The Man of Destiny
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George Bernard Shaw >> The Man of Destiny
LIEUTENANT (with sulky stiffness). I was prepared for that. It
takes a gentleman to understand a gentleman. (He throws his sword
on the table. Giuieppe takes it up and politely offers it to
Napoleon, who throws it violently on the couch.)
GIUSEPPE (with sympathetic concern). Have you been attacked by
the Austrians, lieutenant? Dear, dear, dear!
LIEUTENANT (contemptuously). Attacked! I could have broken his
back between my finger and thumb. I wish I had, now. No: it was
by appealing to the better side of my nature: that's what I can't
get over. He said he'd never met a man he liked so much as me. He
put his handkerchief round my neck because a gnat bit me, and my
stock was chafing it. Look! (He pulls a handkerchief from his
stock. Giuseppe takes it and examines it.)
GIUSEPPE (to Napoleon). A lady's handkerchief, excellency. (He
smells it.) Perfumed!
NAPOLEON. Eh? (He takes it and looks at it attentively.) Hm! (He
smells it.) Ha! (He walks thoughtfully across the room, looking
at the handkerchief, which he finally sticks in the breast of his
coat.)
LIEUTENANT. Good enough for him, anyhow. I noticed that he had a
woman's hands when he touched my neck, with his coaxing, fawning
ways, the mean, effeminate little hound. (Lowering his voice with
thrilling intensity.) But mark my words, General. If ever--
THE LADY'S VOICE (outside, as before). Giuseppe!
LIEUTENANT (petrified). What was that?
GIUSEPPE. Only a lady upstairs, lieutenant, calling me.
LIEUTENANT. Lady!
VOICE. Giuseppe, Giuseppe: where ARE you?
LIEUTENANT (murderously). Give me that sword. (He strides to the
couch; snatches the sword; and draws it.)
GIUSEPPE (rushing forward and seizing his right arm.) What are
you thinking of, lieutenant? It's a lady: don't you hear that
it's a woman's voice?
LIEUTENANT. It's HIS voice, I tell you. Let me go. (He breaks
away, and rushes to the inner door. It opens in his face; and the
Strange Lady steps in. She is a very attractive lady, tall and
extraordinarily graceful, with a delicately intelligent,
apprehensive, questioning face--perception in the brow,
sensitiveness in the nostrils, character in the chin: all keen,
refined, and original. She is very feminine, but by no means
weak: the lithe, tender figure is hung on a strong frame: the
hands and feet, neck and shoulders, are no fragile ornaments, but
of full size in proportion to her stature, which considerably
exceeds that of Napoleon and the innkeeper, and leaves her at no
disadvantage with the lieutenant. Only her elegance and radiant
charm keep the secret of her size and strength. She is not,
judging by her dress, an admirer of the latest fashions of the
Directory; or perhaps she uses up her old dresses for travelling.
At all events she wears no jacket with extravagant lappels, no
Greco-Tallien sham chiton, nothing, indeed, that the Princesse de
Lamballe might not have worn. Her dress of flowered silk is long
waisted, with a Watteau pleat behind, but with the paniers
reduced to mere rudiments, as she is too tall for them. It is cut
low in the neck, where it is eked out by a creamy fichu. She is
fair, with golden brown hair and grey eyes.
She enters with the self-possession of a woman accustomed to the
privileges of rank and beauty. The innkeeper, who has excellent
natural manners, is highly appreciative of her. Napoleon, on whom
her eyes first fall, is instantly smitten self-conscious. His
color deepens: he becomes stiffer and less at ease than before.
She perceives this instantly, and, not to embarrass him, turns in
an infinitely well bred manner to pay the respect of a glance to
the other gentleman, who is staring at her dress, as at the
earth's final masterpiece of treacherous dissimulation, with
feelings altogether inexpressible and indescribable. As she looks
at him, she becomes deadly pale. There is no mistaking her
expression: a revelation of some fatal error utterly unexpected,
has suddenly appalled her in the midst of tranquillity, security
and victory. The next moment a wave of color rushes up from
beneath the creamy fichu and drowns her whole face. One can see
that she is blushing all over her body. Even the lieutenant,
ordinarily incapable of observation, and just now lost in the
tumult of his wrath, can see a thing when it is painted red for
him. Interpreting the blush as the involuntary confession of
black deceit confronted with its victim, he points to it with a
loud crow of retributive triumph, and then, seizing her by the
wrist, pulls her past him into the room as he claps the door to,
and plants himself with his back to it.)
LIEUTENANT. So I've got you, my lad. So you've disguised
yourself, have you? (In a voice of thunder.) Take off that skirt.
GIUSEPPE (remonstrating). Oh, lieutenant!
LADY (affrighted, but highly indignant at his having dared to
touch her). Gentlemen: I appeal to you. Giuseppe. (Making a
movement as if to run to Giuseppe.)
LIEUTENANT (interposing, sword in hand). No you don't.
LADY (taking refuge with Napoleon). Ah, sir, you are an officer--
a general. You will protect me, will you not?
LIEUTENANT. Never you mind him, General. Leave me to deal with
him.
NAPOLEON. With him! With whom, sir? Why do you treat this lady in
such a fashion?
LIEUTENANT. Lady! He's a man! the man I showed my confidence in.
(Advancing threateningly.) Here you--
LADY (running behind Napoleon and in her agitation embracing the
arm which he instinctively extends before her as a
fortification). Oh, thank you, General. Keep him away.
NAPOLEON. Nonsense, sir. This is certainly a lady (she suddenly
drops his arm and blushes again); and you are under arrest. Put
down your sword, sir, instantly.
LIEUTENANT. General: I tell you he's an Austrian spy. He passed
himself off on me as one of General Massena's staff this
afternoon; and now he's passing himself off on you as a woman. Am
I to believe my own eyes or not?
LADY. General: it must be my brother. He is on General Massena's
staff. He is very like me.
LIEUTENANT (his mind giving way). Do you mean to say that you're
not your brother, but your sister?--the sister who was so like
me?--who had my beautiful blue eyes? It was a lie: your eyes are
not like mine: they're exactly like your own. What perfidy!
NAPOLEON. Lieutenant: will you obey my orders and leave the room,
since you are convinced at last that this is no gentleman?
LIEUTENANT. Gentleman! I should think not. No gentleman would
have abused my confi--
NAPOLEON (out of all patience). Enough, sir, enough. Will you
leave the room. I order you to leave the room.
LADY. Oh, pray let ME go instead.
NAPOLEON (drily). Excuse me, madame. With all respect to your
brother, I do not yet understand what an officer on General
Massena's staff wants with my letters. I have some questions to
put to you.
GIUSEPPE (discreetly). Come, lieutenant. (He opens the door.)
LIEUTENANT. I'm off. General: take warning by me: be on your
guard against the better side of your nature. (To the lady.)
Madame: my apologies. I thought you were the same person, only of
the opposite sex; and that naturally misled me.
LADY (sweetly). It was not your fault, was it? I'm so glad
you're not angry with me any longer, lieutenant. (She offers her
hand.)
LIEUTENANT (bending gallantly to kiss it). Oh, madam, not the
lea-- (Checking himself and looking at it.) You have your
brother's hand. And the same sort of ring.
LADY (sweetly). We are twins.
LIEUTENANT. That accounts for it. (He kisses her hand.) A
thousand pardons. I didn't mind about the despatches at all:
that's more the General's affair than mine: it was the abuse of
my confidence through the better side of my nature. (Taking his
cap, gloves, and whip from the table and going.) You'll excuse my
leaving you, General, I hope. Very sorry, I'm sure. (He talks
himself out of the room. Giuseppe follows him and shuts the
door.)
NAPOLEON (looking after them with concentrated irritation).
Idiot! (The Strange Lady smiles sympathetically. He comes
frowning down the room between the table and the fireplace, all
his awkwardness gone now that he is alone with her.)
LADY. How can I thank you, General, for your protection?
NAPOLEON (turning on her suddenly). My despatches: come! (He puts
out his hand for them.)
LADY. General! (She involuntarily puts her hands on her fichu as
if to protect something there.)
NAPOLEON. You tricked that blockhead out of them. You disguised
yourself as a man. I want my despatches. They are there in the
bosom of your dress, under your hands.
LADY (quickly removing her hands). Oh, how unkindly you are
speaking to me! (She takes her handkerchief from her fichu.) You
frighten me. (She touches her eyes as if to wipe away a tear.)
NAPOLEON. I see you don't know me madam, or you would save
yourself the trouble of pretending to cry.
LADY (producing an effect of smiling through her tears). Yes, I
do know you. You are the famous General Buonaparte. (She gives
the name a marked Italian pronunciation Bwaw-na-parr-te.)
NAPOLEON (angrily, with the French pronunciation). Bonaparte,
madame, Bonaparte. The papers, if you please.
LADY. But I assure you-- (He snatches the handkerchief rudely
from her.) General! (Indignantly.)
NAPOLEON (taking the other handkerchief from his breast). You
were good enough to lend one of your handkerchiefs to my
lieutenant when you robbed him. (He looks at the two
handkerchiefs.) They match one another. (He smells them.) The
same scent. (He flings them down on the table.) I am waiting for
the despatches. I shall take them, if necessary, with as little
ceremony as the handkerchief. (This historical incident was used
eighty years later, by M. Victorien Sardou, in his drama entitled
"Dora.")
LADY (in dignified reproof). General: do you threaten women?
NAPOLEON (bluntly). Yes.
LADY (disconcerted, trying to gain time). But I don't understand.
I--
NAPOLEON. You understand perfectly. You came here because your
Austrian employers calculated that I was six leagues away. I am
always to be found where my enemies don't expect me. You have
walked into the lion's den. Come: you are a brave woman. Be a
sensible one: I have no time to waste. The papers. (He advances a
step ominously).
LADY (breaking down in the childish rage of impotence, and
throwing herself in tears on the chair left beside the table by
the lieutenant). I brave! How little you know! I have spent the
day in an agony of fear. I have a pain here from the tightening
of my heart at every suspicious look, every threatening movement.
Do you think every one is as brave as you? Oh, why will not you
brave people do the brave things? Why do you leave them to us,
who have no courage at all? I'm not brave: I shrink from
violence: danger makes me miserable.
NAPOLEON (interested). Then why have you thrust yourself into
danger?
LADY. Because there is no other way: I can trust nobody else. And
now it is all useless--all because of you, who have no fear,
because you have no heart, no feeling, no-- (She breaks off, and
throws herself on her knees.) Ah, General, let me go: let me go
without asking any questions. You shall have your despatches and
letters: I swear it.
NAPOLEON (holding out his hand). Yes: I am waiting for them.
(She gasps, daunted by his ruthless promptitude into despair of
moving him by cajolery; but as she looks up perplexedly at him,
it is plain that she is racking her brains for some device to
outwit him. He meets her regard inflexibly.)
LADY (rising at last with a quiet little sigh). I will get them
for you. They are in my room. (She turns to the door.)
NAPOLEON. I shall accompany you, madame.
LADY (drawing herself up with a noble air of offended delicacy).I
cannot permit you, General, to enter my chamber.
NAPOLEON. Then you shall stay here, madame, whilst I have your
chamber searched for my papers.
LADY (spitefully, openly giving up her plan). You may save
yourself the trouble. They are not there.
NAPOLEON. No: I have already told you where they are. (Pointing
to her breast.)
LADY (with pretty piteousness). General: I only want to keep one
little private letter. Only one. Let me have it.
NAPOLEON (cold and stern). Is that a reasonable demand, madam?
LADY (encouraged by his not refusing point blank). No; but that
is why you must grant it. Are your own demands reasonable?
thousands of lives for the sake of your victories, your
ambitions, your destiny! And what I ask is such a little thing.
And I am only a weak woman, and you a brave man. (She looks at
him with her eyes full of tender pleading and is about to kneel
to him again.)
NAPOLEON (brusquely). Get up, get up. (He turns moodily away and
takes a turn across the room, pausing for a moment to say, over
his shoulder) You're talking nonsense; and you know it. (She gets
up and sits down in almost listless despair on the couch. When he
turns and sees her there, he feels that his victory is complete,
and that he may now indulge in a little play with his victim. He
comes back and sits beside her. She looks alarmed and moves a
little away from him; but a ray of rallying hope beams from her
eye. He begins like a man enjoying some secret joke.) How do you
know I am a brave man?
LADY (amazed). You! General Buonaparte. (Italian pronunciation.)
NAPOLEON. Yes, I, General Bonaparte (emphasizing the French
pronunciation).
LADY. Oh, how can you ask such a question? you! who stood only
two days ago at the bridge at Lodi, with the air full of death,
fighting a duel with cannons across the river! (Shuddering.) Oh,
you DO brave things.
NAPOLEON. So do you.
LADY. I! (With a sudden odd thought.) Oh! Are you a coward?
NAPOLEON (laughing grimly and pinching her cheek). That is the
one question you must never ask a soldier. The sergeant asks
after the recruit's height, his age, his wind, his limb, but
never after his courage. (He gets up and walks about with his
hands behind him and his head bowed, chuckling to himself.)
LADY (as if she had found it no laughing matter). Ah, you can
laugh at fear. Then you don't know what fear is.
NAPOLEON (coming behind the couch). Tell me this. Suppose you
could have got that letter by coming to me over the bridge at
Lodi the day before yesterday! Suppose there had been no other
way, and that this was a sure way--if only you escaped the
cannon! (She shudders and covers her eyes for a moment with her
hands.) Would you have been afraid?
LADY. Oh, horribly afraid, agonizingly afraid. (She presses her
hands on her heart.) It hurts only to imagine it.
NAPOLEON (inflexibly). Would you have come for the despatches?
LADY (overcome by the imagined horror). Don't ask me. I must have
come.
NAPOLEON. Why?
LADY. Because I must. Because there would have been no other way.
NAPOLEON (with conviction). Because you would have wanted my
letter enough to bear your fear. There is only one universal
passion: fear. Of all the thousand qualities a man may have, the
only one you will find as certainly in the youngest drummer boy
in my army as in me, is fear. It is fear that makes men fight: it
is indifference that makes them run away: fear is the mainspring
of war. Fear! I know fear well, better than you, better than any
woman. I once saw a regiment of good Swiss soldiers massacred by
a mob in Paris because I was afraid to interfere: I felt myself a
coward to the tips of my toes as I looked on at it. Seven months
ago I revenged my shame by pounding that mob to death with cannon
balls. Well, what of that? Has fear ever held a man back from
anything he really wanted--or a woman either? Never. Come with
me; and I will show you twenty thousand cowards who will risk
death every day for the price of a glass of brandy. And do you
think there are no women in the army, braver than the men,
because their lives are worth less? Psha! I think nothing of your
fear or your bravery. If you had had to come across to me at
Lodi, you would not have been afraid: once on the bridge, every
other feeling would have gone down before the necessity--the
necessity--for making your way to my side and getting what you
wanted.
And now, suppose you had done all this--suppose you had come
safely out with that letter in your hand, knowing that when the
hour came, your fear had tightened, not your heart, but your grip
of your own purpose--that it had ceased to be fear, and had
become strength, penetration, vigilance, iron resolution--how
would you answer then if you were asked whether you were a
coward?
LADY (rising). Ah, you are a hero, a real hero.
NAPOLEON. Pooh! there's no such thing as a real hero. (He strolls
down the room, making light of her enthusiasm, but by no means
displeased with himself for having evoked it.)
LADY. Ah, yes, there is. There is a difference between what you
call my bravery and yours. You wanted to win the battle of Lodi
for yourself and not for anyone else, didn't you?
NAPOLEON. Of course. (Suddenly recollecting himself.) Stop: no.
(He pulls himself piously together, and says, like a man
conducting a religious service) I am only the servant of the
French republic, following humbly in the footsteps of the heroes
of classical antiquity. I win battles for humanity--for my
country, not for myself.
LADY (disappointed). Oh, then you are only a womanish hero, after
all. (She sits down again, all her enthusiasm gone, her elbow on
the end of the couch, and her cheek propped on her hand.)
NAPOLEON (greatly astonished). Womanish!
LADY (listlessly). Yes, like me. (With deep melancholy.) Do you
think that if I only wanted those despatches for myself, I dare
venture into a battle for them? No: if that were all, I should
not have the courage to ask to see you at your hotel, even. My
courage is mere slavishness: it is of no use to me for my own
purposes. It is only through love, through pity, through the
instinct to save and protect someone else, that I can do the
things that terrify me.
NAPOLEON (contemptuously). Pshaw! (He turns slightingly away from
her.)
LADY. Aha! now you see that I'm not really brave. (Relapsing into
petulant listlessness.) But what right have you to despise me if
you only win your battles for others? for your country! through
patriotism! That is what I call womanish: it is so like a
Frenchman!
NAPOLEON (furiously). I am no Frenchman.
LADY (innocently). I thought you said you won the battle of Lodi
for your country, General Bu-- shall I pronounce it in Italian or
French?
NAPOLEON. You are presuming on my patience, madam. I was born a
French subject, but not in France.
LADY (folding her arms on the end of the couch, and leaning on
them with a marked access of interest in him). You were not born
a subject at all, I think.
NAPOLEON (greatly pleased, starting on a fresh march). Eh? Eh?
You think not.
LADY. I am sure of it.
NAPOLEON. Well, well, perhaps not. (The self-complacency of his
assent catches his own ear. He stops short, reddening. Then,
composing himself into a solemn attitude, modelled on the heroes
of classical antiquity, he takes a high moral tone.) But we must
not live for ourselves alone, little one. Never forget that we
should always think of others, and work for others, and lead and
govern them for their own good. Self-sacrifice is the foundation
of all true nobility of character.
LADY (again relaxing her attitude with a sigh). Ah, it is easy to
see that you have never tried it, General.
NAPOLEON (indignantly, forgetting all about Brutus and Scipio).
What do you mean by that speech, madam?
LADY. Haven't you noticed that people always exaggerate the value
of the things they haven't got? The poor think they only need
riches to be quite happy and good. Everybody worships truth,
purity, unselfishness, for the same reason--because they have no
experience of them. Oh, if they only knew!
NAPOLEON (with angry derision). If they only knew! Pray, do you
know?
LADY (with her arms stretched down and her hands clasped on her
knees, looking straight before her). Yes. I had the misfortune to
be born good. (Glancing up at him for a moment.) And it is a
misfortune, I can tell you, General. I really am truthful and
unselfish and all the rest of it; and it's nothing but cowardice;
want of character; want of being really, strongly, positively
oneself.
NAPOLEON. Ha? (Turning to her quickly with a flash of strong
interest.)
LADY (earnestly, with rising enthusiasm). What is the secret of
your power? Only that you believe in yourself. You can fight and
conquer for yourself and for nobody else. You are not afraid of
your own destiny. You teach us what we all might be if we had the
will and courage; and that (suddenly sinking on her knees before
him) is why we all begin to worship you. (She kisses his hands.)
NAPOLEON (embarrassed). Tut, tut! Pray rise, madam.
LADY. Do not refuse my homage: it is your right. You will be
emperor of France
NAPOLEON (hurriedly). Take care. Treason!
LADY (insisting). Yes, emperor of France; then of Europe; perhaps
of the world. I am only the first subject to swear allegiance.
(Again kissing his hand.) My Emperor!
NAPOLEON (overcome, raising her). Pray, pray. No, no,
little one: this is folly. Come: be calm, be calm. (Petting her.)
There, there, my girl.
LADY (struggling with happy tears). Yes, I know it is an
impertinence in me to tell you what you must know far better than
I do. But you are not angry with me, are you?
NAPOLEON. Angry! No, no: not a bit, not a bit. Come: you are a
very clever and sensible and interesting little woman. (He pats
her on the cheek.) Shall we be friends?
LADY (enraptured). Your friend! You will let me be your friend!
Oh! (She offers him both her hands with a radiant smile.) You
see: I show my confidence in you.
NAPOLEON (with a yell of rage, his eyes flashing). What!
LADY. What's the matter?
NAPOLEON. Show your confidence in me! So that I may show my
confidence in you in return by letting you give me the slip with
the despatches, eh? Ah, Dalila, Dalila, you have been trying your
tricks on me; and I have been as great a gull as my jackass of a
lieutenant. (He advances threateningly on her.) Come: the
despatches. Quick: I am not to be trifled with now.
LADY (flying round the couch). General--
NAPOLEON. Quick, I tell you. (He passes swiftly up the middle of
the room and intercepts her as she makes for the vineyard.)
LADY (at bay, confronting him). You dare address me in that tone.
NAPOLEON. Dare!
LADY. Yes, dare. Who are you that you should presume to speak to
me in that coarse way? Oh, the vile, vulgar Corsican adventurer
comes out in you very easily.
NAPOLEON (beside himself). You she devil! (Savagely.) Once more,
and only once, will you give me those papers or shall I tear them
from you--by force?
LADY (letting her hands fall ). Tear them from me--by force! (As
he glares at her like a tiger about to spring, she crosses her
arms on her breast in the attitude of a martyr. The gesture and
pose instantly awaken his theatrical instinct: he forgets his
rage in the desire to show her that in acting, too, she has met
her match. He keeps her a moment in suspense; then suddenly
clears up his countenance; puts his hands behind him with
provoking coolness; looks at her up and down a couple of times;
takes a pinch of snuff; wipes his fingers carefully and puts up
his handkerchief, her heroic pose becoming more and more
ridiculous all the time.)
NAPOLEON (at last). Well?
LADY (disconcerted, but with her arms still crossed devotedly).
Well: what are you going to do?
NAPOLEON. Spoil your attitude.
LADY. You brute! (abandoning the attitude, she comes to the end
of the couch, where she turns with her back to it, leaning
against it and facing him with her hands behind her.)
NAPOLEON. Ah, that's better. Now listen to me. I like you.
What's more, I value your respect.
LADY. You value what you have not got, then.
NAPOLEON. I shall have it presently. Now attend to me. Suppose I
were to allow myself to be abashed by the respect due to your
sex, your beauty, your heroism and all the rest of it? Suppose I,
with nothing but such sentimental stuff to stand between these
muscles of mine and those papers which you have about you, and
which I want and mean to have: suppose I, with the prize within
my grasp, were to falter and sneak away with my hands empty; or,
what would be worse, cover up my weakness by playing the
magnanimous hero, and sparing you the violence I dared not use,
would you not despise me from the depths of your woman's soul?
Would any woman be such a fool? Well, Bonaparte can rise to the
situation and act like a woman when it is necessary. Do you
understand?
The lady, without speaking, stands upright, and takes a packet of
papers from her bosom. For a moment she has an intense impulse to
dash them in his face. But her good breeding cuts her off from
any vulgar method of relief. She hands them to him politely, only
averting her head. The moment he takes them, she hurries across
to the other side of the room; covers her face with her hands;
and sits down, with her body turned away to the back of the
chair.