view of the library +windows. Be sure you draw father’s attention to me. If you are a moment +longer than five minutes, I shall go in and fetch you, regiments or no +regiments. + +SERGIUS. +(_laughing_). Very well. (_He goes in. Raina watches him until he is +out of her sight. Then, with a perceptible relaxation of manner, she +begins to pace up and down about the garden in a brown study._) + +CATHERINE. +Imagine their meeting that Swiss and hearing the whole story! The very +first thing your father asked for was the old coat we sent him off in. +A nice mess you have got us into! + +RAINA. +(_gazing thoughtfully at the gravel as she walks_). The little beast! + +CATHERINE. +Little beast! What little beast? + +RAINA. +To go and tell! Oh, if I had him here, I’d stuff him with chocolate +creams till he couldn’t ever speak again! + +CATHERINE. +Don’t talk nonsense. Tell me the truth, Raina. How long was he in your +room before you came to me? + +RAINA. +(_whisking round and recommencing her march in the opposite +direction_). Oh, I forget. + +CATHERINE. +You cannot forget! Did he really climb up after the soldiers were gone, +or was he there when that officer searched the room? + +RAINA. +No. Yes, I think he must have been there then. + +CATHERINE. +You think! Oh, Raina, Raina! Will anything ever make you +straightforward? If Sergius finds out, it is all over between you. + +RAINA. +(_with cool impertinence_). Oh, I know Sergius is your pet. I sometimes +wish you could marry him instead of me. You would just suit him. You +would pet him, and spoil him, and mother him to perfection. + +CATHERINE. +(_opening her eyes very widely indeed_). Well, upon my word! + +RAINA. +(_capriciously—half to herself_). I always feel a longing to do or say +something dreadful to him—to shock his propriety—to scandalize the five +senses out of him! (_To Catherine perversely._) I don’t care whether he +finds out about the chocolate cream soldier or not. I half hope he may. +(_She again turns flippantly away and strolls up the path to the corner +of the house._) + +CATHERINE. +And what should I be able to say to your father, pray? + +RAINA. +(_over her shoulder, from the top of the two steps_). Oh, poor father! +As if he could help himself! (_She turns the corner and passes out of +sight._) + +CATHERINE. +(_looking after her, her fingers itching_). Oh, if you were only ten +years younger! (_Louka comes from the house with a salver, which she +carries hanging down by her side._) Well? + +LOUKA. +There’s a gentleman just called, madam—a Servian officer— + +CATHERINE. +(_flaming_). A Servian! How dare he—(_Checking herself bitterly._) Oh, +I forgot. We are at peace now. I suppose we shall have them calling +every day to pay their compliments. Well, if he is an officer why don’t +you tell your master? He is in the library with Major Saranoff. Why do +you come to me? + +LOUKA. +But he asks for you, madam. And I don’t think he knows who you are: he +said the lady of the house. He gave me this little ticket for you. +(_She takes a card out of her bosom; puts it on the salver and offers +it to Catherine._) + +CATHERINE. +(_reading_). “Captain Bluntschli!” That’s a German name. + +LOUKA. +Swiss, madam, I think. + +CATHERINE. +(_with a bound that makes Louka jump back_). Swiss! What is he like? + +LOUKA. +(_timidly_). He has a big carpet bag, madam. + +CATHERINE. +Oh, Heavens, he’s come to return the coat! Send him away—say we’re not +at home—ask him to leave his address and I’ll write to him—Oh, stop: +that will never do. Wait! (_She throws herself into a chair to think it +out. Louka waits._) The master and Major Saranoff are busy in the +library, aren’t they? + +LOUKA. +Yes, madam. + +CATHERINE. +(_decisively_). Bring the gentleman out here at once. (_Imperatively._) +And be very polite to him. Don’t delay. Here (_impatiently snatching +the salver from her_): leave that here; and go straight back to him. + +LOUKA. +Yes, madam. (_Going._) + +CATHERINE. +Louka! + +LOUKA. +(_stopping_). Yes, madam. + +CATHERINE. +Is the library door shut? + +LOUKA. +I think so, madam. + +CATHERINE. +If not, shut it as you pass through. + +LOUKA. +Yes, madam. (_Going._) + +CATHERINE. +Stop! (_Louka stops._) He will have to go out that way (_indicating the +gate of the stable yard_). Tell Nicola to bring his bag here after him. +Don’t forget. + +LOUKA. +(_surprised_). His bag? + +CATHERINE. +Yes, here, as soon as possible. (_Vehemently._) Be quick! (_Louka runs +into the house. Catherine snatches her apron off and throws it behind a +bush. She then takes up the salver and uses it as a mirror, with the +result that the handkerchief tied round her head follows the apron. A +touch to her hair and a shake to her dressing gown makes her +presentable._) Oh, how—how—how can a man be such a fool! Such a moment +to select! (_Louka appears at the door of the house, announcing +“Captain Bluntschli;” and standing aside at the top of the steps to let +him pass before she goes in again. He is the man of the adventure in +Raina’s room. He is now clean, well brushed, smartly uniformed, and out +of trouble, but still unmistakably the same man. The moment Louka’s +back is turned, Catherine swoops on him with hurried, urgent, coaxing +appeal._) Captain Bluntschli, I am very glad to see you; but you must +leave this house at once. (_He raises his eyebrows._) My husband has +just returned, with my future son-in-law; and they know nothing. If +they did, the consequences would be terrible. You are a foreigner: you +do not feel our national animosities as we do. We still hate the +Servians: the only effect of the peace on my husband is to make him +feel like a lion baulked of his prey. If he discovered our secret, he +would never forgive me; and my daughter’s life would hardly be safe. +Will you, like the chivalrous gentleman and soldier you are, leave at +once before he finds you here? + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_disappointed, but philosophical_). At once, gracious lady. I only +came to thank you and return the coat you lent me. If you will allow me +to take it out of my bag and leave it with your servant as I pass out, +I need detain you no further. (_He turns to go into the house._) + +CATHERINE. +(_catching him by the sleeve_). Oh, you must not think of going back +that way. (_Coaxing him across to the stable gates._) This is the +shortest way out. Many thanks. So glad to have been of service to you. +Good-bye. + +BLUNTSCHLI. +But my bag? + +CATHERINE. +It will be sent on. You will leave me your address. + +BLUNTSCHLI. +True. Allow me. (_He takes out his card-case, and stops to write his +address, keeping Catherine in an agony of impatience. As he hands her +the card, Petkoff, hatless, rushes from the house in a fluster of +hospitality, followed by Sergius._) + +PETKOFF. +(_as he hurries down the steps_). My dear Captain Bluntschli— + +CATHERINE. +Oh Heavens! (_She sinks on the seat against the wall._) + +PETKOFF. +(_too preoccupied to notice her as he shakes Bluntschli’s hand +heartily_). Those stupid people of mine thought I was out here, instead +of in the—haw!—library. (_He cannot mention the library without +betraying how proud he is of it._) I saw you through the window. I was +wondering why you didn’t come in. Saranoff is with me: you remember +him, don’t you? + +SERGIUS. +(_saluting humorously, and then offering his hand with great charm of +manner_). Welcome, our friend the enemy! + +PETKOFF. +No longer the enemy, happily. (_Rather anxiously._) I hope you’ve come +as a friend, and not on business. + +CATHERINE. +Oh, quite as a friend, Paul. I was just asking Captain Bluntschli to +stay to lunch; but he declares he must go at once. + +SERGIUS. +(_sardonically_). Impossible, Bluntschli. We want you here badly. We +have to send on three cavalry regiments to Phillipopolis; and we don’t +in the least know how to do it. + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_suddenly attentive and business-like_). Phillipopolis! The forage is +the trouble, eh? + +PETKOFF. +(_eagerly_). Yes, that’s it. (_To Sergius._) He sees the whole thing at +once. + +BLUNTSCHLI. +I think I can shew you how to manage that. + +SERGIUS. +Invaluable man! Come along! (_Towering over Bluntschli, he puts his +hand on his shoulder and takes him to the steps, Petkoff following. As +Bluntschli puts his foot on the first step, Raina comes out of the +house._) + +RAINA. +(_completely losing her presence of mind_). Oh, the chocolate cream +soldier! + +(_Bluntschli stands rigid. Sergius, amazed, looks at Raina, then at +Petkoff, who looks back at him and then at his wife._) + +CATHERINE. +(_with commanding presence of mind_). My dear Raina, don’t you see that +we have a guest here—Captain Bluntschli, one of our new Servian +friends? + +(_Raina bows; Bluntschli bows._) + +RAINA. +How silly of me! (_She comes down into the centre of the group, between +Bluntschli and Petkoff_) I made a beautiful ornament this morning for +the ice pudding; and that stupid Nicola has just put down a pile of +plates on it and spoiled it. (_To Bluntschli, winningly._) I hope you +didn’t think that you were the chocolate cream soldier, Captain +Bluntschli. + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_laughing_). I assure you I did. (_Stealing a whimsical glance at +her._) Your explanation was a relief. + +PETKOFF. +(_suspiciously, to Raina_). And since when, pray, have you taken to +cooking? + +CATHERINE. +Oh, whilst you were away. It is her latest fancy. + +PETKOFF. +(_testily_). And has Nicola taken to drinking? He used to be careful +enough. First he shews Captain Bluntschli out here when he knew quite +well I was in the—hum!—library; and then he goes downstairs and breaks +Raina’s chocolate soldier. He must—(_At this moment Nicola appears at +the top of the steps R., with a carpet bag. He descends; places it +respectfully before Bluntschli; and waits for further orders. General +amazement. Nicola, unconscious of the effect he is producing, looks +perfectly satisfied with himself. When Petkoff recovers his power of +speech, he breaks out at him with_) Are you mad, Nicola? + +NICOLA. +(_taken aback_). Sir? + +PETKOFF. +What have you brought that for? + +NICOLA. +My lady’s orders, sir. Louka told me that— + +CATHERINE. +(_interrupting him_). My orders! Why should I order you to bring +Captain Bluntschli’s luggage out here? What are you thinking of, +Nicola? + +NICOLA. +(_after a moment’s bewilderment, picking up the bag as he addresses +Bluntschli with the very perfection of servile discretion_). I beg your +pardon, sir, I am sure. (_To Catherine._) My fault, madam! I hope +you’ll overlook it! (_He bows, and is going to the steps with the bag, +when Petkoff addresses him angrily._) + +PETKOFF. +You’d better go and slam that bag, too, down on Miss Raina’s ice +pudding! (_This is too much for Nicola. The bag drops from his hands on +Petkoff’s corns, eliciting a roar of anguish from him._) Begone, you +butter-fingered donkey. + +NICOLA. +(_snatching up the bag, and escaping into the house_). Yes, sir. + +CATHERINE. +Oh, never mind, Paul, don’t be angry! + +PETKOFF. +(_muttering_). Scoundrel. He’s got out of hand while I was away. I’ll +teach him. (_Recollecting his guest._) Oh, well, never mind. Come, +Bluntschli, lets have no more nonsense about you having to go away. You +know very well you’re not going back to Switzerland yet. Until you do +go back you’ll stay with us. + +RAINA. +Oh, do, Captain Bluntschli. + +PETKOFF. +(_to Catherine_). Now, Catherine, it’s of you that he’s afraid. Press +him and he’ll stay. + +CATHERINE. +Of course I shall be only too delighted if (_appealingly_) Captain +Bluntschli really wishes to stay. He knows my wishes. + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_in his driest military manner_). I am at madame’s orders. + +SERGIUS. +(_cordially_). That settles it! + +PETKOFF. +(_heartily_). Of course! + +RAINA. +You see, you must stay! + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_smiling_). Well, If I must, I must! (_Gesture of despair from +Catherine._) + + + + +ACT III + + +In the library after lunch. It is not much of a library, its literary +equipment consisting of a single fixed shelf stocked with old +paper-covered novels, broken backed, coffee stained, torn and thumbed, +and a couple of little hanging shelves with a few gift books on them, +the rest of the wall space being occupied by trophies of war and the +chase. But it is a most comfortable sitting-room. A row of three large +windows in the front of the house shew a mountain panorama, which is +just now seen in one of its softest aspects in the mellowing afternoon +light. In the left hand corner, a square earthenware stove, a perfect +tower of colored pottery, rises nearly to the ceiling and guarantees +plenty of warmth. The ottoman in the middle is a circular bank of +decorated cushions, and the window seats are well upholstered divans. +Little Turkish tables, one of them with an elaborate hookah on it, and +a screen to match them, complete the handsome effect of the furnishing. +There is one object, however, which is hopelessly out of keeping with +its surroundings. This is a small kitchen table, much the worse for +wear, fitted as a writing table with an old canister full of pens, an +eggcup filled with ink, and a deplorable scrap of severely used pink +blotting paper. + +At the side of this table, which stands on the right, Bluntschli is +hard at work, with a couple of maps before him, writing orders. At the +head of it sits Sergius, who is also supposed to be at work, but who is +actually gnawing the feather of a pen, and contemplating Bluntschli’s +quick, sure, businesslike progress with a mixture of envious irritation +at his own incapacity, and awestruck wonder at an ability which seems +to him almost miraculous, though its prosaic character forbids him to +esteem it. The major is comfortably established on the ottoman, with a +newspaper in his hand and the tube of the hookah within his reach. +Catherine sits at the stove, with her back to them, embroidering. +Raina, reclining on the divan under the left hand window, is gazing in +a daydream out at the Balkan landscape, with a neglected novel in her +lap. + +The door is on the left. The button of the electric bell is between the +door and the fireplace. + +PETKOFF. +(_looking up from his paper to watch how they are getting on at the +table_). Are you sure I can’t help you in any way, Bluntschli? + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_without interrupting his writing or looking up_). Quite sure, thank +you. Saranoff and I will manage it. + +SERGIUS. +(_grimly_). Yes: we’ll manage it. He finds out what to do; draws up the +orders; and I sign ’em. Division of labour, Major. (_Bluntschli passes +him a paper._) Another one? Thank you. (_He plants the papers squarely +before him; sets his chair carefully parallel to them; and signs with +the air of a man resolutely performing a difficult and dangerous +feat._) This hand is more accustomed to the sword than to the pen. + +PETKOFF. +It’s very good of you, Bluntschli, it is indeed, to let yourself be put +upon in this way. Now are you quite sure I can do nothing? + +CATHERINE. +(_in a low, warning tone_). You can stop interrupting, Paul. + +PETKOFF. +(_starting and looking round at her_). Eh? Oh! Quite right, my love, +quite right. (_He takes his newspaper up, but lets it drop again._) Ah, +you haven’t been campaigning, Catherine: you don’t know how pleasant it +is for us to sit here, after a good lunch, with nothing to do but enjoy +ourselves. There’s only one thing I want to make me thoroughly +comfortable. + +CATHERINE. +What is that? + +PETKOFF. +My old coat. I’m not at home in this one: I feel as if I were on +parade. + +CATHERINE. +My dear Paul, how absurd you are about that old coat! It must be +hanging in the blue closet where you left it. + +PETKOFF. +My dear Catherine, I tell you I’ve looked there. Am I to believe my own +eyes or not? (_Catherine quietly rises and presses the button of the +electric bell by the fireplace._) What are you shewing off that bell +for? (_She looks at him majestically, and silently resumes her chair +and her needlework._) My dear: if you think the obstinacy of your sex +can make a coat out of two old dressing gowns of Raina’s, your +waterproof, and my mackintosh, you’re mistaken. That’s exactly what the +blue closet contains at present. (_Nicola presents himself._) + +CATHERINE. +(_unmoved by Petkoff’s sally_). Nicola: go to the blue closet and bring +your master’s old coat here—the braided one he usually wears in the +house. + +NICOLA. +Yes, madam. (_Nicola goes out._) + +PETKOFF. +Catherine. + +CATHERINE. +Yes, Paul? + +PETKOFF. +I bet you any piece of jewellery you like to order from Sofia against a +week’s housekeeping money, that the coat isn’t there. + +CATHERINE. +Done, Paul. + +PETKOFF. +(_excited by the prospect of a gamble_). Come: here’s an opportunity +for some sport. Who’ll bet on it? Bluntschli: I’ll give you six to one. + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_imperturbably_). It would be robbing you, Major. Madame is sure to be +right. (_Without looking up, he passes another batch of papers to +Sergius._) + +SERGIUS. +(_also excited_). Bravo, Switzerland! Major: I bet my best charger +against an Arab mare for Raina that Nicola finds the coat in the blue +closet. + +PETKOFF. +(_eagerly_). Your best char— + +CATHERINE. +(_hastily interrupting him_). Don’t be foolish, Paul. An Arabian mare +will cost you 50,000 levas. + +RAINA. +(_suddenly coming out of her picturesque revery_). Really, mother, if +you are going to take the jewellery, I don’t see why you should grudge +me my Arab. + +(_Nicola comes back with the coat and brings it to Petkoff, who can +hardly believe his eyes._) + +CATHERINE. +Where was it, Nicola? + +NICOLA. +Hanging in the blue closet, madam. + +PETKOFF. +Well, I am d— + +CATHERINE. +(_stopping him_). Paul! + +PETKOFF. +I could have sworn it wasn’t there. Age is beginning to tell on me. I’m +getting hallucinations. (_To Nicola._) Here: help me to change. Excuse +me, Bluntschli. (_He begins changing coats, Nicola acting as valet._) +Remember: I didn’t take that bet of yours, Sergius. You’d better give +Raina that Arab steed yourself, since you’ve roused her expectations. +Eh, Raina? (_He looks round at her; but she is again rapt in the +landscape. With a little gush of paternal affection and pride, he +points her out to them and says_) She’s dreaming, as usual. + +SERGIUS. +Assuredly she shall not be the loser. + +PETKOFF. +So much the better for her. I shan’t come off so cheap, I expect. (_The +change is now complete. Nicola goes out with the discarded coat._) Ah, +now I feel at home at last. (_He sits down and takes his newspaper with +a grunt of relief._) + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_to Sergius, handing a paper_). That’s the last order. + +PETKOFF. +(_jumping up_). What! finished? + +BLUNTSCHLI. +Finished. (_Petkoff goes beside Sergius; looks curiously over his left +shoulder as he signs; and says with childlike envy_) Haven’t you +anything for me to sign? + +BLUNTSCHLI. +Not necessary. His signature will do. + +PETKOFF. +Ah, well, I think we’ve done a thundering good day’s work. (_He goes +away from the table._) Can I do anything more? + +BLUNTSCHLI. +You had better both see the fellows that are to take these. (_To +Sergius._) Pack them off at once; and shew them that I’ve marked on the +orders the time they should hand them in by. Tell them that if they +stop to drink or tell stories—if they’re five minutes late, they’ll +have the skin taken off their backs. + +SERGIUS. +(_rising indignantly_). I’ll say so. And if one of them is man enough +to spit in my face for insulting him, I’ll buy his discharge and give +him a pension. (_He strides out, his humanity deeply outraged._) + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_confidentially_). Just see that he talks to them properly, Major, +will you? + +PETKOFF. +(_officiously_). Quite right, Bluntschli, quite right. I’ll see to it. +(_He goes to the door importantly, but hesitates on the threshold._) By +the bye, Catherine, you may as well come, too. They’ll be far more +frightened of you than of me. + +CATHERINE. +(_putting down her embroidery_). I daresay I had better. You will only +splutter at them. (_She goes out, Petkoff holding the door for her and +following her._) + +BLUNTSCHLI. +What a country! They make cannons out of cherry trees; and the officers +send for their wives to keep discipline! (_He begins to fold and docket +the papers. Raina, who has risen from the divan, strolls down the room +with her hands clasped behind her, and looks mischievously at him._) + +RAINA. +You look ever so much nicer than when we last met. (_He looks up, +surprised._) What have you done to yourself? + +BLUNTSCHLI. +Washed; brushed; good night’s sleep and breakfast. That’s all. + +RAINA. +Did you get back safely that morning? + +BLUNTSCHLI. +Quite, thanks. + +RAINA. +Were they angry with you for running away from Sergius’s charge? + +BLUNTSCHLI. +No, they were glad; because they’d all just run away themselves. + +RAINA. +(_going to the table, and leaning over it towards him_). It must have +made a lovely story for them—all that about me and my room. + +BLUNTSCHLI. +Capital story. But I only told it to one of them—a particular friend. + +RAINA. +On whose discretion you could absolutely rely? + +BLUNTSCHLI. +Absolutely. + +RAINA. +Hm! He told it all to my father and Sergius the day you exchanged the +prisoners. (_She turns away and strolls carelessly across to the other +side of the room._) + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_deeply concerned and half incredulous_). No! you don’t mean that, do +you? + +RAINA. +(_turning, with sudden earnestness_). I do indeed. But they don’t know +that it was in this house that you hid. If Sergius knew, he would +challenge you and kill you in a duel. + +BLUNTSCHLI. +Bless me! then don’t tell him. + +RAINA. +(_full of reproach for his levity_). Can you realize what it is to me +to deceive him? I want to be quite perfect with Sergius—no meanness, no +smallness, no deceit. My relation to him is the one really beautiful +and noble part of my life. I hope you can understand that. + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_sceptically_). You mean that you wouldn’t like him to find out that +the story about the ice pudding was a—a—a—You know. + +RAINA. +(_wincing_). Ah, don’t talk of it in that flippant way. I lied: I know +it. But I did it to save your life. He would have killed you. That was +the second time I ever uttered a falsehood. (_Bluntschli rises quickly +and looks doubtfully and somewhat severely at her._) Do you remember +the first time? + +BLUNTSCHLI. +I! No. Was I present? + +RAINA. +Yes; and I told the officer who was searching for you that you were not +present. + +BLUNTSCHLI. +True. I should have remembered it. + +RAINA. +(_greatly encouraged_). Ah, it is natural that you should forget it +first. It cost you nothing: it cost me a lie!—a lie!! (_She sits down +on the ottoman, looking straight before her with her hands clasped on +her knee. Bluntschli, quite touched, goes to the ottoman with a +particularly reassuring and considerate air, and sits down beside +her._) + +BLUNTSCHLI. +My dear young lady, don’t let this worry you. Remember: I’m a soldier. +Now what are the two things that happen to a soldier so often that he +comes to think nothing of them? One is hearing people tell lies (_Raina +recoils_): the other is getting his life saved in all sorts of ways by +all sorts of people. + +RAINA. +(_rising in indignant protest_). And so he becomes a creature incapable +of faith and of gratitude. + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_making a wry face_). Do you like gratitude? I don’t. If pity is akin +to love, gratitude is akin to the other thing. + +RAINA. +Gratitude! (_Turning on him._) If you are incapable of gratitude you +are incapable of any noble sentiment. Even animals are grateful. Oh, I +see now exactly what you think of me! You were not surprised to hear me +lie. To you it was something I probably did every day—every hour. That +is how men think of women. (_She walks up the room melodramatically._) + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_dubiously_). There’s reason in everything. You said you’d told only +two lies in your whole life. Dear young lady: isn’t that rather a short +allowance? I’m quite a straightforward man myself; but it wouldn’t last +me a whole morning. + +RAINA. +(_staring haughtily at him_). Do you know, sir, that you are insulting +me? + +BLUNTSCHLI. +I can’t help it. When you get into that noble attitude and speak in +that thrilling voice, I admire you; but I find it impossible to believe +a single word you say. + +RAINA. +(_superbly_). Captain Bluntschli! + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_unmoved_). Yes? + +RAINA. +(_coming a little towards him, as if she could not believe her +senses_). Do you mean what you said just now? Do you know what you said +just now? + +BLUNTSCHLI. +I do. + +RAINA. +(_gasping_). I! I!!! (_She points to herself incredulously, meaning “I, +Raina Petkoff, tell lies!” He meets her gaze unflinchingly. She +suddenly sits down beside him, and adds, with a complete change of +manner from the heroic to the familiar_) How did you find me out? + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_promptly_). Instinct, dear young lady. Instinct, and experience of +the world. + +RAINA. +(_wonderingly_). Do you know, you are the first man I ever met who did +not take me seriously? + +BLUNTSCHLI. +You mean, don’t you, that I am the first man that has ever taken you +quite seriously? + +RAINA. +Yes, I suppose I do mean that. (_Cosily, quite at her ease with him._) +How strange it is to be talked to in such a way! You know, I’ve always +gone on like that—I mean the noble attitude and the thrilling voice. I +did it when I was a tiny child to my nurse. She believed in it. I do it +before my parents. They believe in it. I do it before Sergius. He +believes in it. + +BLUNTSCHLI. +Yes: he’s a little in that line himself, isn’t he? + +RAINA. +(_startled_). Do you think so? + +BLUNTSCHLI. +You know him better than I do. + +RAINA. +I wonder—I wonder is he? If I thought that—! (_Discouraged._) Ah, well, +what does it matter? I suppose, now that you’ve found me out, you +despise me. + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_warmly, rising_). No, my dear young lady, no, no, no a thousand +times. It’s part of your youth—part of your charm. I’m like all the +rest of them—the nurse—your parents—Sergius: I’m your infatuated +admirer. + +RAINA. +(_pleased_). Really? + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_slapping his breast smartly with his hand, German fashion_). Hand +aufs Herz! Really and truly. + +RAINA. +(_very happy_). But what did you think of me for giving you my +portrait? + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_astonished_). Your portrait! You never gave me your portrait. + +RAINA. +(_quickly_). Do you mean to say you never got it? + +BLUNTSCHLI. +No. (_He sits down beside her, with renewed interest, and says, with +some complacency._) When did you send it to me? + +RAINA. +(_indignantly_). I did not send it to you. (_She turns her head away, +and adds, reluctantly._) It was in the pocket of that coat. + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_pursing his lips and rounding his eyes_). Oh-o-oh! I never found it. +It must be there still. + +RAINA. +(_springing up_). There still!—for my father to find the first time he +puts his hand in his pocket! Oh, how could you be so stupid? + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_rising also_). It doesn’t matter: it’s only a photograph: how can he +tell who it was intended for? Tell him he put it there himself. + +RAINA. +(_impatiently_). Yes, that is so clever—so clever! What shall I do? + +BLUNTSCHLI. +Ah, I see. You wrote something on it. That was rash! + +RAINA. +(_annoyed almost to tears_). Oh, to have done such a thing for you, who +care no more—except to laugh at me—oh! Are you sure nobody has touched +it? + +BLUNTSCHLI. +Well, I can’t be quite sure. You see I couldn’t carry it about with me +all the time: one can’t take much luggage on active service. + +RAINA. +What did you do with it? + +BLUNTSCHLI. +When I got through to Peerot I had to put it in safe keeping somehow. I +thought of the railway cloak room; but that’s the surest place to get +looted in modern warfare. So I pawned it. + +RAINA. +Pawned it!!! + +BLUNTSCHLI. +I know it doesn’t sound nice; but it was much the safest plan. I +redeemed it the day before yesterday. Heaven only knows whether the +pawnbroker cleared out the pockets or not. + +RAINA. +(_furious—throwing the words right into his face_). You have a low, +shopkeeping mind. You think of things that would never come into a +gentleman’s head. + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_phlegmatically_). That’s the Swiss national character, dear lady. + +RAINA. +Oh, I wish I had never met you. (_She flounces away and sits at the +window fuming._) + +(_Louka comes in with a heap of letters and telegrams on her salver, +and crosses, with her bold, free gait, to the table. Her left sleeve is +looped up to the shoulder with a brooch, shewing her naked arm, with a +broad gilt bracelet covering the bruise._) + +LOUKA. +(_to Bluntschli_). For you. (_She empties the salver recklessly on the +table._) The messenger is waiting. (_She is determined not to be civil +to a Servian, even if she must bring him his letters._) + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_to Raina_). Will you excuse me: the last postal delivery that reached +me was three weeks ago. These are the subsequent accumulations. Four +telegrams—a week old. (_He opens one._) Oho! Bad news! + +RAINA. +(_rising and advancing a little remorsefully_). Bad news? + +BLUNTSCHLI. +My father’s dead. (_He looks at the telegram with his lips pursed, +musing on the unexpected change in his arrangements._) + +RAINA. +Oh, how very sad! + +BLUNTSCHLI. +Yes: I shall have to start for home in an hour. He has left a lot of +big hotels behind him to be looked after. (_Takes up a heavy letter in +a long blue envelope._) Here’s a whacking letter from the family +solicitor. (_He pulls out the enclosures and glances over them._) Great +Heavens! Seventy! Two hundred! (_In a crescendo of dismay._) Four +hundred! Four thousand!! Nine thousand six hundred!!! What on earth +shall I do with them all? + +RAINA. +(_timidly_). Nine thousand hotels? + +BLUNTSCHLI. +Hotels! Nonsense. If you only knew!—oh, it’s too ridiculous! Excuse me: +I must give my fellow orders about starting. (_He leaves the room +hastily, with the documents in his hand._) + +LOUKA. +(_tauntingly_). He has not much heart, that Swiss, though he is so fond +of the Servians. He has not a word of grief for his poor father. + +RAINA. +(_bitterly_). Grief!—a man who has been doing nothing but killing +people for years! What does he care? What does any soldier care? (_She +goes to the door, evidently restraining her tears with difficulty._) + +LOUKA. +Major Saranoff has been fighting, too; and he has plenty of heart left. +(_Raina, at the door, looks haughtily at her and goes out._) Aha! I +thought you wouldn’t get much feeling out of your soldier. (_She is +following Raina when Nicola enters with an armful of logs for the +fire._) + +NICOLA. +(_grinning amorously at her_). I’ve been trying all the afternoon to +get a minute alone with you, my girl. (_His countenance changes as he +notices her arm._) Why, what fashion is that of wearing your sleeve, +child? + +LOUKA. +(_proudly_). My own fashion. + +NICOLA. +Indeed! If the mistress catches you, she’ll talk to you. (_He throws +the logs down on the ottoman, and sits comfortably beside them._) + +LOUKA. +Is that any reason why you should take it on yourself to talk to me? + +NICOLA. +Come: don’t be so contrary with me. I’ve some good news for you. (_He +takes out some paper money. Louka, with an eager gleam in her eyes, +comes close to look at it._) See, a twenty leva bill! Sergius gave me +that out of pure swagger. A fool and his money are soon parted. There’s +ten levas more. The Swiss gave me that for backing up the mistress’s +and Raina’s lies about him. He’s no fool, he isn’t. You should have +heard old Catherine downstairs as polite as you please to me, telling +me not to mind the Major being a little impatient; for they knew what a +good servant I was—after making a fool and a liar of me before them +all! The twenty will go to our savings; and you shall have the ten to +spend if you’ll only talk to me so as to remind me I’m a human being. I +get tired of being a servant occasionally. + +LOUKA. +(_scornfully_). Yes: sell your manhood for thirty levas, and buy me for +ten! Keep your money. You were born to be a servant. I was not. When +you set up your shop you will only be everybody’s servant instead of +somebody’s servant. + +NICOLA. +(_picking up his logs, and going to the stove_). Ah, wait till you see. +We shall have our evenings to ourselves; and I shall be master in my +own house, I promise you. (_He throws the logs down and kneels at the +stove._) + +LOUKA. +You shall never be master in mine. (_She sits down on Sergius’s +chair._) + +NICOLA. +(_turning, still on his knees, and squatting down rather forlornly, on +his calves, daunted by her implacable disdain_). You have a great +ambition in you, Louka. Remember: if any luck comes to you, it was I +that made a woman of you. + +LOUKA. +You! + +NICOLA. +(_with dogged self-assertion_). Yes, me. Who was it made you give up +wearing a couple of pounds of false black hair on your head and +reddening your lips and cheeks like any other Bulgarian girl? I did. +Who taught you to trim your nails, and keep your hands clean, and be +dainty about yourself, like a fine Russian lady? Me! do you hear that? +me! (_She tosses her head defiantly; and he rises, ill-humoredly, +adding more coolly_) I’ve often thought that if Raina were out of the +way, and you just a little less of a fool and Sergius just a little +more of one, you might come to be one of my grandest customers, instead +of only being my wife and costing me money. + +LOUKA. +I believe you would rather be my servant than my husband. You would +make more out of me. Oh, I know that soul of yours. + +NICOLA. +(_going up close to her for greater emphasis_). Never you mind my soul; +but just listen to my advice. If you want to be a lady, your present +behaviour to me won’t do at all, unless when we’re alone. It’s too +sharp and impudent; and impudence is a sort of familiarity: it shews +affection for me. And don’t you try being high and mighty with me +either. You’re like all country girls: you think it’s genteel to treat +a servant the way I treat a stable-boy. That’s only your ignorance; and +don’t you forget it. And don’t be so ready to defy everybody. Act as if +you expected to have your own way, not as if you expected to be ordered +about. The way to get on as a lady is the same as the way to get on as +a servant: you’ve got to know your place; that’s the secret of it. And +you may depend on me to know my place if you get promoted. Think over +it, my girl. I’ll stand by you: one servant should always stand by +another. + +LOUKA. +(_rising impatiently_). Oh, I must behave in my own way. You take all +the courage out of me with your cold-blooded wisdom. Go and put those +logs on the fire: that’s the sort of thing you understand. (_Before +Nicola can retort, Sergius comes in. He checks himself a moment on +seeing Louka; then goes to the stove._) + +SERGIUS. +(_to Nicola_). I am not in the way of your work, I hope. + +NICOLA. +(_in a smooth, elderly manner_). Oh, no, sir, thank you kindly. I was +only speaking to this foolish girl about her habit of running up here +to the library whenever she gets a chance, to look at the books. That’s +the worst of her education, sir: it gives her habits above her station. +(_To Louka._) Make that table tidy, Louka, for the Major. (_He goes out +sedately._) + +(_Louka, without looking at Sergius, begins to arrange the papers on +the table. He crosses slowly to her, and studies the arrangement of her +sleeve reflectively._) + +SERGIUS. +Let me see: is there a mark there? (_He turns up the bracelet and sees +the bruise made by his grasp. She stands motionless, not looking at +him: fascinated, but on her guard._) Ffff! Does it hurt? + +LOUKA. +Yes. + +SERGIUS. +Shall I cure it? + +LOUKA. +(_instantly withdrawing herself proudly, but still not looking at +him_). No. You cannot cure it now. + +SERGIUS. +(_masterfully_). Quite sure? (_He makes a movement as if to take her in +his arms._) + +LOUKA. +Don’t trifle with me, please. An officer should not trifle with a +servant. + +SERGIUS. +(_touching the arm with a merciless stroke of his forefinger_). That +was no trifle, Louka. + +LOUKA. +No. (_Looking at him for the first time._) Are you sorry? + +SERGIUS. +(_with measured emphasis, folding his arms_). I am never sorry. + +LOUKA. +(_wistfully_). I wish I could believe a man could be so unlike a woman +as that. I wonder are you really a brave man? + +SERGIUS. +(_unaffectedly, relaxing his attitude_). Yes: I am a brave man. My +heart jumped like a woman’s at the first shot; but in the charge I +found that I was brave. Yes: that at least is real about me. + +LOUKA. +Did you find in the charge that the men whose fathers are poor like +mine were any less brave than the men who are rich like you? + +SERGIUS. +(_with bitter levity._) Not a bit. They all slashed and cursed and +yelled like heroes. Psha! the courage to rage and kill is cheap. I have +an English bull terrier who has as much of that sort of courage as the +whole Bulgarian nation, and the whole Russian nation at its back. But +he lets my groom thrash him, all the same. That’s your soldier all +over! No, Louka, your poor men can cut throats; but they are afraid of +their officers; they put up with insults and blows; they stand by and +see one another punished like children—-aye, and help to do it when +they are ordered. And the officers!—-well (_with a short, bitter +laugh_) I am an officer. Oh, (_fervently_) give me the man who will +defy to the death any power on earth or in heaven that sets itself up +against his own will and conscience: he alone is the brave man. + +LOUKA. +How easy it is to talk! Men never seem to me to grow up: they all have +schoolboy’s ideas. You don’t know what true courage is. + +SERGIUS. +(_ironically_). Indeed! I am willing to be instructed. + +LOUKA. +Look at me! how much am I allowed to have my own will? I have to get +your room ready for you—to sweep and dust, to fetch and carry. How +could that degrade me if it did not degrade you to have it done for +you? But (_with subdued passion_) if I were Empress of Russia, above +everyone in the world, then—ah, then, though according to you I could +shew no courage at all; you should see, you should see. + +SERGIUS. +What would you do, most noble Empress? + +LOUKA. +I would marry the man I loved, which no other queen in Europe has the +courage to do. If I loved you, though you would be as far beneath me as +I am beneath you, I would dare to be the equal of my inferior. Would +you dare as much if you loved me? No: if you felt the beginnings of +love for me you would not let it grow. You dare not: you would marry a +rich man’s daughter because you would be afraid of what other people +would say of you. + +SERGIUS. +(_carried away_). You lie: it is not so, by all the stars! If I loved +you, and I were the Czar himself, I would set you on the throne by my +side. You know that I love another woman, a woman as high above you as +heaven is above earth. And you are jealous of her. + +LOUKA. +I have no reason to be. She will never marry you now. The man I told +you of has come back. She will marry the Swiss. + +SERGIUS. +(_recoiling_). The Swiss! + +LOUKA. +A man worth ten of you. Then you can come to me; and I will refuse you. +You are not good enough for me. (_She turns to the door._) + +SERGIUS. +(_springing after her and catching her fiercely in his arms_). I will +kill the Swiss; and afterwards I will do as I please with you. + +LOUKA. +(_in his arms, passive and steadfast_). The Swiss will kill you, +perhaps. He has beaten you in love. He may beat you in war. + +SERGIUS. +(_tormentedly_). Do you think I believe that she—she! whose worst +thoughts are higher than your best ones, is capable of trifling with +another man behind my back? + +LOUKA. +Do you think she would believe the Swiss if he told her now that I am +in your arms? + +SERGIUS. +(_releasing her in despair_). Damnation! Oh, damnation! Mockery, +mockery everywhere: everything I think is mocked by everything I do. +(_He strikes himself frantically on the breast._) Coward, liar, fool! +Shall I kill myself like a man, or live and pretend to laugh at myself? +(_She again turns to go._) Louka! (_She stops near the door._) +Remember: you belong to me. + +LOUKA. +(_quietly_). What does that mean—an insult? + +SERGIUS. +(_commandingly_). It means that you love me, and that I have had you +here in my arms, and will perhaps have you there again. Whether that is +an insult I neither know nor care: take it as you please. But +(_vehemently_) I will not be a coward and a trifler. If I choose to +love you, I dare marry you, in spite of all Bulgaria. If these hands +ever touch you again, they shall touch my affianced bride. + +LOUKA. +We shall see whether you dare keep your word. But take care. I will not +wait long. + +SERGIUS. +(_again folding his arms and standing motionless in the middle of the +room_). Yes, we shall see. And you shall wait my pleasure. + +(_Bluntschli, much preoccupied, with his papers still in his hand, +enters, leaving the door open for Louka to go out. He goes across to +the table, glancing at her as he passes. Sergius, without altering his +resolute attitude, watches him steadily. Louka goes out, leaving the +door open._) + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_absently, sitting at the table as before, and putting down his +papers_). That’s a remarkable looking young woman. + +SERGIUS. +(_gravely, without moving_). Captain Bluntschli. + +BLUNTSCHLI. +Eh? + +SERGIUS. +You have deceived me. You are my rival. I brook no rivals. At six +o’clock I shall be in the drilling-ground on the Klissoura road, alone, +on horseback, with my sabre. Do you understand? + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_staring, but sitting quite at his ease_). Oh, thank you: that’s a +cavalry man’s proposal. I’m in the artillery; and I have the choice of +weapons. If I go, I shall take a machine gun. And there shall be no +mistake about the cartridges this time. + +SERGIUS. +(_flushing, but with deadly coldness_). Take care, sir. It is not our +custom in Bulgaria to allow invitations of that kind to be trifled +with. + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_warmly_). Pooh! don’t talk to me about Bulgaria. You don’t know what +fighting is. But have it your own way. Bring your sabre along. I’ll +meet you. + +SERGIUS. +(_fiercely delighted to find his opponent a man of spirit_). Well said, +Switzer. Shall I lend you my best horse? + +BLUNTSCHLI. +No: damn your horse!—-thank you all the same, my dear fellow. (_Raina +comes in, and hears the next sentence._) I shall fight you on foot. +Horseback’s too dangerous: I don’t want to kill you if I can help it. + +RAINA. +(_hurrying forward anxiously_). I have heard what Captain Bluntschli +said, Sergius. You are going to fight. Why? (_Sergius turns away in +silence, and goes to the stove, where he stands watching her as she +continues, to Bluntschli_) What about? + +BLUNTSCHLI. +I don’t know: he hasn’t told me. Better not interfere, dear young lady. +No harm will be done: I’ve often acted as sword instructor. He won’t be +able to touch me; and I’ll not hurt him. It will save explanations. In +the morning I shall be off home; and you’ll never see me or hear of me +again. You and he will then make it up and live happily ever after. + +RAINA. +(_turning away deeply hurt, almost with a sob in her voice_). I never +said I wanted to see you again. + +SERGIUS. +(_striding forward_). Ha! That is a confession. + +RAINA. +(_haughtily_). What do you mean? + +SERGIUS. +You love that man! + +RAINA. +(_scandalized_). Sergius! + +SERGIUS. +You allow him to make love to you behind my back, just as you accept me +as your affianced husband behind his. Bluntschli: you knew our +relations; and you deceived me. It is for that that I call you to +account, not for having received favours that I never enjoyed. + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_jumping up indignantly_). Stuff! Rubbish! I have received no favours. +Why, the young lady doesn’t even know whether I’m married or not. + +RAINA. +(_forgetting herself_). Oh! (_Collapsing on the ottoman._) Are you? + +SERGIUS. +You see the young lady’s concern, Captain Bluntschli. Denial is +useless. You have enjoyed the privilege of being received in her own +room, late at night— + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_interrupting him pepperily_). Yes; you blockhead! She received me +with a pistol at her head. Your cavalry were at my heels. I’d have +blown out her brains if she’d uttered a cry. + +SERGIUS. +(_taken aback_). Bluntschli! Raina: is this true? + +RAINA. +(_rising in wrathful majesty_). Oh, how dare you, how dare you? + +BLUNTSCHLI. +Apologize, man, apologize! (_He resumes his seat at the table._) + +SERGIUS. +(_with the old measured emphasis, folding his arms_). I never +apologize. + +RAINA. +(_passionately_). This is the doing of that friend of yours, Captain +Bluntschli. It is he who is spreading this horrible story about me. +(_She walks about excitedly._) + +BLUNTSCHLI. +No: he’s dead—burnt alive. + +RAINA. +(_stopping, shocked_). Burnt alive! + +BLUNTSCHLI. +Shot in the hip in a wood yard. Couldn’t drag himself out. Your +fellows’ shells set the timber on fire and burnt him, with half a dozen +other poor devils in the same predicament. + +RAINA. +How horrible! + +SERGIUS. +And how ridiculous! Oh, war! war! the dream of patriots and heroes! A +fraud, Bluntschli, a hollow sham, like love. + +RAINA. +(_outraged_). Like love! You say that before me. + +BLUNTSCHLI. +Come, Saranoff: that matter is explained. + +SERGIUS. +A hollow sham, I say. Would you have come back here if nothing had +passed between you, except at the muzzle of your pistol? Raina is +mistaken about our friend who was burnt. He was not my informant. + +RAINA. +Who then? (_Suddenly guessing the truth._) Ah, Louka! my maid, my +servant! You were with her this morning all that time after—-after—-Oh, +what sort of god is this I have been worshipping! (_He meets her gaze +with sardonic enjoyment of her disenchantment. Angered all the more, +she goes closer to him, and says, in a lower, intenser tone_) Do you +know that I looked out of the window as I went upstairs, to have +another sight of my hero; and I saw something that I did not understand +then. I know now that you were making love to her. + +SERGIUS. +(_with grim humor_). You saw that? + +RAINA. +Only too well. (_She turns away, and throws herself on the divan under +the centre window, quite overcome._) + +SERGIUS. +(_cynically_). Raina: our romance is shattered. Life’s a farce. + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_to Raina, goodhumoredly_). You see: he’s found himself out now. + +SERGIUS. +Bluntschli: I have allowed you to call me a blockhead. You may now call +me a coward as well. I refuse to fight you. Do you know why? + +BLUNTSCHLI. +No; but it doesn’t matter. I didn’t ask the reason when you cried on; +and I don’t ask the reason now that you cry off. I’m a professional +soldier. I fight when I have to, and am very glad to get out of it when +I haven’t to. You’re only an amateur: you think fighting’s an +amusement. + +SERGIUS. +You shall hear the reason all the same, my professional. The reason is +that it takes two men—real men—men of heart, blood and honor—to make a +genuine combat. I could no more fight with you than I could make love +to an ugly woman. You’ve no magnetism: you’re not a man, you’re a +machine. + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_apologetically_). Quite true, quite true. I always was that sort of +chap. I’m very sorry. But now that you’ve found that life isn’t a +farce, but something quite sensible and serious, what further obstacle +is there to your happiness? + +RAINA. +(_riling_). You are very solicitous about my happiness and his. Do you +forget his new love—Louka? It is not you that he must fight now, but +his rival, Nicola. + +SERGIUS. +Rival!! (_Striking his forehead._) + +RAINA. +Did you not know that they are engaged? + +SERGIUS. +Nicola! Are fresh abysses opening! Nicola!! + +RAINA. +(_sarcastically_). A shocking sacrifice, isn’t it? Such beauty, such +intellect, such modesty, wasted on a middle-aged servant man! Really, +Sergius, you cannot stand by and allow such a thing. It would be +unworthy of your chivalry. + +SERGIUS. +(_losing all self-control_). Viper! Viper! (_He rushes to and fro, +raging._) + +BLUNTSCHLI. +Look here, Saranoff; you’re getting the worst of this. + +RAINA. +(_getting angrier_). Do you realize what he has done, Captain +Bluntschli? He has set this girl as a spy on us; and her reward is that +he makes love to her. + +SERGIUS. +False! Monstrous! + +RAINA. +Monstrous! (_Confronting him._) Do you deny that she told you about +Captain Bluntschli being in my room? + +SERGIUS. +No; but— + +RAINA. +(_interrupting_). Do you deny that you were making love to her when she +told you? + +SERGIUS. +No; but I tell you— + +RAINA. +(_cutting him short contemptuously_). It is unnecessary to tell us +anything more. That is quite enough for us. (_She turns her back on him +and sweeps majestically back to the window._) + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_quietly, as Sergius, in an agony of mortification, sinks on the +ottoman, clutching his averted head between his fists_). I told you you +were getting the worst of it, Saranoff. + +SERGIUS. +Tiger cat! + +RAINA. +(_running excitedly to Bluntschli_). You hear this man calling me +names, Captain Bluntschli? + +BLUNTSCHLI. +What else can he do, dear lady? He must defend himself somehow. Come +(_very persuasively_), don’t quarrel. What good does it do? (_Raina, +with a gasp, sits down on the ottoman, and after a vain effort to look +vexedly at Bluntschli, she falls a victim to her sense of humor, and is +attacked with a disposition to laugh._) + +SERGIUS. +Engaged to Nicola! (_He rises._) Ha! ha! (_Going to the stove and +standing with his back to it._) Ah, well, Bluntschli, you are right to +take this huge imposture of a world coolly. + +RAINA. +(_to Bluntschli with an intuitive guess at his state of mind_). I +daresay you think us a couple of grown up babies, don’t you? + +SERGIUS. +(_grinning a little_). He does, he does. Swiss civilization +nursetending Bulgarian barbarism, eh? + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_blushing_). Not at all, I assure you. I’m only very glad to get you +two quieted. There now, let’s be pleasant and talk it over in a +friendly way. Where is this other young lady? + +RAINA. +Listening at the door, probably. + +SERGIUS. +(_shivering as if a bullet had struck him, and speaking with quiet but +deep indignation_). I will prove that that, at least, is a calumny. +(_He goes with dignity to the door and opens it. A yell of fury bursts +from him as he looks out. He darts into the passage, and returns +dragging in Louka, whom he flings against the table, R., as he cries_) +Judge her, Bluntschli—you, the moderate, cautious man: judge the +eavesdropper. + +(_Louka stands her ground, proud and silent._) + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_shaking his head_). I mustn’t judge her. I once listened myself +outside a tent when there was a mutiny brewing. It’s all a question of +the degree of provocation. My life was at stake. + +LOUKA. +My love was at stake. (_Sergius flinches, ashamed of her in spite of +himself._) I am not ashamed. + +RAINA. +(_contemptuously_). Your love! Your curiosity, you mean. + +LOUKA. +(_facing her and retorting her contempt with interest_). My love, +stronger than anything you can feel, even for your chocolate cream +soldier. + +SERGIUS. +(_with quick suspicion—to Louka_). What does that mean? + +LOUKA. +(_fiercely_). It means— + +SERGIUS. +(_interrupting her slightingly_). Oh, I remember, the ice pudding. A +paltry taunt, girl. + +(_Major Petkoff enters, in his shirtsleeves._) + +PETKOFF. +Excuse my shirtsleeves, gentlemen. Raina: somebody has been wearing +that coat of mine: I’ll swear it—somebody with bigger shoulders than +mine. It’s all burst open at the back. Your mother is mending it. I +wish she’d make haste. I shall catch cold. (_He looks more attentively +at them._) Is anything the matter? + +RAINA. +No. (_She sits down at the stove with a tranquil air._) + +SERGIUS. +Oh, no! (_He sits down at the end of the table, as at first._) + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_who is already seated_). Nothing, nothing. + +PETKOFF. +(_sitting down on the ottoman in his old place_). That’s all right. +(_He notices Louka._) Anything the matter, Louka? + +LOUKA. +No, sir. + +PETKOFF. +(_genially_). That’s all right. (_He sneezes._) Go and ask your +mistress for my coat, like a good girl, will you? (_She turns to obey; +but Nicola enters with the coat; and she makes a pretence of having +business in the room by taking the little table with the hookah away to +the wall near the windows._) + +RAINA. +(_rising quickly, as she sees the coat on Nicola’s arm_). Here it is, +papa. Give it to me, Nicola; and do you put some more wood on the fire. +(_She takes the coat, and brings it to the Major, who stands up to put +it on. Nicola attends to the fire._) + +PETKOFF. +(_to Raina, teasing her affectionately_). Aha! Going to be very good to +poor old papa just for one day after his return from the wars, eh? + +RAINA. +(_with solemn reproach_). Ah, how can you say that to me, father? + +PETKOFF. +Well, well, only a joke, little one. Come, give me a kiss. (_She kisses +him._) Now give me the coat. + +RAINA. +Now, I am going to put it on for you. Turn your back. (_He turns his +back and feels behind him with his arms for the sleeves. She +dexterously takes the photograph from the pocket and throws it on the +table before Bluntschli, who covers it with a sheet of paper under the +very nose of Sergius, who looks on amazed, with his suspicions roused +in the highest degree. She then helps Petkoff on with his coat._) +There, dear! Now are you comfortable? + +PETKOFF. +Quite, little love. Thanks. (_He sits down; and Raina returns to her +seat near the stove._) Oh, by the bye, I’ve found something funny. +What’s the meaning of this? (_He put his hand into the picked pocket._) +Eh? Hallo! (_He tries the other pocket._) Well, I could have +sworn—(_Much puzzled, he tries the breast pocket._) I wonder—(_Tries +the original pocket._) Where can it—(_A light flashes on him; he rises, +exclaiming_) Your mother’s taken it. + +RAINA. +(_very red_). Taken what? + +PETKOFF. +Your photograph, with the inscription: “Raina, to her Chocolate Cream +Soldier—a souvenir.” Now you know there’s something more in this than +meets the eye; and I’m going to find it out. (_Shouting_) Nicola! + +NICOLA. +(_dropping a log, and turning_). Sir! + +PETKOFF. +Did you spoil any pastry of Miss Raina’s this morning? + +NICOLA. +You heard Miss Raina say that I did, sir. + +PETKOFF. +I know that, you idiot. Was it true? + +NICOLA. +I am sure Miss Raina is incapable of saying anything that is not true, +sir. + +PETKOFF. +Are you? Then I’m not. (_Turning to the others._) Come: do you think I +don’t see it all? (_Goes to Sergius, and slaps him on the shoulder._) +Sergius: you’re the chocolate cream soldier, aren’t you? + +SERGIUS. +(_starting up_). I! a chocolate cream soldier! Certainly not. + +PETKOFF. +Not! (_He looks at them. They are all very serious and very +conscious._) Do you mean to tell me that Raina sends photographic +souvenirs to other men? + +SERGIUS. +(_enigmatically_). The world is not such an innocent place as we used +to think, Petkoff. + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_rising_). It’s all right, Major. I’m the chocolate cream soldier. +(_Petkoff and Sergius are equally astonished._) The gracious young lady +saved my life by giving me chocolate creams when I was starving—shall I +ever forget their flavour! My late friend Stolz told you the story at +Peerot. I was the fugitive. + +PETKOFF. +You! (_He gasps._) Sergius: do you remember how those two women went on +this morning when we mentioned it? (_Sergius smiles cynically. Petkoff +confronts Raina severely._) You’re a nice young woman, aren’t you? + +RAINA. +(_bitterly_). Major Saranoff has changed his mind. And when I wrote +that on the photograph, I did not know that Captain Bluntschli was +married. + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_much startled protesting vehemently_). I’m not married. + +RAINA. +(_with deep reproach_). You said you were. + +BLUNTSCHLI. +I did not. I positively did not. I never was married in my life. + +PETKOFF. +(_exasperated_). Raina: will you kindly inform me, if I am not asking +too much, which gentleman you are engaged to? + +RAINA. +To neither of them. This young lady (_introducing Louka, who faces them +all proudly_) is the object of Major Saranoff’s affections at present. + +PETKOFF. +Louka! Are you mad, Sergius? Why, this girl’s engaged to Nicola. + +NICOLA. +(_coming forward _). I beg your pardon, sir. There is a mistake. Louka +is not engaged to me. + +PETKOFF. +Not engaged to you, you scoundrel! Why, you had twenty-five levas from +me on the day of your betrothal; and she had that gilt bracelet from +Miss Raina. + +NICOLA. +(_with cool unction_). We gave it out so, sir. But it was only to give +Louka protection. She had a soul above her station; and I have been no +more than her confidential servant. I intend, as you know, sir, to set +up a shop later on in Sofia; and I look forward to her custom and +recommendation should she marry into the nobility. (_He goes out with +impressive discretion, leaving them all staring after him._) + +PETKOFF. +(_breaking the silence_). Well, I am—-hm! + +SERGIUS. +This is either the finest heroism or the most crawling baseness. Which +is it, Bluntschli? + +BLUNTSCHLI. +Never mind whether it’s heroism or baseness. Nicola’s the ablest man +I’ve met in Bulgaria. I’ll make him manager of a hotel if he can speak +French and German. + +LOUKA. +(_suddenly breaking out at Sergius_). I have been insulted by everyone +here. You set them the example. You owe me an apology. (_Sergius +immediately, like a repeating clock of which the spring has been +touched, begins to fold his arms._) + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_before he can speak_). It’s no use. He never apologizes. + +LOUKA. +Not to you, his equal and his enemy. To me, his poor servant, he will +not refuse to apologize. + +SERGIUS. +(_approvingly_). You are right. (_He bends his knee in his grandest +manner._) Forgive me! + +LOUKA. +I forgive you. (_She timidly gives him her hand, which he kisses._) +That touch makes me your affianced wife. + +SERGIUS. +(_springing up_). Ah, I forgot that! + +LOUKA. +(_coldly_). You can withdraw if you like. + +SERGIUS. +Withdraw! Never! You belong to me! (_He puts his arm about her and +draws her to him._) (_Catherine comes in and finds Louka in Sergius’s +arms, and all the rest gazing at them in bewildered astonishment._) + +CATHERINE. +What does this mean? (_Sergius releases Louka._) + +PETKOFF. +Well, my dear, it appears that Sergius is going to marry Louka instead +of Raina. (_She is about to break out indignantly at him: he stops her +by exclaiming testily._) Don’t blame me: I’ve nothing to do with it. +(_He retreats to the stove._) + +CATHERINE. +Marry Louka! Sergius: you are bound by your word to us! + +SERGIUS. +(_folding his arms_). Nothing binds me. + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_much pleased by this piece of common sense_). Saranoff: your hand. My +congratulations. These heroics of yours have their practical side after +all. (_To Louka._) Gracious young lady: the best wishes of a good +Republican! (_He kisses her hand, to Raina’s great disgust._) + +CATHERINE. +(_threateningly_). Louka: you have been telling stories. + +LOUKA. +I have done Raina no harm. + +CATHERINE. +(_haughtily_). Raina! (_Raina is equally indignant at the liberty._) + +LOUKA. +I have a right to call her Raina: she calls me Louka. I told Major +Saranoff she would never marry him if the Swiss gentleman came back. + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_surprised_). Hallo! + +LOUKA. +(_turning to Raina_). I thought you were fonder of him than of Sergius. +You know best whether I was right. + +BLUNTSCHLI. +What nonsense! I assure you, my dear Major, my dear Madame, the +gracious young lady simply saved my life, nothing else. She never cared +two straws for me. Why, bless my heart and soul, look at the young lady +and look at me. She, rich, young, beautiful, with her imagination full +of fairy princes and noble natures and cavalry charges and goodness +knows what! And I, a common-place Swiss soldier who hardly knows what a +decent life is after fifteen years of barracks and battles—a vagabond—a +man who has spoiled all his chances in life through an incurably +romantic disposition—a man— + +SERGIUS. +(_starting as if a needle had pricked him and interrupting Bluntschli +in incredulous amazement_). Excuse me, Bluntschli: what did you say had +spoiled your chances in life? + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_promptly_). An incurably romantic disposition. I ran away from home +twice when I was a boy. I went into the army instead of into my +father’s business. I climbed the balcony of this house when a man of +sense would have dived into the nearest cellar. I came sneaking back +here to have another look at the young lady when any other man of my +age would have sent the coat back— + +PETKOFF. +My coat! + +BLUNTSCHLI.—Yes: that’s the coat I mean—would have sent it back and +gone quietly home. Do you suppose I am the sort of fellow a young girl +falls in love with? Why, look at our ages! I’m thirty-four: I don’t +suppose the young lady is much over seventeen. (_This estimate produces +a marked sensation, all the rest turning and staring at one another. He +proceeds innocently._) All that adventure which was life or death to +me, was only a schoolgirl’s game to her—chocolate creams and hide and +seek. Here’s the proof! (_He takes the photograph from the table._) +Now, I ask you, would a woman who took the affair seriously have sent +me this and written on it: “Raina, to her chocolate cream soldier—a +souvenir”? (_He exhibits the photograph triumphantly, as if it settled +the matter beyond all possibility of refutation._) + +PETKOFF. +That’s what I was looking for. How the deuce did it get there? + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_to Raina complacently_). I have put everything right, I hope, +gracious young lady! + +RAINA. +(_in uncontrollable vexation_). I quite agree with your account of +yourself. You are a romantic idiot. (_Bluntschli is unspeakably taken +aback._) Next time I hope you will know the difference between a +schoolgirl of seventeen and a woman of twenty-three. + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_stupefied_). Twenty-three! (_She snaps the photograph contemptuously +from his hand; tears it across; and throws the pieces at his feet._) + +SERGIUS. +(_with grim enjoyment of Bluntschli’s discomfiture_). Bluntschli: my +one last belief is gone. Your sagacity is a fraud, like all the other +things. You have less sense than even I have. + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_overwhelmed_). Twenty-three! Twenty-three!! (_He considers._) Hm! +(_Swiftly making up his mind._) In that case, Major Petkoff, I beg to +propose formally to become a suitor for your daughter’s hand, in place +of Major Saranoff retired. + +RAINA. +You dare! + +BLUNTSCHLI. +If you were twenty-three when you said those things to me this +afternoon, I shall take them seriously. + +CATHERINE. +(_loftily polite_). I doubt, sir, whether you quite realize either my +daughter’s position or that of Major Sergius Saranoff, whose place you +propose to take. The Petkoffs and the Saranoffs are known as the +richest and most important families in the country. Our position is +almost historical: we can go back for nearly twenty years. + +PETKOFF. +Oh, never mind that, Catherine. (_To Bluntschli._) We should be most +happy, Bluntschli, if it were only a question of your position; but +hang it, you know, Raina is accustomed to a very comfortable +establishment. Sergius keeps twenty horses. + +BLUNTSCHLI. +But what on earth is the use of twenty horses? Why, it’s a circus. + +CATHERINE. +(_severely_). My daughter, sir, is accustomed to a first-rate stable. + +RAINA. +Hush, mother, you’re making me ridiculous. + +BLUNTSCHLI. +Oh, well, if it comes to a question of an establishment, here goes! +(_He goes impetuously to the table and seizes the papers in the blue +envelope._) How many horses did you say? + +SERGIUS. +Twenty, noble Switzer! + +BLUNTSCHLI. +I have two hundred horses. (_They are amazed._) How many carriages? + +SERGIUS. +Three. + +BLUNTSCHLI. +I have seventy. Twenty-four of them will hold twelve inside, besides +two on the box, without counting the driver and conductor. How many +tablecloths have you? + +SERGIUS. +How the deuce do I know? + +BLUNTSCHLI. +Have you four thousand? + +SERGIUS. +NO. + +BLUNTSCHLI. +I have. I have nine thousand six hundred pairs of sheets and blankets, +with two thousand four hundred eider-down quilts. I have ten thousand +knives and forks, and the same quantity of dessert spoons. I have six +hundred servants. I have six palatial establishments, besides two +livery stables, a tea garden and a private house. I have four medals +for distinguished services; I have the rank of an officer and the +standing of a gentleman; and I have three native languages. Show me any +man in Bulgaria that can offer as much. + +PETKOFF. +(_with childish awe_). Are you Emperor of Switzerland? + +BLUNTSCHLI. +My rank is the highest known in Switzerland: I’m a free citizen. + +CATHERINE. +Then Captain Bluntschli, since you are my daughter’s choice, I shall +not stand in the way of her happiness. (_Petkoff is about to speak._) +That is Major Petkoff’s feeling also. + +PETKOFF. +Oh, I shall be only too glad. Two hundred horses! Whew! + +SERGIUS. +What says the lady? + +RAINA. +(_pretending to sulk_). The lady says that he can keep his tablecloths +and his omnibuses. I am not here to be sold to the highest bidder. + +BLUNTSCHLI. +I won’t take that answer. I appealed to you as a fugitive, a beggar, +and a starving man. You accepted me. You gave me your hand to kiss, +your bed to sleep in, and your roof to shelter me— + +RAINA. +(_interrupting him_). I did not give them to the Emperor of +Switzerland! + +BLUNTSCHLI. +That’s just what I say. (_He catches her hand quickly and looks her +straight in the face as he adds, with confident mastery_) Now tell us +who you did give them to. + +RAINA. +(_succumbing with a shy smile_). To my chocolate cream soldier! + +BLUNTSCHLI. +(_with a boyish laugh of delight_). That’ll do. Thank you. (_Looks at +his watch and suddenly becomes businesslike._) Time’s up, Major. You’ve +managed those regiments so well that you are sure to be asked to get +rid of some of the Infantry of the Teemok division. Send them home by +way of Lom Palanka. Saranoff: don’t get married until I come back: I +shall be here punctually at five in the evening on Tuesday fortnight. +Gracious ladies—good evening. (_He makes them a military bow, and +goes._) + +SERGIUS. +What a man! What a man! + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ARMS AND THE MAN *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ +concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, +and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following +the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use +of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for +copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very +easy. 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