Produced by Malcolm Farmer and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
By
Originally published under the title of 'A Drama in Muslin,' 1886.
New Edition, September, 1915.
My excuse for modifying the title of this book is, that A Drama inMuslin has long seemed to me to be the vulgar one among the titles ofmy many books. But to change the title of a book that has been incirculation, however precarious, for more than thirty years, is notpermissible, and that is why I rejected the many titles that rose up inmy mind while correcting the proofs of this new edition. In Neophytes,Débutantes, and The Baiting of Mrs. Barton, readers would havedivined a new story, but the dropping out of the unimportant word'drama' will not deceive the most casual follower of literature. Thesingle word 'muslin' is enough. Mousseline would be more euphonious, afuller, richer word; and Bal Blanc, besides being more picturesque,would convey my meaning; but a shade of meaning is not sufficientjustification for the use of French titles or words, for they lessen thetaste of our language; we don't get the smack, and Milord's epigramspoisoned my memory of A Drama in Muslin. But they cannot be omittedwithout much re-writing, I said, and remembering my oath never toattempt the re-writing of an old book again, I fell back on theexclusion of A Drama in Muslin as the only way out of the dilemma. Awavering resolution was precipitated by recollection of some disgracefulpages, but a moment after I was thinking that the omission of the bookwould create a hiatus. A Drama in Muslin, I reflected, is a linkbetween two styles; and a book that has achieved any notoriety cannot beomitted from a collected edition, so my publishers said, and they harpedon this string, until one day I flung myself out of their office andrattled down the stairs muttering, 'What a smell of shop!' But in theStrand near the Cecil Inn, the thought glided into my mind that thepages that seemed so disgraceful in memory might not seem so in print,'and the only way to find out if this be so,' the temptation continued,'will be to ask the next policeman the way to Charing Cross Road.'Another saw me over a dangerous crossing (London is the best policedcity in Europe), a third recommended a shop 'over yonder: you've justpassed it by, sir.' 'Thank you, thank you,' I cried back, and no soonerwas I on the other side than, overcome by shyness, as always in thesestores of dusty literature, I asked for the Drama in Muslin,pronouncing the title so timidly that the bookseller guessed me at onceto be the author, and began telling of the books that were doing well infirst editions. 'If I had any I wanted to get rid of?' he mentionedseveral he would be glad to buy. Whereupon in turn I grew confidentialand confided to him my present dilemma, failing, however, to dissuadehim from his opinion that A Drama in Muslin ought to be included. 'Anycorrections you make in the new edition will keep up the price of theold,' he added as he wrapped up the brown paper parcel. 'You will likethe book better than you think for.' 'Thank you, thank you,' I criedafter me, and hopped into a taxi, unsuspicious that I carried adelightful evening under my arm. A comedy novel, written withsprightliness and wit, I said, as I turned to the twentieth page, and itneeds hardly any editing. A mere re-tying of a few bows that theeffluxion of time has untied