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
decorated gaiters. His head is shaved up to the crown, giving him a
high Japanese forehead. His name is Nicola.
NICOLA.
Be warned in time, Louka: mend your manners. I know the mistress. She
is so grand that she never dreams that any servant could dare to be
disrespectful to her; but if she once suspects that you are defying
her, out you go.
LOUKA.
I do defy her. I will defy her. What do I care for her?
NICOLA.
If you quarrel with the family, I never can marry you. It’s the same as
if you quarrelled with me!
LOUKA.
You take her part against me, do you?
NICOLA.
(_sedately_). I shall always be dependent on the good will of the
family. When I leave their service and start a shop in Sofia, their
custom will be half my capital: their bad word would ruin me.
LOUKA.
You have no spirit. I should like to see them dare say a word against
me!
NICOLA.
(_pityingly_). I should have expected more sense from you, Louka. But
you’re young, you’re young!
LOUKA.
Yes; and you like me the better for it, don’t you? But I know some
family secrets they wouldn’t care to have told, young as I am. Let them
quarrel with me if they dare!
NICOLA.
(_with compassionate superiority_). Do you know what they would do if
they heard you talk like that?
LOUKA.
What could they do?
NICOLA.
Discharge you for untruthfulness. Who would believe any stories you
told after that? Who would give you another situation? Who in this
house would dare be seen speaking to you ever again? How long would
your father be left on his little farm? (_She impatiently throws away
the end of her cigaret, and stamps on it._) Child, you don’t know the
power such high people have over the like of you and me when we try to
rise out of our poverty against them. (_He goes close to her and lowers
his voice._) Look at me, ten years in their service. Do you think I
know no secrets? I know things about the mistress that she wouldn’t
have the master know for a thousand levas. I know things about him that
she wouldn’t let him hear the last of for six months if I blabbed them
to her. I know things about Raina that would break off her match with
Sergius if—
LOUKA.
(_turning on him quickly_). How do you know? I never told you!
NICOLA.
(_opening his eyes cunningly_). So that’s your little secret, is it? I
thought it might be something like that. Well, you take my advice, and
be respectful; and make the mistress feel that no matter what you know
or don’t know, they can depend on you to hold your tongue and serve the
family faithfully. That’s what they like; and that’s how you’ll make
most out of them.
LOUKA.
(_with searching scorn_). You have the soul of a servant, Nicola.
NICOLA.
(_complacently_). Yes: that’s the secret of success in service.
(_A loud knocking with a whip handle on a wooden door, outside on the
left, is heard._)
MALE VOICE OUTSIDE.
Hollo! Hollo there! Nicola!
LOUKA.
Master! back from the war!
NICOLA.
(_quickly_). My word for it, Louka, the war’s over. Off with you and
get some fresh coffee. (_He runs out into the stable yard._)
LOUKA.
(_as she puts the coffee pot and the cups upon the tray, and carries it
into the house_). You’ll never put the soul of a servant into me.
(_Major Petkoff comes from the stable yard, followed by Nicola. He is a
cheerful, excitable, insignificant, unpolished man of about 50,
naturally unambitious except as to his income and his importance in
local society, but just now greatly pleased with the military rank
which the war has thrust on him as a man of consequence in his town.
The fever of plucky patriotism which the Servian attack roused in all
the Bulgarians has pulled him through the war; but he is obviously glad
to be home again._)
PETKOFF.
(_pointing to the table with his whip_). Breakfast out here, eh?
NICOLA.
Yes, sir. The mistress and Miss Raina have just gone in.
PETKOFF.
(_sitting down and taking a roll_). Go in and say I’ve come; and get me
some fresh coffee.
NICOLA.
It’s coming, sir. (_He goes to the house door. Louka, with fresh
coffee, a clean cup, and a brandy bottle on her tray meets him._) Have
you told the mistress?
LOUKA.
Yes: she’s coming.
(_Nicola goes into the house. Louka brings the coffee to the table._)
PETKOFF.
Well, the Servians haven’t run away with you, have they?
LOUKA.
No, sir.
PETKOFF.
That’s right. Have you brought me some cognac?
LOUKA.
(_putting the bottle on the table_). Here, sir.
PETKOFF.
That’s right. (_He pours some into his coffee._)
(_Catherine who has at this early hour made only a very perfunctory
toilet, and wears a Bulgarian apron over a once brilliant, but now half
worn out red dressing gown, and a colored handkerchief tied over her
thick black hair, with Turkish slippers on her bare feet, comes from
the house, looking astonishingly handsome and stately under all the
circumstances. Louka goes into the house._)
CATHERINE.
My dear Paul, what a surprise for us. (_She stoops over the back of his
chair to kiss him._) Have they brought you fresh coffee?
PETKOFF.
Yes, Louka’s been looking after me. The war’s over. The treaty was
signed three days ago at Bucharest; and the decree for our army to
demobilize was issued yesterday.
CATHERINE.
(_springing erect, with flashing eyes_). The war over! Paul: have you
let the Austrians force you to make peace?
PETKOFF.
(_submissively_). My dear: they didn’t consult me. What could _I_ do?
(_She sits down and turns away from him._) But of course we saw to it
that the treaty was an honorable one. It declares peace—
CATHERINE.
(_outraged_). Peace!
PETKOFF.
(_appeasing her_).—but not friendly relations: remember that. They
wanted to put that in; but I insisted on its being struck out. What
more could I do?
CATHERINE.
You could have annexed Servia and made Prince Alexander Emperor of the
Balkans. That’s what I would have done.
PETKOFF.
I don’t doubt it in the least, my dear. But I should have had to subdue
the whole Austrian Empire first; and that would have kept me too long
away from you. I missed you greatly.
CATHERINE.
(_relenting_). Ah! (_Stretches her hand affectionately across the table
to squeeze his._)
PETKOFF.
And how have you been, my dear?
CATHERINE.
Oh, my usual sore throats, that’s all.
PETKOFF.
(_with conviction_). That comes from washing your neck every day. I’ve
often told you so.
CATHERINE.
Nonsense, Paul!
PETKOFF.
(_over his coffee and cigaret_). I don’t believe in going too far with
these modern customs. All this washing can’t be good for the health:
it’s not natural. There was an Englishman at Phillipopolis who used to
wet himself all over with cold water every morning when he got up.
Disgusting! It all comes from the English: their climate makes them so
dirty that they have to be perpetually washing themselves. Look at my
father: he never had a bath in his life; and he lived to be
ninety-eight, the healthiest man in Bulgaria. I don’t mind a good wash
once a week to keep up my position; but once a day is carrying the
thing to a ridiculous extreme.
CATHERINE.
You are a barbarian at heart still, Paul. I hope you behaved yourself
before all those Russian officers.
PETKOFF.
I did my best. I took care to let them know that we had a library.
CATHERINE.
Ah; but you didn’t tell them that we have an electric bell in it? I
have had one put up.
PETKOFF.
What’s an electric bell?
CATHERINE.
You touch a button; something tinkles in the kitchen; and then Nicola
comes up.
PETKOFF.
Why not shout for him?
CATHERINE.
Civilized people never shout for their servants. I’ve learnt that while
you were away.
PETKOFF.
Well, I’ll tell you something I’ve learnt, too. Civilized people don’t
hang out their washing to dry where visitors can see it; so you’d
better have all that (_indicating the clothes on the bushes_) put
somewhere else.
CATHERINE.
Oh, that’s absurd, Paul: I don’t believe really refined people notice
such things.
(_Someone is heard knocking at the stable gates._)
PETKOFF.
There’s Sergius. (_Shouting._) Hollo, Nicola!
CATHERINE.
Oh, don’t shout, Paul: it really isn’t nice.
PETKOFF.
Bosh! (_He shouts louder than before._) Nicola!
NICOLA.
(_appearing at the house door_). Yes, sir.
PETKOFF.
If that is Major Saranoff, bring him round this way. (_He pronounces
the name with the stress on the second syllable—Sarah-noff._)
NICOLA.
Yes, sir. (_He goes into the stable yard._)
PETKOFF.
You must talk to him, my dear, until Raina takes him off our hands. He
bores my life out about our not promoting him—over my head, mind you.
CATHERINE.
He certainly ought to be promoted when he marries Raina. Besides, the
country should insist on having at least one native general.
PETKOFF.
Yes, so that he could throw away whole brigades instead of regiments.
It’s no use, my dear: he has not the slightest chance of promotion
until we are quite sure that the peace will be a lasting one.
NICOLA.
(_at the gate, announcing_). Major Sergius Saranoff! (_He goes into the
house and returns presently with a third chair, which he places at the
table. He then withdraws._)
(_Major Sergius Saranoff, the original of the portrait in Raina’s room,
is a tall, romantically handsome man, with the physical hardihood, the
high spirit, and the susceptible imagination of an untamed mountaineer
chieftain. But his remarkable personal distinction is of a
characteristically civilized type. The ridges of his eyebrows, curving
with a ram’s-horn twist round the marked projections at the outer
corners, his jealously observant eye, his nose, thin, keen, and
apprehensive in spite of the pugnacious high bridge and large nostril,
his assertive chin, would not be out of place in a Paris salon. In
short, the clever, imaginative barbarian has an acute critical faculty
which has been thrown into intense activity by the arrival of western
civilization in the Balkans; and the result is precisely what the
advent of nineteenth-century thought first produced in England: to-wit,
Byronism. By his brooding on the perpetual failure, not only of others,
but of himself, to live up to his imaginative ideals, his consequent
cynical scorn for humanity, the jejune credulity as to the absolute
validity of his ideals and the unworthiness of the world in
disregarding them, his wincings and mockeries under the sting of the
petty disillusions which every hour spent among men brings to his
infallibly quick observation, he has acquired the half tragic, half
ironic air, the mysterious moodiness, the suggestion of a strange and
terrible history that has left him nothing but undying remorse, by
which Childe Harold fascinated the grandmothers of his English
contemporaries. Altogether it is clear that here or nowhere is Raina’s
ideal hero. Catherine is hardly less enthusiastic, and much less
reserved in shewing her enthusiasm. As he enters from the stable gate,
she rises effusively to greet him. Petkoff is distinctly less disposed
to make a fuss about him._)
PETKOFF.
Here already, Sergius. Glad to see you!
CATHERINE.
My dear Sergius!(_She holds out both her hands._)
SERGIUS.
(_kissing them with scrupulous gallantry_). My dear mother, if I may
call you so.
PETKOFF.
(_drily_). Mother-in-law, Sergius; mother-in-law! Sit down, and have
some coffee.
SERGIUS.
Thank you, none for me. (_He gets away from the table with a certain
distaste for Petkoff’s enjoyment of it, and posts himself with
conscious grace against the rail of the steps leading to the house._)
CATHERINE.
You look superb—splendid. The campaign has improved you. Everybody here
is mad about you. We were all wild with enthusiasm about that
magnificent cavalry charge.
SERGIUS.
(_with grave irony_). Madam: it was the cradle and the grave of my
military reputation.
CATHERINE.
How so?
SERGIUS.
I won the battle the wrong way when our worthy Russian generals were
losing it the right way. That upset their plans, and wounded their
self-esteem. Two of their colonels got their regiments driven back on
the correct principles of scientific warfare. Two major-generals got
killed strictly according to military etiquette. Those two colonels are
now major-generals; and I am still a simple major.
CATHERINE.
You shall not remain so, Sergius. The women are on your side; and they
will see that justice is done you.
SERGIUS.
It is too late. I have only waited for the peace to send in my
resignation.
PETKOFF.
(_dropping his cup in his amazement_). Your resignation!
CATHERINE.
Oh, you must withdraw it!
SERGIUS.
(_with resolute, measured emphasis, folding his arms_). I never
withdraw!
PETKOFF.
(_vexed_). Now who could have supposed you were going to do such a
thing?
SERGIUS.
(_with fire_). Everyone that knew me. But enough of myself and my
affairs. How is Raina; and where is Raina?
RAINA.
(_suddenly coming round the corner of the house and standing at the top
of the steps in the path_). Raina is here. (_She makes a charming
picture as they all turn to look at her. She wears an underdress of
pale green silk, draped with an overdress of thin ecru canvas
embroidered with gold. On her head she wears a pretty Phrygian cap of
gold tinsel. Sergius, with an exclamation of pleasure, goes impulsively
to meet her. She stretches out her hand: he drops chivalrously on one
knee and kisses it._)
PETKOFF.
(_aside to Catherine, beaming with parental pride_). Pretty, isn’t it?
She always appears at the right moment.
CATHERINE.
(_impatiently_). Yes: she listens for it. It is an abominable habit.
(_Sergius leads Raina forward with splendid gallantry, as if she were a
queen. When they come to the table, she turns to him with a bend of the
head; he bows; and thus they separate, he coming to his place, and she
going behind her father’s chair._)
RAINA.
(_stooping and kissing her father_). Dear father! Welcome home!
PETKOFF.
(_patting her cheek_). My little pet girl. (_He kisses her; she goes to
the chair left by Nicola for Sergius, and sits down._)
CATHERINE.
And so you’re no longer a soldier, Sergius.
SERGIUS.
I am no longer a soldier. Soldiering, my dear madam, is the coward’s
art of attacking mercilessly when you are strong, and keeping out of
harm’s way when you are weak. That is the whole secret of successful
fighting. Get your enemy at a disadvantage; and never, on any account,
fight him on equal terms. Eh, Major!
PETKOFF.
They wouldn’t let us make a fair stand-up fight of it. However, I
suppose soldiering has to be a trade like any other trade.
SERGIUS.
Precisely. But I have no ambition to succeed as a tradesman; so I have
taken the advice of that bagman of a captain that settled the exchange
of prisoners with us at Peerot, and given it up.
PETKOFF.
What, that Swiss fellow? Sergius: I’ve often thought of that exchange
since. He over-reached us about those horses.
SERGIUS.
Of course he over-reached us. His father was a hotel and livery stable
keeper; and he owed his first step to his knowledge of horse-dealing.
(_With mock enthusiasm._) Ah, he was a soldier—every inch a soldier! If
only I had bought the horses for my regiment instead of foolishly
leading it into danger, I should have been a field-marshal now!
CATHERINE.
A Swiss? What was he doing in the Servian army?
PETKOFF.
A volunteer of course—keen on picking up his profession. (_Chuckling._)
We shouldn’t have been able to begin fighting if these foreigners
hadn’t shewn us how to do it: we knew nothing about it; and neither did
the Servians. Egad, there’d have been no war without them.
RAINA.
Are there many Swiss officers in the Servian Army?
PETKOFF.
No—all Austrians, just as our officers were all Russians. This was the
only Swiss I came across. I’ll never trust a Swiss again. He cheated
us—humbugged us into giving him fifty able bodied men for two hundred
confounded worn out chargers. They weren’t even eatable!
SERGIUS.
We were two children in the hands of that consummate soldier, Major:
simply two innocent little children.
RAINA.
What was he like?
CATHERINE.
Oh, Raina, what a silly question!
SERGIUS.
He was like a commercial traveller in uniform. Bourgeois to his boots.
PETKOFF.
(_grinning_). Sergius: tell Catherine that queer story his friend told
us about him—how he escaped after Slivnitza. You remember?—about his
being hid by two women.
SERGIUS.
(_with bitter irony_). Oh, yes, quite a romance. He was serving in the
very battery I so unprofessionally charged. Being a thorough soldier,
he ran away like the rest of them, with our cavalry at his heels. To
escape their attentions, he had the good taste to take refuge in the
chamber of some patriotic young Bulgarian lady. The young lady was
enchanted by his persuasive commercial traveller’s manners. She very
modestly entertained him for an hour or so and then called in her
mother lest her conduct should appear unmaidenly. The old lady was
equally fascinated; and the fugitive was sent on his way in the
morning, disguised in an old coat belonging to the master of the house,
who was away at the war.
RAINA.
(_rising with marked stateliness_). Your life in the camp has made you
coarse, Sergius. I did not think you would have repeated such a story
before me. (_She turns away coldly._)
CATHERINE.
(_also rising_). She is right, Sergius. If such women exist, we should
be spared the knowledge of them.
PETKOFF.
Pooh! nonsense! what does it matter?
SERGIUS.
(_ashamed_). No, Petkoff: I was wrong. (_To Raina, with earnest
humility._) I beg your pardon. I have behaved abominably. Forgive me,
Raina. (_She bows reservedly._) And you, too, madam. (_Catherine bows
graciously and sits down. He proceeds solemnly, again addressing
Raina._) The glimpses I have had of the seamy side of life during the
last few months have made me cynical; but I should not have brought my
cynicism here—least of all into your presence, Raina. I—(_Here, turning
to the others, he is evidently about to begin a long speech when the
Major interrupts him._)
PETKOFF.
Stuff and nonsense, Sergius. That’s quite enough fuss about nothing: a
soldier’s daughter should be able to stand up without flinching to a
little strong conversation. (_He rises._) Come: it’s time for us to get
to business. We have to make up our minds how those three regiments are
to get back to Phillipopolis:—there’s no forage for them on the Sofia
route. (_He goes towards the house._) Come along. (_Sergius is about to
follow him when Catherine rises and intervenes._)
CATHERINE.
Oh, Paul, can’t you spare Sergius for a few moments? Raina has hardly
seen him yet. Perhaps I can help you to settle about the regiments.
SERGIUS.
(_protesting_). My dear madam, impossible: you—
CATHERINE.
(_stopping him playfully_). You stay here, my dear Sergius: there’s no
hurry. I have a word or two to say to Paul. (_Sergius instantly bows
and steps back._) Now, dear (_taking Petkoff’s arm_), come and see the
electric bell.
PETKOFF.
Oh, very well, very well. (_They go into the house together
affectionately. Sergius, left alone with Raina, looks anxiously at her,
fearing that she may be still offended. She smiles, and stretches out
her arms to him._)
(_Exit R. into house, followed by Catherine._)
SERGIUS.
(_hastening to her, but refraining from touching her without express
permission_). Am I forgiven?
RAINA.
(_placing her hands on his shoulder as she looks up at him with
admiration and worship_). My hero! My king.
SERGIUS.
My queen! (_He kisses her on the forehead with holy awe._)
RAINA.
How I have envied you, Sergius! You have been out in the world, on the
field of battle, able to prove yourself there worthy of any woman in
the world; whilst I have had to sit at home
inactive,—dreaming—useless—doing nothing that could give me the right
to call myself worthy of any man.
SERGIUS.
Dearest, all my deeds have been yours. You inspired me. I have gone
through the war like a knight in a tournament with his lady looking on
at him!
RAINA.
And you have never been absent from my thoughts for a moment. (_Very
solemnly._) Sergius: I think we two have found the higher love. When I
think of you, I feel that I could never do a base deed, or think an
ignoble thought.
SERGIUS.
My lady, and my saint! (_Clasping her reverently._)
RAINA.
(_returning his embrace_). My lord and my g—
SERGIUS.
Sh—sh! Let me be the worshipper, dear. You little know how unworthy
even the best man is of a girl’s pure passion!
RAINA.
I trust you. I love you. You will never disappoint me, Sergius. (_Louka
is heard singing within the house. They quickly release each other._)
Hush! I can’t pretend to talk indifferently before her: my heart is too
full. (_Louka comes from the house with her tray. She goes to the
table, and begins to clear it, with her back turned to them._) I will
go and get my hat; and then we can go out until lunch time. Wouldn’t
you like that?
SERGIUS.
Be quick. If you are away five minutes, it will seem five hours.
(_Raina runs to the top of the steps and turns there to exchange a look
with him and wave him a kiss with both hands. He looks after her with
emotion for a moment, then turns slowly away, his face radiant with the
exultation of the scene which has just passed. The movement shifts his
field of vision, into the corner of which there now comes the tail of
Louka’s double apron. His eye gleams at once. He takes a stealthy look
at her, and begins to twirl his moustache nervously, with his left hand
akimbo on his hip. Finally, striking the ground with his heels in
something of a cavalry swagger, he strolls over to the left of the
table, opposite her, and says_) Louka: do you know what the higher love
is?
LOUKA.
(_astonished_). No, sir.
SERGIUS.
Very fatiguing thing to keep up for any length of time, Louka. One
feels the need of some relief after it.
LOUKA.
(_innocently_). Perhaps you would like some coffee, sir? (_She
stretches her hand across the table for the coffee pot._)
SERGIUS.
(_taking her hand_). Thank you, Louka.
LOUKA.
(_pretending to pull_). Oh, sir, you know I didn’t mean that. I’m
surprised at you!
SERGIUS.
(_coming clear of the table and drawing her with him_). I am surprised
at myself, Louka. What would Sergius, the hero of Slivnitza, say if he
saw me now? What would Sergius, the apostle of the higher love, say if
he saw me now? What would the half dozen Sergiuses who keep popping in
and out of this handsome figure of mine say if they caught us here?
(_Letting go her hand and slipping his arm dexterously round her
waist._) Do you consider my figure handsome, Louka?
LOUKA.
Let me go, sir. I shall be disgraced. (_She struggles: he holds her
inexorably._) Oh, will you let go?
SERGIUS.
(_looking straight into her eyes_). No.
LOUKA.
Then stand back where we can’t be seen. Have you no common sense?
SERGIUS.
Ah, that’s reasonable. (_He takes her into the stableyard gateway,
where they are hidden from the house._)
LOUKA.
(_complaining_). I may have been seen from the windows: Miss Raina is
sure to be spying about after you.
SERGIUS.
(_stung—letting her go_). Take care, Louka. I may be worthless enough
to betray the higher love; but do not you insult it.
LOUKA.
(_demurely_). Not for the world, sir, I’m sure. May I go on with my
work please, now?
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 shews 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._)
SERGIUS.
(_speaking to himself_). Which of the six is the real man?—that’s the
question that torments me. One of them is a hero, another a buffoon,
another a humbug, another perhaps a bit of a blackguard. (_He pauses
and looks furtively at Louka, as he adds with deep bitterness_) And
one, at least, is a coward—jealous, like all cowards. (_He goes to the
table._) Louka.
LOUKA.
Yes?
SERGIUS.
Who is my rival?
LOUKA.
You shall never get that out of me, for love or money.
SERGIUS.
Why?
LOUKA.
Never mind why. Besides, you would tell that I told you; and I should
lose my place.
SERGIUS.
(_holding out his right hand in affirmation_). No; on the honor of
a—(_He checks himself, and his hand drops nerveless as he concludes,
sardonically_)—of a man capable of behaving as I have been behaving for
the last five minutes. Who is he?
LOUKA.
I don’t know. I never saw him. I only heard his voice through the door
of her room.
SERGIUS.
Damnation! How dare you?
LOUKA.
(_retreating_). Oh, I mean no harm: you’ve no right to take up my words
like that. The mistress knows all about it. And I tell you that if that
gentleman ever comes here again, Miss Raina will marry him, whether he
likes it or not. I know the difference between the sort of manner you
and she put on before one another and the real manner. (_Sergius
shivers as if she had stabbed him. Then, setting his face like iron, he
strides grimly to her, and grips her above the elbows with both
bands._)
SERGIUS.
Now listen you to me!
LOUKA.
(_wincing_). Not so tight: you’re hurting me!
SERGIUS.
That doesn’t matter. You have stained my honor by making me a party to
your eavesdropping. And you have betrayed your mistress—
LOUKA.
(_writhing_). Please—
SERGIUS.
That shews that you are an abominable little clod of common clay, with
the soul of a servant. (_He lets her go as if she were an unclean
thing, and turns away, dusting his hands of her, to the bench by the
wall, where he sits down with averted head, meditating gloomily._)
LOUKA.
(_whimpering angrily with her hands up her sleeves, feeling her bruised
arms_). You know how to hurt with your tongue as well as with your
hands. But I don’t care, now I’ve found out that whatever clay I’m made
of, you’re made of the same. As for her, she’s a liar; and her fine
airs are a cheat; and I’m worth six of her. (_She shakes the pain off
hardily; tosses her head; and sets to work to put the things on the
tray. He looks doubtfully at her once or twice. She finishes packing
the tray, and laps the cloth over the edges, so as to carry all out
together. As she stoops to lift it, he rises._)
SERGIUS.
Louka! (_She stops and looks defiantly at him with the tray in her
hands._) A gentleman has no right to hurt a woman under any
circumstances. (_With profound humility, uncovering his head._) I beg
your pardon.
LOUKA.
That sort of apology may satisfy a lady. Of what use is it to a
servant?
SERGIUS.
(_thus rudely crossed in his chivalry, throws it off with a bitter
laugh and says slightingly_). Oh, you wish to be paid for the hurt?
(_He puts on his shako, and takes some money from his pocket._)
LOUKA.
(_her eyes filling with tears in spite of herself_). No, I want my hurt
made well.
SERGIUS.
(_sobered by her tone_). How?
(_She rolls up her left sleeve; clasps her arm with the thumb and
fingers of her right hand; and looks down at the bruise. Then she
raises her head and looks straight at him. Finally, with a superb
gesture she presents her arm to be kissed. Amazed, he looks at her; at
the arm; at her again; hesitates; and then, with shuddering intensity,
exclaims_)
SERGIUS.
Never! (_and gets away as far as possible from her._)
(_Her arm drops. Without a word, and with unaffected dignity, she takes
her tray, and is approaching the house when Raina returns wearing a hat
and jacket in the height of the Vienna fashion of the previous year,
1885. Louka makes way proudly for her, and then goes into the house._)
RAINA.
I’m ready! What’s the matter? (_Gaily._) Have you been flirting with
Louka?
SERGIUS.
(_hastily_). No, no. How can you think such a thing?
RAINA.
(_ashamed of herself_). Forgive me, dear: it was only a jest. I am so
happy to-day.
(_He goes quickly to her, and kisses her hand remorsefully. Catherine
comes out and calls to them from the top of the steps._)
CATHERINE.
(_coming down to them_). I am sorry to disturb you, children; but Paul
is distracted over those three regiments. He does not know how to get
them to Phillipopolis; and he objects to every suggestion of mine. You
must go and help him, Sergius. He is in the library.
RAINA.
(_disappointed_). But we are just going out for a walk.
SERGIUS.
I shall not be long. Wait for me just five minutes. (_He runs up the
steps to the door._)
RAINA.
(_following him to the foot of the steps and looking up at him with
timid coquetry_). I shall go round and wait in full view of the library
windows. Be sure you draw father’s attention to me. If you are a moment
longer than five minutes, I shall go in and fetch you, regiments or no
regiments.
SERGIUS.
(_laughing_). Very well. (_He goes in. Raina watches him until he is
out of her sight. Then, with a perceptible relaxation of manner, she
begins to pace up and down about the garden in a brown study._)
CATHERINE.
Imagine their meeting that Swiss and hearing the whole story! The very
first thing your father asked for was the old coat we sent him off in.
A nice mess you have got us into!
RAINA.
(_gazing thoughtfully at the gravel as she walks_). The little beast!
CATHERINE.
Little beast! What little beast?
RAINA.
To go and tell! Oh, if I had him here, I’d stuff him with chocolate
creams till he couldn’t ever speak again!
CATHERINE.
Don’t talk nonsense. Tell me the truth, Raina. How long was he in your
room before you came to me?
RAINA.
(_whisking round and recommencing her march in the opposite
direction_). Oh, I forget.
CATHERINE.
You cannot forget! Did he really climb up after the soldiers were gone,
or was he there when that officer searched the room?
RAINA.
No. Yes, I think he must have been there then.
CATHERINE.
You think! Oh, Raina, Raina! Will anything ever make you
straightforward? If Sergius finds out, it is all over between you.
RAINA.
(_with cool impertinence_). Oh, I know Sergius is your pet. I sometimes
wish you could marry him instead of me. You would just suit him. You
would pet him, and spoil him, and mother him to perfection.
CATHERINE.
(_opening her eyes very widely indeed_). Well, upon my word!
RAINA.
(_capriciously—half to herself_). I always feel a longing to do or say
something dreadful to him—to shock his propriety—to scandalize the five
senses out of him! (_To Catherine perversely._) I don’t care whether he
finds out about the chocolate cream soldier or not. I half hope he may.
(_She again turns flippantly away and strolls up the path to the corner
of the house._)
CATHERINE.
And what should I be able to say to your father, pray?
RAINA.
(_over her shoulder, from the top of the two steps_). Oh, poor father!
As if he could help himself! (_She turns the corner and passes out of
sight._)
CATHERINE.
(_looking after her, her fingers itching_). Oh, if you were only ten
years younger! (_Louka comes from the house with a salver, which she
carries hanging down by her side._) Well?
LOUKA.
There’s a gentleman just called, madam—a Servian officer—
CATHERINE.
(_flaming_). A Servian! How dare he—(_Checking herself bitterly._) Oh,
I forgot. We are at peace now. I suppose we shall have them calling
every day to pay their compliments. Well, if he is an officer why don’t
you tell your master? He is in the library with Major Saranoff. Why do
you come to me?
LOUKA.
But he asks for you, madam. And I don’t think he knows who you are: he
said the lady of the house. He gave me this little ticket for you.
(_She takes a card out of her bosom; puts it on the salver and offers
it to Catherine._)
CATHERINE.
(_reading_). “Captain Bluntschli!” That’s a German name.
LOUKA.
Swiss, madam, I think.
CATHERINE.
(_with a bound that makes Louka jump back_). Swiss! What is he like?
LOUKA.
(_timidly_). He has a big carpet bag, madam.
CATHERINE.
Oh, Heavens, he’s come to return the coat! Send him away—say we’re not
at home—ask him to leave his address and I’ll write to him—Oh, stop:
that will never do. Wait! (_She throws herself into a chair to think it
out. Louka waits._) The master and Major Saranoff are busy in the
library, aren’t they?
LOUKA.
Yes, madam.
CATHERINE.
(_decisively_). Bring the gentleman out here at once. (_Imperatively._)
And be very polite to him. Don’t delay. Here (_impatiently snatching
the salver from her_): leave that here; and go straight back to him.
LOUKA.
Yes, madam. (_Going._)
CATHERINE.
Louka!
LOUKA.
(_stopping_). Yes, madam.
CATHERINE.
Is the library door shut?
LOUKA.
I think so, madam.
CATHERINE.
If not, shut it as you pass through.
LOUKA.
Yes, madam. (_Going._)
CATHERINE.
Stop! (_Louka stops._) He will have to go out that way (_indicating the
gate of the stable yard_). Tell Nicola to bring his bag here after him.
Don’t forget.
LOUKA.
(_surprised_). His bag?
CATHERINE.
Yes, here, as soon as possible. (_Vehemently._) Be quick! (_Louka runs
into the house. Catherine snatches her apron off and throws it behind a
bush. She then takes up the salver and uses it as a mirror, with the
result that the handkerchief tied round her head follows the apron. A
touch to her hair and a shake to her dressing gown makes her
presentable._) Oh, how—how—how can a man be such a fool! Such a moment
to select! (_Louka appears at the door of the house, announcing
“Captain Bluntschli;” and standing aside at the top of the steps to let
him pass before she goes in again. He is the man of the adventure in
Raina’s room. He is now clean, well brushed, smartly uniformed, and out
of trouble, but still unmistakably the same man. The moment Louka’s
back is turned, Catherine swoops on him with hurried, urgent, coaxing
appeal._) Captain Bluntschli, I am very glad to see you; but you must
leave this house at once. (_He raises his eyebrows._) My husband has
just returned, with my future son-in-law; and they know nothing. If
they did, the consequences would be terrible. You are a foreigner: you
do not feel our national animosities as we do. We still hate the
Servians: the only effect of the peace on my husband is to make him
feel like a lion baulked of his prey. If he discovered our secret, he
would never forgive me; and my daughter’s life would hardly be safe.
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._)