Arms and the Man: Act I

The counterpane 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.

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.

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.

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

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

RAINA.
Tell me, tell me. How was it! (Ecstatically) Oh, mother, mother, mother!

Can’t you see it, Raina; our gallant splendid Bulgarians with their swords and eyes flashing, thundering down like an avalanche and scattering the wretched Servian dandies like chaff.

What will he care for my poor little worship after the acclamations of a whole army of heroes?

Yes, I was only a prosaic little coward.

They are interrupted by the entry of Louka, a handsome, proud girl in a pretty Bulgarian peasant’s dress with double apron, so defiant that her servility to Raina is almost insolent.

She is just now excited like the others; but she has no sympathy for Raina’s raptures and looks contemptuously at the ecstasies of the two before she addresses them.

I wish our people were not so cruel. What glory is there in killing wretched fugitives?

RAINA.
(with dignity, reproving her). Thanks, Louka; but we must do what we are told.

She replaces it reverently, and selects a novel from the little pile of books.

The firing breaks out again: there is a startling fusillade quite close at hand.

A man of about 35, in a deplorable plight, bespattered with mud and blood and snow, his belt and the strap of his revolver case keeping together the torn ruins of the blue coat of a Servian artillery officer.

A man of about 35, in a deplorable plight, bespattered with mud and blood and snow, his belt and the strap of his revolver case keeping together the torn ruins of the blue coat of a Servian artillery officer.

As far as the candlelight and his unwashed, unkempt condition make it possible to judge, he is a man of middling stature and undistinguished appearance...

...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 soldierlike carriage and energetic manner, and with all his wits about him in spite of his desperate predicament—even with a sense of humor of it, without, however, the least intention of trifling with it or throwing away a chance.

Why, a lot of your cavalry—the greatest blackguards in your army—will burst into this pretty room of yours and slaughter me here like a pig; for I’ll fight like a demon: they shan’t get me into the street to amuse themselves with: I know what they are.

MAN.
Are you prepared to receive that sort of company in your present undress? (Raina, suddenly conscious of her nightgown, instinctively shrinks and gathers it more closely about her. He watches her, and adds, pitilessly) It’s rather scanty, eh?

As they look at one another for a moment, Raina hardly able to believe that even a Servian officer can be so cynically and selfishly unchivalrous, they are startled by a sharp fusillade in the street.

RAINA.
(petulantly). Nonsense, sir, you can see that there is no one on the balcony.

Louka glances at Raina, at the ottoman, at the curtain; then purses her lips secretively, laughs to herself, and goes out.

RAINA.
(haughtily). No, you are one of the Austrians who set the Servians on to rob us of our national liberty, and who officer their army for them. We hate them!

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.

He makes a grimace at it, and drops it disparagingly into his revolver case.

He hands back the box. She snatches it contemptuously from him and throws it away.

MAN.
Oh, yes, they are. There are 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.
(deeply wounded, but steadfastly loyal to her ideals). Indeed! Would you know him again if you saw him?

He stifles a laugh.

Down that waterpipe! Stop! Wait! I can’t! I daren’t! The very thought of it makes me giddy. I came up it fast enough with death behind me. But to face it now in cold blood!

He drops his head in his hands in the deepest dejection.

They’re sure to see you: it’s bright moonlight. I’ll save you—oh, how can you be so indifferent? You want me to save you, don’t you?

RAINA.
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.

My father is a very hospitable man: he keeps six hotels; but I couldn’t trust him as far as that.

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.

He murmurs inarticulately: she runs to him and shakes him.

The man sleeps profoundly.