 Act one of Arms and the Man by George Bernard Shaw. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Arms and the Man. Characters. Reina Petkov. Read by Elizabeth Klatt. Captain Blunchley. Read by M.B. Catherine Petkov. Read by Karen Savage. Luca. Read by Ariel Lipscha. Officer. Read by David Lawrence. Sergius Saranov. Played by Mark Smith of Simpsonville, South Carolina. Nikola. Read by Barry Eats. Major Petkov. Read by Robert Kuiper. Narrated by Avaii. Act one. Night. A lady's bed chamber in Bulgaria, in a small town near the Dragoman Pass. It is late in November in the year 1885, and through an open window with a little balcony on the left can be seen a peak of the Balkans, wonderfully white and beautiful in the starlit snow. The interior of the room is not like anything to be seen in the east of Europe. It is half rich Bulgarian, half cheap Viennese. The counter pain and hangings of the bed, the window curtains, the little carpet, and all the ornamental textile fabrics in the room are oriental and gorgeous. The paper on the walls is occidental and paltry. Above the head of the bed, which stands against the little wall, cutting off the right-hand corner of the room diagonally, is a painted wooden shrine, blue and gold, with an ivory image of Christ and a light hanging before it in a pierced metal ball suspended by three chains. On the left, further forward, is an ottoman. The wash stand against the wall on the left consists of an enameled iron basin with a pail beneath it in a painted metal frame and a single towel on the rail at the side. A chair near it is Austrian bent wood with cane seat. The dressing table between the bed and the window is an ordinary pine table covered with a cloth of many colors but with an expensive toilet mirror on it. The door is on the right and there is a chest of drawers between the door and the bed. This chest of drawers is also covered by a variegated native cloth and on it there is a pile of paper-backed novels, a box of chocolate creams and a miniature easel on which is a large photograph of an extremely handsome officer whose lofty bearing and magnetic glance can be felt even from the portrait. The room is lighted by a candle on the chest of drawers and another on the dressing table with a box of mattress beside it. The window is hinged doorways and stands wide open folding back to the left. Outside a pair of wooden shutters opening outwards also stand open. On the balcony a young lady intensely conscious of the romantic beauty of the night and of the fact that her own youth and beauty is a part of it is on the balcony gazing at the snowy Balkans. She is covered by a long mantle of furs worth on a moderate estimate about three times the furniture of her room. Her ever is interrupted by her mother, Catherine Petkov, a woman over 40, imperiously energetic with magnificent black hair and eyes who might be a very splendid specimen of the wife of a mountain farmer but is determined to be a Viennese lady and to that end wears a fashionable teagun on all occasions. Catherine entering hastily full of good news. Reina. She pronounces it the Reina with the stress on the E. Reina. She goes to the bed expecting to find the Reina there. Why, where? Reina looks into the room. Heaven's child, are you out in the night air instead of in your bed? You'll catch your death. Luca told me you were asleep. Reina coming in. I sent her away. I had to be alone. The stars are so beautiful. What is the matter? Such news! There has been a battle. Reina, her eyes dilating. Ah! She throws the cloak on the ottoman and comes eagerly to Catherine in her nightgown, a pretty garment but evidently the only one she has on. A great battle at Slivnitsa, a victory, and it was won by Sergius. Reina with a cry of delight. Ah! Rapturously. Oh, mother! Then with sudden anxiety. Is father safe? Of course. He sent me the news. Sergius is the hero of the hour, the idol of the regiment. Tell me, tell me, how was it? Ecstatically. Oh, mother, mother, mother! Reina pulls her mother down on the ottoman and they kiss one another frantically. Catherine with surging enthusiasm. You can't guess how splendid it is. A cavalry charge, think of that. He defied our Russian commanders, acted without orders, led a charge on his own responsibility, headed it himself, was the first man to sweep through their guns. Can't you see it, Reina, our gallant, splendid Bulgarians with their swords and eyes flashing, thundering down like an avalanche and scattering the wretched Serbian dandies like chaff? And you, you kept Sergius waiting a year before you would be betrothed to him. Oh, if you have a drop of Bulgarian blood in your veins, you will worship him when he comes back. What will he care for my poor little worship after the acclimations of a whole army of heroes? But no matter. I am so happy, so proud. She rises and walks about excitedly. It proves that all our ideas were real after all. Catherine, indignantly. Our ideas real? What do you mean? Our ideas of what Sergius would do. Our patriotism. Our heroic ideals. Oh, what faithless little creatures girls are. I sometimes used to doubt whether they were anything but dreams. When I buckled on Sergius's sword, he looked so noble. It was treason to think of disillusion or humiliation or failure. And yet. And yet. Quickly. Promise me you'll never tell him. Don't ask me for promises until I know what I'm promising. Well, it came into my head, just as he was holding me in his arms and looking into my eyes, that perhaps we only had our heroic ideals because we are so fond of reading Byron and Pushkin and because we were so delighted with the opera that season at Bucharest. Real life is so seldom like that. Indeed, never as far as I knew it then. Remorsefully. Only think, mother. I doubted him. I wondered whether all his heroic qualities and his soldiership might not prove mere imagination when he went into a real battle. I had an uneasy fear that he might cut a poor figure there beside all those clever Russian officers. A poor figure? Shame on you. Servians have Austrian officers who are just as clever as our Russians, but we have beaten them in every battle for all that. Reina, laughing and sitting down again. Yes. I was only a prosaic little coward. Oh, to think that it was all true. That Sergius is just as splendid and noble as he looks. That the world is really a glorious world for women who can see its glory and men who can act its romance. Happiness! What unspeakable fulfillment! Ah! She throws herself on her knees beside her mother and flings her arms passionately round her. They are interrupted by the entry of Luca, a handsome, proud girl in a pretty Bulgarian peasant dress with double apron, so defiant that her civility to Reina is almost insolent. She is afraid of Catherine, but even with her goes as far as she dares. She is just now excited like the others, but she has no sympathy for Reina's raptures and looks contemptuously at the ecstasies of the two before she addresses them. If you please, madam, all the windows are to be closed and the shutters made fast. They say there may be shooting in the streets. Reina and Catherine rise together, alarmed. The Servians are being chased right back through the pass and they say they may run into the town. Our cavalry will be after them and our people will be ready for them, you may be sure, now that they are running away. She goes out on the balcony and pulls the outside shutters too, then steps back into the room. I wish our people were not so cruel. What glory is there in killing wretched fugitives? Catherine business-like. Her housekeeping instincts aroused. I must see that everything is made safe downstairs. Reina to Luca. Leave the shutters so that I can just close them if I hear any noise. Catherine authoritatively, turning on her way to the door. Oh, no, dear, you must keep them fastened. You would be sure to drop off to sleep and leave them open. Make them fast, Luca. Yes, madam. She fastens them. Don't be anxious about me. The moment I hear a shot, I shall blow out the candles and roll myself up in bed with my ears well covered. Quite the wisest thing you can do, my love. Good night. Good night. They kiss one another and the Reina's emotion comes back for a moment. Wish me joy of the happiest night of my life. If only there are no fugitives. Go to bed, dear, and don't think of them. She goes out. Luca secretly to Reina. If you would like the shutters open, just give them a push like this. She pushes them. They open. She pulls them to again. One of them ought to be bolted at the bottom, but the bolt's gone. Reina with dignity, reproving her. Thanks, Luca. But we must do what we are told. Luca makes a grimace. Good night. Luca carelessly. Good night. She goes out, swaggering. Reina, left alone, goes to the chest of drawers and adores the portrait there with feelings that are beyond all expression. She does not kiss it or press it to her breast or show it any mark of bodily affection, but she takes it in her hands and elevates it like a priestess. Reina looking up at the picture with worship. Oh, I shall never be unworthy of you any more. My hero. Never. Never. Never. She replaces it reverently and selects a novel from the little pile of books. She turns over the leaves dreamily, finds her page, turns the book inside out at it, and then, with a happy sigh, gets into bed and prepares to read herself to sleep. But before abandoning herself to fiction she raises her eyes once more thinking of the blessed reality and murmurs My hero. My hero. A distant shot breaks the quiet of the night outside. She starts, listening, and two more shots, much nearer, follow, startling her so that she scrambles out of bed and hastily blows out the candle on the chest of drawers. Then, putting her fingers in her ears, she runs to the dressing table and blows out the light there and hurries back to bed. The room is now in darkness. Nothing is visible, but the glimmer of the light in the pierced ball before the image and the starlight seen through the slits at the top of the shutters. The firing breaks out again. There is a startling fuselage quite close at hand. Whilst it is still echoing, the shutters disappear, pulled open from without, and for an instant the rectangle of snowy starlight flashes out with the figure of a man in black upon it. The shutters close immediately and the room is dark again. But the silence is now broken by the sound of panting. Then there is a scrape and the flame of a match is seen in the middle of the room. Raina crouching on the bed. Who's there? The match is out instantly. Who's there? Who is that? A man's voice in the darkness, subduedly, but threateningly. Shh! Don't call out who you'll be shot! Be good, and no harm will happen to you. She's hurt leaving her bed and making for the door. Take care. There's no use in trying to run away. Remember, if you raise your voice, my pistol will go off. Commandingly. Strike a light and let me see you. Do you hear? Another moment of silence and darkness. Then she is hurt retreating to the dressing table. She lights a candle and the mystery is at an end. A man of about thirty-five, in a deplorable plight, bespattered with mud and blood and snow, his belt and a strap of his revolver case keeping together the torn ruins of the blue coat of a Serbian artillery officer. As far as the candle light and his unwashed, unkempt condition make it possible to judge, he is a man of middling stature and undistinguished appearance, with strong neck and shoulders, a roundish, obstinate-looking head covered with short, crisp, bronze curls, clear, quick blue eyes and good brows and mouth, a hopelessly prosaic nose like that of a strong-minded baby, trim soldier-like carriage and energetic manner, and with all his wits about him in spite of his desperate predicament. Even with the sense of humor of it, without, however, the least intention of trifling with it or throwing away a chance, he reckons up what he can guess about Reina, her age, her social position, her character, the extent to which she is frightened at a glance and continues more politely but still most determinately. Excuse my disturbing you, but you recognize my uniform? Servian, if I'm caught I shall be killed. Determinately. Do you understand that? Yes. Well, I don't intend to get killed if I can help it. Still more determinately. Do you understand that? He locks the door with a snap. Reina disdainfully. I suppose not. She draws herself up superbly and looks at him straight in the face, saying with emphasis, Some soldiers I know are afraid of death. Men with grim good humor. All of them, dear lady, all of them, believe me. It is our duty to live as long as we can and kill as many of the enemies as we can. Now if you raise an alarm. Reina, cutting him short. You will shoot me. How do you know that I am afraid to die? Men cunningly. Ah, but suppose I don't shoot you, what will happen then? Why, a lot of your cavalry, the greatest blaggards in your army, will burst into this pretty room of yours and slaughter me here like a pig. For I'll fight like a demon. They should get me into the street to amuse themselves with. I know what they are. Are you prepared to receive that sort of company in your present undress? Reina, suddenly conscious of her nightgown, instinctively shrinks and gathers it more closely about her. He watches her and adds pitilessly. It's rather scanty, eh? She turns to the ottoman. He raises his pistol instantly and cries. Stop! She stops. Where are you going? Reina, with dignified patience. Only to get my cloak. Men darting to the ottoman and snatching the cloak. A good idea. No, I'll keep the cloak and you will take care that nobody comes in and sees you without it. This is a better weapon than the pistol. He throws the pistol down on the ottoman. Reina revolted. It is not the weapon of a gentleman. It's good enough for a man with only you to stand between him and death. As they look at one another for a moment, Reina hardly able to believe that even a Serbian officer can be so cynically and selfishly unshivalrous, they are startled by a sharp fuselade in the street. A chill of imminent death hushes the man's voice as he adds, Do you hear? If you're going to bring those scoundrels in on me, you should receive them as you are. Reina meets his eye with unflinching scorn. Suddenly she starts listening. There is a step outside. Someone tries the door and then knocks hurriedly and urgently at it. Reina looks at the man, breathless. He throws up his head with the gesture of a man who sees that it is all over with him. And, dropping the manna which he has been assuming to intimidate her, flings the cloak to her, exclaiming sincerely and kindly. No use. I'm done for. Quick, wrap yourself up. They're coming. Reina catching the cloak eagerly. Oh, thank you. She wraps herself up with great relief. He draws his saber and turns to the door, waiting. Luka outside, knocking. My lady, my lady, get up quick and open the door. Reina anxiously. What will you do? Man, grimly. Never mind. Keep out of the way. Well, not last long. Reina impulsively. I'll help you hide yourself. Oh, hide yourself quick behind the curtain. She seizes him by a torn strip of his sleeve and pulls him towards the window. Man, yielding to her. There is just half a chance if you keep your head. Remember, nine soldiers out of ten are born fools. He hides behind the curtain, looking out for a moment to say, finally, If they find me, I promise you a fight, a devil of a fight. He disappears. Reina takes of the cloak and throws it across the foot of the bed. Then, with a sleepy, disturbed air, she opens the door. Luca enters excitedly. A man has been seen climbing up the water pipe to your balcony. A servian. The soldiers want to search for him, and they are so wild and drunken, furious. My lady says you are to dress at once. Reina, as if annoyed at being disturbed. They shall not search here. Why have they been let in? Catherine comes in hastily. Reina, darling, are you safe? Have you seen anyone or heard anything? I heard the shooting. Surely the soldiers will not dare come in here. I have found a Russian officer, thank heaven. He knows Sergius. Speaking through the door to someone outside. Sir, will you come in now? My daughter is ready. A young Russian officer in Bulgarian uniform enters, soared in hand. The officer with soft feline politeness and stiff military carriage. Good evening, gracious lady. I am sorry to intrude, but there is a fugitive hiding on the balcony. Will you and the gracious lady your mother please to withdraw whilst we search? Reina, petulantly. Nonsense, sir. You can see that there is no one on the balcony. She throws the shutters wide open and stands with her back to the curtain where the man is hidden pointing to the moonlit balcony. A couple of shots are fired right under the window and the bullet shatters the glass opposite the Reina who winks and gasps but stands her ground whilst Catherine screams and the officer rushes to the balcony. The officer on the balcony shouting savagely down to the street. Cease firing there, you fools! Do you hear? Cease firing, damn you! He glares down for a moment, then turns to Reina trying to resume his polite manner. Could anyone have got in without your knowledge? Are you asleep? No, I have not been to bed. The officer impatiently coming back into the room. Your neighbours have their heads so full of runaway servians that they see them everywhere. Politely. Gracious lady, a thousand pardons. Good night. Military bow which Reina returns coldly. Another to Catherine who follows him out. Reina closes the shutters. She turns and sees Luca who has been watching the scene curiously. Don't leave my mother Luca whilst the soldiers are here. Luca glances at Reina at the ottoman, at the curtain, then purses her lips secretively, laughs to herself and goes out. Reina follows her to the door, shuts it behind her with a slam and locks it violently. The man immediately steps out from behind the curtain. She thinks he's sabre and is missing the danger from his mind in a business-like way. A narrow shave. But a miss is as good as a mile. Dear young lady, you're servant until death. I wish for your sake I'd join the Bulgarian army instead of the Serbian. I'm not a native Serbian. Reina hotly. No. You are one of the Austrians who set the Servians on to rob us of our national liberty and to officer their army for them. We hate them. Austrian? Not I. Don't hate me, dear young lady. I'm only a Swiss fighting merely as a professional soldier. I joined Serbia because it was nearest to me. Be generous. You've beaten us hollow. Have I not been generous? Noble. Heroic. But I'm not saved yet. This particular rush will soon pass through, but the pursuit will go on all night by fits and starts. I must take my chance to get off during a quiet interval. You don't mind my waiting just a minute or two, do you? Oh no. I am sorry you will have to go into danger again. Motioning towards Ottoman. Won't you sit? Oh! She breaks off with an irrepressible cry of alarm as she catches sight of the pistol. The man, all nerves, shies like a frightened horse. Man, irritably. Don't frighten me like that. What is it? Your pistol. It was staring that officer in the face all the time. What an escape! Man, vexed at being unnecessarily terrified. Oh! Is that all? Raina, staring at him rather superciliously, conceiving a poorer and poorer opinion of him, and feeling proportionately more and more at her ease with him. I am sorry I frightened you. She takes up the pistol and hands it to him. Pray, take it to protect yourself against me. Man, grinning wearily at the sarcasm as he takes the pistol. No use, dear young lady. There's nothing in it. It's not loaded. He makes a grimace at it and drops it despairingly into his revolver case. Well, load it by all means. I have no ammunition. What use of cartridges in battle? I always carry chocolate instead. And I finished the last cake of that yesterday. Raina, outraged in her most cherished ideals of manhood. Chocolate? Do you stuff your pockets with sweets like a schoolboy, even in the field? Yes. Isn't it contemptible? Raina stares at him, unable to utter her feelings. Then she sails away scornfully to the chest of drawers, and returns with the box of confectionery in her hand. Allow me. I am sorry I have eaten them all, except these. She offers him the box. Man ravenously. You're an angel! He gobbles the confees. Creams! Delicious! He looks anxiously to see whether there are any more. There are none. He accepts the inevitable with pathetic good humour, and says with grateful emotion, Bless you, dear lady. You can always tell an old soldier by the inside of his holsters and cartridge boxes. The young ones carry pistols and cartridges. The old ones grub. Thank you. He hands back the box. She snatches it contemptuously from him and throws it away. The impatient action is so sudden that he shies again. Ah, don't do things so suddenly, gracious lady! Don't revenge yourself because I frighten you just now. Raina superbly. Frighten me? Do you know, sir, that though I am only a woman, I think I am at heart as brave as you? I should think so. You've been under fire for three days as I have. I can stand two days without showing it much, but no man can stand three days. I'm as nervous as a mouse! He sits down on the ottoman and takes his head in his hands. Would you like to see me cry? Raina quickly. No. Good. All you have to do is to scold me just as if I were a little boy and you, my nurse. If I were in camp now they'd play all sorts of tricks on me. Raina, a little moved. I'm sorry. I won't scold you. Touched by the sympathy in her tone, he raises his head and looks gratefully at her. She immediately draws back and says stiffly, You must excuse me. Our soldiers are not like that. She moves away from the ottoman. Oh yes they are. They're only two sorts of soldiers. Old ones and young ones. I've served fourteen years. Half of your fellows never smelt powder before. Why? How is it that you've just beaten us? Sheer ignorance of the art of war, nothing else. Indignantly. I never saw anything so unprofessional. Raina, ironically. Oh, was it unprofessional to beat you? Come, is it professional to throw a regiment of cavalry on a battery of machine guns? With the dead certainty that if the guns go off, not a horse or a man will ever get within fifty yards of the fire? I could believe my eyes when I saw it. Raina, eagerly turning to him as all her enthusiasm and her dream of glory rush back on her. Did you see the great cavalry charge? Oh, tell me about it. Describe it to me. You never saw a cavalry charge, did you? How could I? Perhaps not. Of course. Well, it's a funny sight. It's like slinging a handful of peas against a window pane. First one comes, then two or three close behind him, and then all the rest in a lump. Raina, her eyes dilating as she raises her clasp hands ecstatically. Yes, first one, the bravest of the brave. Man prosaically. You should see the poor devil pulling at his horse. Why should he pull at his horse? Man, impatient of so stupid a question. It's running away with him, of course. Do you suppose the fellow wants to get there before the others and be killed? Then they all come. You can tell the young ones by their wildness and their slashing. The old ones come bunched up under the number one guard. They know that there are mere projectiles and that it's no use trying to fight. The wounds are mostly broken knees from the horses canoning together. Oh, but I don't believe the first man is a coward. I believe he is a hero. Man, good humorthly. That's what you'd have said if you'd seen the first man in the charge today. Raina, breathless. Oh, I knew it. Tell me. Tell me about him. He did it like an operatic tenor. A regular handsome fellow with flashing eyes and lovely mustache, shouting a war cry and charging like Don Quixote at the windmills. We nearly burst with laughing at him. But when the sergeant ran up wide as a sheet and told us they'd sent us the wrong cartridges and we couldn't fire a shot for the next ten minutes, we laughed up the other side of our mouths. I never felt so sick in my life, though I'd been in one or two very tight places. And I hadn't even a revolver cartridge. Nothing but chocolate. We'd known bayonets, nothing. Of course, they just cut us to bits. And there was Don Quixote flourishing like a drum major thinking he'd done the cleverest thing ever known. Whereas he ought to be court-martialed for it. Of all the fools ever let loose on a field of battle, that man must be the very maddest. He and his regiments simply committed suicide. Only the pistol missed fire, that's all. Raina deeply wounded but steadfastly loyal to her ideals. Indeed. Would you know him again if you saw him? Shall I ever forget him? She again goes to the chest of drawers. He watches her with a vague hope that she may have something else for him to eat. She takes the portrait from its stand and brings it to him. That is a photograph of the gentleman, the patriot and hero to whom I am betrothed. Man, looking at it. I'm really very sorry. Looking at her. Was it fair to lead me on? He looks at the portrait again. Yes, that's him. Not a doubt of it. He stifles a laugh. Raina quickly. Why do you laugh? Man, shame-facedly but still greatly tickled. I didn't laugh. I assure you. At least I didn't mean to. But when I think of him charging the windmills I think he was doing the finest thing. Chokes with suppressed laughter. Raina sternly. Give me back the portrait, sir. Man with sincere remorse. Of course. Certainly, I'm really very sorry. She deliberately kisses it and looks him straight in the face before returning to the chest of drawers to replace it. He follows her apologizing. Perhaps I'm quite wrong, you know. No doubt I am. Most likely he had got wind of the cartridge business somehow and knew it was a safe job. That is to say he was a pretender and a coward. You did not dare say that before. Man with a comic gesture of despair. It's no use, dear lady. I can't make you see it from the professional point of view. As he turns away to get back to the ottoman the firing begins again in the distance. Raina sternly as she sees him listening to the shots. So much the better for you. Man turning. You are my enemy and you are at my mercy. What would I do if I were a professional soldier? Not true, dear young lady. You're always right. I know how good you've been to me. To my last hour I shall remember those three chocolate creams. It was unsoldily, but it was angelic. Raina coldly. Thank you. And now I will do a soldierly thing. You cannot stay here after what you have just said about my future husband, but I will go out on the balcony and see whether it is safe for you to climb down into the street. She turns to the window. Man changing countenance. Down that water pipe? Stop, wait. I can't. I dare it. The very thought of it makes me giddy. I came up it fast to love with death behind me but to face it now in cold blood. He sinks on the ottoman. It's no use. I give up. I'm beaten. Give the alarm. He drops his head in his hands in the deepest ejection. Raina, disarmed by pity. Come. Don't be disheartened. She stoopes over him almost maternally. He shakes his head. Oh, you are a very poor soldier. A chocolate cream soldier. Come. Cheer up. It takes less courage to climb down than to face capture. Remember that. Men dreamily, loved by her voice. No, capture only means death. And death is sleep. Oh, sleep, sleep. Undisturbed sleep. Climbing down the pipe means doing something. Exerting myself. Thinking. Death ten times over first. Raina, softly and wonderingly, catching the rhythm of his weariness. Are you so sleepy as that? I've not had two hours undisturbed sleep since the war began. I'm on the staff. You don't know what that means. I haven't closed my eyes for 36 hours. Raina, desperately. But what am I to do with you? Man, staggering up. Of course, I must do something. He shakes himself, pulls himself together and speaks with relative vigor and courage. You see, sleep or no sleep, hunger or no hunger, tired or not tired, you can always do a thing when you know it must be done. Well, that pipe must be got down. He hits himself on the chest and adds. Do you hear that, you chocolate cream soldier? He turns to the window. Raina, anxiously. What if you fall? I shall sleep as if the stones were a feather bed. Goodbye. He makes boldly for the window and his hand is on the shutter when there is a terrible burst of firing in the street beneath. Raina, rushing to him. Stop! She catches him by the shoulder and turns him quite round. They'll kill you! Man, coolly but attentively. Never mind. This sort of thing is all in my day's work. I'm bound to take my chance. Decisively. Now do what I tell you. Put out the candles so that they shan't see the light when I open the shutters. And keep away from the window whatever you do. If they see me, they should have a shot at me. Raina, clinging to him. They're sure to see you. It's bright moonlight. I'll save you. How can you be so indifferent? You want me to save you, don't you? I really don't want to be troublesome. She shakes him in her impatience. I'm not indifferent, dear young lady. I assure you. But how is it to be done? Come away from the window, please. She coaxes him back to the middle of the room. He submits humbly. She releases him and addresses him patronizingly. Now listen. You must trust to our hospitality. You do not yet know in whose house you are. I am a Petkoff. What's that? Raina, rather indignantly. I mean that I belong to the family of the Petkoffs, the richest and best known in our country. Oh, yes, of course. I beg your pardon, the Petkoffs, to be sure. How stupid of me. You know you never heard of them until this minute. How can you stoop to pretend? Forgive me, I'm too tired to think. And the change of subject was too much for me. Don't scold me. Oh, I forgot. It might make you cry. He nods quite seriously. She pouts and then resumes her patronizing tone. I must tell you that my father holds the highest command of any Bulgarian in our army. He is, proudly, a major. Man pretending to be deeply impressed. A major? Bless me. Think of that. I showed great ignorance in thinking that it was necessary to climb up to the balcony because ours is the only private house that has two rows of windows. There is a flight of stairs inside to get up and down by. Stairs? How grand. You live in great luxury indeed, dear young lady. Do you know what a library is? A library? A room full of books? Yes, we have one, the only one in Bulgaria. Actually a real library. I should like to see that. Reina, effectively. I tell you these things to show you that you are not in the house of ignorant country folk who would kill you the moment they saw your Serbian uniform, but among civilized people. We go to Bucharest every year for the opera season, and I have spent a whole month in Vienna. I saw that, dear young lady. I saw it once that you knew the world. Have you ever seen the opera of Ernani? Is that the one with the devil in it in red velvet and soldiers chorus? Reina, contemptuously. No. Men stifling a heavy sigh of weariness. I don't know it. I thought you might have remembered the great scene where Ernani, flying from his foes just as you are tonight, takes refuge in the castle of his bitterest enemy, an old Castilian noble. The noble refuses to give him up. His guest is sacred to him. Men quickly waking up a little. Have your people got that notion? Reina with dignity. My mother and I can understand that notion, as you call it. And if, instead of threatening me with your pistol as you did, you had simply thrown yourself as a fugitive on our hospitality, you would have been as safe as in your father's house. Quite sure? Reina turning her back on him in disgust. It is useless to try to make you understand. Don't be angry, you see how awkward it would be for me if there was any mistake. My father is a very hospitable man. He keeps six hotels, but I wouldn't trust him as far as that. What about your father? He is away at Slivnica, fighting for his country. I answer for your safety. There is my hand in pledge of it. Will that reassure you? She offers him her hand. Men looking dubiously at his own hand. Better not touch my hand, dear young lady. I must have a wash first. Reina touched. That is very nice of you. I see that you are a gentleman. Men puzzled. Eh? You must not think I am surprised. Bulgarians of really good standing, people in our position, wash their hands nearly every day. But I appreciate your delicacy. You may take my hand. She offers it again. Men kissing it with his hands behind his back. Thanks, gracious young lady. I feel safe at last. And now, would you mind breaking the news to your mother? I'd better not stay here secretly longer than is necessary. If you will be so good as to keep perfectly still whilst I am away. Certainly. He sits down on the ottoman. Reina goes to the bed and wraps herself in the fur cloak. His eyes close. She goes to the door, but on turning for a last look at him, sees that he is dropping off to sleep. Reina at the door. You are not going to sleep, are you? Merma's inarticulately. She runs to him and shakes him. Do you hear? Wake up. You are falling asleep. Eh? Falling asleep? Oh no, not the least in the world. I was only thinking it's all right. I'm wide awake. Reina severely. Will you please stand up while I am away? He rises reluctantly. All the time, mind. Man standing unsteadily. Certainly. Certainly. You may depend on me. Reina looks doubtfully at him. He smiles foolishly. She goes reluctantly, turning again at the door and almost catching him in the act of yawning. She goes out. Man drowsily. Sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep. The words trail off into a murmur. He wakes again with a shock on the point of falling. Where am I? That's what I want to know. Where am I? Must keep awake. Nothing keeps me awake except danger. Remember that. Intently. Danger, danger, danger, danger, danger. Where's danger? Must find it. He starts off vaguely around the room in search of it. What am I looking for? What am I looking for? Sleep. Danger. Don't know. He stumbles against the bed. Ah, yes. Now I know. All right now. I'm gonna go to bed. But not to sleep. Be sure not to sleep because of danger. Not to lie down either. Only sit down. He sits on the bed. A blissful expression comes into his face. Ah. With a happy sigh he sings back at full length, lifts his boots into the bed with a final effort and falls fast asleep instantly. Catherine comes in, followed by Reina. Reina looking at the ottoman. He's gone. I left him here. Here, then he must have climbed down from the... Reina seeing him. Oh! She points. Catherine scandalised. Well. She strides to the left side of the bed, Reina following and standing opposite her on the right. He's fast asleep. The brute. Reina anxiously. Shhh. Catherine harder. Sir. vehemently shaking very hard. Sir. Reina catching her arm. Don't, Mama. The poor deer is worn out. Let him sleep. Catherine letting him go and turning amazed to Reina. The poor deer? Reina. She looks sternly at her daughter. The man sleeps profoundly. Act two of Arms and the Man by George Bernard Shaw. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Arms and the Man. Act two. The 6th of March, 1886. In the garden of Major Petkov's house. It is a fine spring morning and the garden looks fresh and pretty. Beyond the pailing, the tops of a couple of minarets can be seen, showing that there is a valley there with a 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 pailing 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 added 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. Luká, smoking a cigarette, is standing between the table and the house, turning her back with angry disdain on a man's 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 civility and the imperturbability of the accurate calculator who has no illusions. He wears a white Bulgarian costume jacket with decorated harder, sash, white knick-a-bockers, and decorated gaiters. His head is shaved up to the crown, giving him a high Japanese forehead. His name is Nikola. Be warned in time, Luká, 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. I do defy her. I will defy her. What do I care for her? If you quarrel with the family, I never can marry you. It's the same as if you quarreled with me. You take her part against me, do you? Nikola, sedately. I shall always be dependent on the goodwill 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. You have no spirit. I should like to see them dare say a word against me. Nikola, pityingly. I should have expected more sense from you, Luká. But you're young, you're young. 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. Nikola, with compassionate superiority. Do you know what they would do if they heard you talk like that? What could they do? 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 to 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 cigarette 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 masternmo for a thousand leavers. I know things about him that she wouldn't let him hear the last of them for six months if I blabbed them to her. I know things about Reina that would break off her match with Sergio Sif. Luca, 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 the most out of them. Luca, 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. Hello! Hello, Nicola! Master, back from the war. Nicola, quickly. My word for it, Luca. The war's over. Off with you and get some fresh coffee. He runs out into the stable yard. Luca, 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 Petkov comes from the stable yard, followed by Nicola. He is a cheerful, excitable, insignificant, unpolished man of about fifty. 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. Petkov, pointing to the table with his whip. Breakfast out here, eh? Yes, sir. The Mistress and Miss Reina have just gone in. Petkov, sitting down and taking a roll. Go in and say I've come, and then get me some fresh coffee. It's coming, sir. He goes to the house door. Luca, with fresh coffee, a clean cup and the brandy bottle on her tray meets him. Have you told the Mistress? Yes, she's coming. Nicola goes into the house. Luca brings the coffee to the table. Well, the Servians haven't run away with you, have they? No, sir. That's right. Have you brought me some cognac? Luca, putting the bottle on the table. Here, sir. 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 coloured 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. Luca goes into the house. My dear Paul, what a surprise for us. She stoopes over the back of his chair to kiss him. Have they brought you fresh coffee? Luca'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 demobilise was issued yesterday. Catherine's bringing erect with flashing eyes. The war over? Paul, have you let the Austrians force you to make peace? Petkov 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 honourable one. It declares peace. Catherine outraged. Peace. Petkov appeasing her. But not friendly relations. Remember that? They wanted to put that in, but I insisted on it being struck out. What more could I do? You could have annexed Serbia and made Prince Alexander Emperor of the Balkans. That's what I would have done. 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. Oh. Stretches her hand affectionately across the table to squeeze his. And how have you been, my dear? Oh, my usual sore throat, that's all. Petkov with conviction. That comes from washing your neck every day, I've often told you so. Nonsense, Paul. Petkov over his coffee and cigarette. I don't believe in going too far with his modern customs. And all this washing can't be good for the health. This is not natural. He was an Englishman at Philopobulus who used to wet himself all over with cold water. Every morning we got, oh, this is disgusting. It all comes from the English here. 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. He lived to be ninety-eight. Healthiest man in Bulgaria. I don't mind a good wash once a week to keep up my position, but once a day this is carrying thing to a ridiculous extreme. You are a barbarian at heart still, Paul. I hope you behave yourself before all those Russian officers. I did my best. I took care to let them know we had a library. Ah, but you didn't tell them that we have an electric bell in it. I have had one put up. What's an electric bell? You touch a button, something tinkles in the kitchen, and then Nicola comes up. Why not shout for him? Civilized people never shout for their servants. I've learnt that while you were away. Well, I'll tell you something I've learnt too. Civilized people don't hang out there washing to dry where visitors can see it, so you'd better have all that indicating the clothes on the bushes. Put somewhere else. Oh, that's absurd, Paul. I don't believe really refined people notice such things. Someone is heard knocking at the stable gates. There's Sergius shouting. Hello, Nicola! Oh, don't shout, Paul. It really isn't nice. Bosch! He shouts louder than before. Nicola! Nicola appearing at the house door. Yes, sir. If that is Major Saranov, bring him round this way. Yes, sir. He goes into the stable yard. 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. He certainly ought to be promoted when he marries Raina. Besides, the country should insist on having at least one native general. Yes, so he could throw away whole brigades instead of regiments. That's no use, my dear. Here's not the slightest chance of promotion till we are quite sure that the peace will be a lasting one. Nicola at the gate announcing... Major Sergius Saranov. He goes into the house and returns presently with a third chair, which he places at the table. He then withdraws. Major Sergius Saranov, the original of the portrait in the Raina's room, is a tall, romantically handsome man with the physical hardyhood, 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 spirit 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 19th century thought first produced in England, to wit, Byronism. By his brooding under perpetual failure, not only of others but of himself, to live up to his imaginative ideals, his consequent cynical scorn for humanity, the judoon credulity as to the absolute validity of his ideals and the unworthiness of the world in disregarding them, his wincings and mockeries and the distinct of the petty disillusions which every hour spent among men brings to his infallibly quick observation, he has acquired the half tragic, half ironic ear, the mysterious moodiness, the suggestion of a strange and terrible history that has left him nothing but undying remorse by which child Herod fascinated the grandmothers of his English contemporaries. Altogether it is clear that here or nowhere is a Reina's ideal hero. Catherine is hardly less enthusiastic and much less reserved in showing her enthusiasm. As he enters from the stable gate, she rises effusively to greet him. Petkov is distinctly less disposed to make a fuss about him. She holds out both her hands. Sergius kissing them with scrupulous gallantry. My dear mother, if I may call you so. Petkov, dryly. Mother-in-law, Sergius, mother-in-law. Sit down, have some coffee. Thank you, none for me. He gets away from the table with a certain distaste for Petkov's enjoyment of it and posts himself with conscious grace against the rail of the steps leading to the house. 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. How so? 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. You shall not remain so, Sergius. The women are on your side and they will see that justice is done you. It is too late. I have only waited for the peace to send in my resignation. Petkov dropping his cup in his amazement. Your resignation? Oh, you must withdraw it. Sergius, with resolute measured emphasis, folding his arms. I never withdraw. Petkov 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 is 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 accrue canvas embroidered with gold. On her head she wears a pretty freaky and cap of gold tinsel. Sergius, with an exclamation of pleasure, goes impulsively to meet her. She stretches out her hand. He drops shiverously on one knee and kisses it. Petkov 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. Petkov patting her cheek. My little pet girl. He kisses her. She goes to the chair left by Nicola for Sergius and sits down. And so you're no longer a soldier, Sergius? I am no longer a soldier. Soldering, 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. Hey, Major. 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. 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 Asset Piro and given it up. What, that Swiss fellow? Sergius, I've often thought of that exchange since. He overreached us about those horses. Of course he overreached us. His father was a hotel and livery stablekeeper. 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-martial now. A Swiss? What was he doing in the Servian army? A volunteer, of course. Key not picking up his profession. We shouldn't have been able to begin fighting those foreigners hadn't shown us how to do it. We knew nothing about it. Neither did the Servians. Oh, God, there'd been no war without them. Are there many Swiss officers in the Servian army? No, all Austrians, just as our officers were all Russians. That's 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 charges. They weren't even eatable. We were two children in the hands of that consummate soldier major. Only two innocent little children. What was he like? Oh, Rhyena, what a silly question. He was like a commercial traveller in uniform. Bourgeois to his boots. Petkov grinning. Sergius, tell Catherine that queer story his friend told us about him. How he escaped after Slipnitsa. Remember? About his being hit by two women? Sergius, with bitter irony. Oh, yes. Quite a romance. He was serving in the very battery-iso 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 lester 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. Rhyena, raising with marked statelyness. Your life in the campus made you course, 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. Poo! Nonsense! What does it matter? Sergius ashamed. No, Petkoff. I was wrong. To Rhyena with earnest humility. I beg your pardon. I have behaved abominably. Forgive me, Rhyena. She bows reservedly. And you too, madam. Catherine bows graciously and sits down. He proceeds solemnly, again addressing Rhyena. 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, Rhyena. I— Here, turning to the others, he is evidently about to begin a long speech when the major interrupts him. Nothing 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. Time for us to get to business. We have to make up our minds how those three regiments are to get back to Philipopolis. There's no forage for them on the Sophie Route. He goes towards the house. Come along. Sergius is about to follow him when Catherine rises and intervenes. You all can't use spare Sergius for a few moments. Rhyena 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 Petkov's arm. Come and see the electric bell. Oh, very well. Very well. They go into the house together affectionately. Sergius, left alone with Rhyena, looks anxiously at her, fearing that she may be still offended. She smiles and stretches out her arms to him. Sergius hastening to her, but refraining from touching her without express permission. Am I forgiven? Rhyena placing her hands on his shoulder as she looks up at him with admiration and worship. My hero. My king. My queen. He kisses her on the forehead with wholly awe. 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. Dearest, all my deeds have been yours. You inspired me. I've gone through the war like a night in a tournament with this lady looking on at him. And you have never been absent from my thoughts for a moment. Very solemnly. Sergius, I think we too 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. My lady and my saint. My lord and my... Let me be the worshipper, dear. You little know how unworthy even the best man is of a girl's pure passion. I trust you. I love you. You will never disappoint me, Sergius. Luca 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. Luca 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 lunchtime. Wouldn't you like that? 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 exaltation of the scene which has just passed. The movement shifts his field of vision into the corner of which there now comes the tale of Luca'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 a Kimbo 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, Luca, do you know what the higher love is? Luca astonished. No, sir. Very fatiguing thing to keep up for any length of time, Luca. One feels the need of some relief after it. Luca, innocently. Perhaps he would like some coffee, sir. She stretches her hand across the table for the coffee pot. Sergio's taking her hand. Thank you, Luca. Luca pretending to pull. Oh, sir, you know I didn't mean that. I'm surprised at you. Sergio's coming clear of the table and drawing her with him. I am surprised at myself, Luca. What would Sergio's, the hero of Slivnica, say if he saw me now? What would Sergio's, the apostle of higher love, say if he saw me now? What would the half-dozen Sergio's, who keep popping in and out of this handsome figure of mine, say if they caught us here? Letting go of her hand and slipping his arm dexterously round her waist. Do you consider my figure handsome, Luca? Let me go, sir. I shall be disgraced. She struggles. He holds her inexorably. Oh, will you let go? Sergio's looking straight into her eyes. No. Then stand back where we can't be seen. Have you no common sense? Ah, that's reasonable. He takes her into the stable yard gateway, where they are hidden from the house. Luca complaining. I may have been seen from the windows. Miss Raina is sure to be spying about after you. Sergio's stung, letting her go. Take care, Luca. I may be worthless enough to betray the higher love, but do not you insult it. Luca, demurely. Not for the world, sir, I'm sure. May I go on with my work, please, now? Sergio's again, putting his arm round her. You are a provoking little witch, Luca. If you were in love with me, would you spy out of windows on me? 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. Sergio's charmed. Witty as well as pretty. Luca 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. Sergio's recoiling a step. Luca! It shows how little you really care. Sergio's dropping his familiarity and speaking with freezing politeness. If our conversation is to continue, Luca, you will please remember that a gentleman does not discuss the conduct of the lady he is engaged to with her maid. 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. Sergio's turning from her and striking his forehead as he comes back into the garden from the gateway. Devil! Devil! 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. Sergio's 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 blaggard. He pauses and looks vertically at Luca as he adds with deep bitterness. And one at least is a coward, jealous like all cowards. He goes to the table. Luca! Yes? Who is my rival? You shall never get that out of me for love or money. Why? Never mind why. Besides, you would tell that I told you and I should lose my place. Sergio's holding out his right hand in affirmation. No, on the honor of a— He checks himself, and his hand drops nervous as he concludes sardonicly. Of a man capable of behaving as I have been behaving for the last five minutes. Who is he? I don't know. I never saw him. I only heard his voice through the door of her room. Damnation! How dare you! Luca, 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 in the real manner. Sergio 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 hands. Now listen you to me. Luca wincing. Not so tight, you're hurting me. That doesn't matter. You have stained my honor by making me a party to your eavesdropping, and you have betrayed your mistress. Luca writhing. Please. That shows that you are an abominable little clot of calming clay with the soul of a servant. He lets her go as if she were an unclean thing and turns away, dusting his hands off her to the bench by the wall where he sits down with averted head meditating gloomily. Luca 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 hairs are a cheat and I'm worth six of her. She shakes the pain off hardly, 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 stoopes to lift it, he rises. Luca. 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. 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 shackle and takes some money from his pocket. Luca, 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, 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 the reina returns wearing a hat and jacket in the height of the Vienna fashion of the previous year, 1885. Luca makes way proudly for her and then goes into the house. I'm ready. What's the matter? Gaeli. Have you been flirting with Luca? Sergius hastily. No, no, how could you think such a thing? Reina ashamed of herself. Forgive me, dear. It was only a jest. I am so happy today. He goes quickly to her and kisses her hand remorsefully. Catherine comes out and talks 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 Philippopolis and he objects to every suggestion of mine. You must go and help him, Sergius. He is in the library. Reina disappointed. But we are just going out for a walk. I shall not be long. Wait for me just five minutes. He runs up the steps to the door. Reina following him to the foot of the steps and looking up at him with timid cockatry. 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. Reina 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. 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. Reina gazing thoughtfully at the gravel as she walks. The little beast. Little beast? What little beast? To go and tell. If I had him here I'd stuff him with chocolate creams so he couldn't ever speak again. Don't talk nonsense. Tell me the truth, Reina. How long was he in your room before you came to me? Reina whisking round and recommencing her march in the opposite direction. Oh, I forget. You cannot forget. Did he really climb up after the soldiers were gone? Or was he there when that officer searched the room? No. Yes. I think he must have been there then. You think? Reina, will anything ever make you straightforward? If Sergius finds out it is all over between you. Reina with cold 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. Reina 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 have hope he may. She again turns flippantly away and strolls up the path to the corner of the house. And what should I be able to say to your father, pray? Reina 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. Luca comes from the house with a selver, which she carries hanging down by her side. Well? There's a gentleman just called, madam. A Servian officer. Catherine flaming. A Servian? How dare he? 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 Saranov. Why do you come to me? 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 selver, and offers it to Catherine. Catherine reading. That's a German name. Swiss, madam, I think. Catherine with a bound that makes Luca jump back. Swiss! What is he like? Luca timidly. He has a big carpet bag, madam. Oh, heavens, he's come to return the coat. Send him away. Say we're not at home. Ask him to leave us a dress and I'll write to him. Oh, stop! That will never do. Wait! She throws herself into a chair to think it out. Luca waits. The master and Major Saranov are busy in the library, aren't they? Yes, madam. Bring the gentleman out here at once and be very polite to him. Don't delay. Here. Impatiently snatching the selver from her. Leave that here and go straight back to him. Yes, madam. Going. Luca. Luca stopping. Yes, madam. Is the library door shut? I think so, madam. If not, shut it as you pass through. Yes, madam. Going. Stop. Luca 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. Luca surprised. His bag? Yes. Here as soon as possible. Be quick. Luca runs into the house. Catherine snatches her apron off and throws it behind a bush. She then takes up the selver and uses it as a mirror with the results 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. Luca appears at the door of the house announcing Captain Blanchley 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 Nereina's room. He is now clean, well brushed, smartly uniformed and out of trouble, but still unmistakably the same man. The moment Luca's bag is turned, Catherine swoops on him with hurried, urgent, coaxing appeal. Captain Blanchley, 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 balked 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? Blanchley, 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 to tame 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. Goodbye. But my bag? It went on. You will leave me your address. 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, Petkov, headless, rushes from the house in a fluster of hospitality, followed by Sergius. Petkov, as he hurries down the steps. My dear Captain Blanchley. Oh, heavens. She sinks on the seat against the wall. Petkov too preoccupied to notice her, as he shakes Blanchley's hand heartily. Those stupid people of mine thought I was out here instead of in the 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. Saranov 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. No longer the enemy heavily. Rather anxiously. I hope you've come as a friend and not on business. Oh, quite as a friend, Paul. I was just asking Captain Blanchley to stay till lunch, but he declares he must go at once. Sergius, sardonicly. Impossible, Blanchley. We want you here badly. We have to send on three cavalry regiments to Philippopolis, and we don't in the least know how to do it. Blanchley, suddenly attentive and business-like. Philippopolis? The forage is the trouble, right? Petkov eagerly. Yes, that's it. To Sergius. He sees the whole thing at once. I think I can show you how to manage that. Invaluable man. Come along. Towering over Blanchley, he puts his hand on his shoulder and takes him to the steps, Petkov following. As Blanchley puts his foot on the first step, Reina comes out of the house. Reina, completely losing her presence of mind. Oh, the chocolate-cream soldier! Blanchley stands rigid. Sergius, amazed, looks at the Reina, then at Petkov, who looks back at him, and then at his wife. Catherine, with commanding presence of mind. My dear Reina, don't you see that we have a guest here? Captain Blanchley, one of our new Serbian friends. Reina bows. Blanchley bows. How silly of me! She comes down into the centre of the group between Blanchley and Petkov. I made a beautiful ornament this morning for the ice-putting, and that stupid Nikola has just put down a pile of plates on it and spoiled it. To Blanchley, winningly. I hope you didn't think that you were the chocolate-cream soldier, Captain Blanchley. I assure you, I did. Stealing a whimsical glance at her. Your explanation was a relief. Petkov suspiciously to Reina. And since when, Prey, have you taken to cooking? Oh, whilst you were away. It is her latest fancy. Petkov testily. And has Nikola taken to drinking? He used to be careful enough. First he shows Captain Blanchley out here when he knew quite well I was in the library. And then he goes downstairs and breaks Reina's chocolate soldier. He must... At this moment Nikola appears at the top of the steps right with a carpet bag. He descends, places it respectfully before Blanchley and waits for further orders. General amazement. Nikola, unconscious of the effect he is producing, looks perfectly satisfied with himself. When Petkov recovers his power of speech, he breaks out at him with... Are you mad, Nikola? Nikola, taken aback. Sir? What have you brought back for? My lady's orders, sir. Luca told me that... Catherine, interrupting him. My orders? Why should I order you to bring Captain Blanchley's luggage out here? What are you thinking of, Nikola? Nikola, after a moment's bewilderment, picking up the bag as he addresses Blanchley with the very perfection of server 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 Petkov addresses him angrily. You'd better go and slam that bag too down on Miss Reina's ice pudding. This is too much for Nikola. The bag drops from his hands on Petkov's corns, electing a roar of anguish from him. No, you'll be gone! You buttered finger-donkey! Nikola snatching up the bag and escaping into the house. Yes, sir. Oh, never mind, Paul. Don't be angry. Petkov muttering. Scoundrel! Got out of hand while I was away. I'll teach him. Recollecting his guest. Oh, well, never mind. Come, Blanchley, let's 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. Oh, do, Captain Blanchley. Now, Catherine, it's of you that he's afraid. Press him and he'll stay. Of course. I shall be only too delighted if Captain Blanchley really wishes to stay. He knows my wishes. Blanchley in his driest military manner. I am at Madame's orders. That settles it. Of course. You see, you must stay. Blanchley smiling. Well, if I must, I must. Gesture of despair from Catherine. End of Act Two.