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

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, swaggering.)

(Raina, left alone, goes to the chest of drawers, and adores the portrait there with feelings that are beyond all expression. She does not kiss it or press it to her breast, 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, 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 then, with a happy sigh, gets into bed and prepares to read herself to sleep. But before abandoning herself to fiction, she raises her eyes once more, thinking of the blessed reality and murmurs)

My hero! my hero!

(A distant shot breaks the quiet of the night outside. She starts, listening; and two more shots, much nearer, follow, startling her so that she scrambles out of bed, and hastily blows out the candle on the chest of drawers. Then, putting her fingers in her ears, she runs to the dressing-table and blows out the light there, and hurries back to bed. The room is now in darkness: nothing is visible but the glimmer of the light in the pierced ball before the image, 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 echoing, the shutters disappear, pulled open from without, and for an instant the rectangle of snowy starlight flashes 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 flame of a match is seen in the middle of the room.)

RAINA (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, subduedly, but threateningly).

Sh—sh! Don’t call out or you’ll be shot. Be good; and no harm

will happen to you. (She is heard leaving her bed, and making

for the door.) Take care, there’s no use in trying to run away.

Remember, if you raise your voice my pistol will go off.

(Commandingly.) Strike a light and let me see you. Do you hear?

(Another moment of silence and darkness. Then she is heard

retreating to the dressing-table. She lights a candle, and the

mystery is at an end. A man of about 35, in a deplorable plight,

bespattered with mud and blood and snow, his belt and the strap

of his revolver case keeping together the torn ruins of the blue

coat of a Servian artillery officer. As far as the candlelight

and his unwashed, unkempt condition make it possible to judge,

he is a man of middling stature and undistinguished appearance,

with strong neck and shoulders, a roundish, obstinate looking

head covered with short crisp bronze curls, clear quick blue

eyes and good brows and mouth, a hopelessly prosaic nose like

that of a strong-minded baby, trim soldierlike carriage and

energetic manner, and with all his wits about him in spite of

his desperate predicament—even with a sense of humor of it,

without, however, the least intention of trifling with it or

throwing away a chance. He reckons up what he can guess about

Raina—her age, her social position, her character, the extent

to which she is frightened—at a glance, and continues, 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 understand that?

RAINA. Yes.

MAN. Well, I don’t intend to get killed if I can help it. (Still

more determinedly.) Do you understand that? (He locks the door

with a snap.)

RAINA (disdainfully). I suppose not. (She draws herself up

superbly, and looks him straight in the face, saying with

emphasis) Some soldiers, I know, are afraid 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 me 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, instinctively 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 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 moment, Raina

hardly able to believe that even a Servian officer can be so

cynically and selfishly unchivalrous, they are startled by a

sharp fusillade in the street. The chill of imminent 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, listening. There is a step outside. Someone tries the

door, and then knocks hurriedly and urgently at it. Raina looks

at the man, breathless. He throws up his head with the gesture

of a man who sees that it is all over with him, and, dropping

the manner which he has been assuming to intimidate her, flings

the cloak to her, exclaiming, sincerely and kindly) No use: I’m

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 (anxiously). What will you do?

MAN (grimly). Never mind. Keep out of the way. It will not last

long.

RAINA (impulsively). I’ll help you. Hide yourself, oh, hide

yourself, quick, behind the curtain. (She seizes him by a torn

strip of his sleeve, and pulls him towards the window.)

MAN (yielding to her). There is just half a chance, if you keep

your head. Remember: nine soldiers out of ten are born fools.

(He 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 of the cloak and throws it

across the foot of the bed. Then with a sleepy, disturbed air,

she opens the door. Louka enters excitedly.)

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 (as 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?

CATHERINE. I have found a Russian officer, thank Heaven: he

knows Sergius. (Speaking through the door to someone outside.)

Sir, will you come in now! My daughter is ready.

(A young Russian officer, in Bulgarian uniform, enters, sword in hand.)

THE OFFICER. (with soft, feline politeness and stiff military

carriage). Good evening, gracious lady; I am sorry to intrude,

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,

pointing to the moonlit balcony. A couple of shots are fired

right under the window, and a bullet shatters the glass opposite

Raina, who winks and gasps, but stands her ground, whilst

Catherine screams, and the officer rushes to the balcony.)

THE OFFICER. (on the balcony, shouting savagely down to the

street). Cease firing there, you fools: do you hear? Cease

firing, damn you. (He glares down for a moment; then turns to

Raina, 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 bow, which Raina returns coldly.

Another to Catherine, who follows him out. Raina closes the

shutters. She turns and sees Louka, who has been watching the

scene curiously.)

RAINA. Don’t leave my mother, Louka, whilst the soldiers are

here. (Louka glances at Raina, at the ottoman, at the curtain;

then purses her lips secretively, laughs to herself, and goes

out. Raina follows her to the door, shuts it behind her with a

slam, and locks it violently. The man immediately steps out from

behind the curtain, 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 am not 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 But I’m not saved yet. This particular rush

will soon pass through; but the