GEORGE SHAW - Collected Works

RAINA.

You dare!

BLUNTSCHLI.

If you were twenty-three when you said those things to me this afternoon, I shall take them seriously.

CATHERINE.

( loftily polite ). I doubt, sir, whether you quite realize either my daughter’s position or that of Major Sergius Saranoff, whose place you propose to take. The Petkoffs and the Saranoffs are known as the richest and most important families in the country. Our position is almost historical: we can go back for nearly twenty years.

PETKOFF.

Oh, never mind that, Catherine. ( To Bluntschli. ) We should be most happy, Bluntschli, if it were only a question of your position; but hang it, you know, Raina is accustomed to a very comfortable establishment. Sergius keeps twenty horses.

BLUNTSCHLI.

But what on earth is the use of twenty horses? Why, it’s a circus.

CATHERINE.

( severely ). My daughter, sir, is accustomed to a first-rate stable.

RAINA.

Hush, mother, you’re making me ridiculous.

BLUNTSCHLI.

Oh, well, if it comes to a question of an establishment, here goes! ( He goes impetuously to the table and seizes the papers in the blue envelope. ) How many horses did you say?

SERGIUS.

Twenty, noble Switzer!

BLUNTSCHLI.

I have two hundred horses. ( They are amazed. ) How many carriages?

SERGIUS.

Three.

BLUNTSCHLI.

I have seventy. Twenty-four of them will hold twelve inside, besides two on the box, without counting the driver and conductor. How many tablecloths have you?

SERGIUS.

How the deuce do I know?

BLUNTSCHLI.

Have you four thousand?

SERGIUS.

NO.

BLUNTSCHLI.

I have. I have nine thousand six hundred pairs of sheets and blankets, with two thousand four hundred eider-down quilts. I have ten thousand knives and forks, and the same quantity of dessert spoons. I have six hundred servants. I have six palatial establishments, besides two livery stables, a tea garden and a private house. I have four medals for distinguished services; I have the rank of an officer and the standing of a gentleman; and I have three native languages. Show me any man in Bulgaria that can offer as much.

PETKOFF.

( with childish awe ). Are you Emperor of Switzerland?

BLUNTSCHLI.

My rank is the highest known in Switzerland: I’m a free citizen.

CATHERINE.

Then Captain Bluntschli, since you are my daughter’s choice, I shall not stand in the way of her happiness. ( Petkoff is about to speak. ) That is Major Petkoff’s feeling also.

PETKOFF.

Oh, I shall be only too glad. Two hundred horses! Whew!

SERGIUS.

What says the lady?

RAINA.

( pretending to sulk ). The lady says that he can keep his tablecloths and his omnibuses. I am not here to be sold to the highest bidder.

BLUNTSCHLI.

I won’t take that answer. I appealed to you as a fugitive, a beggar, and a starving man. You accepted me. You gave me your hand to kiss, your bed to sleep in, and your roof to shelter me—

RAINA.

( interrupting him ). I did not give them to the Emperor of Switzerland!

BLUNTSCHLI.

That’s just what I say. ( He catches her hand quickly and looks her straight in the face as he adds, with confident mastery ) Now tell us who you did give them to.

RAINA.

( succumbing with a shy smile ). To my chocolate cream soldier!

BLUNTSCHLI.

( with a boyish laugh of delight ). That’ll do. Thank you. ( Looks at his watch and suddenly becomes businesslike. ) Time’s up, Major. You’ve managed those regiments so well that you are sure to be asked to get rid of some of the Infantry of the Teemok division. Send them home by way of Lom Palanka. Saranoff: don’t get married until I come back: I shall be here punctually at five in the evening on Tuesday fortnight. Gracious ladies—good evening. ( He makes them a military bow, and goes. )

SERGIUS.

What a man! What a man!

AUGUSTUS DOES HIS BIT

I wish to express my gratitude for certain good offices which Augustus secured for me in January, 1917. I had been invited to visit the theatre of war in Flanders by the Commander-in-Chief: an invitation which was, under the circumstances, a summons to duty. Thus I had occasion to spend some days in procuring the necessary passport and other official facilities for my journey. It happened just then that the Stage Society gave a performance of this little play. It opened the heart of every official to me. I have always been treated with distinguished consideration in my contracts with bureaucracy during the war; but on this occasion I found myself persona grata in the highest degree. There was only one word when the formalities were disposed of; and that was "We are up against Augustus all day." The showing-up of Augustus scandalized one or two innocent and patriotic critics who regarded the prowess of the British army as inextricably bound up with Highcastle prestige. But our Government departments knew better: their problem was how to win the war with Augustus on their backs, well-meaning, brave, patriotic, but obstructively fussy, self-important, imbecile, and disastrous.

Save for the satisfaction of being able to laugh at Augustus in the theatre, nothing, as far as I know, came of my dramatic reduction of him to absurdity. Generals, admirals, Prime Ministers and Controllers, not to mention Emperors, Kaisers and Tsars, were scrapped remorselessly at home and abroad, for their sins or services, as the case might be. But Augustus stood like the Eddystone in a storm, and stands so to this day. He gave us his word that he was indispensable and we took it.

Augustus Does His Bit was performed for the first time at the Court Theatre in London by the Stage Society on the 21st January, 1917, with Lalla Vandervelde as The Lady, F. B.J. Sharp as Lord Augustus Highcastle, and Charles Rock as Horatio Floyd Beamish.

The Mayor's parlor in the Town Hall of Little Pifflington. Lord Augustus Highcastle, a distinguished member of the governing class, in the uniform of a colonel, and very well preserved at forty-five, is comfortably seated at a writing-table with his heels on it, reading The Morning Post. The door faces him, a little to his left, at the other side of the room. The window is behind him. In the fireplace, a gas stove. On the table a bell button and a telephone. Portraits of past Mayors, in robes and gold chains, adorn the walls. An elderly clerk with a short white beard and whiskers, and a very red nose, shuffles in.

AUGUSTUS [hastily putting aside his paper and replacing his feet on the floor]. Hullo! Who are you?

THE CLERK. The staff [a slight impediment in his speech adds to the impression of incompetence produced by his age and appearance].

AUGUSTUS. You the staff! What do you mean, man?

THE CLERK. What I say. There ain't anybody else.

AUGUSTUS. Tush! Where are the others?

THE CLERK. At the front.

AUGUSTUS. Quite right. Most proper. Why aren't you at the front?

THE CLERK. Over age. Fifty-seven.

AUGUSTUS. But you can still do your bit. Many an older man is in the G.R.'s, or volunteering for home defence.

THE CLERK. I have volunteered.

AUGUSTUS. Then why are you not in uniform?

THE CLERK. They said they wouldn't have me if I was given away with a pound of tea. Told me to go home and not be an old silly. [A sense of unbearable wrong, till now only smouldering in him, bursts into flame.] Young Bill Knight, that I took with me, got two and sevenpence. I got nothing. Is it justice? This country is going to the dogs, if you ask me.