Arms and the Man
(_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.
RAINA.
(_with a cry of delight_). Ah! (_Rapturously._) Oh, mother! (_Then,
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 their guns. Can’t you see
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 patriotism—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 failure. And yet—and yet—(_Quickly._)
Promise me you’ll never tell him.
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 me in his arms and
looking into my eyes, that perhaps we 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.
(_Remorsefully._) Only think, mother, I doubted him: I wondered 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 Servians have Austrian officers who
are just as clever as our Russians; but we have beaten them in every
battle for all that.
RAINA.
(_laughing and sitting down again_). Yes, I was only a prosaic little
coward. Oh, to think that it was all true—that Sergius is just as
splendid and noble as he looks—that the world is really a glorious
world for women who can see its glory and men who can act its romance!
What happiness! what unspeakable fulfilment! Ah! (_She throws herself
on her knees beside her mother and flings her arms passionately round
her. They are interrupted by the entry of Louka, 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 with her goes as far as she dares. She is just now
excited like the others; but she has no sympathy for Raina’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 say there may be shooting in the streets. (_Raina and
Catherine rise together, alarmed._) The Servians 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-like, her housekeeping instincts aroused_). I must see that
everything is made safe downstairs.
RAINA.
(_to 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, and Raina’s emotion comes back for
a moment._) Wish me joy of the happiest night of my life—if only there
are no fugitives.
CATHERINE.
Go to bed, dear; and don’t think of them. (_She 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, 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