Arms and the Man
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 coward! 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 shall remember those three chocolate
creams. It was unsoldierly; but it was angelic.
RAINA.
(_coldly_). Thank you. And now I will do a soldierly thing. You cannot
stay here after what you have just said about 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!—(_He
sinks on the ottoman._) It’s no use: I give up: I’m beaten. Give the
alarm. (_He drops his head in his hands in the deepest dejection._)
RAINA.
(_disarmed by pity_). Come, don’t be disheartened. (_She stoops over
him 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, 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 wonderingly, 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 chest, and adds_)—Do you
hear that, you chocolate cream soldier? (_He turns to the window._)
RAINA.
(_anxiously_). But if you fall?
MAN.
I shall sleep as if the stones were a feather bed. Good-bye. (_He 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 shoulder, 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 to save
you, don’t you?
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—please. (_She coaxes him back to the middle
of the room. He submits humbly. 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. (_He 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.
(_stifling a heavy sigh of weariness_). Then I don’t know it.
RAINA.
I thought you might have remembered the great scene where Ernani,
flying from his foes just as you are tonight, 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.
(_with 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 for your
safety. 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 OUR 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. His eyes
close. She goes to the door, but on turning for a last look at him,
sees that he is dropping of to sleep._)
RAINA.
(_at the door_). 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 catching him in the
act of yawning. She goes out._)
MAN.
(_drowsily_). Sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, slee—(_The words trail off
into a murmur. He wakes again with a shock on the point of falling._)
Where am I? That’s what I want to know: where am I? Must keep awake.
Nothing keeps me awake except danger—remember that—(_intently_) danger,
danger, danger, dan— Where’s danger? Must find it. (_He starts of
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._)
RAINA.
(_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._) Sir!! (_Vehemently
shaking very bard._) 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, with a garden door
reached by a little flight of steps. On the left the stable yard, with
its gateway, encroaches on the garden. There are fruit bushes along the
paling and house, covered with washing hung out to dry. A path runs by
the house, and rises by two steps at the corner where it turns out of
the right along the front. In the middle a small table, with two bent
wood chairs at it, is laid for breakfast with Turkish coffee pot, cups,
rolls, etc.; but the cups have been used and the bread broken. There is
a wooden garden seat against the wall on the left.
Louka, smoking a cigaret, is standing between the table and the house,
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, with the complacency of the servant who values
himself on his rank in servility, and the imperturbability of the
accurate calculator who has no illusions. He wears a white Bulgarian
costume jacket with decorated border, sash, wide knickerbockers, and