Arms and the Man
Will you, like the chivalrous gentleman and soldier you are, leave at
once before he finds you here?
BLUNTSCHLI.
(_disappointed, 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.
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 Sofia 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 and brings it to Petkoff, who 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!