JELKA: Perhaps you should write an opera based upon your friend’s book, Edward?

ELGAR: I fear not, Jelka. Fred is the musical poet. I am just a journeyman in comparison. Fred! You must write it. You have it in you. A Village Romeo and Juliet was sublime.

DELIUS: I fear there is not enough time, Edward.

ELGAR: Time, that ghostly light about our heads.

JELKA: Shaw?

ELGAR: No, Elgar. Just thought of it. But I’ll tell you something, audiences do love good tunes, this is why popular music is so…well, popular.

JELKA: Absolutely.

We hear the opening bars of Noel Coward’s Mad Dogs and Englishmen, which continues…

ELGAR: And I’ll tell you something else, popular composers use leitmotiv all the time. One must of course accentuate the rhythm, make the beat the dominant factor. Add to this what the jazz musician I believe calls the riff, which is a repetition that builds up tension and creates dynamics, and you have something quite magical. The nearest I came to it was in Pomp and Circumstance, and Land of Bloody Hope and Glory. Oh, how I wish I could write tunes like Gershwin and Ellington. Jelka, you really must take Fred to see Showboat, George and I did so enjoy it. Paul Robeson has the finest voice I’ve ever heard.

DELIUS: Very fond of Noel Coward.

Lights down, just a spot on Elgar and Delius. Elgar is now standing behind Delius. They now mime to Coward’s Mad Dogs and Englishmen…

ELGAR:

In tropical climes there are certain times of day,
When all the citizens retire,
To take their clothes off and perspire.
It’s one of those rules
That the greatest fools obey,
Because the sun is far too sultry
And one must avoid its ultry violet ray.

DELIUS:

The natives grieve when the white man leaves
Their huts,
Because they’re obviously, definitely nuts!
BOTH: Mad dogs and Englishmen
Go out in the midday sun.

ELGAR:

The Japanese don’t care to,
The Chinese wouldn’t dare to.
Hindus and Argentines sleep firmly
From twelve to one.
But Englishmen detest a siesta.
Etc…

At the end of the mime Elgar and Delius take a bow. Jelka is laughing

JELKA: Bravo, bravo.

ELGAR: I wish I could write such tinkling tunes. Fred, isn’t there a line in on of Coward’s plays about the power of cheap music?

DELIUS: Private Lives.

ELGAR: That’s it…

DELIUS: Very flat, Norfolk.

General laughter

DELIUS: More champagne, Jelka.

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Everyone looks at Joe, who until this time has been standing quietly to one side. Hildegarde pours Elgar some champagne, who drinks it in one swallow. Elgar then gets up and starts to sing…and dance

ELGAR (Singing): Champagne Charlie is me name,
Champagne drinking is me game
Etc…

Elgar tries to dance with Hildegarde but only makes her spill champagne. Elgar then dances off to one side, and with a change of lighting becomes slightly isolated. In the background we hear Elgar’s The Dream of Gerontius …

JELKA: That will be all, Hildegarde.

HILDEGARDE: Sorry about spilling the champagne, madam.

JELKA: Oh, do not worry, my dear. Now, take Joe with you and make sure he has something to eat, it is a long drive back to Paris.

HILDEGARDE: Yes, madam.

Exit Hildegarde. Then, as Joe exits…

JOE: Ain’t she the one though, ain’t she?

Joe exits

ELGAR: See what I mean? Such lovely people. I think I might move to America? They were very kind to me when I was last there.

JELKA: A toast.

ELGAR: A splendid idea. Who to?

DELIUS: Hildegarde’s father.

They all toast Hildegarde’s father. The lights change to isolate Elgar further, but a dim spot remains on Delius and Jelka. The music grows louder

ELGAR ( Calling): Alice? Alice? Quickly, my dear, what do you think of this?

Enter Alice Elgar, Edward’s wife. She is wearing a typical Edwardian dress, with her hair piled high. She is carrying a broken wine glass.

ALICE: She really will have to go, Edo, this is the sixth piece she has broken in the last two weeks.

ELGAR: What? No! Listen, what do you think?

ALICE: I think I cannot allow it to go on. The whole set was given to father when he retired from the regiment - each piece is engraved with an officer’s name.

ELGAR ( With exasperation): Alice! Listen. What do you think?

Alice finally listens, and hears the music, which builds…

ALICE: It is the Newman, oh Edo, it is wonderful.

ELGAR: It is for you, my dear. I know how much the Cardinal’s poem means to you, although I have to say I’ve taken out some of the weaker parts, tightened it up considerably.

Elgar and Alice listen for a few moments

ALICE: It is a masterpiece. This will show them I am married to a genius, and not a shopkeeper’s son. (Pause) Oh, Edo, I’m sorry.

ELGAR: Don’t worry, my dear. (Pause) Is that what they really think? That I am an ill educated tradesman’s son, and a self taught tune-smith? Is that what they really think and say?

ALICE: It is not what they say, my dear. But it is what they mean, I fear.

ELGAR: Damn them, damn them all!

ALICE: Edo, you must retain your faith. I did not marry a man who gives up.

ELGAR: You certainly married beneath yourself. My god they even cut your miserable allowance when you married me. And when did you last have a letter from your mother?

ALICE: Edo, enough.

ELGAR: Sorry, my dear, that was unkind. (Pause) Alice, your support has been pivotal, I couldn’t have carried on without you, of that I’m sure. But alas, I fear the stupid British public will not understand the poetic and musical subtleties of Gerontius?

ALICE: Oh, Edo, they will, given a little time. You must remember the British lack imagination when it comes to the arts, they want everything spelled out for them. But they will see the greatness in your work, look how they’ve taken to the Variations. You must be patient.

ELGAR (Angrily): Patient? I am forty two years old, I cannot afford to be patient much longer, and the Variations are simply an elaboration of a good tune, a jolly good one mind you, but a tune, nothing more. Do they have the patience for a longer work, and one based around a Roman Catholic priest’s darker moods?

ALICE: Of course they do, and you know it. They must be shown the way, they must see that Britain, no England, has produced its own Beethoven. Look how poor Delius struggles, even in Paris, a city built upon the very idea of art and music.

ELGAR: A fine composer, a unique voice.

ALICE: Edo, I do wish you would stop referring to your age. I am fifty-one, but you do not hear me constantly referring to the passing years.

ELGAR: Sorry. Sorry, chick.

The music fades in volume a little…

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JELKA ( Calling) : Hildegarde? Hildegarde?

Enter Hildegarde, the Maid.

HILDEGARDE: Yes, Madam?

JELKA: My dear, do fetch us some ( Turning to Elgar)…tea, coffee?

DELIUS: Champagne…

JELKA: Oh, Fred.

DELIUS: What?

JELKA: You know you are not allowed…

DELIUS: Not allowed? Nonsense, Jelka, I demand Champagne.

JELKA: Oh very well. Champagne, Hildegarde.

DELIUS: Two bottles of the Bollinger ‘16, Hildegarde.

HILDEGARDE: Sir.

Hildegarde exits.

DELIUS: A wonderful concert last week, Edward.

ELGAR: You were in London…surely not?

DELIUS: No, we heard it on the wireless you kindly sent us.

ELGAR: Ah, I see. The tone is so clear don’t you think? I would never have imagined, when I was writing Gerontius, that your music, Fred, that George’s plays might be broadcast, and be listened to by tens of thousands of people? It is beyond my comprehension.

DELIUS: Lots of royalties though.

ELGAR: Indeed. Although I have to say that over the years I feel I could have organised things a little better in that department. Joe was saying on the way down about never giving a sucker an even break. I feel I may have been something of a sucker in that area, Fred.

DELIUS: W.C. Fields - never give a sucker an even break.( Delius laughs to himself) How, I miss the cinema, Edward. I went to see Al Jolson in The Jazz Singer ten times, ten times.

JELKA: And we were thrown out ten times because you would insist on singing along. I have never been so embarrassed.

ELGAR (Laughing): D’you know, Harold Lloyd always reminds me of my father, dear old man. Jelka, tell me, will cinema affect your work as a painter, affect painting as a whole, affect art in general?

JELKA: Absolutely. Images are what the artist lives for, therefore we must adapt to the cinema, to the popular image. You too must adapt, as must Fred. You should both write for the cinema.

ELGAR: Do you really think so?

DELIUS: Potemkin was another wonderful film, and I didn’t sing along to that did I, Jelka?

JELKA: No, thank goodness. But you should write something for Hollywood, Edward? I believe many Russian composers have moved there.

ELGAR: Hollywood? Gosh. Do you think so? Music by Sir Edward Elgar, that’d show ‘em.

JELKA: Yes. If not your work will die, wither as perhaps it should.

Elgar roars with laughter

DELIUS: Jelka!

JELKA: America already leads the way in film making, Fred, and it always will, because they are always looking to create something new; they do not rely on tradition.

ELGAR: You are absolutely right, Madam Delius. But I’ll tell you something: Hollywood is too interested in art. All I’m interested in is money. (PAUSE) And I’ll tell you something else - Griffith wanted me to write the music for The Birth of a Nation, don’t you know.

DELIUS: No, I don’t believe it.

ELGAR: Yes, I turned him down, of course, felt then it was rather beneath my talent. What a damn fool, eh. Twenty thousand dollars he offered me. Apparently Chaplin suggested I do it, which I have to say was rather splendid of him not having met the chap. When I told George all he could say was ( ELGAR ADOPTS AN IRISH ACCENT) “Good god, man, you’ve never said anything about this before. Why I had lunch with Chaplin only last July, he never mentioned it either. D’you know he served roast beef and Yorkshire pudding in a heat wave, ninety degrees. I have to say he does seem to be very much the Englishman who judges success by his own childhood deprivations.” (PAUSE) George is a vegetarian of course. (PAUSE) Joe writes screenplays - I believe that is what they call them - he intends to make it big in Hollywood; he probably will, too.

Hildegarde enters with the champagne and places it on the table. Joe follows her with the parcel which he puts on the floor at the edge of the stage.

DELIUS: Ah, Hildegarde, the champagne. Now I want you to open the champagne in the way I showed you.

HILDEGARDE: But, sir…

DELIUS: Now come on, madchen, no need to be afraid. First remove the foil, then untie the wire. Remember how the waiters at Le Moulin Rouge…

JELKA: Fred, what have you been saying to her? The girl has no desire, I’m sure, to hear about your youthful exploits in Paris. Until she came here she had never been away from Saxony…

HILDEGARDE: Oh no, Madam, we lived in Zurich for a while, and I was once taken on a school outing to Verdun. Pardon, Madam.

ELGAR: Did they serve you champagne, Hildegarde? All beautiful young women should drink champagne.

HILDEGARDE: Oh no, your honour, only Perrier water, and almond cakes. We were not made welcome. But our Rabbi insisted we had the right to visit the battlefield. When the locals knew we were German, were Jews, they jeered and spat at us. I remember how some of the French boys smoked cigars behind the memorial and stubbed them out on the names of the German dead until our Rabbi found them and beat them with his stick. Oh, how we laughed.

Everyone laughs

DELIUS: Good, quite right. Now remember, you must never allow the cork to pop as if from a gun. Hold onto it and allow it to gently ease itself out without a sound. Ready, Hildegarde?

HILDEGARDE: Yes, sir.

Hildegarde slowly eases the cork from the bottle, smiling hugely as she does so.

ELGAR: Bravo, Hildegarde, bravo indeed.

DELIUS: Bravo, my dear.

JELKA: Well done, Hilde. Now just pour a glass for everyone.

JOE: Ain’t you the one, honey. Ain’t you the one.

Go to Part 4.

It is May 1933 and we are in the garden of Delius’s French home at Grez-sur-Loing, twenty miles south of Paris. There is a table covered in a white cloth, and around the table chairs. To one side an easel with one of Jelka Delius’ unfinished canvases. It is a hot day.

We hear Noel Coward singing “ Lover of my Dreams”.

The 71 year old Frederick Delius enters pushed in a wheelchair by his German nurse, Carl; they are followed by Delius’s wife, Jelka. Delius is paralysed, and partially blind as a result of Syphilis. He wears a white suite, white shirt, dark glasses, and a large white fedora. Jelka is a woman in her 60s, and her clothes are more reminiscent of the 1910s, than of the 1930s. As the Noel Coward fades we hear Delius’s Concerto for Cello in the background. The nurse parks Delius to one side of the table, and Jelka sits at the other side.

JELKA: Why did you say he could call, Fred? You know I don’t like Elgar.

DELIUS: Jelka? Leibling? Edward is a good man, a good composer too. But not as good as me you understand.

JELKA: He intimidates me, he’s so loud, and tall.

DELIUS: Jelka Rosen, daughter of a Junker intimidated by an Englishman?

JELKA: Just don’t ask me to join in. I shall escape and paint for the day.

DELIUS: As you wish, but at least stay for an hour, and make him welcome. (To the nurse) You may leave us now, Carl, but keep a look out for Sir Edward.

The Nurse Exits

JELKA: An hour.

DELIUS: Good, then you can escape.

We hear the sound of men laughing.

DELIUS: I think he is already here, my dear?

Enter Sir Edward Elgar, followed by his driver Joe. They are still laughing as if they have shared a rather good joke. Elgar is wearing a dark suit, and has a cane. Joe is wearing a rumpled suit and shirt. Elgar sees Delius.

Sir Edward Elgar

ELGAR: Ah, Fred.

Elgar goes over to Delius, removes the fedora and kisses the top of Delius’ head, then puts the hat back.

ELGAR: How are you, old man?

DELIUS: As you see, Edward, as you see. Such noise.

ELGAR: Joe can tell a good joke. (To Jelka) How are you, my dear?

JELKA: Fine.

ELGAR (To Joe): Joe, say hello to Frederick Delius, England’s finest composer, and his delightful wife Jelka.

JOE: A great pleasure, sir, ma’am.

DELIUS: Fred, call me Fred.

JOE: Fred, sir.

ELGAR: We had quite a journey did we not, Joe?

JOE: We did.

ELGAR: Nearly ended in the ditch, some damn fool of a motorcyclist. Joe is a taxi driver from Paris, an American.

DELIUS: Ah, indeed. I spent many happy years in Paris, it is the most wonderful of cities, is it not?

JOE: Indeed it is, sir, er, Fred.

DELIUS: Sit down, Joe, Edward. But alas I fear we may all remember this day, and this year for more important reasons than a motorcyclist. I received a letter from my sister this morning where she has written again of the outpourings of adulation shown on Hitler’s birthday last month. It obviously preys on her mind a good deal, and I have to say I fear for my family’s land under his chancellorship.

ELGAR: You may be right, Fred, and I have to say I feel he is greatly flawed. A statesman who begins by persecuting the Jews is as hopelessly compromised as an officer who cheats at cards. But I feel I must support his proclamation on compulsory labour, and his nationalisation of the trade unions, which are essentially communist of course.

DELIUS: You sound like your friend Shaw.

ELGAR: George? The most notorious of communists. And he would argue that it is senseless for Hitler to denounce Marxism at every opportunity, that he should wait to see who his friends are.

JELKA: Sir Edward. Fred. I will not have politics discussed on such a beautiful day.

Elgar goes across to Jelka and kisses her hand; he’d kiss her mouth if he could.

ELGAR: Madam Delius, Jelka, forgive me, and, as you say, on such a beautiful day, and in such a beautiful garden. It is an honour, a delight, to meet you again.

JELKA: Thank you, Sir Edward. Fred? That corporal will not last, the German people will not tolerate him.

Elgar returns to his seat.

DELIUS: But, Jelka, they voted for him in overwhelming numbers. He has already purged the universities of professors who do not agree with National Socialism. The work of Freud and Einstein can no longer be taught. The man will destroy everything that is beautiful, including this garden if he gets half a chance. He is the personification of the worst of the German character, the worst of you and I, Jelka. He is the brutality of the German army in 1914.

Elgar coughs

ELGAR: Joe? I wonder would you mind bringing in the package from the car?

JOE: Hell no, Sir Edward.

Joe Exits

ELGAR: Hell no. I rather like the American don’t you? So honest. We would have been lost in 1918 without them I fear.

JELKA: Sir Edward, please.

Go to Part 2.