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    The Happy Hypocrite: A Fairy Tale for Tired Men
    The Happy Hypocrite: A Fairy Tale for Tired Men
    The Happy Hypocrite: A Fairy Tale for Tired Men
    Ebook45 pages

    The Happy Hypocrite: A Fairy Tale for Tired Men

    By Max Beerbohm

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    About this ebook

    In "The Happy Hypocrite," Max Beerbohm crafts a whimsical fairy tale exploring the themes of artifice and authenticity. The protagonist, Lord George Hell, undergoes a fantastical transformation to win the woman he desires. This satirical novella delves into societal expectations, the pursuit of happiness, and the complex interplay between truth and pretense, all wrapped in Beerbohm's signature wit and ironic charm.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherInteractive Media
    Release dateSep 10, 2018
    ISBN9781787248700
    Author

    Max Beerbohm

    Sir Henry Maximilian Beerbohm (1872-1956) was an English essayist, parodist, and caricaturist. Going by the name of Max Beerbohm, he became known for his big personality and humor. Beerbohm began writing while being educated at the Charterhouse School and then at Merton College, Oxford. However, as he was not an enthusiastic student, Beerbohm dropped out of school when he became popular in social circles. He continued his career as a writer, illustrator and later worked as a radio broadcaster. Beerbohm released several collections of his work, including short fiction, caricature sketches, and one novel.

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      Book preview

      The Happy Hypocrite - Max Beerbohm

      cover.jpg

      Max Beerbohm

      The Happy Hypocrite

      filet%201%20short.jpg

      A Fairy Tale for Tired Men

      filet%201%20short.jpg

      Published by Sovereign

      This edition first published in 2018

      Copyright © 2018 Sovereign

      All Rights Reserved

      ISBN: 9781787248700

      Contents

      THE HAPPY HYPOCRITE

      I

      II

      III

      IV

      THE HAPPY HYPOCRITE

      I

      None, it is said, of all who revelled with the Regent, was half so wicked as Lord George Hell. I will not trouble my little readers with a long recital of his great naughtiness. But it were well they should know that he was greedy, destructive, and disobedient. I am afraid there is no doubt that he often sat up at Carlton House until long after bedtime, playing at games, and that he generally ate and drank far more than was good for him. His fondness for fine clothes was such that he used to dress on week-days quite as gorgeously as good people dress on Sundays. He was thirty-five years old and a great grief to his parents.

      And the worst of it was that he set such a bad example to others. Never, never did he try to conceal his wrong-doing; so that, in time, every one knew how horrid he was. In fact, I think he was proud of being horrid. Captain Tarleton, in his account of Contemporary Bucks, suggested that his Lordship’s great Candour was a virtue and should incline us to forgive some of his abominable faults. But, painful as it is to me to dissent from any opinion expressed by one who is now dead, I hold that Candour is good only when it reveals good actions or good sentiments, and that when it reveals evil, itself is evil, even also.

      Lord George Hell did, at last, atone for all his faults, in a way that was never revealed to the world during his life-time. The reason of his strange and sudden disappearance from that social sphere in which he had so long moved, and never moved again, I will unfold. My little readers will then, I think, acknowledge that any angry judgment they may have passed upon him must be reconsidered and, maybe, withdrawn. I will leave his Lordship in their hands. But my plea for him will not be based upon that Candour of his, which some of his friends so much admired. There were, yes! some so weak and so wayward as to think it a fine thing to have an historic title and no scruples. Here comes George Hell, they would say. How wicked my Lord is looking! Noblesse oblige, you see, and so an aristocrat should be very careful of his good name. Anonymous naughtiness does little harm.

      It is pleasant to record that many persons were inobnoxious to the magic of his title and disapproved of him so strongly that, whenever he entered a room where they happened to be, they would make straight for the door and watch him very severely through the key-hole. Every morning, when he strolled up Piccadilly, they crossed over to the other side in a compact body, leaving him to the companionship of his bad companions on

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