Arms and the Man, George Bernard Shaw [best classic novels TXT] 📗

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