David Hare Plays 2

by David Hare

  Valentina The experts concede that?

  Assistant Well, no, actually …

  Valentina smiles, her judgement confirmed.

  Professor Satayev expressly forbade your being asked. He was against it. He has authenticated the painting, he insists. By scientific methods.

  Valentina (ironically) Well then?

  Assistant But if he were wrong it would be a major embarrassment.

  Valentina For whom?

  There is a slight pause.

  For whom?

  The Assistant looks nervously to Sophia.

  You mean for the authorities?

  Assistant Well, perhaps. Yes. For everyone.

  Valentina So the white witch is called in.

  She smiles. Sophia looks uneasily at the Assistant.

  Assistant As you know, Matisse himself was fanatic. In his own lifetime. He would always go round to check the work being sold under his name. By an irony the letters of authentication he then wrote are in themselves incredibly valuable. They change hands at three thousand roubles. One or two, we think, have already been forged. (He smiles.) The whole business is way out of hand.

  Valentina He would be appalled.

  Sophia (frowns) How do you decide? Finally?

  Assistant There are tests. But these are all negative by nature. They tell you if it cannot be Matisse. Dating, pigment, brushwork, so on. If the negative tests are all passed you are forced to conclude the work must be real. The absence of disproof is finally proof. No one ever says ‘Oh yes, this is his …’ Except … (He pauses.)

  Sophia When?

  Assistant Except when there’s someone. I don’t know … when there’s someone who knew him quite well.

  There is a pause. Valentina seems uninterested, with thoughts of her own.

  Sophia I see.

  Valentina My daughter is a painter.

  Assistant Oh really? I’m afraid I don’t know your work.

  Sophia My mother is exaggerating. I’m an amateur only.

  Valentina She tried to paint the sun.

  Sophia Yes, Mother.

  Valentina The sun can’t be painted. Cézanne said, it can be represented but it can’t be reproduced. She tries to prove Cézanne wrong.

  Sophia Yes, Mother, but I do it for pleasure.

  Valentina Pleasure!

  Sophia Yes. I sketch for myself. Not to be in competition with great artists. You think we all want to be Cézanne. Why?

  Valentina You should want to be Cézanne. Or else why paint?

  Sophia For enjoyment.

  Valentina That’s nonsense. Painting must be learnt. Like any other discipline. Why go in with no sense of what others have achieved?

  Sophia I don’t think like that. To me, that’s not the point of it.

  Valentina Then what is the point of it?

  Sophia I paint simply in order … (She stops. Then rather feebly, as if knowing how lame it sounds) … to show what is there.

  Valentina gestures, her case proved.

  Valentina That is why she can never be good. What you do is called photography. They said of Picasso that he couldn’t paint a tree. They were wrong. He was painting trees when he was eight. It quickly came to bore him. He had no interest in trees after that. But he could paint the feeling you had when you looked at a tree. And that is more valuable. Painting is ultimately to do with the quality of feeling. That is why you will never be able to paint.

  The Assistant looks between the two women, embarrassed. But Sophia seems unfazed.

  Sophia (quietly) I don’t know.

  Assistant I can’t tell. I’m an Academician. My heart is in the catalogue.

  Sophia Ah, yes.

  Assistant Matisse is a dauntingly complex subject. To be honest, I haven’t lately looked at his paintings. I like them. I love them, in fact.

  Sophia Well then, marry them.

  Assistant What?

  Sophia No, it’s just …

  Sophia is smiling. So is Valentina. A joke shared.

  It’s what my son says. I have twins. When my daughter’s eating, say, chocolate cake, when she says ‘I love this cake’ … ‘Well then, marry it.’ That’s what my son says.

  There’s a pause. The Assistant seems bewildered, the women both amused.

  Assistant If …

  Valentina What …

  Assistant No …

  Sophia I’m sorry.

  Assistant No, if …

  Sophia I’m just being silly.

  Valentina To get back to the subject.

  Assistant Yes.

  Valentina Where was this found?

  The Assistant looks anxiously between them.

  Assistant It belongs to a Count. A Tsarist.

  Valentina I see.

  Assistant He left his home in 1919. He went to live in the South of France. He claims the canvas had been discarded in Matisse’s hotel.

  Valentina In Nice?

  Assistant Yes. In the Hotel de la Méditerranée. He was a friend of the manager’s. The painting had been literally thrown out. I know it’s hard to believe.

  Valentina I don’t think so.

  Assistant He never had it catalogued or valued because of the irregular way in which it was acquired. He was frightened his ownership would then be challenged.

  Valentina And how do you come to have it?

  Assistant It’s a bequest. The Count died earlier this year. In fact of a disease which has hitherto been diagnosed only in horses. A kind of horse flu, it turned out. The doctors thought he was medically unique.

  Valentina My goodness.

  Assistant I mean, he raced a great deal. That’s what he did in France all the time … all the time the rest of us were here. So to speak. The Count bred horses in the Midi.

  There is a pause.

  Valentina I see.

  Assistant The puzzling thing of course is, since he fled Russia, why he chose to leave us a painting of such value in his will.

  Valentina That puzzles you?

  Assistant Yes. Not you?

  Valentina No. (She is suddenly very quiet.) You’ve not lived abroad.

  Assistant Well, no …

  Valentina I was some time in Paris. Oh, many years ago. Before the revolution.

  Assistant Yes, I know.

  Valentina It can pall. Being away. Believe me.

  Assistant Yes, I’m sure.

  Valentina We must all make our peace.

  Assistant You mean the Count has made his? By an act of generosity?

  Sophia Yes. Or else he’s sold you a pup.

  The women smile. The Assistant looks discomfited.

  Valentina Well, that’s right.

  Sophia I don’t understand the legal position. If the Count stole it.

  Assistant ‘Stole’? I wouldn’t say ‘stole’.

  Sophia Picked it up.

  Assistant He acquired it.

  Sophia Legitimately?

  Assistant Oh, well, really … (He suddenly becomes expansive.) Apart from anything, so much time has gone by. All art is loot. Who should own it? I shouldn’t say this, but there isn’t much justice in these things. If we examined the process whereby everything on these walls was acquired … we should have bare walls.

  Sophia My mother was just saying how much she would prefer that.

  Valentina Come, what does it show?

  The Assistant makes as if to go and pick it up.

  No, tell me.

  Assistant Well, it’s like a sketch – I’m not speaking technically …

  Valentina No, I understand.

  Assistant I mean a kind of dry-run. For everything that follows. Except the foreground is bare. There is no woman. There is no violin. There is no chair. (He shrugs.) There is just a wall. A pair of curtains. Wallpaper. Open windows. The sea. (There is a sudden silence. Then he shrugs again.) It is either a copy. Or a beginning.

  Valentina Yes. (She pauses a moment, then she speaks with great finality, as if finishing a poem.) He did them. Then he thr
ew them away. (She gets up from her chair and walks to the far side of the room, where she addresses the Assistant.) You may bring me some tea.

  Assistant Well, I will. I shall leave you some time with the painting. Alone.

  He looks a moment to Sophia who does not move.

  I am very grateful. And the Curator, I think, would be grateful too for your subsequent discretion. Our scientists must not be upset.

  The Assistant smiles and goes out. The women do not move.

  Valentina He’s a weak man.

  Sophia Yes.

  Valentina He doesn’t give a fig about painting.

  Sophia Do you need time?

  Valentina turns and looks her straight in the eye, level. Then she turns away.

  Valentina No. I already know.

  There is a pause. Valentina deep in thought, Sophia watching her.

  Make your speech.

  Sophia What?

  Valentina I am ready.

  Sophia Now?

  Valentina Yes. Isn’t that why you’re here?

  Sophia No. I wanted to come with you. I was interested.

  Valentina You want to leave Grigor.

  Sophia hesitates a moment

  Sophia How do you know?

  Valentina You’ve wanted to leave since the moment you were married.

  Sophia That’s not true.

  Valentina What else could it be? But now I can see you are hardening. You have the will. It’s there. I sense it in you. You have become determined.

  Sophia First I want to talk to you.

  Valentina Don’t lie. Please don’t lie. I can tell you’ve made up your mind. Haven’t you?

  Sophia does not answer.

  Sophia, please. Talk to me properly.

  Sophia Yes.

  There’s a pause. Valentina is very quiet.

  Valentina Then I am sure you’ve met another man.

  Sophia looks down.

  Sophia Yes.

  Valentina You’re in love.

  Sophia I think less and less of love. What does love have to do with it? What matters is not love, but what the other person makes you. (Sophia turns and walks away to the far side of the room.) When I stand next to Grigor, it’s clear, he is a dutiful man. He’s a model servant of the State. Next to him, I look only like a fortunate woman who must struggle every day to deserve the luck she’s had in marrying someone so worthwhile. That is my role. In marriages everyone gets cast. The strong one, the weak. The quick one, the slow. The steady, the giddy. It’s set. Almost from the moment you meet. You don’t notice it, you take it for granted, you think you’re just you. Fixed, unchangeable. But you’re not. You’re what you’ve been cast as with the other person. And it’s all got nothing to do with who you really are.

  Valentina Nothing?

  Sophia With Grigor, I’m dowdy, I’m scatterbrained. I’m trying to prove myself. All the standards are his. Grigor, of course, has nothing to prove. He’s a headmaster at thirty-seven, the Party approves of him. He can always find his shirts in the drawer. I usually can. But Usually is no good next to Always. ‘Usually’ becomes a great effort of will. All I can do … no, all I can be is an inadequate, minor commentary on Grigor’s far more finished character. Grigor and Sophia. After ten years we each have our part. Whereas when I’m with … this other man … then suddenly I’m quite someone else.

  There is a pause.

  Valentina He is a less good man, I assume from what you’re saying …

  Sophia Oh no, it’s not as easy as that.

  Valentina He is less of a challenge, is that right?

  Sophia No!

  Valentina You’ve found yourself a mediocrity, so you suffer less by comparison. Is that what you mean?

  Sophia Not at all.

  Valentina Well, is it? (She asks this with sudden emphasis. She waits, then getting no reply, laughs.) What does he do, this other person with no name?

  Sophia He works for the Sanitation Board.

  Valentina Well, exactly!

  Sophia is pointing at her, bright red with anger.

  Sophia Mother, if you prevent me, I will never forgive you.

  Valentina Me? What can I do?

  Sophia Withhold your approval.

  Valentina My approval?

  Sophia Yes.

  Valentina From an empty room you never visit?

  Sophia I visit you.

  Valentina You visit occasionally. Would you really miss that?

  Sophia is exasperated.

  Sophia You don’t even like Grigor.

  Valentina Well …

  Sophia It’s true. You never did. From the start. You said he was a prig.

  Valentina What do I matter? It’s not me you have to fear. If you don’t know by now, you must face your own conscience. Your children.

  Sophia Do you think I’ve not thought of them? Mother, it’s hard. But I have the right to live my own life.

  Valentina turns away, smiling.

  Valentina Oh, rights.

  Sophia No doubt by will … by some great effort of will our marriage may be saved. By will, we may grow old together. But I remember once you said to me: nothing’s worth having by will.

  Valentina Did I say that?

  Sophia looks at her, then moves away, shaking her head.

  Sophia And anyway, it’s wrong. There’s a principle.

  Valentina Oh, really?

  Sophia Yes.

  Valentina You still believe in that?

  Sophia Of course. What do you mean? In their private life, a person must be free to live as they choose.

  Valentina raises her eyebrows.

  Valentina My goodness me, your principles are convenient. You call that an ideal?

  Sophia Forgive me but I’m afraid … yes, well I do.

  Valentina How convenient. Goodness. An ideal. Which also coincides with what you want. How perfect. What perfect luck. Run off with this man. Call it ‘living my own life’. ‘I must be myself, I must do what I want …’ (She smiles.) I have heard these words before. On boulevards. In cafés. I used to hear them in Paris. I associate them with zinc tables and the gushing of beer. Everyone talking about their entitlements. ‘I must be allowed to realize myself.’ For me, it had a different name. I never called it principle. I called it selfishness.

  Sophia How can you say that to me?

  Valentina Oh yes. Men – your father’s friends – used these very same words. Many times. When I was pregnant they said ‘Get rid of it. You must live your own life. A child will burden you. You have a right to be happy. Get on with your painting, and realize yourself.’ You owe your very existence to the fact I did not choose to live my own life.

  Sophia Yes, but that’s different …

  Valentina No, not at all. It’s what’s involved in facing up to being an adult. Sacrifice and discipline and giving yourself to others, not always thinking of yourself, and sometimes … yes … being harsh. As I am being harsh …

  Sophia Oh, how you love that harshness. Nothing can ever be harsh enough for you.

  Valentina turns away, but Sophia does not relent.

  Well, that’s not my fault. It’s your fault. You like responsibility? I give it you. It was your fault. It was your life you ruined. You did it. All by yourself. Without consultation. (She turns away.) Well, I’m not going to let you now ruin mine.

  Standing at the open door of the room now is Peter Linitsky. He is in his mid-sixties, he is bald, he has an unremarkable blue overcoat and carries his hat in his hand. His manner is apologetic.

  Peter Excuse me.

  Sophia Oh God.

  Peter Am I interrupting?

  Sophia No, no, come in.

  Valentina Please go away. Who is this?

  Sophia It’s him.

  Valentina What do you mean?

  Valentina is genuinely taken aback by Peter’s age and his appearance.

  Sophia It’s Peter.

  Valentina Peter?

  Sophia Yes, Peter, for God’s sake. Wake
up, Mother. The man with no name.

  Valentina It’s him?

  Sophia Yes.

  Peter What?

  Sophia Yes. Goodness. How many times?

  Peter What do you mean, no name?

  Sophia Forget it.

  Valentina Are you with the Sanitation Board?

  Peter Well, I …

  Sophia Leave it. You know he is. Don’t answer, Peter.

  Peter I didn’t get the chance.

  Sophia Don’t play her game. She contrives to make the words sound like an insult.

  Peter If you …

  Valentina What words?

  Sophia Sanitation Board.

  Valentina Did I?

  Sophia suddenly turns to her mother with surprising force.

  Sophia Down here below you, people are forced to be ridiculous. Yes. We lead ridiculous lives. Doing ridiculous things, which lack taste. Like working for a living. For organizations which have ridiculous names. ‘Oh, I’m from the Department of Highway Cleansing.’ ‘Oh, I’m Vegetation Officer in Minsk.’ That’s work. It’s called making a living, Mother, it involves silly names and unspeakable people – the mathematics teacher, for me to work beside her, to have lunch, to watch her pick her dirty grey hair from the soup, it’s torture, I’d rather lodge beside an open drain. But that’s how people live. We have to. We scrabble about in the real world. Because we don’t sit thinking all day about art.

  Valentina turns bitterly to Peter.

  Valentina Is she like this with you?

  Sophia Don’t answer.

  Valentina Peter?

  Peter Like what?

  Valentina Self-righteous.

  Peter Er, no.

  Sophia Would you two like to be introduced?

  Valentina Not specially.

  Peter Good afternoon.

  Sophia His name is Peter Linitsky. My mother.

  Peter At last.

  Valentina I feel I already know you. Do you have a wife?

  Sophia Say nothing.

  Peter I did.

  There is a pause. Finally Peter feels compelled to fill it in.

  She is an extraordinary woman.

  Valentina I’m sure. Now you’re rid of her. Leningrad is full of ageing men praising their wives. Whom they have invariably left. If you hear a man praise his wife in Russia, it means they are no longer together.

  Sophia Peter left six years ago.

  Valentina Peter left?

  Peter No, seven.

  Valentina Oh, seven is one better, of course. Don’t miss one. Each one counts. Doesn’t each one make it more respectable?