Arms and the Man, George Bernard Shaw [comprehension books txt] 📗

Serbian. Raina Haughtily. No, you are one of the Austrians who set the Serbians 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 Serbia 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 showing 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