Pygmalion and Other Plays. GEORGE BERNARD SHAW
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Sergius. You’d better give Raina that Arab steed yourself, since you’ve roused her expectations. Eh, Raina? [He looks round at her; but she is again rapt in the landscape. With a little gush of paternal affection and pride, he points her out to them and says.] She’s dreaming, as usual.
SERGIUS. Assuredly she shall not be the loser.
PETKOFF. So much the better for her. I shan’t come off so cheap, I expect. [The change is now complete. Nicola goes out with the discarded coat.] Ah, now I feel at home at last. [He sits down and takes his newspaper with a grunt of relief.]
BLUNTSCHLI. [To Sergius, handing a paper.] That’s the last order.
PETKOFF. [Jumping up.] What! finished?
BLUNTSCHLI. Finished. [Petkoff goes beside Sergius; looks curiously over his left shoulder as he signs; and says with childlike envy.] Haven’t you anything for me to sign?
BLUNTSCHLI. Not necessary. His signature will do.
PETKOFF. Ah, well, I think we’ve done a thundering good day’s work. [He goes away from the table.] Can I do anything more?
BLUNTSCHLI. You had better both see the fellows that are to take these. [To Sergius.] Pack them off at once; and shew them that I’ve marked on the orders the time they should hand them in by. Tell them that if they stop to drink or tell stories—if they’re five minutes late, they’ll have the skin taken off their backs.
SERGIUS. [Rising indignantly.] I’ll say so. And if one of them is man enough to spit in my face for insulting him, I’ll buy his discharge and give him a pension. [He strides out, his humanity deeply outraged.]
BLUNTSCHLI. [Confidentially.] Just see that he talks to them properly, Major, will you?
PETKOFF. [Officiously.] Quite right, Bluntschli, quite right. I’ll see to it. [He goes to the door importantly, but hesitates on the threshold.] By the bye, Catherine, you may as well come, too. They’ll be far more frightened of you than of me.
CATHERINE. [Putting down her embroidery.] I daresay I had better. You will only splutter at them. [She goes out, Petkoff holding the door for her and following her.]
BLUNTSCHLI. What a country! They make cannons out of cherry trees; and the officers send for their wives to keep discipline! [He begins to fold and docket the papers. Raina, who has risen from the divan, strolls down the room with her hands clasped behind her, and looks mischievously at him.]
RAINA. You look ever so much nicer than when we last met. [He looks up, surprised.] What have you done to yourself?
BLUNTSCHLI. Washed; brushed; good night’s sleep and breakfast. That’s all.
RAINA. Did you get back safely that morning?
BLUNTSCHLI. Quite, thanks.
RAINA. Were they angry with you for running away from Sergius’s charge?
BLUNTSCHLI. No, they were glad; because they’d all just run away themselves.
RAINA. [Going to the table, and leaning over it towards him.] It must have made a lovely story for them—all that about me and my room.
BLUNTSCHLI. Capital story. But I only told it to one of them—a particular friend.
RAINA. On whose discretion you could absolutely rely?
BLUNTSCHLI. Absolutely.
RAINA. Hm! He told it all to my father and Sergius the day you exchanged the prisoners. [She turns away and strolls carelessly across to the other side of the room.]
BLUNTSCHLI. [Deeply concerned and half incredulous.] No! you don’t mean that, do you?
RAINA. [Turning, with sudden earnestness.] I do indeed. But they don’t know that it was in this house that you hid. If Sergius knew, he would challenge you and kill you in a duel.
BLUNTSCHLI. Bless me! then don’t tell him.
RAINA. [Full of reproach for his levity.] Can you realize what it is to me to deceive him? I want to be quite perfect with Sergius—no meanness, no smallness, no deceit. My relation to him is the one really beautiful and noble part of my life. I hope you can understand that.
BLUNTSCHLI. [Sceptically.] You mean that you wouldn’t like him to find out that the story about the ice pudding was a—a—a—You know.
RAINA. [Wincing.] Ah, don’t talk of it in that flippant way. I lied: I know it. But I did it to save your life. He would have killed you. That was the second time I ever uttered a falsehood. [Bluntschli rises quickly and looks doubtfully and somewhat severely at her.] Do you remember the first time?
BLUNTSCHLI. I! No. Was I present?
RAINA. Yes; and I told the officer who was searching for you that you were not present.
BLUNTSCHLI. True. I should have remembered it.
RAINA. [Greatly encouraged.] Ah, it is natural that you should forget it first. It cost you nothing: it cost me a lie!—a lie!! [She sits down on the ottoman, looking straight before her with her hands clasped on her knee. Bluntschli, quite touched, goes to the ottoman with a particularly reassuring and considerate air, and sits down beside her.]
BLUNTSCHLI. My dear young lady, don’t let this worry you. Remember: I’m a soldier. Now what are the two things that happen to a soldier so often that he comes to think nothing of them? One is hearing people tell lies. [Raina recoils.] the other is getting his life saved in all sorts of ways by all sorts of people.
RAINA. [Rising in indignant protest.] And so he becomes a creature incapable of faith and of gratitude.
BLUNTSCHLI. [Making a wry face.] Do you like gratitude? I don’t. If pity is akin to love, gratitude is akin to the other thing.
RAINA. Gratitude! [Turning on him.] If you are incapable of gratitude you are incapable of any noble sentiment. Even animals are grateful. Oh, I see now exactly what you think of me! You were not surprised to hear me lie. To you it was something I probably did every day—every hour. That is how men think of women. [She walks up the room melodramatically.]
BLUNTSCHLI. [Dubiously.] There’s reason in everything. You said you’d told only two lies in your whole life. Dear young lady: isn’t that rather a short allowance? I’m quite a straightforward man myself; but it wouldn’t last me a whole morning.
RAINA. [Staring haughtily at him.] Do you know, sir, that you are insulting me?
BLUNTSCHLI. I can’t help it. When you get into that noble attitude and speak in that thrilling voice, I admire you; but I find it impossible to believe a single word you say.
RAINA. [Superbly.] Captain Bluntschli!
BLUNTSCHLI. [Unmoved.] Yes?
RAINA. [Coming a little towards him, as if she could not believe her senses.] Do you mean what you said just now? Do you know what you said just now?
BLUNTSCHLI. I do.
RAINA. [Gasping.] I! I!!! [She points to herself incredulously, meaning “I, Raina Petkoff, tell lies!” He meets her gaze unflinchingly. She suddenly sits down beside him, and adds, with a complete change of manner from the heroic to the familiar.] How did you find me out?
BLUNTSCHLI. [Promptly.] Instinct, dear young lady. Instinct, and experience of the world.
RAINA. [Wonderingly.] Do you know, you are the first man I ever met who did not take me seriously?
BLUNTSCHLI. You mean, don’t you, that I am the first man that has ever taken you quite seriously?
RAINA. Yes, I suppose I do mean that. [Cosily, quite at her ease with him.] How strange it is to be talked to in such a way! You know, I’ve always gone on like that—I mean the noble attitude and the thrilling voice. I did it when I was a tiny child to my nurse. She believed in it. I do it before my parents. They believe in it. I do it before Sergius. He believes in it.
BLUNTSCHLI. Yes: he’s a little in that line himself, isn’t he?
RAINA.