THE NURSERY
_The night nursery of the Darling family, which is the scene of our
opening Act, is at the top of a rather depressed street in Bloomsbury.
We have a right to place it where we will, and the reason Bloomsbury is
chosen is that Mr. Roget once lived there. So did we in days when his_
Thesaurus _was our only companion in London; and we whom he has helped
to wend our way through life have always wanted to pay him a little
compliment. The Darlings therefore lived in Bloomsbury._
_It is a corner house whose top window, the important one, looks upon a
leafy square from which Peter used to fly up to it, to the delight of
three children and no doubt the irritation of passers-by. The street is
still there, though the steaming sausage shop has gone; and apparently
the same cards perch now as then over the doors, inviting homeless
ones to come and stay with the hospitable inhabitants. Since the days
of the Darlings, however, a lick of paint has been applied; and our
corner house in particular, which has swallowed its neighbour, blooms
with awful freshness as if the colours had been discharged upon it
through a hose. Its card now says ‘No children,’ meaning maybe that the
goings-on of Wendy and her brothers have given the house a bad name. As
for ourselves, we have not been in it since we went back to reclaim our
old_ Thesaurus.
_That is what we call the Darling house, but you may dump it down
anywhere you like, and if you think it was your house you are very
probably right. It wanders about London looking for anybody in need of
it, like the little house in the Never Land._
_The blind (which is what Peter would have called the theatre curtain
if he had ever seen one) rises on that top room, a shabby little room
if Mrs. Darling had not made it the hub of creation by her certainty
that such it was, and adorned it to match with a loving heart and all
the scrapings of her purse. The door on the right leads into the day
nursery, which she has no right to have, but she made it herself with
nails in her mouth and a paste-pot in her hand. This is the door the
children will come in by. There are three beds and (rather oddly) a
large dog-kennel; two of these beds, with the kennel, being on the left
and the other on the right. The coverlets of the beds (if visitors are
expected) are made out of Mrs. Darling’s wedding-gown, which was such
a grand affair that it still keeps them pinched. Over each bed is a
china house, the size of a linnet’s nest, containing a night-light. The
fire, which is on our right, is burning as discreetly as if it were in
custody, which in a sense it is, for supporting the mantelshelf are
two wooden soldiers, home-made, begun by Mr. Darling, finished by Mrs.
Darling, repainted (unfortunately) by John Darling. On the fire-guard
hang incomplete parts of children’s night attire. The door the parents
will come in by is on the left. At the back is the bathroom door, with
a cuckoo clock over it; and in the centre is the window, which is at
present ever so staid and respectable, but half an hour hence (namely
at 6.30 p.m.) will be able to tell a very strange tale to the police._
_The only occupant of the room at present is Nana the nurse, reclining,
not as you might expect on the one soft chair, but on the floor. She is
a Newfoundland dog, and though this may shock the grandiose, the not
exactly affluent will make allowances. The Darlings could not afford
to have a nurse, they could not afford indeed to have children; and
now you are beginning to understand how they did it. Of course Nana has
been trained by Mrs. Darling, but like all treasures she was born to
it. In this play we shall see her chiefly inside the house, but she was
just as exemplary outside, escorting the two elders to school with an
umbrella in her mouth, for instance, and butting them back into line if
they strayed._
_The cuckoo clock strikes six, and Nana springs into life. This first
moment in the play is tremendously important, for if the actor playing
Nana does not spring properly we are undone. She will probably be
played by a boy, if one clever enough can be found, and must never
be on two legs except on those rare occasions when an ordinary nurse
would be on four. This Nana must go about all her duties in a most
ordinary manner, so that you know in your bones that she performs them
just so every evening at six; naturalness must be her passion; indeed,
it should be the aim of every one in the play, for which she is now
setting the pace. All the characters, whether grown-ups or babes, must
wear a child’s outlook on life as their only important adornment. If
they cannot help being funny they are begged to go away. A good motto
for all would be ‘The little less, and how much it is.’_
_Nana, making much use of her mouth, ‘turns down’ the beds, and carries
the various articles on the fire-guard across to them. Then pushing the
bathroom door open, she is seen at work on the taps preparing Michael’s
bath; after which she enters from the day nursery with the youngest of
the family on her back._
MICHAEL (_obstreperous_). I won’t go to bed, I won’t, I won’t. Nana, it
isn’t six o’clock yet. Two minutes more, please, one minute more? Nana,
I won’t be bathed, I tell you I will not be bathed.
(_Here the bathroom door closes on them, and_ MRS. DARLING, _who
has perhaps heard his cry, enters the nursery. She is the loveliest
lady in Bloomsbury, with a sweet mocking mouth, and as she is
going out to dinner to-night she is already wearing her evening
gown because she knows her children like to see her in it. It is
a delicious confection made by herself out of nothing and other
people’s mistakes. She does not often go out to dinner, preferring
when the children are in bed to sit beside them tidying up their
minds, just as if they were drawers. If_ WENDY _and the boys could
keep awake they might see her repacking into their proper places the
many articles of the mind that have strayed during the day, lingering
humorously over some of their contents, wondering where on earth they
picked this thing up, making discoveries sweet and not so sweet,
pressing this to her cheek and hurriedly stowing that out of sight.
When they wake in the morning the naughtinesses with which they went
to bed are not, alas, blown away, but they are placed at the bottom
of the drawer; and on the top, beautifully aired, are their prettier
thoughts ready for the new day._
_As she enters the room she is startled to see a strange little face
outside the window and a hand groping as if it wanted to come in._)
MRS DARLING. Who are you? (_The unknown disappears; she hurries to the
window._) No one there. And yet I feel sure I saw a face. My children!
(_She throws open the bathroom door and_ MICHAEL’S _head appears gaily
over the bath. He splashes; she throws kisses to him and closes the
door. ‘Wendy, John,’ she cries, and gets reassuring answers from the
day nursery. She sits down, relieved, on_ WENDY’S _bed; and_ WENDY
_and_ JOHN _come in, looking their smallest size, as children tend to
do to a mother suddenly in fear for them_.)
JOHN (_histrionically_). We are doing an act; we are playing at being
you and father. (_He imitates the only father who has come under his
special notice._) A little less noise there.
WENDY. Now let us pretend we have a baby.
JOHN (_good-naturedly_). I am happy to inform you, Mrs. Darling, that
you are now a mother. (WENDY _gives way to ecstasy_.) You have missed
the chief thing; you haven’t asked, ‘boy or girl?’
WENDY. I am so glad to have one at all, I don’t care which it is.
JOHN (_crushingly_). That is just the difference between gentlemen and
ladies. Now you tell me.
WENDY. I am happy to acquaint you, Mr. Darling, you are now a father.
JOHN. Boy or girl?
WENDY (_presenting herself_). Girl.
JOHN. Tuts.
WENDY. You horrid.
JOHN. Go on.
WENDY. I am happy to acquaint you, Mr. Darling, you are again a father.
JOHN. Boy or girl?
WENDY. Boy. (JOHN _beams_.) Mummy, it’s hateful of him.
(MICHAEL _emerges from the bathroom in_ JOHN’S _old pyjamas and
giving his face a last wipe with the towel_.)
MICHAEL (_expanding_). Now, John, have me.
JOHN. We don’t want any more.
MICHAEL (_contracting_). Am I not to be born at all?
JOHN. Two is enough.
MICHAEL (_wheedling_). Come, John; boy, John. (_Appalled_) Nobody wants
me!
MRS. DARLING. I do.
MICHAEL (_with a glimmer of hope_). Boy or girl?
MRS. DARLING (_with one of those happy thoughts of hers_). Boy.
(_Triumph of_ MICHAEL; _discomfiture of_ JOHN. MR. DARLING _arrives,
in no mood unfortunately to gloat over this domestic scene. He is
really a good man as bread-winners go, and it is hard luck for
him to be propelled into the room now, when if we had brought him
in a few minutes earlier or later he might have made a fairer
impression. In the city where he sits on a stool all day, as fixed
as a postage stamp, he is so like all the others on stools that you
recognise him not by his face but by his stool, but at home the way
to gratify him is to say that he has a distinct personality. He is
very conscientious, and in the days when_ MRS. DARLING _gave up
keeping the house books correctly and drew pictures instead (which
he called her guesses), he did all the totting up for her, holding
her hand while he calculated whether they could have Wendy or not,
and coming down on the right side. It is with regret, therefore,
that we introduce him as a tornado, rushing into the nursery in
evening dress, but without his coat, and brandishing in his hand a
recalcitrant white tie._)
MR. DARLING (_implying that he has searched for her everywhere and that
the nursery is a strange place in which to find her_). Oh, here you
are, Mary.
MRS. DARLING (_knowing at once what is the matter_). What is the
matter, George dear?
MR. DARLING (_as if the word were monstrous_). Matter! This tie, it
will not tie. (_He waxes sarcastic._) Not round my neck. Round the
bed-post, oh yes; twenty times have I made it up round the bed-post,
but round my neck, oh dear no; begs to be excused.
MICHAEL (_in a joyous transport_). Say it again, father, say it again!
MR. DARLING (_witheringly_). Thank you. (_Goaded by a suspiciously
crooked smile on_ MRS. DARLING’S _face_) I warn you, Mary, that unless
this tie is round my neck we don’t go out to dinner to-night, and if I
don’t go out to dinner to-night I never go to the office again, and if
I don’t go to the office again you and I starve, and our children will
be thrown into the streets.
(_The children blanch as they grasp the gravity of the situation._)
MRS. DARLING. Let me try, dear.
(_In a terrible silence their progeny cluster round them. Will she
succeed? Their fate depends on it. She fails--no, she succeeds.
In another moment they are wildly gay, romping round the room on
each other’s shoulders. Father is even a better horse than mother._
MICHAEL _is dropped upon his bed_, WENDY _retires to prepare for
hers_, JOHN _runs from_ NANA, _who has reappeared with the bath
towel_.)
JOHN (_rebellious_). I won’t be bathed. You needn’t think it.
MR. DARLING (_in the grand manner_). Go and be bathed at once, sir.
(_With bent head_ JOHN _follows_ NANA _into the bathroom_. MR.
DARLING _swells_.)
MICHAEL (_as he is put between the sheets_). Mother, how did you get to
know me?
MR. DARLING. A little less noise there.
MICHAEL (_growing solemn_). At what time was I born, mother?
MRS. DARLING. At two o’clock in the night-time, dearest.
MICHAEL. Oh, mother, I hope I didn’t wake you.
MRS. DARLING. They are rather sweet, don’t you think, George?
MR. DARLING (_doting_). There is not their equal on earth, and they are
ours, ours!
(_Unfortunately_ NANA _has come from the bathroom for a sponge and
she collides with his trousers, the first pair he has ever had with
braid on them_.)
MR. DARLING. Mary, it is too bad; just look at this; covered with
hairs. Clumsy, clumsy!
(NANA _goes, a drooping figure_.)
MRS. DARLING. Let me brush you, dear.
(_Once more she is successful. They are now by the fire, and_ MICHAEL
_is in bed doing idiotic things with a teddy bear_.)
MR. DARLING (_depressed_). I sometimes think, Mary, that it is a
mistake to have a dog for a nurse.
MRS. DARLING. George, Nana is a treasure.
MR. DARLING. No doubt; but I have an uneasy feeling at times that she
looks upon the children as puppies.
MRS. DARLING (_rather faintly_). Oh no, dear one, I am sure she knows
they have souls.
MR. DARLING (_profoundly_). I wonder, I wonder.
(_The opportunity has come for her to tell him of something that is
on her mind._)
MRS. DARLING. George, we must keep Nana. I will tell you why. (_Her
seriousness impresses him._) My dear, when I came into this room
to-night I saw a face at the window.
MR. DARLING (_incredulous_). A face at the window, three floors up?
Pooh!
MRS. DARLING. It was the face of a little boy; he was trying to get in.
George, this is not the first time I have seen that boy.
MR. DARLING (_beginning to think that this may be a man’s job_). Oho!
MRS. DARLING (_making sure that_ MICHAEL _does not hear_). The first
time was a week ago. It was Nana’s night out, and I had been drowsing
here by the fire when suddenly I felt a draught, as if the window were
open. I looked round and I saw that boy--in the room.
MR. DARLING. In the room?
MRS. DARLING. I screamed. Just then Nana came back and she at once
sprang at him. The boy leapt for the window. She pulled down the sash
quickly, but was too late to catch him.
MR. DARLING (_who knows he would not have been too late_). I thought so!
MRS. DARLING. Wait. The boy escaped, but his shadow had not time to get
out; down came the window and cut it clean off.
MR. DARLING (_heavily_). Mary, Mary, why didn’t you keep that shadow?
MRS. DARLING (_scoring_). I did. I rolled it up, George; and here it is.
(_She produces it from a drawer. They unroll and examine the flimsy
thing, which is not more material than a puff of smoke, and if let
go would probably float into the ceiling without discolouring it.
Yet it has human shape. As they nod their heads over it they present
the most satisfying picture on earth, two happy parents conspiring
cosily by the fire for the good of their children_.)
MR. DARLING. It is nobody I know, but he does look a scoundrel.
MRS. DARLING. I think he comes back to get his shadow, George.
MR. DARLING (_meaning that the miscreant has now a father to deal
with_). I dare say. (_He sees himself telling the story to the other
stools at the office._) There is money in this, my love. I shall take
it to the British Museum to-morrow and have it priced.
(_The shadow is rolled up and replaced in the drawer._)
MRS. DARLING (_like a guilty person_). George, I have not told you all;
I am afraid to.
MR. DARLING (_who knows exactly the right moment to treat a woman as a
beloved child_). Cowardy, cowardy custard.
MRS. DARLING (_pouting_). No, I’m not.
MR. DARLING. Oh yes, you are.
MRS. DARLING. George, I’m not.
MR. DARLING. Then why not tell? (_Thus cleverly soothed she goes on._)
MRS. DARLING. The boy was not alone that first time. He was accompanied
by--I don’t know how to describe it; by a ball of light, not as big as
my fist, but it darted about the room like a living thing.
MR. DARLING (_though open-minded_). That is very unusual. It escaped
with the boy?
MRS DARLING. Yes. (_Sliding her hand into his._) George, what can all
this mean?
MR. DARLING (_ever ready_). What indeed!
(_This intimate scene is broken by the return of_ NANA _with a bottle
in her mouth_.)
MRS. DARLING (_at once dissembling_). What is that, Nana? Ah, of
course; Michael, it is your medicine.
MICHAEL (_promptly_). Won’t take it.
MR. DARLING (_recalling his youth_). Be a man, Michael.
MICHAEL. Won’t.
MRS. DARLING (_weakly_). I’ll get you a lovely chocky to take after it.
(_She leaves the room, though her husband calls after her._)
MR. DARLING. Mary, don’t pamper him. When I was your age, Michael, I
took medicine without a murmur. I said ‘Thank you, kind parents, for
giving me bottles to make me well.’
(WENDY, _who has appeared in her nightgown, hears this and believes_.)
WENDY. That medicine you sometimes take is much nastier, isn’t it,
father?
MR. DARLING (_valuing her support_). Ever so must nastier. And as an
example to you, Michael, I would take it now (_thankfully_) if I hadn’t
lost the bottle.
WENDY (_always glad to be of service_). I know where it is, father.
I’ll fetch it.
(_She is gone before he can stop her. He turns for help to_ JOHN,
_who has come from the bathroom attired for bed_.)
MR. DARLING. John, it is the most beastly stuff. It is that sticky
sweet kind.
JOHN (_who is perhaps still playing at parents_). Never mind, father,
it will soon be over.
(_A spasm of ill-will to_ JOHN _cuts through_ MR. DARLING, _and is
gone_. WENDY _returns panting_.)
WENDY. Here it is, father; I have been as quick as I could.
MR. DARLING (_with a sarcasm that is completely thrown away on her_).
You have been wonderfully quick, precious quick!
(_He is now at the foot of_ MICHAEL’S _bed_, NANA _is by its side,
holding the medicine spoon insinuatingly in her mouth_.)
WENDY (_proudly, as she pours out_ MR. DARLING’S _medicine_). Michael,
now you will see how father takes it.
MR. DARLING (_hedging_). Michael first.
MICHAEL (_full of unworthy suspicions_). Father first.
MR. DARLING. It will make me sick, you know.
JOHN (_lightly_). Come on, father.
MR. DARLING. Hold your tongue, sir.
WENDY (_disturbed_). I thought you took it quite easily, father, saying
‘Thank you, kind parents, for----’
MR. DARLING. That is not the point; the point is that there is more in
my glass than in Michael’s spoon. It isn’t fair, I swear though it were
with my last breath, it is not fair.
MICHAEL (_coldly_). Father, I’m waiting.
MR. DARLING. It’s all very well to say you are waiting; so am I waiting.
MICHAEL. Father’s a cowardy custard.
MR. DARLING. So are you a cowardy custard.
(_They are now glaring at each other._)
MICHAEL. I am not frightened.
MR. DARLING. Neither am I frightened.
MICHAEL. Well, then, take it.
MR. DARLING. Well, then, you take it.
WENDY (_butting in again_). Why not take it at the same time?
MR. DARLING (_haughtily_). Certainly. Are you ready, Michael?
WENDY (_as nothing has happened_). One--two--three.
(MICHAEL _partakes, but_ MR. DARLING _resorts to hanky-panky_.)
JOHN. Father hasn’t taken his!
(MICHAEL _howls_.)
WENDY (_inexpressibly pained_). Oh father!
MR. DARLING (_who has been hiding the glass behind him_). What do you
mean by ‘oh father’? Stop that row, Michael. I meant to take mine but
I--missed it. (NANA _shakes her head sadly over him, and goes into
the bathroom. They are all looking as if they did not admire him, and
nothing so dashes a temperamental man._) I say, I have just thought
of a splendid joke. (_They brighten._) I shall pour my medicine
into Nana’s bowl, and she will drink it thinking it is milk! (_The
pleasantry does not appeal, but he prepares the joke, listening for
appreciation._)
WENDY. Poor darling Nana!
MR. DARLING. You silly little things; to your beds every one of you; I
am ashamed of you.
(_They steal to their beds as_ MRS. DARLING _returns with the
chocolate_.)
MRS. DARLING. Well, is it all over?
MICHAEL. Father didn’t----(_Father glares._)
MR. DARLING. All over, dear, quite satisfactorily. (NANA _comes back_.)
Nana, good dog, good girl; I have put a little milk into your bowl.
(_The bowl is by the kennel, and_ NANA _begins to lap, only begins. She
retreats into the kennel._)
MRS. DARLING. What is the matter, Nana?
MR. DARLING (_uneasily_). Nothing, nothing.
MRS. DARLING (_smelling the bowl_). George, it is your medicine!
(_The children break into lamentation. He gives his wife an
imploring look; he is begging for one smile, but does not get it. In
consequence he goes from bad to worse._)
MR. DARLING. It was only a joke. Much good my wearing myself to the
bone trying to be funny in this house.
WENDY (_on her knees by the kennel_). Father, Nana is crying.
MR. DARLING. Coddle her; nobody coddles me. Oh dear no. I am only the
bread-winner, why should I be coddled? Why, why, why?
MRS. DARLING. George, not so loud; the servants will hear you.
(_There is only one maid, absurdly small too, but they have got into
the way of calling her the servants._)
MR. DARLING (_defiant_). Let them hear me; bring in the whole world.
(_The desperate man, who has not been in fresh air for days, has now
lost all self-control._) I refuse to allow that dog to lord it in my
nursery for one hour longer. (NANA _supplicates him_.) In vain, in
vain, the proper place for you is the yard, and there you go to be tied
up this instant.
(NANA _again retreats into the kennel, and the children add their
prayers to hers_.)
MRS. DARLING (_who knows how contrite he will be for this presently_).
George, George, remember what I told you about that boy.
MR. DARLING. Am I master in this house or is she? (_To_ NANA
_fiercely_) Come along. (_He thunders at her, but she indicates that
she has reasons not worth troubling him with for remaining where she
is. He resorts to a false bonhomie._) There, there, did she think
he was angry with her, poor Nana? (_She wriggles a response in the
affirmative._) Good Nana, pretty Nana. (_She has seldom been called
pretty, and it has the old effect. She plays rub-a-dub with her paws,
which is how a dog blushes._) She will come to her kind master, won’t
she? won’t she? (_She advances, retreats, waggles her head, her tail,
and eventually goes to him. He seizes her collar in an iron grip and
amid the cries of his progeny drags her from the room. They listen,
for her remonstrances are not inaudible._)
MRS. DARLING. Be brave, my dears.
WENDY. He is chaining Nana up!
(_This unfortunately is what he is doing, though we cannot see
him. Let us hope that he then retires to his study, looks up the
word ‘temper’ in his_ Thesaurus, _and under the influence of those
benign pages becomes a better man. In the meantime the children have
been put to bed in unwonted silence, and_ MRS. DARLING _lights the
night-lights over the beds_.)
JOHN (_as the barking below goes on_). She is awfully unhappy.
WENDY. That is not Nana’s unhappy bark. That is her bark when she
smells danger.
MRS. DARLING (_remembering that boy_). Danger! Are you sure, Wendy?
WENDY (_the one of the family, for there is one in every family, who
can be trusted to know or not to know_). Oh yes.
(_Her mother looks this way and that from the window._)
JOHN. Is anything there?
MRS. DARLING. All quite quiet and still. Oh, how I wish I was not going
out to dinner to-night.
MICHAEL. Can anything harm us, mother, after the night-lights are lit?
MRS. DARLING. Nothing, precious. They are the eyes a mother leaves
behind her to guard her children.
(_Nevertheless we may be sure she means to tell_ LIZA, _the little
maid, to look in on them frequently till she comes home. She goes
from bed to bed, after her custom, tucking them in and crooning a
lullaby._)
MICHAEL (_drowsily_). Mother, I’m glad of you.
MRS. DARLING (_with a last look round, her hand on the switch_). Dear
night-lights that protect my sleeping babes, burn clear and steadfast
to-night.
(_The nursery darkens and she is gone, intentionally leaving the
door ajar. Something uncanny is going to happen, we expect, for a
quiver has passed through the room, just sufficient to touch the
night-lights. They blink three times one after the other and go out,
precisely as children (whom familiarity has made them resemble) fall
asleep. There is another light in the room now, no larger than_ MRS.
DARLING’S _fist, and in the time we have taken to say this it has
been into the drawers and wardrobe and searched pockets, as it darts
about looking for a certain shadow. Then the window is blown open,
probably by the smallest and therefore most mischievous star, and_
PETER PAN _flies into the room. In so far as he is dressed at all it
is in autumn leaves and cobwebs._)
PETER (_in a whisper_). Tinker Bell, Tink, are you there? (_A jug
lights up._) Oh, do come out of that jug. (TINK _flashes hither and
thither._) Do you know where they put it? (_The answer comes as of a
tinkle of bells; it is the fairy language._ PETER _can speak it, but
it bores him_.) Which big box? This one? But which drawer? Yes, do
show me. (TINK _pops into the drawer where the shadow is, but before_
PETER _can reach it_, WENDY _moves in her sleep. He flies onto the
mantelshelf as a hiding-place. Then, as she has not waked, he flutters
over the beds as an easy way to observe the occupants, closes the
window softly, wafts himself to the drawer and scatters its contents to
the floor, as kings on their wedding day toss ha’pence to the crowds.
In his joy at finding his shadow he forgets that he has shut up_ TINK
_in the drawer. He sits on the floor with the shadow, confident that he
and it will join like drops of water. Then he tries to stick it on with
soap from the bathroom, and this failing also, he subsides dejectedly
on the floor. This wakens_ WENDY, _who sits up, and is pleasantly
interested to see a stranger._)
WENDY (_courteously_). Boy, why are you crying?
(_He jumps up, and crossing to the foot of the bed bows to her in the
fairy way._ WENDY, _impressed, bows to him from the bed_.)
PETER. What is your name?
WENDY (_well satisfied_). Wendy Moira Angela Darling. What is yours?
PETER (_finding it lamentably brief_). Peter Pan.
WENDY. Is that all?
PETER (_biting his lip_). Yes.
WENDY (_politely_). I am so sorry.
PETER. It doesn’t matter.
WENDY. Where do you live?
PETER. Second to the right and then straight on till morning.
WENDY. What a funny address!
PETER. No, it isn’t.
WENDY. I mean, is that what they put on the letters?
PETER. Don’t get any letters.
WENDY. But your mother gets letters?
PETER. Don’t have a mother.
WENDY. Peter!
(_She leaps out of bed to put her arms round him, but he draws back;
he does not know why, but he knows he must draw back._)
PETER. You mustn’t touch me.
WENDY. Why?
PETER. No one must ever touch me.
WENDY. Why?
PETER. I don’t know.
(_He is never touched by any one in the play._)
WENDY. No wonder you were crying.
PETER. I wasn’t crying. But I can’t get my shadow to stick on.
WENDY. It has come off! How awful. (_Looking at the spot where he had
lain._) Peter, you have been trying to stick it on with soap!
PETER (_snappily_). Well then?
WENDY. It must be sewn on.
PETER. What is ‘sewn’?
WENDY. You are dreadfully ignorant.
PETER. No, I’m not.
WENDY. I will sew it on for you, my little man. But we must have more
light. (_She touches something, and to his astonishment the room is
illuminated._) Sit here. I dare say it will hurt a little.
PETER (_a recent remark of hers rankling_). I never cry. (_She seems to
attach the shadow. He tests the combination._) It isn’t quite itself
yet.
WENDY. Perhaps I should have ironed it. (_It awakes and is as glad to
be back with him as he to have it. He and his shadow dance together.
He is showing off now. He crows like a cock. He would fly in order to
impress_ WENDY _further if he knew that there is anything unusual in
that_.)
PETER. Wendy, look, look; oh the cleverness of me!
WENDY. You conceit; of course I did nothing!
PETER. You did a little.
WENDY (_wounded_). A little! If I am no use I can at least withdraw.
(_With one haughty leap she is again in bed with the sheet over her
face. Popping on to the end of the bed the artful one appeals._)
PETER. Wendy, don’t withdraw. I can’t help crowing, Wendy, when I’m
pleased with myself. Wendy, one girl is worth more than twenty boys.
WENDY (_peeping over the sheet_). You really think so, Peter?
PETER. Yes, I do.
WENDY. I think it’s perfectly sweet of you, and I shall get up again.
(_They sit together on the side of the bed._) I shall give you a kiss
if you like.
PETER. Thank you. (_He holds out his hand._)
WENDY (_aghast_). Don’t you know what a kiss is?
PETER. I shall know when you give it me. (_Not to hurt his feelings she
gives him her thimble._) Now shall I give you a kiss?
WENDY (_primly_). If you please. (_He pulls an acorn button off his
person and bestows it on her. She is shocked but considerate._) I will
wear it on this chain round my neck. Peter, how old are you?
PETER (_blithely_). I don’t know, but quite young, Wendy. I ran away
the day I was born.
WENDY. Ran away, why?
PETER. Because I heard father and mother talking of what I was to be
when I became a man. I want always to be a little boy and to have fun;
so I ran away to Kensington Gardens and lived a long time among the
fairies.
WENDY (_with great eyes_). You know fairies, Peter!
PETER (_surprised that this should be a recommendation_). Yes, but they
are nearly all dead now. (_Baldly_) You see, Wendy, when the first baby
laughed for the first time, the laugh broke into a thousand pieces and
they all went skipping about, and that was the beginning of fairies.
And now when every new baby is born its first laugh becomes a fairy. So
there ought to be one fairy for every boy or girl.
WENDY (_breathlessly_). Ought to be? Isn’t there?
PETER. Oh no. Children know such a lot now. Soon they don’t believe
in fairies, and every time a child says ‘I don’t believe in fairies’
there is a fairy somewhere that falls down dead. (_He skips about
heartlessly._)
WENDY. Poor things!
PETER (_to whom this statement recalls a forgotten friend_). I can’t
think where she has gone. Tinker Bell, Tink, where are you?
WENDY (_thrilling_). Peter, you don’t mean to tell me that there is a
fairy in this room!
PETER (_flitting about in search_). She came with me. You don’t hear
anything, do you?
WENDY. I hear--the only sound I hear is like a tinkle of bells.
PETER. That is the fairy language. I hear it too.
WENDY. It seems to come from over there.
PETER (_with shameless glee_). Wendy, I believe I shut her up in that
drawer!
(_He releases_ TINK, _who darts about in a fury using language it is
perhaps as well we don’t understand_.)
You needn’t say that; I’m very sorry, but how could I know you were in
the drawer?
WENDY (_her eyes dancing in pursuit of the delicious creature_). Oh,
Peter, if only she would stand still and let me see her!
PETER (_indifferently_). They hardly ever stand still.
(_To show that she can do even this_ TINK _pauses between two ticks
of the cuckoo clock_.)
WENDY. I see her, the lovely! where is she now?
PETER. She is behind the clock. Tink, this lady wishes you were her
fairy. (_The answer comes immediately._)
WENDY. What does she say?
PETER. She is not very polite. She says you are a great ugly girl, and
that she is my fairy. You know, Tink, you can’t be my fairy because I
am a gentleman and you are a lady.
(TINK _replies_.)
WENDY. What did she say?
PETER. She said ‘You silly ass.’ She is quite a common girl, you know.
She is called Tinker Bell because she mends the fairy pots and kettles.
(_They have reached a chair_, WENDY _in the ordinary way and_ PETER
_through a hole in the back_.)
WENDY. Where do you live now?
PETER. With the lost boys.
WENDY. Who are they?
PETER. They are the children who fall out of their prams when the nurse
is looking the other way. If they are not claimed in seven days they
are sent far away to the Never Land. I’m captain.
WENDY. What fun it must be.
PETER (_craftily_). Yes, but we are rather lonely. You see, Wendy, we
have no female companionship.
WENDY. Are none of the other children girls?
PETER. Oh no; girls, you know, are much too clever to fall out of their
prams.
WENDY. Peter, it is perfectly lovely the way you talk about girls. John
there just despises us.
(PETER, _for the first time, has a good look at_ JOHN. _He then
neatly tumbles him out of bed._)
You wicked! you are not captain here. (_She bends over her brother who
is prone on the floor._) After all he hasn’t wakened, and you meant to
be kind. (_Having now done her duty she forgets_ JOHN, _who blissfully
sleeps on._) Peter, you may give me a kiss.
PETER (_cynically_). I thought you would want it back.
(_He offers her the thimble._)
WENDY (_artfully_). Oh dear, I didn’t mean a kiss, Peter. I meant a
thimble.
PETER (_only half placated_). What is that?
WENDY. It is like this. (_She leans forward to give a demonstration,
but something prevents the meeting of their faces._)
PETER (_satisfied_). Now shall I give you a thimble?
WENDY. If you please. (_Before he can even draw near she screams._)
PETER. What is it?
WENDY. It was exactly as if some one were pulling my hair!
PETER. That must have been Tink. I never knew her so naughty before.
(TINK _speaks. She is in the jug again._)
WENDY. What does she say?
PETER. She says she will do that every time I give you a thimble.
WENDY. But why?
PETER (_equally nonplussed_). Why, Tink? (_He has to translate the
answer._) She said ‘You silly ass’ again.
WENDY. She is very impertinent. (_They are sitting on the floor now._)
Peter, why did you come to our nursery window?
PETER. To try to hear stories. None of us knows any stories.
WENDY. How perfectly awful!
PETER. Do you know why swallows build in the eaves of houses? It is to
listen to the stories. Wendy, your mother was telling you such a lovely
story.
WENDY. Which story was it?
PETER. About the prince, and he couldn’t find the lady who wore the
glass slipper.
WENDY. That was Cinderella. Peter, he found her and they were happy
ever after.
PETER. I am glad. (_They have worked their way along the floor close to
each other, but he now jumps up._)
WENDY. Where are you going?
PETER (_already on his way to the window_). To tell the other boys.
WENDY. Don’t go, Peter. I know lots of stories. The stories I could
tell to the boys!
PETER (_gleaming_). Come on! We’ll fly.
WENDY. Fly? You can fly!
(_How he would like to rip those stories out of her; he is dangerous
now._)
PETER. Wendy, come with me.
WENDY. Oh dear, I mustn’t. Think of mother. Besides, I can’t fly.
PETER. I’ll teach you.
WENDY. How lovely to fly!
PETER. I’ll teach you how to jump on the wind’s back and then away we
go. Wendy, when you are sleeping in your silly bed you might be flying
about with me, saying funny things to the stars. There are mermaids,
Wendy, with long tails. (_She just succeeds in remaining on the nursery
floor._) Wendy, how we should all respect you.
(_At this she strikes her colours._)
WENDY. Of course it’s awfully fas-cin-a-ting! Would you teach John and
Michael to fly too?
PETER (_indifferently_). If you like.
WENDY (_playing rum-tum on John_). John, wake up; there is a boy here
who is to teach us to fly.
JOHN. Is there? Then I shall get up. (_He raises his head from the
floor._) Hullo, I am up!
WENDY. Michael, open your eyes. This boy is to teach us to fly.
(_The sleepers are at once as awake as their father’s razor; but
before a question can be asked_ NANA’S _bark is heard_.)
JOHN. Out with the light, quick, hide!
(_When the maid_ LIZA, _who is so small that when she says she will
never see ten again one can scarcely believe her, enters with a
firm hand on the troubled_ NANA’S _chain the room is in comparative
darkness_.)
LIZA. There, you suspicious brute, they are perfectly safe, aren’t
they? Every one of the little angels sound asleep in bed. Listen to
their gentle breathing. (NANA’S _sense of smell here helps to her
undoing instead of hindering it. She knows that they are in the room._
MICHAEL, _who is behind the window curtain, is so encouraged by_ LIZA’S
_last remark that he breathes too loudly_. NANA _knows that kind of
breathing and tries to break from her keeper’s control_.) No more of
it, Nana. (_Wagging a finger at her_) I warn you if you bark again I
shall go straight for master and missus and bring them home from the
party, and then won’t master whip you just! Come along, you naughty dog.
(_The unhappy_ NANA _is led away. The children emerge exulting from
their various hiding-places. In their brief absence from the scene
strange things have been done to them; but it is not for us to reveal
a mysterious secret of the stage. They look just the same._)
JOHN. I say, can you really fly?
PETER. Look! (_He is now over their heads._)
WENDY. Oh, how sweet!
PETER. I’m sweet, oh, I am sweet!
(_It looks so easy that they try it first from the floor and then
from their beds, without encouraging results._)
JOHN (_rubbing his knees_). How do you do it?
PETER (_descending_). You just think lovely wonderful thoughts and they
lift you up in the air. (_He is off again._)
JOHN. You are so nippy at it; couldn’t you do it very slowly once?
(PETER _does it slowly_.) I’ve got it now, Wendy. (_He tries; no, he
has not got it, poor stay-at-home, though he knows the names of all the
counties in England and_ PETER _does not know one_.)
PETER. I must blow the fairy dust on you first. (_Fortunately his
garments are smeared with it and he blows some dust on each._) Now,
try; try from the bed. Just wriggle your shoulders this way, and then
let go.
(_The gallant_ MICHAEL _is the first to let go, and is borne across
the room_.)
MICHAEL (_with a yell that should have disturbed_ LIZA). I flewed!
(JOHN _lets go, and meets_ WENDY _near the bathroom door though they
had both aimed in an opposite direction_.)
WENDY. Oh, lovely!
JOHN (_tending to be upside down_). How ripping!
MICHAEL (_playing whack on a chair_). I do like it!
THE THREE. Look at me, look at me, look at me!
(_They are not nearly so elegant in the air as_ PETER, _but their
heads have bumped the ceiling, and there is nothing more delicious
than that_.)
JOHN (_who can even go backwards_). I say, why shouldn’t we go out?
PETER. There are pirates.
JOHN. Pirates! (_He grabs his tall Sunday hat._) Let us go at once!
(TINK _does not like it. She darts at their hair. From down below in
the street the lighted window must present an unwonted spectacle: the
shadows of children revolving in the room like a merry-go-round.
This is perhaps what_ MR. _and_ MRS. DARLING _see as they come
hurrying home from the party, brought by_ NANA _who, you may be sure,
has broken her chain._ PETER’S _accomplice, the little star, has seen
them coming, and again the window blows open_.)
PETER (_as if he had heard the star whisper_ Cave). Now come!
(_Breaking the circle he flies out of the window over the trees of
the square and over the house-tops, and the others follow like a
flight of birds. The broken-hearted father and mother arrive just
in time to get a nip from_ TINK _as she too sets out for the Never
Land_.)