Chagall: 12-Sided Hallway

by Kara Skye Smith

  Chagall: I’m going to marry you, someday.

  Wait!…

  Bella: What?

  Chagall: You look so irresistible, standing in this moonlight.

  Bella: Sh-h-h! Go to bed.

  Chagall: You’re the only woman more beautiful than her nude painting!

  Bella: Bye! [Runs off toward her parents’ home.

  Act III, Scene 5: The Nude

  (Painting Inspiration: The Fiddler)

  Setting: Interior. The House Where Chagall Grew Up, where his mother and father still live. (1901 or earlier.)

  Time: Daytime. At least nine years before going to Paris in 1910.

  Chagall sits on a neatly made bed near his mother. He begins to talk to her.

  Chagall: Mama, I…

  [She looks at a new canvas hanging on the wall. It is the nude painting.

  Chagall’s Mother: Who is?… What is that?!

  Chagall: Mama, it’s a nude. A figure painting…

  [Stands up and takes it off the wall.

  See it? All artists paint the figure, mama…

  Chagall’s Mother: Get that thing out of here!

  Chagall: Please, mama, relax; it’s a nude figure painting.

  Chagall’s Mother: You heard me, Marc. Artist or no artist, my good son… in my home… take it away!

  Chagall: Yes mama.

  Act III, Scene 6: The Baby – Found.

  (Inspirational Painting: A goat headed man marries a bride in white – much of the painting is hues of blue.)

  Setting: Interior. Night. Policeman’s House.

  Time: Night, 1:50 am

  Chagall is opening a locked door and enters a similar, but different, room and studio than in the previous scenes - not Javitch’s and not his 2nd studio, either, but a studio at the home of a policeman who is helping out.

  Chagall’s voice: After that experience, I was asked to move out. I moved in to a policeman’s home. ‘Bella was allowed to come and go as she pleased. Whenever I opened my door to Bella’s faint knock, blue love, flowers and light entered with her.’*

  [There is a knock nearly right after he closes the door and Bella stands with flowers and a small paper bag, and slight smile. Her clothes are loose and baggy. She has on many layers, a wool cape. Chagall unwraps her cape.

  [Chagall and Bella lay down on the bed in Chagall’s room and studio at the policeman’s home. A baby, newborn, wiggles and flails it’s arms uncontrollably, whimpering. Chagall wraps the blanket that the baby is laying on around it tightly. Chagall pulls the baby to his chest and hums.

  Bella: We found it… out in the dark… we were walking and we stopped, to talk, embrace… we just, bumped into it… There it was, at our feet… *

  Chagall: [Hums and sings softly. Gently swaying the baby back and forth. He kisses Bella’s head. Lay down, Bella. Sleep. [She crawls into the covers. He leans over with the baby held tightly against his chest. He kisses her head. Sleep.

  [Chagall opens the door and exits the room. Bella hugs the pillow and cries softy.

  Setting Change: Same Night. Policeman’s House outside Chagall’s room and studio.

  Chagall exits the room. An older woman waits out in the hall with a stack of clean towels in her hands. Chagall walks down a long hallway. He meets a large man halfway across a large, open, front room. The large man is in plain clothes. Chagall looks at the baby in his arms and his chest rises. He smiles, slightly, as the bundled baby makes a sound. Chagall’s policeman holds out his hands. Chagall sighs. His eyes look upward into the tall man’s face, as he hands the baby to him.

  Chagall’s Voice [over the walk down the dark hall:

  Proudly, I hand the baby over to my tall, strong, gentle policeman.*

  [He looks at the baby and at Chagall. He nods his head, silently. Turns and walks into the darkness at the opposite end of the room from where Chagall stands in the light cast by a lamp. Chagall stands watching in the silent room, until he disappears.*

  [Cut to Bella, softly crying in the white sheets and comforter of the single bed.

  Act IV, Scene 1: In Paris, Once Again

  (Painting Inspiration: To Russia, Asses and Others.)

  Setting: Interior. Montparnasse Club. Beatnik Night.

  Time: Night. 1911.

  Chagall’s voice reads Cendrars’ Poem Portrait from Nineteen Elastic Poems while the scene jumps to a smoke filled Montparnasse club. Poets and painters for La Ruche huddle at a table while Cendrars takes out a piece of paper from his pocket.

  He unfolds it and several people stand and shift places as he gets up, leaves the table and walks to a make shift stage in a corner of the crowded little club. He begins to read, there is no sound and Chagall’s voice reads over the top off all this until the words: ‘It’s me’ and then it is Cendrars’ voice that finishes the poem. At the end, there are two seconds of hush, then clapping and a cheer or two from Cendrars’ table. He smiles, folds the piece of paper and returns to the table. Chagall stands and pats him on the back.

  They shift until Cendrars is back where he was sitting. Diego Rivera and his pregnant wife, Angelina, are there. Canudo, Valentine, Lhote, Segonzac and Luc-Albert, Delauney, Marevna, Jolie, Leger, Modigliani and Beatrice Hastings are all at the table or near-by tables. Marevna sits near Chagall and had her head on his shoulder during the reading of the poem.

  Cendrars: Nineteen Elastic Poems - Portrait.

  Chagall’s Voice:

  He is sleeping

  He is awake

  Suddenly, he paints

  He takes a church and paints with a church

  He takes a cow and paints with a cow

  With a sardine

  With heads, hands, knives

  He paints with a bull’s pizzle

  He paints with all the foul passions of a little Jewish city

  With all the heightened sexuality of provincial Russia

  For France

  Without sensuality

  He paints with his thighs

  He has eyes in his ass

  And all of a sudden it’s your portrait

  It’s your reader

  It’s me. It’s him

  It’s the corner grocer

  The milkmaid

  The midwife

  There are buckets of blood

  The newly born are washed in them

  Skies in torment

  Modernistic mouths

  The Tower spiraling Hands

  Christ. He’s Christ

  He spent his childhood on the cross

  He commits suicide every day

  Suddenly, he’s no longer painting

  He was awake

  he’s asleep now

  he is choking himself with his tie

  Chagall is surprised he’s still alive.

  Act IV, Scene 2: Fascists and After Parties.

  (Painting Inspiration: Paris in Blue Light.)

  Setting: Exterior. Near an outside stairway of an apartment building, Montpelier, Paris.

  Time: Same Night. After 2 am.

  Cendrars: This is it, here.

  Marevna: The fire escape stairway?

  Cendrars: Shh. Yeah. Go! [Motions her up the stairs.

  Marevna: [Giggles a drunken giggle and stumbles a little. Oh!

  Chagall: Careful. [He begins up behind her.

  Marevna: [Laughs. Chagall laughs too.

  Chagall: Don’t fall, you’ll fall on me.

  Marevna: Oh yes, I’ll crush you…

  Cendrars: Shh!

  Chagall: What kind of party is this? Or are we breaking in somewhere?

  Cendrars: If you don’t shut up, you won’t find out.

  Chagall: Okay, okay…

  [They huddle at the top of the landing. Cendrars lifts the window sill.

  Cendrars: Climb in.

  Chagall: [Laughs and Marevna giggles. This must be a close friend, some party invite you didn’t receive, Blaise?

  Cendrars: Get in. It’s his front door…. now. He stopped believi
ng in paying rent. Says landlords are fascists.

  Chagall: That’s convenient.

  [They all climb in. They stumble through a dark kitchen with several people and many empty alcohol bottles. They enter the living room space. There are two people fucking on the couch. Cendrars points to the opposite end of the couch, to the floor space. He tosses over some cushions near a table.

  Marevna: [Giggles. Nice party.

  Chagall: Elegant, isn’t it?

  Cendrars: Here, sit on these, I’ll get something for us to drink.

  [Cut to Chagall laying on the floor, propped against the couch. Marevna lays with her head across his lap. She takes a drag off the cigarette she holds, then hands it to Cendrars.

  Marevna: In a way, I feel sort of guilty, ‘playing at love’ when his wife is pregnant, with his child….

  Cendrars: [Smiles at Chagall.

  Marevna: I don’t feel very comfortable about it.

  Chagall: [Rolls his eyes behind her.

  Marevna: My conscious tells me that it would be heartless to strike her with such a blow at the very moment when she needs him most.*

  Cendrars: Then break it off. Stop seeing him.

  Marevna: I feel so drawn to this man. “The power of his genius and the weakness of a child”, you understand, Cendrars? The gamine qualities of Jolie, surely you…

  Cendrars: For god’s sake, Marevna, this mental carousel you’re about to take me on, just isn’t about whether you ought to feel guilt or pleasure while fucking this man -despite his brilliance as a painter - during the pregnancy of his wife. Either admit it’s the most evil act a woman can be a party to, or get out of the triangle - immediately.

  Chagall: There is such a thing as love, and chemistry, Cendrars, and unfortunately, pregnancy of a spouse does not render the man and the rest of his social circle immune to temptations and feelings of the tenderness and sensualities of sex and love. It just doesn’t.

  Marevna: And actually, they aren’t legally married…

  Cendrars: So you see, your argument reinforces my own… She’s getting [points to Marevna] the best of his love and affection while Angelina is getting not only his cold shoulder, but the force of Marevna’s negative attentions directed toward her, at a time when, I suggest, we hold off Diego from all warmth and comfort, other than Angelina’s, so that his only choice is to give and receive it from the woman who needs it most right now.

  Marevna: You’re bitter, Cendrars! Why are you talking to me this way?

  Cendrars: Just leave me out of your whining over Diego, then. And when there is much more pain in this room than my harsh words, you will surely remember them as friendly advice.

  Marevna: I doubt it…

  Chagall: Point-taken, friend. My darling, I rarely hear him speak more honestly without poetry or politics involved. I suggest we change the subject. How is your drink?

  Marevna: Me? [He nods.

  Chagall: If you don’t mind… [Tilts his empty glass.

  Marevna: No, but I hope you won’t respect me less as a painter…

  Chagall: [Looks sternly at Cendrars who is removing the cigarette from his mouth to speak. No. Don’t.

  Marevna: Cendrars?

  Cendrars: Good. [Drinks.

  [Marevna walks to the kitchen to fill the two glasses.

  Chagall: I’m not prepared to involve myself in gossip regarding Diego Rivera.

  Cendrars: And who am I if I do not speak my mind? Sonia

  Chagall: Delauney’s wife?

  Cendrars: Yes. Sonia doesn’t like it one bit. Angelina is quiet, but a lovely soul, and motherhood will suit her, if they are not torn apart by the attention demands of this one here.

  Chagall: [Scoffs. What are you, Sonia’s confidant in the gossip of La Ruche now? I thought you two were writing a book.

  Marevna: [Approaches. Oh! You are writing a book? Wonderful! What is it about? Marc, here. Tell us, Cendrars.

  Cendrars: The book is about the social, political and spiritual implications and effects of art in the Modernist society… particularly Cubism Venturing from historical restraints in art, poetry, prose… what effect this ripple has on society as a whole… I am writing it with Sonia. And Sonia is also illustrating La Prose du Transiberian… the manuscript I wrote last year.

  Chagall: Oh is she? Sonia… Delauney’s fiancée and you? The three of you? Collaborating?

  Cendrars: Just the two of us, but, yeah, something like that…

  Chagall: Sounds interesting, cozy. [Smirks again.

  Cendrars: Fuck off, Chagall.

  Chagall: [Laughs out loud.

  Marevna: [Laughs and clinks glasses with Chagall. She takes out a small wax paper wrapped bundle. She sets it on the floor or table near them. She unwraps the paper. There are dark, chalky pellets inside. She breaks one and hands it to Cendrars. He eats it. She breaks another and hands it to Chagall. He eats it. She eats one. A whole one. She swallows.

  When is our next Russian Ball? Let’s make it Halloween night… or on a boat… A river cruise! Yes! A cruise.

  Chagall: Indeed.

  Act IV, Scene 3: Inspiring Acrobats

  Setting: Exterior. Out front near Salon D’Autumne.

  Time: Day. Spring.

  Chagall pushes a wooden cart down the street, filled with canvases, toward the Salon. He passes Picasso pushing his cart from the Salon in the opposite direction. They nod and exchange hellos. Another cart comes along after a minute. It is Modigliani, pushing the wooden cart full of canvases toward Salon des Independents, similar direction, then turns off. They nod, exchange hellos.

  [Cut to inside Salon D’Autumne.

  Chagall wheels his wooden cart into the gallery. The gallery director walks up. They begin to walk around the gallery. He is motioning often with his hands. The two men begin to hang paintings. [No words. Music plays while Chagall’s show is set up inside the Salon.

  Act IV, Scene 4: Signals of Romance in Paris

  Setting: Interior. La Ruche.

  Time: Daytime. Afternoon. 1911.

  Chagall wakes up, he is lying in bed. He hears Marvena’s singing outside through the hallway, coming from the shower area. Cendrars lays near Chagall, passed out. He groans and turns over, still sleeping. The maid knocks. Chagall opens the door. He sees Marevna outside in the hallway, passing by his doorway, whistling a now familiar tune. Diego opens his door and throws out a newspaper.

  Chagall: Good morning

  Marevna: [Smiles.

  Chagall: [Leans down to pick up the newspaper just before she can grab it.

  Is this yours?

  [There is something ‘scrawled’ on it with charcoal conte crayon. It reads: Be home at 7. Wait for me. Chagall reads it and hands it to her. She covers her lips with one finger.

  Good day, Marevna.

  [Marevna waves without speaking. Her whistling has ceased. Marevna starts as Diego’s door opens again. Marevna jumps into Chagall’s doorway.

  Angelina: [Pops her head out and looks around.

  It’s gone, Diego! The paper. I wanted to read it. Who picked it up?!

  Diego: Calm down, my love,

  [He touches her very pregnant belly, pops his head out and looks both directions.

  The maid must have gotten it. She’s in Chagall’s studio already. [He moves back inside his doorway.

  Angelina: She doesn’t sing….or whistle.

  Diego: [Calls out to her from inside their studio.

  The rice, Angelina… it’s ready.

  [Angelina closes her doorway. Marevna sighs quietly but looks exhilarated by her narrow escape. She nearly laughs with relief when she hears the door shut. Chagall and the chambermaid exchange glances. Another time he puts his hand on the maid’s lower back while he reaches for a towel.

  Chagall: Model for me, Marevna. You have nothing else to do until 7. This is not a nude; you can keep your clothes on.

  [The maid gets near the paint table, piled with used tubes, lids and other debris.

&
nbsp; Leave those. [She looks at him.

  Please. [They smile at each other.

  Marevna: I do have my own painting to do… but I’m low on supplies. Diego keeps saying he’ll bring me some paints… I suppose I could model, maybe a couple of hours? Where do you want me to pose?

  Chagall: You will? Splendid. Let’s start with a twenty minute pose.

  [Marevna steps onto a small wooden platform made from 3 crates. Cendrars groans and turns in the bed.

  Marevna: What’s with him?

  Chagall: He’ll be feeling the drink from last night, today. [The maid begins to straighten a table near Cendrars’ head.

  [Chagall turns and Marevna is posed. He sketches. She talks.

  Marevna: Diego says there are three people in me… “one boy – who is dead, and two women, one who is simple and well behaved, almost angelic…“*

  Chagall: I find that hard to believe…

  Marevna: No, seriously… “and another who is just the opposite…”*

  Chagall: Which one do you like best?

  Marevna: The angelic, but Diego says ‘it’s this other that everyone likes and that attracts men.’*

  Chagall: Now I know why there is so much singing and whistling in the hallway lately… Is that your signal?

  Marevna: Sometimes. Sometimes I look up from down at the Metro Station. If there is a white towel in the window, he is coming. Sometimes Angelina takes the towel down*… Then I am surprised when he comes anyway. I like those days.

  [Cendrars makes a sound like he might be nauseous.

  Chagall: Hmmm… [looks at his sketch, tilts his head, left, then right, then left again.

  Marevna: I’ve run short of painting materials, like I told you, or I’d be painting… I’ve begged Diego to bring more.

  It seems he borrows mine more and more lately… [She laughs.] He always says, ‘I’ll be thinking of you when I’m using this brush, or that paint color… He respects my painting, though.

  Chagall: How is your painting going these days?

  Marevna: I’d like to paint each day, be disciplined… when he brings supplies, I’ll-