V
THE GREEK VASE
Scene.—A garret on the top floor of a squalid house in the Trastevere, Rome. Discovered: Giovanni, a young sculptor, lying in bed, pale and emaciated; he coughs incessantly. The room is quite bare. There are only two chairs and one cupboard. It is very cold. There is no fire. By the bedside sits a prosperous dealer. He wears a frock-coat and a gold pince-nez.
Giovanni (wearily). But I tell you it’s not for sale.
The Dealer. You might let me look at it.
Giovanni. What is the use? I tell you I won’t sell it.
The Dealer. There can be no harm in your showing it to me.
Giovanni (coughing). Not to-day. Can’t you see that I’m very ill and that talking tires me?
The Dealer. Very well. I will call again to-morrow.
Giovanni. You won’t find me at home.
The Dealer. Are you going away?
Giovanni. Yes, on a long journey.
The Dealer. Abroad?
Giovanni. Abroad.
The Dealer. To what country?
Giovanni. They have prescribed me change of air. They say it is the only thing which can cure me.
The Dealer. You are going to the seaside?
Giovanni. On the contrary, I am going to be near a river.
The Dealer. The Arno? Pisa, I suppose?
Giovanni. No.
The Dealer. Not Paris; that would be bad for you.
Giovanni. Why do you think Paris would be bad for me?
The Dealer. In the first place it’s very cold there now, and then I don’t think a large town is what you need.
Giovanni. You are anxious that I should not go to Paris.
The Dealer. I? Not at all. Why? I merely meant that I thought you needed country air.
Giovanni. Yes, a villa on the Riviera for the winter, and another for the summer at Amalfi with a garden of roses; or a chalet in the Tyrol; or perhaps an island in the Tropics with palm trees and a yacht to sail about in—all that would do me good, wouldn’t it? One doesn’t have to pay for little luxuries like that, does one? They drop from heaven into the pockets of starving artists.
The Dealer. Now, if you would only be reasonable and show me that vase. I am sure we could make enough money for you to take a trip to Albano. The air there is beautiful.
Giovanni. Very well, you may see it. It’s in the cupboard.
[The Dealer goes to the cupboard and takes out large black circular Greek vase with figures painted on it. He observes it carefully.
The Dealer. This is not, of course, up to your best form. I won’t say that it is valueless. There is, however, very little market now for this kind of thing, and if I bought it I should probably have it on my hands for years.
Giovanni. You needn’t trouble about that. The vase is not for sale.
The Dealer. But in the peculiar circumstances, and since we have done business together for so many years, I am willing to make an exception in this case. How much do you want for it?
Giovanni (savagely). I tell you it’s not for sale.
The Dealer. Now, be reasonable. I will give forty lire for it.
Giovanni. You amuse me immensely.
The Dealer. The vase is of no particular use to me, and the fashion changes so quickly. Collectors now are mad about Egypt and Japan. Greece is finished. It’s old, finished. Why, collectors now prefer even Roman things to Greek. Giordani says——
Giovanni. You are wasting your breath.
The Dealer. I will give you forty-five lire. Mind you, that’s an enormous price, because, I repeat, the vase is not up to your usual standard.
Giovanni. Please put the vase down on this chair, there, next me. (The Dealer puts the vase down on the chair next to Giovanni.) Thank you. Now I wish you would go away. I am tired. You tire me. (He coughs.)
The Dealer. Now, instead of a vase, if it had only been a Japanese idol or a Renaissance figure, it would be a very different matter.
Giovanni. When you bought my Simonetta you said there was no demand for Renaissance work.
The Dealer. That was three years ago. It was perfectly true then. The fashion changes so quickly.
Giovanni. I won’t sell the vase.
The Dealer. Then, how do you propose to live?
Giovanni. Perhaps I have found a patron?
The Dealer. Ah! Who is he?
Giovanni. You would like to know, wouldn’t you?
The Dealer. I wouldn’t believe it of you. I know you are far too honest to violate all the canons of business etiquette and to play off one patron against another. You have always dealt with me, and I have always treated you handsomely—most handsomely—you must admit that.
Giovanni. How much did you give me for my large terra-cotta bust of Pallas?
The Dealer. I was mad when I bought that bust. I sold it for a quarter of what I gave you. I had the greatest difficulty in getting rid of it.
Giovanni. How much exactly did you give me for it?
The Dealer. Of course, I could never give you so much as that again.
Giovanni (impatiently). How much was it?
The Dealer. I believe it was eighty-five lire. I must have been mad. But times were better then. There is no market for that kind of thing now, none whatever.
Giovanni. So much the better for you, then, as you won’t lose money over my vase.
The Dealer. For old acquaintance’ sake, I offer you fifty lire; there, you see?
Giovanni. You make very good jokes.
The Dealer. Do you mean to say you think that’s too little?
Giovanni. I said you make very good jokes. You’re a witty fellow.
The Dealer. You artists are so improvident. You never know how many soldi there are in a lira.
Giovanni. You see we don’t have very much experience in counting lire. (He coughs.)
The Dealer. Ah! if you only counted the soldi the lire would take care of themselves.
Giovanni. We don’t always have the chance of counting soldi.
The Dealer. To think of the position you might be in now if you had only observed the elementary rules of thrift.
Giovanni. And to think of the position you are in by my not having done so!
The Dealer. Yes; here am I obliged, positively forced, to offer you for a trumpery vase at least three times its value, and I give you my word of honour that in offering you fifty-five lire for the vase—for I am going to go as far as that—I shall be out of pocket—out of pocket. Do you understand?
Giovanni. I quite understand, only if I were you I shouldn’t bring in the word “honour.”
The Dealer. I don’t understand.
Giovanni. You wouldn’t.
The Dealer. Well, fifty-five lire; it’s a bargain!
Giovanni. Suppose we talk about something else.
The Dealer. You are all the same, you artists.... You never will listen to reason. You never will understand that business is business and not——
Giovanni. Charity.
The Dealer. In this case it is charity, pure charity. I would not dream of buying the vase from any one else.
Giovanni. I don’t expect you would.
The Dealer. Why, Leonardi sold me only yesterday a little ivory Perseus for thirty lire.
Giovanni. I made that Perseus, and you know it; otherwise you wouldn’t have bought it.
The Dealer. Well, I’m a busy man, and I can’t waste my time arguing with you. I’ll give you sixty lire. That’s my last word.
Giovanni. It’s a great pity you didn’t go on the stage.
The Dealer. You think I’m trying to cheat you. Surely——
Giovanni. No, I don’t think anything of the kind.
The Dealer. Now, come, let me take the vase. You’ve got no use for it here. Think what a nice little trip to Albano will do for you.
Giovanni (coughing). You can’t imagine how you tire me.
The Dealer. I never knew such an obstinate fellow as you are. I’ll make it seventy, but this is positively my last word. You can take it or leave it.
Giovanni. Oh! Leave it for Heaven’s sake. Leave the vase, and leave me. (He coughs.)
The Dealer. You’re surely not going to sell it to some one else; you wouldn’t be so mean!
Giovanni. Who knows?
The Dealer. That kind of bluff, my friend, won’t do with me. I am too old a bird to be caught by a trick. Come now, I offer you seventy lire—seventy whole lire. Do you understand?
Giovanni. It’s impossible. The vase is disposed of.
The Dealer. Sold! Impossible! You couldn’t do such a thing. You couldn’t play me such a shabby trick. Who has bought it?
Giovanni. Nobody has bought it.
The Dealer. You are trifling. It isn’t fair. You are wasting my time. You know I’m a busy man.
Giovanni. And you are wasting my time, and I am a dying man. They say I can’t live twenty-four hours.
The Dealer. What nonsense! There, you see how foolish you are! Now I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll give you two hundred lire for the vase. It’s unheard of, but in view——
Giovanni. I am a dying man, and this is our last bargain. It has consequently no effect on future dealings. The time at your disposal is short; dying men don’t bluff, you must have the vase; all this makes your price jump up. Listen to me a moment. (He takes a cutting from a newspaper out of his pocket.) This is a cutting from an English illustrated newspaper. A friend sent it me. It is the reproduction of a photograph, and under it is written: “The terra-cotta bust of Pallas, a work of the central period of Greek perfection, the age of Pericles, after having been rejected by the British Museum, has been purchased for the Louvre for the sum of £6000. While congratulating the French nation on their acquisition, we cannot help asking ourselves what the British Museum authorities,” etc. I skip. But wait—Here is a further comment which may interest you. “Some of our criticasters have thrown doubts on the authenticity of the vase.” Now look at the photograph. Perhaps you recognise the bust.
The Dealer. You don’t mean to say you think——
Giovanni (in a low voice). Be quiet. You see this vase. (He takes the vase.) It’s not for sale. It never will be. Do you know why? Because it’s my masterpiece, and because it’s mine. This is what I’m going to do with it. (He takes the vase and throws it to the ground, shattering it to fragments.) And now I can die in peace. Go!
The Dealer. But——
Giovanni. Go! (Giovanni turns his head to the wall.)
[Exit Dealer, mumbling.
Curtain.