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***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEHIND THE BEYOND***

 

E-text prepared by Suzanne Lybarger, Emille,
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Transcriber's Notes:

Page numbers are shown in the right margin. Click on a page number to see an image of the page of the original book from which this e-text is taken.

 

 

[1]

Decoration BEHIND THE BEYOND STEPHEN LEACOCK
Decoration

[2]

BY THE SAME AUTHOR


NONSENSE NOVELS 12mo. Cloth. Net, $1.00
LITERARY LAPSES 12mo. Cloth. Net, $1.25
SUNSHINE SKETCHES 12mo. Cloth. Net, $1.25

JOHN LANE COMPANY
PUBLISHERS         NEW YORK

[3]
[4]
[5]

THE PROLOGUE THE PROLOGUE BEHIND THE
: : : BEYOND : : :

AND OTHER CONTRIBUTIONS
TO HUMAN KNOWLEDGE

Decoration BY STEPHEN LEACOCK
AUTHOR OF "NONSENSE NOVELS," "LITERARY
: : : LAPSES," "SUNSHINE SKETCHES," ETC. : : :

Decoration ILLUSTRATED BY A. H. FISH
Woman reading
Decoration
NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY
LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD
TORONTO: BELL & COCKBURN. MCMXIII

[6]

Copyright, 1913, by
THE CROWELL PUBLISHING COMPANY

Copyright, 1913, by
THE CENTURY COMPANY

Copyright, 1913, by
JOHN LANE COMPANY

[7]

CONTENTS
BEHIND THE BEYOND 11 FAMILIAR INCIDENTS   I. With the Photographer 53   II. The Dentist and the Gas 61   III. My Lost Opportunities 69   IV. My Unknown Friend 74   V. Under the Barber's Knife 84 PARISIAN PASTIMES   I. The Advantages of a Polite Education      93   II. The Joys of Philanthropy 104   III. The Simple Life in Paris 117   IV. A Visit to Versailles 129   V. Paris at Night 143 THE RETROACTIVE EXISTENCE OF MR. JUGGINS 159 MAKING A MAGAZINE 169 HOMER AND HUMBUG 185

[8]
[9]

ILLUSTRATIONS
The Prologue Frontispiece to face page The curtain rises 12 Their expression is stamped with deep thought 28 He kisses her on the bare shoulder 30 He takes her in his arms 50 "Is it me?" 58 I did go—I kept the appointment 66 He showed me a church that I could have bought for a hundred thousand 72 I shall not try to be quite so extraordinarily clever 84 When he reached my face he looked searchingly at it 88 The tailor shrugged his shoulders 98 Something in the quiet dignity of the young man held me 114 The Parisian dog 120 Personally I plead guilty to something of the same spirit 142 The lady's face is aglow with moral enthusiasm 146 Meanwhile he had become a quaint-looking elderly man 166 With all the low cunning of an author stamped on his features 174

[10]

BEHIND THE BEYOND A Modern Problem Play

[11]

Act I.—Behind the Beyond

THE curtain rises, disclosing the ushers of the theater still moving up and down the aisles. Cries of "Program!" "Program!" are heard. There is a buzz of brilliant conversation, illuminated with flashes of opera glasses and the rattle of expensive jewelry.

Then suddenly, almost unexpectedly, in fact just as if done, so to speak, by machinery, the lights all over the theater, except on the stage, are extinguished. Absolute silence falls. Here and there is heard the crackle of a shirt front. But there is no other sound.

In this expectant hush, a man in a check tweed suit walks on the stage: only one man, one single man. Because if he had been accompanied by a chorus, that would have been a burlesque; if four citizens in togas had been with him, that would have been Shakespeare;[12] if two Russian soldiers had walked after him, that would have been melodrama. But this is none of these. This is a problem play. So he steps in alone, all alone, and with that absolute finish of step, that ability to walk as if,—how can one express it?—as if he were walking, that betrays the finished actor.

He has, in fact, barely had time to lay down his silk hat, when he is completely betrayed. You can see that he is a finished actor—finished about fifteen years ago. He lays the hat, hollow side up, on the silk hat table on the stage right center—bearing north, northeast, half a point west from the red mica fire on the stage which warms the theater.

All this is done very, very quietly, very impressively. No one in the theater has ever seen a man lay a silk hat on a table before, and so there is a breathless hush. Then he takes off his gloves, one by one, not two or three at a time, and lays them in his hat. The expectancy is almost painful. If he had thrown his gloves into the mica fire it would have been a relief. But he doesn't.

The Curtain rises. The Curtain rises.

[Illus]
[13]

The man on the stage picks up a pile of letters from the letter department of the hat table. There are a great many of these letters, because all his business correspondence, as well as his private letters, are sent here by the General Post Office. Getting his letters in this way at night, he is able to read them like lightning. Some of them he merely holds upside down for a fraction of a second.

Then at last he speaks. It has become absolutely necessary or he wouldn't do it. "So—Sao Paolo risen two—hum—Rio Tinto down again—Moreby anxious, 'better sell for half a million sterling'—hum . . ."

(Did you hear that? Half a million sterling and he takes it just as quietly as that. And it isn't really in the play either. Sao Paolo and Rio Tinto just come in to let you know the sort of man you're dealing with.)

"Lady Gathorne—dinner—Thursday the ninth—lunch with the Ambassador—Friday the tenth."

(And mind you even this is just patter. The[14] Ambassador doesn't come into the play either. He and Lady Gathorne are just put in to let the people in the cheaper seats know the kind of thing they're up against.)

Then the man steps across the stage and presses a button. A bell rings. Even before it has finished ringing, nay, just before it begins to ring, a cardboard door swings aside and a valet enters. You can tell he is a valet because he is dressed in the usual home dress of a stage valet.

He says, "Did you ring, Sir John?"

There is a rustle of programs all over the house. You can hear a buzz of voices say, "He's Sir John Trevor." They're all on to him.

When the valet says, "Did you ring, Sir John," he ought to answer, "No, I merely knocked the bell over to see how it would sound," but he misses it and doesn't say it.

"Has her ladyship come home?"

"Yes, Sir John."

"Has any one been here?"

"Mr. Harding, Sir John."[15]

"Any one else?"

"No, Sir John."

"Very good."

The valet bows and goes out of the cardboard door, and everybody in the theater, or at least everybody in the seats worth over a dollar, knows that there's something strange in the relations of Lady Cicely Trevor and Mr. Harding. You notice—Mr. Harding was there and no one else was there. That's enough in a problem play.

The double door at the back of the stage, used only by the principal characters, is opened and Lady Cicely Trevor enters. She is young and very beautiful, and wears a droopy hat and long slinky clothes which she drags across the stage. She throws down her feather hat and her crêpe de what-you-call-it boa on the boa stand. Later on the valet comes in and gathers them up. He is always gathering up things like this on the stage—hats and boas and walking sticks thrown away by the actors,—but nobody notices him. They are his perquisites.[16]

Sir John says to Lady Cicely, "Shall I ring for tea?"

And Lady Cicely says, "Thanks. No," in a weary tone.

This shows that they are the kind of people who can have tea at any time. All through a problem play it is understood that any of the characters may ring for tea and get it. Tea in a problem play is the same as whisky in a melodrama.

Then there ensues a dialogue to this effect: Sir John asks Lady Cicely if she has been out. He might almost have guessed it from her coming in in a hat and cloak, but Sir John is an English baronet.

Lady Cicely says, "Yes, the usual round," and distributes a few details about Duchesses and Princesses, for the general good of the audience.

Then Lady Cicely says to Sir John, "You are going out?"

"Yes, immediately."

"To the House, I suppose."

This is very impressive. It doesn't mean, as[17] you might think, the Workhouse, or the White House, or the Station House, or the Bon Marché. It is the name given by people of Lady Cicely's class to the House of Commons.

"Yes. I am extremely sorry. I had hoped I might ask to go with you to the opera. I fear it is impossible—an important sitting—the Ministers will bring down the papers—the Kafoonistan business. The House will probably divide in committee. Gatherson will ask a question. We must stop it at all costs. The fate of the party hangs on it."

Sir John has risen. His manner has changed. His look is altered. You can see him alter it. It is now that of a statesman. The technical details given above have gone to his head. He can't stop.

He goes on: "They will force a closure on the second reading, go into committee, come out of it again, redivide, subdivide and force us to bring down the estimates."

While Sir John speaks, Lady Cicely's manner has been that of utter weariness. She has picked up the London Times and thrown it[18] aside; taken up a copy of Punch and let it fall with a thud to the floor, looked idly at a piece of music and decided, evidently, not to sing it. Sir John runs out of technical terms and stops.

The dialogue has clearly brought out the following points: Sir John is in the House of Commons. Lady Cicely is not. Sir John is twenty-five years older than Lady Cicely. He doesn't see—isn't he a fool, when everybody in the gallery can see it?—that his parliamentary work is meaningless to her, that her life is insufficient. That's it. Lady Cicely is being "starved." All that she has is money, position, clothes, and jewelry. These things starve any woman. They cramp her. That's what makes problem plays.

Lady Cicely speaks, very quietly, "Are you taking Mr. Harding with you?"

"Why?"

"Nothing. I thought perhaps I might ask him to take me to the opera. Puffi is to sing."

"Do, pray do. Take Harding with you by all means. Poor boy, do take him with you."

Sir John pauses. He looks at Lady Cicely[19] very quietly for a moment. He goes on with a slight change in his voice.

"Do you know, Cicely, I've been rather troubled about Harding lately. There's something the matter with the boy, something wrong."

"Yes?"

"He seems abstracted, moody—I think, in fact I'm sure that the boy is in love."

"Yes?"

Lady Cicely has turned slightly pale. The weariness is out of her manner.

"Trust the instinct of an old man, my dear. There's a woman in it. We old parliamentary hands are very shrewd, you know, even in these things. Some one is playing the devil with Jack—with Harding."

Sir John is now putting on his gloves again and gathering up his parliamentary papers from the parliamentary paper stand on the left.

He cannot see the change in Lady Cicely's face. He

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