Referring to a criticism of Kipps, I had written:
It is excellent stuff, and I always regard Wells as being one of the ... greatest ... comedy-writers. But I always feel that in Kipps and all the earlier books he is only working up to Mr. Polly, which is the most exquisite thing that he has done in that line.
(I have read both down here and prefer Kipps. The phrases underlined, quoted in the Times notice (attached) of Wells’ Polly-Kippsian “History of the World” reminds me irresistibly of the old lady who, witnessing a performance of “Anthony and Cleopatra,” by your Mr. Shakespeare or our Mr. Shaw, observed: “How different from the home life of our dear queen!”)
... Let me offer you—a trifle belatedly perhaps—my congratulations on your new dignity.
(“Thanks.” A. Kipps)
Certainly you should tell the [Belgian] Ambassador that it is not only inconvenient but impossible for you to be invested in person and that he must send you the warrant and insignia....
Did I ever tell you the story of Mr. G.’s search for a decoration? The Kaiser refused to give him one on any consideration, and he therefore toured Europe, lending or giving money to one government after another in the hope of being ultimately rewarded with the 4th class of the Speckled Pig. In every court he was promised his decoration, but, when he presented himself for the investiture, the court officials turned from him with just that expression of loathing and nausea which he had formerly observed on the face of the Kaiser. It was only when he reached Bulgaria that he found the Czar and his court less squeamish. On payment of a considerable solatium he was invested with the 19th class of the Expiring Porpoise and returned in triumph to his native Stettin. Here, however, his troubles were only beginning, as he was unable to obtain permission to wear the Expiring Porpoise at any public function in Germany. Seeing that he had paid one considerable sum to the Bulgarian Czar and another to the firm of jewellers, who substituted diamonds for the paste of the jewel he felt, naturally enough, that he was receiving little value for his lavish expenditure. Bulgaria, it seemed, was the only country where the Expiring Porpoise could be worn. Accordingly he returned to Sofia and paid a further sum to be invited to the banquet which the burgomaster of Sofia was giving on the Czar’s birthday. Here he was at length rewarded for so many months of disappointment and neglect. Before the soup had been served, the Czar had hurried round to his place and was kissing him on both cheeks. “My dear old friend!” said he, “No, you are not to call me ‘sir’; henceforth it is ‘Fritz’ and ‘Ferdinand’ between us, is it not? How long it is since last I saw you! I have been waiting to express my heart-felt regret for the unpardonable carelessness of my Chamberlain. When it was too late and you had left Sofia (I feared for ever), my Chamberlain discovered that you had been invested with the 19th Class of the Expiring Porpoise. You must have thought me mad, for no sane man would offer the 19th class to a person of your distinction. It was the 1st class that I intended. This bauble that I am wearing round my neck to-night. Tell me, my dear Fritz, that it is not too late for me to repair my error.” With that word the Czar removed the collar and jewel from his own neck and slipped it over the head of G. taking in exchange G.’s despised collar and jewel of the 19th class. It was only when our friend returned to his hotel that he discovered the new jewel to be of the most unfinished paste, as cheap or cheaper than the paste which he had previously removed at such expense from the jewel of the 19th class.
(This is a splendid story.)
I am afraid, I added, that I have no idea who is the official to whom you apply for leave to wear these things....
(My dear Stephen, you had better here and now adopt as your maxim what I said to Browning soon after he had engaged my services on behalf of H.M.G.: “I yield to no man living in my ignorance on every subject under the sun.” You outdo and outvie me. You never know anything. In other words, you know nothing. But I’ll wager that these are worn without permission. What’s the penalty? The Morning Post to-day names a couple of dozen to whom it’s been granted.)