Mary Poppins--the Complete Collection

by P. L. Travers

  “Step along, everybody! Don’t miss the Golden Bull and the Comical Clown! World-Famous Troupe of Performing Constellations! Once seen never forgotten! Push aside the curtain and walk in!”

  Again the voice sounded close beside them. Jane put out her hand. To her surprise she found that what seemed a plain and starless patch of sky was really a thick, dark curtain. She pressed against it and felt it yield, then gathered up a fold of it and, pulling Michael after her, pushed the curtain aside.

  A bright flare of light dazzled them for a moment.

  When they could see again they found themselves standing at the edge of a ring of shining sand. The great blue curtain enfolded the ring on all sides and was drawn up to a point above as though it were a tent.

  “Now, then! Do you know you were almost too late? Got your tickets?”

  They turned. Beside them, his bright feet gleaming in the sand, stood a strange and gigantic figure. He looked like a hunter, for a starry leopard-skin was slung across his shoulders, and from his belt, decorated with three large stars, hung down a shining sword.

  “Tickets, please!” He held out his hand.

  “I’m afraid we haven’t got any. You see, we didn’t know—” began Jane.

  “Dear, dear, how careless! Can’t let you in without a ticket, you know. But what’s that in your hands?”

  Jane held out the golden spark.

  “Well, if that isn’t a ticket, I’d like to know what is!” He pressed the spark between his three large stars. “Another shiner for Orion’s belt!” he remarked pleasantly.

  “Is that who you are?” said Jane, staring at him.

  “Of course – didn’t you know? But – excuse me, I must attend to the door. Move along, please!”

  The children, feeling rather shy, moved on hand in hand. Tier on tier of seats rose up at one side of them and at the other a golden cord separated them from the ring. And the ring itself was crowded with the strangest collection of animals, all shining bright as gold. A Horse with great gold Wings pranced by on glittering hooves. A golden Fish threshed up the dust of the ring with its fin. Three Little Kids were rushing wildly about on two legs instead of four. And it seemed to Jane and Michael, as they looked closer, that all these animals were made of stars. The wings of the Horse were of stars, not feathers; the Three Kids had stars on their noses and tails, and the Fish was covered with shining, starry scales.

  “Good evening!” it remarked, bowing politely to Jane as it threshed by. “Fine night for the performance!”

  But before Jane could reply it had hurried past.

  “How very strange!” said she. “I’ve never seen animals like this before!”

  “Why should it be strange?” said a voice behind them.

  Two children, both boys a little older than Jane, stood there smiling. They were dressed in shining tunics and their peaked caps had each a star for a pom-pom.

  “I beg your pardon,” said Jane politely. “But, you see, we’re used to – er – fur and feathers, and these animals seem to be made of stars.”

  “But, of course they are!” said the first boy, opening his eyes very wide. “What else could they be made of? They’re the Constellations!”

  “But even the saw-dust is gold. . .” began Michael.

  The second boy laughed. “Star-dust, you mean! Haven’t you been to a Circus before?”

  “Not this kind.”

  “All circuses are alike,” said the first boy. “Our animals are brighter, that’s all.”

  “But who are you?” demanded Michael.

  “The Twins. He’s Pollux and I’m Castor. We’re always together.”

  “Like the Siamese Twins?”

  “Yes. But more so. The Siamese Twins are only joined in body, but we have a single heart and mind between us. We can think each other’s thoughts and dream each other’s dreams. But we mustn’t stay here talking. We’ve got to get ready – see you later! “And the Twins ran off and disappeared through a curtained exit.

  “Hullo!” said a gloomy voice from inside the ring. “I suppose you don’t happen to have a Currant Bun in your pocket?”

  A Dragon with two large finny tails lumbered towards them, breathing steam from its nostrils.

  “I’m sorry, we haven’t,” said Jane.

  “Not a biscuit or two?” said the Dragon eagerly.

  They shook their heads.

  “I thought not,” he grumbled, dropping a golden tear. “It’s always the way on Circus nights. I don’t get fed till after the performance. On ordinary occasions I have a beautiful maiden for supper.”

  Jane drew back quietly, pulling Michael with her.

  “Oh, don’t be alarmed!” the Dragon went on reassuringly. “You’d be much too small. Besides, you’re human and therefore tasteless. They keep me hungry,” he explained, “so that I shall do my tricks better. But after the show. . .” A greedy light came into his eyes and he shuffled away, lolling out his tongue and saying “Yum-yum” in a soft, greedy, hissing voice.

  “I’m glad we’re only human,” said Jane, turning to Michael. “It would be dreadful to be eaten by a Dragon!”

  But Michael had hurried on ahead and was talking eagerly to the Three Little Kids.

  “How does it go?” he was asking, as Jane caught up with him.

  And the Eldest Kid, which apparently had offered to recite, cleared his throat, and began:

  “Horn and toe,

  Toe and horn—”

  “Now, Kids!” Orion’s voice interrupted loudly. “You can say your piece when the time comes. Get ready now, we’re going to begin! Follow me, please!” he said to the children.

  They trotted obediently after the gleaming figure, and as they went the golden animals turned to stare at them. They heard snatches of whispered conversation as they passed.

  “Who’s that?” said a starry Bull, as it stopped pawing the star-dust to gaze at them. And a Lion turned and whispered something into the Bull’s ear. They caught the words “Banks” and “Evening Out”, but heard no more than that.

  But now every seat on every tier was filled with a shining, starry figure. Only three empty seats remained, and to these Orion led the children.

  “Here you are! We kept these for you. Just under the Royal Box. You’ll see perfectly. Look! they’re just beginning!”

  And, turning, Jane and Michael saw that the ring was empty. The animals had hurried out while they had been climbing to their seats. The children unbuttoned their overcoats and leant forward excitedly.

  From somewhere came a fanfare of trumpets. A blast of music echoed through the tent, and above the sound could be heard a high, sweet neighing.

  “The comets!” said Orion, sitting down beside Michael.

  A wild, nodding head appeared at the entrance, and one by one nine comets galloped into the ring, their manes braided with gold, and silver plumes on their heads.

  Suddenly the music rose to a great roar of sound, and with one movement the comets dropped upon their knees and bowed their heads. A warm gust of air came wafting across the ring.

  “How hot it’s getting!” cried Jane.

  “Hush! He’s coming!” cried Orion.

  “Who?” whispered Michael.

  “The Ring-Master!”

  Orion nodded to the far entrance. A light shone there, eclipsing the light of the constellations. It grew steadily brighter.

  “Here he is!” Orion’s voice had a curious softness in it.

  And as he spoke there appeared between the curtains a towering, golden figure with flaming curls upon his head and a wide, radiant face. And with him came a great swell of warmth that lapped the ring and spread out in ever-widening circles until it surrounded Jane and Michael and Orion. Half-consciously, made dreamy by that warmth, the children slipped off their overcoats.

  Orion sprang to his feet holding his right hand above his head.

  “Hail, Sun, hail!” he cried. And, from the stars in the tiered seats, the cry came echoing:

&nbs
p; “Hail!”

  The Sun glanced round the wide dark-tented ring and, in answer to the greeting, swung his long gold whip three times about his head. As the lash turned in the air there was a quick, sharp crack. At once the comets sprang up and cantered out, their braided tails swinging wildly, their plumed heads high and erect.

  “Here we are again, here we are again!” cried a loud, hoarse voice. And bouncing into the ring came a comical figure with silver-painted face, wide red mouth and huge silvery frills about his neck.

  “Saturn – the Clown!” whispered Orion behind his hand to the children.

  “When is a Door not a Door?” demanded the Clown of the audience, turning over and standing on one hand.

  “When it’s ajar!” answered Jane and Michael loudly.

  A disappointed look came over the Clown’s face.

  “Oh, you know it!” he said reproachfully. “That’s not fair!”

  The Sun cracked his whip.

  “All right, all right!” said the Clown. “I’ve got another. Why does a Hen cross the Road?” he asked, sitting down with a bump on the star-dust.

  “To get to the other side!” cried Jane and Michael together.

  The swinging whip caught the Clown round the knees.

  “O-o-h! Don’t do that! You’ll hurt poor Joey. Look at them laughing up there! But I’ll fix them. Listen!”

  He turned a double somersault in the air.

  “What kind of jam did the Chicken ask for when it came out of the Egg? Tell me that!”

  “Mar – me – lade!” yelled Michael and Jane.

  “Be off with you!” cried the Sun, catching his whip about the Clown’s shoulders; and the Clown went bounding round the ring, head over heals, crying:

  “Poor old Joey! He’s failed again! They know all his best jokes, poor old fellow, poor old – oh, beg pardon, Miss, beg pardon.”

  He broke off, for he had somersaulted against Pegasus, the Winged Horse, as it entered carrying a bright, spangly figure on its back.

  “Venus, the Evening Star,” explained Orion.

  Breathlessly, Jane and Michael watched the starry figure ride lightly through the ring. Round and round she went, bowing to the Sun as she passed, and presently the Sun, standing in her path, held up a great hoop covered with thin, gold paper.

  She balanced on her toes for a moment. “Hup!” said the Sun. And Venus, with the utmost grace, jumped through the hoop and landed again on the back of Pegasus.

  “Hurrah!” cried Jane and Michael; and the audience of stars echoed back “Hurrah!”

  “Let me try! Let poor Joey have a go, just a little one to make a cat laugh!” cried the Clown. But Venus only tossed her head and laughed and rode out of the ring.

  She had hardly disappeared before the Three Kids came prancing in, looking rather shy and bowing awkwardly to the Sun. Then they stood on their hind legs in a row before him, and, in high, thin voices, recited the following song:

  “Horn and hoof,

  Hoof and horn,

  Every night

  Three Kids are born,

  Each with a Twinkly Nose,

  Each with a Twinkly Tail.

  Blue and black,

  Black and blue

  Is the evening sky

  As the Kids come through,

  Each with a Twinkly Nose,

  Each with a Twinkly Tail.

  Gay and bright

  And white as May

  The Three Kids drink

  At the Milky Way,

  Each with a Twinkly Nose,

  Each with a Twinkly Tail.

  All night long

  From Dusk till Dawn

  The Three Kids graze

  On the starry lawn,

  Each with a Twinkly Nose,

  Each with a twink-ker-ly T-a-i-l!”

  They drew out the last line with a long baa-ing sound and danced out.

  “What’s next?” asked Michael. But there was no need for Orion to reply, for the Dragon was already in the ring, his nostrils steaming and his two finny tails tossing up the star-dust.

  After him came Castor and Pollux, carrying between them a large, white, shining globe faintly figured with a design of mountains and rivers.

  “It looks like the Moon!” said Jane.

  “Of course it’s the Moon!” said Orion.

  The Dragon was now on its hind legs and the Twins were balancing the Moon on his nose. It bobbed up and down uncertainly for a moment. Then it settled, and the Dragon began to waltz. Round he went, very carefully and steadily, once, twice, three times.

  “That will do!” said the Sun, cracking his whip. And the Dragon, with a sigh of relief, shook its head and sent the Moon flying across the ring. It landed, with a bumpy thud, right in Michael’s lap.

  “Good gracious!” said he, very startled. “What shall I do with this?”

  “Whatever you like,” said Orion. “I thought you asked for it.”

  And suddenly Michael remembered his conversation that evening with Mary Poppins. He had asked for the Moon then and now he had got it. And he didn’t know what to do with it. How very awkward!

  But he had no time to worry about it, for the Sun was cracking his whip again. Michael settled the Moon on his knee, folded his arms around it and turned back to the ring.

  “What are two and three?” the Sun was asking the Dragon.

  The two tails lashed five times on the star-dust.

  “And six and four?”The Dragon thought for a minute. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine— The tails stopped.

  “Wrong!” said the Sun. “Quite wrong! No supper for you tonight!”

  At that the Dragon burst into tears and hurried from the ring sobbing.

  “Alas and alack,

  Boo-hoo, boo-hoo!”

  he cried bitterly.

  “I wanted a Maiden

  Served in a stew,

  A succulent, seasoned, tasty girl

  With a star for her eye

  And a comet for curl,

  And I wouldn’t have minded if there’d been two,

  For I’m awfully hungry.

  Boo-hoo!

  Boo-hoo!”

  “Won’t they give him even a small maiden?” said Michael, feeling rather sorry for the Dragon.

  “Hush!” said Orion, as a dazzling form sprang into the ring.

  When the cloud of star-dust had cleared away, the children drew back, startled. It was the Lion, and he was growling fiercely.

  Michael moved a little closer to Jane.

  The Lion, crouching, moved forward slowly till he reached the Sun. His long, red tongue went out, lolling dangerously. But the Sun only laughed, and, lifting his foot, he gently kicked the Lion’s golden nose. With a roar, as though he had been burnt, the starry beast sprang up.

  The Sun’s whip cracked fiercely on the air. Slowly, unwillingly, growling in his throat, the Lion rose on his hind legs. The Sun tossed him a skipping-rope and, holding it between his forepaws, the Lion began to sing:

  “I am the Lion, Leo-the-Lion,

  The beautiful, suitable, Dandy Lion.

  Look for me up in the starry sky on

  Clear, cold nights at the foot of Orion,

  Glimmering, glittering, gleaming there,

  The Handsomest Sight in the atmosphere!”

  And at the end of the song he swung the rope and skipped round the ring, rolling his eyes and growling horribly.

  “Hurry up, Leo, it’s our turn!” A rumbling voice sounded from behind the curtains.

  “Come on, you big cat!” a shrill voice added.

  The Lion dropped his skipping-rope and, with a roar, sprang at the curtain, but the two creatures who entered next stepped carefully aside so that the Lion missed them.

  “Great Bear and Little Bear!” said Orion.

  Slowly the two Bears lumbered in, holding paws and waltzing to slow music. Round the ring they went, looking very serious and solemn, and at the end of their dance they made a clumsy curtsey to
the audience and remarked:

  “We’re the Gruffly Bear and the Squeaky Bear,

  O Constellations, has anyone here

  A Honeycomb-Square that they can spare

  For the Squeaky Bear and the Gruffly Bear

  To add to the store in their dark blue lair

  Or to –

  or to –

  or to—”

  The Great Bear and the Little Bear stammered and stumbled and looked at each other.

  “Don’t you remember what comes next?” rumbled the Gruffly Bear behind his paw.

  “No, I don’t!” The Squeaky Bear shook his head and stared anxiously down at the star-dust as though he thought the missing words might be there.

  But at that moment the audience saved the situation. A shower of Honeycombs came hurtling down, tumbling about the ears of the two Bears. The Gruffly Bear and the Squeaky Bear, looking very relieved, stooped and picked them up.

  “Good!” rumbled the Great Bear, digging his nose into a comb.

  “Ex-cellent!” squeaked the Little Bear, trying another. Then, with their noses streaming with honey, they bowed solemnly to the Sun and lumbered out.

  The Sun waved his hand and the music rang triumphantly through the tent.

  “The signal for the Big Parade,” said Orion, as Castor and Pollux came dancing in with all the Constellations at their heels.

  The Bears came back, waltzing clumsily together; and Leo-the-Lion, still growling angrily, came sniffing at their heels. In swept a starry Swan, singing a high, clear chant.

  “The Swan Song,” said Orion.

  And after the Swan came the Golden Fish, leading the Three Kids by a silver string, and the Dragon followed, still sobbing bitterly. A loud and terrible sound almost drowned the music. It was the bellowing of Taurus-the-Bull, as he leapt into the ring, trying to toss Saturn the Clown from his back. One after another the creatures came rushing in to take their places. The ring was a swaying mass of golden horns and hooves and manes and tails.

  “Is this the end?” Jane whispered.

  “Almost,” replied Orion. “They’re finishing early tonight. She has to be in by half-past ten.”

  “Who has?” asked both the children together. But Orion did not hear. He was standing up in his seat waving his arm.

  “Come along, be quick there, step along!” he called.