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Freshwater: Act 1 Scene 1
Act 1 Scene 1 SCORE
page 1 Prelude
page 16
'Sit stlll, Charles, sit still'
page 30 'Courage, my old friend, courage'
page 35 'The son of man has nowhere to lay his head'
page 40 'Loose your mind from the affairs of the present'
page 48 'We can't start for India without our coffins'
page 62 'Think, Alfred, when we lie dead under the Southern Cross'
page 74 Everyone is perfectly still
page 81 'Meanwhile, sit on my lap'
page 94 'You're a very beautiful wench, Ellen'
page 107 'My life has been singularly free of amorous excitement'
page 113 'All things that have substance seem to me unreal'
page 117 'I come! I come!'
page 126 'Young man! Young man!'
page 132 'The mellow ouzel fluting on the lawn'
page 140 'Praise be to the Almighty Architect'
page 151 'That indeed is a profoundly difficult problem'
page 162 'Horror! Horror!'
Act 1 Scene 1 RECORDING—December 5, 1994 (Cast 2) performance
n.b. this recording is of the unrevised version and, in some places, deviates substantially from the revised score
MRS. CAMERON: Jan Elizabeth Norville
MR. CAMERON: Nicholas Robinson
TENNYSON: Mark-Andrew Cleveland
WATTS: Paul Kirby
ELLEN: Cynthia Plumb
JOHN: Jean-Pierre Trevisani
MARY: Anne Harley
QUEEN VICTORIA: Catherine Watson
Act 1 Scene 2
Act 2
Act 1 Scene 1
In a studio at Dimbola Julia is washing Charles' hair. Ellen is modeling for Watts' painting Modesty at the feet of Mammon. Julia admonishes Charles for not sitting still–"can't you put up with a little discomfort for the sake of art." Charles rhapsodizes over their imminent departure for India "There is no washing in India. There beards are white." Watts, urging him to courage, tells Ellen to remain perfectly still. Tennyson enters having been driven from his home by the attentions of reporters and admirers. The Camerons tell him of their departure for India at two-thirty, provided the coffins arrive; the coffins are to protect their corpses, to be buried with a copy of Tennyson's 'Maud', from the ravages of the white ant. Alarmed at the notion of his book being devoured Tennyson finds he has just enough time to read 'Maud' aloud before they leave–he begins.
During this recitation Ellen grows weary and asks Watts if she may rest; "You have given four hours to the service of art, Ellen, and are already tired. I have given seventy-seven years . . . and I am not tired yet." Ellen stands next to Tennyson who invites her to sit on his lap. Julia, taken with this, sees "Poetry in the person of Alfred Tennyson adoring the Muse", and begins searching frantically for a pair of wings to pin on Ellen for the photograph. Unsuccessful, she orders Mary, the maid, to kill the turkey.
Ellen confides in Tennyson that as she was picking primroses in the lane a man on a horse jumped over her head. Mary enters with the wings. Watts disapproves of Ellen's new role, and Charles, musing philosophically on the items unearthed in the search for the wings, finds his thoughts pulled back to India. There is a whistle from the garden and Ellen jumps up and leaves, ruining Julia's photograph.
Tennyson takes the opportunity to again open 'Maud' and he starts to read. Charles draws everyone's attention to the young man he has spied outside and Julia, Charles, Tennyson and Watts join in a quartet until Watts' sudden and awful discovery that in painting Ellen as 'Modesty' wrapped in the Milky Way he has inadvertently "symbolized the spawn of fish, the innumerable progeny of the sea, and the fertility of the marriage bed." A distraught Watts is helped offstage by Julia and Tennyson as Charles remarks philosophically "My poor old friend. Fish, fish, fish."
Act 1 Scene 1 LIBRETTO
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