Arms and the Man, George Bernard Shaw [best classic novels TXT] 📗
- Author: George Bernard Shaw
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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 Sofea; 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
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