"I showed her a bowl of white roses and I said, 'I'm going to make a flower for you," he said. "And she didn't quite get it. She thought I was putting her on. But I think, as you drive around the city, it's kind of a flower. I hope it is, for her."The hall has floral carpets and a fountain made of Delft china in the shape of a rose in her honour. The Los Angeles Philharmonic was previously resident at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion but the acoustics there meant much of the sound was swallowed, forcing musicians to play more loudly. "In the new hall, a normal Los Angeles music lover will have the first opportunity to hear what the orchestra really sounds like, and I think they will be pretty astonished," said conductor Esa-Pekka Salonen. The opening concert was put together to showcase what the concert hall acoustics have to offer, from solo recitals to the full symphony orchestra. Guests attended a $1,500-per-head dinner before taking their seats in the hall.

Voyeur's paradise

The inaugural concert featured music by composers Bach, Mozart, Gabrielli, Stravinsky and Ligeti by the Los Angeles Philharmonic. The new concert hall will become the orchestra's permanent home. The concert hall is seen as the US city's chance to increase its cultural profile away from just movie-making. Supporters hope the multi-million venue will become an icon for the city, in much the same way as Gehry's Guggenheim museum for Bilbao and Spain. Gehry said he was proud of his new building, whose acoustics had been designed by Japanese acoustic expert Yasuhisa Toyota. "It's a voyeur's paradise," Gehry said of the building. "Not only can you hear everything in it, you can see everybody and watch other people, which is something we like to do." The idea for a dedicated concert hall in LA was put forward by Walt Disney's late widow Lillian, who initially donated $50m to the project because of her husband's love of classical music. Gehry said he took Lillian's love of flowers as his inspiration for the building.

Disney Concert Hall Finally Opens

The $276m Walt Disney Concert Hall in Los Angeles has hosted its first concert


Beset by delays, the gala event marked the opening of the hall, which celebrated architect Frank Gehry was commissioned to design 15 years ago. Warren Beatty, Sydney Poitier and Liza Minnelli were among the Hollywood stars attending the event last Thursday. But some protesters outside complained of a conspicuous display of inequality, pointing to the nearby poverty of Skid Row.

Of course in the end Wendy let them fly away together. Our
last glimpse of her shows her at the window, watching them
receding into the sky until they were as small as stars.

As you look at Wendy, you may see her hair becoming white, and
her figure little again, for all this happened long ago. Jane is
now a common grown-up, with a daughter called Margaret; and every
spring cleaning time, except when he forgets, Peter comes for
Margaret and takes her to the Neverland, where she tells him
stories about himself, to which he listens eagerly. When
Margaret grows up she will have a daughter, who is to be Peter's
mother in turn; and thus it will go on, so long as children are
gay and innocent and heartless.

"Yes, I know."

"I came back for my mother," he explained, "to take her to the
Neverland."

"Yes, I know," Jane said, "I have been waiting for you."

When Wendy returned diffidently she found Peter sitting on the
bed-post crowing gloriously, while Jane in her nighty was flying
round the room in solemn ecstasy.

"She is my mother," Peter explained; and Jane descended and
stood by his side, with the look in her face that he liked to see
on ladies when they gazed at him.

"He does so need a mother," Jane said.

"Yes, I know." Wendy admitted rather forlornly; "no one knows
it so well as I."

"Good-bye," said Peter to Wendy; and he rose in the air, and
the shameless Jane rose with him; it was already her easiest way
of moving about.

Wendy rushed to the window.

"No, no," she cried.

"It is just for spring cleaning time," Jane said, "he wants me
always to do his spring cleaning."

"If only I could go with you," Wendy sighed.

"You see you can't fly," said Jane.

"I am old, Peter. I am ever so much more than twenty. I grew
up long ago."

"You promised not to!"

"I couldn't help it. I am a married woman, Peter."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, and the little girl in the bed is my baby."

"No, she's not."

But he supposed she was; and he took a step towards the
sleeping child with his dagger upraised. Of course he did not
strike. He sat down on the floor instead and sobbed; and Wendy
did not know how to comfort him, though she could have done it so
easily once. She was only a woman now, and she ran out of the
room to try to think.

Peter continued to cry, and soon his sobs woke Jane. She sat
up in bed, and was interested at once.

"Boy," she said, "why are you crying?"

Peter rose and bowed to her, and she bowed to him from the bed.

"Hullo," he said.

"Hullo," said Jane.

"My name is Peter Pan," he told her.

"Girl."

Now surely he would understand; but not a bit of it.

"Peter," she said, faltering, "are you expecting me to fly away
with you?"

"Of course; that is why I have come." He added a little
sternly, "Have you forgotten that this is spring cleaning time?"

She knew it was useless to say that he had let many spring
cleaning times pass.

"I can't come," she said apologetically, "I have forgotten how
to fly."

"I'll soon teach you again."

"O Peter, don't waste the fairy dust on me."

She had risen; and now at last a fear assailed him. "What is
it?" he cried, shrinking.

"I will turn up the light," she said, "and then you can see for
yourself."

For almost the only time in his life that I know of, Peter was
afraid. "Don't turn up the light," he cried.

She let her hands play in the hair of the tragic boy. She was
not a little girl heart-broken about him; she was a grown woman
smiling at it all, but they were wet eyed smiles.

Then she turned up the light, and Peter saw. He gave a cry of
pain; and when the tall beautiful creature stooped to lift him in
her arms he drew back sharply.

"What is it?" he cried again.

She had to tell him.

"Lucky you," said Jane.

And then one night came the tragedy. It was the spring of the
year, and the story had been told for the night, and Jane was now
asleep in her bed. Wendy was sitting on the floor, very close to
the fire, so as to see to darn, for there was no other light in
the nursery; and while she sat darning she heard a crow. Then
the window blew open as of old, and Peter dropped in on the
floor.

He was exactly the same as ever, and Wendy saw at once that he
still had all his first teeth.

He was a little boy, and she was grown up. She huddled by the
fire not daring to move, helpless and guilty, a big woman.

"Hullo, Wendy," he said, not noticing any difference, for he
was thinking chiefly of himself; and in the dim light her white
dress might have been the nightgown in which he had seen her
first.

"Hullo, Peter," she replied faintly, squeezing herself as small
as possible. Something inside her was crying Woman, Woman, let
go of me."

"Hullo, where is John?" he asked, suddenly missing the third
bed.

"John is not here now," she gasped.

"Is Michael asleep?" he asked, with a careless glance at Jane.

"Yes," she answered; and now she felt that she was untrue to
Jane as well as to Peter.

"That is not Michael," she said quickly, lest a judgment should
fall on her.

Peter looked. "Hullo, is it a new one?"

"Yes."

"Boy or girl?"

"The last thing he ever said to me was, `Just always be
waiting for me, and then some night you will hear me crowing.'"

"Yes,"

"But, alas, he forgot all about me," Wendy said it with a
smile. She was as grown up as that.

"What did his crow sound like?" Jane asked one evening.

"It was like this," Wendy said, trying to imitate Peter's crow.

"No, it wasn't," Jane said gravely, "it was like this"; and she
did it ever so much better than her mother.

Wendy was a little startled. "My darling, how can you know?"

"I often hear it when I am sleeping," Jane said.

"Ah yes, many girls hear it when they are sleeping, but I was
the only one who heard it awake."

"Why do they forget the way?"

"Because they are longer gay and innocent and heartless. It is
only the gay and innocent and heartless who can fly."

"What is gay and innocent and heartless? I do wish I were gay
and innocent and heartless."

Or perhaps Wendy admits she does see something.

"I do believe," she says, "that it is this nursery."

"I do believe it is," says Jane. "Go on."

They are now embarked on the great adventure of the night when
Peter flew in looking for his shadow.

"The foolish fellow," says Wendy, "tried to stick it on with
soap, and when he could not he cried, and that woke me, and I
sewed it on for him."

"You have missed a bit," interrupts Jane, who now knows the
story better than her mother. "When you saw him sitting on the
floor crying, what did you say?"

"I sat up in bed and I said, `Boy, why are you crying?'"

"Yes, that was it," says Jane, with a big breath.

"And then he flew us all away to the Neverland and the fairies
and the pirates and the redskins and the mermaid's lagoon, and
the home under the ground, and the little house."

"Yes! which did you like best of all?"

"I think I liked the home under the ground best of all."

"Yes, so do I. What was the last thing Peter ever said to
you?"

Once a week Jane's nurse had her evening off; and then it was
Wendy's part to put Jane to bed. That was the time for stories.
It was Jane's invention to raise the sheet over her mother's head
and her own, this making a tent, and in the awful darkness to
whisper:

"What do we see now?"

"I don't think I see anything to-night," says Wendy, with a
feeling that if Nana were here she would object to further
conversation.

"Yes, you do," says Jan, "you see when you were a little girl."

"That is a long time ago, sweetheart," says Wendy. "Ah me, how
time flies!"

"Does it fly," asks the artful child, "the way you flew when
you were a little girl?"

"The way I flew? Do you know, Jane, I sometimes wonder whether
I ever did really fly."

"Yes, you did."

"The dear old days when I could fly!"

"Why can't you fly now, mother?"

"Because I am grown up, dearest. When people grow up they
forget the way."