Arms and the Man - George Bernard Shaw (black male authors txt) 📗

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. True. Allow me. (He takes out his card-case, and

stops to write his address, keeping Catherine in an agony of

impatience. As he hands her the card, Petkoff, hatless, 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’s hand heartily). Those stupid people of mine thought

I was out here, instead of in the—haw!—library. (He 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 hand with

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, quite 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 regiments to

Phillipopolis; and we don’t in the least know how to do it.

BLUNTSCHLI (suddenly attentive and business-like).

Phillipopolis! The forage is the trouble, eh?

PETKOFF (eagerly). 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,

he 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 (laughing). I assure you I did. (Stealing a

whimsical glance at her.) Your explanation was a relief.

PETKOFF (suspiciously, to Raina). 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 Bluntschli 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 carpet bag. 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). My 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 Catherine.)

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 anguish

from him.) Begone, you butter-fingered donkey.

NICOLA (snatching up the bag, and escaping into the house).

Yes, sir.

CATHERINE. Oh, never 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 course I shall be only too delighted if

(appealingly) 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 (smiling). Well, If I must, I must!

(Gesture of despair from Catherine.)

ACT III

In the library after lunch. It is not much of a library, its literary equipment consisting of a single fixed shelf stocked with old paper-covered novels, broken backed, coffee stained, torn and thumbed, and a couple of little hanging shelves with a few gift 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 earthenware 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, Bluntschli 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 Bluntschli’s quick, sure, businesslike progress with a mixture of envious irritation at his own incapacity, and awestruck wonder at an ability which seems to him almost miraculous, though its prosaic character forbids him to esteem it. The major is comfortably established on the ottoman, with a newspaper in his hand and the tube of the hookah within his reach. Catherine sits at the stove, with her back to them, embroidering. Raina, reclining on the divan under the left hand window, is gazing in a daydream out at the Balkan landscape, 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 fireplace.

PETKOFF (looking up from his paper to watch how they are

getting on at the table). Are you sure I can’t help you in any

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 to

do; draws up the orders; and I sign ‘em. Division 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

resolutely performing a difficult and dangerous 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 low, warning tone). You can stop interrupting,

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 campaigning,

Catherine: you don’t know how pleasant it is for us to sit here,

after a good lunch, with nothing to do but enjoy ourselves.

There’s only one thing I want to make me thoroughly comfortable.

CATHERINE. What is that?

PETKOFF. My old coat. I’m 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 fireplace.) What

are you shewing off that bell for? (She looks at him majestically,

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.)

CATHERINE (unmoved by Petkoff’s sally). Nicola: go to the blue

closet and bring your master’s old coat here—the braided one he

usually wears in the house.

NICOLA. Yes, madam. (Nicola goes out.)

PETKOFF. Catherine.

CATHERINE. Yes, Paul?

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. Done, Paul.

PETKOFF (excited 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: I bet my

best charger against an Arab mare 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.

RAINA (suddenly coming out of her picturesque revery). 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