Arms and the Man
by
George Bernard Shaw
, ARMS AND THE MAN
ACT I
Night. A lady's bedchamber 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 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. Above the
head of the bed, which stands against a 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 washstand,
against the wall on the left, consists of an enamelled
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 matches beside it.
The window is hinged doorwise 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 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.
CATHERINE (entering hastily, full of good news). Raina—(she pronounces it Rah-
eena, with the stress on the ee) Raina—(she goes to the bed, expecting to find
Raina there.) Why, where—(Raina looks into the room.) Heavens! child, are
you out in the night air instead of in your bed? You'll catch your death. Louka
told me you were asleep.
RAINA (coming in). I sent her away. I wanted to be alone. The stars are so
beautiful! What is the matter?
CATHERINE. Such news. There has been a battle!
RAINA (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.)
CATHERINE. A great battle at Slivnitza! A victory! And it was won by Sergius.
RAINA (with a cry of delight). Ah! (Rapturously.) Oh, mother! (Then, with sudden
anxiety) Is father safe?
CATHERINE. Of course: he sent me the news. Sergius is the hero of the hour, the
idol of the regiment.
RAINA. Tell me, tell me. How was it! (Ecstatically) Oh, mother, mother, mother!
(Raina 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, Raina; our
gallant splendid Bulgarians with their swords and eyes flashing, thundering
down like an avalanche and scattering the wretched Servian 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.
RAINA. What will he care for my poor little worship after the acclamations 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?
RAINA. 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.
CATHERINE. Don't ask me for promises until I know what I am promising.
RAINA. 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 ideas 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.
CATHERINE. A poor figure! Shame on you! The Servians have Austrian officers
who are just as clever as our Russians; but we have beaten them in every battle
for all that.
RAINA (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! What happiness! what unspeakable
by
George Bernard Shaw
, ARMS AND THE MAN
ACT I
Night. A lady's bedchamber 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 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. Above the
head of the bed, which stands against a 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 washstand,
against the wall on the left, consists of an enamelled
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 matches beside it.
The window is hinged doorwise 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 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.
CATHERINE (entering hastily, full of good news). Raina—(she pronounces it Rah-
eena, with the stress on the ee) Raina—(she goes to the bed, expecting to find
Raina there.) Why, where—(Raina looks into the room.) Heavens! child, are
you out in the night air instead of in your bed? You'll catch your death. Louka
told me you were asleep.
RAINA (coming in). I sent her away. I wanted to be alone. The stars are so
beautiful! What is the matter?
CATHERINE. Such news. There has been a battle!
RAINA (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.)
CATHERINE. A great battle at Slivnitza! A victory! And it was won by Sergius.
RAINA (with a cry of delight). Ah! (Rapturously.) Oh, mother! (Then, with sudden
anxiety) Is father safe?
CATHERINE. Of course: he sent me the news. Sergius is the hero of the hour, the
idol of the regiment.
RAINA. Tell me, tell me. How was it! (Ecstatically) Oh, mother, mother, mother!
(Raina 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, Raina; our
gallant splendid Bulgarians with their swords and eyes flashing, thundering
down like an avalanche and scattering the wretched Servian 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.
RAINA. What will he care for my poor little worship after the acclamations 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?
RAINA. 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.
CATHERINE. Don't ask me for promises until I know what I am promising.
RAINA. 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 ideas 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.
CATHERINE. A poor figure! Shame on you! The Servians have Austrian officers
who are just as clever as our Russians; but we have beaten them in every battle
for all that.
RAINA (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! What happiness! what unspeakable
