Armsmanpleasantp 00 SHW

ARMS AND
THE MAN
A PLEASANT PLAY
By
BERNARD SHAW
NEW YORK
BRENTANO'S
1913
Price 40 cento net
I
WORKS OF
1
ARMS AND
THE MAN
A PLEASANT PLAY
By
BERNARD SHAW
NEW YORK
BRENTANO'S
1913
Copyright, 1898, by Herbert 8. Stone & Co.
Copyright, 1905, by Brentano's
3i
©aAscii.')^'^-^^
Mill i I (
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 disre-
gards 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, ac-
cording to his own story in "The Man of Destiny," Napo-
leon at Tavazzano knew of the Art of War. But both
—
men were successes each in his way the latter won vic-
tories 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 char-
acters 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 Essay-
ist, 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 — al-
—
though he has created few of the latter can be most ex-
tremely disagreeable to our conventional way of thinking.
Plays, Pleasant and Unpleasant
As a last resort, he turned to the st^ge, not iliat he cared
for the dramatic art, for no mm
seems to care less about
"Art for Art's sake/' being in this a perfect foil to his
brilliantcompatriot 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 suj)})ression merely serve to advertise
their victim.
It will re])ay those who seek analogies in literature to
compare Shaw with Cervantes. After a life of heroic en-
deavor, disappointm^t, 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 ves-
tiges of decadent chivalry.
The institution had long been outgrown, but its vernac-
ular continued to be the speech and to express the thought
*'of the world and among the vulgar," as the quaint, old
novelist putsit, just as to-day the novel intended for the
consumption of the unenlightened must deal with peers

and millionnaires 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, an-
nounces 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. W'lien 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
Introduction
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,
th( y 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 sordllness, to disinter-
estedness by the picture of selfishness, to illusion by dis-
illusionment .f*
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, ter-
rible in i^roportion 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 ''Anns and the Man" the subject which occupies the
dramatist's attention is that survival of barbarity — mili-
tarism— 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 uni-
form 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 con-
ventionalized 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.
Plays, Pleasant and Unpleasant
M'eakness which appeals to the maternal instinct is more
powerful than strength which offers protection. Candida in
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 weak-
ness, the poet pitiful in his j)hysical im])otence but strong
in his perception of truth, the hopelessly de-morali7£d
manufacturer, the conventional and hence emotional tyfdst
make up a group which the drama of any language may be
challenged to rival.
In "The Man of Destiny" the object of the dramatii^: 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 tjie
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 atmos-
phere, while leaving it operative for others. Tliose 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 dis-
concerting effects of that perfect frankness which would
make life intolerable. Gloria demonstrates the power-
lessness 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. Cramplon, 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 verisi-
militude is lacking; none of the guests gives him a tip^
Introduction
yet he maintains his urbanity. As Mr. Shaw has not yet
visited America he may be unaware of the improbabihty
of this situation.
To those who regard Uterary 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 pleasanterto
—
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 con-
temptible conventions that dominate alike our stage and
our life is daily growing. —
Shaw and men like him if in-
—
deed he is not absolutely unique will not for the future
lack a hearing.
M.
ARMS AND THE MAN
ARMS AND THE MAN
ACT I
Night. A ladf s bedchamber in Bulgaria, in a small town

near the Dragoman Pass. It November in the year
is late in
l88^y 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 car-
pet, and all the ornamental textile fabrics in the room are ori-
ental 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 diag-
onally, 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 ii 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
— —
4 Arms and the Man Act I
native cloth, and on it there isa 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 oj drawers, and
another on the dressing table, with a box of matches beside it.
The window is hinged doorwise and stands wide open, fold-
ing bach to the left. Outside a pair of wooden shutters, open-
ing 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 Pethoff,
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 of good news'). Raina

(êntering hastily , full
(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, arc
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 ncws. 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.
Act I Arms and the Man 5
KAm\ (^with a cry of delight). Ah! (Rapturously,) Oh,
mothei (Theriy 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 Can't you see
their guns.
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 patriot- —
ism —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 yet and yet
failure. And — — (^îckly.)
Promise me him.
you'll never tell
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
—
6 the Man
Arms and Act I
mc in his anns and looking into my eyes, that perhaps wc
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. {^Remorse-
fully.) Only doubted him: I wondered
think, mother, I
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 Ser-
vians have Austrian officers who are just as clever as our
Russians; but we have beaten them in ever)' battle for all
that.
HAiNA ( laughing and sitting dou-n again'). Yes, I was only
a prosaic litde coward. Oh, to think that it was all true
that Sergius is and noble as he looks that
just as splendid —
the world is really a glorious world for women who can see
its glory and men who can act its romance! What happi-
ness! what unspeakable fulfilment! Ah! {She thrcncs her-
self on her knees beside her mother and fiings her arms pas-
sionately round her. They are interrupted by the entry of
Loukay 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 tcitb
her goes as far as she dares. She is just note excited like the
others; but she has no sympathy for Raind* 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
may be say there
shooting in the streets. {Raina and Catherine rise together,
alarmed.) The Ser\'ians 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-Ukey her housekeeping instincts aroused^
I must see that everything is made safe downstairs.
RAINA (/(? 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 y and Rain a* s
emotion comes back for a moment,) Wish me joy of the hap-
piest night of my life —
if only there are no fugitives.
CATHERINE. Go to bed, dear; and don't think of them.
(^S he 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, swag-
gering.)
(Raina, of drawers, and adores
left alone, goes to the chest
the portrait there with feelings that are beyond all expression.
She does not kiss it or press it to her breast y 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 y 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 theny with a
happy sighy gets into bed and prepares to read herself to sleep.
But before abandoning herself to fiction y she raises her eyes once
morey thinking of the blessed reality and murmurs) My
hero! my hero! (Â distant shot breaks the quiet of the
night outside. She starts y listening; and two more shots y much
nearer y follow y startling her so that she scrambles out of bedy
and hastily blows out the candle on the chest of drawers.
Theny putting her fingers in her earsy she runs ':> the dressing-
tableand blows out the light there y and hurrlt back to bed. f
The room is now in darkness: nothing is visibr ut the glim-

mer of the light in the pierced ball before the image y 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 echoingy the shutters disappear^
pulled open from without y and for an instant the rectangle of
snowy starlight fiashes 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 fiame of a match is seen in
the middle of the room.)
KMii^ {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 y subduedly, but threaten-
ingly). Sh —sh! Don't call out or you'll be shot. Be
good; and no harm will happen to you. {She is heard leav-
ing her bedy and making for the door.) Take care, there's
no use in trying to run away. Remember, if you raise your
voice my pistol willgo off. {Commandingly.') Strike a light
and let me see you. Do you hear? (Ânother moment of
silence and darkness. Then she is heard retreating to the
dressing-table. She lights a candky and the mystery is at an
end. A man
of about J^y in a deplorable plight y bespattered
with blood and snoWy his belt and the strap of his
mud and
revolver case keeping together the torn ruins of the blue coat
of a Servian artillery officer. As far as the candlelight and
his unwashedy unkempt condition make it possible to judge y he
is a man of middling stature and undistinguished appearance,
with strong neck and shoulders, a roundishy obstinate looking

head covered with short crisp bronze curlsy clear quick blue
eyes and good brows and mouthy a hopelessly prosaic nose like
that of a strong-minded baby, trim soldierlike carriage and
energetic manner y and with all his wits about him in spite of
his desperate predicament —
even with a sense of humor of it,
without y however y the least intention of trifling with it or throw-
ing away a chance. He reckons up what he can guess about
—
Raina her age y her social positiony her character, the extent
to which she is frightened —
at a glance y and continues y 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 under-
stand that?
RAiNA. Yes.
MAN. Well, I don't intend to get killed if I can help it.
{Still more determinedly.) Do you understand t h a t? {He
locks the door with a snap.)
RAINA (disdainfully). I suppose not. (^She draws her-
self up superb lyy and looks him straight in the facey saying
with emphasis) Some soldiers, I know, are a fr ai d 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 m e 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 y in-
stinctively 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 y
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
momenty Raina hardly able to believe that even a Servian
officer can be so cynically and selfishly unchivalrousy they are
startled by a sharp fusillade in the street. The chill of im-
minent 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 y listening. There is a
step outside. Someone tries the doory and then knocks hurriedly
and urgently at it. Raina looks at the many breathless. He
throws up his head with the gesture of a man who sees that it
is all over with him, andy dropping the manner which he has
ban assuming to intimidate her, fiings the cloak to her, ex-

claiming y sincerely and kindly) No use: Tm 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 (ânxiously). What will you do?
MAN (grimly). Nevermind. Keep out of the way. It
will not last long.

RAINA (impulsively). V\\ help you. Hide yourself, oh,
hide yourself, quick, behind the curtain. seizes him (She
and pulls him towards the window.)
by a torn strip of his sleeve,
MAN (yielding to her). There is just half a chance, if you
keep your head. Remember: nine soldiers out often are
born fools. (//> 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 eX'
citedly.
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 (âs 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?
I have found a Russian ofiicer, thank Heaven:
CATHERINE.
he knows Sergius. (Speaking through the door to someone
outside.) Sir, will you come in now! daughter is My
ready.
{j4 young Russian officer y in Bulgarian uniform^ enters^

sword in hand. )
THE OFFICER {with softy feline politeness and stiff military
carriage^. Good evening, gracious lady; I am sorry to in-
trude, 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 y pointing to the moonlit balcony. A couple of shots are
fired right under the window, and a bullet shatters the glass
opposite Rainay who winks and gaspSy but stands her groundy
whilst Catherine screamSy and the officer rushes to the balcony.^
THE OFFICER down to the
{on the balcony y shouting savagely
street). Cease firing there, you
do you hear? Cease
fools:
firing, damn you. {He glares down for a moment; then
turns to Rainay 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 boWy which
Raina returns coldly. Another to Catherine y who follows him
out. Raina closes the shutters. She turns and sees Loukay
who has been watching the scene curiously.)
RAINA. Don't leave my mother, Louka, whilst the soldiers
are here. {Louka glances at Rainay at the ottoman y at the
curtain; then purses her lips secretively y laughs to herself and
goes out. Raina follows her to the door, shuts it behind her
with a slamy and locks it violently. The man immediately steps
out from behind the curtain y 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 amnot 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 wait-
ing just a minute or two, do you?
RAINA. Oh, no: I am sorry you will have to go into
dangeragain. (Motioning towards ottoman.) Won't yousit
(^She breaks off with an irrepressible cry of alarm as she catches
sight of the pistol. The man, all nerves, shies like a fright-
ened horse.
M AH (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 fright-
ened 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 disparag-
ingly into his revolver case,)
i
Load it by all means.

RAINA.
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 grate-
ful 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 shew-
ing 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 (â 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 you've just beaten us?
that Sheer ignorance of the
art of war, nothing else. {Indignantly.) I never saw any-
thing 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 cer-
tainty 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: one comes; then two or three close behind him;
first
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 awd|k
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

anc their wildness
their slashing. The old ones come bunched up under
the number one guard: they know that they are mere pro-
jectiles, 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 cow-
ard. 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 hand- —
some with flashing eyes and lovely moustache,
fellow,
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 com-
mitted suicide —
only the pistol missed fire, that's all.
RAINA {deeply woundedy but steadfastly loyal to her ideals).
Indeed! Would you know him again if you saw him.?
MAN. {She again goes to the chest
Shall I ever forget him.
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 pa-
triot and hero — to whom I am betrothed.
MAN [looking at it). I'm really very sorry.
{Looking at
her.) Was it fair on?to lead me
[He looks at the portrait
again.') Yes: that's him: not a doubt of it. [He stijies a
laugh.)
RAINA (^quickly). Why do you laugh?
MAN [^shamefacedly^ but still greatly tickle^. 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. Tm
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 cow-
ard! 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
'.hall remember those three chocolate creams. It was un-
loldierly; but it was angelic.

RAINA {coldly). Thank you. And now I will do a
—
18 Arms and the Man Act 1
soldierly thing. You cannot stay here after what you have
just saidabout 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!
ottoman.)
—
(//> iinks on the
It's no use: I give up: I'm beaten. Give the
alarm. {He drops his head in his hands in the deepest de-
jection. )
RAiNA (^disarmed by pity). Come, don't be disheartened.
(^She stoops*ovAt*}f'\m 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 y 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 wonderinglyy 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 chesty and adds)
— Do you hear that, you chocolate cream soldier? {Ht
turns to the window.)
RAiNA (ânxiously). But if you fall?
MAN. I shall sleep as if the stono^ were a feather bed.
Good-bye. (//> 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
ihoulder, 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 you, don't you?
to save
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
coaxes him back to the middle of the room.
please. (She
He submits hum-
—
bly. 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. (//> 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 (^stifiing a heavy sigh of weariness). Then I don't
know it.
I thought you might have remembered the great

RAINA.
scene where Ernani, flying from his foes just as you are to-
night, 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 (^zuith 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 your safety.
for 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 o u r 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.
"""*^
^
O.
— ——
His eyes close. She goes to the door, but on turning for a last
look at hiniy sees that he isdropping off to sleep. ^
RAiNA {at the doorY 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 catch-
ing him in the act of yawning. She goes out.)
MAN (drowsily). Sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, slee (The
words trail off into a murmur. He wak&s again with a
shock on the point offalling.) Where am I?
That's what
I want know: where am I? Must keep awake. Nothing
to
keeps me awake except danger —
remember that (intently)
danger, danger, danger, dan —
Where's danger? Must
find it. (He starts off 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.)
RAIN A (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.) {Vehemently shaking very hard.) Sir!!!
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 y with a garden door reached
by a little flight of steps. On the left the stable yardy with its
gateway y encroaches on the garden. There are fruit bushes
along the paling and house y covered with washing hung out to
dry. A path runs by the house y and rises by two steps at the
corner where turns out of the sight along the front.
it In the
middle a small tablCy with two bent wood chairs at //, is laid
for breakfast with Turkish coffee poty cupsy rolls y etc.; but the
cups have been used and the bread broken. There is a wooden
garden seat against the wall on the left.
Loukay smoking a cigarety is standing between the table and
the housey 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 y with the
complacency of the servant who values himself on his rank in
servility y and the imperturbability of the accurate calculator
who has no illusions. He wears a white Bulgarian costume
jacket with decorated border y sashy wide knickerbockerSy and
decorated gaiters. His head is shaved up to the crown y giving
him a high Japanese forehead. His name is Nicola.
Act II Arms and the Man 25
NICOLA. Be warned Louka: mend your manners.
in time,
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 Sofea, 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 they heard you talk like that?
if
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 house would dare be
in this
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
—
26 Arms and the Man Act II
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 {ôpening his eyes cunjiingly). So that's your litdc
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 m.ake 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 ô, naturally unambitious except as to bis 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 patri-
otism which the Servian attack roused in all the Bulgarians
has pulled him through the war; but he is obviously glad H
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 (sittingdown 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.
Loukay with fresh coffee y 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 y and wears a Bulgarian apron over a once
brilliant y but now half worn out red dressing gown, and a
colored handkerchief tied over her thick black hairy with
Turkish slippers on her bare feet y comes from the house y 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 theback 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 y with fimhing 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 /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 affection-
ately 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. Nonscnse, 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. Dis-
gusting! 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.
.J
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 buttou; something tinkles in the
kitchen; and then Nicola comes up.
PETKOFF. Why not shout for him?
CATHERINE. CiviHzed 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 {îndicating
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 hav-
ing at least one native general.
PETKOFF. Yes, SO that throw away whole

he could
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 y announcing). Major Sergius SaranofF!
{He goes into the house and returns presently with a third
chair y which he places at the table. He then withdraws.)
( Major Sergius Saranoffy the original of the portrait in
Raina* s roomy is a tall, romantically handsome many with the
physical hardihoody the high spirit yand the susceptible imagina-
tion of an untamed mountaineer chieftain. But his remark-
able personal distinction is of a characteristically civilized
type. The ridges of his eyebrow Sy curving with a ram* s-horn
twist round the marked projections at the outer corners, his
jealously observant eye, his nose, thiny keeny and apprehensive
in spite of the pugnacious high bridge and large nostril, his
assertive chiny would not be out of place in a Paris salon. In
shorty the clever y 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-wity Byron ism. By his brooding on

the perpetual failure, not only of others, but of himself to
live up to his imaginative idealsy his consequent cynical scorn
for humanity y 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 Haroldfascinated the grand-
mothers of his English contemporaries. Altogether it is clear
that here or nowhere is Raind" s ideal hero. Catherine is
hardly less enthusiastic, and much less reserved in shewing her

enthusiasm. As he enters from the stable gate y she rises effu-
sively to greet him. Pethoff 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 them with scrupulous gallantry^. My
{kissing
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 supcrb — 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. <
r J
CATHERINE. HoW SO.? OLt V ^'^'V ""^
1V»
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 strictlyaccording 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 resig-
nation !
CATHERINE. Oh, you must withdraw it!

SERGius {zuith resolute, measured emphasisy 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.
i^She makes a charming picture as they all turn to look at her.
She wears an under dress 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.
Sergiusy with an exclamation of pleasure y goes impulsively to
meet her. She stretches out her hand: he drops chivalrously
on one knee and kisses it.
)
PETKOFF (âside to Catherine y 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 gallantryy as
if she were a queen. When they come to the tabky she
turns to him with a bend of the head; he bows; and thus
they separate y he coming to his place y and she going behind her
father'' s chair S)
RAINA (^stooping and kissing her father'). Dear father!
Welcome home!
PETKOFF {^patting her cheek). My little pet girl. (//if
kisses her-y she goes to the chair left by Nicola for SergiuSy and
sits down.)
CATHERINE. And SO you're no longer a soldier, Sergius.
SERGIUS. I am no longer a soldier. Soldiering, my dear
madam, iscoward's art of attacking mercilessly when
the
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. But I have no ambition to succeed
Precisely.
as a tradesman; so have taken the advice of that bagman
I
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.
Of course he over-reached us. His father was
SERGIUS.
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 o{ foolishly
leading it into danger, I should have been a field-marshal
i:ow!
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, d have been no war without them.
there'
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 Swiss again.
trust a He cheated us humbugged —
him fifty able bodied men for two hundred
us into giving
confounded worn out chargers. They weren't even eat-
able!
o
sERGius. Wc 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 {^zvith 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. (^Sbe turns
away coldly.)
CATHERINE (âlso 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 re-
serve dly.) And you, too, madam. bows graciously
( Catherine
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 pres-
ence, Raina. I —
(Here, turning to the others, he is evi-
dently about to begin a long speech when the Major interrupts
him.) "^
PETKOFF. StuiF and nonsense, Sergius. That's quite
enough fuss about nothing: a soldier's daughter should be
able to stand up v^rithout flinching to a little strong con-
versation. {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 Sophia route. {He goes towards the house,)
Come along. (Sergius is about to follow him when Cather-
ine 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:
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. ph, 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) hero . My ! 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 world, on the field of battle, able to prove
in the
yourselfthere 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. 1 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. (^Fery 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 rever-
ently.)
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 dis-
appoint 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 t 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 {Raina runs to the top of the steps and
hours.
turns there to exchange a look with him and wave him a kiss
with both hands. He looks after her with emotionfor 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, of which there now comes the tail of

into the corner
Loukd' 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 (âstonished). No, sir.
sERGius. Very up for any length of

fatiguing thing to keep
time, Louka. One need of some relief after it.
feels the
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 Ser-
gius, 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 figureof 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 — Take care, Louka. I

letting her go).
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 pro-
voking 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 areall 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 littleyou really care!
SERGIUS (dropping his familiarity and speaking with freez-
ing politeness). is to continue, Louka,
If our conversation
you will please remember gentleman does not discuss
that a
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 a m only Miss Raina's maid. (She
goes back to her work at the table y 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, an-
other perhaps a bit of a blackguard. (He pauses and lookt
furtively at Loukay 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?
^f 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 himselfy and his hand drops
of a man capable of
nerveless as he concludes y sardonically) —
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, 1 mean no harm: you've no
right to take up my words like that. The mistress knows
allabout 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 irony he strides grimly to her, and grips
her above the elbows with both hands.)
SERGIUS. Now listen you to me!
LOUKA {^wincing). Not
you're hurting me!
so tight:
That doesn't matter. You have stained my
SERGIUS.
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
y
go as if she were an unclean thing y 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 y so as to carry all out together. As she stoops to lift
ity 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 y 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 chivalryy throws it off
with a laugh and says slightingly). Oh, you wish to be
bitter
paid for the hurt.? (He puts on his shako y 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 clasps her arm with the
left sleeve;
thumb and fingers of her right hand; and looks down at the
bruise. Then she raises her head and looks straight at him.
Finally y with a superb gesture she presents her arm to be
kissed. Amaxedy he looks at her; at the arm; at her again;
hesitates; and theny with shuddering intensity y exclaims)
Never! (and gets away as far as possible from her.)
(Her arm drops. Without a wordy and with unaffected
and is approaching the house 'l ben
dignity t she takes her tray,
Raina returns wearing a hat and jacket in the height oj the
Vienna fashion of the previous year, i88^. Louka makes
way proudly for her, and then goes into the house.)
RAINA. I'm ready! What's the matter? i^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 wai
only a jest. I am
happy to-day.
so
( 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 regi-
ments. He does not know how to get them to Phillipopo-
lis; 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 out of her sight.
is Then, with a per-
ceptible 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!
!
RAIN A (gazing thoughtfully at the gravel as she walks).

The little beast!
CATHERINE. Little beast ! What little beast?
RAiNA. Togo and tell! Oh, if 1 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 soldierswere 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!
( 7<7 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 (ôver her shoulder ^ from the top of the two steps').
Oh, poor father! As if he could help himself (^S he turns
!
the corner and passes

out of sight.)
CATHERINE {lookwg after hery her fingers itching). Oh,
ifyou 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 —
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 Cath-
erine.)
CATHERINE {reading). "Captain Bluntschli!" That's a
German name.
LOUKA. Swiss, madam, I think.
CATHERINE {with a bound that makes Louka jump hack),
Swiss! What is he like?
LOUKA {timidly). He has a big carpet bag, madam.
CATHERINE. Oh, Hcaveus, he's come to return the coat!
Send him away —
say we're not at —
home ask him to leave
his addressand 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
!
44 Arms and the Man Act ll
once. (Împeratively.^ 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. Js 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 y with the result that the
handkerchief tied round her head follows the apron. touch A
to her hair and a shake to her dressing gown makes her pre-
sentable.) — —
Oh, how how how can a man be such a
fool! Such a moment to select! {Louka appears at the
door of the house y 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 Rain a* s
room. He is now clean y well brushedy smartly uniformedy and
out of troubky but still unmistakably the same man. The
moment Louka* s back is turnedy Catherine swoops on him with
hurriedy urgenty 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 re-
turned, 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 hfe vvôuld hardly be safe.
Will you, like the chivalrous gentleman and soldier you are,
leave at once before he finds you here?
BLUNTscHLi {^dts appoint edy 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. Trufe. Allow me. [He takes out his card-
case, and write his address, keeping Catherine in an
stops to
agony of impatience. As he hands her the card, Petkoff, hat less,
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*
hand heartily). Those stupid people of mine thought I was
out here, instead of in the —
haw! library. — {Jie 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 band
! )
toith 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, quitc 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 regi-
ments to Phillipopolis; and we don't in the least know how
to do it.
BLUNTSCHLI {suddctily attentive and business-like). Phil-
lipopolis! The forage is the trouble, eh?
PETKOFF (^tf^^r/y). 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, be 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 (laughttig). I assurcyou I did. (Stealing a
whimsical glance at her.) Your explanation was a re-
lief.
PETKOFF (^suspiciously y to Raind). 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 Blunt-
schli 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 carpetbag. 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). M'y 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 Cather-
ine.) 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 anguishfrom him.^ Begone, you butter-fingered

donkey.
NICOLA (snatching up the bagy and escaping into the house).
Yes, sir.
CATHERINE. Oh, nevcr 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 coursc I shall be only too delighted if
{appealinglj) 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 (^smiUng). Well, if I must, I must!
{Gesture of despair from Catherine.)
u
„.i.iirtrXir\
igcTiiij
In the library after lunch. It is not much of a library
itsliterary equipment consisting of a single fixed shelf stocked
with old paper covered novels ^ broken backed, coffee stained,
torn ana thumbed, and a couple of little hanging shelves with
a few gft 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 earthen-
ware 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. Blunt'
schli 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 BluntschW s quick, sure,
businesslike progress with a mixture of envious irritation at his
50 Arms and the Man Act III
own incapacity y and awestruck wonder whichat an ability
seems him almost miraculous, though its prosaic character
to
forbids him to esteem it. The major is comfortably established

on the ottoman y with a newspaper in his hand and the tube of
the hookah within his reach. Catherine sits at the stove y with
her back to them, embroidering. Raina, reclining on the
divan under the left hand window, is gazing in a daydream
<)ut at the Balkan landscapey 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 f replace.
PETKOFF {looking up from his paper to watch how they are

Are you sure I can't help you in any
getting on at the table).
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 draws up the orders; and I sign 'em. Division
to do;
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 performing a difficult and danger-
resolutely
ous 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 lowy warning tone). You can stop inter-
rupting, 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 campaign-
ing, Catherine: you don't know how pleasant it is for us to
sit here, after a good lunch, with nothing to do but enjoy
Act III Arms and the Man 51
ourselves. There's only one thing I want to make me
thoroughly comfortable.
CATHERINE. What Is that?
PETKOFF. My old coat. Pm 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 fire-
place.^ What you shewing off that bell for? {She looks
are
at him majestically y 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.)
CATHLYiiiiE {unmoved by Petkoff' s sally). Nicola: go to the
e closet and bring your master's old coat here the —
aided one he usually wears in the house.
NICOLA. Yes, madam. {^Nicola goes out,)
PETKOFF. Catherine.
CATHERINE. YcS, PauI?
PETKOFF. I bet you any piece of jewellery you like to
order from Sophia against a week's housekeeping money,
that the coat isn't there.
CATHERINE. DoUC, Paul.
PETKOFF (êxcited 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: 1
— —
bet my best charger against an Arab rriare 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.
RAIN A {suddenly coming out of her picturesque r every).
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 Petkaff,
tuho 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, Rlunt-
schli. (^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 y 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. /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 ScrgiuSy handing a paper). That's the last
order.
PETKOFF {jumping up). What! finished?
BLUNTSCHLI. Finished. {Petkoff goes beside Sergius; looks
curiously over hi: left shoulder ashe signs; and says with
childlike envy) Haven't you anything for me to sign?
BLUNTSCHLi. Not neccssary. His signature will do.
PETKOFF. Ah, well, I think weVe 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, hishumanity 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 andfollowing 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.
Rain a, 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 your-
self?
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 tabky 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 {turnings 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 doubt-
fully and somewhat severely at her.) Do you remember the
time?
first
BLUNTscHLi. I! No. Was I present?

RAIN A. Yes; and I told the officer who was searching for
you that you were not present.
BLUNTSCHLI. Truc. I should have remembered it.
RAIN A (greatly encouraged). Ah, it is natural that y o u
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 reassur-
ing 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 happen to a soldier so often that he comes to
that
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 incap-
able 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 (juite
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. 1 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 {unmovcd). 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 incredu-
lously, meaning *' /, Raina Pet k offy tell lies! " He meets her
gaze unflinchingly. She suddenly sits down beside him, and
addsy with a complete change of manner from the heroic to the
familiar) How did you find me out?
BLUNTSCHLI {promptly). Instinct, dear young lady. In-
stinct, 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. Yesi hc'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 — ! Ah, well, what does it matter? I
(^Discouraged.)
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.
of your charm.
It's part of your youth part
I'm like all the rest of them the nurse — —
your parents —
Sergius: I'm your infatuated admirer.
RAIN A (pleased). Really?
BLUNTSCHLI {slappiftg 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 y 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 sec. You wrote something on it.
That was rash!
RAINA (annoyed almost to tears^. Oh, to have done such a
58 Arms and the Man Aa III
thing for you, who more except to laugh

care no — at mc
—oh ! Are you sure nobody has touched it?
BLUNTscHLi. Well, I can't be quite sure. You sec 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
doesn't sound nice; but it was
it
much the safest plan.redeemed it the day before yester-

I
day. Heaven only knows whether the pawnbroker cleared

out the pockets or not.
RAIN A {^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 (phlegmattcally). 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 Raino). you excuse me: the last
Will
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. Ycs: I shall have to start for home in an
hour. He has left a lot of big hotds 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. (Hii

6Q Arms and the Man Act III
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. (///? 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 back-
ing 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 shallhave 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 some-
body'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 dov>
rather forlornly, on his calves, daunted by her implacable dis-
dain). You have a great ambition in you, Louka. Re-
member: 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 im-
pudent; 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 ex-
pected 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, ril stand by you: one servant should always stand by

another.
LOUKA {rising impatiently). Oh, must behave in my
I
own way. You take all the me with your

courage out of
cold-blooded wisdom. Go and put those logs on the fire:
that's the sort of thing you understand. (Before Nicola can
retort y Sergius comes in. He checks himself a moment on
seeing Louka; then goes to the stove.
^
SERGIUS {to Nicola). I am way of your work, I
not in the
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.)
Loukay 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 withdrawing herself proudly, but still not
{instantly
looking at him). No.You cannot cure it now.
SERGIUS {masterfully). Quite sure? {He makes a move-
ment 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 Psha! the courage to
like heroes.
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
togrow up: they all have schoolboy's ideas. You don't
know what true courage is.
SERGIUS {ironically). Indeed! I am willing to be in-
structed.
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 and carry.
dust, to fetch How could that de-
grade me if it did not degrade you to âve 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
you loved me?
if 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 awaj). 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 you, perhaps.
kill He has beaten you in love. He
may beat you in war.
Act III Arms and t!he Man 65
sERGius {tormentedlj). 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 her in despair^. Damnation!
{releasing 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 {commandinglj). 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
handy 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 {abscntly, sitting at the table as before, and
putting down his papers). That's a remarkable looking young
woman.
SERGius [grave iyy 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 (s taring, 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 i^fiushingy 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 dan-
gerous: 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 hurty 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
. I
SERGIUS. You allow him to make love to you behind my

bawfc> just as you accept me as your affianced husband be-
hind his. Bluntschli: you knew our relations; and you de-
ceived 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 otto-
man.) Are you?
SERGIUS. You see the young lady's concern. Captain
Bluntschli. Denial is useless. You have enjoyed the privi-
lege of being received in her own room, late at night
BLUNTSCHLI {interrupting him pepperily). Yes; you block-
head! 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. Apologizc, man, apologize! {He resumes his
seat at the table.)
SERGIUS {with the old measured emphasis y 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 {stoppings 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 hol-
low sham, like love.
RAINA {ôutraged). 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 understai^d 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 her-
self 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 You're only an amateur: you think fighting's
to.
an amusement.
SERGius. You shall hear the reason all the same, my
professional. The that it takes two men
reason is real —
men —men of and honor to make a genuine
heart, blood —
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 {rising). You are very solicitous about my happi-
ness 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 and fro , raging.)
to
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!
8
— —

Monstrous!
RAiNA. (^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 mak-
ing 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 {quietlyy as an agony of mortifica-
SergiuSy in
tion, sinks on the ottoman, clutching his averted head between
his fists). I told you you were getting the worst of it, Sar-
anofF.
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. Cottlq {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 speak-
ing 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 'jell offury 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
eavesdropper.
—
you, the moderate, cautious man: judge the
{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 Petkoflf 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. (^Sbe sits down at the stove with a tranquil
air.)
SERGius. Oh, no! (He sits down at the end of the table y 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). T
h at' 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 NicoW s arm).
y
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 fre.)
PETKOFF (to Rainay 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
Sergiusy who looks on amazed with his suspicions roused in the
y
highest degree. She then helps Petkoff on with his coat.)

There, dear! Now are you comfortable?
PETKOFF. Quite, little love. Thanks.
down; {He sits
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 puts 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 originalpocket.) 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?
sERGivs (starting up). I! a chocolate cream soldier Cer- !
tainly 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 (r/j/;?^). It's all right. Major. I'm the choco-
late 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 v^ras the fugitive.
PETKOFF. You! [He gasps.) Sergius: do you remem-
ber how those two women went on this morning when we
mentioned it? (^Sergius smiles cynically. Petkoff confronts
Rain a 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 {intro-
ducing Loukay 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 Louka protection. She had a soul above
to give
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 recom-
mendation should she marry into the nobility. {^He goes out
with impressive discretion ^ leaving them all staring after him,)
PETKOFF {breaking the silence^ Well, I a m hm
. —
sERGius. This is either the finest heroism or the most
crawling baseness. Which is it, Bluntschli?
BLUNTscHLi. Ncvcr mind whether it*s heroism or base-
ness. 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 i5e«n. Qy"^- "Ouy^^-
insulted by everyone her(^^ You set them the example.

You owe me an apology. {Sergius immediate ly, 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 grandestmanner.) Forgive me!
LOUKA. I forgive you. {She timidly gives him her handy
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 docs 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!
— a
76 Arms and the Man Act ill
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 Republi-
can! {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 cav-
alry 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 —
man who has spoiled all his chances in life through an incur-
ably romantic disposition — a man
SERGius {starting as if a needle had pricked him and inter-
rupting Bluntschli in incredulous amazement). Excuse me,
Bluntschli: what did you say had spoiled your chances in
life?
BLUNTSCHLI {promptly). An incurably romantic disposi-

tion. 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. —
Ycs: that's the coat I mean —
would have
sent back and gone quietly home.
it 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 choco- —
late 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 sol-
dier —
a souvenir?" {He exhibits the photograph triumph-
antly, as if it settled the matter beyond all possibility of refu-
tation.)
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. {Blunt-
schli 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 Bluntschl? 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 werc twenty-three when you said
those things to me them seriously.
this afternoon, I shall take
CATHERINE {loftHy poUte). 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 impor-
tant families in the country. Our position is almost histor-
ical: we
can go back for nearly twenty years.
PETKOFF. Oh, never mind that, Catherine. {To Blunt-
schli.) 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, wcll, if it comes to a question of an es-
tablishment, here goes! {He goes impetuously to the table
and seixes the papers in the blue envelope.) How many
horses did you say?
Twenty, noble Switzer!
SERGIUS.
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 hun-

dred 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 Swit-
zerland ?
BLUNTSCHLI. My rank is the highest known in Switzer-
land: 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 hap-
piness. [Petkoff is about to speak,) That is Major Pet-
koff'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 ac-
cepted 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.
RAIN A {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 busi-
nesslike.) 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 mar-
ried until I come back: be here punctually at
I shall five in
the evening on Tuesday Gracious ladies

fortnight. —good
evening. (He makes them a military bow, and goes.)
sERGius. What a man! What a man!
^/t^ nu.^
-0 iJ^2
uBheM
THREE PLAYS
BY BRIEUX
(Member of the French Academy)
MATERNITY
DAMAGED GOODS
THE THREE DAUGHTERS OF
MONSIEUR DUPONT
WITH PREFACE BY BERNARD SHAW
Translated into English
Mrs. BERNARD SHAW. ST. JOHN HANKIN

and JOHN POLLOCK
l2mo. Cloth, pTice $1 .50 net
" In that kind of comedy " writes BERNARD SHAW,

" which is so true to life that we have to call it tragi-comedy,
and which isnot only an entertainment but a history and a
criticism of contemporary morals, BRIEUX
is incomparably
the greatest writer France has produced since Moliere."
The three plays in this volume are a first instalment into

English of the work of a man who
has been admitted into the
French Academy for his splendid achievements, and who is
I
recognized by the best thinkers in Europe as one of the pro-
foundest moral forces expressing itself as literature to-day.
I
I No earnest man or woman can read these plays without
I
being deeply moved and deeply touched. One of the plays
t was read by Brieux himself, at the special invitation of the
pastor, from the pulpit of a church in Geneva.
I
V I. II I
BRENTANO'S
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PLAYS
The following Plays by Bernard Shaw are issued
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THE PHILANDERER
MRS. WARREN'S PROFESSION
ARMS AND THE MAN
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C/ESAR AND CLEOPATRA
CAPTAIN BRASSBOUND'S CONVERSION
MAN AND SUPERMAN
JOHN BULL'S OTHER ISLAND
MAJOR BARBARA
THE MAN OF DESTINY. AND HOW HE
LIED TO HER HUSBAND
THE DOCTOR'S DILEMMA
GETTING MARRIED
THE SHEWING-UP OF BLANCO POSNET
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ARMS AND

Price 40 cento net

Copyright, 1905, by Brentano's

consumption of the unenlightened must deal with peers

Night. A ladf s bedchamber in Bulgaria, in a small town

onally, is a painted wooden shrine, blue and gold, with an ivory

the side. A chair near it ii Austrian bent wood, with cane

4 Arms and the Man Act I

native cloth, and on it there isa pile of paper backed novels, a

CATHERINE of good news'). Raina

alone. The stars are so beautiful! What is the matter?

CATHERINE. Of course: he sent me the news. Sergius is

and eyes flashing, thundering down like an avalanche and

CATHERINE. Don't ask me for promises until I know what

She does not kiss it or press it to her breast y or shew it any

RAiNA (^looking up at the picture with worship). Oh, I shall

The room is now in darkness: nothing is visibr ut the glim-

with strong neck and shoulders, a roundishy obstinate looking

RAiNA (cutting him short). You will shoot me. How do

amuse themselves with: I know what they are. Are you

cries) Stop! (She stops.) Where are you going?

ban assuming to intimidate her, fiings the cloak to her, ex-

will not last long.

{j4 young Russian officer y in Bulgarian uniform^ enters^

sake I had joined the Bulgarian army instead of the Servian

RAINA. Your pistol! It was staring that officer in the face

Load it by all means.

last cake of that yesterday.

except these. (^She offers him the box.)

( Touched by the sympathy in her tone, he raises his head and

{She moves away from the ottoman.)

RAINA (eagerly turning to him, as all her enthusiasm and

and then all the rest in a lump.

come. You can tell the young ones by

you'd seen the first man in the charge to-day.

side of our mouths. I never felt so sick in my life,

laugh, I assure you. At least I didn't mean to. But when

loldierly; but it was angelic.

RAINA {desperately). But what am I to do with you.

MAN. What's that?

quite seriously.She pouts and then resumes her patronizing

was necessary to climb up to the balcony, because ours is

the only private house that has two rows of windows.

MAN. A library? A roomful of books.

you knew the world.

MAN. Is that the one with the devil in it in red velvet,

I thought you might have remembered the great

22 Arms and the Man Act I

The sixth of March, 1886. In the garden of Major

26 Arms and the Man Act II

she wouldn't have the master know for a thousand levas. I

never told you!

Well, you take my advice, and be respectful; and make the

LOUKA. Master! back from the war!

( Major Petkoff comes from the

28 Arms and the Man Act II

CATHERINE {springing erect y with fimhing eyes). The war

PETKOFF. If that is Major Saranoff, bring him round this

PETKOFF. Yes, SO that throw away whole