Arms and the Man by George Bernard Shaw (well read books .TXT) 📕

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