A LOST EXPLORER. FROM THE COMEDY “CORVI” (CARRION CROWS).

Bertrando, the editor of the Demos, and Serpilli, the publisher, have just received word of the death of their friend Arganti, who had gone on an exploring expedition into the Soudan.

Bertrando. I have just sent the confirmation of the sad news. Poor Arganti! This sudden loss has quite paralysed me. It is all very well to make a parade of one’s want of feeling and pretend to be a cynic; but when the thunderbolt falls at your very feet....

Serpilli. Just so; but, I say, what mad notion was it that made him go and get himself killed out there? At fifty, too! Were there not enough hare-brained young fellows eager to discover new outlets, new resources for commerce, for industry, for African humanity, which, by-the-bye, loves us as well as people love the smoke in their eyes?... Wasn’t he quite comfortable here, in this charming house, with the best of wives? No, sir! He must needs be off poking his nose into other people’s affairs!

Ber. You forget how many years he had travelled—and the love of science——

Ser. One might get over it if the misfortune had been confined to the dead, but it also touches the living!

Ber. Serpilli!

Ser. My dear fellow, it’s all very well for you to talk; but 255I have undertaken a complete illustrated edition of all his travels.... Sixty thousand francs, do you understand? I am ruined!

Ber. Do you think this is the time——?

Ser. Yes, yes, certainly—I mourn for him—I am deeply grieved; but who will give me back my sixty thousand francs? It’s ruin—it’s bankruptcy!... Oh! who would have thought it? And it must happen to me, of all men in the world!

Ber. Come, have done with this! Who prevents your continuing the issue? Surely Arganti’s writings have not lost their value through his death?

Ser. What interest can attach to his expedition to Palestine, undertaken twenty years ago, now that people can make a holiday excursion of it and travel by rail? It needs something else to tickle the palate of the public, who, nowadays, are perfectly familiar with Afghanistan, Zululand, Basutoland,—not to mention journeys to the centre of the earth, to the bottom of the sea, and the sphere of the moon! My poor sixty thousand francs!... If he had lived it would not have been so bad. With a Mutual Admiration Society such as the fashionable papers know how to get up, something might have been done. But now that Arganti is dead, who is going to waste his time in praising him? You will have your time fully taken up in bringing out some new genius—one of those startling and powerful ones who open new horizons to the heart and mind, to science, and their country every quarter of an hour! And I shall be sacrificed!

Ber. You are both ungrateful and mistaken. You have made quite a nice little sum out of our poor friend’s works, which we advertised for you at reduced prices and reviewed in special articles!

Ser. Why, I have spent the whole on advertising the new edition; and now, just as I am about to reap the fruits of 256judicious puffing, everything is upset by death—the one thing I had not calculated on.

Ber. Serpilli! Serpilli!

Ser. It is enough to bring on an attack of the jaundice! If Arganti had at least confined himself to writing a couple of volumes!... No, sir! Twenty-seven!

Ber. Would you, out of sordid self-interest, wish the scientific and literary heritage of the nation to be diminished?

Ser. You are laughing at me. You are quite right; I have been an idiot.

Ber. I respect every one’s convictions.

Serpilli, Bertrando, Geronte (an embalmer). Enter Francesco.

Francesco. The telegraph messenger has just brought these six telegrams.

Ser. Give them to me.

(Francesco gives them, and exits.)

Ser. (opening the telegrams and reading). The Independent Liberal Democratic Association—the syndic—the Association of Watchmakers’ Apprentices—the tribunal—the prefect.... “Unspeakable grief”—“sorrow of the human race”—“words fail.”... (Throws the telegrams on the table.) “In great misfortunes vibrates the heart of great nations.”...

Per. (enters hurriedly). And of all great artists.

Ger. The sculptor Peralti, a dear friend, one of our associates.

Ser. (to Peralti). Have you heard, too?

Per. I have read some twenty or thirty telegrams posted up at the street corners, and have at once hastened here to present to the widow this design for a monument to be erected to her husband.

257Ser. Did you have it ready?

Per. An artist never lets himself be taken unawares.

Ger. You have the instinct of genius!

Per. (unrolling a sheet of paper which he holds in his hand, and giving it to Geronte). You see, a large pedestal with three steps—two sleeping lions, in Canova’s manner—a cubic block of granite, which has a philosophic signification. The statue is seated on a curule chair.... Just look at the subtlety, the diapason, the tonality, the depth of the tout ensemble!

Ser. But surely this is the drawing you made for Professor Giulini.

Ger. (handing the paper to Serpilli). I thought I had seen it exhibited as a design for a monument to General Quebrantador.

Ser. (handing it to Peralti). Not at all. I tell you——

Ger. And I maintain——

Per. Calm yourselves, gentlemen. The artist of any élan dashes off his idea just as genius inspires him.... It will then serve its purpose when a purpose is made apparent. (Rolls up the drawing.)

Ger. Bravo! I hold exactly the same theory with regard to my own science. I prepare the acids....

(Enter Francesco.)

Fran. What is all this, Signor Serpilli? Just look, what a bundle of telegrams!

Ser. Excellent! Go and tell Signor Bertrando.

Fran. (lays the telegrams on the table). Oh! by-the-bye, I was forgetting.... What has become of my head?... There is a photographer outside who will insist on seeing the mistress.

Ser. Show him in. (Exit Francesco.)

Per. Only give me 50,000 francs, and Arganti shall have the most characteristic monument of the age!

258(Enter Photographer, with his camera.)

Ser. What do you want, sir?

Pho. I saw all the telegrams posted up. Every one was in a state of consternation, asking who Arganti was.... Having made inquiries on the subject, I hastened hither with my camera, and would now request the favour of taking a photograph of the illustrious Arganti’s portrait.... Begging your pardon, what was his Christian name?

Ser. Ettore.

Pho. ... Poor Ettore’s portrait. I will guarantee a work of art that shall be a tremendous success! I am also going to take photographs of his bedroom, his study, his inkstand, the front of the house—everything!—and to advertise them in all the papers.

Ser. (shaking him by the hand). I thank you in the name of the family. To honour the noble dead is not only a work of merit—it is a duty: a duty which we are here to carry out.

Ger. I alone can do nothing.... Ah! Signor Serpilli!

Ser. Since common feelings of delicacy have assembled us in this spot, let us take steps for transferring to the public the conviction of the greatness of our loss. (Rings the bell.)

Pho. Poor Ettore!

Per. Poor, dear fellow!

Ger. My poor friend!

Ser. Well.... (After a pause, rubbing his hands.) We are all mortal.

C. Lotti.

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