60 Plays: The George Bernard Shaw Edition (Illustrated). GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

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. Selfsacrifice 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