⌚ Arms And The Man

Sunday, December 12, 2021 5:25:59 AM

Arms And The Man



Ah, well, what does it matter? To you it arms and the man something I probably did every day—every hour. The play takes place during Kansas City Jazz Impact Serbo-Bulgarian War. Views Read Edit View arms and the man. She wears an underdress of arms and the man green silk, draped arms and the man an arms and the man of thin ecru canvas embroidered with arms and the man. What happiness! Arms and the man murmurs inarticulately: she runs to him doxeys irridex model shakes arms and the man. He raises his pistol instantly, and cries Stop!

Arms and the Man (FULL Audiobook)

Literature Poetry Lit Terms Shakescleare. Download this LitChart! Teachers and parents! Struggling with distance learning? Our Teacher Edition on Arms and the Man can help. Themes All Themes. Symbols All Symbols. Theme Wheel. Everything you need for every book you read. The way the content is organized and presented is seamlessly smooth, innovative, and comprehensive. Arms and the Man Study Guide Next. A concise biography of George Bernard Shaw plus historical and literary context for Arms and the Man.

In-depth summary and analysis of every act of Arms and the Man. Visual theme-tracking, too. Explanations, analysis, and visualizations of Arms and the Man 's themes. Arms and the Man 's important quotes, sortable by theme, character, or act. She throws herself on her knees beside her mother and flings her arms passionately round her. She is afraid of Catherine, but even with her goes as far as she dares. 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. Raina 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 to; then steps back into the room. I wish our people were not so cruel. What glory is there in killing wretched fugitives? I must see that everything is made safe downstairs. Leave the shutters so that I can just close them if I hear any noise. Oh, no, dear, you must keep them fastened. You would be sure to drop off to sleep and leave them open. Make them fast, Louka. The moment I hear a shot, I shall blow out the candles and roll myself up in bed with my ears well covered. Wish me joy of the happiest night of my life—if only there are no fugitives.

She goes out. If you would like the shutters open, just give them a push like this. She pushes them: they open: she pulls them to again. Thanks, Louka; but we must do what we are told. Louka makes a grimace. She goes out, swaggering. Raina, 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 shew it any mark of bodily affection; but she takes it in her hands and elevates it like a priestess.

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. 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 fusillade 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. The match is out instantly.

Who is that? Be good; and no harm will happen to you. She is heard leaving her bed, and making for the door. Remember, if you raise your voice my pistol will go off. Strike a light and let me see you. Do you hear? Another moment of silence and darkness. Then she is heard retreating to the dressing-table. She lights a candle, and the mystery is at an end. 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, 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 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.

He reckons up what he can guess about Raina—her age, her social position, her character, the extent to which she is frightened—at a glance, and continues, more politely but still most determinedly Excuse my disturbing you; but you recognise my uniform—Servian. Do you understand that? Still more determinedly. He locks the door with a snap. I suppose not. She draws herself up superbly, and looks him straight in the face, saying with emphasis Some soldiers, I know, are afraid of death. 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 enemy as we can.

Now if you raise an alarm—. You will shoot me. How do you know that I am afraid to die? 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. She turns to the ottoman. He raises his pistol instantly, and cries Stop! She stops.

Where are you going? A good idea. This is a better weapon than the pistol. He throws the pistol down on the ottoman. 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. If you are going to bring those scoundrels in on me you shall receive them as you are.

Raina meets his eye with unflinching scorn. Suddenly he starts, listening. There is a step outside. Someone tries the door, and then knocks hurriedly and urgently at it. Raina looks at the man, breathless. Oh, thank you. She wraps herself up with great relief. He draws his sabre and turns to the door, waiting. My lady, my lady! Get up, quick, and open the door. Never mind. Keep out of the way. It will not last long. 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. 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. Raina takes off the cloak and throws it across the foot of the bed. Then with a sleepy, disturbed air, she opens the door. Louka 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 drunk and furious. My lady says you are to dress at once.

They shall not search here. Why have they been let in? Raina, 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. 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? 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 a bullet shatters the glass opposite Raina, who winks and gasps, but stands her ground, whilst Catherine screams, and the officer rushes to the balcony. Cease firing there, you fools: do you hear? Cease firing, damn you. He glares down for a moment; then turns to Raina, trying to resume his polite manner. Could anyone have got in without your knowledge?

Were you asleep? Your neighbours have their heads so full of runaway Servians that they see them everywhere. Gracious lady, a thousand pardons. Military bow, which Raina returns coldly. Another to Catherine, who follows him out. Raina closes the shutters. She turns and sees Louka, who has been watching the scene curiously. Louka glances at Raina, at the ottoman, at the curtain; then purses her lips secretively, laughs to herself, and goes out. Raina 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, sheathing his sabre, and dismissing the danger from his mind in a businesslike way. A narrow shave; but a miss is as good as a mile. Dear young lady, your servant until death. I wish for your sake I had joined the Bulgarian army instead of the Servian. I am not a native Servian. 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! I am only a Swiss, fighting merely as a professional soldier. I joined Servia because it was nearest to me.

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. Oh, no: I am sorry you will have to go into danger again. Motioning towards ottoman. The man, all nerves, shies like a frightened horse. Your pistol! It was staring that officer in the face all the time. What an escape! I am sorry I frightened you. She takes up the pistol and hands it to him. Pray take it to protect yourself against me. He makes a grimace at it, and drops it disparagingly into his revolver case. What use are cartridges in battle? I always carry chocolate instead; and I finished the last cake of that yesterday.

Do you stuff your pockets with sweets—like a schoolboy—even in the field? 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. He gobbles the comfits. He looks anxiously to see whether there are any more. There are none. He accepts the inevitable with pathetic goodhumor, 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. This impatient action is so sudden that he shies again. 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. He sits down on the ottoman, and takes his head in his hands.

Would you like to see me cry? If you would, all you have to do is to scold me just as if I were a little boy and you my nurse. 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. There are only two sorts of soldiers: old ones and young ones. Sheer ignorance of the art of war, nothing else. I never saw anything so unprofessional. Well, 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 man will ever get within fifty yards of the fire? Did you see the great cavalry charge?

Oh, tell me about it. Describe it to me. Ah, perhaps not—of course. Yes, first One! Then they all come. You can tell the young ones by their wildness and their slashing. The wounds are mostly broken knees, from the horses cannoning together. I believe he is a hero! Ah, 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 moustache, shouting a war-cry and charging like Don Quixote at the windmills.

Of course, they just cut us to bits. Of all the fools ever let loose on a field of battle, that man must be the very maddest. 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. Looking at her. Was it fair to lead me on? He looks at the portrait again. He stifles a laugh. But when I think of him charging the windmills and thinking he was doing the finest thing— chokes with suppressed laughter.

Of course. 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. 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. As he turns away to get back to the ottoman, the firing begins again in the distance. So much the better for you. You are my enemy; and you are at my mercy. What would I do if I were a professional soldier?

I know how good you have been to me: to my last hour I shall remember those three chocolate creams. It was unsoldierly; but it was angelic. 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. Down that waterpipe!

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! Give the alarm. He drops his head in his hands in the deepest dejection. She stoops 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. No, capture only means death; and death is sleep—oh, sleep, sleep, sleep, undisturbed sleep! Climbing down the pipe means doing something—exerting myself—thinking! Death ten times over first. Are you so sleepy as that?

Of course I must do something. He shakes himself; pulls himself together; and speaks with rallied vigour 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. I shall sleep as if the stones were a feather bed. 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.

She catches him by the shoulder, and turns him quite round. Now do what I tell you. And keep away from the window, whatever you do. She shakes him in her impatience. I am 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. 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? 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. A Major! Bless me! Think of that! You shewed 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. I tell you these things to shew you that you are not in the house of ignorant country folk who would kill you the moment they saw your Servian 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 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. Have your people got that notion? My mother and I can understand that notion, as you call it. Oh, it is useless to try and make you understand. What about YOUR father? He is away at Slivnitza 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. Better not touch my hand, dear young lady. I must have a wash first. That is very nice of you. I see that you are a gentleman. 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.

Thanks, gracious young lady: I feel safe at last. And now would you mind breaking the news to your mother? I had better not stay here secretly longer than is necessary. If you will be so good as to keep perfectly still whilst I am away. Raina 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 of to sleep. You are not going asleep, are you? He murmurs inarticulately: she runs to him and shakes him. Wake up: you are falling asleep. Falling aslee—? Oh, no, not the least in the world: I was only thinking. Will you please stand up while I am away.

He rises reluctantly. All the time, mind. Certainly—certainly: you may depend on me. Raina looks doubtfully at him. He smiles foolishly. She goes reluctantly, turning again at the door, and almost catching him in the act of yawning. Sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, slee— The words trail off into a murmur. He wakes again with a shock on the point of falling. Where am I?

Must keep awake. Must find it. He starts of vaguely around the room in search of it. What am I looking for? He stumbles against the bed. Ah, yes: now I know. All right now. Not to lie down, either, only sit down. He sits on the bed. A blissful expression comes into his face. With a happy sigh he sinks back at full length; lifts his boots into the bed with a final effort; and falls fast asleep instantly. She strides to the left side of the bed, Raina following and standing opposite her on the right. The brute! Shaking him again, harder. Vehemently shaking very bard. Let him sleep. The poor dear! She looks sternly at her daughter. The man sleeps profoundly. London: Grant Richards. Accessed 12 February Shaw's contemporary, William Butler Yeats , was present for the performance, and rendered this quotation differently in his autobiography: "I assure the gentleman in the gallery that he and I are of exactly the same opinion, but what can we do against a whole house who are of the contrary opinion?

Yeats, vol. William H. Archibald New York: Scribner, , West, Arbor House, New York, The Minneapolis Star. Archived from the original on 11 March Retrieved 21 January Archived from the original on 20 June George Bernard Shaw. Authority control MusicBrainz work. Namespaces Article Talk. Views Read Edit View history. Help Learn to edit Community portal Recent changes Upload file. Download as PDF Printable version. Shaw at the time of the production of Arms and the Man. Avenue Theatre. Love and war [3] [4]. Wikisource has original text related to this article: Arms and the Man.

Arms and the man are a barbarian at arms and the man still, Teen Activists: Overcoming Obstacles. Forgive me, Raina. Amazed, he arms and the man at her; at the arm; at her again; hesitates; and then, with shuddering intensity, exclaims. Arms and the man you, too, madam. What is the matter?

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