Part 4

SERGIUS. Be quick. If you are away five minutes, it will seem five hours. (_Raina runs to the top of the steps and turns there to exchange a look with him and wave him a kiss with both hands. He looks after her with emotion for a moment, then turns slowly away, his face radiant with the exultation of the scene which has just passed. The movement shifts his field of vision, into the corner of which there now comes the tail of Louka’s double apron. His eye gleams at once. He takes a stealthy look at her, and begins to twirl his moustache nervously, with his left hand akimbo on his hip. Finally, striking the ground with his heels in something of a cavalry swagger, he strolls over to the left of the table, opposite her, and says_) Louka: do you know what the higher love is?

LOUKA. (_astonished_). No, sir.

SERGIUS. Very fatiguing thing to keep up for any length of time, Louka. One feels the need of some relief after it.

LOUKA. (_innocently_). Perhaps you would like some coffee, sir? (_She stretches her hand across the table for the coffee pot._)

SERGIUS. (_taking her hand_). Thank you, Louka.

LOUKA. (_pretending to pull_). Oh, sir, you know I didn’t mean that. I’m surprised at you!

SERGIUS. (_coming clear of the table and drawing her with him_). I am surprised at myself, Louka. What would Sergius, the hero of Slivnitza, say if he saw me now? What would Sergius, the apostle of the higher love, say if he saw me now? What would the half dozen Sergiuses who keep popping in and out of this handsome figure of mine say if they caught us here? (_Letting go her hand and slipping his arm dexterously round her waist._) Do you consider my figure handsome, Louka?

LOUKA. Let me go, sir. I shall be disgraced. (_She struggles: he holds her inexorably._) Oh, will you let go?

SERGIUS. (_looking straight into her eyes_). No.

LOUKA. Then stand back where we can’t be seen. Have you no common sense?

SERGIUS. Ah, that’s reasonable. (_He takes her into the stableyard gateway, where they are hidden from the house._)

LOUKA. (_complaining_). I may have been seen from the windows: Miss Raina is sure to be spying about after you.

SERGIUS. (_stung—letting her go_). Take care, Louka. I may be worthless enough to betray the higher love; but do not you insult it.

LOUKA. (_demurely_). Not for the world, sir, I’m sure. May I go on with my work please, now?

SERGIUS. (_again putting his arm round her_). You are a provoking little witch, Louka. If you were in love with me, would you spy out of windows on me?

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

SERGIUS. (_charmed_). Witty as well as pretty. (_He tries to kiss her._)

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

SERGIUS. (_recoiling a step_). Louka!

LOUKA. It shews how little you really care!

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

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

SERGIUS. (_turning from her and striking his forehead as he comes back into the garden from the gateway_). Devil! devil!

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

SERGIUS. (_speaking to himself_). Which of the six is the real man?—that’s the question that torments me. One of them is a hero, another a buffoon, another a humbug, another perhaps a bit of a blackguard. (_He pauses and looks furtively at Louka, as he adds with deep bitterness_) And one, at least, is a coward—jealous, like all cowards. (_He goes to the table._) Louka.

LOUKA. Yes?

SERGIUS. Who is my rival?

LOUKA. You shall never get that out of me, for love or money.

SERGIUS. Why?

LOUKA. Never mind why. Besides, you would tell that I told you; and I should lose my place.

SERGIUS. (_holding out his right hand in affirmation_). No; on the honor of a—(_He checks himself, and his hand drops nerveless as he concludes, sardonically_)—of a man capable of behaving as I have been behaving for the last five minutes. Who is he?

LOUKA. I don’t know. I never saw him. I only heard his voice through the door of her room.

SERGIUS. Damnation! How dare you?

LOUKA. (_retreating_). Oh, I mean no harm: you’ve no right to take up my words like that. The mistress knows all about it. And I tell you that if that gentleman ever comes here again, Miss Raina will marry him, whether he likes it or not. I know the difference between the sort of manner you and she put on before one another and the real manner. (_Sergius shivers as if she had stabbed him. Then, setting his face like iron, he strides grimly to her, and grips her above the elbows with both bands._)

SERGIUS. Now listen you to me!

LOUKA. (_wincing_). Not so tight: you’re hurting me!

SERGIUS. That doesn’t matter. You have stained my honor by making me a party to your eavesdropping. And you have betrayed your mistress—

LOUKA. (_writhing_). Please—

SERGIUS. That shews that you are an abominable little clod of common clay, with the soul of a servant. (_He lets her go as if she were an unclean thing, and turns away, dusting his hands of her, to the bench by the wall, where he sits down with averted head, meditating gloomily._)

LOUKA. (_whimpering angrily with her hands up her sleeves, feeling her bruised arms_). You know how to hurt with your tongue as well as with your hands. But I don’t care, now I’ve found out that whatever clay I’m made of, you’re made of the same. As for her, she’s a liar; and her fine airs are a cheat; and I’m worth six of her. (_She shakes the pain off hardily; tosses her head; and sets to work to put the things on the tray. He looks doubtfully at her once or twice. She finishes packing the tray, and laps the cloth over the edges, so as to carry all out together. As she stoops to lift it, he rises._)

SERGIUS. Louka! (_She stops and looks defiantly at him with the tray in her hands._) A gentleman has no right to hurt a woman under any circumstances. (_With profound humility, uncovering his head._) I beg your pardon.

LOUKA. That sort of apology may satisfy a lady. Of what use is it to a servant?

SERGIUS. (_thus rudely crossed in his chivalry, throws it off with a bitter laugh and says slightingly_). Oh, you wish to be paid for the hurt? (_He puts on his shako, and takes some money from his pocket._)

LOUKA. (_her eyes filling with tears in spite of herself_). No, I want my hurt made well.

SERGIUS. (_sobered by her tone_). How?

(_She rolls up her left sleeve; clasps her arm with the thumb and fingers of her right hand; and looks down at the bruise. Then she raises her head and looks straight at him. Finally, with a superb gesture she presents her arm to be kissed. Amazed, he looks at her; at the arm; at her again; hesitates; and then, with shuddering intensity, exclaims_)

SERGIUS. Never! (_and gets away as far as possible from her._)

(_Her arm drops. Without a word, and with unaffected dignity, she takes her tray, and is approaching the house when Raina returns wearing a hat and jacket in the height of the Vienna fashion of the previous year, 1885. Louka makes way proudly for her, and then goes into the house._)

RAINA. I’m ready! What’s the matter? (_Gaily._) Have you been flirting with Louka?

SERGIUS. (_hastily_). No, no. How can you think such a thing?

RAINA. (_ashamed of herself_). Forgive me, dear: it was only a jest. I am so happy to-day.

(_He goes quickly to her, and kisses her hand remorsefully. Catherine comes out and calls to them from the top of the steps._)

CATHERINE. (_coming down to them_). I am sorry to disturb you, children; but Paul is distracted over those three regiments. He does not know how to get them to Phillipopolis; and he objects to every suggestion of mine. You must go and help him, Sergius. He is in the library.

RAINA. (_disappointed_). But we are just going out for a walk.

SERGIUS. I shall not be long. Wait for me just five minutes. (_He runs up the steps to the door._)

RAINA. (_following him to the foot of the steps and looking up at him with timid coquetry_). I shall go round and wait in full view of the library windows. Be sure you draw father’s attention to me. If you are a moment longer than five minutes, I shall go in and fetch you, regiments or no regiments.

SERGIUS. (_laughing_). Very well. (_He goes in. Raina watches him until he is out of her sight. Then, with a perceptible relaxation of manner, she begins to pace up and down about the garden in a brown study._)

CATHERINE. Imagine their meeting that Swiss and hearing the whole story! The very first thing your father asked for was the old coat we sent him off in. A nice mess you have got us into!

RAINA. (_gazing thoughtfully at the gravel as she walks_). The little beast!

CATHERINE. Little beast! What little beast?

RAINA. To go and tell! Oh, if I had him here, I’d stuff him with chocolate creams till he couldn’t ever speak again!

CATHERINE. Don’t talk nonsense. Tell me the truth, Raina. How long was he in your room before you came to me?

RAINA. (_whisking round and recommencing her march in the opposite direction_). Oh, I forget.

CATHERINE. You cannot forget! Did he really climb up after the soldiers were gone, or was he there when that officer searched the room?

RAINA. No. Yes, I think he must have been there then.

CATHERINE. You think! Oh, Raina, Raina! Will anything ever make you straightforward? If Sergius finds out, it is all over between you.

RAINA. (_with cool impertinence_). Oh, I know Sergius is your pet. I sometimes wish you could marry him instead of me. You would just suit him. You would pet him, and spoil him, and mother him to perfection.

CATHERINE. (_opening her eyes very widely indeed_). Well, upon my word!

RAINA. (_capriciously—half to herself_). I always feel a longing to do or say something dreadful to him—to shock his propriety—to scandalize the five senses out of him! (_To Catherine perversely._) I don’t care whether he finds out about the chocolate cream soldier or not. I half hope he may. (_She again turns flippantly away and strolls up the path to the corner of the house._)

CATHERINE. And what should I be able to say to your father, pray?

RAINA. (_over her shoulder, from the top of the two steps_). Oh, poor father! As if he could help himself! (_She turns the corner and passes out of sight._)

CATHERINE. (_looking after her, her fingers itching_). Oh, if you were only ten years younger! (_Louka comes from the house with a salver, which she carries hanging down by her side._) Well?

LOUKA. There’s a gentleman just called, madam—a Servian officer—

CATHERINE. (_flaming_). A Servian! How dare he—(_Checking herself bitterly._) Oh, I forgot. We are at peace now. I suppose we shall have them calling every day to pay their compliments. Well, if he is an officer why don’t you tell your master? He is in the library with Major Saranoff. Why do you come to me?

LOUKA. But he asks for you, madam. And I don’t think he knows who you are: he said the lady of the house. He gave me this little ticket for you. (_She takes a card out of her bosom; puts it on the salver and offers it to Catherine._)

CATHERINE. (_reading_). “Captain Bluntschli!” That’s a German name.

LOUKA. Swiss, madam, I think.

CATHERINE. (_with a bound that makes Louka jump back_). Swiss! What is he like?

LOUKA. (_timidly_). He has a big carpet bag, madam.

CATHERINE. Oh, Heavens, he’s come to return the coat! Send him away—say we’re not at home—ask him to leave his address and I’ll write to him—Oh, stop: that will never do. Wait! (_She throws herself into a chair to think it out. Louka waits._) The master and Major Saranoff are busy in the library, aren’t they?

LOUKA. Yes, madam.

CATHERINE. (_decisively_). Bring the gentleman out here at once. (_Imperatively._) And be very polite to him. Don’t delay. Here (_impatiently snatching the salver from her_): leave that here; and go straight back to him.

LOUKA. Yes, madam. (_Going._)

CATHERINE. Louka!

LOUKA. (_stopping_). Yes, madam.

CATHERINE. Is the library door shut?

LOUKA. I think so, madam.

CATHERINE. If not, shut it as you pass through.

LOUKA. Yes, madam. (_Going._)

CATHERINE. Stop! (_Louka stops._) He will have to go out that way (_indicating the gate of the stable yard_). Tell Nicola to bring his bag here after him. Don’t forget.

LOUKA. (_surprised_). His bag?

CATHERINE. Yes, here, as soon as possible. (_Vehemently._) Be quick! (_Louka runs into the house. Catherine snatches her apron off and throws it behind a bush. She then takes up the salver and uses it as a mirror, with the result that the handkerchief tied round her head follows the apron. A touch to her hair and a shake to her dressing gown makes her presentable._) Oh, how—how—how can a man be such a fool! Such a moment to select! (_Louka appears at the door of the house, announcing “Captain Bluntschli;” and standing aside at the top of the steps to let him pass before she goes in again. He is the man of the adventure in Raina’s room. He is now clean, well brushed, smartly uniformed, and out of trouble, but still unmistakably the same man. The moment Louka’s back is turned, Catherine swoops on him with hurried, urgent, coaxing appeal._) Captain Bluntschli, I am very glad to see you; but you must leave this house at once. (_He raises his eyebrows._) My husband has just returned, with my future son-in-law; and they know nothing. If they did, the consequences would be terrible. You are a foreigner: you do not feel our national animosities as we do. We still hate the Servians: the only effect of the peace on my husband is to make him feel like a lion baulked of his prey. If he discovered our secret, he would never forgive me; and my daughter’s life would hardly be safe. Will you, like the chivalrous gentleman and soldier you are, leave at once before he finds you here?

BLUNTSCHLI. (_disappointed, but philosophical_). At once, gracious lady. I only came to thank you and return the coat you lent me. If you will allow me to take it out of my bag and leave it with your servant as I pass out, I need detain you no further. (_He turns to go into the house._)

CATHERINE. (_catching him by the sleeve_). Oh, you must not think of going back that way. (_Coaxing him across to the stable gates._) This is the shortest way out. Many thanks. So glad to have been of service to you. Good-bye.

BLUNTSCHLI. But my bag?

CATHERINE. It will be sent on. You will leave me your address.

BLUNTSCHLI. True. Allow me. (_He takes out his card-case, and stops to write his address, keeping Catherine in an agony of impatience. As he hands her the card, Petkoff, hatless, rushes from the house in a fluster of hospitality, followed by Sergius._)

PETKOFF. (_as he hurries down the steps_). My dear Captain Bluntschli—

CATHERINE. Oh Heavens! (_She sinks on the seat against the wall._)

PETKOFF. (_too preoccupied to notice her as he shakes Bluntschli’s hand heartily_). Those stupid people of mine thought I was out here, instead of in the—haw!—library. (_He cannot mention the library without betraying how proud he is of it._) I saw you through the window. I was wondering why you didn’t come in. Saranoff is with me: you remember him, don’t you?

SERGIUS. (_saluting humorously, and then offering his hand with great charm of manner_). Welcome, our friend the enemy!

PETKOFF. No longer the enemy, happily. (_Rather anxiously._) I hope you’ve come as a friend, and not on business.

CATHERINE. Oh, quite as a friend, Paul. I was just asking Captain Bluntschli to stay to lunch; but he declares he must go at once.

SERGIUS. (_sardonically_). Impossible, Bluntschli. We want you here badly. We have to send on three cavalry regiments to Phillipopolis; and we don’t in the least know how to do it.

BLUNTSCHLI. (_suddenly attentive and business-like_). Phillipopolis! The forage is the trouble, eh?

PETKOFF. (_eagerly_). Yes, that’s it. (_To Sergius._) He sees the whole thing at once.

BLUNTSCHLI. I think I can shew you how to manage that.

SERGIUS. Invaluable man! Come along! (_Towering over Bluntschli, he puts his hand on his shoulder and takes him to the steps, Petkoff following. As Bluntschli puts his foot on the first step, Raina comes out of the house._)

RAINA. (_completely losing her presence of mind_). Oh, the chocolate cream soldier!

(_Bluntschli stands rigid. Sergius, amazed, looks at Raina, then at Petkoff, who looks back at him and then at his wife._)

CATHERINE. (_with commanding presence of mind_). My dear Raina, don’t you see that we have a guest here—Captain Bluntschli, one of our new Servian friends?

(_Raina bows; Bluntschli bows._)

RAINA. How silly of me! (_She comes down into the centre of the group, between Bluntschli and Petkoff_) I made a beautiful ornament this morning for the ice pudding; and that stupid Nicola has just put down a pile of plates on it and spoiled it. (_To Bluntschli, winningly._) I hope you didn’t think that you were the chocolate cream soldier, Captain Bluntschli.

BLUNTSCHLI. (_laughing_). I assure you I did. (_Stealing a whimsical glance at her._) Your explanation was a relief.

PETKOFF. (_suspiciously, to Raina_). And since when, pray, have you taken to cooking?

CATHERINE. Oh, whilst you were away. It is her latest fancy.

PETKOFF. (_testily_). And has Nicola taken to drinking? He used to be careful enough. First he shews Captain Bluntschli out here when he knew quite well I was in the—hum!—library; and then he goes downstairs and breaks Raina’s chocolate soldier. He must—(_At this moment Nicola appears at the top of the steps R., with a carpet bag. He descends; places it respectfully before Bluntschli; and waits for further orders. General amazement. Nicola, unconscious of the effect he is producing, looks perfectly satisfied with himself. When Petkoff recovers his power of speech, he breaks out at him with_) Are you mad, Nicola?

NICOLA. (_taken aback_). Sir?

PETKOFF. What have you brought that for?

NICOLA. My lady’s orders, sir. Louka told me that—

CATHERINE. (_interrupting him_). My orders! Why should I order you to bring Captain Bluntschli’s luggage out here? What are you thinking of, Nicola?

NICOLA. (_after a moment’s bewilderment, picking up the bag as he addresses Bluntschli with the very perfection of servile discretion_). I beg your pardon, sir, I am sure. (_To Catherine._) My fault, madam! I hope you’ll overlook it! (_He bows, and is going to the steps with the bag, when Petkoff addresses him angrily._)

PETKOFF. You’d better go and slam that bag, too, down on Miss Raina’s ice pudding! (_This is too much for Nicola. The bag drops from his hands on Petkoff’s corns, eliciting a roar of anguish from him._) Begone, you butter-fingered donkey.

NICOLA. (_snatching up the bag, and escaping into the house_). Yes, sir.

CATHERINE. Oh, never mind, Paul, don’t be angry!

PETKOFF. (_muttering_). Scoundrel. He’s got out of hand while I was away. I’ll teach him. (_Recollecting his guest._) Oh, well, never mind. Come, Bluntschli, lets have no more nonsense about you having to go away. You know very well you’re not going back to Switzerland yet. Until you do go back you’ll stay with us.

RAINA. Oh, do, Captain Bluntschli.

PETKOFF. (_to Catherine_). Now, Catherine, it’s of you that he’s afraid. Press him and he’ll stay.

CATHERINE. Of course I shall be only too delighted if (_appealingly_) Captain Bluntschli really wishes to stay. He knows my wishes.

BLUNTSCHLI. (_in his driest military manner_). I am at madame’s orders.

SERGIUS. (_cordially_). That settles it!

PETKOFF. (_heartily_). Of course!

RAINA. You see, you must stay!

BLUNTSCHLI. (_smiling_). Well, If I must, I must! (_Gesture of despair from Catherine._)

## ACT III

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.