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Freshwater: Act 2

Act 2 SCORE
page 268  Prelude
page 272  'I slept and had a vision'
page 279  'What is the use of a policeman if he has no calves?'
page 290  'Where is Ellen, Alfred?'
page 296  'Look at the outline of the nose against the ivy'
page 307  'My God, Watts, you don't mean to say Ellen's dead?'
page 317  'Hm, ha, yes let me see. Give me a pencil'
page 326  'Sir Galahad!'
page 332  'Is this a madhouse?'
page 342  'John has eaten porpoise fried in oil for breakfast'
page 350  'Ah, but in my art rhymes don't matter'
page 356  'At last, the coffins have come'
page 368  'Ahem! I think that's a fact in the raspberry canes'
page 380  'What colour is your horse, young Sir?'
page 392  'The coffins are on the fly'
page 396  'Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye'
page 419  'They have left us, Watts'
page 428  'We have arrived'

Act 1 Scene 2 RECORDING—December 5, 1994 (Cast 2) performance
n.b. this recording is of the unrevised version and in many places, deviates substantially from the revised score
Act 1 Scene 1
Act 1 Scene 2

Act 2 SCENARIO
Back at the studio Charles relates a dream to Tennyson, and Julia complains of the difficulties in finding models for her photography. Tennyson again reads from Maud and at the height of the drama Watts enters, distraught and distracted–it was he who had been spying on John and Nell at the seashore; "Ellen! . . . my wife – dead, dead, dead! . . . I was behind a rock . . . I saw her–drown." Julia is upset to think she must find another model for the Muse. Charles and Tennyson find grim consolation; Charles sings "Happy Ellen—gone to paradise" while Tennyson begins to compose an elegy. Watts goes to his easel and furiously paints out his picture. 

Julia sees a potential model for Sir Galahad in the raspberry canes and hurries out to fetch him. Bringing him back inside it turns out to be Ellen in a pair of checked trousers. Everyone is confounded except, of course, for Watts who confronts her with what he has witnessed earlier. Their marriage is dissolved and Watts returns to his painting—"Go to your lover, girl, live on porpoises fried in oil on desert islands." Ellen, sorry to have upset everyone, is, however, newly alive and strong. She refuses Julia's attempts to have her sit once more. 

Mary enters to announce that the coffins have arrived and John arrives for Nell. The Camerons are, at last, off to India and John and Nell are off to London. The travellers depart during a big valedictory chorus for all eight characters leaving only Watts and Tennyson—"alone with our art." They hear carriages returning, much to Watts' alarm—however not Nell, John nor the Camerons, but Queen Victoria enters. 

As they kneel she bestows the Order of Merit upon Watts and a Peerage on Tennyson. "May the spirit of the blessed Albert look down and preserve us all" she beseeches, and the sun sets on a cast of contented characters, the British Empire, and the Victorian ideals embodied by Tennyson, Watts, and the Queen herself. 

Act 2 LIBRETTO
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.