Arms and the Man
PETKOFF.
I could have sworn it wasn’t there. Age is beginning to tell on me. I’m
getting hallucinations. (_To Nicola._) Here: help me to change. Excuse
me, Bluntschli. (_He begins changing coats, Nicola acting as valet._)
Remember: I didn’t take that bet of yours, Sergius. You’d better give
Raina that Arab steed yourself, since you’ve roused her expectations.
Eh, Raina? (_He looks round at her; but she is again rapt in the
landscape. With a little gush of paternal affection and pride, he
points her out to them and says_) She’s dreaming, as usual.
SERGIUS.
Assuredly she shall not be the loser.
PETKOFF.
So much the better for her. I shan’t come off so cheap, I expect. (_The
change is now complete. Nicola goes out with the discarded coat._) Ah,
now I feel at home at last. (_He sits down and takes his newspaper with
a grunt of relief._)
BLUNTSCHLI.
(_to Sergius, handing a paper_). That’s the last order.
PETKOFF.
(_jumping up_). What! finished?
BLUNTSCHLI.
Finished. (_Petkoff goes beside Sergius; looks curiously over his left
shoulder as he signs; and says with childlike envy_) Haven’t you
anything for me to sign?
BLUNTSCHLI.
Not necessary. His signature will do.
PETKOFF.
Ah, well, I think we’ve done a thundering good day’s work. (_He goes
away from the table._) Can I do anything more?
BLUNTSCHLI.
You had better both see the fellows that are to take these. (_To
Sergius._) Pack them off at once; and shew them that I’ve marked on the
orders the time they should hand them in by. Tell them that if they
stop to drink or tell stories—if they’re five minutes late, they’ll
have the skin taken off their backs.
SERGIUS.
(_rising indignantly_). I’ll say so. And if one of them is man enough
to spit in my face for insulting him, I’ll buy his discharge and give
him a pension. (_He strides out, his humanity deeply outraged._)
BLUNTSCHLI.
(_confidentially_). Just see that he talks to them properly, Major,
will you?
PETKOFF.
(_officiously_). Quite right, Bluntschli, quite right. I’ll see to it.
(_He goes to the door importantly, but hesitates on the threshold._) By
the bye, Catherine, you may as well come, too. They’ll be far more
frightened of you than of me.
CATHERINE.
(_putting down her embroidery_). I daresay I had better. You will only
splutter at them. (_She goes out, Petkoff holding the door for her and
following her._)
BLUNTSCHLI.
What a country! They make cannons out of cherry trees; and the officers
send for their wives to keep discipline! (_He begins to fold and docket
the papers. Raina, who has risen from the divan, strolls down the room
with her hands clasped behind her, and looks mischievously at him._)
RAINA.
You look ever so much nicer than when we last met. (_He looks up,
surprised._) What have you done to yourself?
BLUNTSCHLI.
Washed; brushed; good night’s sleep and breakfast. That’s all.
RAINA.
Did you get back safely that morning?
BLUNTSCHLI.
Quite, thanks.
RAINA.
Were they angry with you for running away from Sergius’s charge?
BLUNTSCHLI.
No, they were glad; because they’d all just run away themselves.
RAINA.
(_going to the table, and leaning over it towards him_). It must have
made a lovely story for them—all that about me and my room.
BLUNTSCHLI.
Capital story. But I only told it to one of them—a particular friend.
RAINA.
On whose discretion you could absolutely rely?
BLUNTSCHLI.
Absolutely.
RAINA.
Hm! He told it all to my father and Sergius the day you exchanged the
prisoners. (_She turns away and strolls carelessly across to the other
side of the room._)
BLUNTSCHLI.
(_deeply concerned and half incredulous_). No! you don’t mean that, do
you?
RAINA.
(_turning, with sudden earnestness_). I do indeed. But they don’t know
that it was in this house that you hid. If Sergius knew, he would
challenge you and kill you in a duel.
BLUNTSCHLI.
Bless me! then don’t tell him.
RAINA.
(_full of reproach for his levity_). Can you realize what it is to me
to deceive him? I want to be quite perfect with Sergius—no meanness, no
smallness, no deceit. My relation to him is the one really beautiful
and noble part of my life. I hope you can understand that.
BLUNTSCHLI.
(_sceptically_). You mean that you wouldn’t like him to find out that
the story about the ice pudding was a—a—a—You know.
RAINA.
(_wincing_). Ah, don’t talk of it in that flippant way. I lied: I know
it. But I did it to save your life. He would have killed you. That was
the second time I ever uttered a falsehood. (_Bluntschli rises quickly
and looks doubtfully and somewhat severely at her._) Do you remember
the first time?
BLUNTSCHLI.
I! No. Was I present?
RAINA.
Yes; and I told the officer who was searching for you that you were not
present.
BLUNTSCHLI.
True. I should have remembered it.
RAINA.
(_greatly encouraged_). Ah, it is natural that you should forget it
first. It cost you nothing: it cost me a lie!—a lie!! (_She sits down
on the ottoman, looking straight before her with her hands clasped on
her knee. Bluntschli, quite touched, goes to the ottoman with a
particularly reassuring and considerate air, and sits down beside
her._)
BLUNTSCHLI.
My dear young lady, don’t let this worry you. Remember: I’m a soldier.
Now what are the two things that happen to a soldier so often that he
comes to think nothing of them? One is hearing people tell lies (_Raina
recoils_): the other is getting his life saved in all sorts of ways by
all sorts of people.
RAINA.
(_rising in indignant protest_). And so he becomes a creature incapable
of faith and of gratitude.
BLUNTSCHLI.
(_making a wry face_). Do you like gratitude? I don’t. If pity is akin
to love, gratitude is akin to the other thing.
RAINA.
Gratitude! (_Turning on him._) If you are incapable of gratitude you
are incapable of any noble sentiment. Even animals are grateful. Oh, I
see now exactly what you think of me! You were not surprised to hear me
lie. To you it was something I probably did every day—every hour. That
is how men think of women. (_She walks up the room melodramatically._)
BLUNTSCHLI.
(_dubiously_). There’s reason in everything. You said you’d told only
two lies in your whole life. Dear young lady: isn’t that rather a short
allowance? I’m quite a straightforward man myself; but it wouldn’t last
me a whole morning.
RAINA.
(_staring haughtily at him_). Do you know, sir, that you are insulting
me?
BLUNTSCHLI.
I can’t help it. When you get into that noble attitude and speak in
that thrilling voice, I admire you; but I find it impossible to believe
a single word you say.
RAINA.
(_superbly_). Captain Bluntschli!
BLUNTSCHLI.
(_unmoved_). Yes?
RAINA.
(_coming a little towards him, as if she could not believe her
senses_). Do you mean what you said just now? Do you know what you said
just now?
BLUNTSCHLI.
I do.
RAINA.
(_gasping_). I! I!!! (_She points to herself incredulously, meaning “I,
Raina Petkoff, tell lies!” He meets her gaze unflinchingly. She
suddenly sits down beside him, and adds, with a complete change of
manner from the heroic to the familiar_) How did you find me out?
BLUNTSCHLI.
(_promptly_). Instinct, dear young lady. Instinct, and experience of
the world.
RAINA.
(_wonderingly_). Do you know, you are the first man I ever met who did
not take me seriously?
BLUNTSCHLI.
You mean, don’t you, that I am the first man that has ever taken you
quite seriously?
RAINA.
Yes, I suppose I do mean that. (_Cosily, quite at her ease with him._)
How strange it is to be talked to in such a way! You know, I’ve always
gone on like that—I mean the noble attitude and the thrilling voice. I
did it when I was a tiny child to my nurse. She believed in it. I do it
before my parents. They believe in it. I do it before Sergius. He
believes in it.
BLUNTSCHLI.
Yes: he’s a little in that line himself, isn’t he?
RAINA.
(_startled_). Do you think so?
BLUNTSCHLI.
You know him better than I do.
RAINA.
I wonder—I wonder is he? If I thought that—! (_Discouraged._) Ah, well,
what does it matter? I suppose, now that you’ve found me out, you
despise me.
BLUNTSCHLI.
(_warmly, rising_). No, my dear young lady, no, no, no a thousand
times. It’s part of your youth—part of your charm. I’m like all the
rest of them—the nurse—your parents—Sergius: I’m your infatuated
admirer.
RAINA.
(_pleased_). Really?
BLUNTSCHLI.
(_slapping his breast smartly with his hand, German fashion_). Hand
aufs Herz! Really and truly.
RAINA.
(_very happy_). But what did you think of me for giving you my
portrait?
BLUNTSCHLI.
(_astonished_). Your portrait! You never gave me your portrait.
RAINA.
(_quickly_). Do you mean to say you never got it?
BLUNTSCHLI.
No. (_He sits down beside her, with renewed interest, and says, with
some complacency._) When did you send it to me?
RAINA.
(_indignantly_). I did not send it to you. (_She turns her head away,
and adds, reluctantly._) It was in the pocket of that coat.
BLUNTSCHLI.
(_pursing his lips and rounding his eyes_). Oh-o-oh! I never found it.
It must be there still.
RAINA.
(_springing up_). There still!—for my father to find the first time he
puts his hand in his pocket! Oh, how could you be so stupid?
BLUNTSCHLI.
(_rising also_). It doesn’t matter: it’s only a photograph: how can he
tell who it was intended for? Tell him he put it there himself.
RAINA.
(_impatiently_). Yes, that is so clever—so clever! What shall I do?
BLUNTSCHLI.
Ah, I see. You wrote something on it. That was rash!
RAINA.
(_annoyed almost to tears_). Oh, to have done such a thing for you, who
care no more—except to laugh at me—oh! Are you sure nobody has touched
it?
BLUNTSCHLI.
Well, I can’t be quite sure. You see I couldn’t carry it about with me
all the time: one can’t take much luggage on active service.
RAINA.
What did you do with it?
BLUNTSCHLI.
When I got through to Peerot I had to put it in safe keeping somehow. I
thought of the railway cloak room; but that’s the surest place to get
looted in modern warfare. So I pawned it.
RAINA.
Pawned it!!!
BLUNTSCHLI.
I know it doesn’t sound nice; but it was much the safest plan. I
redeemed it the day before yesterday. Heaven only knows whether the
pawnbroker cleared out the pockets or not.
RAINA.
(_furious—throwing the words right into his face_). You have a low,
shopkeeping mind. You think of things that would never come into a
gentleman’s head.
BLUNTSCHLI.
(_phlegmatically_). That’s the Swiss national character, dear lady.
RAINA.
Oh, I wish I had never met you. (_She flounces away and sits at the
window fuming._)
(_Louka comes in with a heap of letters and telegrams on her salver,
and crosses, with her bold, free gait, to the table. Her left sleeve is
looped up to the shoulder with a brooch, shewing her naked arm, with a
broad gilt bracelet covering the bruise._)
LOUKA.
(_to Bluntschli_). For you. (_She empties the salver recklessly on the
table._) The messenger is waiting. (_She is determined not to be civil
to a Servian, even if she must bring him his letters._)
BLUNTSCHLI.
(_to Raina_). Will you excuse me: the last postal delivery that reached
me was three weeks ago. These are the subsequent accumulations. Four
telegrams—a week old. (_He opens one._) Oho! Bad news!
RAINA.
(_rising and advancing a little remorsefully_). Bad news?
BLUNTSCHLI.
My father’s dead. (_He looks at the telegram with his lips pursed,
musing on the unexpected change in his arrangements._)
RAINA.
Oh, how very sad!
BLUNTSCHLI.
Yes: I shall have to start for home in an hour. He has left a lot of
big hotels behind him to be looked after. (_Takes up a heavy letter in
a long blue envelope._) Here’s a whacking letter from the family