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!
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
solicitor. (_He pulls out the enclosures and glances over them._) Great
Heavens! Seventy! Two hundred! (_In a crescendo of dismay._) Four
hundred! Four thousand!! Nine thousand six hundred!!! What on earth
shall I do with them all?
RAINA.
(_timidly_). Nine thousand hotels?
BLUNTSCHLI.
Hotels! Nonsense. If you only knew!—oh, it’s too ridiculous! Excuse me:
I must give my fellow orders about starting. (_He leaves the room
hastily, with the documents in his hand._)
LOUKA.
(_tauntingly_). He has not much heart, that Swiss, though he is so fond
of the Servians. He has not a word of grief for his poor father.
RAINA.
(_bitterly_). Grief!—a man who has been doing nothing but killing
people for years! What does he care? What does any soldier care? (_She
goes to the door, evidently restraining her tears with difficulty._)
LOUKA.
Major Saranoff has been fighting, too; and he has plenty of heart left.
(_Raina, at the door, looks haughtily at her and goes out._) Aha! I
thought you wouldn’t get much feeling out of your soldier. (_She is
following Raina when Nicola enters with an armful of logs for the
fire._)
NICOLA.
(_grinning amorously at her_). I’ve been trying all the afternoon to
get a minute alone with you, my girl. (_His countenance changes as he
notices her arm._) Why, what fashion is that of wearing your sleeve,
child?
LOUKA.
(_proudly_). My own fashion.
NICOLA.
Indeed! If the mistress catches you, she’ll talk to you. (_He throws
the logs down on the ottoman, and sits comfortably beside them._)
LOUKA.
Is that any reason why you should take it on yourself to talk to me?
NICOLA.
Come: don’t be so contrary with me. I’ve some good news for you. (_He
takes out some paper money. Louka, with an eager gleam in her eyes,
comes close to look at it._) See, a twenty leva bill! Sergius gave me
that out of pure swagger. A fool and his money are soon parted. There’s
ten levas more. The Swiss gave me that for backing up the mistress’s
and Raina’s lies about him. He’s no fool, he isn’t. You should have
heard old Catherine downstairs as polite as you please to me, telling
me not to mind the Major being a little impatient; for they knew what a
good servant I was—after making a fool and a liar of me before them
all! The twenty will go to our savings; and you shall have the ten to
spend if you’ll only talk to me so as to remind me I’m a human being. I
get tired of being a servant occasionally.
LOUKA.
(_scornfully_). Yes: sell your manhood for thirty levas, and buy me for
ten! Keep your money. You were born to be a servant. I was not. When
you set up your shop you will only be everybody’s servant instead of
somebody’s servant.
NICOLA.
(_picking up his logs, and going to the stove_). Ah, wait till you see.
We shall have our evenings to ourselves; and I shall be master in my
own house, I promise you. (_He throws the logs down and kneels at the
stove._)
LOUKA.
You shall never be master in mine. (_She sits down on Sergius’s
chair._)
NICOLA.
(_turning, still on his knees, and squatting down rather forlornly, on
his calves, daunted by her implacable disdain_). You have a great
ambition in you, Louka. Remember: if any luck comes to you, it was I
that made a woman of you.
LOUKA.
You!
NICOLA.
(_with dogged self-assertion_). Yes, me. Who was it made you give up
wearing a couple of pounds of false black hair on your head and
reddening your lips and cheeks like any other Bulgarian girl? I did.
Who taught you to trim your nails, and keep your hands clean, and be
dainty about yourself, like a fine Russian lady? Me! do you hear that?
me! (_She tosses her head defiantly; and he rises, ill-humoredly,
adding more coolly_) I’ve often thought that if Raina were out of the
way, and you just a little less of a fool and Sergius just a little
more of one, you might come to be one of my grandest customers, instead
of only being my wife and costing me money.
LOUKA.
I believe you would rather be my servant than my husband. You would
make more out of me. Oh, I know that soul of yours.
NICOLA.
(_going up close to her for greater emphasis_). Never you mind my soul;
but just listen to my advice. If you want to be a lady, your present
behaviour to me won’t do at all, unless when we’re alone. It’s too
sharp and impudent; and impudence is a sort of familiarity: it shews
affection for me. And don’t you try being high and mighty with me
either. You’re like all country girls: you think it’s genteel to treat
a servant the way I treat a stable-boy. That’s only your ignorance; and
don’t you forget it. And don’t be so ready to defy everybody. Act as if
you expected to have your own way, not as if you expected to be ordered
about. The way to get on as a lady is the same as the way to get on as
a servant: you’ve got to know your place; that’s the secret of it. And
you may depend on me to know my place if you get promoted. Think over
it, my girl. I’ll stand by you: one servant should always stand by
another.
LOUKA.
(_rising impatiently_). Oh, I must behave in my own way. You take all
the courage out of me with your cold-blooded wisdom. Go and put those
logs on the fire: that’s the sort of thing you understand. (_Before
Nicola can retort, Sergius comes in. He checks himself a moment on
seeing Louka; then goes to the stove._)
SERGIUS.
(_to Nicola_). I am not in the way of your work, I hope.
NICOLA.
(_in a smooth, elderly manner_). Oh, no, sir, thank you kindly. I was
only speaking to this foolish girl about her habit of running up here
to the library whenever she gets a chance, to look at the books. That’s
the worst of her education, sir: it gives her habits above her station.
(_To Louka._) Make that table tidy, Louka, for the Major. (_He goes out
sedately._)
(_Louka, without looking at Sergius, begins to arrange the papers on
the table. He crosses slowly to her, and studies the arrangement of her
sleeve reflectively._)
SERGIUS.
Let me see: is there a mark there? (_He turns up the bracelet and sees
the bruise made by his grasp. She stands motionless, not looking at
him: fascinated, but on her guard._) Ffff! Does it hurt?
LOUKA.
Yes.
SERGIUS.
Shall I cure it?
LOUKA.
(_instantly withdrawing herself proudly, but still not looking at
him_). No. You cannot cure it now.
SERGIUS.
(_masterfully_). Quite sure? (_He makes a movement as if to take her in
his arms._)
LOUKA.
Don’t trifle with me, please. An officer should not trifle with a
servant.
SERGIUS.
(_touching the arm with a merciless stroke of his forefinger_). That
was no trifle, Louka.
LOUKA.
No. (_Looking at him for the first time._) Are you sorry?
SERGIUS.
(_with measured emphasis, folding his arms_). I am never sorry.
LOUKA.
(_wistfully_). I wish I could believe a man could be so unlike a woman
as that. I wonder are you really a brave man?
SERGIUS.
(_unaffectedly, relaxing his attitude_). Yes: I am a brave man. My
heart jumped like a woman’s at the first shot; but in the charge I
found that I was brave. Yes: that at least is real about me.
LOUKA.
Did you find in the charge that the men whose fathers are poor like
mine were any less brave than the men who are rich like you?
SERGIUS.
(_with bitter levity._) Not a bit. They all slashed and cursed and
yelled like heroes. Psha! the courage to rage and kill is cheap. I have
an English bull terrier who has as much of that sort of courage as the
whole Bulgarian nation, and the whole Russian nation at its back. But
he lets my groom thrash him, all the same. That’s your soldier all
over! No, Louka, your poor men can cut throats; but they are afraid of
their officers; they put up with insults and blows; they stand by and
see one another punished like children—-aye, and help to do it when
they are ordered. And the officers!—-well (_with a short, bitter
laugh_) I am an officer. Oh, (_fervently_) give me the man who will
defy to the death any power on earth or in heaven that sets itself up
against his own will and conscience: he alone is the brave man.
LOUKA.
How easy it is to talk! Men never seem to me to grow up: they all have
schoolboy’s ideas. You don’t know what true courage is.
SERGIUS.
(_ironically_). Indeed! I am willing to be instructed.
LOUKA.
Look at me! how much am I allowed to have my own will? I have to get
your room ready for you—to sweep and dust, to fetch and carry. How
could that degrade me if it did not degrade you to have it done for
you? But (_with subdued passion_) if I were Empress of Russia, above
everyone in the world, then—ah, then, though according to you I could
shew no courage at all; you should see, you should see.
SERGIUS.
What would you do, most noble Empress?
LOUKA.
I would marry the man I loved, which no other queen in Europe has the
courage to do. If I loved you, though you would be as far beneath me as
I am beneath you, I would dare to be the equal of my inferior. Would
you dare as much if you loved me? No: if you felt the beginnings of
love for me you would not let it grow. You dare not: you would marry a
rich man’s daughter because you would be afraid of what other people
would say of you.
SERGIUS.
(_carried away_). You lie: it is not so, by all the stars! If I loved
you, and I were the Czar himself, I would set you on the throne by my
side. You know that I love another woman, a woman as high above you as
heaven is above earth. And you are jealous of her.
LOUKA.
I have no reason to be. She will never marry you now. The man I told
you of has come back. She will marry the Swiss.
SERGIUS.
(_recoiling_). The Swiss!
LOUKA.
A man worth ten of you. Then you can come to me; and I will refuse you.
You are not good enough for me. (_She turns to the door._)
SERGIUS.
(_springing after her and catching her fiercely in his arms_). I will
kill the Swiss; and afterwards I will do as I please with you.
LOUKA.
(_in his arms, passive and steadfast_). The Swiss will kill you,
perhaps. He has beaten you in love. He may beat you in war.
SERGIUS.
(_tormentedly_). Do you think I believe that she—she! whose worst
thoughts are higher than your best ones, is capable of trifling with
another man behind my back?
LOUKA.
Do you think she would believe the Swiss if he told her now that I am
in your arms?
SERGIUS.
(_releasing her in despair_). Damnation! Oh, damnation! Mockery,
mockery everywhere: everything I think is mocked by everything I do.
(_He strikes himself frantically on the breast._) Coward, liar, fool!
Shall I kill myself like a man, or live and pretend to laugh at myself?
(_She again turns to go._) Louka! (_She stops near the door._)
Remember: you belong to me.
LOUKA.
(_quietly_). What does that mean—an insult?
SERGIUS.
(_commandingly_). It means that you love me, and that I have had you
here in my arms, and will perhaps have you there again. Whether that is
an insult I neither know nor care: take it as you please. But
(_vehemently_) I will not be a coward and a trifler. If I choose to
love you, I dare marry you, in spite of all Bulgaria. If these hands
ever touch you again, they shall touch my affianced bride.
LOUKA.
We shall see whether you dare keep your word. But take care. I will not
wait long.
SERGIUS.
(_again folding his arms and standing motionless in the middle of the
room_). Yes, we shall see. And you shall wait my pleasure.
(_Bluntschli, much preoccupied, with his papers still in his hand,
enters, leaving the door open for Louka to go out. He goes across to
the table, glancing at her as he passes. Sergius, without altering his
resolute attitude, watches him steadily. Louka goes out, leaving the
door open._)
BLUNTSCHLI.
(_absently, sitting at the table as before, and putting down his
papers_). That’s a remarkable looking young woman.
SERGIUS.
(_gravely, without moving_). Captain Bluntschli.
BLUNTSCHLI.
Eh?
SERGIUS.
You have deceived me. You are my rival. I brook no rivals. At six
o’clock I shall be in the drilling-ground on the Klissoura road, alone,
on horseback, with my sabre. Do you understand?
BLUNTSCHLI.
(_staring, but sitting quite at his ease_). Oh, thank you: that’s a
cavalry man’s proposal. I’m in the artillery; and I have the choice of
weapons. If I go, I shall take a machine gun. And there shall be no
mistake about the cartridges this time.
SERGIUS.
(_flushing, but with deadly coldness_). Take care, sir. It is not our
custom in Bulgaria to allow invitations of that kind to be trifled
with.
BLUNTSCHLI.
(_warmly_). Pooh! don’t talk to me about Bulgaria. You don’t know what
fighting is. But have it your own way. Bring your sabre along. I’ll
meet you.
SERGIUS.
(_fiercely delighted to find his opponent a man of spirit_). Well said,
Switzer. Shall I lend you my best horse?
BLUNTSCHLI.
No: damn your horse!—-thank you all the same, my dear fellow. (_Raina
comes in, and hears the next sentence._) I shall fight you on foot.
Horseback’s too dangerous: I don’t want to kill you if I can help it.
RAINA.
(_hurrying forward anxiously_). I have heard what Captain Bluntschli
said, Sergius. You are going to fight. Why? (_Sergius turns away in
silence, and goes to the stove, where he stands watching her as she
continues, to Bluntschli_) What about?
BLUNTSCHLI.
I don’t know: he hasn’t told me. Better not interfere, dear young lady.
No harm will be done: I’ve often acted as sword instructor. He won’t be
able to touch me; and I’ll not hurt him. It will save explanations. In
the morning I shall be off home; and you’ll never see me or hear of me
again. You and he will then make it up and live happily ever after.
RAINA.
(_turning away deeply hurt, almost with a sob in her voice_). I never
said I wanted to see you again.
SERGIUS.
(_striding forward_). Ha! That is a confession.
RAINA.
(_haughtily_). What do you mean?
SERGIUS.
You love that man!
RAINA.
(_scandalized_). Sergius!
SERGIUS.
You allow him to make love to you behind my back, just as you accept me
as your affianced husband behind his. Bluntschli: you knew our
relations; and you deceived me. It is for that that I call you to
account, not for having received favours that I never enjoyed.
BLUNTSCHLI.
(_jumping up indignantly_). Stuff! Rubbish! I have received no favours.
Why, the young lady doesn’t even know whether I’m married or not.
RAINA.
(_forgetting herself_). Oh! (_Collapsing on the ottoman._) Are you?
SERGIUS.
You see the young lady’s concern, Captain Bluntschli. Denial is
useless. You have enjoyed the privilege of being received in her own
room, late at night—
BLUNTSCHLI.
(_interrupting him pepperily_). Yes; you blockhead! She received me
with a pistol at her head. Your cavalry were at my heels. I’d have
blown out her brains if she’d uttered a cry.
SERGIUS.
(_taken aback_). Bluntschli! Raina: is this true?
RAINA.
(_rising in wrathful majesty_). Oh, how dare you, how dare you?
BLUNTSCHLI.
Apologize, man, apologize! (_He resumes his seat at the table._)
SERGIUS.
(_with the old measured emphasis, folding his arms_). I never
apologize.
RAINA.
(_passionately_). This is the doing of that friend of yours, Captain
Bluntschli. It is he who is spreading this horrible story about me.
(_She walks about excitedly._)
BLUNTSCHLI.
No: he’s dead—burnt alive.
RAINA.
(_stopping, shocked_). Burnt alive!
BLUNTSCHLI.
Shot in the hip in a wood yard. Couldn’t drag himself out. Your
fellows’ shells set the timber on fire and burnt him, with half a dozen
other poor devils in the same predicament.
RAINA.
How horrible!
SERGIUS.
And how ridiculous! Oh, war! war! the dream of patriots and heroes! A
fraud, Bluntschli, a hollow sham, like love.
RAINA.
(_outraged_). Like love! You say that before me.
BLUNTSCHLI.
Come, Saranoff: that matter is explained.
SERGIUS.
A hollow sham, I say. Would you have come back here if nothing had
passed between you, except at the muzzle of your pistol? Raina is
mistaken about our friend who was burnt. He was not my informant.
RAINA.
Who then? (_Suddenly guessing the truth._) Ah, Louka! my maid, my
servant! You were with her this morning all that time after—-after—-Oh,
what sort of god is this I have been worshipping! (_He meets her gaze
with sardonic enjoyment of her disenchantment. Angered all the more,
she goes closer to him, and says, in a lower, intenser tone_) Do you
know that I looked out of the window as I went upstairs, to have
another sight of my hero; and I saw something that I did not understand
then. I know now that you were making love to her.
SERGIUS.
(_with grim humor_). You saw that?
RAINA.
Only too well. (_She turns away, and throws herself on the divan under
the centre window, quite overcome._)
SERGIUS.
(_cynically_). Raina: our romance is shattered. Life’s a farce.
BLUNTSCHLI.
(_to Raina, goodhumoredly_). You see: he’s found himself out now.
SERGIUS.
Bluntschli: I have allowed you to call me a blockhead. You may now call
me a coward as well. I refuse to fight you. Do you know why?
BLUNTSCHLI.
No; but it doesn’t matter. I didn’t ask the reason when you cried on;
and I don’t ask the reason now that you cry off. I’m a professional
soldier. I fight when I have to, and am very glad to get out of it when
I haven’t to. You’re only an amateur: you think fighting’s an
amusement.
SERGIUS.
You shall hear the reason all the same, my professional. The reason is
that it takes two men—real men—men of heart, blood and honor—to make a
genuine combat. I could no more fight with you than I could make love
to an ugly woman. You’ve no magnetism: you’re not a man, you’re a
machine.
BLUNTSCHLI.
(_apologetically_). Quite true, quite true. I always was that sort of
chap. I’m very sorry. But now that you’ve found that life isn’t a
farce, but something quite sensible and serious, what further obstacle
is there to your happiness?
RAINA.
(_riling_). You are very solicitous about my happiness and his. Do you
forget his new love—Louka? It is not you that he must fight now, but
his rival, Nicola.
SERGIUS.
Rival!! (_Striking his forehead._)
RAINA.
Did you not know that they are engaged?
SERGIUS.
Nicola! Are fresh abysses opening! Nicola!!
RAINA.
(_sarcastically_). A shocking sacrifice, isn’t it? Such beauty, such
intellect, such modesty, wasted on a middle-aged servant man! Really,
Sergius, you cannot stand by and allow such a thing. It would be
unworthy of your chivalry.
SERGIUS.
(_losing all self-control_). Viper! Viper! (_He rushes to and fro,
raging._)
BLUNTSCHLI.
Look here, Saranoff; you’re getting the worst of this.
RAINA.
(_getting angrier_). Do you realize what he has done, Captain
Bluntschli? He has set this girl as a spy on us; and her reward is that
he makes love to her.
SERGIUS.
False! Monstrous!
RAINA.
Monstrous! (_Confronting him._) Do you deny that she told you about
Captain Bluntschli being in my room?
SERGIUS.
No; but—
RAINA.
(_interrupting_). Do you deny that you were making love to her when she
told you?
SERGIUS.
No; but I tell you—
RAINA.
(_cutting him short contemptuously_). It is unnecessary to tell us
anything more. That is quite enough for us. (_She turns her back on him
and sweeps majestically back to the window._)
BLUNTSCHLI.
(_quietly, as Sergius, in an agony of mortification, sinks on the
ottoman, clutching his averted head between his fists_). I told you you
were getting the worst of it, Saranoff.
SERGIUS.
Tiger cat!
RAINA.
(_running excitedly to Bluntschli_). You hear this man calling me
names, Captain Bluntschli?
BLUNTSCHLI.
What else can he do, dear lady? He must defend himself somehow. Come
(_very persuasively_), don’t quarrel. What good does it do? (_Raina,
with a gasp, sits down on the ottoman, and after a vain effort to look
vexedly at Bluntschli, she falls a victim to her sense of humor, and is
attacked with a disposition to laugh._)
SERGIUS.
Engaged to Nicola! (_He rises._) Ha! ha! (_Going to the stove and
standing with his back to it._) Ah, well, Bluntschli, you are right to
take this huge imposture of a world coolly.
RAINA.
(_to Bluntschli with an intuitive guess at his state of mind_). I
daresay you think us a couple of grown up babies, don’t you?
SERGIUS.
(_grinning a little_). He does, he does. Swiss civilization
nursetending Bulgarian barbarism, eh?
BLUNTSCHLI.
(_blushing_). Not at all, I assure you. I’m only very glad to get you
two quieted. There now, let’s be pleasant and talk it over in a
friendly way. Where is this other young lady?
RAINA.
Listening at the door, probably.
SERGIUS.
(_shivering as if a bullet had struck him, and speaking with quiet but
deep indignation_). I will prove that that, at least, is a calumny.
(_He goes with dignity to the door and opens it. A yell of fury bursts
from him as he looks out. He darts into the passage, and returns
dragging in Louka, whom he flings against the table, R., as he cries_)
Judge her, Bluntschli—you, the moderate, cautious man: judge the
eavesdropper.
(_Louka stands her ground, proud and silent._)
BLUNTSCHLI.
(_shaking his head_). I mustn’t judge her. I once listened myself
outside a tent when there was a mutiny brewing. It’s all a question of
the degree of provocation. My life was at stake.
LOUKA.
My love was at stake. (_Sergius flinches, ashamed of her in spite of
himself._) I am not ashamed.
RAINA.
(_contemptuously_). Your love! Your curiosity, you mean.
LOUKA.
(_facing her and retorting her contempt with interest_). My love,
stronger than anything you can feel, even for your chocolate cream
soldier.
SERGIUS.
(_with quick suspicion—to Louka_). What does that mean?
LOUKA.
(_fiercely_). It means—
SERGIUS.
(_interrupting her slightingly_). Oh, I remember, the ice pudding. A
paltry taunt, girl.
(_Major Petkoff enters, in his shirtsleeves._)
PETKOFF.
Excuse my shirtsleeves, gentlemen. Raina: somebody has been wearing
that coat of mine: I’ll swear it—somebody with bigger shoulders than
mine. It’s all burst open at the back. Your mother is mending it. I
wish she’d make haste. I shall catch cold. (_He looks more attentively
at them._) Is anything the matter?
RAINA.
No. (_She sits down at the stove with a tranquil air._)
SERGIUS.
Oh, no! (_He sits down at the end of the table, as at first._)
BLUNTSCHLI.
(_who is already seated_). Nothing, nothing.
PETKOFF.
(_sitting down on the ottoman in his old place_). That’s all right.
(_He notices Louka._) Anything the matter, Louka?
LOUKA.
No, sir.
PETKOFF.
(_genially_). That’s all right. (_He sneezes._) Go and ask your
mistress for my coat, like a good girl, will you? (_She turns to obey;
but Nicola enters with the coat; and she makes a pretence of having
business in the room by taking the little table with the hookah away to
the wall near the windows._)
RAINA.
(_rising quickly, as she sees the coat on Nicola’s arm_). Here it is,
papa. Give it to me, Nicola; and do you put some more wood on the fire.
(_She takes the coat, and brings it to the Major, who stands up to put
it on. Nicola attends to the fire._)
PETKOFF.
(_to Raina, teasing her affectionately_). Aha! Going to be very good to
poor old papa just for one day after his return from the wars, eh?
RAINA.
(_with solemn reproach_). Ah, how can you say that to me, father?
PETKOFF.
Well, well, only a joke, little one. Come, give me a kiss. (_She kisses
him._) Now give me the coat.
RAINA.
Now, I am going to put it on for you. Turn your back. (_He turns his
back and feels behind him with his arms for the sleeves. She
dexterously takes the photograph from the pocket and throws it on the
table before Bluntschli, who covers it with a sheet of paper under the
very nose of Sergius, who looks on amazed, with his suspicions roused
in the highest degree. She then helps Petkoff on with his coat._)
There, dear! Now are you comfortable?
PETKOFF.
Quite, little love. Thanks. (_He sits down; and Raina returns to her
seat near the stove._) Oh, by the bye, I’ve found something funny.
What’s the meaning of this? (_He put his hand into the picked pocket._)
Eh? Hallo! (_He tries the other pocket._) Well, I could have
sworn—(_Much puzzled, he tries the breast pocket._) I wonder—(_Tries
the original pocket._) Where can it—(_A light flashes on him; he rises,
exclaiming_) Your mother’s taken it.
RAINA.
(_very red_). Taken what?
PETKOFF.
Your photograph, with the inscription: “Raina, to her Chocolate Cream
Soldier—a souvenir.” Now you know there’s something more in this than
meets the eye; and I’m going to find it out. (_Shouting_) Nicola!
NICOLA.
(_dropping a log, and turning_). Sir!
PETKOFF.
Did you spoil any pastry of Miss Raina’s this morning?
NICOLA.
You heard Miss Raina say that I did, sir.
PETKOFF.
I know that, you idiot. Was it true?
NICOLA.
I am sure Miss Raina is incapable of saying anything that is not true,
sir.
PETKOFF.
Are you? Then I’m not. (_Turning to the others._) Come: do you think I
don’t see it all? (_Goes to Sergius, and slaps him on the shoulder._)
Sergius: you’re the chocolate cream soldier, aren’t you?
SERGIUS.
(_starting up_). I! a chocolate cream soldier! Certainly not.
PETKOFF.
Not! (_He looks at them. They are all very serious and very
conscious._) Do you mean to tell me that Raina sends photographic
souvenirs to other men?
SERGIUS.
(_enigmatically_). The world is not such an innocent place as we used
to think, Petkoff.
BLUNTSCHLI.
(_rising_). It’s all right, Major. I’m the chocolate cream soldier.
(_Petkoff and Sergius are equally astonished._) The gracious young lady
saved my life by giving me chocolate creams when I was starving—shall I
ever forget their flavour! My late friend Stolz told you the story at
Peerot. I was the fugitive.
PETKOFF.
You! (_He gasps._) Sergius: do you remember how those two women went on
this morning when we mentioned it? (_Sergius smiles cynically. Petkoff
confronts Raina severely._) You’re a nice young woman, aren’t you?
RAINA.
(_bitterly_). Major Saranoff has changed his mind. And when I wrote
that on the photograph, I did not know that Captain Bluntschli was
married.
BLUNTSCHLI.
(_much startled protesting vehemently_). I’m not married.
RAINA.
(_with deep reproach_). You said you were.
BLUNTSCHLI.
I did not. I positively did not. I never was married in my life.
PETKOFF.
(_exasperated_). Raina: will you kindly inform me, if I am not asking
too much, which gentleman you are engaged to?
RAINA.
To neither of them. This young lady (_introducing Louka, who faces them
all proudly_) is the object of Major Saranoff’s affections at present.
PETKOFF.
Louka! Are you mad, Sergius? Why, this girl’s engaged to Nicola.
NICOLA.
(_coming forward _). I beg your pardon, sir. There is a mistake. Louka
is not engaged to me.
PETKOFF.
Not engaged to you, you scoundrel! Why, you had twenty-five levas from
me on the day of your betrothal; and she had that gilt bracelet from
Miss Raina.
NICOLA.
(_with cool unction_). We gave it out so, sir. But it was only to give
Louka protection. She had a soul above her station; and I have been no
more than her confidential servant. I intend, as you know, sir, to set
up a shop later on in Sofia; and I look forward to her custom and
recommendation should she marry into the nobility. (_He goes out with
impressive discretion, leaving them all staring after him._)
PETKOFF.
(_breaking the silence_). Well, I am—-hm!
SERGIUS.
This is either the finest heroism or the most crawling baseness. Which
is it, Bluntschli?
BLUNTSCHLI.
Never mind whether it’s heroism or baseness. Nicola’s the ablest man
I’ve met in Bulgaria. I’ll make him manager of a hotel if he can speak
French and German.
LOUKA.
(_suddenly breaking out at Sergius_). I have been insulted by everyone
here. You set them the example. You owe me an apology. (_Sergius
immediately, like a repeating clock of which the spring has been
touched, begins to fold his arms._)
BLUNTSCHLI.
(_before he can speak_). It’s no use. He never apologizes.
LOUKA.
Not to you, his equal and his enemy. To me, his poor servant, he will
not refuse to apologize.
SERGIUS.
(_approvingly_). You are right. (_He bends his knee in his grandest
manner._) Forgive me!
LOUKA.
I forgive you. (_She timidly gives him her hand, which he kisses._)
That touch makes me your affianced wife.
SERGIUS.
(_springing up_). Ah, I forgot that!
LOUKA.
(_coldly_). You can withdraw if you like.
SERGIUS.
Withdraw! Never! You belong to me! (_He puts his arm about her and
draws her to him._) (_Catherine comes in and finds Louka in Sergius’s
arms, and all the rest gazing at them in bewildered astonishment._)
CATHERINE.
What does this mean? (_Sergius releases Louka._)
PETKOFF.
Well, my dear, it appears that Sergius is going to marry Louka instead
of Raina. (_She is about to break out indignantly at him: he stops her
by exclaiming testily._) Don’t blame me: I’ve nothing to do with it.
(_He retreats to the stove._)
CATHERINE.
Marry Louka! Sergius: you are bound by your word to us!
SERGIUS.
(_folding his arms_). Nothing binds me.
BLUNTSCHLI.
(_much pleased by this piece of common sense_). Saranoff: your hand. My
congratulations. These heroics of yours have their practical side after
all. (_To Louka._) Gracious young lady: the best wishes of a good
Republican! (_He kisses her hand, to Raina’s great disgust._)
CATHERINE.
(_threateningly_). Louka: you have been telling stories.
LOUKA.
I have done Raina no harm.
CATHERINE.
(_haughtily_). Raina! (_Raina is equally indignant at the liberty._)
LOUKA.
I have a right to call her Raina: she calls me Louka. I told Major
Saranoff she would never marry him if the Swiss gentleman came back.
BLUNTSCHLI.
(_surprised_). Hallo!
LOUKA.
(_turning to Raina_). I thought you were fonder of him than of Sergius.
You know best whether I was right.
BLUNTSCHLI.
What nonsense! I assure you, my dear Major, my dear Madame, the
gracious young lady simply saved my life, nothing else. She never cared
two straws for me. Why, bless my heart and soul, look at the young lady
and look at me. She, rich, young, beautiful, with her imagination full
of fairy princes and noble natures and cavalry charges and goodness
knows what! And I, a common-place Swiss soldier who hardly knows what a
decent life is after fifteen years of barracks and battles—a vagabond—a
man who has spoiled all his chances in life through an incurably
romantic disposition—a man—
SERGIUS.
(_starting as if a needle had pricked him and interrupting Bluntschli
in incredulous amazement_). Excuse me, Bluntschli: what did you say had
spoiled your chances in life?
BLUNTSCHLI.
(_promptly_). An incurably romantic disposition. I ran away from home
twice when I was a boy. I went into the army instead of into my
father’s business. I climbed the balcony of this house when a man of
sense would have dived into the nearest cellar. I came sneaking back
here to have another look at the young lady when any other man of my
age would have sent the coat back—
PETKOFF.
My coat!
BLUNTSCHLI.—Yes: that’s the coat I mean—would have sent it back and
gone quietly home. Do you suppose I am the sort of fellow a young girl
falls in love with? Why, look at our ages! I’m thirty-four: I don’t
suppose the young lady is much over seventeen. (_This estimate produces
a marked sensation, all the rest turning and staring at one another. He
proceeds innocently._) All that adventure which was life or death to
me, was only a schoolgirl’s game to her—chocolate creams and hide and
seek. Here’s the proof! (_He takes the photograph from the table._)
Now, I ask you, would a woman who took the affair seriously have sent
me this and written on it: “Raina, to her chocolate cream soldier—a
souvenir”? (_He exhibits the photograph triumphantly, as if it settled
the matter beyond all possibility of refutation._)
PETKOFF.
That’s what I was looking for. How the deuce did it get there?
BLUNTSCHLI.
(_to Raina complacently_). I have put everything right, I hope,
gracious young lady!
RAINA.
(_in uncontrollable vexation_). I quite agree with your account of
yourself. You are a romantic idiot. (_Bluntschli is unspeakably taken
aback._) Next time I hope you will know the difference between a
schoolgirl of seventeen and a woman of twenty-three.
BLUNTSCHLI.
(_stupefied_). Twenty-three! (_She snaps the photograph contemptuously
from his hand; tears it across; and throws the pieces at his feet._)
SERGIUS.
(_with grim enjoyment of Bluntschli’s discomfiture_). Bluntschli: my
one last belief is gone. Your sagacity is a fraud, like all the other
things. You have less sense than even I have.
BLUNTSCHLI.
(_overwhelmed_). Twenty-three! Twenty-three!! (_He considers._) Hm!
(_Swiftly making up his mind._) In that case, Major Petkoff, I beg to
propose formally to become a suitor for your daughter’s hand, in place
of Major Saranoff retired.
RAINA.
You dare!
BLUNTSCHLI.
If you were twenty-three when you said those things to me this
afternoon, I shall take them seriously.
CATHERINE.
(_loftily polite_). I doubt, sir, whether you quite realize either my
daughter’s position or that of Major Sergius Saranoff, whose place you
propose to take. The Petkoffs and the Saranoffs are known as the
richest and most important families in the country. Our position is
almost historical: we can go back for nearly twenty years.
PETKOFF.
Oh, never mind that, Catherine. (_To Bluntschli._) We should be most
happy, Bluntschli, if it were only a question of your position; but
hang it, you know, Raina is accustomed to a very comfortable
establishment. Sergius keeps twenty horses.
BLUNTSCHLI.
But what on earth is the use of twenty horses? Why, it’s a circus.
CATHERINE.
(_severely_). My daughter, sir, is accustomed to a first-rate stable.
RAINA.
Hush, mother, you’re making me ridiculous.
BLUNTSCHLI.
Oh, well, if it comes to a question of an establishment, here goes!
(_He goes impetuously to the table and seizes the papers in the blue
envelope._) How many horses did you say?
SERGIUS.
Twenty, noble Switzer!
BLUNTSCHLI.
I have two hundred horses. (_They are amazed._) How many carriages?
SERGIUS.
Three.
BLUNTSCHLI.
I have seventy. Twenty-four of them will hold twelve inside, besides
two on the box, without counting the driver and conductor. How many
tablecloths have you?
SERGIUS.
How the deuce do I know?
BLUNTSCHLI.
Have you four thousand?
SERGIUS.
NO.
BLUNTSCHLI.
I have. I have nine thousand six hundred pairs of sheets and blankets,
with two thousand four hundred eider-down quilts. I have ten thousand
knives and forks, and the same quantity of dessert spoons. I have six
hundred servants. I have six palatial establishments, besides two
livery stables, a tea garden and a private house. I have four medals
for distinguished services; I have the rank of an officer and the
standing of a gentleman; and I have three native languages. Show me any
man in Bulgaria that can offer as much.
PETKOFF.
(_with childish awe_). Are you Emperor of Switzerland?
BLUNTSCHLI.
My rank is the highest known in Switzerland: I’m a free citizen.
CATHERINE.
Then Captain Bluntschli, since you are my daughter’s choice, I shall
not stand in the way of her happiness. (_Petkoff is about to speak._)
That is Major Petkoff’s feeling also.
PETKOFF.
Oh, I shall be only too glad. Two hundred horses! Whew!
SERGIUS.
What says the lady?
RAINA.
(_pretending to sulk_). The lady says that he can keep his tablecloths
and his omnibuses. I am not here to be sold to the highest bidder.
BLUNTSCHLI.
I won’t take that answer. I appealed to you as a fugitive, a beggar,
and a starving man. You accepted me. You gave me your hand to kiss,
your bed to sleep in, and your roof to shelter me—
RAINA.
(_interrupting him_). I did not give them to the Emperor of
Switzerland!
BLUNTSCHLI.
That’s just what I say. (_He catches her hand quickly and looks her
straight in the face as he adds, with confident mastery_) Now tell us
who you did give them to.
RAINA.
(_succumbing with a shy smile_). To my chocolate cream soldier!
BLUNTSCHLI.
(_with a boyish laugh of delight_). That’ll do. Thank you. (_Looks at
his watch and suddenly becomes businesslike._) Time’s up, Major. You’ve
managed those regiments so well that you are sure to be asked to get
rid of some of the Infantry of the Teemok division. Send them home by
way of Lom Palanka. Saranoff: don’t get married until I come back: I
shall be here punctually at five in the evening on Tuesday fortnight.
Gracious ladies—good evening. (_He makes them a military bow, and
goes._)
SERGIUS.
What a man! What a man!