Arms and the Man

The window is hinged doorwise and stands wide open, folding back to the left. Outside a pair of wooden shutters, opening outwards, also stand open. On the balcony, a young lady, intensely conscious of the romantic beauty of the night, and of the fact that her own youth and beauty is a part of it, is on the balcony, gazing at the snowy Balkans. She is covered by a long mantle of furs, worth, on a moderate estimate, about three times the furniture of her room.

Her reverie is interrupted by her mother, Catherine Petkoff, a woman over forty, imperiously energetic, with magnificent black hair and eyes, who might be a very splendid specimen of the wife of a mountain farmer, but is determined to be a Viennese lady, and to that end wears a fashionable tea gown on all occasions.

Catherine

Entering hastily, full of good news. Raina⁠—She pronounces it Rah-eena, with the stress on the ee. Raina⁠—She goes to the bed, expecting to find Raina there. Why, where⁠—Raina looks into the room. Heavens! child, are you out in the night air instead of in your bed? You’ll catch your death. Louka told me you were asleep.

Raina

Coming in. I sent her away. I wanted to be alone. The stars are so beautiful! What is the matter?

Catherine

Such news. There has been a battle!

Raina

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.

Raina

Load it by all means.

Man

I’ve no ammunition. What use are cartridges in battle? I always carry chocolate instead; and I finished the last cake of that yesterday.

Raina

Outraged in her most cherished ideals of manhood. Chocolate! Do you stuff your pockets with sweets⁠—like a schoolboy⁠—even in the field?

Man

Yes. Isn’t it contemptible?

Raina stares at him, unable to utter her feelings. Then she sails away scornfully to the chest of drawers, and returns with the box of confectionery in her hand.

Raina

Allow me. I am sorry I have eaten them all except these. She offers him the box.

Man

Ravenously. You’re an angel! He gobbles the comfits. Creams! Delicious! He looks anxiously to see whether there are any more. There are none. He accepts the inevitable with pathetic goodhumor, and says, with grateful emotion, Bless you, dear lady. You can always tell an old soldier by the inside of his holsters and cartridge boxes. The young ones carry pistols and cartridges; the old ones, grub. Thank you. He hands back the box. She snatches it contemptuously from him and throws it away. This impatient action is so sudden that he shies again. Ugh! Don’t do things so suddenly, gracious lady. Don’t revenge yourself because I frightened you just now.

Raina

Breathless. Ah, I knew it! Tell me⁠—tell me about him.

Man

He did it like an operatic tenor⁠—a regular handsome fellow, with flashing eyes and lovely moustache, shouting a war-cry and charging like Don Quixote at the windmills. We nearly burst with laughter at him; but when the sergeant ran up as white as a sheet, and told us they’d sent us the wrong cartridges, and that we couldn’t fire a shot for the next ten minutes, we laughed at the other side of our mouths. I never felt so sick in my life, though I’ve been in one or two very tight places. And I hadn’t even a revolver cartridge⁠—nothing but chocolate. We’d no bayonets⁠—nothing. Of course, they just cut us to bits. And there was Don Quixote flourishing like a drum major, thinking he’d done the cleverest thing ever known, whereas he ought to be courtmartialled for it. Of all the fools ever let loose on a field of battle, that man must be the very maddest. He and his regiment simply committed suicide⁠—only the pistol missed fire, that’s all.

Raina

Deeply wounded, but steadfastly loyal to her ideals. Indeed! Would you know him again if you saw him?

Man

Shall I ever forget him. She again goes to the chest of drawers. He watches her with a vague hope that she may have something else for him to eat. She takes the portrait from its stand and brings it to him.

Raina

That is a photograph of the gentleman⁠—the patriot and hero⁠—to whom I am betrothed.

Man

Sergius

Again putting his arm round her. You are a provoking little witch, Louka. If you were in love with me, would you spy out of windows on me?

Louka

Well, you see, sir, since you say you are half a dozen different gentlemen all at once, I should have a great deal to look after.

Sergius

Charmed. Witty as well as pretty. He tries to kiss her.

Louka

Avoiding him. No, I don’t want your kisses. Gentlefolk are all alike⁠—you making love to me behind Miss Raina’s back, and she doing the same behind yours.

Sergius

Recoiling a step. Louka!

Louka

It shows how little you really care!

Sergius

Dropping his familiarity and speaking with freezing politeness. If our conversation is to continue, Louka, you will please remember that a gentleman does not discuss the conduct of the lady he is engaged to with her maid.

Louka

It’s so hard to know what a gentleman considers right. I thought from your trying to kiss me that you had given up being so particular.

Sergius

Turning from her and striking his forehead as he comes back into the garden from the gateway. Devil! devil!

Louka

Ha! ha! I expect one of the six of you is very like me, sir, though I am only Miss Raina’s maid. She goes back to her work at the table, taking no further notice of him.

Suddenly attentive and businesslike. 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 show 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 Serbian 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.