Mummery A Tale of Three Idealists   By: Gilbert Cannan (1884-1955)

A TALE OF THREE IDEALISTS

BY

GILBERT CANNAN

LONDON: 48 PALL MALL

W. COLLINS SONS & CO. LTD.

GLASGOW MELBOURNE AUCKLAND

Copyright 1918

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

NOVELS

PETER HOMUNCULUS LITTLE BROTHER ROUND THE CORNER OLD MOLE YOUNG EARNEST THREE PRETTY MEN MENDEL THE STUCCO HOUSE PINK ROSES

FOUR PLAYS EVERYBODY'S HUSBAND

WINDMILLS SATIRE THE JOY OF THE THEATRE FREEDOM THE ANATOMY OF SOCIETY NOEL POEMS

TO ARIEL

AMY GWEN WILSON

Shakespeare dreamed you, Ariel, In a poet's ecstasy. I have loved and dare not tell Of your being's mystery.

Ariel, from Shakespeare's dream Flown into my love on earth, You shall help me to redeem Love and truth denied their birth.

In a world by Caliban Brutalised and done to death, We will weave a spell that Man May in freedom draw his breath.

CONTENTS

CHAP.

I. A DESCENT ON LONDON II. THE DWELLERS IN ENCHANTMENT III. IMPERIUM IV. BEHIND THE SCENES V. THE OTHER WOMAN VI. BIRDS AND FISHES VII. SUPPER VIII. SOLITUDE IX. MAGIC X. THE ENGLISH LAKES XI. CHARING CROSS ROAD XII. RODD AT HOME XIII. THE TEMPEST XIV. VERSCHOYLE FORGETS HIMSELF XV. IN BLOOMSBURY XVI. ARIEL XVII. SUCCESS XVIII. LOVE

I

A DESCENT ON LONDON

On a day in August, in one of those swiftly moving years which hurried Europe towards the catastrophe awaiting it, there arrived in London a couple of unusual appearance, striking, charming, and amusing. The man was tall, big, and queerly compounded of sensitive beauty and stodgy awkwardness. He entered London with an air of hostility; sniffed distastefully the smells of the station, peered in distress through the murky light, and clearly by his personality and his exploitation of it in his dress challenged the uniformity of the great city which was his home. His dress was peculiar: an enormous black hat above a shock of wispy fair hair, an ill cut black coat, a cloak flung back over his shoulders, a very high starched collar, abominable trousers, and long, pointed French boots.

'But they have rebuilt the station!' he said, in a loud voice of almost peevish disapproval.

'I remember reading about it, Carlo,' replied his companion. 'It fell down and destroyed a theatre.'

'A bad omen,' said Charles Mann, 'I wish we had arrived at another station.'

'I don't think it matters,' smiled Clara Day.

'I say it does,' snapped he. 'It is a mean little station. A London station should be grand and spacious, the magnificent ante room to a royal city. I must get them to let me design a station.'

'They don't often fall down,' said Clara. 'I wish you would see to the luggage.'

All the other passengers, French and English, had collected their baggage and had hurried away, but Charles Mann was never in a hurry, and he stayed scowling at the station which London had had the effrontery to erect in his absence.

'In Germany and Russia,' he muttered, 'they understand that stations are very important.'