LIBRETTO
ACT I scene 1
A studio in Dimbola, the Camerons' house, Freshwater, the Isle of Wight
Mrs. Cameron is washing Mr. Cameron's head
Ellen Terry on the model's throne posing to Watts for 'Modesty at the feet of Mammon'

Mrs. Cameron
Sit still, Charles!
Sit still!
Soap in your eyes?
Nonsense.
Water down your back?
Tush! Tush! Tush!
She scrubs at Mr. Cameron's head
Surely you can put up with a little discomfort in the cause of art. 

Mr. Cameron
The sixth time in eight months!
Whenever we start for India Julia washes my head.
And yet we never do start for India.
I sometimes think we never shall start for India. 

Mrs. Cameron
Nonsense, Charles.
Control yourself, Charles.
Remember what Alfred Tennyson said of you:
A philosopher with his beard dipped in moonlight.
A chimney sweep with his beard dipped in soot. 

Mr. Cameron
Ah, if we could but go to India.
There is no washing in India.
There beards are white, for the moon for ever shines, on youth, on truth, in India.
And here we dally frittering away our miserable lives in the withered grasp of—
Mr. Cameron is interrupted by Mrs. Cameron's renewed scrubbing at his head
Mary enters carrying more hot water which she pours into the tub

Watts
Looking round from his painting
Courage, my old friend.
Courage.
"The Utmost for the Highest", Cameron.
Always remember that.
To Ellen
Don't move, Ellen.
Keep yourself perfectly still.
I am struggling with the great toe of Mammon.
I have been struggling for six months.
It is still out of drawing.
But I say to myself, "The Utmost for the Highest."
He turns back to his painting, looks up at Ellen, and sees her move
Keep perfectly still. 

Tennyson enters
Tennyson
The son of man has nowhere to lay his head. 

Mrs. Cameron
Washing day at Farringford too, Alfred? 

Tennyson
Twenty earnest youths from Clerkenwell are in the shrubbery;
six American professors are in the summerhouse;
the bathroom is occupied by the Ladies Poetry Circle of Ohio.
The son of man has nowhere to lay his head. 

Mr. Cameron
Loose your mind from the affairs of the present.
Seek truth where truth lies hidden.
Follow the everlasting will o' the wisp.
Mr. Cameron tugs at his beard
Oh! Don't tug at my beard!
He stands
Mrs. Cameron releases him
Heaven be praised!
At two-thirty we start for India. 

Tennyson
Upon my word!
You don't say you're really going? 

Mrs. Cameron
Yes, Alfred.
At two-thirty we start for India
that's to say if the coffins have come.
To Mary
Take my sponge, girl;
now go and see if the coffins have come. 

Mary
If the coffins have come, if the coffins have come!
Why it's the Earl of Dudley who's come.
He's waiting for me in the kitchen.
He's not much to look at,
but he's a deal sight better than coffins any day.
Mary exits taking the sponge and the tub

Mrs. Cameron
We can't start for India without our coffins.
For the eighth time I have ordered the coffins,
and for the eighth time the coffins have not come;
without her coffin Julia Cameron will not start for India. 

Mr. Cameron
We never do start for India.
Seek truth where truth lies hidden.
For the moon for ever shines, on youth, on truth, in India,
Seek truth, seek truth where truth lies hidden. 

Watts
Courage. 
"The Utmost for the Highest."
Always remember that.
Courage. 

Tennyson
The son of man has nowhere to lay his head.
Youths in the shrubbery, professors in the summer house.
The son of man has nowhere to lay his head 

Mary reenters
Mary
Ah, the Earl of Dudley.
He's waiting for me in the kitchen.
He's not much to look at but he's a deal sight better than coffins any day,
he's better any day.
Mary exits 

Mrs. Cameron
The silence is only broken by the sobs of my husband and the occasional howl of a solitary tiger. 

Watts
Always remember this;
"The Utmost for the Highest."
Seek truth where truth lies hidden. 

Mr. Cameron
Seek truth where truth lies hidden.
"The Utmost for the Highest."
Courage, remember that. 

Mrs. Cameron
Think, Alfred.
When we lie dead under the Southern Cross my head will be pillowed upon your immortal poem.
And then what is this—what infamy do I perceive?
An ant, Alfred.
A white ant.
They are advancing in hordes from the jungle, Alfred, they are devouring 'Maud.' 

Tennyson
God bless my soul!
Devouring 'Maud.'
The white ants!
My ewe lamb.
That's true. 
You can't go to India without your coffins.
And how am I going to read 'Maud' to you when you're in India?
Still—
What's the time?
He looks at his watch
Twelve-fifteen?
I've read it in less.
Let's begin.
He takes out his copy of 'Maud' and reads
"I hate the dreadful hollow behind the little wood,
Its lips in the field above are dabbled with blood red heath,
The red ribb'd ledges drip with a silent horror of blood,
And Echo there, whatever is ask'd her answers 'Death,'
He sits
'Death,' 
'Death.' 

Mrs. Cameron
That's the very attitude I want!
Sit still, Alfred.
Mrs. Cameron begins to arrange her camera to take Tennyson's photograph

Tennyson
"For there in the ghastly pit long since a body was found, 

Mrs. Cameron
Don't blink your eyes.
She puts her head under the cloth. 

Tennyson
"His who had given me life" 

Mrs. Cameron
Taking her head out from under the cloth
Sit still, Alfred.
She looks for her lens
To Mr. Cameron
Charles, you're sitting on my lens.
Get up. 

Mr. Cameron gets up and walks to the window

Tennyson
"O father! O God! O God!" 

Mrs. Cameron
Alfred, sit still.
She puts her head back under the cloth 

Everyone is perfectly still—like a picture
Watts begins to paint, gently. Ellen stretches her arms

Ellen
Oh, Signor, can't I get down?
I am so stiff. 

Watts
Stiff, Ellen? 
Why you've only kept that pose for four hours this morning. 

Ellen
Only four hours!
It seems like centuries.
Anyhow I'm awfully stiff.
And I would so like to go for a bathe.
It's a lovely morning.
The bee's on the thorn
Ellen clambers down off the model's throne . . . and stretches herself. 

Watts
You have given four hours to the service of art, Ellen, and are already tired.
I have given seventy-seven years to the service of art and am not tired yet. 

Ellen
Oh Lor' 

Watts
If you must use that vulgar expression, Ellen,
Please sound the final 'd.' 

Ellen
Standing next to Tennyson
Oh Lord, Lord, Lord! 

Tennyson
I am not yet a Lord, damsel; but who knows?
That may lie in the lap of the Queen.
Meanwhile sit on my lap.

Ellen sits on Tennyson's knee

Mrs. Cameron
Another picture!
A better one;
Poetry in the person of Alfred Tennyson adoring the Muse. 

Ellen
But I'm Modesty, Mrs. Cameron; Signor said so.
I'm Modesty crouching at the feet of Mammon. 

Mrs. Cameron
Busying herself with arranging the sitters.
Yes. But now you're the Muse.
But the Muse must have wings.
Mrs. Cameron rummages frantically in a chest . . . she flings out various garments on the floor
Towels, sheets, pyjamas, trousers, dressing-gowns, braces,
braces but no wings.
Trousers but no wings.
What a satire upon modern life!
Braces but no wings!
She goes to the door and shouts
Wings! Wings! Wings! 

Mary
There are no wings. 

Mrs. Cameron
What d'you say? 

Mary
There are no wings! 

Mrs. Cameron
What d'you say, Mary.
There are no wings?
Then kill the turkey!
Mrs. Cameron shuffles among the clothes . . . she exits

Tennyson
You're a very beautiful wench, Ellen. 

Ellen
And you're a very great poet Mr. Tennyson. 

Tennyson
Did you ever see a poet's skin?
He pulls up his sleeve and shows her his arm. 

Ellen
Like a crumpled rose leaf! 

Tennyson
Ah, but you should see me in my bath!
I have thighs like alabaster. 

Ellen
I sometimes think, Mr. Tennyson, that you are the most sensible of them all. 

Tennyson
He kisses her
I am sensible to beauty in all its forms.
That is my function as Poet Laureate. 

Ellen
Tell me, Mr. Tennyson, have you ever picked primroses in a lane? 

Tennyson
Scores of times. 

Ellen
And did Mrs. Tennyson ever jump over your head on a horse? 

Tennyson
Emily jump!
She has lain on her sofa for fifty years and I should be surprised if she ever got up again. 

Ellen
Then I suppose you were never in love.
Nobody ever jumped over your head
and dropped a white rose into your hand and galloped away. 

Tennyson
My life has been singularly free from amorous excitement of the kind you describe.
Tell me more. 

Ellen
Well you see, Mr. Tennyson,
I was walking in a lane the other day picking primroses when—

Mrs. Cameron
Entering
Here's the turkey wings. 

Ellen
Oh, Mrs. Cameron, have you killed the turkey
I was so fond of that bird. 

Mrs. Cameron
The turkey is happy, Ellen.
The turkey has become a part and parcel of my immortal art.
She places a second chair behind the still seated Tennyson
Now, Ellen.
Mount this chair.
Ellen stands on the chair
Throw your arms out.
Look upwards.
Alfred, you too, look up! 

Tennyson
To Nell! 

Watts
I do not altogether approve of the composition of this piece, Julia. 

Mrs. Cameron
To Watts.
"The Utmost for the Highest," Signor.
To Tennyson and Ellen
Now keep perfectly still. 

Mr. Cameron
Life is a dream. 

Tennyson
Rather a damp one,
Tennyson keeps perfectly still

Mrs. Cameron
Only for fifteen minutes. 

As before; Mrs. Cameron is photographing, Tennyson and Ellen are sitting for her
— all perfectly still; like a picture

Mr. Cameron
All things that have substance seem to me unreal.
What are these?
He picks up the braces.
Braces.
Fetters that bind us to the wheel of life.
What are these?
He picks up the trousers.
Trousers.
Fig leaves that conceal the truth.
What is truth? Moonshine.
Moon, Moon, Moonshine.
Where does the moon shine for ever? 
India. Let us go to India, the land of our dreams.
He walks back to the window 

A whistle sounds in the garden 

Ellen
I come! 
I come!
Ellen jumps down and rushes out of the room

Mrs. Cameron
She's spoilt my picture! 

Tennyson
My picture too. 

Mrs. Cameron
The girl's mad, clean out of her wits.
What can she want to go bathing for when she might be sitting to me? 

Tennyson
Opening 'Maud' . . .
Well:
. . . he reads
"Come into the garden, Maud, 
For the black bat, night, has flown,
Come into the garden Maud,
I am here at the gate alone
I am here at the gate alone.
Come . . . 

Watts
Interrupting
Alfred, tell me.
Is your poetry based on fact? 

Tennyson
Certainly it is
I never describe a daisy without putting it under the microscope first. 

Mr. Cameron
I thought I saw something which many people would call a fact pass the window just now. 

Tennyson
Listen. 

Mr. Cameron
A fact in trousers; 

Tennyson
"For her feet have touch'd the meadows, 

Mr. Cameron
A fact in side whiskers; 

Tennyson
"And left the daisies rosy."

Mr. Cameron
A handsome fact, as facts go.
A young man, in fact. 

Tennyson
Why did I say "rosy"?
Because it is a fact. 

Mrs. Cameron
A young man!
Just what I want.
A young man with noble thighs
ambrosial locks
and eyes of gold.
She goes to the window and calls out
Young man!
Young man!
I want you to sit for me for Sir Isumbras at the Ford.
She exits 
Mrs. Cameron comes back into the room dragging a donkey on a rope
That's not a man.
That's a donkey.
Still; to an artist, one fact is much the same as another.
A fact is a fact; art is art; a donkey's a donkey. 

Tennyson
Yes.
There was a damned ass praising Browning the other day.
Browning, I tell you.
But I ask you, could Browning have written:
"The moan of doves in immemorial elms,
The murmuring of innumerable bees." 

Mrs. Cameron
Stand still, donkey; Think, Ass,
you are carrying Saint Christopher upon your back.
Look up, Ass.
Cast your eyes to Heaven. 

Mr. Cameron / Mrs. Cameron 
I say to the Ass, look up.
And the Ass looks down.
Stand still, donkey. Think, Ass. 

Tennyson
Or this,
perhaps the loveliest line in the language;
"The mellow ouzel fluting on the lawn." 

Tennyson / Watts
"The mellow ouzel fluting on the lawn." 

Mr. Cameron / Mrs. Cameron 
Stand absolutely still.
I say to the Ass, look up.
And the Ass looks down. 

Mrs. Cameron
The donkey is eating thistles on the lawn.

Tennyson
Donkeys at Dimbola!
Geese at Farringford!
The son of man has nowhere to lay his head. 

Watts slowly advances into the middle 
Watts
Praise be to the Almighty Architect—
under Providence,
the toe of Mammon is now, humanly speaking, in drawing.
Yes, in drawing.
He turns to the others in ecstasy
Ah, my dear friends and fellow workers in the cause of truth which is beauty, beauty which is truth,
after months of work, months of hard work,
the great toe of Mammon is now in drawing.
I have prayed and I have worked;
I have worked and I have prayed;
and humanly speaking,
under Providence,
the toe of Mammon is now in drawing. 

Tennyson
It sometimes seems to me, Watts, that the toe is not the most important part of the human body. 

Watts
Starting up and seizing his palette again
There speaks the voice of the true artist!
You are right, Alfred.
You are right, Alfred.
You have recalled me from my momentary exaltation.
You are right, Alfred.
You remind me that even if I have succeeded, humanly speaking, with the great toe,
I have not solved the problem of the drapery.
He goes to his picture and takes a brush
That indeed is a profoundly difficult problem.
For by my treatment of the drapery I wish to express two important but utterly contradictory ideas.
In the first place I wish to convey to the onlooker the idea that Modesty is always veiled;
in the second that Modesty is absolutely naked.
For a long time I have pondered at a loss.
At last I have attempted a solution.
I am wrapping her in a fine white substance which has the appearance of a veil;
but if you examine it closely it is seen to consist of innumerable stars.
It is in short the Milky Way.
You ask me why?
I will tell you.
For if you consult the mythology of the ancient Egyptians, you will find,
you will find the Milky Way was held to symbolize—
was held to symbolize, 
let me see
Watts opens his book
What did it symbolize. 

Mrs. Cameron
Let me see.
Time's getting on.
Now let me think.
What shall I want on the voyage? 

Mr. Cameron
Answering Watts
Faith, hope and charity. 

Mrs. Cameron
Yes, and the poems of Sir Henry Taylor;
and plenty of camphor.
And photographs to give to the sailors. 

Tennyson
And a dozen or two of port. 

Watts
Horror! Horror!
I have been most cruelly deceived!
Listen:
"The Milky Way among the ancients was the universal token of fertility.
It symbolised the spawn of fish, the innumerable progeny of the sea, and the fertility
 of the marriage bed."
Oh, Horror! Horror! Horror! Horror!
I who have always lived for the Utmost for the Highest have made Modesty 
 symbolise the fertility of fish!
Oh, oh, oh 

Mrs. Cameron and Tennyson help Watts out of the room

Tennyson
Oh, there, Watts 

Mrs. Cameron
There, old fellow 

Watts
Oh, oh, oh.
Offstage
Oh. 

Mr. Cameron
My poor old friend.
Fish. Fish. Fish.
Mr. Cameron slowly exits 

•

ACT I scene 2
The Needles
Ellen and John Craig are sitting on the rocks wearing bathing costumes 

John
Well, here we are! 

Ellen
Oh, how lovely it is to sit on a rock in the middle of the sea! 

John
In the middle of the sea? 

Ellen
Yes, it's a sea.
Are you the young man who jumped over my head in the lane? 

John
I am.
Are you the young woman who was picking primroses in the lane? 

Ellen
I am. 

John
Lor'
What a lark! 

Ellen
Oh you mustn't let Signor hear you say that—or if you do, please pronounce the final ´d.´ 

John
D—be damned!
Who's Signor? 

Ellen
Who's Signor?
Oh he's the modern Titian. 

John
Titian? 

Ellen
Yes.
Titian. Titian. Titian. 

John
Sneezing?
I hope you haven't caught cold 

Ellen
No.
I feel heavenly.
As warm as toast—sitting in the sun here,
You can't think how cold it is sitting for Modesty in a veil. 

John
Sitting for Modesty in a veil?
What the dickens d´you mean? 

Ellen
Well, I'm married to a great artist.
And if you're married to a great artist you do sit for Modesty in a veil. 

John
Married?
You're a married woman?
You?
Was that old gentleman with a white beard your husband? 

Ellen
Oh everybody's got a white beard at Dimbola.
But if you mean, am I married to the old gentleman with a white beard 
 in the lane, picking primroses, 
yes, of course I am.
Here's my wedding ring
She pulls it off her finger
With this ring I thee wed.
With this body I thee worship.
Aren't you married?
She puts the ring back on

John
I married?
Why I'm only twenty-two.
I'm a lieutenant in the Royal Navy.
That's my ship over there.
Can you see it? 

Ellen
Looking
That?
That's a real ship.
That's not the kind of ship that sinks with all we love below the verge. 

John
My dear girl. I don't know what you're talking about.
Of course it's a real ship.
The 'Iron Duke.'
Thirty-two guns.
Captain Andrew Hatch.
My name's Craig.
Lieutenant John Craig of Her Majesty's Navy. 

Ellen
And my name's Mrs. George Frederick Watts. 

John
But haven't you another? 

Ellen
Oh plenty!
Sometimes I'm Modesty
Sometimes I'm Chastity.
Sometimes, generally before breakfast, I'm merely Nell. 

John
I like Nell best. 

Ellen
Well that's unlucky, because today I'm Modesty.
Modesty crouching at the feet of Mammon.
Only Mammon's great toe was out of drawing and so I got down; and then I heard a whistle.
Dear me, I suppose I'm an abandoned wretch.
Everybody says how proud I ought to be.
Think of hanging in the Tate Gallery for ever and ever—
what an honour for a young woman like me!
Only—isn't it awful—
I like swimming. 

John
And sitting on a rock, Nell? 

Ellen
And sitting on a rock.
Well, it's better than that awful model's throne.
Mrs. Cameron killed the turkey today.
The Muse has to have wings, you see.
But you can't think how they tickle. 

John
What the Dickens d'you mean?
Who's Mrs. Cameron? 

Ellen
Mrs. Cameron is the photographer;
and Mr. Cameron is the philosopher;
and Mr. Tennyson is the poet;
and Signor is the artist.
And beauty is truth;
truth beauty;
that is all we know and all we ought to ask.
Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever.
Oh, and the Utmost for the Highest.
I was forgetting that. 

John
It's worse than shooting the sun with a sextant.
Is this the Isle of Wight?
Or is it the Isle of Dogs—the isle where the mad dogs go? 

Ellen
The apple trees bloom all the year here;
the nightingales sing all the night. 

John
Look here, Nell.
Let's talk sense for a minute.
Have you ever been in love? 

Ellen
In love?
Aren't I married? 

John
Oh but like this
He kisses her

Ellen
Not quite like that.
He kisses her again
But I rather like it.
Of course, it must be wrong. 

John
Wrong?
He kisses her once more
What's wrong about that? 

Ellen
It makes me think such dreadful thoughts, I don't think I could dare to tell you.
It makes me think of—
beef steaks; beer; standing under an umbrella in the rain;
crowds of people; hot chestnuts; omnibuses—all the things I've always dreamed about.
And then, Signor snores.
And I get up and go to the casement.
And the moon's shining.
And the bee's on the thorn
And the dew's on the lawn.
And the nightingale's forlorn. 

John
Struth!
I've been in the tropics, but I've seen nothing like this.
Now look here, Nell.
I've got something to say to you—something very sensible.
I'm not the sort of man who makes up his mind in a hurry.
I took a good look at you as I jumped over that lane.
And I said to myself as I landed in the turnip field, that's the girl for me.
And I'm not the sort of man who does things in a hurry.
Look here
He takes out his watch
Let's be married at half past two. 

Ellen
Married?
Where shall we live? 

John
In Bloomsbury. 

Ellen
Are there any apple trees there? 

John
Not one. 

Ellen
Any nightingales? 

John
None. 

Ellen
What shall we live on? 

John
Bread and butter.
Sausages and kippers. 

Ellen
Bread and butter.
Sausages and kippers.
No bees.
No apple trees.
No nightingales.
Sausages and kippers.
John, this is Heaven! 

John
That's fixed then.
Two thirty sharp. 

Ellen
Oh, but what about this?
She takes off her wedding ring. 

John
Did Mr. Watts really give you that? 

Ellen
Yes. It was dug out of a tomb.
It symbolises—let me see,
what does this wedding ring symbolise?
With this ring I thee wed;
with this brush I thee worship—
It symbolises Signor's marriage to his art. 

John
He's committed bigamy.
I thought so!
There's something fishy about that old boy,
I said to myself, as I jumped over the lane;
and I'm not the sort of chap to make up his mind in a hurry. 

Ellen
Fishy?
About Mr. Watts? 

John
Very fishy: yes. 

A loud sigh is heard 

Watts
Offstage
Oh, oh, oh.

Ellen
Looking round
I thought I heard someone sighing. 

John
Looking round
I thought I saw someone spying. 

Ellen
That's only one of those dreadful reporters.
The beach is always full of them.
They hide behind the rocks, you know,
Looking out toward the sea in case the Poet Laureate may be listening to
 the scream of the maddened beach dragged backward by the waves.
Look.
Look.
What's that? 

John
It looks like a porpoise. 

Ellen
A porpoise?
A real porpoise? 

John
Of course, Nell.
What else should a porpoise be? 

Ellen
Oh I don't know.
But as nightingales are widows, I thought the porpoise might be a widower.
He sounds so sad.
Oh poor porpoise, how sad you sound!
I'm sure he's hungry.
Look how his mouth opens!
Haven't we anything we could give him? 

John
I don't go about with my bathing drawers full of sprats. 

Ellen
And I've got nothing—or only a ring
There, porpoise—take that!
She throws the porpoise her wedding ring

John
Lord, Nell!
Now you've gone and done it!
The porpoise has swallowed your wedding ring! 

Ellen
Now you're married to Mr. Watts, porpoise!
"The Utmost for the Highest," porpoise.
Look upwards, porpoise!
And keep perfectly still!
They start to exit
I suppose it was a female porpoise, John? 

John
That don't matter a damn to Mr. Watts, Nell.
They exit

•

ACT 2
The studio in Dimbola
Tennyson is reading, Mr. Cameron stands looking out of the window

Mr. Cameron
I slept, and had a vision.
I thought I was looking into the future.
I saw a yellow omnibus advancing down the glades of Farringford.
I saw girls with red lips kissing young men without shame.
I saw innumerable pictures of innumerable apples.
Girls played games.
Great men were no longer respected.
Purity had fled from the hearth.
Yet, as I wandered, lost, bewildered, utterly confounded, through the halls 
 of Alfred Tennyson's home, I felt my youth return.
My eyes cleared, my hair turned black, my powers revived.
And . . .
Trembling and stretching his arms out.
there was a damsel—
an exquisite but not altogether ethereal nymph.
Her name was Lydia.
She was a dancer.
She came from Muscovy.
She had danced before the Tsar.
She snatched me by the waist and whirled me through the currant bushes.
Oh Alfred, Alfred, tell me, was it but a dream? 

Mrs. Cameron enters
Mrs. Cameron
What is the use of a policeman if he has no calves?
There you have the tragedy of my life.
All my sisters were beautiful, but I had genius.
Touching her forehead.
They were the brides of men, but I am the bride of Art.
I have sought the beautiful in the most unlikely places.
I have searched the police force at Freshwater, and not a man 
  have I found with calves worthy of Sir Galahad.
But, as I said to the Chief Constable,
"Without beauty, constable, what is order?
Without life, what is law?"
Why should I continue to have my silver protected by a race of men 
 whose legs are aesthetically abhorrent to me?
If a burglar came and he were beautiful, I should say to him:
Take my fish knives! 
Take my cruets, my bread baskets and my soup tureens.
What you take is nothing to what you give,
your calves, your beautiful calves.
I have sought beauty in public houses and found her playing concertina in the street.
My cook was a mendicant.
I have transformed her into a Queen.
My bootboy stole eggs,
He now waits at table in the guise of Cupid.
My housemaid sold bootlaces at Charing Cross;
she is now engaged to the Earl of Dudley,
yes. 

Mr. Cameron
Where is Ellen, Alfred? 

Tennyson
Where is Lydia, Charles? 

Mrs. Cameron
Who is Lydia? 

Mr. Cameron
She is a Muscovite.
She danced before the Tsar.
She snatched me by the waist and whirled me through the currant bushes. 

Tennyson
Who is Lydia, what is she that all our swains adore her?
Maud, Maud, they are crying and calling.
Reading from 'Maud'
And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,
And the musk of the rose is blown.
She is coming, my own, my dear;
Were it ever so airy a tread, 

My heart would hear her and beat,
Were it earth in an earthy bed;
My dust would hear her and beat,
Had I lain for a century dead. 

Would start and tremble under her feet,
And blossom in purple and red." 

Mrs. Cameron
Fluttering her fingers
"Inspiration—or the poet's dream."
Look at the outline of the nose against the ivy!
Look at the hair tumbling like Atlantic billows on a stormy night!
And the eyes—
look up, Alfred, look up—
they are like pools of living light in which thoughts play like dolphins among groves of coral.
Charles, rouse yourself!
Alfred is about to read 'Maud.'
They settle themselves—expectantly 

Tennyson
He reads
"The fault was mine, the fault was mine"—
Why am I sitting here so stunn'd and still, 
The door opens and Watts comes in, hiding his head in his hands 
He staggers across the room distractedly while Tennyson continues reading 
"Plucking the harmless wild-flower on the hill?—
It is this guilty hand!—
And there rises ever a passionate cry— 

Watts
Ellen! Ellen!
My wife—my wife—my wife—
dead, dead, dead! 

Tennyson
My God, Watts.
You don't mean to say Ellen's dead? 

Mrs. Cameron
Drowned?
That's what comes of going bathing.

Watts
She is dead—drowned—to me, me.
I was behind a rock on the beach.
I saw her—drown. 

Mr. Cameron
Happy Ellen!
Gone to Paradise. 

Mrs. Cameron
Oh but this is awful!
The girl's dead and where am I to get another model for the Muse?
Are you sure, Signor, that she's quite dead?
Not a spark of life left in her?
Couldn't something be done to revive her?
Brandy—where's the brandy? 

Watts
No brandy will bring Ellen to life.
She is dead—stone dead—to me. 

Mr. Cameron
Happy Ellen; lucky Ellen.
They don't wear braces in Heaven;
they don't wear trousers in Heaven.
Would that I were where Ellen lies.
I slept,
I had a vision in my sleep. 

Tennyson
Yes.
There is something highly pleasing about the death of a young woman in the pride of life.
Rolled around earth's diurnal course with stocks and stones and trees.
That's Wordsworth.
I've said it too.
"Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all."
Wearing the white flower of a blameless life.
Hm, ha, yes let me see.
Give me a pencil.
Now a sheet of paper.
Alexandrines? 
Iambics? 
Sapphics?
Which shall it be? 
Sitting, he begins to write

Watts goes to his canvas and begins painting out the picture
Watts
Modesty forsooth!
Chastity hah!
Alas, I painted better than I knew.
The Ancient Egyptians were right.
This veil did symbolise the fertility of fish.
He strikes his brush across it

Tennyson
Ahem.
I have written the first six lines.
Listen.
Ode on the death of Ellen Terry, a beautiful young woman, found drowned. 

Mrs. Cameron
In great excitement, pointing at the window
Sir Galahad! 

Tennyson / Mr. Cameron
Sir Galahad? 

Mrs. Cameron
There among the raspberry canes—kissing; 
no, being kissed.
Wait, young man.
Wait!
She dashes out of the room 

Mr. Cameron
I slept, and had a vision.
I saw a yellow omnibus advancing down the glade.
I saw Lydia among the raspberry canes. 

Enter Mrs. Cameron with Ellen Terry, who is dressed as a young man, wearing checked trousers. 
Mrs. Cameron
I have found him at last. 
Sir Galahad! 

Everybody stares

Tennyson
Nell! 

Mr. Cameron
Lydia! 

Watts
Ellen!
Oh Modesty, Modesty!
He sinks down covering his face with his hands. 

Mr. Cameron
But you're in Heaven! 

Tennyson
Found drowned. 

Mrs. Cameron
Brandy's no use! 

Ellen
Is this a madhouse? 

Mr. Cameron
Are you a fact? 

Ellen
I'm Ellen Terry. 

Watts
Rising and advancing, brandishing his brush
Yes Ma'am.
There you speak the truth.
You are no longer the wife of George Frederick Watts.
I saw you.
I was on the beach, behind a rock.
I saw you, abandoned wretch, sitting on the Needles;
sitting on the Needles with a man;
sitting on the Needles with your arms around a man.
This is the end, Ellen,
Our marriage is dissolved—in the sea. 

Ellen
I'm very sorry, Signor. Indeed I am.
But he looked so very hungry.
I couldn't help it.
She looked so very hungry, 
I should say;
I'm almost sure it was a female. 

Watts
A female! hah!
Don't attempt to lie to me, Ellen. 

Ellen
Well, John thought it was a female.
And John ought to know.
John's in the Navy.
He's often eaten porpoises on desert islands.
Fried in oil, you know, for breakfast. 

Watts
John has eaten porpoise fried in oil for breakfast.
I thought as much!
Go to your lover, live on porpoises fried in oil but leave me, leave me—to my art.
He turns to his picture

Ellen
Oh well, Signor, if you will take it like that—
I was only trying to cheer you up.
I'm very sorry, I'm sure, to have upset you all.
But I can't help it. I'm alive, alive!
I never felt more alive in all my life.
But I'm awfully sorry, I'm sure—

Tennyson
Don't apologise, Ellen.
What does it matter?
An immortal poem destroyed—that's all.
He tears up his poem. 

Ellen
But couldn't you find a rhyme for porpoise, Mr. Tennyson? 

Tennyson
Impossible. 

Mrs. Cameron
Ah, but in my art rhymes don't matter.
Only truth and the sun.
Come, sit down again, Ellen.
There—on that stool.
Hide your head in your hands. Sob.
Penitence on the stool of— 

Ellen
No, I can't, Mrs. Cameron.
No, I can't!
First I'm Modesty; then I'm the Muse.
But Penitence on a Monument—
No! That I will not be. 

A knock at the door
Mary enters 
Mary
The coffins have come, Ma'am.
The coffins, I say.
And you couldn't find a nicer pair outside Kensal Green.
As I was saying to his lordship just now,
it do seem a pity to take them all the way to India.
Why can't you plant 'em here with a weeping angel on top?
Exit Mary followed by Tennyson 

Mr. Cameron / Mrs. Cameron
At last, the coffins have come, the coffins have come.
Let us pack our coffins and go.
To India!
To India!
We start for India.
We go to a land uncorrupted by hypocrisy, where nature prevails.
A land where the sun always shines. 

Mr. Cameron
Where philosophers speak the truth.
Where men are naked. 

Mrs. Cameron
Where women are beautiful. 

Mr. Cameron
Where damsels dance among the currant bushes— 

Mr. Cameron / Mrs. Cameron
It is time—
It is time—
We go. 

Mr. Cameron
To the land where the sun always shines. 

Mrs. Cameron
To the land where the sun never sets. 

Tennyson
The coffins are here!
Solid oak, solid oak!
No ant can eat through that.
You can take 'Maud' with you now.
Well, there's still time;
Taking out his copy of 'Maud.'
Where did I leave off? 

Mr. Cameron
Looking out the window.
Ahem!
I think that's a fact in the raspberry canes. 

Tennyson
Facts?
Damn facts.
Facts are the death of poetry. 

Mr. Cameron
Damn facts.
That is what I have always said.
Plato has said it.
Radakrishna has said it.
Spinoza has said it.
Confucius has said it.
And Charles Hay Cameron says it too.
All the same, that was a fact in the raspberry canes. 
Enter Craig
Are you a fact, young man? 

John
My name's Craig.
Lieutenant John Craig of the Royal Navy.
Sorry to interrupt.
Afraid I've come at an inconvenient hour.
I've called to fetch Ellen by appointment. 

Mrs. Cameron
Ellen? 

John
Yes.
Chastity, Patience, the Muse, what do you call her here. 

Ellen
John. 

John
Nell. 

Tennyson
"Queen Rose of the rosebud garden of girls". 

Watts
Ellen, Ellen, painted, powdered.
Miserable girl.
I could have forgiven you much.
I had forgiven you all.
But now that I see you as you are—painted, powdered—unveiled—
Vanish with your lover. 
Eat porpoises on desert islands. 

John
Come along, Nell.
It's time we were off.
You can't keep a horse tied up at the gate all day in this weather.
It's time we were off. 

Mr. Cameron
I slept, and had a vision in my sleep.
I thought I saw a motor omnibus advancing down the glades of Farringford.
What colour is your horse, young Sir? 

John
A strawberry roan. 

Mr. Cameron
Then my dream has come—more or less—true; 
the omnibus was yellow. 

Watts
Miserable girl—if girl I still can call you.
I could have forgiven you much but not this.
Had you gone to meet him as a maiden, in a veil, or dressed in white, it would have been different.
But trousers—no—check trousers; 
No, no.
Go then.
Vanish with your paramour. 

Ellen
O, I was forgetting.
She pulls a long veil out of her pocket.
Here's your veil. 

Enter Mary
Mary
The coffins are on the fly. 

Mrs. Cameron
The coffins are on the fly.
It's time to say goodbye. 

Mary
There's no room for the turkey's wings, Ma'am. 

Mrs. Cameron
Give them here.
I will put them in my reticule.
The coffins are on the fly.
It's time to say goodbye. 

Mary
Gorblimey! What a set!
Coffins in the kitchen.
Wet plates in the hall.
And when you pick up a duster it isn't a duster after all.
I'm sick of doing parlour work,
I don't like this at all.
I'll marry the Earl and live a respectable girl, in a castle. 

Mr. Cameron / Mrs. Cameron / Ellen / John
The coffins are on the fly.
It's time to say goodbye. 

Mr. Cameron
We're going to the land of the sun. 

Mrs. Cameron
We're going to the land of the moon. 

John
We're going to WC 1 

Ellen
Thank God we're going soon! 

Ellen / John
We're going to WC 1
Thank God we're going soon! 

Mr. Cameron / Mrs. Cameron / Mary / Tennyson / Watts
Variously
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.
The coffins are on the fly.
The coffins are on the fly,
It's time to say goodbye. 

Mr. Cameron / Mrs. Cameron
Farewell to Dimbola; 
Freshwater farewell. 

Tennyson
Farewell to Charles, Julia farewell. 

Watts
Farewell to Modesty, Ellen farewell. 

All
Goodbye,
Goodbye, 

Mrs. Cameron
And my message to my age is "When you want to take a picture
Be careful to fix your lens out of focus." 

Mr. Cameron
Hocus pocus, 
That's the rhyme to focus.
And my message to my age is "Don't keep marmosets in cages." 

Ellen / John
Cracked, cracked,
They're all quite cracked—
And our message to our age is,
If you want to paint a veil,
Never fail to look in the raspberry canes for a fact. 

Mary, Ellen, Craig, Mrs. Cameron and Mr. Cameron exit variously, singing as they leave
All
Variously
Goodbye,
Goodbye,
Goodbye,
Goodbye,
Goodbye. 

Tennyson
They have left us, Watts. 

Watts
Alone with our art. 

Tennyson
Going to the window
Low on the sand and loud on the stone the last wheel echoes away.
God bless my soul, it don't!
It's getting louder—louder—louder!
They're coming back! 

Watts
Don't tell me, Alfred!
Don't tell me they're coming back!
I couldn't face another fact! 

Tennyson
She is coming, my dove, my dear;
She is coming, my life, my fate.
The red rose cries, 
"She is near, she is near"— 

Mary
Showing her in.
Her Majesty the Queen. 

The Queen
We have arrived.
We are extremely, extremely pleased to see you both.
We prefer to stand.
It is the anniversary of our wedding day.
Ah, Albert! 
And in token of that never to be forgotten,
always to be remembered,
ever to be lamented day,
of that— 

Tennyson
Interrupting
'Tis better to have loved and lost. 

The Queen
Ah but you are both so happily married.
We have brought you these tokens of our regard.
To you, Mr. Tennyson, a peerage.
Tennyson kneels 
To you, Mr. Watts, the Order of Merit.
Watts kneels 
May the spirit of the blessed Albert look down and preserve us all. 

Tennyson / Watts
God Save the Queen.

Virginia Woolf (1882–1941) adapted by Andy Vores