1901–1904
‘That strange and terrible summer’ ended with the onset of September, and the Davieses set sail for London, Home and Wilkinson's—George to Wilkinson's for his second term, and the family to their new home at 23 Kensington Park Gardens, across the street from the smaller No. 31. Barrie stayed on at Black Lake for a few more weeks, working in the after-glow of his adventures with the boys, which he now turned to profitable account as further material for The Little White Bird and the castaway scenes in The Admirable Crichton. ‘We were the sole survivors of the ill-fated brig Anna Pink’ claimed George and Jack in the third photograph of The Boy Castaways; ‘I was the sole survivor of the ill-fated Anna Pink,’ contradicted Captain W— in Chapter 23 of The Little White Bird, while Ernest stretched the exploitation still further in the original draft of The Admirable Crichton by proclaiming: ‘Wrecked, wrecked, wrecked! … We are the sole survivors of Lord Loam's steam yacht Anna Pink.’
On the other side of the Atlantic, Charles Frohman was launching Maude Adams in her second Barrie role as Phoebe Throssel, the heroine of Quality Street. Barrie wrote to Frohman on October 29th, 1901, ‘to thank you most heartily for all the thought and care you have given to “Quality Street”. I see it has been immense—and Miss Adams for the wonderful things she seems to be doing with Phoebe. She is a marvel.’ The pleasure Barrie derived from his American success was somewhat marred by the death of his sister, Isabella—only two years older than himself. Sadder still was the demise of Porthos. After a summer of supreme exertions, the great hound gradually subsided into a state of lethargy. Mary Barrie later wrote, ‘When it became impossible to have him any longer about the house, he was sent to that humane institution, the Dogs' Home at Battersea, and in the lethal chamber he was put peacefully to sleep. Buried with him were … those first seven years of my married life.’1
Porthos at Black Lake: ‘The dog of a pirate had seen us’ (JMB)
At Christmas time, Barrie took the Davies boys to see a new production at the Vaudeville, Bluebell in Fairyland, which described itself as ‘A Musical Dream Play’ as distinct from a pantomime. The play starred Ellaline Terriss and her husband, Seymour Hicks, who had played opposite Mary Ansell in Barrie's first West End success, Walker, London. To the astonishment of most managers, Bluebell in Fairyland ran for nearly 300 performances, attracting a fanatical audience of children who saw the play again and again. The Davies boys were early enthusiasts, but the strongest impact was on Barrie. According to Denis Mackail, he ‘talked about it, thought about it, and acted bits of it in more than one nursery. … He was the crossing-sweeper—Hicks's part—he was Bluebell, the little flower-girl, and then, with special and overwhelming effect, he was the terrifying Sleepy King.’ He immediately started making notes for his own fairy play, though it would be many months before he found a peg on which to hang his ideas:
Ellaline Terriss in Bluebell in Fairyland
— Fairy Play Hero might be a poor boy of today with ordinary clothes, unhappy, &c, in Act 1.–Taken to Fairydom still in everyday clothes which are strange contrast to clothes worn by the people in fairydom—(à la Hans Xian Anderson)
— Fairy Play Characters might be carried thro' the air on sheets borne by birds.
— Fairy Play Alphabet biscuits, &c. George's anger—‘You ate them instead of leaving me the G's.’
— Fairy Play What children like best is imitation of real boys & girls (not so much comic incidents).
After four years of gestation, The Little White Bird was finally completed in the summer of 1902. The Peter Pan saga had begun life as a single chapter within the main narrative, but it now ran to over a hundred pages, forming an elaborate book-within-a-book. The overall work, however, was still directed at adults, and Captain W—'s relationship with the boy David remained the dominant theme. Barrie later claimed that both story and title had been Sylvia's idea: he tried to persuade her to write it, she declined, so he wrote it himself. At the end of the novel, the Captain presents David's mother with the completed manuscript, telling her it is all about her ‘little white bird’—the unborn child she has been expecting. When he asks for her opinion, she replies: ‘How wrong you are in thinking this book is about me and mine, it is really all about Timothy.’
With the finished manuscript at last in the hands of his publishers, Barrie was able to forge his links with Kensington Gardens still closer by moving from 133 Gloucester Road to a small Regency house in the Bayswater Road, Leinster Corner, overlooking the northern stretches of the Gardens. The move also brought him considerably closer to the Davies family, and within a few yards of George's private school in Orme Square. Mary Barrie set to work with another team of builders and decorators, redesigning the new house, while her husband took up residence in an old stable at the end of the garden, which had already been converted into his study. No sooner had he settled himself back at his desk than news came from Scotland that his father had died at the age of eighty-seven after being struck down by a horse and cart. The Barries travelled up to Kirriemuir to watch him laid to rest beside Margaret Ogilvy, then invited the other members of his father's household—Barrie's elder sister Sara and his uncle, Doctor Ogilvy—down to Black Lake after the funeral.
Leinster Corner
The gesture brought an oppressive layer of Scottish gloom to the holiday cottage. His relatives felt ill-at-ease amid the comparative luxury, while Barrie found their tepid company a far cry from the savage days of the previous Boy Castaways summer. He affected warm devotion towards his family when they were north of the border, but here at Black Lake they seemed singularly out of context, and when they announced their intention of returning to Kirriemuir, little pressure was put on them to stay. They were replaced by the Davies family, and the gloom immediately lifted. Barrie emerged from his shell, and the woods were alive once more to the war-cries of pirates and Indians, the lake again transformed into a South Seas lagoon. But the adventures this year were subject to frequent interruptions. Quality Street had begun rehearsal at the Vaudeville, with Barrie's latest heroine, Ellaline Terriss, in the lead. Her husband, Seymour Hicks, had been given the part of the hero, Valentine Brown, and was also directing the proceedings, which frequently met with the author's displeasure as Hicks had the irritating habit of adding extra lines of his own. Barrie would have preferred to have had Dion Boucicault in charge, but he was busily occupied down the road at the Duke of York's Theatre, preparing The Admirable Crichton for presentation.
George and Jack at Black Lake: ‘Deeper and deeper into those primeval forests’ (JMB)
Quality Street opened on September 17th, 1902, and gathered the same adulatory reviews as it had received in New York. Six weeks later, The Admirable Crichton opened at the Duke of York's. Its story of a butler who, when wrecked on a desert island with his aristocratic employers, becomes ruler by ‘natural selection’, was seized upon as having great social significance. ‘If ever a Problem Play was set before an audience The Admirable Crichton was one’, wrote H. M. Walbrook in his study of Barrie's plays. ‘No comedy of our time has set its beholders thinking so hard. In England and America, and even in Paris, it was hailed as one of the most penetrating dramatic social pamphlets of the day.’ One critic went so far as to compare the play with the writings of Rousseau which had prepared the way for the French Revolution, while William Archer, the great social critic of his time, questioned whether Barrie was aware of the immensity of his attack upon the constituted social order of Great Britain. Amid the controversy aroused by The Admirable Crichton, Messrs Hodder and Stoughton published The Little White Bird. It would be hard to conceive of two such seemingly disparate creations from the same author appearing before the public in the same week, yet The Times, in reviewing both works, inadvertently put its finger on the common factor. ‘The Admirable Crichton … is signed “Barrie” over and over again,’ observed A. B. Walkley in his 3,400-word review; ‘hold it up to the light and you see “Barrie” in the watermark. … It deals with Rousseau's perpetual subject, “the return to nature”. But it deals with that subject in a whimsical, pathetic, ironic, serious way which would have driven Rousseau crazy. Nevertheless it is as delightful a play as the English stage has produced in our generation.’ The following day The Times book critic wrote:
Gerald du Maurier as Ernest in The Admirable Crichton
‘The peculiar quality of THE LITTLE WHITE BIRD … is its J.-M.-Barrie-ness. Nobody else could have done it. … The book is all Barrie-ness; whimsical, sentimental, profound, ridiculous Barrie-ness; utterly impossible, yet absolutely real, a fairy tower built on the eternal truth. To say what happens in it is to stultify one's praise for one of the most charming books ever written. … To speak in sober earnest, this is one of the best things that Mr Barrie has written. From beginning to end it is a fantasy, of fairies, birds, old bachelors … pretty young wives and their children—but especially their children. If a book exists which contains more knowledge and more love of children, we do not know it. To the [narrator] the smallest details of his adored David, his braces and his behaviour in the bath, are not too trivial to dwell on. … In fine, here is an exquisite piece of work. To analyse its merits and defects … would be to vivisect a fairy. Mr Barrie has given us the best of himself, and we can think of no higher praise.’
Irene Vanbrugh and Muriel Beaumont in The Admirable Crichton. Muriel Beaumont married her fellow castaway Gerald du Maurier at the end of the run
The secrets of Kensington Gardens were now well and truly out of the bag, and although the critic had assumed the book to be a fantasy from beginning to end, others knew better. George suddenly found himself the centre of attention at Wilkinson's—as did Wilkinson, caricatured as the infamous Pilkington—but despite a certain amount of teasing for his belief in fairies, he remained both proud of and loyal to his participation in the story. George was also aware that the book was a colossal best-seller, and that colossal best-sellers earn colossal sums for their authors—and extra pocket-money for their collaborators. Encouraged by George, Barrie began to think again about his fairy play. He noted down an idea that was a minor variation on the ‘Wandering Child’ story in Tommy and Grizel:
‘The fairies of the Serpentine’ (Rackham)
— Play. ‘The Happy Boy’: Boy who can't grow up—runs away from pain & death—is caught wild. (End escapes)
— The Mother—treated from child's point of view—how mother scolds, wheedles, &c—children must be tickled by recognising truth of scenes.
— Peter [Davies]: ‘Mother, how did we get to know you?’
— Peter Pan.
— Peter in love—yet tragic horror of matrimony.
— Marriage of children—Peter wd attend in black.
— Cd ghost mother (L.W.B.) work into this?
Sylvia's contribution to The Little White Bird had been almost as large as her son's, and Barrie's immediate reward was to take her off to Paris on a celebration trip. Arthur stayed at home, going about his business at the Temple and looking after the boys. He wrote to his father at Kirkby Lonsdale:
Sylvia at Black Lake (JMB)
2, Garden Court, Temple, E.C.
Nov. 28, 1902.
Dearest Father,
I don't know what your arrangements are for Christmas, nor if you are likely to have the Vicarage very full. I should like to come, if possible, bringing one boy or perhaps two. It is just possible that Sylvia may be induced to come too, but that is not likely. …
Sylvia is at present on a trip to Paris with her friends the Barries, by way of celebration of the huge success of Barrie's new plays and new book. The party is completed by another novelist, [A.E.W.] Mason, and they seem to be living in great splendour and enjoying themselves very much. They left on Monday and return tomorrow. Barrie's new book, The Little White Bird, is largely taken up with Kensington Gardens and our and similar children. There is a whole chapter devoted to Peter.
I was at the large Encyclopaedia Britannica dinner last week. … Bell of Marlborough was there, and professed indignation at my reminiscence that the Bishop of London was superannuated in the Lower Fifth.
My work is moderately prosperous but no more. …
Your affect, son,
A.Ll.D.
A joint letter from Barrie to Peter and Michael
The reference to ‘a whole chapter devoted to Peter’ would seem to indicate that Arthur had only given the book a cursory glance, since the chapter to which he is referring is not about Peter, but his namesake, Peter Pan. Peter Davies observed in the Morgue:
‘“Her friends the Barries” is a suggestive phrase; the Davieses and Barries had known one another now for some five years. Was Arthur a little put out by Sylvia's visit to Paris? … I think it pretty clear that Arthur was a shade vexed and thought it all rather a bore. On the other hand, how Sylvia must have enjoyed it, and why not? Paris meant something to her, and nothing, I think, to Arthur. And Jimmy was, in his own odd way, an excellent Parisian and most delightful of hosts, and it would have been hard to imagine a more satisfactory addition than Alfred Mason, a new and devoted admirer and one of the most romantically minded men of that day who put all beautiful women on a pedestal, and a most attractive, amusing and romantic figure himself. … I have always, by the way, regarded [The Little White Bird] as being much more about George than about me. I can't say I like it, any more than, it would seem, Arthur did.’
A letter to Barrie from Jack, aged eight, who was staying with his grandmother, Emma du Maurier, at Ramsgate. Gerald du Maurier had married Muriel Beaumont on April 11th. Clare Mackail was the sister of Denis Mackail, Barrie's 1941 biographer
Barrie soon found that the success of The Little White Bird had a number of unfortunate side effects. His walks in Kensington Gardens were now frequently spoilt by individuals accosting him for further information on the whereabouts of fairies and Peter Pan; moreover his celebrated ‘love’ of children led certain mothers to assume that he would instantly rhapsodize over their offspring. Such presumption invariably invoked the weariest of sighs and a paralysing lift of the eyebrow which rendered many a parent nonplussed. Barrie was singularly selective in his choice of friends, both adult and otherwise, and resented attempts to thrust any young whippersnapper into the path of his affections.
Porthos had been dead for over a year, and Mary Barrie decided to invest in another dog for company: a black and white Newfoundland named Luath. ‘I became a child with him,’ she wrote in Dogs and Men. ‘We played ridiculous games together. … What races we ran in the Kensington Gardens! … Luath's proper place was the nursery. How happy he would have been if there had been one, full of gloriously noisy children!’ Luath's happiness was assured the following summer, when the Davies family spent their third annual holiday with the Barries at Black Lake. He stepped into Porthos's role, joining in the Castaway games with Barrie and the boys as his predecessor had done, ‘bringing hedgehogs to the hut in his mouth as offerings for our evening repasts’.2
Sylvia's friend Dolly Parry, now Dolly Ponsonby, had returned from Copenhagen with her husband, Arthur, and was living at near-by Shulbrede Priory in Hampshire:
‘Friday 21st Aug. 1903. Sylvia, the Barrys [sic], Peter & Michael came in a motor car from Farnham to tea. Jim Barry with a child clinging to each hand at once went & sat in the dining room chimney corner. … Sylvia beautiful & satisfying, loving the house & appealing to “Jimmy” about it, while I tried to make myself pleasant to Mrs Barry—commonplace, 2nd rate & admirable. It is a strange ménage. It was very charming to see Michael give his hand to Jimmy as they walked down the garden path together & into the field. His devotion & genius-like understanding of children is beautiful & touching beyond words as he has none himself.’
Sylvia was now expecting her fifth child, and when Barrie returned to London at the end of August to begin rehearsals for his new play, Little Mary, the Davieses moved on to Rustington. Dolly Ponsonby's diary records a day spent on her father's yacht:
‘Sylvia looking divine, … her beautiful sons more glorious than ever, … splendidly full of courage and hope, swarming up the rigging like monkeys, and George, with the assistance of ropes, bathing off the boat though unable to swim.’
Sylvia (JMB)
On another occasion the Ponsonbys motored over for dinner. Before going into the house, Dolly paused in the road to observe Arthur and Sylvia through the window:
‘The picture of them from the road through the open lamp-lit cottage window was the loveliest I ever saw. Arthur reading, with his Greek-coin profile, and Sylvia with her beautifully poised head and Empire hair, sewing in a gown of white and silver.’
Jack (JMB)
Little Mary opened at Wyndham's Theatre on September 24th, 1903, and despite its ‘rather silly’ plot (as The Times commented) ran for over 200 performances. As usual, it contained a sprinkling of lines contributed by the boys, including a remark from Jack. When stuffing himself with cakes at tea, Sylvia had warned him, ‘You'll be sick tomorrow.’ ‘I'll be sick tonight,’ replied Jack cheerily, and went on stuffing. Barrie utilized the line, but when Jack heard it being used on stage, he felt his contribution entitled him to a share of the spoils. Barrie agreed to pay him a halfpenny a night during the run of the play, and drew up a document setting out the terms of their transaction:
Barrie's Agreement with Jack
Jack's contribution to Little Mary netted him a grand total of 8s. 8d., which caused a good deal of jealousy among his brothers. Barrie later wrote of them, ‘You watched for my next play with peeled eyes, not for entertainment but lest it contained some chance witticism of yours that could be challenged as collaboration.’3
The first 22 of Barrie's 500-plus notes for Peter Pan, headed Fairy, which were long believed lost (see Roger Lancelyn Green's Fifty Years of Peter Pan). They have now been transcribed in full, and can be found at www.jmbarrie.co.uk
The boys did not have to wait long. On November 23rd, 1903, the day before the birth of Sylvia's fifth child, Barrie commenced work on the play that was to become Peter Pan, at present simply entitled ‘Anon. A Play’. The opening scene, ‘The Night Nursery of the Darling Family’, in which Wendy and her two brothers play at Mothers and Fathers, bore a strong resemblance to a similar scene taking place at 23 Kensington Park Gardens, where doctors were standing by to deliver Sylvia's child. Mary Hodgson later wrote an account of ‘The Night that Heralded Your Arrival’ for the benefit of that child:
Opening page of the play that was to become Peter Pan, entitled ‘Anon: A Play’ and dated November 23rd 1903 – the eve of Nico's birth
‘Your father with a grim set face thought “Bed Time” might be earlier—… And one by one he took the four in turns to bid “Good Night”—somewhat disappointed. As G remarked “Why is father in a hurry?” … Quick on the spot—“Mother's got a Headache & isn't very well!” The hours dragged on & heavier grew your Father's step upon the stair. … Drs Bott & Rendell—up & down and restless as time wore on. No comfort to your father—outwardly the calmest of the three. At Dawn you came——How welcome, who shall say? Your father wan & weary to the Night Nursery came, announcing in glad tones—“This is a great day. I have a fifth son—and you a little brother.”’4
Sylvia and her fifth son, Nicholas, soon nick-named Nico (or Nik-o)
It was mooted among the family that the new baby might be named Timothy, possibly at Sylvia's instigation. Arthur, not unnaturally, appears to have favoured other names (any name, one would imagine, but Timothy), and within two days of the birth he was writing to his sister Margaret suggesting Nicholas as a possibility:
2 Garden Court Temple.
Nov 26, 1903.
Dear Margaret,
Many thanks for your letter. Both Sylvia and the infant (Nicholas???) are doing very well, though S. will require great care for some time. We are much gratified by the size, vigour, maturity & unbaldness of the infant. He weighed 11 lb 3 oz at birth, a very unusual weight, & in face reminds us of the early George. George says he is not exactly pretty but looks agreeable & sensible. Michael gazes at him with wide eyes & Peter makes inarticulate noises at him. …
Yours affectly,
A.Ll.D.
Sylvia conceded the name Nicholas for her fifth son, who, like Peter and Michael, was not christened. She also began to yield to another of Arthur's wishes: a cherished ambition to move from London to the country. She wrote to Dolly Ponsonby in early January 1904:
Peter and Nico
Beloved Dolly,
… My Nicholas is a dear creature, so fat & well—& very like George was at first—however they seem to alter every day. I am stronger now & longing to get up. Five sons, Dolly, think of it! We are thinking of living in the country now there are so many to bring up—perhaps at Berkhamsted which has a very good school & near my sister Trixie & not too far from London. We have heard of a nice old house, but of course we can settle nothing till I am well enough to look about. … We often talk about you, you dear pretty Dolly. Write soon as I so enjoy hearing from you.
Your Sylvia.
Five boys and a resident staff of four made living at 23 Kensington Park Gardens a tight fit. Arthur's years of steady toil at the Bar had begun to pay their reward, but larger houses in London were beyond his means; moreover the prospect of educating five boys at boarding school was a formidable financial undertaking, even in those days. The ‘nice old house’ in Berkhamsted High Street—Egerton House—seemed to solve all problems. It was close to the station, which would allow Arthur to commute every day to London; it was large enough to accommodate an ever-expanding household; it had an excellent day school within walking distance of the house; it would provide the growing boys with clean country air; and it was twenty-five miles from J. M. Barrie's doorstep.
Nico